I might not agree with all the facts Mr. Greenberg included in his article, but I like his approach to the epic event that the Battle of Gettysburg represents.
Both Horner and Ware remained in their respective camps this day. Horner wrote about Grant at Vicksburg and Banks at Port Hudson on the Mississippi River. His fellow soldiers worked on digging rifle pits all day at the Upton Hill part of the defensive lines around Washington.
Ware is getting some details of the Battle of Brandy Station, of officers wounded and prisoners captured. In an auspicious aside he says that “some important moves are on hand both armies in motion & will soon meet.”
One thing that Ware doesn’t realize is the attrition rate among Confederate officers. Some historians say that they were just too brave for their own good, officers even up to the rank of brigadier generals always leading from the front. Since the publication of 35 Days to Gettysburg, I’ve had the chance to visit all the major Civil War battlefields. Franklin, TN, was typical. In a frontal assault against prepared Union positions the Confederates lost 6 general officers. Although much of the battlefield has been covered with factories and pizza restaurants, the bullet-riddled structures of the Carter family are still standing.
Talking recently to a friend who has lived in Gettysburg nearly all his life, I told him how I once edited and copied tapes of interviews of older people from Gettysburg who remembered how the place looked years ago.
Now, I begin to realize, I am one of those older people who remember a number of things about the battlefield that may have been forgotten.
When I first came to Gettysburg to live in the summer of 1970, I remember the Cyclorama Center as the NPS Visitor Center. It was our headquarters until the NPS purchased the Electric Map building. So it was with mixed emotions that I saw the Cyclorama Center demolished earlier this year.
We gave our Civil War soldier demos out in the yard of the Bryant Farm. There was a picket fence around the yard (no longer standing) that kept the visitors at arm’s length. After every Cyclorama showing, a ranger would bring the entire group out—50-60 people—so we had quite an audience for every program.
The Bryant Farmhouse had fascinated me from my days as a young tourist. The west side of the wooden structure, the side toward the fields of Pickett’s Charge, looked like Swiss cheese from the bullet holes in it. To me they were real, visible, relics from the battle that anyone could walk up to and touch. Later, to be working as an interpretive park ranger in the very yard of the Bryant Farm, gave me a feeling that is hard to describe. While I was still with the park, historians (or some other administrators) made the decision to tear down the Bryant Farmhouse and replace it with an exact replica—minus the bullet holes, of course. The decision, to me, was strange. Why tear down the original structure and replace it with a copy? I asked, and was told that, partially because of the bullet holes, the structure was unsafe and needed to be torn down. I remembered photos of the Carter buildings at Franklin and later saw them in person and they looked fine, so the Bryant Farm demolition decision made even less sense. I also wonder what happened to the bullet-pierced wood siding from the house. The last scene from “Raiders of the Lost Ark” flashes to mind….
Franklin Horner, the Union soldier in 35 Days to Gettysburg, reports that a magazine at Fort Lyons, one of the chain of forts protecting Washington, blew up, killing a number of soldiers. It reminds me of how many deaths in war are accidents. Over half of all the deaths in the Civil War were disease related. But, in a strict sense, almost all deaths in war are accidents. With very rare exceptions (suicide bombers, kamikazes in World War II) do soldiers go into battle intending to be killed. Soldiers usually go out of a sense of duty, hoping they will survive. If they happen to be in the wrong place at the wrong time through no desire of their own they become casualties.
Thomas Ware, the Confederate camped near Culpeper, hears cannonading almost the whole day. Midday, his unit is called in from drill to march toward the sound of the guns. He would learn later that night that the famed Confederate cavalry commander J.E.B. Stuart had been driven back from his camps near Brandy Station and that Ware’s infantry unit had been called to support the cavalry.
Brandy Station would become the largest cavalry battle ever fought on the continent. Stuart, much to his consternation, was caught by surprise on two counts. First, after two days of reviews, he was supremely confident in the effectiveness of his cavalry corps, and being surprised at dawn on June 9, was not something that should happen to such a fine body of troopers. Secondly, he was surprised by how well the Union cavalry fought. In the first two years of the war, young men from the big cities in the north signed up for the cavalry, never having ridden a horse in their lives. When they ran into Confederates, who were more familiar with horses, the results were disastrous. In addition, Union commanders used the cavalry units for couriers. It wasn’t until General Alfred Pleasanton reorganized the Union cavalry that they became a cohesive fighting unit. Brandy Station showed how well the Yankees had learned to ride and how effective their reorganization was. While Stuart claimed victory because he continued to hold the field after the fight, even he had to admit, if only to himself, that the boys in blue had done an admirable job this day.
Brandy Station is considered by many historians to be the opening battle of the Gettysburg Campaign.
With the 150th Anniversary of the Battle of Gettysburg coming up, I thought I would share what I learned through researching and writing about the battle, the soldiers, and life during the Civil War years.
I decided that the daily entries of the soldiers featured in my book 35 Days to Gettysburg: The Campaign Diaries of Two American Enemies, would be an interesting and relevant source as a starting point. My “elevator speech” summary for the book goes something like this: I took two previously unpublished diaries—one Union, one Confederate—and put the entries side-by-side, day-by-day through the entire Gettysburg Campaign. The soldiers are on a collision course, but they don’t know it. They end up fighting within musket-shot of one another—one in the Triangular Field, the other on the slope of Little Round Top.
If pressed, I’ll say that the book is a microcosm of the battle, from the point of view of the common soldiers. The reader learns what the average soldier did, felt, and thought about on a daily basis on an active campaign. So on any day, the reader can re-live what the soldier did 150 years before, in some cases, right down to the minute.
For example, on June 7, 1863, Franklin Horner, the Union soldier, was encamped near Upton’s Hill, Virginia, working on defensive fortifications for Washington D.C. Thomas Ware, the Confederate, was on a return march to his camp near Culpeper, VA after his unit was called out on what appeared to be a rumor of the enemy’s advance.
I took the time in my narrative of that chapter to discuss motivations—or lack thereof—for the two men to enlist. Unfortunately, neither mentions any reason why they originally got caught up in the bloodiest conflict the nation has ever known. Even more astounding is that nowhere in either diary after two years of daily entries is there any mention of slavery or states’ rights or abolition, reunion or rebellion.
Years ago, when I did living history as an “interpretive ranger/historian” for the National Park Service at Gettysburg, I wanted to illuminate the fact that the “causes” of the Civil War (according to scholars and historians) were not the same as the reasons why the individual soldiers fought. Dressed as a Confederate soldier and talking in “first person” as if I were the young rebel, I would tell the people that I was fighting for a fence.
My story was that my father and I spent two years putting up a stout post and rail fence around our (imaginary) farm in Virginia. It was hard work, I told them. Cutting down the trees, splitting the wood for rails and posts, digging the post holes, auguring the holes in the posts, and finally putting up a nice, straight fence to keep our cows in. Then the war broke out and the Yankees came. They camped on our farm. They tore down the fence within the first hour and burned it for firewood. They killed all our cows and pigs for food, stole our corn and trampled all our wheat. Then they marched away leaving my mother, father and little sisters and brothers without food for the winter.
That’s why I was fighting in Pennsylvania: not for slavery or states’ rights, but so the Yankees couldn’t come on my father’s farm again and steal and wreck what we had.
Back then (as a first year park ranger) I had studied the Civil War enough to know that the numbers just didn’t fit. Only 7 percent of all southerners owned slaves. Why would the average southern boy fight and possibly die so that the rich neighbor on the hill could keep his slaves? It didn’t make sense back then. It doesn’t now.
I was glad to see that my hunch was verified some twenty-two years later when I studied personal diaries of the participants (I read some 300 during my research) and realized that the motives for men going into combat are far different from what the scholars and historians would like us to believe.