“Combustible Rubbish:” Colonel Blanton Duncan and Confederate Currency

The more history I do, the more amused I am by Ambrose Bierce’s The Devil’s Dictionary. Originally published as The Cynic’s Word Book in 1906, the book is a collection of satirical definitions of commonplace words. Bierce defines patriotism as,

Combustible rubbish ready to the torch of any one ambitious to illuminate his name. In Dr. Johnson’s famous dictionary patriotism is defined as the last resort of a scoundrel. With all due respect to an enlightened but inferior lexicographer I beg to submit that it is the first.

One such scoundrel was Colonel Blanton Duncan, one of the men responsible for printing Confederate currency, and some of his handiwork is in the Library of Virginia’s collections.

(Henry) Blanton Duncan was born July 2, 1827, in Louisville, Kentucky. He dropped his first name and used his middle name in the manner of his father, Rep. (William) Garnett Duncan. Blanton Duncan studied at Jefferson College and the University of Louisiana. He inherited money, land, and slaves in Kentucky and Mississippi. He married heiress Mary T. Atkinson and established himself as a lawyer, planter, and politician. A friend described him as “the most entertaining man I ever saw, but not one bit of common sense.” This was putting it politely. Duncan was a few kernels shy of a cob and had a hair-trigger temper. The National Tribune considered him a “handsome, fascinating and pugnacious” man who “quarreled with everybody under and over him,” resulting in “a stormy life” that made headlines. Consider the rumors about his marriage detailed in the article on the right. ¹

When he wasn’t faking his own death to get what he wanted, Duncan was wrapping himself in the American flag, and his patriotism was defined by the institution of slavery. He participated in a “bloody riot” on behalf of Millard Fillmore and the American Party ticket in the election of 1856. He supported John Bell and the Constitutional Union ticket in 1860, and following the election of Abraham Lincoln and the Republican ticket, he published a letter “favoring a confederacy of the whole slaveholding states.” At a secession meeting, Duncan denounced Lincoln as “an abolitionized and centralized despotism,” and called for Kentucky to form “an alliance with the slaveholding states.”²

Proving Bierce’s point that patriotism is the first resort of a scoundrel, the ambitious Duncan now wrapped himself in the Confederate flag to illuminate his name. Governor Beriah Magoffin of Kentucky recommended him to Confederate President Jefferson Davis. Magoffin, who was officially neutral and unofficially secessionist, was only too happy to promote Duncan. “He is a good fellow, and I hope you’ll make his acquaintance.  He has plenty of money, which I find is a good thing to secesh with.” Duncan recruited an unarmed rabble, named it the 1st Kentucky Infantry Battalion, appointed himself to command it, and set off for Harper’s Ferry, Virginia. ³

Magoffin’s opinion of Duncan was not shared by the battalion. Duncan was unsuited to command anyone or anything. Private J.W. Brown confided his opinion in a letter to his father, accessible in the Library of Virginia’s Archives Research Room. “He is a great Dog and had not a man that liked him.” The battalion occupied Maryland Heights, planted the Bonnie Blue Flag, and fell apart. Newspapers North and South alike published reports of assault, murder, and desertion. A particularly “serious and bloody row” resulted in the death and injury of several “among the military mob.” One of them wrote home that “the men are half fed and have no clothes, except what they left Louisville with, and are treated like dogs.” Duncan denied the reports in print and stated his troops “would only leave the ranks with their death.” ⁴

Undermining his denials, Duncan himself got into a scuffle with a quartermaster named John A. Harman. Harman loaned his horse to Duncan, who returned it a day late. Harman said Duncan “was not a man of his word.” Duncan spat in Harman’s face. Harman cracked Duncan with a whip. Duncan drew a Bowie knife and proceeded to cut Harman’s uniform to “gibblets.” Harman challenged Duncan to a duel, but Duncan declined. The incident made the newspapers, and Harman’s brother published a letter denying the incident took place. He wrote that the accounts were “false in almost every particular,” and the disagreement between the two was resolved “in a manner honorable alike to both gentlemen.” ⁵

Not satisfied with squabbling with Confederate soldiers, Duncan traded taunts and threats by letter with Union Maj. Gen. Benjamin F. Butler. He grandiloquently referred to himself as a colonel and to his battalion as a regiment. ⁶

Duncan’s shenanigans were, to say the least, contrary to good order and discipline. His “military mob” of a battalion was consolidated with another to form the 1st Kentucky Infantry Regiment. The regiment was soon disbanded and the men who Duncan said “would only leave the ranks with their death” returned to the Bluegrass State alive, albeit somewhat worse for wear. ⁷

“Colonel” Duncan didn’t wait for his half-starved and half-naked men to head for the hills. Belatedly recognizing that he was neither Caesar nor Napoleon, he resigned his commission in July of 1861 and looked for other ways to turn the conflict to his advantage. The following month, he published by authority of Adj. Gen. Samuel Cooper Uniform and Dress of the Army of the Confederate States. He couldn’t clothe his own men, but he thought he could teach others how to do so. His book is a combination of official regulations and lithographs. Duncan had nothing do with drafting the former or sketching the latter, but he published both under his own name. A copy of the original print run of 1,000 copies is accessible in the Library of Virginia’s Special Collections. ⁸

Duncan returned to Kentucky in November as delegate to a secessionist “State Sovereignty Convention.” The convention established the Provisional Government of Kentucky and appointed commissioners to negotiate the state’s admission to the Confederacy. It was not to be. The secessionists’ hopes were dashed a year later at the Battle of Perryville and Kentucky remained in the Union. The Provisional Government dissolved, not that anyone noticed, adding to the list of hare-brained schemes with Duncan’s name attached to them. ⁹

For charlatans and crackpots like Duncan, all roads led to Richmond, Virginia. Historian Ernest B. Ferguson describes it as “by far the most expensive, corrupt, overcrowded, and crime-ridden city in the Confederacy.” Duncan fit right in. He realized that the fastest way to make money was to literally make money, and he obtained a contract to print Confederate currency from Secretary of the Treasury Christopher Memminger. He arrived in January of 1862 with twelve printing presses, lithographic stones, copper plates, and the mistaken impression that he had an exclusive contract. Such was not the case, and Memminger would come to regret the day Duncan darkened his doorstep. ¹⁰

Duncan rented space on the third floor of Tardy & Williams on the corner of 13th and Cary Streets. Samuel C. Tardy and James T. Williams were partners in one of the largest wholesale grocery and commission mercantile firms in the city. The arrangement promised to be mutually beneficial, and Duncan immediately hired lithographers and letter engravers, offering “the best wages and constant employment.” He soon opened a second location, placed orders for additional stones and plates, and solicited work on other government imprints such as commissions. Duncan printed $5, $10, and $20 notes. He also printed a $2 note with an erroneous date, making it sought after by collectors today. The total number of bills issued by Duncan is unknown. An example of one his $20 bills printed in Richmond is below on the left. ¹¹ Duncan also printed bonds, examples of which are in the Ella Rives Collection, 1861-1865, accessible in the Library of Virginia’s Archives Research Room. An example of one of his $1,000 bonds printed in Richmond is on the right.

Duncan, a bundle of neuroses and delusions of grandeur, cannonballed into high society. He moved into a house on the corner of 7th and Clay Streets, five blocks from the Confederate White House. He presented his credentials to Secretary of War – and soon to be Secretary of State – Judah Benjamin. He appeared before Judge James Halyburton of the C.S. District Court to take the required oaths to practice law at the bar of the Court. He wined and dined Adj. Gen. Cooper, Brig. Gen. Wade Hampton III, and Mary Chesnut in a single evening. The famous diarist considered Duncan “audacious” and “a thoroughly free-and-easy western man – handsome and clever.” The description was a backhanded compliment from an aristocratic belle, who considered such “western” men amusing but déclassé.¹²

Duncan wasted no time in reminding everyone of how hopelessly déclassé he was. His was only one of several firms contracted by the Treasury Department to print Confederate currency. The favored firm was Hoyer & Ludwig on Main Street. In February, Memminger made the mistake of sending Duncan to inspect two presses owned by the Department but operated by the firm with an eye to selling them, possibly to Duncan himself. The consequences appeared on the front page of the Richmond Whig the following day. ¹³

Bonded out for punching a competitor in the nose, Duncan sought to limit the damage to his prospects by once again wrapping himself in the Confederate flag. In March, he published a letter in the Richmond Dispatch proposing the construction of an ironclad through public subscription and pledged $2,000. He had plenty of money – after all, he was printing it himself. Duncan’s publicity campaign was a resounding success, and Richmond editors called upon other “gentlemen” to emulate him. Edmund Ruffin pledged $500, and his son pledged $1,000. ¹⁴

Before Duncan’s public relations gunboat was launched, the Peninsula Campaign ended his lucrative and ludicrous stay in Richmond. Some of the Confederate bureaucracy evacuated as the Union Army approached the capital. Memminger ordered Duncan to relocate to Columbia, South Carolina, and provided authority from the War Department to impress skilled personnel and raw materials if necessary. Duncan advertised his house and furniture for sale in the Dispatch, directing inquiries to his friends at Tardy & Williams, and departed in April. ¹⁵

Once in Columbia, Duncan abused his authority for his own benefit, denying his competitors and the Treasury Department access to personnel and materials. He took orders for state and bank notes and bills of exchange and expanded his business to include comic lithographs and art prints. His caricatures lampooning Union soldiers and enslaved people included a series of cartoons entitled, Fun for the Camp: A Comic Medley, a copy of which is housed in the Boston Atheneum. Duncan’s business boomed, much to the chagrin of Memminger. ¹⁶

Duncan continued to ingratiate himself with members of high society not named Memminger. He took up residence in a magnificent house with a columned portico on Gervais Street and bestowed lavish gifts. “Colonel Blanton Duncan, of Kentucky, has presented me with two fine field or marine glasses,” Lt. Gen. Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson wrote to his wife. “He has apparently taken an interest in me.” When Jackson was shot out of the saddle by his own men, Duncan raised funds for a memorial statue of the Confederate hero. ¹⁷

Relations between Duncan and Memminger broke down completely in April of 1863. Duncan believed he could do as he pleased. Memminger informed Duncan otherwise, revoked his contract and diverted business and resources to his competitors. Duncan responded by printing a scathing polemic attacking Memminger’s character. The economy was in a shambles, and Memminger, though in the right, was far from popular as the Richmond Whig’s commentary on the dispute demonstrated. ¹⁸

Duncan followed his declaration of war on the Treasury Department with a declaration of war on the War Department. He and Benjamin Franklin Ficklin, one of the founders of the Pony Express, claimed interest in a ship named the Giraffe. The Giraffe was purchased by the Confederacy in Britain as a blockade runner. Ficklin handled the details with the understanding that he and Duncan would be allowed to purchase it at cost once it arrived in a Confederate port. The cargo included printers and paper for the Treasury Department. Upon arrival in Wilmington, North Carolina, negotiations between the partners and the War Department for the sale of the steamer failed. Duncan and Ficklin saw fit to drag the Justice Department and President Davis into the feud. ¹⁹

The Giraffe remained in the hands of the Confederate government and was renamed the CSS Robert E. Lee. The ship was one of the most successful blockade runners of the war before it was captured and taken into the Union Navy as the USS Fort Donelson. The spat did not hurt Ficklin’s bottom line. He made a fortune from blockade running, and the following year he purchased Thomas Jefferson’s Monticello for $80,500. A private in the Confederate Army was paid $11 a month at the time. “Rich man’s war, poor man’s fight,” indeed. ²⁰

Duncan cut ties to the Confederate government and the Federal government confiscated his property in Kentucky, but he maintained the lifestyle of the rich and shameless. He established a new firm under the name of B. Duncan & Co, focusing on lithographs for sheet music to such pieces as “Columbia Waltz,” “Stonewall Jackson’s Way,” “The Star of the South,” “The Daisy Polka,” and “the Old Dominion Polka.” Sales were strong, but printing was now a side hustle for Duncan. He also profited handsomely from blockade running and served on the board of directors of the Columbia and Hamburg Railroad. ²¹

Duncan was reminded that he was not the only fast buck operator around. Con artists set up the Farmers & Manufacturers Bank in Savannah, Georgia, as a front and issued worthless notes listing Duncan as the printer. Duncan was alerted to the scheme, but the perpetrators escaped the detectives he sent to apprehend them. Large numbers of counterfeits of Duncan’s $20 notes also began to circulate, and the forgeries were of such quality that banks began to destroy all of his $20 notes out of an abundance of caution. His former competitors printed replacements. ²²

As the tide of war shifted against the Confederacy, Duncan hedged his bets. He obtained permission for his wife and children to travel to Kentucky to attempt to recoup his losses there from the man he denounced as a despot, President Lincoln. Duncan intended to travel to Europe, where he had substantial funds on deposit, and for his family to follow. His plans were thwarted by illness and the tightening blockade. Duncan skedaddled along with his old dinner companion, now Lt. Gen. Hampton, as the Union Army approached Columbia in February of 1864. Maj. Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman took Duncan’s house for his headquarters. The city soon went up in flames under disputed circumstances, incinerating Duncan’s former competitors. Sherman watched the conflagration from Duncan’s bedroom window. ²³

Duncan’s “picturesque character” emerged from defeat intact. He obtained a pardon and continued to engage in get-rich-quick schemes. A friend offered a sardonic appraisal: “Lack of poverty prevented him from being a great man.” He dabbled in politics and made a spectacle of himself. He mouthed off to Lt. Col. George Armstrong Custer at a Democratic Party meeting. Custer, who was as much of a braggart and a bully as Duncan, promptly slapped him the face. The two pompous frauds threw punches at one another until members of the audience pulled them apart. Duncan settled in California and claimed he delivered the state for Grover Cleveland and the Democratic ticket in 1892. According to the National Tribune, “He demanded a big office as his reward, was laughed at and raised a big row.” ²⁴

Duncan’s “stormy life” ended on April 8, 1902. True to form, he disinherited his daughter and left his $35,000 estate to 68 acquaintances and strangers. His daughter sued to invalidate the will and won, the judge ruling her to be his sole heir. Obituaries repeated the old lie about his being solely responsible for printing Confederate currency, and a rumor circulated that Confederate gold was buried on his ranch. There was no truth to it, as what gold the Confederacy had was distributed among the soldiers who accompanied President Davis on his flight to oblivion. ²⁵

Union war correspondent Charles Carlton Coffin regarded Duncan and his notes as combustible rubbish. “He had printed many million promises to pay, but his presses had come to a sudden stand-still. He had seen his paper dollars diminish in value, until a one-hundred-dollar bill would hardly pay for a breakfast.” Today, Duncan is synonymous with Confederate currency, and his notes have risen in value. Examples are in the collections of the National Museum of American History, the Metropolitan Museum of Art, and the Museum of Fine Arts Boston. ²⁶