On the Battlefield, Do You Hear Them?

As I stumbled over the rough ground, I put my jacket collar up to protect against the wind. A chilling air mass was coming in from the south west bringing some snow. A few white specks made a short appearance and left no impression but as I looked toward South Mountain, it was enveloped in a mass of whiteness. As I turned my back to the wind I thought, " I'll be fighting that on my way home this evening."

Max was well ahead of me, checking on the strongest scents left behind by the deer. I had to dodge rocks, briars and droppings. Max paid no attention to these obstacles and plunged ahead, trying to find a warm carcass. I finally reached the old bronze cannon that was perched on the rock ledge on this solitary crest and leaned against it for support.

I gazed back across the ground I just traveled and realized that in spite of the cool temperature, I had worked up quite a sweat so I used my bandana to wipe my head and brow. Max noticed that I had stopped walking so he came running back from the copse of trees that was ahead of me. When he arrived, he sat dutifully next to me, as if he was awaiting further orders.

There was no marker or stone to indicate what battery was positioned here during the battle. My limited knowledge of the Antietam battlefield and the scant park service brochure were of no use in identifying it. Maybe there was never a battery posted here during the battle? Maybe the park service had an extra cannon to place and decided to put it there for its aesthetic value.

As I looked back at the observation tower that sits at The Sunken Road or Bloody Lane, I calculated it was about 200 yards away. I then wondered, "Why am I leaning against an ice cold bronze cannon tube, shivering in a thin wet jacket?" There I was, a few days after Christmas, standing on a secluded, cold and windswept ridgeline, examining the ground, with no other person in sight, accompanied only by my faithful dog. Why wasn't I at home reading about the battle in my warm house?

One hundred forty-nine years ago, on a Wednesday, on the 17th of September, the air was full of smoke, lead and iron while cries of pain and the shouting of orders could barely be heard. The color red dominated the landscape that day. The smell of death was palpable. By the time evening arrived, after twelve hours of combat, over 23,000 men were casualties. The bloodiest single day in American history.

Walking some of today's battlefields of the American Civil War seems like a literal walk in the park. Battlegrounds such as Gettysburg or Antietam are lush, green expanses of gently rolling fields and forests sprinkled with orchards, pastures and occasionally crops of soybeans and corn. These bucolic settings hardly seem the places of death, destruction and misery that they were over a 140 years ago.

The masses of rotting human forms and putrid horse flesh have long since turned to dust. The bitter taste and sickening odor of death has disappeared. The rivulets and pools of crimson blood have long since been absorbed by the fertile soils. The thundering sounds of battle and the cries of agony and pain have been replaced by bus and car engines and the loud exhaust pipes of motorcycles.

The beautiful landscapes have been adorned with attractive pieces of sculpture made of stone and bronze. These pieces add to the memorial spirit of the grounds. Neat and tidy national cemeteries add to the reminder that men actually died there. The monuments and gravestones are testimony to their sacrifices. In some places the grass is closely cropped and well maintained trails allow easy passage over the fields and woods.

Not all civil war battlefields are as well maintained as Antietam or Gettysburg but they all serve a purpose, regardless of their condition or size. Besides being memorials to the men who struggled there, they are in essence, large outdoor classrooms. They are venues in which we can comfortably and with safety, study battle tactics, troop movements, topography, brave deeds accomplished and terrible atrocities committed.

It is at times difficult to fully appreciate the sights, sounds, smells and feelings of the horrific experience of battle, when we tour the land in such a relatively sterile environment. Just maybe, subconsciously, we can better connect with our ancestors when we are cold, wet, sweaty, hot, thirsty, tick-infested and generally miserable while we tour today's battlefield.

Maybe my hearing was better when I visited Antietam on that cold, blustery day in December. Maybe when I was discomforted that day, I could better understand that rather than a walk in a park, for the soldier, it was a walk in hell.

As for Max, my German Shepherd, he just likes tagging along with me.

© Copyright @ Gerald Desko 2012. All Rights Reserved.