Writers worldwide eagerly herald the creation of about 175,000 new blogs each passing day. With these new literary births, a smaller number simultaneously fades less dramatically into oblivion. As recent readers know, I have been considering adding this blog to the count of the latter. After much though, I have made my decision and I now mournfully and reluctantly set down my pen.
I reached my decision this week after much consideration of the responses to the blog articles that I have written these past few months. As I tended more to address the darker side of war, enthusiasm for my writings diminished. While I never sought to obtain an unfettered adulation from those visiting here, my concern increased over the lack of reader receptivity to the less "Currier and Ives" portrayals of our shared past. I also remain troubled that I may have inadvertently contributed to an overly romanticized image of perhaps one of the most tragic kinds of endeavors in human history. As I pondered my choices over the last several weeks, the words of Nathan Bedford Forrest rang progressively louder in my ears. "War means fighting," he proclaimed, "and fighting means killing."
Consistent with a change in the tone of the comments I have recently received, one example may serve to encapsulate them all. The very fine web site, Civil War Interactive, has over the last few months chosen to ignore many of my posts in their weekly reviews. I had grown accustomed to the lack of a response to my writings on the previously proposed casino at Gettysburg but grew troubled by the disregard shown for what I consider my darker posts. Instead of acknowledging any specific disapproval and despite the presence of new articles most weekends, they instead implied that I had ceased to write.
I have come to believe that avoiding the discussion of the more savage aspects of war damages the perception of both the degree of our ancestors’ incredible sacrifices and of the importance of the lessons we take from their excruciating ordeals. The continued lack of enthusiasm for the discussion of the brutal, raw side of war contributes to my concerns that avoiding such issues increases the likelihood that those who have not experienced combat may conclude that war is more glorious than is justified. Given that between 170,000,000 and 216,000,000 people have died during the wars of the 20th Century, the highest total in thousands of years of civilized human history, I can no longer satisfy my conscience while writing what may contribute to a sterilized, romanticized view of warfare. Questions broaching which soldier could have constructed a more efficient offensive or defensive strategy too often resemble the casual discussion of a football game rather than addressing how to avoid the massively tragic slaughter altogether.
Certainly I could continue to write regardless of the response and push ahead with discussing the horrors of war. At this point though, I have neither the energy nor the desire to continue with that struggle. I need only look inward for the source of this apparent shortcoming and, in acknowledging as much, I must accept responsibility for the portion of the diminished enthusiasm that originates from within.
Once I have had the time to develop a greater understanding of the origins, justifications, and costs of warfare and the degree to which my small corner of the cyber world influences individual opinions, I may again take my pen and breathe life back into the pages of this blog. For now, I maintain my continued unwavering respect for the veterans of all of America’s conflicts and wholeheartedly thank everyone who has stopped here to read and reflect.
God bless.
Randy
This writer acknowledges the right of the web authors noted above to conduct their web sites as they so chose. I intend no implied criticism by my interpretation of their actions.
Showing posts with label War. Show all posts
Showing posts with label War. Show all posts
Sunday, February 25, 2007
Tuesday, February 20, 2007
My Struggle
Last weekend I posted a message saying that I wished to take some time to think about the direction of this blog. For those who have been kind enough to visit here over the past few years, I feel that I owe you an explanation.
In a post some time ago, I mentioned that I came to my interest in the American Civil War in an entirely serendipitous manner. I stumbled upon Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer Prize winning masterpiece, "Killer Angels", and was so moved that I immediately drove to Gettysburg to see the place where such deeds had occurred. Standing for the first time on Cemetery Ridge, I gazed across the mile wide open fields where Southern men advanced into the awaiting frenzied maelstrom of Union rifle and artillery fire. I could not fathom the courage such an act required and set about trying to comprehend.
For the better part of the last decade, I have walked the fields where our ancestors fought and marveled at the hardships they endured to forge the country we now call home. I began to think that perhaps I understood some of what occurred. I wrote blog articles implying as much, expressed opinions, and created a large web site with over 600 pages of photographs and information. I read constantly. The American Civil War became my obsession. Yet, despite all of my work, another chance event has made me question whether or not I have approached any real understanding at all.
Several weeks ago, I began to read more about later wars in American History, looking for evidence for or against the uniqueness of the internal conflict which had captured my fascination. Settling on World War II, I began to read about the primary events, the causes, and the staggering numbers of casualties. Despite some knowledge of the second Great War and the number of American casualties, I was stunned to read the estimates of 60 million people or more killed during WWII, with civilians making up more than half of those numbers. As I continued to read, my focus on the primary battles naturally led to June 6, 1944 and February 19, 1945.
On the morning of latter date, the United States forces set foot on the black sandy beaches of the island of Iwo Jima, a Japanese stronghold coveted by the Allies as a necessary staging area for their continued counter-offensive. The battle lasted over a month, much longer than expected, and resulted in slaughter on a horrific scale. Of the 22,000 Japanese who sought to defend their ground, almost all were killed. The Americans suffered about 26,000 casualties of which over 6,000 died.
Similarly, on June 6, 1944, the Allies launched their assaults on the beaches of Normandy. Serving as the beginning of the Battle of Normandy, the Allies would suffer about 10,000 casualties with some 2,500 dead on that fateful day. Estimates of German casualties on D-Day, although not verifiable, fall between 4,000 and 9,000 men.
These very familiar battles carved gut-wrenching suffering and pain into the hearts of thousands of families, into the psyche of those who braved the machine gun and artillery fire, and into the wounded soul of humanity worldwide. And yet, the human wreckage at Gettysburg paralleled and by some measures eclipsed these battles. Again, to anyone who has even a passing knowledge of our history, the casualty figures ring all too familiar.
I am not a veteran and have never seen combat. I realize that what I have read, what I have seen, and what I may imagine, cannot begin to approach true comprehension of the horror of battle. I cannot place myself in the boots of the American Servicemen who tenaciously fought a faceless, hidden enemy at Iwo Jima, one willing to die where he fought. I cannot fathom the staggering degree of courage required to surge forward on Omaha Beach in the face of such terrifying, horrific losses.
Although I cannot conceive of what these men endured, I have written for years about the great battles of the American Civil War, Gettysburg, Antietam, Chancellorsville, and Fredericksburg among them. In each of these battles, men were torn apart by canister, shot, and shell. Minnie balls shattered bodies leaving the less fortunate to writhe in agony on the unforgiving ground. In some instances, soldiers died via the bayonet, rifle butts, rocks, or anything else which served to assault or defend. At Gettysburg, in just three days, ten thousand men died. Thirty thousand men emerged no longer whole. Another ten thousand were officially designated as missing. By some estimates, the killing at Gettysburg reached such a level of devastation that about as many mules and horses were killed at Gettysburg as Allies and Germans combined on D-Day.
As mentioned in a recent post, the 20th century saw about 200,000,000 people killed by war, a greater number than at any other time in human history. While I unquestionably admire the bravery of the United States servicemen and veterans, while I remain ever grateful for their contributions to the world that we now know, and while I will forever honor their memory, my questions are simple. I wonder about my responsibility for the impact on the children of today of what I write. I wonder about my responsibility to the men and women who are dying right now in yet another human war. By writing in a manner which to some degree glorifies and romanticizes the exploits which occurred during warfare, do I add my small voice to the chorus of those who may view war as acceptable or even desirable? If the answer is yes, do I then, even in a small way, contribute to the acceptance of the continuation of this human holocaust? I cannot help but wonder if by writing with such admiration and wonder about the soldiers of the American Civil War, I perpetuate the idea that war is somehow an acceptable mechanism to resolve conflict. At times, to fight is necessary. But should it ever be acceptable?
Perhaps I flatter myself. Perhaps what I write is ultimately irrelevant. And yet I fear that even in a small sense, I may contribute to an unnecessarily romantic image of what is one of the most brutal and unforgiving of human endeavors.
As the fires of each previous war flicker out, the echoes also fade of the countless wishes that this war will finally be the last. Perhaps, just this once, I should listen to the long, stilled hopes that our ancestors had for this country.
In "Killer Angels", Michael Shaara implies that we have within us a divine spark coexisting with something much darker. What I must decide is, have I perhaps inadvertently fed the latter.
With all due respect and sincerely,
Randy
Sources:
D-Day Museum
PBS.org
Military.com
IwoJima.com
In a post some time ago, I mentioned that I came to my interest in the American Civil War in an entirely serendipitous manner. I stumbled upon Michael Shaara’s Pulitzer Prize winning masterpiece, "Killer Angels", and was so moved that I immediately drove to Gettysburg to see the place where such deeds had occurred. Standing for the first time on Cemetery Ridge, I gazed across the mile wide open fields where Southern men advanced into the awaiting frenzied maelstrom of Union rifle and artillery fire. I could not fathom the courage such an act required and set about trying to comprehend.
For the better part of the last decade, I have walked the fields where our ancestors fought and marveled at the hardships they endured to forge the country we now call home. I began to think that perhaps I understood some of what occurred. I wrote blog articles implying as much, expressed opinions, and created a large web site with over 600 pages of photographs and information. I read constantly. The American Civil War became my obsession. Yet, despite all of my work, another chance event has made me question whether or not I have approached any real understanding at all.
Several weeks ago, I began to read more about later wars in American History, looking for evidence for or against the uniqueness of the internal conflict which had captured my fascination. Settling on World War II, I began to read about the primary events, the causes, and the staggering numbers of casualties. Despite some knowledge of the second Great War and the number of American casualties, I was stunned to read the estimates of 60 million people or more killed during WWII, with civilians making up more than half of those numbers. As I continued to read, my focus on the primary battles naturally led to June 6, 1944 and February 19, 1945.
On the morning of latter date, the United States forces set foot on the black sandy beaches of the island of Iwo Jima, a Japanese stronghold coveted by the Allies as a necessary staging area for their continued counter-offensive. The battle lasted over a month, much longer than expected, and resulted in slaughter on a horrific scale. Of the 22,000 Japanese who sought to defend their ground, almost all were killed. The Americans suffered about 26,000 casualties of which over 6,000 died.
Similarly, on June 6, 1944, the Allies launched their assaults on the beaches of Normandy. Serving as the beginning of the Battle of Normandy, the Allies would suffer about 10,000 casualties with some 2,500 dead on that fateful day. Estimates of German casualties on D-Day, although not verifiable, fall between 4,000 and 9,000 men.
These very familiar battles carved gut-wrenching suffering and pain into the hearts of thousands of families, into the psyche of those who braved the machine gun and artillery fire, and into the wounded soul of humanity worldwide. And yet, the human wreckage at Gettysburg paralleled and by some measures eclipsed these battles. Again, to anyone who has even a passing knowledge of our history, the casualty figures ring all too familiar.
I am not a veteran and have never seen combat. I realize that what I have read, what I have seen, and what I may imagine, cannot begin to approach true comprehension of the horror of battle. I cannot place myself in the boots of the American Servicemen who tenaciously fought a faceless, hidden enemy at Iwo Jima, one willing to die where he fought. I cannot fathom the staggering degree of courage required to surge forward on Omaha Beach in the face of such terrifying, horrific losses.
Although I cannot conceive of what these men endured, I have written for years about the great battles of the American Civil War, Gettysburg, Antietam, Chancellorsville, and Fredericksburg among them. In each of these battles, men were torn apart by canister, shot, and shell. Minnie balls shattered bodies leaving the less fortunate to writhe in agony on the unforgiving ground. In some instances, soldiers died via the bayonet, rifle butts, rocks, or anything else which served to assault or defend. At Gettysburg, in just three days, ten thousand men died. Thirty thousand men emerged no longer whole. Another ten thousand were officially designated as missing. By some estimates, the killing at Gettysburg reached such a level of devastation that about as many mules and horses were killed at Gettysburg as Allies and Germans combined on D-Day.
As mentioned in a recent post, the 20th century saw about 200,000,000 people killed by war, a greater number than at any other time in human history. While I unquestionably admire the bravery of the United States servicemen and veterans, while I remain ever grateful for their contributions to the world that we now know, and while I will forever honor their memory, my questions are simple. I wonder about my responsibility for the impact on the children of today of what I write. I wonder about my responsibility to the men and women who are dying right now in yet another human war. By writing in a manner which to some degree glorifies and romanticizes the exploits which occurred during warfare, do I add my small voice to the chorus of those who may view war as acceptable or even desirable? If the answer is yes, do I then, even in a small way, contribute to the acceptance of the continuation of this human holocaust? I cannot help but wonder if by writing with such admiration and wonder about the soldiers of the American Civil War, I perpetuate the idea that war is somehow an acceptable mechanism to resolve conflict. At times, to fight is necessary. But should it ever be acceptable?
Perhaps I flatter myself. Perhaps what I write is ultimately irrelevant. And yet I fear that even in a small sense, I may contribute to an unnecessarily romantic image of what is one of the most brutal and unforgiving of human endeavors.
As the fires of each previous war flicker out, the echoes also fade of the countless wishes that this war will finally be the last. Perhaps, just this once, I should listen to the long, stilled hopes that our ancestors had for this country.
In "Killer Angels", Michael Shaara implies that we have within us a divine spark coexisting with something much darker. What I must decide is, have I perhaps inadvertently fed the latter.
With all due respect and sincerely,
Randy
Sources:
D-Day Museum
PBS.org
Military.com
IwoJima.com
Sunday, January 07, 2007
War: A Commentary
Over the last year, many of these blog entries have addressed the looming spectre of a casino on the outskirts of the sacred fields of Gettysburg. During that time, some who supported such a venture questioned the meaning of these grounds. Responses frequently discussed the soldiers' sacrifices and their impact on our future while rightfully underscoring our duty to honor the dead of our country. In focusing on such, we often avoid the issue of war itself for without war, without the colossal spilling of blood on these fields, few would view Gettysburg with such reverence.
A Small Section of Arlington National Cemetery
Throughout our history, witnesses to sanguinary struggles often expressed their desire that the conflict they experienced emerge as the last of its kind. Few would question these sentiments. During the American Civil War, casualty numbers eclipsed anything the nation had previously suffered. Single battles left dead and wounded in greater numbers than those produced by multiple combinations of previous wars. However, after sectional hostilities ended, the United States would continue their war with the Indians in a quest to control the lands between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean. In the 1880s, a collection of Union and Confederate soldiers would volunteer to fight with a new wave of soldiers in the Spanish American War. With the birth of a new century, as Civil War veterans became fewer in number and the memory of their struggle faded, the United States would join the war to end all wars.
World War I, the Great War, produced devastation on a scale that, in comparison, relegated the American Civil War to a mere skirmish. Estimates for World War I vary but consistently range between 8 and 9 million deaths with a staggering overall casualty list of 30 to 35 million. In the summer and fall of 1916, the Battle of the Somme, which degenerated into a bloody struggle of attrition, would contribute over one million casualties to the angel of death's ghastly harvest. Civilian deaths added perhaps another 6 million or more to the war's grim total.
As the world suffered through the aftermath of World War I taking stock in what they had lost, the seeds of an even greater conflict already threatened germination. A few short decades later, the soul of humanity would cry out in sustained agony as over 60 million soldiers and civilians would lose their lives during World War II. At the end of the millennium, estimates for all wars conducted in the 20th century would range from between 170 and 216 million deaths worldwide.
Holocaust & Andersonville Camp Survivors
The Second World War will forever be linked with the atrocities of the holocaust. The temptation exists to view this immense tragedy as an event which, if remembered, will not occur again. But when viewing the skeletal forms of those who suffered through the years of Nazi persecution, one is reminded of the similarly emaciated forms of Civil War soldiers who emerged from our own prisoner of war camps. Motivations and intentions differed but this did not change the cruelty and suffering experienced by the individual prisoners.
In late July, 1861, as the press disseminated the casualty figures for the Battle of Manassas / Bull Run, many responded with horror that the conflict had killed over one thousand men in a single day. Less than one year later, Shiloh’s 23,000 casualties, with over 3,000 dead, would induce some to label General Grant a "Butcher" as Americans struggled to reconcile the costs of this expanding war. Antietam, Fredericksburg, Stones River, Chancellorsville, and then Gettysburg would bring new levels of horror as the countless lifeless forms laying on precious American soil exploded in number. Gettysburg’s 50,000 casualties with nearly 10,000 dead continued to shape how the populace viewed war. The shock after Bull Run had long since faded into a very distant memory.
The Overland Campaign of 1864 would numb the senses as the number of dead and wounded continued their ascent from the previous year. General Grant would lose 60,000 men between the Battles of the Wilderness and the initiation of the Siege of Petersburg. That dreadful count closely matched the total number of men General Robert E. Lee commanded when the campaign began. General Lee would likewise see some 30,000 of his men fall. Despite the sorrow that enveloped much of 19th century America, these terrible numbers served only as an omen of the conflagration yet to come.
The Dead of Cold Harbor
War is fraught with contradictions. General Stonewall Jackson, one of the south’s fiercest warriors, would offer in a letter to his wife, "People who are anxious to bring on war don't know what they are bargaining for; they don't see all the horrors that must accompany such an event." General Grant, although acknowledging the advantages of war, also stated in his memoirs, "But this war was a fearful lesson, and should teach us the necessity of avoiding wars in the future." Just a few paragraphs later however, he would also state, "We must conclude, therefore, that wars are not always evils unmixed with some good." After the war, General Sherman, whose forces devastated vast regions of the south, would offer to a gathering of Michigan students, "There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory, but, boys, it is all hell."
Confederate cavalry commander Nathan Bedford Forrest, vilified by some with accusations of a ferocious lust for blood, would offer to his defeated countrymen, "Civil war, such as you have just passed through, naturally engenders feelings of animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves of all such feelings, and, so far as it is in our power to do so, to cultivate feelings toward those with whom we have so long contested, and heretofore so widely but honestly differed. Whatever your responsibilities may be to government, to society or to individuals, meet them like men." Of course, perhaps the most famous quote along these lines came from General Lee at Fredericksburg, site of an overwhelming Confederate victory. "It is well that war is so terrible, lest we grow too fond of it."
Few could advocate successfully for the general desirability of war. Yet a similarly small number could discount its necessity as long as men pursue power on a vast scale at the expense of the lives and liberties of others. Perhaps the despair expressed at the loss of 3,000 US soldiers in the current Iraqi war serves as an encouraging indication that we have learned from experience. Regardless of the degree of support or disagreement with the current administration’s policies, as a nation, we express sadness at the loss of each life while supporting the soldiers who at this very moment risk death or dismemberment while we read this article.
We must preserve the relics and reminders of our history so that such lessons do not surrender to forgetfulness or indifference. Our Civil War battlefields must survive the pervasive threat of the developer’s shovel so that current and future generations can remember the lessons so painfully learned at the cost of so much of our ancestors’ blood.
Without the perspective of history, we cannot fully understand the context of today’s public affairs. Lacking both, we cannot act to the better good and will remain captive within the same prison of ignorance, violence, and retribution. With several thousand years of history, the human race, taking stock in all of the lessons learned, should prove capable of finding practical solutions to most interpersonal and international conflicts. Perhaps then and only then, will we yield to the better angels of our nature and end the slaughter of millions.
Sincerely,
Randy
Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com
All original material Copyright © 2005-2007. All Rights Reserved
Sources:
Project Gutenberg - Grant's memoirs
National Park Service
BBC: The Somme: Hell on earth
Wikipedia
A Path Divided
The Quote Database
Century, Bloody Century
Wars and Conflicts
AMG Publishers
A Small Section of Arlington National CemeteryThroughout our history, witnesses to sanguinary struggles often expressed their desire that the conflict they experienced emerge as the last of its kind. Few would question these sentiments. During the American Civil War, casualty numbers eclipsed anything the nation had previously suffered. Single battles left dead and wounded in greater numbers than those produced by multiple combinations of previous wars. However, after sectional hostilities ended, the United States would continue their war with the Indians in a quest to control the lands between the Mississippi and the Pacific Ocean. In the 1880s, a collection of Union and Confederate soldiers would volunteer to fight with a new wave of soldiers in the Spanish American War. With the birth of a new century, as Civil War veterans became fewer in number and the memory of their struggle faded, the United States would join the war to end all wars.
World War I, the Great War, produced devastation on a scale that, in comparison, relegated the American Civil War to a mere skirmish. Estimates for World War I vary but consistently range between 8 and 9 million deaths with a staggering overall casualty list of 30 to 35 million. In the summer and fall of 1916, the Battle of the Somme, which degenerated into a bloody struggle of attrition, would contribute over one million casualties to the angel of death's ghastly harvest. Civilian deaths added perhaps another 6 million or more to the war's grim total.
As the world suffered through the aftermath of World War I taking stock in what they had lost, the seeds of an even greater conflict already threatened germination. A few short decades later, the soul of humanity would cry out in sustained agony as over 60 million soldiers and civilians would lose their lives during World War II. At the end of the millennium, estimates for all wars conducted in the 20th century would range from between 170 and 216 million deaths worldwide.
Holocaust & Andersonville Camp SurvivorsThe Second World War will forever be linked with the atrocities of the holocaust. The temptation exists to view this immense tragedy as an event which, if remembered, will not occur again. But when viewing the skeletal forms of those who suffered through the years of Nazi persecution, one is reminded of the similarly emaciated forms of Civil War soldiers who emerged from our own prisoner of war camps. Motivations and intentions differed but this did not change the cruelty and suffering experienced by the individual prisoners.
In late July, 1861, as the press disseminated the casualty figures for the Battle of Manassas / Bull Run, many responded with horror that the conflict had killed over one thousand men in a single day. Less than one year later, Shiloh’s 23,000 casualties, with over 3,000 dead, would induce some to label General Grant a "Butcher" as Americans struggled to reconcile the costs of this expanding war. Antietam, Fredericksburg, Stones River, Chancellorsville, and then Gettysburg would bring new levels of horror as the countless lifeless forms laying on precious American soil exploded in number. Gettysburg’s 50,000 casualties with nearly 10,000 dead continued to shape how the populace viewed war. The shock after Bull Run had long since faded into a very distant memory.
The Overland Campaign of 1864 would numb the senses as the number of dead and wounded continued their ascent from the previous year. General Grant would lose 60,000 men between the Battles of the Wilderness and the initiation of the Siege of Petersburg. That dreadful count closely matched the total number of men General Robert E. Lee commanded when the campaign began. General Lee would likewise see some 30,000 of his men fall. Despite the sorrow that enveloped much of 19th century America, these terrible numbers served only as an omen of the conflagration yet to come.
The Dead of Cold HarborWar is fraught with contradictions. General Stonewall Jackson, one of the south’s fiercest warriors, would offer in a letter to his wife, "People who are anxious to bring on war don't know what they are bargaining for; they don't see all the horrors that must accompany such an event." General Grant, although acknowledging the advantages of war, also stated in his memoirs, "But this war was a fearful lesson, and should teach us the necessity of avoiding wars in the future." Just a few paragraphs later however, he would also state, "We must conclude, therefore, that wars are not always evils unmixed with some good." After the war, General Sherman, whose forces devastated vast regions of the south, would offer to a gathering of Michigan students, "There is many a boy here today who looks on war as all glory, but, boys, it is all hell."
Confederate cavalry commander Nathan Bedford Forrest, vilified by some with accusations of a ferocious lust for blood, would offer to his defeated countrymen, "Civil war, such as you have just passed through, naturally engenders feelings of animosity, hatred and revenge. It is our duty to divest ourselves of all such feelings, and, so far as it is in our power to do so, to cultivate feelings toward those with whom we have so long contested, and heretofore so widely but honestly differed. Whatever your responsibilities may be to government, to society or to individuals, meet them like men." Of course, perhaps the most famous quote along these lines came from General Lee at Fredericksburg, site of an overwhelming Confederate victory. "It is well that war is so terrible, lest we grow too fond of it."
Few could advocate successfully for the general desirability of war. Yet a similarly small number could discount its necessity as long as men pursue power on a vast scale at the expense of the lives and liberties of others. Perhaps the despair expressed at the loss of 3,000 US soldiers in the current Iraqi war serves as an encouraging indication that we have learned from experience. Regardless of the degree of support or disagreement with the current administration’s policies, as a nation, we express sadness at the loss of each life while supporting the soldiers who at this very moment risk death or dismemberment while we read this article.
We must preserve the relics and reminders of our history so that such lessons do not surrender to forgetfulness or indifference. Our Civil War battlefields must survive the pervasive threat of the developer’s shovel so that current and future generations can remember the lessons so painfully learned at the cost of so much of our ancestors’ blood.
Without the perspective of history, we cannot fully understand the context of today’s public affairs. Lacking both, we cannot act to the better good and will remain captive within the same prison of ignorance, violence, and retribution. With several thousand years of history, the human race, taking stock in all of the lessons learned, should prove capable of finding practical solutions to most interpersonal and international conflicts. Perhaps then and only then, will we yield to the better angels of our nature and end the slaughter of millions.
Sincerely,
Randy
Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com
All original material Copyright © 2005-2007. All Rights Reserved
Sources:
Project Gutenberg - Grant's memoirs
National Park Service
BBC: The Somme: Hell on earth
Wikipedia
A Path Divided
The Quote Database
Century, Bloody Century
Wars and Conflicts
AMG Publishers
Sunday, January 22, 2006
The Real War
Over the past few weeks, I have invested several late evenings re-editing those of my web site pictures which seemed less than inspiring (www.brotherswar.com). Obsessing over the minutia of the site becomes an increasingly common activity during the months when the lack of foliage deadens my enthusiasm for picture taking. Although re-editing occasionally proves a frustrating endeavor, each minor success brought with it the corresponding happy reminiscences of the brief but blissful moments exploring the now peaceful battlefields. Considering the impact I hoped each picture might have, I tested combinations of color, contrast, and tone, hoping to create a realistic window into the bloody fields of our past. As much as I enjoyed the work, an uneasy presence knocked at the edges of my contentment. The question grew. By expressing my admiration for the men who fought and love of the fields upon which our nation grew, have I contributed to an overly-romanticized, sanitized image of war?
Walt Whitman’s words came to mind. In his seminal work "Specimen Days", the great American poet said of the war through which he had just lived, "Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should not—the real war will never get in the books." Still, he offered more than a small glimpse as he spoke of the dead.
"The Million Dead, Too, Summ’d Up
THE DEAD in this war—there they lie, strewing the fields and woods and valleys and battle-fields of the south—Virginia, the Peninsula—Malvern hill and Fair Oaks—the banks of the Chickahominy—the terraces of Fredericksburgh—Antietam bridge—the grisly ravines of Manassas—the bloody promenade of the Wilderness—the varieties of the strayed dead, (the estimate of the War department is 25,000 national soldiers kill’d in battle and never buried at all, 5,000 drown’d—15,000 inhumed by strangers, or on the march in haste, in hitherto unfound localities—2,000 graves cover’d by sand and mud by Mississippi freshets, 3,000 carried away by caving-in of banks, &c.,)—Gettysburgh, the West, Southwest—Vicksburgh—Chattanooga—the trenches of Petersburgh—the numberless battles, camps, hospitals everywhere—the crop reap’d by the mighty reapers, typhoid, dysentery, inflammations—and blackest and loathesomest of all, the dead and living burial-pits, the prison-pens of Andersonville, Salisbury, Belle-Isle, &c., (not Dante’s pictured hell and all its woes, its degradations, filthy torments, excell’d those prisons)—the dead, the dead, the dead—our dead—or South or North, ours all, (all, all, all, finally dear to me)—or East or West—Atlantic coast or Mississippi valley—somewhere they crawl’d to die, alone, in bushes, low gullies, or on the sides of hills—(there, in secluded spots, their skeletons, bleach’d bones, tufts of hair, buttons, fragments of clothing, are occasionally found yet)—our young men once so handsome and so joyous, taken from us—the son from the mother, the husband from the wife, the dear friend from the dear friend—the clusters of camp graves, in Georgia, the Carolinas, and in Tennessee—the single graves left in the woods or by the road-side, (hundreds, thousands, obliterated)—the corpses floated down the rivers, and caught and lodged, (dozens, scores, floated down the upper Potomac, after the cavalry engagements, the pursuit of Lee, following Gettysburgh)—some lie at the bottom of the sea—the general million, and the special cemeteries in almost all the States—the infinite dead—(the land entire saturated, perfumed with their impalpable ashes’ exhalation in Nature’s chemistry distill’d, and shall be so forever, in every future grain of wheat and ear of corn, and every flower that grows, and every breath we draw)—not only Northern dead leavening Southern soil—thousands, aye tens of thousands, of Southerners, crumble to-day in Northern earth.
And everywhere among these countless graves—everywhere in the many soldier Cemeteries of the Nation, (there are now, I believe, over seventy of them)—as at the time in the vast trenches, the depositories of slain, Northern and Southern, after the great battles—not only where the scathing trail passed those years, but radiating since in all the peaceful quarters of the land—we see, and ages yet may see, on monuments and gravestones, singly or in masses, to thousands or tens of thousands, the significant word Unknown."
I have to wonder if perhaps Mr. Whitman’s small glimpse is a bit more realistic than that which I have offered. Perhaps moving away from romanticization and underscoring the raw brutality of war more fittingly honors those men and women who sacrificed tremendously that we might enjoy all we have today.
Respectfully,
Randy
Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.
All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved
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References for this article: Prose Works
Walt Whitman’s words came to mind. In his seminal work "Specimen Days", the great American poet said of the war through which he had just lived, "Future years will never know the seething hell and the black infernal background of countless minor scenes and interiors, (not the official surface courteousness of the Generals, not the few great battles) of the Secession war; and it is best they should not—the real war will never get in the books." Still, he offered more than a small glimpse as he spoke of the dead.
"The Million Dead, Too, Summ’d Up
THE DEAD in this war—there they lie, strewing the fields and woods and valleys and battle-fields of the south—Virginia, the Peninsula—Malvern hill and Fair Oaks—the banks of the Chickahominy—the terraces of Fredericksburgh—Antietam bridge—the grisly ravines of Manassas—the bloody promenade of the Wilderness—the varieties of the strayed dead, (the estimate of the War department is 25,000 national soldiers kill’d in battle and never buried at all, 5,000 drown’d—15,000 inhumed by strangers, or on the march in haste, in hitherto unfound localities—2,000 graves cover’d by sand and mud by Mississippi freshets, 3,000 carried away by caving-in of banks, &c.,)—Gettysburgh, the West, Southwest—Vicksburgh—Chattanooga—the trenches of Petersburgh—the numberless battles, camps, hospitals everywhere—the crop reap’d by the mighty reapers, typhoid, dysentery, inflammations—and blackest and loathesomest of all, the dead and living burial-pits, the prison-pens of Andersonville, Salisbury, Belle-Isle, &c., (not Dante’s pictured hell and all its woes, its degradations, filthy torments, excell’d those prisons)—the dead, the dead, the dead—our dead—or South or North, ours all, (all, all, all, finally dear to me)—or East or West—Atlantic coast or Mississippi valley—somewhere they crawl’d to die, alone, in bushes, low gullies, or on the sides of hills—(there, in secluded spots, their skeletons, bleach’d bones, tufts of hair, buttons, fragments of clothing, are occasionally found yet)—our young men once so handsome and so joyous, taken from us—the son from the mother, the husband from the wife, the dear friend from the dear friend—the clusters of camp graves, in Georgia, the Carolinas, and in Tennessee—the single graves left in the woods or by the road-side, (hundreds, thousands, obliterated)—the corpses floated down the rivers, and caught and lodged, (dozens, scores, floated down the upper Potomac, after the cavalry engagements, the pursuit of Lee, following Gettysburgh)—some lie at the bottom of the sea—the general million, and the special cemeteries in almost all the States—the infinite dead—(the land entire saturated, perfumed with their impalpable ashes’ exhalation in Nature’s chemistry distill’d, and shall be so forever, in every future grain of wheat and ear of corn, and every flower that grows, and every breath we draw)—not only Northern dead leavening Southern soil—thousands, aye tens of thousands, of Southerners, crumble to-day in Northern earth.
And everywhere among these countless graves—everywhere in the many soldier Cemeteries of the Nation, (there are now, I believe, over seventy of them)—as at the time in the vast trenches, the depositories of slain, Northern and Southern, after the great battles—not only where the scathing trail passed those years, but radiating since in all the peaceful quarters of the land—we see, and ages yet may see, on monuments and gravestones, singly or in masses, to thousands or tens of thousands, the significant word Unknown."
I have to wonder if perhaps Mr. Whitman’s small glimpse is a bit more realistic than that which I have offered. Perhaps moving away from romanticization and underscoring the raw brutality of war more fittingly honors those men and women who sacrificed tremendously that we might enjoy all we have today.
Respectfully,
Randy
Please visit my primary site at www.brotherswar.com.
All original material Copyright © 2006. All Rights Reserved
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References for this article: Prose Works
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