O’Neill’s Civil War unit he would be
woefully uneducated on the subject. You had to be here, to
see the actual uniforms, equipment, firearms and artillery, the
photos of the devastation wreaked upon the area. You had to walk
the fields and get a sense of the magnitude of the battle where
eight-thousand lives were lost, all of them American.
“Yo, T.J.!” shouted Uncle Mike from across a
crowded hallway. “Glad I found you! I’m meeting a group over at the
cemetery. You coming?”
“Sure.”
They took a golf cart for the ten minute ride
over to the cemetery’s main entrance, where T.J. fell in behind a
bunch of senior citizens from Montana whose tour bus was parked
across the street in a lot which had served the former Visitor
Center. Thankfully, the military section of the cemetery was just a
short walk from the entrance, but just passing through the high,
wrought iron entrance gate was like entering another dimension for
the seniors. Their lighthearted, excited air quickly turned somber
as they entered the graveyard. Many of the men were obviously
veterans; some seemed to go as far back as World War II.
Mike Darcy’s many years as a teacher had
prepared him well for his current job, and he took it seriously,
shepherding his charges across the street and through the entrance,
keeping them together as he would a bunch of school kids. And,
although his obvious enthusiasm for his work shone through, he,
too, switched from his usual garrulous persona to a more subdued,
pedantic tone to explain the surroundings.
“Shortly after the Battle of Gettysburg, with
the support of Pennsylvania Governor Andrew Curtin, this site was
purchased and Union dead were moved from the shallow and inadequate
burial sites on the battlefield to the cemetery. The landscape
architect William Saunders, founder of the National Grange,
designed the cemetery. It was originally called Soldiers’ National
Cemetery at Gettysburg.” He turned on his heel and they followed to
an area of small headstones, set in semicircular rows.
“As you may know, thousands of men died on
the fields of Gettysburg, many in horrible fashion. At the end of
the third day there began a torrential rain as Lee’s forces
retreated back to the South. Thousands of men who could not be
transported, both Union and Confederate, remained in makeshift
hospitals, churches and private dwellings. The townspeople, whose
dead livestock lay decomposing in the fields, opened their doors
and their hearts and tried to help however they could.
“The task of cleaning the battlefield was
monumental. Dead horses and cows were heaped into piles and burned,
leaving a stench over the town that lasted into the fall. The
removal of Confederate dead from the burial plots was not
undertaken until seven years after the battle. From 1870 to 1873,
some 3,320 bodies were exhumed and sent to cities such as Raleigh,
Savannah, Richmond and Charleston for reburial. Richmond, the
capital of the Confederacy, took the most. Only a few were
returned to private cemeteries.”
As they moved to another area T.J. could see,
beyond a chest high wrought iron fence, the civilian part of the
burial ground, Evergreen Cemetery, which had witnessed the battle
and where Gettysburg’s citizens were still being buried. When the
group stopped again, well within the military section, T.J. noticed
a short stone that simply said “Unknown. 411 Bodies.” As if that
weren’t chilling enough, it seemed to have been recently cleaned of
a material that left a brownish purple residue. He looked up to see
Mike eyeing him before he cleared his throat and resumed his
monologue.
“William Saunders’s design had two parts.
First, the Soldiers National Monument was placed at the center,
promoting the Union victory and the bravery of the fallen
soldiers; second, you will notice that the graves are arranged in a
series of semicircles around the monument, emphasizing the
fundamental nature of American society, with all graves
woefully uneducated on the subject. You had to be here, to
see the actual uniforms, equipment, firearms and artillery, the
photos of the devastation wreaked upon the area. You had to walk
the fields and get a sense of the magnitude of the battle where
eight-thousand lives were lost, all of them American.
“Yo, T.J.!” shouted Uncle Mike from across a
crowded hallway. “Glad I found you! I’m meeting a group over at the
cemetery. You coming?”
“Sure.”
They took a golf cart for the ten minute ride
over to the cemetery’s main entrance, where T.J. fell in behind a
bunch of senior citizens from Montana whose tour bus was parked
across the street in a lot which had served the former Visitor
Center. Thankfully, the military section of the cemetery was just a
short walk from the entrance, but just passing through the high,
wrought iron entrance gate was like entering another dimension for
the seniors. Their lighthearted, excited air quickly turned somber
as they entered the graveyard. Many of the men were obviously
veterans; some seemed to go as far back as World War II.
Mike Darcy’s many years as a teacher had
prepared him well for his current job, and he took it seriously,
shepherding his charges across the street and through the entrance,
keeping them together as he would a bunch of school kids. And,
although his obvious enthusiasm for his work shone through, he,
too, switched from his usual garrulous persona to a more subdued,
pedantic tone to explain the surroundings.
“Shortly after the Battle of Gettysburg, with
the support of Pennsylvania Governor Andrew Curtin, this site was
purchased and Union dead were moved from the shallow and inadequate
burial sites on the battlefield to the cemetery. The landscape
architect William Saunders, founder of the National Grange,
designed the cemetery. It was originally called Soldiers’ National
Cemetery at Gettysburg.” He turned on his heel and they followed to
an area of small headstones, set in semicircular rows.
“As you may know, thousands of men died on
the fields of Gettysburg, many in horrible fashion. At the end of
the third day there began a torrential rain as Lee’s forces
retreated back to the South. Thousands of men who could not be
transported, both Union and Confederate, remained in makeshift
hospitals, churches and private dwellings. The townspeople, whose
dead livestock lay decomposing in the fields, opened their doors
and their hearts and tried to help however they could.
“The task of cleaning the battlefield was
monumental. Dead horses and cows were heaped into piles and burned,
leaving a stench over the town that lasted into the fall. The
removal of Confederate dead from the burial plots was not
undertaken until seven years after the battle. From 1870 to 1873,
some 3,320 bodies were exhumed and sent to cities such as Raleigh,
Savannah, Richmond and Charleston for reburial. Richmond, the
capital of the Confederacy, took the most. Only a few were
returned to private cemeteries.”
As they moved to another area T.J. could see,
beyond a chest high wrought iron fence, the civilian part of the
burial ground, Evergreen Cemetery, which had witnessed the battle
and where Gettysburg’s citizens were still being buried. When the
group stopped again, well within the military section, T.J. noticed
a short stone that simply said “Unknown. 411 Bodies.” As if that
weren’t chilling enough, it seemed to have been recently cleaned of
a material that left a brownish purple residue. He looked up to see
Mike eyeing him before he cleared his throat and resumed his
monologue.
“William Saunders’s design had two parts.
First, the Soldiers National Monument was placed at the center,
promoting the Union victory and the bravery of the fallen
soldiers; second, you will notice that the graves are arranged in a
series of semicircles around the monument, emphasizing the
fundamental nature of American society, with all graves
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