Shortly after the surrender at Appomattox, Union Maj. Gen. Joshua Lawrence Chamberlain and his men stopped to camp near Hanover Court House in Virginia. Just around midnight Chamberlain was roused from his sleep as his horse stirred at its tether. Leaving his tent to investigate, he soon discovered a ghastly sight— half-buried human skeletal remains strewn throughout a pine grove, just visible in the darkness. Found among the bones the next day were armor breastplates with initials carved in them.
What caused those fallen Union troops to cut marks into their metal plates? Perhaps they were taken by the same apprehension that prompted Union soldiers at Cold Harbor, troubled that loved ones back home might never discover what happened to them if they fell in battle, to pin bits of paper bearing their names to their uniforms. Some carried identity tags carved from wood.
Likewise, when Johnny Reb was concerned with being lost for all time, he might jot his name and hometown on a piece of paper and slip it into his pocket.
During the Civil War, there was no “knock at the door” or telegram delivered by hand to notify family of a loved one who was unaccounted for—missing in action. If a beloved father, brother or son fell in a hotly contested battle, he might have been quickly buried in an unmarked and sometimes mass grave. Without a comrade close by to witness his death, he would pass unnoticed. Often, when one side was driven from the field in defeat, casualties were left behind and disposed of unceremoniously—by the enemy—in unmarked graves.
Government-issued identification tags we now know as “dog tags” were nonexistent during the Civil War, despite the obvious need for them. In May 1862, a John Kennedy of New York wrote a letter to Secretary of War Edwin Stanton suggesting each Union soldier be issued an identifying tag. The appeal was denied; the soldiers were left to their own devices. By war’s end, more than 40 percent of Union Civil War dead remained unknown. Of the more than 325,000 Federal soldiers buried in national cemeteries, almost 149,000 are marked “unknown.”
The U.S. Christian Commission supplied 40,000 Union soldiers with “personal identifiers,” small pieces of paper with a metal grommet for a string to run through and attach to one’s uniform. There was space to record a soldier’s name, company, regiment, brigade, division and corps.
Little anecdotal evidence exists of Confederate soldiers using identifying items, although surely some did. In Union County, Tenn., the six Burnett brothers took up arms against the North. Their father, Bayless, fearing one or more of his sons might die in anonymity, made the trip to Cumberland Gap to deliver the dog tags he had made for each son—and to fight alongside them. (But Bayless Sylvester Burnett was judged too old for action and ordered from the field.)
Robert Lovett Jr., a die sinker from Philadelphia, contracted with the Confederate government to mint a one-cent coin, but also made military identification tags using coins he designed for both Yankees and Rebels.
A number of Federal ID tags and badges have been discovered; battlefields have offered up several; others were found amid mementos marking a family’s history, or tucked away in an old trunk. Most common are round metal tokens, made from a bit of lead or copper or perhaps an old coin, and crudely stamped with the recruit’s name. Others were commercially manufactured from gold or silver and advertised for sale in Harper’s or Leslie’s magazines. “Attention Soldiers!” an 1863 Harper’s ad from Drowne & Moore Jewelers of New York blared. “Every soldier should have a badge with his name marked distinctly upon it…a solid silver badge…can be fastened to any garment.” Less expensive examples were produced in brass or steel. Sutlers accompanying the army would set up shop along the soldiers’ tramp, and using a stencil or a die, imprint the soldier’s name, regiment or other personal information on the tags.
Northern dog tags carried patriotic legends: “Liberty,” “Union” or “War of 1861.” Soldiers under General George McClellan’s command carried ID tags with his image on them. Many dog tags listed the battles the wearer had endured—“Fought In Battles / Bull Run 2nd / Fredericksburg I & 2” are just three of the sharp contests listed on L. Hunting’s dog tag. The New York volunteer’s disc was found near Hagerstown, Md., in 1980.
Surprisingly, many dog tags that turn up belonged to soldiers who survived the war. Tags worn around the neck or attached to a watch fob or pin might have easily been torn away during the action. Corporal Seth Hill of the New York 153rd Infantry lost his tag at the Battle of Cedar Creek. Hill lived for another 65 years after the war, passing away in 1930.
John L. Hebron, the sole survivor of the three male members from the Hebron family of Ohio who served in the war, returned wearing his tag. It was discovered as part of a family treasure trove that included 150 letters, a number of photographs and several other artifacts belonging to the Hebron fighting men.
New Hampshire regimental musician Martin F. Moore carried an “Eagle War of 1861” ID tag. Enlisting in 1862 into Company B of the 13th New Hampshire Infantry, he followed a circuitous military career. After a stint in another unit, he transferred back to the 13th in 1864— but this time into Company K; on the reverse side of the dog tag the letter “K” was stamped over the “B,” reflecting his new status.
One of the most puzzling tales concerned a Union dog tag discovered in the wreckage of the Confederate submarine, H.L. Hunley. It carried the name of Ezra Chamberlin of Connecticut. Was Chamberlin a deserter, or maybe a prisoner or spy?
Chamberlin was actually killed July 11, 1863, at the Battle of Fort Wagner— his dog tag was most likely scavenged from that South Carolina battlefield.
It wasn’t always a name carved into a coin or scratched onto a bit of paper that identified the dead. After the three-day Battle of Gettysburg, a Union soldier was famously found clutching an ambrotype of three small children. The story was reported by several newspapers, and in the end, it was that small photograph that told the world of the death of Sergeant Amos Humiston of the 154th New York Infantry.
Finding a means of identification on or about a body did not guarantee a soldier’s identity. Franklin Damann, anatomy department curator of the National Museum of Health and Medicine told of “a soldier who saw a dying comrade on the battlefield. The soldier handed the mortally wounded soldier his canteen— with his name on it—and continued on his way. His was the name the unidentified dead soldier was buried with.”
In 1899, Chaplain Charles Pierce— who was in charge of the U.S. Army Morgue and Office of Identification during the Spanish-American War—recommended that each soldier be issued an aluminum “identity disc” as a standard part of his field kit. The Army finally made this mandatory in 1913—51 years after Kennedy’s request.
David McCormick is a retired regional planner with a passion for antiques.
Originally published in the May 2012 issue of America’s Civil War. To subscribe, click here.
