War In A Day

I’m a GOAT. That stands for Goal-Oriented Avid Traveler. I like to travel all the time, anywhere, and set goals for myself. Occasionally challenges. Sometimes dares. Usually they’re nothing major. In Memphis, I had to go to eat BBQ and go to a blues bar. Closest I got was a funk band where the lead singer plays bongos and wind chimes. In Nashville, I had to take part in a country dancing lesson at the tourist fan-favorite Wildhorse Saloon. In the Smokies, I had to find a salamander. Sadly, hunt in muddy streams as I might, I failed to turn one up. Still, it’s not the success that matters to a GOAT, but the attempt. The attempt is the experience.

For Richmond, the goal was to do the Civil War in a day. I've purposefully avoided it my entire time in the South, but I can put it off no longer now that I'm in the capitol of the Confederacy. They make it easy enough here; the National Park Service has it all set up. First, we go to the Tredegar Ironworks to see the history of the war in Richmond and its munitions manufacturing. Then, to the Museum of the Confederacy, where, disappointingly, they were not continuing to fight the “Lost Cause”. I wanted to see some glorification of slave owning. Finally, we visited the Cold Harbor battlefield, notable for its total lack of harbor.

The museums were, well, dull. There are only so many old uniforms and muskets I can look at before I’m tempted to see if one still works. And there were so many descriptive placards that I can probably don one of the old uniforms and jump into a reenactment of the second battle of Manassas no sweat.

But the battlefield, the battlefield was actually chilling. See, there are no artifacts, save a cannon to mark the start of the walking trail. There is simply a path through the woods, with little informational signs on the trees. “Here is where the Confederate line held against the trench against the Union charge. 500 soldiers died within minutes,” said one.

This battlefield marked the beginning of the age of trench warfare. Union and Confederate soldiers crouched in cramped slovenly trenches they had dug out with spoons and bayonets for weeks at a time. They couldn’t even take a shit, lest they be sniped by opposing sharpshooters. I lay on my stomach in a trench, holding my imaginary gun over the lip. My comrades, tens of thousands of them, lay shoulder to shoulder for miles. Most moaned in pain or thirst or sorrow. We were at the edge of the woods, and could see through the trees the thousands of Union soldiers running across the open field, bayonets fixed and fixing for us. A bead of sweat stung my eye, but I wanted for the call. Waited, terrified, as seconds ticked by like hours. FIRE! The wall of Union soldiers never made it.

We drove down the block to the cemetery. The Union soldiers killed in the battle were simply buried in shallow graves on the field, as they were far into enemy territory. Only after the war were they dug up and moved to this military cemetery. Almost 2000 soldiers were buried here, and those were only the bodied both found and intact enough to be worth reburying. Only half of these were ever identified. I’d had my fill of war for one day.