“I do not mean to say that the scenes of the Revolution are now or ever will be entirely forgotten, but that, like everything else, they must fade upon the memory of the world, and grow more and more dim by the lapse of time. In history, we hope, they will be read of, and recounted, so long as the Bible shall be read; but even granting that they will, their influence cannot be what it heretofore has been. Even then they cannot be so universally known nor so vividly felt as they were by the generation just gone to rest. At the close of that struggle, nearly every adult male had been a participator in some of its scenes. The consequence was that of those scenes, in the form of a husband, a father, a son, or a brother, a living history was to be found in every family – a history bearing the indubitable testimonies of its own authenticity, in the limbs mangled, in the scars of wounds received, in the midst of the very scenes related – a history, too, that could be read and understood alike by all, the wise and the ignorant, the learned and the unlearned. But those histories are gone. They can be read no more forever. They were a fortress of strength; but what invading foreman could never do, the silent artillery of time has done – the leveling of its walls. They are gone. They were a forest of giant oaks; but the all-restless hurricane has swept over them, and left only here and there a lonely trunk, despoiled of its verdure, shorn of its foliage, unshading and unshaded, to murmur in a few more gentle breezes, and to combat with its mutilated limbs a few more ruder storms, then to sink and be no more. They were pillars of the temple of liberty; and now that they have crumbled away that temple must fall unless we, their descendants, supply their places with other pillars, hewn from the solid quarry of sober reason.”
-Abraham Lincoln
The year was 1851. A still, silent night blanketed the Harvard Campus in Boston, Massachusetts. Dew beaded the spacious, lush grounds. Night birds sang and crickets chirped. Most students and faculty were sound asleep in their cozy dormitories. Suddenly…. KABOOM. An earth-shattering roar split the air. Students rolled out of their beds. Some stray dogs barked and windows rattled. In the Cambridge arsenal on campus, smoke rose from a cannon that hadn’t… Read More
Once upon a late night in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, two college administrators threw in the towel. It had been a long day at Old Dorm – one of the few original buildings on the campus of Gettysburg College. The fourth floor was a busy place, with paperwork to file, admissions to check, and records to store. It made for a lot of work, and the women found it easier after the students left… Read More
Category: Civil War, History Tags: Civil War, Gettysburg, Ghost Story, Medicine, Pennsylvania Hall
A while back, I wrote a post about a big explosion on the Ypres Salient in WWI. It had an impact, you might say – oh, the puns. Many of my friends here said it reminded them of a similar incident that occurred during the US Civil War. So I thought, why not make that article a two-parter? Here for you is the story of the Petersburg Mine of 1864. My readers… Read More
Category: Civil War, History Tags: Civil War, Crater, Explosion, Mine, Petersburg, Robert E. Lee, Ulysses S. Grant
May, 1864. Spring had arrived in the state of Virginia, but so had the Union army. It wasn’t the first time, either. Since 1861, the boys in blue had slugged it out, and lost, against the formidable General Lee and his Army of Northern Virginia. These fights carried a heavy price tag too. Thousands of soldiers lay buried under Virginia’s thick soil. Countless more bore wounds from physical scars, or the painful… Read More
In the year 1861, a man named Wilmer McLean owned a farm in the beautiful countryside of Virginia. A charming home that he shared with his family, with spacious grounds situated along a bubbling creek called Bull Run. All was well… …Until the bloodiest war in American history opened right in his front yard. When the first shots fired off at Manassas, the armies poured in, and McLean’s tranquil home fast descended… Read More
Category: Civil War, History Tags: Appomattox, Bull Run, Civil War, General Grant, Virginia, Wilmer McLean
In the summer of 2016, I drove down an isolated road in Southern Georgia. There wasn’t much around – just a few run-down houses here and there. Cotton fields stretched to the horizon. Silence hung heavy along with the heat. Only a few signs with arrows pointed me to my destination. I followed them to a small parking lot that was practically empty of cars. A quiet visitor center beckoned. Behind it… Read More
Category: Civil War, History Tags: Andersonville, Captain Wirz, Civil War, Providence Spring, Raiders
A cold, unfeeling marble stone That’s all there is for the soldier unknown Lost in a graveyard as big as the sea My love comes looking but won’t find me Because all I have is a white marble stone And all it says is “soldier unknown” I fought like the heroes, we were the same But I got no medal, they don’t even know my name I was just one body in… Read More
Category: Civil War, History Tags: Civil War, Unknown Soldier
His story is one of the most famous from the American Civil War, and it spawned a monument in Fredericksburg, Virginia, that still stands today. His actions atop a blood-soaked battlefield captured imaginations and hearts even in the modern era. This is the story of Richard Rowland Kirkland, otherwise known as the Angel of Marye’s Heights. The tale first appeared in the Charleston News and Courier in 1880. Written by former Confederate… Read More
Category: Civil War, History Tags: Civil War, Fredericksburg, Virginia
“I do not mean to say that the scenes of the Revolution are now or ever will be entirely forgotten, but that, like everything else, they must fade upon the memory of the world, and grow more and more dim by the lapse of time. In history, we hope, they will be read of, and recounted, so long as the Bible shall be read; but even granting that they will, their influence cannot be what it heretofore has been. Even then they cannot be so universally known nor so vividly felt as they were by the generation just gone to rest. At the close of that struggle, nearly every adult male had been a participator in some of its scenes. The consequence was that of those scenes, in the form of a husband, a father, a son, or a brother, a living history was to be found in every family – a history bearing the indubitable testimonies of its own authenticity, in the limbs mangled, in the scars of wounds received, in the midst of the very scenes related – a history, too, that could be read and understood alike by all, the wise and the ignorant, the learned and the unlearned. But those histories are gone. They can be read no more forever. They were a fortress of strength; but what invading foreman could never do, the silent artillery of time has done – the leveling of its walls. They are gone. They were a forest of giant oaks; but the all-restless hurricane has swept over them, and left only here and there a lonely trunk, despoiled of its verdure, shorn of its foliage, unshading and unshaded, to murmur in a few more gentle breezes, and to combat with its mutilated limbs a few more ruder storms, then to sink and be no more. They were pillars of the temple of liberty; and now that they have crumbled away that temple must fall unless we, their descendants, supply their places with other pillars, hewn from the solid quarry of sober reason.”
-Abraham Lincoln