ANSWERING LINCOLN'S CALL FOR TROOPS A
volunteer of the 8th New York Regiment (The Washington Guards) stands holding his
musket and wearing overcoat, knapsack, and tinted rosette. Sixth-plate
daguerreotype Photographed by Rufus Anson New York City c. April
1861
 (Click on the image to view
further details)
This soldier of the 8th New York Regiment proudly poses in full martial regalia.
He wears a patriotic tinted rosette as he prepares with optimism and enthusiasm to answer
President Abraham Lincoln's call for troops to suppress the great rebellion of April
1861.
He was one of extremely few who chose the daguerreotype to memorialize the
occasion. At the war's beginning the daguerreotype's life span was already all but over. It
survived barely long enough to record a small fragment of a nation weary from twenty years of
fruitless debate, as it embraced fratricidal war with relief.
The daguerreotype did well
to die with its era. It was too exquisite, too delicate--for the roughshod task ahead.
The technological horror of the next four years bore modern war and the modern world. It was
left to coarser photographic processes to usher into American parlors, a divided nation bent on
destroying itself.
From 1840 to 1860 the daguerreian process recorded a generation of common citizens in a nation
considered by many to be the hope of the world. It is tempting today to romanticize the
individual intensity of "presence" captured in surviving daguerreotype portraits.
And
yet other, darker perspectives lurk within these stranded faces:
--The perspective that the passage of time obscures every individual's "daily pettinesses and the
small sadisms that are practised on family and friends," as well as much evil in the "intellectual
atmosphere" of the era in which they live (slavery, etc.).
--That "all through history it is the ‘normal, average men' who, like locust, have laid waste to the
world."
Americans of the daguerreian era were no exception and the Civil War was
their scourge of blood.
See Ernest Becker, The Denial of Death (New York: The Free Press,
1973),
187.
|