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Amateur Musical Societies
and Sports Clubs in
P ro
ov i n c i a l F r a n c e ,
184 4 8 –19 9 144
H arr m o n y a nd
d Hostility

ALAN R.H. BAKER

Amateur Musical Societies and Sports Clubs
in Provincial France, 1848–1914
 Alan R.H. Baker

Amateur Musical
Societies and Sports
Clubs in Provincial
France, 1848–1914
Harmony and Hostility
Alan R.H. Baker
Emmanuel College
University of Cambridge
Cambridge, UK

ISBN 978-3-319-57992-4 ISBN 978-3-319-57993-1 (eBook)

DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-57993-1

Library of Congress Control Number: 2017940599

© The Editor(s) (if applicable) and The Author(s) 2017

This work is subject to copyright. All rights are solely and exclusively licensed by the
Publisher, whether the whole or part of the material is concerned, specifically the rights
of translation, reprinting, reuse of illustrations, recitation, broadcasting, reproduction
on microfilms or in any other physical way, and transmission or information storage and
retrieval, electronic adaptation, computer software, or by similar or dissimilar methodology
now known or hereafter developed.
The use of general descriptive names, registered names, trademarks, service marks, etc. in
this publication does not imply, even in the absence of a specific statement, that such names
are exempt from the relevant protective laws and regulations and therefore free for general
use.
The publisher, the authors and the editors are safe to assume that the advice and
information in this book are believed to be true and accurate at the date of publication.
Neither the publisher nor the authors or the editors give a warranty, express or implied,
with respect to the material contained herein or for any errors or omissions that may have
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maps and institutional affiliations.

Cover credit: Le Rire: journal humoristique 16 avril 1898. Source: Bibliothèque national de
France

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This Palgrave Macmillan imprint is published by Springer Nature

The registered company is Springer International Publishing AG
The registered company address is: Gewerbestrasse 11, 6330 Cham, Switzerland
For Katharine and Lewis
 Preface

My earlier research on work-related voluntary associations in the Loire

Valley during the nineteenth century is here extended to recreational
voluntary associations in the whole of France. While pursuing this pro-
ject, I have received generous support from many professional schol-
ars and personal friends, especially in Britain and France, but also from
members of the international fraternity of historical geographers. I am
grateful to all of them, too numerous to be mentioned individually. I
am also heavily indebted to the many historians, geographers and other
researchers known to me only through their published works, cited in
the Bibliography. I owe warm thanks to the many helpful librarians in
Cambridge and France who have facilitated my efforts. I am deeply
appreciative of the vital support provided by the staffs of the national
archives in Paris and of the 11 French provincial archives in which I
spent many pleasurable and productive hours. I am grateful to Robin
Butlin for bibliographic assistance, and to him and the author of an
anonymous peer-reviewer’s report for their critical but constructive com-
ments on a draft of this book, to Katharine Ellis for some specific sug-
gestions about musical instruments and composers, to Roy Doyon for
producing the maps, and to John Hooper for help with translating some
(to me) opaque French phrases. All surviving errors of fact, like the
judgements offered, are my responsibility. My research visits to France
have been funded in part by Emmanuel College, Cambridge, and by the
British Academy. To both I express my thanks.
I have adopted the following stylistic conventions:

vii
viii Preface

Abbreviations are used for the 11 departments selected for special

study: A (Ariège); C (Cantal); F (Finistère); H (Hérault); L-et-C (Loir-
et-Cher); M-et-M (Meurthe-et-Moselle); P-de-C (Pas-de-Calais); S
(Savoie); Va (Vaucluse); Vi (Vienne); Y (Yonne). These abbreviations are
also used in the notes where AD indicates Archives départementales.
The year in which a named association was founded or authorised is
indicated in brackets.
When mentioning an author in the text for the first time, I include
her/his initials or forename; subsequent mentions normally use only the
surname.
I have not italicised the French spatial hierarchy of administrative units
but anglicised them as communes, cantons, arrondissements and depart-
ments.
Population data for specific places at stated dates are taken either from
the relevant archives of the departments or from the demographic tables
for each place provided in Wikipédia.
I have left in French quotations which I believe will be readily under-
stood and only exceptionally provided translations.
I have appreciated the efficient and considerate way in which Emily
Russell, Carmel Kennedy and their colleagues at Palgrave Macmillan
have smoothed the path of my book though the production maze.
I have dedicated this book to my daughter-in-law, Katharine, and
grandson, Lewis, both of whom have entered into and enriched my life
since the publication of my last book in 2003. As always, I am deeply
grateful to Sandra, my wife, not only for her constant encouragement
and support but also for the research assistance she provided by work-
ing for many hours with me in French archives – the breaks for lunch
of just fifteen or so minutes by the drinks machines in the foyers of vari-
ous Archives départementales were, I believe, atoned for later by leisurely
dinners in excellent restaurants.

Cambridge, UK Alan R.H. Baker

 Contents

1 Sociability and Fraternity 1

2 Musical Societies 27

3 Sports Clubs 157

4 Conclusions and Conjectures 283

Bibliography 319

Index 341

ix
 List of Figures

Fig. 1.1 Departments of France in 1900 20

Fig. 2.1 Musical societies 1867 34
Fig. 2.2 Choral societies 1878 35
Fig. 2.3 Instrumental societies 1878 36
Fig. 2.4 Musical societies 1900 37
Fig. 2.5 Band leading a street parade on Ash Wednesday
in Oucques-la-Joyeuse (L-et-C) c. 1900 123
Fig. 2.6 The Union musicale of Lamotte-Beuvron
(L-et-C) c.1900 125
Fig. 3.1 Shooting clubs 1916 173
Fig. 3.2 Gymnastic clubs of the Union des sociétés de
gymnastique de France 1914 174
Fig. 3.3 Cycling clubs 1895 175
Fig. 3.4 Cycling clubs 1909 176
Fig. 3.5 Pigeon clubs 1890 180
Fig. 3.6 Angling clubs 1911 200
Fig. 3.7 Gymnastic clubs at Mer (L-et-C) c.1911 245
Fig. 3.8 Anglers parading at a fishing competition
in Beaugency (Loiret) in 1870 261

xi
 CHAPTER 1

Sociability and Fraternity

The Conceptual Context

Today in France there are more than 800,000 voluntary, not-for-profit,
recreational associations operating under the Law of Association of
1901. But even in 1900 there were more than 45,000 such associations,
of which almost one-third were musical societies or sports clubs.1 This
study explores the history, geography and cultural significance of these
two sets of associations between 1848 and 1914. In effect, it unearths
the roots of today’s amateur musical and sporting life in provincial
France. It uses unpublished archives from 11 widely separated regions.
Fundamentally an empirical study, its theoretical underpinnings are the
historical and sociological concept of sociability and the revolutionary
concept of fraternity.

Sociability
The groundwork for studies of the history and geography of sociability
was laid by Maurice Agulhon in essays building on his investigations into
the political and cultural life of Provence particularly but of France gen-
erally from the late-eighteenth century to the mid-nineteenth century.
Agulhon believed that political historians had focused on secret societies,
religious historians on confréries or congrégations, and labour historians
on compagnonnages or mutual aid societies. He argued the need for stud-
ies of the wider range of voluntary associations that developed in France

© The Author(s) 2017 1

A.R.H. Baker, Amateur Musical Societies and Sports Clubs in
Provincial France, 1848–1914, DOI 10.1007/978-3-319-57993-1_1
2 A.R.H. Baker

during the nineteenth century, and for investigations into their increas-
ing number, diversity and liberalisation. Agulhon’s work was essentially
empirical, undertaken without reference to the general and theoretical
literature on voluntary associations. Significantly, however, he situated
such associations within the broader concept of ‘sociability’. On the basis
of detailed studies of religious groupings (confréries and pénitants) and
of freemasons in Provence, of cercles in France as a whole, and of popu-
lar sociability in the department of Var, Agulhon advanced some general
ideas and perspectives about the development of sociability in France
since the end of the eighteenth century.2 Those ideas both raise ques-
tions and are themselves questionable when employed as a springboard
for a study of recreational associations in nineteenth-century France.
For Agulhon, ‘sociability’ is a broad concept embracing the whole
range of interactive social activity among individuals at scales intermedi-
ate between those of the family and the State. He employs it both as a
philosophical and sociological concept and as an expression of collective
psychology. It encompasses both informal and formal socialising, spon-
taneous gatherings as well as institutionalised groupings. The concept
includes both ‘traditional’ and ‘modern’ forms while recognising both
continuities and changes in the forms of sociability in France during
the nineteenth century. Traditional forms tended to be associated with
work (such as groups of seasonal harvesters or occasional get-togethers
by farmers to undertake major tasks, such as constructing barns), with
leisure (such as the veillées, gatherings of family and neighbours on win-
ter evenings, or the jeunesses, informal groupings of the young men
of a commune for fun and games, or the chambrées, social gatherings
for drinking, playing cards, singing and conversing), and with religion
(such as the confréries of devotion and charity). Whereas most tradi-
tional sociability was informal, the nineteenth century witnessed the
growth of formal sociability, of its institutionalisation into societies and
associations (such as mutual aid societies, agricultural syndicates and
musical societies).
Agulhon suggested three organising frameworks for studying the
sociability of an association: its internal relations, its specific activities,
and its place within the entire complexity of organised local life. He was
acutely sensitive to regional contrasts in sociability, to its changing char-
acter through time, and to its variation in form from one social level to
another. He moved inductively towards a history of sociability rather than
deductively from a theory of sociability. He has, in effect, put forward a
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 3

compelling case for both a cultural history and a cultural geography—in

effect, for an historical cultural geography—of sociability.3 That is what
this present study offers in relation to amateur musical societies and sports
clubs in France between 1848 and 1914.
The concept of sociability as elaborated by Agulhon has not been
without its critics. For example, Jean-Claude Chamberon argued that
the concept needed to be more precisely defined, so that its practical
expressions could be more readily identified and studied. He advocated
restricting study to that of institutionalised sociability, a readily identifi-
able form. He also argued that analysis of the functions of associations
needed to be broadened away from seeing them as meeting a basic
human need for sociability—products of a mythical homo sociologicus—
to include a view of both informal and institutionalised sociability as an
integral component of the history of politicisation and social control.4
Etienne François and Rolf Reichardt made similar points in their review
of sociability in France between the mid-eighteenth century and the mid-
nineteenth century. Dissatisfied with both historical usages of ‘sociability’
and with Agulhon’s somewhat vague portrayal of it, they employed the
term to include the forms, functions, structures and processes of sociali-
sation and interaction across the whole field of social practices intermedi-
ate between the family and the State’s public authorities.5 Summarising a
colloquium on the structures of sociability and society, Guy Lemarchand
stressed that the structures of sociability—defined as informal or institu-
tionalised groupings with given durations which regularly bring together
individuals—emphasise both the unity of a group (as individuals exercis-
ing their freedom of association) and its distinction from other groups.6
François and Reichardt also noted with regret the paucity of studies
extending the work of Agulhon—as did Agulhon himself when offering
a laudatory preface to Annie Grange’s study of associations in just one
arrondissement in the Beaujolais (Rhône) between 1850 and 1914. He
recognised that those histories of sociability in France that had been pro-
duced employed different chronological and classificatory frameworks,
and so were not strictly comparable.7
My study uses Agulhon’s concept of sociability as its starting point. It
seems that the term sociabilité was introduced into French thought in the
late-seventeenth century, becoming integral to the Enlightenment debate
about the extent to which a person is an individual or a social being. Its
use in French publications steadily increased until the mid-nineteenth
century but thereafter declined until the mid-1880s, after which its use
4 A.R.H. Baker

rose slightly up to 1914. There was no discernible surge in its use in the
years leading up to and during the French Revolution. There was, unsur-
prisingly, such a surge in the use of the 1789 revolutionary slogans of
Liberté and Égalité—but both before the Revolutionary period (from
1750) and afterwards (to 1914) there was a relatively steady, rather than
violently fluctuating use of these two terms. By contrast, use of the third
word in what became the French national triad—Fraternité—showed
only a small increase during the Revolutionary period, followed by a
decline and only slow recovery until it peaked dramatically in the 1840s,
before declining just as dramatically and then stabilising from the 1860s
at just above its level in the early 1840s. From the 1860s, solidarité grad-
ually replaced fraternité as a key term in French thinking and writing,
while the republican Jules Ferry declared in 1876 that ‘sociability’ was
simply the scientific term for ‘fraternity’.8 This present study goes beyond
Agulhon’s concept of sociability to consider the significance of the con-
temporary concepts of fraternity and solidarity for the historical geogra-
phy of voluntary associations in France between 1848 and 1914.

Fraternity
Political discourse in France during the eighteenth and nineteenth cen-
turies revolved to a great extent around the relations between individ-
uals and the society of which they were a part. Its examination of the
relations between the individual and the State structured the ideological
context within which organised groups of individuals could come into
existence and function. In the eighteenth century, thinkers of the lib-
eral democratic school like Jean-Jacques Rousseau gave primacy to the
individual over the group and viewed intermediary bodies with hostil-
ity, arguing that such partial societies could impede the full expression of
the general will and the solidity of the State (although Rousseau made
an exception for recreational associations because they were purely pri-
vate in nature and based on friendship, on a fraternity which was a non-
contractual bond).9 The Revolution of 1789 was a celebration of the
rights and freedom of the individual. But, as Mona Ozouf has pointed
out, the republican motto ‘Liberty, Equality, Fraternity’ was never fully
institutionalised at any point during that Revolution. The nature of these
three concepts, the problematic contradictions among them, and their
practical applications were much debated in the 1790s and through-
out the nineteenth century. There was, in particular, the fundamental
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 5

distinction between ‘Fraternity’ on the one hand and ‘Liberty and

Equality’ on the other hand. Fraternity was of a different order, an order
of duties rather than rights, of community rather than individuality. The
word ‘fraternity’—and thus the concept of fraternity—was not included
in the Declaration of the Rights of Man and the Citizen in 1789, nor
in the Jacobin Declaration of Rights in 1793, nor in any pronounce-
ments during the Revolution of 1830. The period from 1830 to 1851
has been described as ‘the Springtime of Fraternity’, and it was not until
the Revolution of 1848 that ‘Fraternity’ was formally grafted onto the
national slogan.10
Fraternity and freedom of association became central issues in the
debate among French intellectuals about how society might best be
organised. Throughout the nineteenth century, as Robert Tombs has
emphasised, ‘religious, political and social prophets jostled each other
to preach their creeds’, fundamentally exploring how to reconcile the
­relations of individuals to each other and to the State. The concept of
fraternity was seen by some—be they utopians, political theorists, poli-
ticians or religious thinkers—as being constrained by that of liberty
and led them to regard individualism with suspicion. Individualism
came to be denounced by traditionalists, socialists and nationalists.11
As described by Claire White, ‘the objection that the revolutionary
ideal fraternité had been sacrificed to an uncontrolled pursuit of eco-
nomic liberty framed much socialist and radical republican discourse in
the early decades of the nineteenth century’.12 Among the most influ-
ential social philosophers advocating fraternity and co-operation rather
than individualism and competition were Henri Saint-Simon (1760–
1825), Charles Fourier (1772–1837) and Etienne Cabet (1788–1856).
Together with other utopians, they contributed significantly to the dis-
course of fraternity and association—to what William Sewell has called
‘the idiom of association’—during the first half of the nineteenth cen-
tury.13 Although they were discredited as a nascent political movement
by the failure of the Second Republic (1848–1852), their ideology
underpinned the continuing debate about the nature of society during
the second half of the nineteenth century.14 As a concept for debate, fra-
ternity came to be replaced during the closing decades of the nineteenth
century and the opening decade of the twentieth century by the idea of
solidarity. Whereas the 1789 Revolution had asserted that change should
be effected only by State intervention or by the actions of individuals,
the sociologist Emile Durkheim (1858–1917) argued that ‘a nation
6 A.R.H. Baker

can be maintained only if, between the State and the individual, there is
intercalated a whole series of secondary groups near enough to the indi-
viduals to attract them strongly in their sphere of action and drag them,
in this way, into the general torrent of social life’.15 Political theorists
like Pierre Leroux (1797–1891), Eugène Fournier (1857–1914) and
Léon Bourgeois (1851–1925) reworked the concept of fraternity into
one of solidarity, solidarism and socialism. The Radical party—which
was to be the largest single political party in France from 1902 until
1936—adopted this version of fraternity as its central doctrine.
The idea of fraternity was thus an evolving concept in nineteenth-cen-
tury France. It came to be incorporated into the traditional, paternalistic,
social order envisaged by the Catholic Church as well as into the modern,
utopian visions presented by republicans, socialists and nationalists.16 The
idea of fraternity was complex. Its practical applications were potentially
numerous. I aim to explore some of the ways in which the theoretical
concept found practical expression in a range of voluntary associations.
My concern is the extent to which, and the ways in which, the general
concept of fraternity was translated into some specific, institutionalised,
social forms. The concept of fraternity, the spirit of association, seeded
in the eighteenth century by Enlightenment thinkers and then uprooted
by the 1789 Revolution and its aftermath, was to be replanted by a vari-
ety of social theorists from the 1830s onwards.17 The changing legisla-
tion affecting the relations between individuals and society reflected that
development.

The Legal Framework

During the early nineteenth century, a discourse which prioritised the
liberty and equality of individuals provided governments fearful of non-
conforming and potentially revolutionary forces with a ready-made jus-
tification for controlling, even repressing, associations. Corporations
were suppressed and all kinds of professional associations prohibited by
laws passed in 1791 and 1795. Gradually, the State’s grip on associations
was tightened. The Penal Code of 1810 ruled that no association with
more than 20 members which aimed to meet daily or on regular, spec-
ified, days for religious, political, literary or indeed any other purposes
could be established without government approval and without agree-
ing to conditions laid down by the public authorities. This legal control
was strengthened in 1834 by a law which provided that Article 291 of
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 7

the Penal Code of 1810 would apply to associations of more than 20

members even if they were broken down into sections each with less than
that number and even if they did not meet daily or on regular, specified,
days. In addition, penalties for breaking the law were increased and made
applicable not only to the officers of an association but to all of its mem-
bers. Furthermore, charges would henceforth be heard not by local juries
(considered to be unduly sympathetic and too prone to acquit those
against whom charges had been brought) but by more-detached depart-
ment courts.
Not until the Revolution of 1848 did the climate for associations
begin to ameliorate. The Constitution of 4 November 1848 declared,
for the first time, the principle of freedom of association: Article 8 stated
that citizens had a right to associate which could only be limited when its
exercise infringed either the liberty of another individual or public order.
Thus, the new freedom of association was not total but legally bounded.
Agitations by newly-formed political clubs were countered by a new Law
of 19 June 1849 empowering pubic authorities to ban clubs and other
associations which could be considered to be potential threats to public
order. The Second Empire re-imposed an authoritarian legal framework
on associations. A decree of 8 December 1851 provided for transporta-
tion to a penal colony of any person found guilty of belonging to an ille-
gal, secret, society, and that of 25 March 1852 required all associations
to seek prior approval for their formation. This firm control was relaxed
only slowly and it was not until 1868 that professional associations were
again legally authorised. It was not until the 1870s, with the installation
of the Third Republic, that the legal standing of associations improved
step-by-step, significantly and permanently. The Law of 12 July 1875
declared that Article 291 of the Penal Code of 1810 was not applica-
ble to associations founded in connection with courses or institutions of
higher education. Then the Law of 21/22 March 1884 authorised the
formation of unions and other professional associations, even if they had
more than 20 members—but they were still required to undergo screen-
ing and to seek prior approval from the authorities. A liberal republican
desire to introduce freedom of association in full measure was countered
by an equally strong republican wish to control religious associations.
Not until 1 July 1901 was a law passed which annulled Article 291 (and
associated Articles) of the Penal Code and replaced a requirement for
prior authorisation by that of freedom of association by simple declara-
tion to the public authorities. From 1901, associations could be formed
8 A.R.H. Baker

freely, needing to be reported to the authorities but no longer needing

their prior approval.18

The Empirical Context

Building on a Study of Peasant Associations

This present study is erected on and extends my previous study of work-
related associations in the Loire Valley during the nineteenth century.
That focussed on the volunteer fire brigades which developed from the
early 1800s; mutual aid societies and livestock insurance societies from
the 1840s; and agricultural, anti-phylloxera and threshing syndicates from
the 1880s. Analysis of their historical development and spatial diffusion,
of their organisation and operation, and of their cultural significance
emphasised both their local diversity and their general characteristics. It
interpreted those voluntary associations as new ways in which rural com-
munities sought to manage risks to their physical well-being and to their
property and thus to their livelihoods, indeed to their survival. Their
underlying premise was expressed in the motto of the livestock insurance
society of Droué (L-et-C) founded in 1899: ‘L’Union fait la force, aid-
ons-nous les uns les autres’. The formation of such work-related voluntary
associations reflected an increasing confidence in ‘modern’, rational, secu-
lar insurance and a decreasing faith in ‘traditional’, religious, assurance for
the management of risks. Such fraternal associations provided their mem-
bers with both material advantages and sociability.19
But such an interpretation cannot be generalised across all voluntary
associations. There is a fundamental distinction between ‘instrumental’
and ‘expressive’ social groups: the former focus their activities upon the
wider society in order to bring about a situation within a limited field
of the social order which will be of benefit to their members, while the
latter exist in order to express or satisfy specific interests which mem-
bers have in relation to themselves.20 A risk management interpreta-
tion might be applicable to many ‘instrumental’ groups; it cannot,
however, be appropriately applied to ‘expressive’ associations that are
unrelated to work, to earning a livelihood, but related instead to the
use of work-free or leisure time. While many associations in nineteenth-
century France were ‘instrumental’, being related directly to their
members’ standard of living, to protecting and enhancing their mate-
rial ­conditions, others were not. Did the light of fraternity shine more
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 9

brightly, was the concept of fraternity purer, in ‘expressive’ associations

serving not the material needs but the non-material desires of their
members? This present study explores this question by examining ama-
teur musical societies and sports clubs as sites of sociability not just in
one pays, such as the Loire Valley, but in provincial France as a whole.
It is not my intention, however, to produce ‘total historical geogra-
phies’ of music and sport in France between 1848 and 1914. My focus
is not on music and sport per se but on the histories, geographies and
cultural significance of the associations which engaged with musical and
sporting practices and performances. Music and sport are viewed here
as means rather than ends, while the associations are viewed from the
bridge which osculates their histories and geographies.21

Amateur Musical Societies

Within the enormous open field of published research on the history of
music in France during the nineteenth century there are surprisingly few
parcels devoted to amateur musical societies. The standard work remains
that of Danièle Pistone, published almost 40 years ago. It provided a val-
uable overview of music in France from 1789 to 1900, based principally
on printed books and journals from that period. It focused on the char-
acter of French music. Pistone’s treatment of amateur musical societies
was cursory, principally noting that they first emerged in the 1830s and
had increased by 1867, according to a contemporary observer, to 3243,
with concentrations in the departments of Nord, Bouches-du-Rhône and
Seine. Her account of vocal music concentrated on theatrical and oper-
atic performances, on the types of songs performed. When she turned
to instrumental music, Pistone discussed the development of a range
of string, wind and percussion instruments and different types of music
(chamber, symphonic, dance, military and religious). She devoted only a
few sentences to amateur bands—fanfares and harmonies—noting their
significant growth in the 1860s and the important role of musical com-
petitions in sustaining their development.22 In 1985 Michel Faure pro-
vided a Marxist perspective on the relations between music and society
in France from the 1850s to the 1920s. His focus was on musical com-
position, mentalités and sensibilities. He made some intriguing points,
such as the incorporation of traditional songs, and of references to mod-
ern sports such as gymnastics and tennis, into new compositions. He
also emphasised the extent to which new musical compositions, by, for
10 A.R.H. Baker

example, Saint-Sëns and Debussy, reflected the desire of the bourgeoisie

to reduce the power of the Church and to challenge conventional sexual
morality. But Faure was much more concerned with musical composi-
tions and composers and their reception by the passive bourgeoisie than
he was with active vocalists and instrumentalists. It is perhaps surprising
that as a Marxist he made no reference at all to the role of music societies
in the popularisation and democratisation of musical performances.23
Two recent, massive volumes provide magisterial overviews of nine-
teenth-century music, one specifically on France and the other free-
ranging geographically. The former, Joël-Marie Fauquet’s dictionary
of music in nineteenth-century France, published in 2003, includes a
very brief entry on associations (mainly noting their legal framework)
and a one-page entry on orphéons (mainly outlining the history of ama-
teur choirs and bands and describing the 1850s as marking their apo-
gee).24 In the latter, Jim Samson’s edited collection of general essays on
nineteenth-century music in the Western tradition, published in 2001,
John Butt’s survey of choral music notes that ‘the French system of ama-
teur choral societies began in the 1830s’ and Katharine Ellis’ dissection
of the structures of musical life notes that male voice choirs and wind
and brass bands ‘flourished right across France in the second half of the
nineteenth century’, that the population of a small French town could
double when hosting a music festival whose organisers ‘routinely cited
the “spirit of association” and the promotion of fraternity as the civilis-
ing forces underpinning the male-voice choir and brass band movement’.
Such dilution of their musical rationale, according to Ellis, ‘rendered
them vulnerable to disparagement as healthy recreations of merely
social import’.25 In her more recent contribution to The Cambridge
Companion to French Music, published in 2015, Ellis reviews music in
Paris and in the provinces. She stresses that ‘research on [the music of]
regional France is so young that it does not lend itself easily to attempts
at synthesis. It remains… characterised by minute attention to a single
town, a single institution, a narrowly chronological period or a single
musical society.’ Ellis focuses on Catholic church music, on secular musi-
cal education, and on music for the stage and concerts. Within a brief
treatment of amateur choirs and bands, she says they came to cover
France during the second half of the nineteenth century but emphasises
their origins in social, rather than musical, regeneration, their concern
with the moral improvement of working men (and not women).26 Ellis
draws upon a paragraph in the essay by David Looseley, in the same
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 11

volume as hers, on popular music which asserts that musical societies

(orphéons) were ‘invented in the 1820s to educate, socialise and improve
the morals of the people by offering them a musical apprenticeship
and an outlet for collective endeavour’. Looseley argues that although
they were primarily individual initiatives by a school, factory or ex-army
­musician, orphéons were usually supported by the local mayor because
of their perceived civic and ideological stabilising benefits in politically
­turbulent times.27
These brief references demonstrate that choirs and bands have not fea-
tured largely in overviews of musical life in France during the nineteenth
century. They were addressed at greater length, however, and in more
depth, in a pioneering article by Paul Gerbod published in 1980. Gerbod
sketched the history of choral and instrumental societies in France
between 1800 and 1939, focussing on their historical development and
their geographical distribution and on their social structures and cul-
tural impacts. Gerbod’s paper remains the principal foundation stone
for studies in this field. But his total reliance on printed sources (books,
newspapers and specialist musical journals) as well as his broad historical
and geographical compass meant that while Gerbod provided an excel-
lent sketch of the landscape of musical societies his account lacked the
detail—and thus the full understanding—that can only be derived from
an analysis of unpublished sources at the local and regional levels.28
The role of musical societies as part of French popular culture has
received much less, and less close, attention than has music as élite cul-
ture, which embraces, for example, composers and compositions, con-
servatoires and music teaching, musical genres and instruments, and opera
and symphonic concerts.29 Two studies of amateur musical societies are
therefore especially significant. That published in 2001 as a second edi-
tion (following initial publication in 1987) by Philippe Gumplowicz
surveys choral and instrumental societies in France from 1820 to 2000
and asserts proudly and rightly that it is the first such study since the
1910 monograph on orphéons by Henri Maréchal and Gabriel Parès.
Gumplowicz’s approach is unconventional but ultimately unsatisfactory.
It is fundamentally chronological, but each chapter consists mainly of a
series of unrelated case studies. His book provides a mass of exemplary
detail, often presented in the form of brief notes, but not a coherent nar-
rative or assessment of musical societies. It is thus both an admirable and
a frustrating treatment of the topic.30 By contrast, Jérôme Cambon’s
monograph on the bands (harmonies and fanfares) of Anjou during the
12 A.R.H. Baker

period of the Third Republic is a stimulating account. Using unpub-

lished sources, he examines in detail the instrumental musical society
movement of Maine-et-Loire from the 1870s to the early 1900s, exam-
ining its economic, social and political contexts and impacts as well as
the society’s human and material resources. This is an outstanding
monograph which should serve as a model for similar studies that could
be conducted for the other departments of France for which adequate
archives might be available.31
This brief survey of the literature on amateur musical societies in
nineteenth-century France indicates that the field, although by no means
uncultivated, lies relatively neglected. This remains the case even when
more restricted adventures into it are also acknowledged. Studies of
music societies in limited localities or regions, and/or in limited time
periods, and/or restricted to specific societies published as articles add
some detail to the general picture. These, together with the general
overviews, constitute the context for this present study.

Amateur Sports Clubs

The literature on the history of sport in the nineteenth century is vast.
Histories of sport in France have burgeoned during the last 30 or so
years. A pioneering work was published in 1982 by a British historian—
Richard Holt—on sport and society in France from the mid-nineteenth
century to the mid-twentieth century.32 Subsequently, French histori-
ans have researched sports intensively, ranging from athletics and cycling
through football, gymnastics and horse racing to tennis and rugby, tak-
ing in other ‘second division’ sports on the way, including boxing, fenc-
ing, ice-skating, and swimming. Researches have been conducted at
local, regional and national scales. Individually and collectively, sports
have been analysed in terms of the political, religious, medical and mil-
itaristic ideologies that underpinned them and of the class and gender
structures they reflected. They have been examined sociologically in
terms of their memberships and organisation, culturally in terms of their
role as public spectacle, and iconographically in terms of the contribution
of their stadia to the built environment.
At the national scale, there have been some notable overviews.
Richard Holt’s book provided case studies of game shooting and hunt-
ing, of gymnastics, of football and rugby, of cycling, and of bullfight-
ing and cockfighting. He raised some key questions, and provided some
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 13

preliminary answers, about the tradition of violence and aggression in

French sport, about the relations of sport and sociability, of sport and
social class, and of sport and politics. In subsequent papers Holt exam-
ined the English influences on French sport between 1870 and 1914,
notably in the development of rugby, football, athletics and gymnas-
tics.33 The second significant cultivation of this field was Pierre Arnaud’s
1986 doctorat d’État for the University of Lyon on the history of sport
and gymnastics in the modern French educational system. Arnaud went
on to establish a new journal on the history of sport, Sport histoire,
devoted mainly, but not exclusively, to France. His work has been the
mainspring powering research into the history of sport in France. In
1986, he co-edited and then, in 1987, edited major collections of essays.
The concept of sociabilité as nurtured by Agulhon was adopted as the
main theme of the first issue of Sport histoire in 1988 as it had been also
in 1986 in Arnaud and J. Camy’s edited essays on La naissance du mou-
vement sportif associatif en France: sociabilités et formes de pratiques spor-
tives. The concept had underpinned some of the essays Arnaud edited
in 1987 as Les athlètes de la République: gymnastique, sport et idéologie
républicaine 1880–1914. But Holt, in his perceptive review of these two
works, noted that their underlying theme of sociability was ultimately
outweighed by the emphasis given to sport as a vehicle for the transmis-
sion of political ideology—republican, clerical or socialist.34
Similarly, for other historians the role of sport as a vehicle for carry-
ing ideological messages—be they political or religious—came to be
more important than that of sociability. Sport came to be regarded essen-
tially as a means of recruiting young men into rival ideological camps—
broadly, republican and Catholic. Sports clubs came to be viewed as
elements of a national debate about identity and as a paramilitary means
of responding to the defeat of 1871 and of facing the renewed German
threat. A synthesis of the literature on sport in France from 1870 to
1940, published in 1987, addressed its promoters (the army, teachers,
doctors, an Anglophile élite, the Church, public authorities, workers’
organisations, and factory owners) and participants (aristocrats, the bour-
geoisie and ultimately working men). Its authors considered the politi-
cal and economic contexts in which sport developed, emphasising its
integration into the national society of the Third Republic.35 This work,
prepared before Arnaud’s researches had had time to have any impact,
provided an admirable overview at a general level but was soon surpassed
by what one might call ‘the Arnaud School’ of French sport history.
14 A.R.H. Baker

Surprisingly, Arnaud was not a contributor to Ronald Hubscher’s edited

essays on sport in French society during the nineteenth and twentieth
centuries, but his works had more entries in that book’s bibliography
than did those of any other author. This volume covered thematically
almost every conceivable aspect of the histories, geographies and cul-
tures of French sport and included a chapter by Hubscher on the role
of sociability in sport. Another overview of the literature on the history
of French sport from the Second Empire to the Vichy régime is the col-
lection of 15 essays edited by Philippe Tétart. This volume, published in
2007, is an excellent synthesis of the topic, using a loosely chronological
framework for discussions of some key themes—for example, the English
impact on the modernisation of French sport, the roles of Catholic and
socialist sports federations, the links of sports to nationalism, and the
development of sports media. Alex Poyer’s essay on the institutionalisa-
tion of sport between 1880 and 1914 addresses the issue of sociability; it
does so in only 6 of the book’s 400 pages, but it questions the extent to
which sports clubs transformed the practice of sociability, both drawing
on traditional modes and creating new ones, given that sports societies
relied on rational and explicit rules of discipline rather than on custom-
ary, historical, cultural codes of behaviour.36
Some single-authored studies provide informative, brief, sketches
of the history of French sport in the nineteenth and twentieth centu-
ries. Dominique Lejeune’s succinct synthesis of the published literature
emphasises the controversial and complex character of sport, dissecting
what he terms the mentalité sportive to which many currents of thought
contributed—including medical and educational thinking, political and
religious ideologies, patriotic and commercial impulses, and ideas about
amateurism and professionalism. Georges Vigarello briefly charts the
transition in France from ‘games’ under the Ancien Régime through the
invention of ‘sports’ in the nineteenth century to sport as mass public,
theatrical, spectacle in the twentieth century, dominated by commer-
cial issues and media reports of doping, cheating and corruption. For
Vigarello, sport moved its central concern during that time away from
active participants to passive spectators.37 In addition to these national
surveys, there are some—but surprisingly few—book-length regional
histories. The best known to me is that by Jean-Claude Gaugain on
games, gymnastics and sports in the department of Var between 1860
and 1940. It is explicitly a study of sport from the bottom up, from
the point of view of its participants and not from the perspective of its
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 15

promoters—and especially not of national and international federa-

tions. Although studying the department in relation to which Maurice
Agulhon developed the concept of sociability as a research framework,
Gaugain makes little reference to sociability and then principally to con-
sider the extent to which the sociability of sports clubs in Var involved
mixed nationalities (to include especially Italian or English local residents
as members) or were open to both men and women.38
Two other, thematic, approaches to the history of sport are those
which focus upon its promoters and those which focus upon a particular
sport. For example, Fabien Grœninger analyses the role of the Catholic
Fédération des patronages de France, founded in 1898, as one means of
recruiting young people first to the Church and, secondly, to France.39
Cycling has been the subject of two outstanding studies. Alex Poyer’s
stimulating study of the development and diffusion of cycling clubs in
France between 1867 and 1914 acknowledges its debt to Agulhon’s con-
cept of sociabilité by adopting the three organising frameworks, previously
noted, that Agulhon suggested. Poyer thus considers in particular both
what he terms ‘the competitive fraternity’ of a club’s own races as well as
of inter-club races, and the non-cycling conviviality and solidarity enjoyed
by club members. Poyer’s treatment here, albeit brief, is close to the con-
cern of this present study.40 Hugh Dauncey’s social and cultural history of
French cycling from the mid-nineteenth to the early-twentyfirst century is
a brilliant tour d’horizon of the topic and a very impressive synthesis of its
vast published literature (its bibliography lists about 400 items). Dauncey
takes ‘leisure, sport, industry, utility and identity’ as his major themes. He
sees cycling clubs as a key driver of the rise of sports in late-nineteenth
century France and asserts—mistakenly, as will be shown later—that
approval by public authorities of proposals to establish cycling clubs ‘was
usually a formality’. He recognises the positive aspects of sociability inte-
gral to such clubs while emphasising that it only involved women mar-
ginally, if at all. He addresses the economic and technological contexts
within which cycling and cycling clubs developed and notes the tensions
which emerged among cycling federations. But Dauncey’s focus on the
national picture understandably means that he has little to say about the
internal relations of local societies which might have reflected to varying
degrees broader ideological conflicts.41 A number of other studies have
shown that political and religious differences were undercurrents in the
development of association football and rugby football—as a general-
ity, the former being promoted notably by the Catholic priests in their
16 A.R.H. Baker

patronages and the latter by anti-clerical teachers in their lycées and écoles
normales.42
Collectively, burgeoning studies of French sport during the last 30 or
so years have illuminated its history, geography and cultural significance
for the nation. Many studies have relied largely on published sources—
notably newspapers, sports journals and memoirs of sportsmen—and
have addressed the national situation. Relatively few have utilised the
vast deposits of unpublished archives of local sports clubs. Despite the
considerable progress made in the history of sport in France during the
nineteenth century, there remains much to be done both at the regional
and local levels and at teasing out the impact of the Revolutionary con-
cept of fraternity on the development and character of sports clubs. The
histories of sports clubs and of musical societies in nineteenth-century
France have unquestionably been researched more intensively during
recent decades. Even so, in 2007 Rosanvallon argued in his magisterial
survey of civil society in France since the Revolution of 1789 that broad
overviews of the subject were lacking, that too few specific studies had
been produced, and that the geographical distribution of associations in
the nineteenth century ‘is unknown’. He also argued that ‘owing to the
virtual absence of departmental monographs, it is impossible compare
the local histories of the various types of associations across regions’.43
The pictures that we have today of recreational associations are in sharper
focus than previously. Nonetheless, there are two justifications for this
present study. First, earlier studies have not foregrounded the concepts
of fraternity and sociability in their analyses and interpretations in the
way essayed here. Second, most previous studies have been based largely
on published materials rather than on unpublished archives. My study is
based on massive—and massively neglected—primary sources. It engages
closely with the actors in, as well as the observers of, musical societies
and sports clubs.

Sources
Throughout much of the nineteenth century, the French State’s fear
of social disorder engendered suspicion of intermediary bodies and led
to their monitoring by local, regional and national authorities. On 14
February 1885, the mayor of Carvin (P-de-C), M. Charles Maggio,
expressed in a letter to the sub-prefect of Béthune his concern about
being asked for his opinion on a proposal to form a choral society in the
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 17

town. It was to be a choir composed entirely of churchgoers (cléricaux).

M. Maggio said that it might be that the proposed choir wanted simply
to bring together people to sing to praise the Lord and to encourage
other people to visit Holy places to hear their singing. They might also
want to make clerical influences more powerful and more effective. As
for les cléricaux, he argued that if they wanted to sing in their church,
why stop them? Their singing could only annoy those who chose to hear
it, and everyone could choose whether or not to go to Mass. M. Maggio
explained that he was not defending clericalism per se—he believed that
religious debates were based on shallow thinking but those participating
in them had the right to make mistakes, and in any case, they harmed
only themselves and not others. He argued that all citizens should be
allowed to associate for whatever purpose pleased them. Furthermore, he
considered the government of France to be far too timid in such matters,
especially when compared with the right of full association as practised in
Switzerland, England and the United States of America. Furthermore,
the mayor insisted that all people of good sense would deplore so much
paper-work and form-filling being required, for example, for the moni-
toring of pigeon-racing clubs, instead of more serious matters.44
Close monitoring of voluntary associations by central and local
authorities in France during the nineteenth century gave rise to consider-
able documentation, of benefit today to historians even if in times past
a burden to those responsible for administering the societies. Central
governments of all political persuasions worked within the framework
provided by the Penal Code of 1810 and its modification in 1834 to
control the formation and functioning of local associations. This moni-
toring process produced two sets of documents: correspondence and
reports about individual associations, and surveys and censuses of spe-
cific sets of associations, or indeed of all associations, in a department
on particular dates. At one end of this administrative spectrum were the
officers of a putative or existing society, at the other end a government
minister and his officials in Paris. In between, and closely involved in the
founding and monitoring of associations, were local councillors, mayors,
sub-prefects and prefects as well as, when judged by such officials to be
warranted by circumstances, the police or school inspectors. The enor-
mity of the volume of documents produced by these agents is no doubt
one reason why many studies of musical societies and sports clubs in the
nineteenth century have relied instead on published works from their
study periods—books, newspapers and specialist journals. Paul Gerbod’s
18 A.R.H. Baker

questionable claim that specialist musical publications were not only the
most accessible but also the richest source for histories of musical soci-
eties stemmed from his doubts about not only the reliability but even
the existence of unpublished sources relating to them before 1870.45
Sophie-Anne Letterier’s recent survey of choral societies in nineteenth-
century France relies on published primary and secondary accounts in
the mistaken belief that societies paid little attention to the exact reg-
istration and archiving of their members and activities, ‘which makes it
difficult to study [them].’46 In fact, the record offices of French depart-
ments constitute rich treasure troves of archives relating to voluntary
associations. That such associations flourished across the nineteenth cen-
tury, reflecting French collective sentiment, is well-known but, as Sudhir
Hazareesingh has recently—in 2015—emphasised, their ‘intricate histo-
ries are [only] now beginning to emerge from the dusty archives by the
patient scholarship of local érudits’.47
The enormity of the unpublished sources about associations is not
the only reason for the limited use made of them to date. The surviving
archives have to be used with considerable circumspection. We cannot be
sure that information collected at a local level and forwarded to regional
and national administrators was always accurate in detail and compre-
hensive in coverage. The surviving documentary evidence about associa-
tions, although massive, is incomplete—many records have been lost or
destroyed. Constructing the history and geography of associations is akin
to solving a jigsaw puzzle except that an unknown number of its pieces
are missing and there is no picture of the final product to use as a guide.
Furthermore, the terms used by contemporaries were not always stand-
ardised and employed consistently—the authors of letters and reports
and the compilers of surveys were not all equally informed, efficient and
diligent, so that some records have gaps, others use terms mistakenly or
confusingly. And, of course, the records only relate to associations with
more than 20 members, so that smaller and less formal groups do not
feature in official documentation. For example, in 1859 32 of the 86 vol-
unteer fire brigades recorded in Eure, in Normandy, had bands, but four
had fewer than ten musicians each and 16 had between 10 and 20, so
that only 12 bands required official authorisation and documentation.48
Nonetheless, however challenging they might be, the surviving unpub-
lished sources have the potential to provide detailed information about
voluntary associations in provincial France. They constitute the building
blocks for this study of these institutions in 11 departments.
 1 SOCIABILITY AND FRATERNITY 19

Selected Departments
Maurice Agulhon acknowledged the Herculean difficulty facing any
attempt to produce a national study of even one category of voluntary
association: the fundamental obstacle provided by the holding of the rel-
evant archives in the record offices of 95 departments, to say nothing of
the municipal archives in the 36,000 communes of France.49 This pre-
sent study climbs just the lower slopes of the archival mountain by exam-
ining two sets of voluntary associations in 11 departments between 1848
and 1914 (Fig. 1.1). But how were those 11 selected?
For almost 200 years, both contemporaries and historical observers
of France have commented on the existence and persistence of two cul-
tures geographically, divided by a line joining Saint-Malo and Geneva.
The distinction was described at the end of the eighteenth century by
the English agronomist, Arthur Young, when he identified agricultural
landscapes dominated by open fields in the north and east of France
and by enclosed fields in the south and west. A map portraying the line
between the two, based on Young’s account, was published in 1934
by Roger Dion in his classic Essai sur la formation du paysage rural
­français.50 Statistical pictures of a divided France emerged in the 1820s
and the concept of two distinctive cultural geographies—of an enlight-
ened and modern France and of a backward and traditional France—
has been both adopted and adapted in many subsequent studies. Both
the rhetoric and the reality of two Frances have been subjected to con-
siderable historical analysis and debate.51
Many years ago, when transferring my research interests from medi-
eval England to nineteenth-century France, I believed that ‘cultural
frontier districts’ provided more of a challenge and reward for histori-
cal enquiry than did ‘cultural core areas’. I therefore used Dion’s map
as a guide and selected as my research region the department of Loir-et-
Cher, centred on the town of Blois and straddling the boundary between
the two Frances. I am adopting that broad concept of two Frances as
a guiding framework for this present study. I have selected for investi-
gation one department on the Saint-Malo–Geneva line (Loir-et-Cher),
three to the north and east (Pas-de-Calais, Meurthe-et-Moselle, and
Yonne) and seven in the much larger area to the south and west (Savoie,
Vaucluse, Hérault, Ariège, Cantal, Vienne, and Finistère). These 11 were
selected in the belief that they would provide contrasting histories and
geographies located at differing cultural and physical distances from the
influence of the French capital, Paris.
20 A.R.H. Baker

Fig. 1.1 Departments of France in 1900

Loir-et-Cher, straddling the middle Loire Valley, had its prefecture

at Blois, just over 100 miles from Paris with which it developed good
communications during the nineteenth century by road and rail. The
coastal location of Pas-de-Calais, with its prefecture at Arras, meant
Another random document with
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going out of the gate. Makes me fairly crazy to wait,
fearful I am missing it in not going. This lottery way of
living is painful on the nerves. There are all kinds of
rumors. Even have the story afloat that now the raid
is over that drove us away from Andersonville, we
are going back there to stay during the war. That
would be a joke. However, I stick to my resolution
that the rebels don’t really know themselves where
we are going. They move us because we are not
safe here. They are bewildered. Believing this am in
a comparatively easy state of mind. Still I worry.
Haven’t said a word in a week about my health. Well,
I am convalescing all the time. Still lame, and always
expect to be; can walk very well though, and feeling
lively for an old man.
Nov. 18.—None being taken away to-day, I believe
on account of not getting transportation. Notice that
rebel troops are passing through on the railroad and
immense activity among them. Am now well satisfied
of the correctness of my views as regards this
movement. Have decided now to stay here until the
last. Am getting ready for action however. Believe we
are going to have a warm time of it in the next few
months. Thank fortune I am as well as I am. Can
stand considerable now. Food given us in smaller
quantities, and hurriedly so too. All appears to be in a
hurry. Cloudy, and rather wet weather, and getting
decidedly cooler. My noble old coverlid is kept rolled
up and ready to accompany me on my travels at any
moment. Have my lame and stiff leg in training. Walk
all over the prison until tired out so as to strengthen
myself. Recruiting officers among us trying to induce
prisoners to enter their army. Say it is no exchange
for during the war, and half a dozen desert and go
with them. Even if we are not exchanged during the
war, don’t think we will remain prisoners long.
Nov. 19.—A car load went at about noon, and are
pretty well thinned out. Over half gone—no one
believes to our lines now; all hands afraid of going to
Charleston. Believe I shall try and escape on the
journey, although in no condition to rough it. Am
going to engineer this thing to suit myself and have a
little fun. Would like to be out from under rebel guard
once more. When I can look around and not see a
prison wall and a gun ready to shoot me, I shall
rejoice. Have edged up to another comrade and we
bunk together. Said comrade is Corporal Smith,
belonging to an Indiana regiment. While he is no
great guns, seems quite a sensible chap and a
decided improvement on many here to mess with.
The nights are cool, and a covering of great benefit.
My being the owner of a good blanket makes me a
very desirable comrade to mess with. Two or three
together can keep much warmer than one alone. It is
said that a number of outsiders have escaped and
taken to the woods. Another load goes to-night or
early in the morning. My turn will come pretty soon.
Nothing new in our situation or the prospects ahead.
Food scarce, but of good quality. More go and I go
to-morrow.
Nov. 20.—None as yet gone to-day and it is
already most night. My turn would not come until to-
morrow, and if none go at all to-day I will probably not
get away until about day after to-morrow. Shan’t flank
out, but await my turn and go where fate decrees.
Had a falling out with my companion Smith, and am
again alone walking about the prison with my coverlid
on my shoulders. Am determined that this covering
protects none but thoroughly good and square
fellows. Later.—Going to be a decidedly cold night,
and have “made up” with two fellows to sleep
together. The going away is the all absorbing topic of
conversation. Received for rations this day a very
good allowance of hard-tack and bacon. This is the
first hard-tack received since the trip to
Andersonville, and is quite a luxury. It is so hard that I
have to tack around and soak mine up before I am
able to eat it. There is a joke to this. Will again go to
bed as I have done the last week, thinking every
night would be the last at Camp Lawton.
 Nov. 21.—Got up bright and early, went to the
creek and had a good wash, came back, after a good
walk over the prison, and ate my two large crackers
and small piece of bacon left over from yesterday,
and again ready for whatever may turn up. Lost my
diminutive cake of soap in the water and must again
take to sand to scrub with, until fortune again favors
me. Men are very restless and reckless, uncertainty
making them so. Try my very best not to have any
words or trouble with them, but occasionally get
drawn into it, as I did this morning. Came out solid
however. Is pretty well understood that I can take
care of myself. Noon.—Five hundred getting ready
to go; my turn comes to-morrow, and then we will see
what we will see. Decided rumors that Sherman has
taken Atlanta and is marching toward Savannah, the
heart of the Confederacy. All in good spirits for the
first time in a week.
 ESCAPE BUT NOT ESCAPE.

MOVED FROM CAMP LAWTON AFTER A SOJOURN OF TWENTY

DAYS—DESTINATION BLACKSHEAR, GA.—JUMP OFF THE
CARS AND OUT FROM REBEL GUARD FOR SIX DAYS—A
HUNGRY TIME BUT A GOOD ONE—CAPTURED AND MAKE THE
ACQUAINTANCE OF TWO OTHER RUNAWAYS WITH WHOM I
CAST MY FORTUNES, ETC., ETC.

Nov. 22.—And now my turn has come, and I get off

with the next load going to-day. My trunk is packed
and baggage duly checked; shall try and get a “lay
over” ticket, and rusticate on the road. Will see the
conductor about it. A nice cool day with sun shining
brightly—a fit one for an adventure and I am just the
boy to have one. Coverlid folded up and thrown
across my shoulder, lower end tied as only a soldier
knows how. My three large books of written matter on
the inside of my thick rebel jacket, and fastened in.
Have a small book which I keep at hand to write in
now. My old hat has been exchanged for a red
zouave cap, and I look like a red headed
woodpecker. Leg behaving beautifully. My latest
comrades are James Ready and Bill Somebody. We
have decided to go and keep together on the cars.
One of them has an apology for a blanket, and the
two acting in conjunction keep all three warm nights.
Later.—On the cars, in vicinity of Savannah en-
route for Blackshear, which is pretty well south and
not far from the Florida line. Are very crowded in a
close box car and fearfully warm. Try to get away to-
night.
In the Woods near Doctortown Station, No.
5, Ga., Nov. 23.—A change has come over the spirit
of my dreams. During the night the cars ran very
slow, and sometimes stopped for hours on side
tracks. A very long, tedious night, and all suffered a
great deal with just about standing room only.
Impossible to get any sleep. Two guards at each side
door, which were open about a foot. Guards were
passably decent, although strict. Managed to get
near the door, and during the night talked
considerable with the two guards on the south side of
the car. At about three o’clock this a. m., and after
going over a long bridge which spanned the
Altamaha River and in sight of Doctortown, I went
through the open door like a flash and rolled down a
high embankment. Almost broke my neck, but not
quite. Guard fired a shot at me, but as the cars were
going, though not very fast, did not hit me. Expected
the cars to stop but they did not, and I had the
inexpressible joy of seeing them move off out of
sight. Then crossed the railroad track going north,
went through a large open field and gained the
woods, and am now sitting on the ground leaning up
against a big pine tree and out from under rebel
guard! The sun is beginning to show itself in the east
and it promises to be a fine day. Hardly know what to
do with myself. If those on the train notified
Doctortown people of my escape they will be after
me. Think it was at so early an hour that they might
have gone right through without telling any one of the
jump off. Am happy and hungry and considerably
bruised and scratched up from the escape. The
happiness of being here, however, overbalances
everything else. If I had George Hendryx with me
now would have a jolly time, and mean to have as it
is. Sun is now up and it is warmer; birds chippering
around, and chipmunks looking at me with curiosity.
Can hear hallooing off a mile or so, which sounds like
farmers calling cattle or hogs or something. All nature
smiles—why should not I?—and I do. Keep my eyes
peeled, however, and look all ways for Sunday. Must
work farther back toward what I take to be a swamp
a mile or so away. Am in a rather low country
although apparently a pretty thickly settled one; most
too thickly populated for me, judging from the signs
of the times. It’s now about dinner time, and I have
traveled two or three miles from the railroad track,
should judge and am in the edge of a swampy forest,
although the piece of ground on which I have made
my bed is dry and nice. Something to eat wouldn’t be
a bad thing. Not over sixty rods from where I lay is a
path evidently travelled more or less by negroes
going from one plantation to another. My hope of
food lays by that road. Am watching for passers by.
Later.—A negro boy too young to trust has gone by
singing and whistling, and carrying a bundle and a tin
pail evidently filled with somebody’s dinner. In as
much as I want to enjoy this out-door Gypsy life, I will
not catch and take the dinner away from him. That
would be the height of foolishness. Will lay for the
next one traveling this way. The next one is a dog
and he comes up and looks at me, gives a bark and
scuds off. Can’t eat a dog. Don’t know how it will be
to-morrow though. Might be well enough for him to
come around later. Well, it is most dark and will get
ready to try and sleep. Have broken off spruce
boughs and made a soft bed. Have heard my father
tell of sleeping on a bed of spruce, and it is healthy.
Will try it. Not a crust to eat since yesterday
forenoon. Am educated to this way of living though,
and have been hungryer. Hope the pesky alligators
will let me alone. If they only knew it, I would make a
poor meal for them. Thus closes my first day of
freedom and it is grand. Only hope they may be
many, although I can hardly hope to escape to our
lines, not being in a condition to travel.
Nov. 24.—Another beautiful morning, a repetition
of yesterday, opens up to me. It is particularly
necessary that I procure sustenance wherewith life is
prolonged, and will change my head-quarters to a
little nearer civilization. Can hear some one chopping
not a mile away. Here goes. Later.—Found an old
negro fixing up a dilapidated post and rail fence.
Approached him and enquired the time of day. (My
own watch having run down.) He didn’t happen to
have his gold watch with him, but reckoned it was
nigh time for the horn. Seemed scared at the
apparition that appeared to him, and no wonder.
Forgave him on the spot. Thought it policy to tell him
all about who and what I was, and did so. Was very
timid and afraid, but finally said he would divide his
dinner as soon as it should be sent to him, and for an
hour I lay off a distance of twenty rods or so, waiting
for that dinner. It finally came, brought by the same
boy I saw go along yesterday. Boy sat down the pail
and the old darkey told him to scamper off home—
which he did. Then we had dinner of rice, cold yams
and fried bacon. It was a glorious repast, and I
succeeded in getting quite well acquainted with him.
We are on the Bowden plantation and he belongs to
a family of that name. Is very fearful of helping me as
his master is a strong Secesh., and he says would
whip him within an inch of his life if it was known.
Promise him not to be seen by any one and he has
promised to get me something more to eat after it
gets dark. Later.—After my noonday meal went
back toward the low ground and waited for my
supper, which came half an hour ago and it is not yet
dark. Had a good supper of boiled seasoned turnips,
corn bread and sour milk, the first milk I have had in
about a year. Begs me to go off in the morning, which
I have promised to do. Says for me to go two or three
miles on to another plantation owned by LeCleye,
where there are good negroes who will feed me.
Thanked the old fellow for his kindness. Says the war
is about over and the Yanks expected to free them all
soon. It’s getting pretty dark now, and I go to bed
filled to overflowing; in fact, most too much so.
Nov. 25.—This morning got up cold and stiff; not
enough covering. Pushed off in the direction pointed
out by the darkey of yesterday. Have come in the
vicinity of negro shanties and laying in wait for some
good benevolent colored brother. Most too many
dogs yelping around to suit a runaway Yankee. Little
nigs and the canines run together. If I can only attract
their attention without scaring them to death, shall be
all right. However, there is plenty of time, and won’t
rush things. Time is not valuable with me. Will go
sure and careful. Don’t appear to be any men folks
around; more or less women of all shades of color.
This is evidently a large plantation; has thirty or forty
negro huts in three or four rows. They are all neat
and clean to outward appearances. In the far
distance and toward what I take to be the main road
is the master’s residence. Can just see a part of it.
Has a cupola on top and is an ancient structure.
Evidently a nice plantation. Lots of cactus grows wild
all over, and is bad to tramp through. There is also
worlds of palm leaves, such as five cent fans are
made of. Hold on there, two or three negro men are
coming from the direction of the big house to the
huts. Don’t look very inviting to trust your welfare
with. Will still wait, McCawber like, for something to
turn up. If they only knew the designs I have on
them, they would turn pale. Shall be ravenous by
night and go for them. I am near a spring of water,
and lay down flat and drink. The “Astor House Mess”
is moving around for a change; hope I won’t make a
mess of it. Lot of goats looking at me now,
wondering, I suppose, what it is. Wonder if they butt?
Shoo! Going to rain, and if so I must sleep in one of
those shanties. Negroes all washing up and getting
ready to eat, with doors open. No, thank you; dined
yesterday. Am reminded of the song: “What shall we
do, when the war breaks the country up, and scatters
us poor darkys all around.” This getting away
business is about the best investment I ever made.
Just the friendliest fellow ever was. More than like a
colored man, and will stick closer than a brother if
they will only let me. Laugh when I think of the old
darky of yesterday’s experience, who liked me first
rate only wanted me to go away. Have an eye on an
isolated hut that looks friendly. Shall approach it at
dark. People at the hut are a woman and two or three
children, and a jolly looking and acting negro man.
Being obliged to lay low in the shade feel the cold, as
it is rather damp and moist. Later.—Am in the hut
and have eaten a good supper. Shall sleep here to-
night. The negro man goes early in the morning,
together with all the male darky population, to work
on fortifications at Fort McAllister. Says the whole
country is wild at the news of approaching Yankee
army. Negro man named “Sam” and woman “Sady.”
Two or three negroes living here in these huts are not
trustworthy, and I must keep very quiet and not be
seen. Children perfectly awe struck at the sight of a
Yankee. Negroes very kind but afraid. Criminal to
assist me. Am five miles from Doctortown. Plenty of
“gubers” and yams. Tell them all about my
imprisonment. Regard the Yankees as their friends.
Half a dozen neighbors come in by invitation, shake
hands with me, scrape the floor with their feet, and
rejoice most to death at the good times coming.
“Bress de Lord,” has been repeated hundreds of
times in the two or three hours I have been here.
Surely I have fallen among friends. All the visitors
donate of their eatables, and although enough is
before me to feed a dozen men, I give it a tussle.
Thus ends the second day of my freedom, and it is
glorious.
Nov. 26.—An hour before daylight “Sam” awoke
me and said I must go with him off a ways to stay
through the day. Got up, and we started. Came about
a mile to a safe hiding place, and here I am. Have
plenty to eat and near good water. Sam will tell
another trusty negro of my whereabouts, who will
look after me, as he has to go away to work. The
negroes are very kind, and I evidently am in good
hands. Many of those who will not fight in the
Confederate army are hid in these woods and
swamps, and there are many small squads looking
them up with dogs and guns to force them into the
rebel ranks. All able-bodied men are conscripted into
the army in the South. It is possible I may be
captured by some of these hunting parties. It is again
most night and have eaten the last of my food. Can
hear the baying of hounds and am skeery. Shall take
in all the food that comes this way in the meantime.
Sam gave me an old jack knife and I shall make a
good bed to sleep on, and I also have an additional
part of a blanket to keep me warm. In fine spirits and
have hopes for the future. Expect an ambassador
from my colored friends a little later. Later.—The
ambassador has come and gone in the shape of a
woman. Brought food; a man told her to tell me to go
off a distance of two miles or so, to the locality
pointed out, before daylight, and wait there until
called upon to-morrow. Rebel guards occupy the
main roads, and very unsafe.
Nov. 27.—Before daylight came where I now am.
Saw alligators—small ones. This out in the woods life
is doing me good. Main road three miles away, but
there are paths running everywhere. Saw a white
man an hour ago. Think he was a skulker hiding to
keep out of the army, but afraid to hail him. Many of
these stay in the woods day-times, and at night go to
their homes, getting food. Am now away quite a
distance from any habitation, and am afraid those
who will look for me cannot find me. Occasionally
hear shots fired; this is a dangerous locality. Have
now been out four days and fared splendidly. Have
hurt one of my ankles getting through the brush; sort
of sprain, and difficult to travel at all. No water near
by and must move as soon as possible. Wild hogs
roam around through the woods, and can run like a
deer. Palm leaves grow in great abundance, and are
handsome to look at. Some of them very large.
Occasionally see lizards and other reptiles, and am
afraid of them. If I was a good traveler I could get
along through the country and possibly to our lines.
Must wander around and do the best I can however.
Am armed with my good stout cane and the knife
given me by the negro; have also some matches, but
dare not make a fire lest it attract attention. Nights
have to get up occasionally and stamp around to get
warm. Clear, cool nights and pleasant. Most too light,
however, for me to travel. The remnants of
yesterday’s food, have just eaten. Will now go off in
an easterly direction in hopes of seeing the
messenger.
Nov. 28.—No one has come to me since day
before yesterday. Watched and moved until most
night of yesterday but could see or hear no one.
Afraid I have lost communication. In the distance can
see a habitation and will mog along that way. Most
noon. Later.—As I was poking along through some
light timber, almost ran into four Confederates with
guns. Lay down close to the ground and they passed
by me not more than twenty rods away. Think they
have heard of my being in the vicinity and looking me
up. This probably accounts for not receiving any
visitor from the negroes. Getting very hungry, and no
water fit to drink. Must get out of this community as
fast as I can. Wish to gracious I had two good legs.
Later.—It is now nearly dark and I have worked my
way as near direct north as I know how. Am at least
four miles from where I lay last night. Have seen
negroes, and white men, but did not approach them.
Am completely tired out and hungry, but on the edge
of a nice little stream of water. The closing of the fifth
day of my escape. Must speak to somebody to-
morrow, or starve to death. Good deal of yelling in
the woods. Am now in the rear of a hovel which is
evidently a negro hut, but off quite a ways from it.
Cleared ground all around the house so I can’t
approach it without being too much in sight. Small
negro boy playing around the house. Too dark to
write more.
Nov. 29.—The sixth day of freedom, and a hungry
one. Still where I wrote last night, and watching the
house. A woman goes out and in but cannot tell
much about her from this distance. No men folks
around. Two or three negro boys playing about. Must
approach the house, but hate to. Noon.—Still right
here. Hold my position. More than hungry. Three
days since I have eaten anything, with the exception
of a small potatoe and piece of bread eaten two days
ago and left from the day before. That length of time
would have been nothing in Andersonville, but now
being in better health demand eatables, and it takes
right hold of this wandering sinner. Shall go to the
house towards night. A solitary woman lives there
with some children. My ankle from the sprain and
yesterday’s walking is swollen and painful. Bathe it in
water, which does it good. Chickens running around.
Have serious meditations of getting hold of one or
two of them after they go to roost, then go farther
back into the wilderness, build a fire with my matches
and cook them. That would be a royal feast. But if
caught at it, it would go harder with me than if caught
legitimately. Presume this is the habitation of some of
the skulkers who return and stay home nights.
Believe that chickens squawk when being taken from
the roost. Will give that up and walk boldly up to the
house.
 RE-CAPTURED.

HOME GUARDS GOBBLE ME UP—WELL TREATED AND WELL

FED—TAKEN TO DOCTORTOWN AND FROM THENCE TO
BLACKSHEAR—THE TWO BUCK BOYS AS RUNAWAYS—RIDE
ON A PASSENGER TRAIN—PROSPECTS AHEAD, ETC.

Doctortown Station, No. 5, Nov. 30.—Ha! Ha!

My boy, you are a prisoner of war again. Once more
with a blasted rebel standing guard over me, and it
all happened in this wise: Just before dark I went up
to that house I spoke of in my writings yesterday.
Walked boldly up and rapped at the door; and what
was my complete astonishment when a white woman
answered my rapping. Asked me what I wanted, and
I told her something to eat. Told me to come in and
set down. She was a dark looking woman and could
easily be mistaken from my hiding place of the day
for a negro. Began asking me questions. Told her I
was a rebel soldier, had been in the hospital sick and
was trying to reach home in the adjoining county.
Was very talkative; told how her husband had been
killed at Atlanta, &c. She would go out and in from a
shanty kitchen in her preparation of my supper. I
looked out through a window and saw a little darky
riding away from the house, a few minutes after I
went inside. Thought I had walked into a trap, and
was very uneasy. Still the woman talked and worked,
and I talked, telling as smoothe lies as I knew how.
For a full hour and a half sat there, and she all the
time getting supper. Made up my mind that I was the
same as captured, and so put on a bold face and
made the best of it. Was very well satisfied with my
escapade anyway, if I could only get a whack at that
supper before the circus commenced. Well, after a
while heard some hounds coming through the woods
and towards the house. Looked at the woman and
her face pleaded guilty, just as if she had done
something very mean. The back door of the house
was open and pretty soon half a dozen large blood
hounds bounded into the room and began snuffing
me over; about this time the woman began to cry.
Told her I understood the whole thing and she need
not make a scene over it. Said she knew I was a
yankee and had sent for some men at Doctortown.
Then five horsemen surrounded the house,
dismounted and four of them came in with guns
cocked prepared for a desperate encounter. I said:
“good evening, gentlemen.” “Good evening,” said the
foremost, “we are looking for a runaway yankee
prowling around here.” “Well,” says I, “you needn’t
look any farther, you have found him.” “Yes, I see,”
was the answer. They all sat down, and just then the
woman said “supper is ready and to draw nigh.”
Drawed as nigh as I could to that supper and
proceeded to take vengeance on the woman. The
fellows proved to be home guards stationed here at
Doctortown. The woman had mounted the negro boy
on a horse just as soon as I made my appearance at
the house and sent for them. They proved to be good
fellows. Talked there at the house a full hour on the
fortunes of war, &c. Told them of my long
imprisonment and escape and all about myself. After
a while we got ready to start for this place. One rebel
rode in front, one on each side and two in the rear of
me. Was informed that if I tried to run they would
shoot me. Told them no danger of my running, as I
could hardly walk. They soon saw that such was the
case after going a little way, and sent back one of the
men to borrow the woman’s horse. Was put on the
animal’s back and we reached Doctortown not far
from midnight. As we were leaving the house the
woman gave me a bundle; said in it was a shirt and
stockings. Told her she had injured me enough and I
would take them. No false delicy will prevent my
taking a shirt. And so my adventure has ended and
have enjoyed it hugely. Had plenty to eat with the
exception of the two days, and at the last had a