Lookout Mountain: A Proud Civil War Buff

I’m not really a Civil War Buff. Okay? I mean, I guess I can see why people might call me one. Volumes on the Civil War take up a significant portion of my home library. I’ve visited my fair share of battlefields. I’ve done a lot of write ups on it, right here on this history blog. I even wrote an entire book on the Civil War, once upon a time. It hasn’t been published yet, but hey, maybe someday! But I’m NOT a Civil War buff.

Because as much as I know about this tumultuous conflict that rocked the nation, there’s still an awful lot that I don’t know. Perhaps that’s why I always refer to myself as a student rather than a master. There’s always more to learn. And my area of expertise mostly centers around blood-soaked Virginia. Not the best place to be in the Civil War, but it was far from the only place to see conflict.

In fact, Tennessee and Georgia saw quite a bit of action in those years. I was solidly reminded of that fact in 2022, as I rode through the area with my parents on our way to visit sunny Florida. While we drove along, right on the border of Tennessee and Georgia, I saw some signs pointing the way to Lookout Mountain, and it instantly pealed a bell of familiarity in my head. I leaned forward from my little cubby hole in the back of the car, where I was surrounded by bags stuffed to the gills. “Hey,” I said to my father, pointing at the sign. “That’s a battlefield. We should stop.”

He agreed to the detour, since we were overdue for a stretch break anyway. So, we veered off the main road and started working our way upwards on a much narrower mountain road. Up, up, up. The city below, Chattanooga, began to look very small as we kept on climbing. The tight curves started wreaking a bit of havoc with my belly. I looked out the window, and I reached for some dusty files in my non-Civil-War-Buff brain, trying to recall for my parents the harrowing fighting that took place here in 1863, mostly centered around Chattanooga and nearby Chickamauga.

I did know some things. The basics, at least. It was a stretch of my memory muscles though, because like I said, that’s not my area of expertise. It was a stretch for the car too. Still climbing, until even the clouds looked far below us. Perhaps why the fighting up here was christened “the Battle Above the Clouds.” Once we reached our destination, we climbed out of the car and made our way over to the Battlefield – which is actually part of the National Park system (another stamp for my National Parks passport, thank you very much!).

Like many of the Civil War battlefields in the National Park system, this one was very well kept. There was a lot of signage to explain the key parts of the battle, which went a little something like this: While the 1863 Battle of Gettysburg signaled a turn in the tides for the Eastern half of the Union Army, the Western half still had quite a struggle ahead that was about to culminate at Chickamauga and Chattanooga.

In September of that fateful year, General Ulysses S. Grant tried to break the Western stalemate with an attack on Chickamauga, a move that he hoped would secure the Chattanooga railyards, which would play a big part in securing control of the West for the Union. But instead of marching away victorious, he got smacked around something awful by Confederates under the leadership of General Braxton Bragg. The Union forces, almost 40,000 of them, were forced to retreat into nearby Chattanooga, where Bragg’s forces quickly surrounded them (but didn’t pursue – which would prove quite costly in the end).

Instead of any mop-up operations that might have spelled disaster for the rattled Union troops, Bragg decided to go ahead with siege warfare. I suppose he thought it was the obvious choice for the men in gray, with their prominent positions staked out all around the city, including the high ground on both Missionary Ridge and Lookout Mountain. So, the Confederates began the tedious process of starving their blue-clad enemies into submission.

There was just one thing standing in their way. The “Cracker Line,” which fell firmly under Union control with an attack at Brown’s Ferry in October of 1863. This precarious supply train kept a trickle of food and supplies coming into the city – enough to keep both the Union soldiers and hope for the Union cause alive.

They also got some reinforcements and were able to reform, and a series of Union counterattacks soon led to the Battle of Lookout Mountain. An intense fight that literally took place above the clouds, thanks to a thick fog that enshrouded the mountain top that day – November 24, 1863. That morning, Union forces swept up the mountainside and went after the Confederates entrenched there, which, one look around showed me was quite the feat. How those soldiers scaled the steep trails and peaks in the first place, while lugging weapons and supplies with them, is kind of a mystery to me.

It was a short fight by Civil War standards. In fact, some historians and generals at the time label it as more of a big skirmish than an actual battle. Whatever one chooses to call it, it resulted in Union victory. By midnight, Confederate forces were beginning a harried moonlight march down the mountain, clearing the way for the Union troops to take it over. Which also kept the Cracker Line in Union Hands and backed the Confederate forces into a corner at Missionary Ridge. In short, the “Skirmish Above the Clouds” was kind of the beginning of the end of Confederate strongholds in Tennessee.

 

Several years later, and kindly assisted by well-placed guard rails and neatly-kept stair cases, I took my first steps onto the battlefield at Lookout Mountain. The first thing to grab me was the view. I mean, come on. Just look at these pictures.

Like I do with any battlefield visit, I walked about the place in a quiet daze. I scanned the signs posted here and there, and I focused hard on the energy of the place. I was so deep in thought that I was surprised when my dad came up behind me.

He’s a history enthusiast himself, my father. He knows more about the Wright Brothers than anyone around, and he’s got quite a grasp of World War II as well (especially the aviation angles). But the Civil War falls a bit outside his scope. So, I did what any daughter would. I took him around the battlefield and taught him the scant bit I did happen to know about the fighting around Chickamauga and Chattanooga. Non-Civil-War-Buff reporting for duty.

Or perhaps….   

As I walked around that field with my dad, pointing out the various key spots of the battle, and explaining what it must have been like for those soldiers to trudge up these slopes, it was amazing to watch him take it in. He got awfully quiet and contemplative. I could see the wheels turning in his mind. I watched him trying to visualize it, especially as we looked over the steep drop-offs and gnarled wilderness.

In addition to it being one of the best daddy/daughter days ever, it also helped me see, right before my eyes, the powerful effects of passing on information. Of teaching. Of seeing a fire that burns inside of you taking up residence in someone else. Before that moment, I used to think that being a Civil War Buff made me some kind of geek. Or dork. Outdated. You know, some unflattering version of a nerd. It’s part of the reason why I’ve avoided the label for so long.

But on that day, seeing how potent it could be, being a Civil War Buff felt pretty dang good. In fact, it actually felt kind of important. Passing on those stories. Teaching people. Remembering. Especially when it comes to something that happened such a very long time ago. Yet something that is starting to crop up again in our present, and could swallow us whole if the Civil War Buffs don’t help people remember.

I smiled at my father, and then I looked out over the spectacular view from Lookout Mountain. I decided, right then and there, that I am, in fact, a Civil War Buff.  And that it is, in fact, something to be valued. After all, I’ve stood on a lot of their battlefields in my time. I’ve felt their pain, even though I didn’t fight there. I’ve heard their voices, in my own way. I know in my bones that it’s important to pass them on. To keep them alive. To keep the bell pealing, one person at a time. 

To be a Civil War Buff. A proud one, charged with the sacred duty of passing it on. Something I now cherish, thanks to a sporadic trip up Lookout Mountain with dear old dad.

 

 

SOURCES

Lookout Mountain Visit

Chickamauga/Chattanooga National Military Park

Endless Volumes in My Civil War Buff Library

All photos by M.B. Henry. For more from my photo gallery, click here. 

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