On the Track of a Yankee Soldier

For about a year now, I've been on the track of a little Yankee soldier. He's not an ancestor ~ just a young fellow who crossed paths with one of mine. History is so much more intriguing from a personal angle. There's nothing like the family tree to get you digging into the routine events of 150 years ago ~ give or take...

When I first got interested in my young Union soldier, he was just a name and an interesting letter in a pension file. Now, I've found myself in a study of Civil War soldiers, complicated battle campaigns, and northern regimental histories. It's amazing how much documentary evidence is out there, once you start digging. At the beginning of the War, my little Yank was full of beans, tired of drilling, itching to see some battle action, and shrugging off the colonel's scolding should he happen to "cus up eny rusticks." By the end of the War, he'd seen plenty of battle action, was permanently scarred, and had, perhaps, learned to appreciate such rustics for providing "the most tender care" that loyalists in a poor country could bestow.

My guy played a small part in a big struggle and lost a limb for his trouble. While one great-great-grandfather was busy losing a leg under the Confederate flag at Yorktown, my Unionist great-great grandfather was risking life and limb to save a young Yank. That young man went home to Michigan ~ older, wiser, and perhaps with a whole new perspective about the South.

Tuesday, The Day I Was Ambushed by Civil War Soldiers...

Dalton, Georgia. Tuesday morning, I unlocked the door of the archives and was startled out of my wits by an ugly, hairy, bearded guy who had taken up residence on our elegant French Provincial sofa. His friend was a cold, angry-looking blond. Although my life didn't flash before my eyes, many thoughts flashed through my brain in quick succession. My initial fear was that I was late for work and people were waiting. Before I even had time to think, "No, wait ~ I'm early," it occurred to me that the door had been locked, the alarm set. "How did they get past the dead-bolt?" I wondered frantically ~ as an even weirder thought struck me: "These guys look dead." As Huck Finn said, "It most give me the fantods."

I recovered my wits to realize that Marvin had brought over two very real-looking dummies for the upcoming Civil War display. The Civil War soldiers ~ two mannikins ~ were dressed in woolen coats and hats, 1860's fashion, which should have tipped me off at once, but I was not prepared for the sight of them, sprawled out as they were, in the parlor just inside the front door.

Since that initial reaction of mine, they've given me a turn more than once as I've walked by or glanced through the window, forgetting their presence. They look quite at odds with our frilly lace curtains. They've given some visitors to the archives a turn as well. I'll be glad when we get them into the lobby and have them displayed properly ~ though I suspect that even then, I'll be scared many more times as I stroll into the room, distracted by morning routine...

(Crown Gardens and Archives is the headquarters for Whitfield-Murray Historical Society.)