| TK's staging site |
|
By *Charleston leaders fight Morris Island development plan *Soft-shell crab season a spring rite *Mosquito problem resurfaces *Palm Valley boat ramp tied up by confusion: Corps says permit needed, county differs DESTIN -- Some homeowners are fighting a beach restoration plan state and local officials say will protect their property from erosion, arguing it's a ploy to grab private shoreline for public use
http://www.charleston.net/stories/041404/hun_14lumpkin.shtml Story last updated at 6:18 a.m. Wednesday, April 14, 2004 BY BRIAN HICKS Of The Post and Courier Staff He savored tobacco with an unmatched zeal, sucking on his pipe with such fervor that its stem eventually carved a place between his teeth. Years of work, most of it probably on ships, had taken its toll. His muscles ached, his joints were stiff. He'd known more than his share of trouble, suffering a broken nose and cheekbone at some point. In his 40-odd years, he'd seen much of the world, crossing the Atlantic Ocean at least once, on the trip from his homeland to America. But nothing in his voyages could have prepared him for the experience of being crammed inside the cold, dark crew compartment of the H.L. Hunley.The man who sat at the second crank position in the Confederate sub may be the sailor identified in historical accounts as C. Simkins. Scientists and historians know little of this elusive sailor, but believe the man's surname may actually be Lumpkin. Scientists have learned only what his bones reveal. He is in the neighborhood of 40, with tests putting his age between 37 and 44. He is a native of Europe, but one who emigrated to the United States years before the war. "He's been away from home a long time," says Doug Owsley, a forensic scientist at the Smithsonian Institution. "He has been away from his home the longest of any of the crew." Linda Abrams, the project genealogist, is following leads that suggest he may have once lived in Georgia, and perhaps along the coast, as it appears he spent significant time on ships. Certainly he wasn't a novice sailor when he was assigned to the CSS Indian Chief. The Indian Chief was a receiving ship in Charleston Harbor between 1862 and 1865, a way station for sailors coming and going through the Confederate port, and a stockpile for the Southern navy's supplies. Beginning in 1863, about the time the Hunley arrived in Charleston, the Indian Chief also became a support ship for the Confederacy torpedo mine operations. Flag-Officer J. R. Tucker wrote to one Navy man that, "You will be pleased to have as many boats fitted with torpedoes as you can hoist up to the davits of the Indian Chief and have them ready for service." Serving on the Indian Chief may have led to Lumpkin's first encounter with the Hunley, which likely got its torpedo mines from the ship. Certainly, the ship is where he first met the men who would become his crewmates on the mysterious fish-boat: Arnold Becker, Joseph Ridgaway, Frank Collins and James A. Wicks. Together, these five would form the bulk of the Hunley's final crew. He was an imposing figure. Lumpkin belies the notion that crewmen were slight in stature. At 5' 10" he was much taller than average in his time, even if the arthritis evident in his remains caused him to stoop. Stuffing his frame into the confines of the Hunley's crew compartment, a mere 42 inches wide, couldn't have helped his condition. His only job on the submarine was to provide manpower by turning one of the seven cranks that rotated the sub's propeller. He sat between two Indian Chief mates, Becker and Collins, and even if he could not smoke on board, he probably chewed on his pipe for comfort. Scientists continue to search for more information on this sailor, including a verification of his name. In April 1864, Capt. M. M. Gray of the office of submarine defenses listed him among the Hunley's MIA crew as "C. Simkins." Over the years, the spelling evolved into "Simpkins." In one letter written nearly 30 years after the war, William Alexander, the submarine's builder and onetime first officer, identifies the man as Lumpkin. The Indian Chief's 1863 duty roster is mostly illegible. On that paper, recording sailors' pay, the name reads either "Lumpkin" or Simpkin." It's hard to tell. Abrams is convinced the man's name is C. Lumpkin. It is plausible that the name was misread in 1864, and the mistake repeated in official records for more than a century. When he is laid to rest this week, the men and women who will walk him to the grave say that his name matters little. He is being honored for his bravery, for his contribution to maritime history.
http://www.charleston.net/stories/041404/hun_14ridgaway.shtml Story last updated at 6:34 a.m. Wednesday, April 14, 2004 First officer Ridgaway was an old salt at 30 BY BRIAN HICKS Of The Post and Courier Staff When Joseph Ridgaway took over as first officer of the H.L. Hunley in the winter of 1864, it was almost as if he'd trained for it his entire life. He was an old salt at 30, a veteran before the mast who had already spent more than half his years on the water. He was the son of a sailor, and he most likely carried this experience as an easy confidence onboard the Confederate submarine. His seamanship and calming influence on the crew was more than enough to make him seem a natural leader to Lt. George E. Dixon. Dixon quickly learned he could depend on Ridgaway. "He was obviously a very important member of thecrew," says Maria Jacobsen, senior archaeologist on the Hunley project. "He had to synchronize the filling of the ballast tanks with Dixon. He had to operate the aft seacock and pump. He had to be mechanically inclined." Ridgaway had to learn a new technology to operate the Hunley, but he had a decided advantage because he felt at home in the sub's natural environment. He had grown up on the Eastern Shore of Maryland, the son of a sea captain who owned a small fleet of merchant sailing ships. Between the ships, the plantation and a few other business interests, the Ridgaways of Talbot County were a wealthy family. James and Elizabeth Ridgaway lived with their children on the banks of Chesapeake Bay and shopped across the water in Baltimore. Joseph Ridgaway sailed his father's ships in the Bay and on the Atlantic. By age 16, in 1850, he had his Seaman's Protection Certificate, which marked him as an ocean-going merchant sailor, a document most mariners did not earn until their twenties. When the Civil War began, Ridgaway decided to take a break from merchant sailing and join the Confederate States Navy. He had grown into a rugged young man, stout and, at 5' 10," tall for the times. He made a good sailor, Evidence suggests the Ridgaway family was involved with the Confederacy from the early days of the conflict. A dispatch from the USS Daylight in August 1861 mentions the capture of a Baltimore-based schooner belonging in part to a "Mr. Ridgeway." The ship was hauling goods up the Rappahannock River just off Chesapeake Bay, and the Union forces claimed that those supplies were meant for Southern forces in Virginia. The crew abandoned the ship rather than face capture. When Dixon began his search for a submarine crew two years later, Joseph Ridgaway was a quartermaster on the CSS Indian Chief in Charleston Harbor. Given his experience, it's no surprise Dixon and William Alexander, then the Hunley's first officer, selected the Maryland sailor. For three months, Ridgaway was a volunteer hand, using muscle to power the fish-boat. He took a seat at one of the duty stations in the middle of the sub, cranking a handle to drive the sub's propeller. It was fairly mindless work, and did not make good use of his skills. Still, Ridgaway was committed to the project, and likely took an interest in how the sub operated. He didn't realize how quickly that knowledge would take on new importance. In early February 1864, the Confederate Army ordered Alexander back to Mobile, something about building new guns at Fort Morgan. Dixon needed a new first officer, and he turned to his Maryland man. With his promotion, Ridgaway found he had more to do than turn a simple crank, although he still had to do that, too. Ridgaway was placed in charge of coordinating ballast tank operations with Dixon. He had to fill and empty the aft tank on Dixon's command to keep the sub on an even keel. Ridgaway also may have monitored the fly-wheel connected to the sub's propeller shaft; no doubt he would have had to fix the chain on the wheel if it broke. He also was responsible for the aft hatch. Even to a casual observer, Ridgaway stood out among the Hunley crew. He dressed nice, wearing stylish civilian shoes that were more comfortable than the brogans most of the rest wore. He carried a pipe and a slouch hat and, on the evening of Feb. 17, 1864, wore a fancy Confederate shell jacket onboard the sub. More than a century later, what he wore around his neck would surprise archaeologists most. The man scientists believe to be Joseph Ridgaway was found wearing the identification tag of a Union soldier named Ezra Chamberlin. How Ridgaway came to possess the dog tag of a Connecticut Yankee remains a mystery, but historians have found a link between the man and the crew. Chamberlin died in July 1863 during the battle of Morris Island, where members of the Indian Chief crew -- possibly even Ridgaway -- occasionally served picket duty. Also, while anyone could have picked up the medallion as a souvenir, J.F. Carlsen, the last man to join the Hunley crew, fought on Morris the day Chamberlin died. Carlsen may have found the tag and sold it to Ridgaway -- even lost it to him in a card game. The possibility of Carlsen's connection to the identification tag led scientists to speculate he was the first officer, but that's unlikely. The man in the back of the sub was American born, and Ridgaway is one of only four documented Americans onboard. Process of elimination narrows the field. Dixon was identified by his position and belongings; James A. Wicks was much older. That leaves Frank Collins and Ridgaway. The man who died at the first officer's station matches Ridgaway's age (not to mention Ridgaway had far more maritime experience than Collins, making him a more likely candidate). Ridgaway also had more in common with Dixon than any of the other crewmen. Both were from families of some means: they both showed signs of quality dental care and good health. Socioeconomic similarities must have cemented the connection between captain and first officer. The relationships that Ridgaway built during his final years not only led him to the Hunley but also had a major impact on his family. After the war, a friend of Ridgaway's stationed on the Indian Chief felt compelled to collect the sailor's belongings for the family. James Joyner carried his lost friend's last remaining mementoes to his family in Maryland. There, Joyner found he liked the rest of the Ridgaway family as much as he had Joseph, so he decided to settle in the area. Ultimately, he married one of Ridgaway's sisters.
http://www.charleston.net/stories/041404/hun_14hunblacks.shtml Story last updated at 6:19 a.m. Wednesday, April 14, 2004 BY SCHUYLER KROPF Of The Post and Courier Staff The Faison family of Durham, N.C., spread the newspaper across their bed as they planned a leisurely vacation day in Charleston. As a black family, they read the story of the Confederate submarine H.L. Hunley a little differently than their white counterparts. "Were they for us?" 12-year-old Keia asked her mother about the eight Hunley sailors who fought for the slavery-defending Confederacy. "Or against us?" While part of Charleston is caught up in the multiple recognitions scheduled this week for the Hunley crew, noticeably absent from many of the events are large numbers of black visitors. That begs the question: Is the Hunley funeral just a white thing? After viewing a ceremony honoring the Hunley crew Monday, Keia's father, Walter Faison, said the answer is "no." Standing near the eight sailors inside the aircraft carrier USS Yorktown, Faison said he felt comfortable in the presence of Confederate flags because they were draped in mourning over men lost pursuing an American milestone. "When I see it flying over someone's yard, I see it as them saying, 'I'm here, and am against you,' " Faison said. "But here, I see it as a part of history." Historians remain uncertain about the role of blacks in the Hunley story. Black labor most likely was used in some fashion when the iron-hulled sub was built inside a Mobile, Ala., shop, in 1863. On the Union side, Robert Flemming, a black sailor on board the blockade ship USS Housatonic, is credited with issuing one of the first warnings to his shipmates of the sub's deadly approach on the night of Feb. 17, 1864, when it rammed the Housatonic with an explosive charge of black powder. But around Charleston, there's been little success in attracting blacks to the Hunley story. "It's obvious," said Marvin Dulaney, chairman of the history department at the College of Charleston. "It's still about the Confederacy. (The Hunley) does not speak to black people. It's not something that we would embrace." Dulaney, who is black, a retired Union Civil War re-enactor and executive director of the Avery Research Center, said the best way to draw in more black visitors and interest is to play up the Hunley's role as a study of archaeology, preservation and human endurance. "That's the only way you are going to break through," said Dulaney, who has visited the crew memorial. "It is the idea that this is a very significant find, that it speaks to humanity and what human beings were attempting to accomplish using science." Not all blacks in Charleston see a value in honoring the sub so openly and for so many days, especially since the Confederate flag will be flown prominently in the funeral procession as it marches from The Battery to the city's Magnolia Cemetery. "I don't know if it's a greater insult to the East Side than any other side of Charleston," said area NAACP leader the Rev. Joe Darby, a long-time flag opponent. Darby predicted crowd emotions Saturday will vary from those who see it as a historical event to those who see it as a novelty, while others might view the thousands of Confederate-uniformed men expected to march as "a re-enactment of an early Klan procession." Faison, a pharmaceutical research scientist, said he'd put the flag controversy on hold during the Hunley recognition so that his two daughters could learn about the sub and the men who died inside it four miles off at sea. "This is just a matter of following through with history," he said.
|