A Portion of that Battlefield

 Memorial Day 2013 at Gettysburg

Of the many appropriate sites around the world in which one could commemorate Memorial Day, Gettysburg possesses a certain uniqueness in the context of this national holiday.  Even before the American Civil War came to a close, spectators gathered in this Soldiers' National Cemetery every spring and summer to pay homage.  The tradition is a fine one and continues today, as we will see in today's post.  Below are just a few snapshots I took during Monday's proceedings for this day of remembrance.  Enjoy.

James Gettys as President Abraham Lincoln is a staple of commemorative events throughout the year in Gettysburg.  Here, he enters the cemetery gate on the Baltimore Pike, being enthusiastically greeted by spectators.

The Gettysburg National Military Park Law Enforcement always do a top rate job of keeping the proceeding safe and orderly.  The equestrian statue of General Oliver Otis Howard stands over the scene.

The band of the Royal Canadian Legion also participated in the parade that concluded within the cemetery.  At least seventy-five Canadian-Americans fought in the Battle of Gettysburg--the majority of them with the Army of the Potomac.  They served in units including the 20th Maine and the 24th Michigan, part of the famed Iron Brigade.  A small number of these men were laid to rest in this burial ground.  The presence of the Legion added a unique international dimension to the significance of Memorial Day.  The band later played an emotionally-charged version of "Amazing Grace" on the bagpipes.

There was no shortage of young visitors to the event.  Some marched in the parade while others, including this young gentleman, simply watched and waved flags.

As we saw in a previous photos, plenty of reenactors participated in the procession.  A marching living history timeline portrayed a combatant from every American war from the French and Indian War to the present.  The reenactors above portray soldiers from the 325th Glider Infantry Regiment, the U.S. Coastal Artillery, and the 1st Infantry Division.

Every once in a while, these reenactors would spot a veteran amongst the crowd and shake their hand.  The WWII veteran seated at right is ninety years, from New England, and served under MacArthur in the Pacific during the conflict.  I had the opportunity to talk with him during the following ceremony.  He was amazed that marchers singled him out of the crowd just to greet him and give thanks for his service.

Thousands upon thousands of people, especially school children and their parents, entered the cemetery grounds for a special program including guest speakers, veterans, and dignitaries.  We can surely expect more massive crowds this summer here in Gettysburg.

Following speeches by the governor and other delegates, James Gettys delivered his rendition of the Gettysburg Address from the speaker's rostrum constructed only a few years after the Civil War.

Every single headstone in the cemetery had a flag and even flowers placed upon them.  This is an annual tradition among students in the Gettysburg area school district.  A activity is a great way to nurture a sense of appreciation for the history in one's own backyard.

Disaster at Dover and Dieppe

(Again.)

The Normandy adventure continues today as we depart London and head toward the British coast.  Crossing the English Channel beginning at the port of Dover, I was able to take in the view of the iconic chalky cliffs as our ferry boat departed.  One cannot underestimate the symbolic value of such a site in the context of World War II history.  During the Battle of Britain and beyond, the unique geographic formation was often the first visual bearing many Allied pilots saw as their aircraft returned from a mission over mainland Europe.  In this sense, the cliffs embodied senses of homecoming and hope.  This sensation was characterized in the popular song of 1941 entitled "The White Cliffs of Dover."   The Vera Lynn rendition hit number one on the billboard charts here in the States.  Much like Edward R. Murrow broadcasts from London, such tunes evoked emotional and sympathetic feelings among Americans toward their British brethren.

Upon America's entry into the war, scores of Yanks were stationed within the area of the cliffs.  Robert Jacoby of San Diego was one of them.  Attached to a crew operating anti-aircraft weaponry along the shore, Jacoby and his comrades attempted to shoot down incoming German V-1 and V-2 Rockets before they could strike civilian populations or military installations.  Sometimes these missiles struck the flak crews trying to shoot them down.  In this video, Jacoby reflects upon how his unit lost more men in England than in France.

Departing from Dover, we embarked on a two hour journey across the English Channel in choppy seas.  Waves reached as high as ten feet as they crashed into the side of our massive ferry boat.  Our destination was Pas de Calais--the location at which German forces thought the Allies were going to strike in the spring or summer of 1944.  The strategic ruse of Operation Fortitude led the German high command to maintain that train of thought well into June 1944--even after the Normandy invasion had already commenced.  

Amidst these rough waters, I could not help but imagine the similar conditions Allied troops faced in the gargantuan armada traversing the Channel that June.  With as many as 7,000 vessels and some 100,000 troops, the convoy was one of the largest endeavors known to man.  Lieutenant Gerald Heaney of the 2nd Ranger Battalion recalled of his experiences on board, "We were all downstairs in the hold, officers and enlisted men alike.  We were very crowded, the sea was rough, and a lot of people became ill.  I personally was woozy and really couldn't eat.  In fact, I purposefully refrained from doing so, so I wouldn't get sick to my stomach."  Ships wreaked of vomit and passengers slipped in it down narrow stairways at they struggled through the masses to reach the head.  All the while, these queasy GIs pondered their fates in the days to follow.  August Thomas, a coxswain on an LCT wrote, "Stillness fell, and in soft voices you could hear different groups discussing what they thought the dawn would bring and how they would fare in all of this" (McManus, The Americans at D-Day, 145).

Taking use of a seasickness pill myself during the journey, I had an easy ride in comparison.  Our ship was much like a floating shopping mall, including restaurants, shops, an arcade, slot machines, and plush lounges filled with advertisements for Euro Disney.  Even while taking advantage of these luxuries, I took a few moments to inhale the fresh, brisk ocean air.  Yes, it was cold.

 

Thus, cold and wintry conditions became a staple of our trip.  By the time we docked at Calais, snow was falling and already covering the ground.  We were about to experience an historical event ourselves.  As it would turn out, we arrived in France just in time for the largest snow storm for the better part of a century.  A USA Today article of that week wrote of this freak storm, "Instead of enjoying the onset of spring, travelers shivered in stranded cars, packed onto icy train platforms, or languished in airport waiting halls. Thousands of schoolchildren stayed home. Tens of thousands of homes were without electricity."  Ain't it the truth.  Our vistas were more reminiscent of the Battle of Bulge than they were of June 1944.  Scenes similar to the one above became a frequent one during our travels throughout northern France.  In short, the French have no idea how to navigate through snow, nor does their government have any means to remove it from their roads.  These ingredients were a recipe for disaster.  More on this meteorological anomaly to follow in forthcoming posts.

Even despite the horrid snowfall and frequent whiteout conditions, we attempted to press onto our first tour destination in France: Dieppe.  Nearly two full years before the invasion of Normandy to the south, a joint Canadian-British-American force landed here in an attempt to gain a small foothold in France.  After five hours of battle on August 19, 1942, Allied commanders called for a desperate retreat.  Just as with Dunkirk, the Allies were again driven into the sea following defeat on the shores of the continent.  Among the German hideouts and places to seek cover were some of these buildings facing the beach.

Although much of the beach was covered by snow and the blustery conditions during our visit, one was still able to grasp how and why matters spiraled so quickly out of control in 1942.  The shore is essentially a pebble peach, as you can see here.  The task of driving vehicles inland from this point proved a near impossible task.  Landing craft and tanks could gain little to no traction in such an environment.  This landscape feature may have been one of the single most important factors in determining the battle's result.  A year and a half later, planners of the Normandy invasion examined the mistake at Dieppe and determined the type of sand on the beaches to be a major point of consideration for the proposed invasion site.

Well over half of the 6,000 plus Allied combatants who landed at Dieppe were killed, wounded, or captured.  The operation was an unmitigated disaster.  Among the 6,000 were forty-nine U.S. Army Rangers.  They were among the first American soldiers to set foot on the European continent during the war.  This photo demonstrates how the geology of the beach weighed heavily on the fight's outcome.

This German pillbox lingering over the beach reveals just how effective a single gun emplacement could be.  Looming high above the shore, this bunker could spray horrific fire into the flanks of troops as they came out of the water.  As author Robin Neillands has concluded, "As the events of 19 August were to show, the Dieppe defenders proved more than adequate to stop the landing in its tracks, not least because these men were in pillboxes or bunkers, impervious to the totally inadequate weight of fire brought against them and well equipped with artillery, mortars and machine guns with which to flay the Canadians on the beaches" (Neillands, The Dieppe Raid, 100).  Now covered with graffiti, the concrete and steel fortification stands vigilant as a stark reminder of the Allied defeat.

"The castle at the western end of the town was built in 1435, the year that the inhabitants drove out their English occupiers. It would be used by the German garrison in World War II. The largely Protestant Huguenot population of the port suffered greatly" long before 1942 (Folwer, Allies at Dieppe).  German officers and troops garrisoned within in the 15th century structure.  Around it they constructed a ring of defenses including artillery and mortar positions.  Just as the defenders of 500 years prior, the Nazis realized the significance of this terrain dominating the streets and beaches below.

Standing in the below freezing winds above the channel, I thought myself only slightly crazy for trying to endure the cold bitterness in the name of battlefield exploration.

This brief video will offer you a sense of the surrounding landscape of the Dieppe battlefield.  The clip will also reveal some of the less than savory weather we put up with during this "spring" break venture.  In some ways, this was only the beginning.  Stay tuned for more as we took a long detour through Le Havre and moved slower than the actual Allied advance.  Bonne chance!
 

Normandy in Color

A Shooting War (with film).


Normandy in Color by brest44

This archival footage was too rich and mesmerizing not to share.  In what I assume is a segment of acclaimed director George Steven's film D-Day to Berlin, these snippets of film from June and July 1944 are intimate, revealing, and important.  Steven's cadre of cameramen included experienced filmmakers, cinematographers, and producers who adapted to Newsreel and Army life.  Known as "Steven's Irregulars," these Hollywood types nevertheless realized they were filming something  more than a mere movie.  Watch, learn, and enjoy.

Ten Armies in Hell

Book Review: Monte Cassino: Ten Armies in Hell, Peter Caddick-Adams. Oxford University, $29.95 (384p) ISBN 978-1-84809-358-4.  Review by Jared Frederick.

"No tree escaped damage, no piece of ground remained green.  On my lonely walk the only accompaniment was the jarring explosion of shells, the whistling of splinters, the smell of freshly thrown-up earth and the well-known mixture of smells from glowing iron and burnt powder" (184).  German General Senger und Etterlin remarked at this devastation of the battlefield during Operation Dickens, the Allied effort against the Gustav Line in March 1944.  Monte Cassino, the centerpiece of this formidable defensive position, is the subject of writer Peter Caddick-Adams's new book aptly subtitled Ten Armies in Hell.  A British veteran of numerous conflicts in eastern Europe and the Middle East, the author knows war firsthand, and his heart-wrenching narrative of the infamous WWII scrap suggests his own personal encounters on the field of battle.  Much like Antony Beevor or Rick Atkinson, Caddick-Adams's talent rests in his ability to equally balance the perspectives of the general down to the grunt.  And perhaps the most fascinating facet of the tale is his analysis of an "extraordinary rainbow alliance of nations and races" which waged a brutal offensive against fascist forces in the inhospitable mountains of central Italy.  The story is incomprehensibly brutal yet historically provocative and readable.

While many readers understandably have preconceptions of WWII Italy as an American vs. German fight, Caddick-Adams's important work will promptly correct this skewed perspective.  In actuality, the Allied force consisted not only of the usual military suspects, "but also Russians, Indians, Georgians, Napalese, Ukranians, French, Slovaks, Armenians, New Zealanders, and Poles."  The nationalities suffered together and endured drastic conditions against well-entrenched Axis forces.  While this diverse conglomeration may have been perceived as a harbinger of victory, such did not always seem the case.  As the author clarifies, this "international dimension of the huge Allied artillery resources available created the conditions for. . .friendly fire confusion."  As one Indian gunner recalled, "From battery to battery I heard every conceivable accent--American, British, New Zealand.  Elsewhere orders cackled in Polish and French.  Then like the opening phrase of a colossal symphony the guns roared in unison."  Confusion indeed.

The lack of a common language was not the only challenge the Allies confronted.  Horrid weather and excruciating coldness turned roads and pathways into impassable quagmires of mud or ice.  Rivers overflowed and engulfed vehicles.  Equipment froze and stalled.  One can only imagine a combatant frustratingly trying to thaw out a can of rations.  American deuce and a half trucks toppled over embankments, forcing weary and bearded GIs to revert to mules as forms of transportation.  Some 15,000 donkeys were implemented in the chaotic venture.  The men driving them often proved equally stubborn.

Perhaps the most compelling focal points in the book analyze the moral contradictions and ambiguities of bombing the 900 year-old mountaintop abbey above Cassino.  Allies seemed reluctant at first to bombard the historic shrine with thousands of tons of high explosive but were quick to justify their actions--including Eisenhower and Roosevelt.  German propaganda called the Americans and British "barbarians" for the destruction of the Catholic landmark.  Although the site was reconstructed within two decades, the action remains a historical gray area as well as a tactical one.  The bombed-out ruins of the abbey created a near-impenetrable labyrinth for Allies to inch through.  So too are the human costs of the campaign confounding: 200,000 casualties (or roughly the entire population size of Richmond, Virginia).  Was the cost worth the objective?  Even with his rich account and plentiful sources, the author largely leaves this all important question to the imagination of the reader.

Unlike Normandy or the Bulge, Monte Cassino was not celebrated.  Nor could it be commemorated in the same way by the veterans who participated in it.  In some manners, the fight remains a paradox.  Other than the 1945 film The Story of G.I. Joe, Monte Cassino has barely been mentioned let alone depicted in cinematic renditions of the war.  (The author notes, however, director John Irvin plans to release a film on the subject in time for the seventieth anniversary.  We'll see.)  All in all, Caddick-Adams delivers a masterful treatment of a too frequenrly omitted moment of World War II history.  His work is readable, personal, eye-opening, and gave me a higher appreciation of the Italian Campaign.  The story resonates with me, as now does the song "D-Day Dodgers," featured in the prologue of the book:

Look around the hillsides, through the mist and rain,

See the scattered crosses, some that bear no name.

Heartbreak and toil and suffering gone,

The lads beneath, they slumber on.

They are the D-Day Dodgers, who'll stay in Italy.  

Overshadowed and forgotten.  Caddick-Adams's book is a step in the right direction of reversing that unfortunate pattern.

The Benedictine abbey overlooking Monte Cassino (constructed in 529 A.D.) became a fortress of rubble and was defended daringly by German Fallschirmjagers (paratroopers) who were trained to fight independently in small, leaderless groups.  They made the Allies pay for it in blood.  The structure was reconsecrated in 1964 and stands to this day.  Photo Courtesy of the German Federal Archives. 

Tips from Rick Atkinson

At the National WWII Museum

Rick Atkinson and Jared Frederick at the National WWII Museum.

Back from New Orleans and the National WWII Museum!  This past Wednesday I had the exciting opportunity to attend an engaging lecture by three-time Pulitzer Prize-winning author Rick Atkinson at the official release of his latest book.  Entitled The Guns at Last Light: The War in Western Europe, 1944-1945, his study is the final volume in his "Liberation Trilogy," which covers the American Army's baby steps in North Africa, to the fighting in Sicily and Italy, and now to Normandy and VE Day.  (Accordingly, this special event was held on the 68th anniversary of the end of the war in Europe.)  Atkinson's magisterial An Army at Dawn, which covered the North Africa Campaign, won the Pulitzer Prize for History following its 2002 release.  He is one of the most prolific writers of American Military History.

Analyzing D-Day to the dwindling days of the global conflict, Atkinson has uncovered some new and surprising facts from the deep recesses of the National Archives.  For instance, Allied and Axis fears of biochemical weapons were very much a reality in 1944.  Wartime London was scoured by bounty hunters trapping rats to check their carcasses for bubonic plague harvested by the Germans.  Geiger counters were discretely placed throughout the city to detect radioactivity.  Gratefully, such weapons were never introduced.  Meanwhile, the Allies conceived of a plan to construct an invasion route tunnel under the waters of the English Channel as a means of covertly reaching the shores of France.  This plan, too, never met fruition.  Finally, rumors of a diehard Nazi fortress built within the Alps as a last stand location of the Third Reich swirled around the Allied high command.  Atkinson called this ungrounded fable as one of the "WMD" myths of its time.  All of these intriguing tales and many more will be discussed in his book to be released this week.

Following his talk, Atkinson replied to numerous inquiries from the audience.  All of them were thought-provoking and generally well-informed.  A majority of them dealt with hypotheticals and alternative history.  What if the Normandy Invasion had failed?  What were the contingency plans?  What if more Germans had been stationed in that region?  Wishing to gain a better comprehension of Atkinson's historical methodology, I decided to pose a question myself.  I asked, of all of the thousands of primary sources that he utilized in his work, was there one in particular which especially surprised, shocked, or inspired him?  His answer was perhaps the best of his many personal and insightful comments of the evening.

Atkinson conveyed the story of General Lesley J. McNair, an American commander instrumental in Operation Cobra--the Allied effort to breakout of Normandy's dense hedgerow country.  Observing the movement of his troops on July 25, 1944, he and hundreds of his subordinates came under heavy friendly fire from the 8th Air Force.  McNair was killed in the misplaced bombardment.  His subsequent funeral was held in secret.  On a trip to the National Archives, Atkinson encountered the map McNair was holding at the time of his death.  The paper was covered in the reddish-brown stains that was once the blood flowing out of the general's body.  Atkinson admitted that tangibles as such serve as a stark visual reminder of the war as a whole.  These artifacts make the horrendous history more palpable, more emotional, and more human.  The task of the historian, he said, is to present the intimately personal within the macro narrative and analysis.  If one does not conduct their work in such a manner, the deeper meaning of the story will be lost amidst statistics and maneuvers.  Furthermore, if a historian is not dramatically moved by the individual stories of tragedy, humor, or the triumph of their subject matter, they truly need to reexamine their mission.  So there you have it.

I enthusiastically had Atkinson sign all three copies of his Liberation Trilogy for me and I highly anticipate reading the final installment.  His talk was engrossing and I look forward to discussing more history with him in the future.  My visit to the museum in which the talk was held was equally captivating and edifying.  That will be the subject of a blog post to come.  Stay tuned and carry on!

My upward view during Atkinson's lecture in the brand new Boeing Center at the museum.  (This was the first time I enjoyed hors d'oeuvres under the wings of a B-17 and a P-51!)

Join Rick Atkinson for a conversation about his latest work.

His book is to be released May 14, 2013.  I received an advanced copy and you should get one too!  You will not regret the purchase.  Click here.  Enjoy!

"An Awful Large Battle"

A Maine officer's perspective of Chancellorsville

John Frain, are you in there?  Officers of the 16th Maine.

(Maine State Archives)

As we continue to consider the Battle of Chancellorsville on its sesquicentennial, let us again seek the "boots on the ground" perspective, particularly that of the 16th Maine Infantry.  This Federal regiment went on to achieve great fame at Gettysburg less than two months later and are the subject of an upcoming public television documentary.  For now, however, we shall focus on May 1863.  Information on this unit's exploits at Chancellorsville can be difficult to find.  Yet one of the officers in this regiment, Abner R. Small, left numerous written accounts of the Sixteenth's exploits.  One humorous anecdote originates from from their crossing of the Rapidan River in Virginia on April 30.  Small writes of the chaplains who "were eloquent in their appeals to patriotism. . . . They besought us to all stand firm, to be brave; God being our shield, we had nothing to fear.  Just then came several enemy shells from across the river and a general scattering.  The chaplains were the first to flee, and the swiftest, their coattails streaming in the wind, followed by gleefully shouted counsel: ‘Stand firm; put your trust in the Lord!’”  The infantrymen heartily laughed off the incident.

Unfortunately for sergeants of the 16th like John H. Frain, matters were not as jovial in the subsequent days.  Being caught in the melee that was the wilderness around Chancellorsville, he penned a vivid testimonial of his experiences to his mother--Eliza Frain of East Madison--150 years ago tomorrow.  His words ring true:

"In the field
May 4, 1863
Dear parents,
I thought it would relieve your anxiety to hear from me. When I wrote to you last, we a little below Fredericksburg. We layed there about three days under fire of their Batterys but did not lose any men. The day before yesterday, they started us. We were then on the extreme left then and marched us to the extreme right, a dis. Of 25 miles. It took us till 12 o ' clock at night before we got there. It was awful. You know we had eight days rations and our clothing and blankets to carry and it was as warm as it is at home in July. A great many fell out but I stood it. We crossed the river at a place called Kelley's Ford. It is up the Rappahannock, most up to Rap- Station and marched back most to the Rapidan River. They sent five Co.s of our Reg't on picket and our Co. Was one of them. We went out and staid till 4 o' clock last night, when we came in and built breastworks most all night. So you may think how tired we are. There was an awful large battle fought yesterday about a mile down the river from us. They say we have lost 12,000. We took a great many prisoners. We have this place to hold if they do not come where we are we probably shall not have to fight any only our picket fighting. We are nearer Richmond than ever we were before. Tell John Chad. I saw his Regt. They are guarding the telegraph wires from their camp up the river. They are strewn a distance of 15 miles. The fifth Me. Battery was in our Div. About every man was killed yesterday or taken prisoner. The highest officer left was a Corporal. I must close now and go to building entrenchments. It is quiet this morning only a little picket fighting.
In haste,
J. H. Frain"

Through this sergeant's words, we grasp notions that seem universal for the plight of the Civil War soldier: awfulness, confusion, exhaustion, apprehension, and death.  In this rural crossroads, he was certainly not alone in these sentiments.

Frain went on to endure the horrors of other battles and challenges.  He was captured at Gettysburg on July 1, 1863 and paroled.  He was captured again on August 19, 1864 at Weldon Railroad (aka Globe Tavern) in Virginia.  Upon eventual release from his incarceration at the ghastly Libby Prison in Richmond, he remarked, "it looked good to see the old flag once more."  His passion for the liberties of Union had not died even though many of his comrades had.  John survived the war as a lieutenant and later filed a pension claim to the government.  He passed away March 29, 1898.  He was only fifty-seven.  I trust his life was filled with far less "haste" and trouble in the years that followed the Civil War.  After all, he possessed thirty-five more years of life than many who trudged through those woods surrounding Chancellorsville.

P.S.  You can buy Frain's original Civil War diaries here and here if you have the money and inclination.  I will gladly accept them as donations!

 Page one of John Frain's May 4, 1863 letter home.  (Poe Letter Archives)

Echoes from Chancellorsville

What's in the names?

These were people once.

I have been thinking much about the Battle of Chancellorsville lately.  Firstly, I have great regret I cannot be there to participate in the 150th anniversary commemorations.  (I made it to about five sesquicentennial events last year and am rightly disappointed my tally will be significantly less this year.)  Regardless, my thoughts are wandering in and out of May 1863 today.

Perhaps unsurprisingly, many of our perceptions about the popular memory of Chancellorsville remain unhinged.  The romanticized mythos of Thomas "Stonewall" Jackson overshadows many of the other equally dramatic sagas.  This week, Jackson devotees will pay nocturnal homage at the site of the general's wounding by his own men.  They will visit the burial site of his left arm at the Ellwood Cemetery.  Lemons will be left as tokens of appreciation and memorial.  The pilgrimage will climax on May 10 at the general's shrine in Guinea Station as hundreds will stand hushed surrounding the white clapboard house where Lee's right hand man gasped his last breath.

While Jackson's triumphs and demise should be recognized, let us step back and allow the broader horrors of this battle to settle in.  To do this, imagine yourself in the mud and brick covered streets of 1863 Philadelphia.  The newspapers are filled with rumor and conjecture.  A May 6 article describes General Joseph Hooker's great triumph as he pushes southward into Virginia.  Days later, word of battle outside Fredericksburg splashes across the newsprint pages.  Southern leader A. P. Hill is said to have been killed in the thick wilderness fighting.  Flames consume the wounded unable to evade the fiery wrath.  The Democratic Banner of Clearfield, Pennsylvania wrote that a night attack during this scrap "was the most grand and terrific thing of the war.  The moon shone bright, and an enemy could be seen at good musket range.  The air was very still, and the roar and reverberation of the musketry and artillery past [sic] all conception.  Malvern Hill was a skirmish compared with this, save in the degree of slaughter."  Word of yet another Federal defeat sullies aspiration of Union victory and hope.

The day after "Stonewall" breathed his last, mothers and fathers of young men in the 68th Pennsylvania Volunteers, among other units engaged, read of similar fates.  Within this list of names below, printed in the May 11 issue of Philadelphia's Press, rests the bigger picture of Chancellorsville.  We see the names of men killed, maimed, and about to die.  Sergeant Charles Babe of Company A, the first one listed in the casualties here, enlisted less than two weeks after Fort Sumter with the 20th PA.  He re-enlisted on July 16, 1862 with the 68th.  By this time, he was an experienced non-commissioned officer.  In his prior life, he had varnished wood and furniture.  He was thirty two years of age when death took him at Chancellorsville.  William McCarron of Company D, age thirty-three, survived his two leg wounds and was mustered out June 9, 1865.  With scars marking his limbs, he was nevertheless a lucky one.  Captain John D. Powling of Company I, recorded as severely wounded in the knee, was not as fortunate.  He succumbed to his wounds two days after this article was published.  He was only twenty-three.

You will not find any of these names in a book or on a shrine, but Chancellorsville is as much their story as it is "Stonewall" Jackson's.  Like so many others, their whole lives ahead of them were cut short by pieces of lead and shrapnel.  Young Powling passed away in agony as flies ate away at his decapitated leg in a Washington, D.C. infirmary--hardly the gallant death people envision when considering the Civil War.  While the article below noted that the men of the 68th "covered themselves with glory," it's important for us to also remember something else 150 years later: The only thing many of these young men were covered with was dirt in their shallow graves.

That is what Chancellorsville was.  Look at the list of youngsters below.  Multiply it by 430.  Then, you'll have some understanding of what Chancellorsville claimed.  Bigger than "Stonewall" indeed.

Two months later, more of these and other men of the Third Corps would find themselves in an even more precarious situation in a seemingly unremarkable peach orchard in Pennsylvania.  We'll talk more about that this summer.  For those of you exploring Chancellorsville this week, just try to remember the Henry Wagners, Bernard Hagans, and William Smiths of the battlefield.  We must.