Mmmm, Chamberlain...
(inside joke)
Posted on 06/30/2013 2:43:24 PM PDT by Kid Shelleen
I was sweltering in a T-Shirt! LOL!
YouTube will stream the movie and yet Netflix won’t - even though I pay Netflix $10 a month and nothing to YouTube. Does this make sense at all?
Hail the 20th Maine!
Posts about the Northern War of Aggression? BTW, folks around my parts of PA (Gettysburg is just down the road) were on the side of the south.)
If you are interested in a really different perspective of what the North was like, read the series of articles from the Patriot News on When the Patriot News was the the Patriot and Union News The paper today and then was based in Harrisburg, PA. Sometimes things are not as simple as the history books. Too bad the Patriot News has become a socialist rag.
Oh, I had that happen in Savannah GA! I was on a trolly “ghost tour” and I heard the most horrific shrieking and wailing sounds - raising and falling in layers - on and on. I asked my husband if he “heard that”? He didn’t and no one else seemed to notice anything either.
It was ... disturbing as hell.
Lucky you!
I started watching the reservation site for my “preferred” B&B FOURTEEN MONTHS ago because they refused to take a reservation more than one year out.
Every day I checked it. I was going to book the four days prior to the big day, and a couple of days after - roughly a full week. Horribly expensive due to the in-season rates and “special” reenactment. We wanted to go so badly that we were going to sacrifice to do so. (We have been to Gettysburg about four times in the past seven years)
Well, on the day before + one year that I wanted to reserve the thing, BLAMO! Some one else booked it for ten days. I am STILL pissed and disappointed.
From Michael Medved’s book Right Turns about his ghostly encounter at Gettysburg:
On another occasion, I impulsively hitchhiked to western Pennsylvania with a lovesick fellow freshman who wanted to visit his girlfriend near Pittsburgh; along the way, we slept on the battlefield of Gettysburg. A farmer in the vicinity had dropped us off on a dark, lonely road (Highway 15) after eleven at night. We walked more than two miles across fields and pastures to the border of the Gettysburg National Military Park, looking for a place to camp for the night. Only briefly discouraged by the elaborate fencing and numerous signs that ordered “No Trespassing” and “No Camping, we clambered through the wooden rail and barbed-wire barriers that protected the federal land and what Lincoln had called “this hallowed ground,” On a chill, hushed, moonless November night, we marched over the famous battlefield, climbing up behind the key Federal position of Little Round Top where so many determined Confederates lost their lives. In fact, more than fifteen thousand young Americans on both sides were reported killed or missing, with nearly fifty thousand total casualties in the three-day battle—a fact I foolishly recalled to my already queasy pal as we tramped along Cemetery Ridge. We began to sense shadowy, larger-than-life military figures looming out of the misty night on all sides of us—part of the statuary on the monuments to the various regiments and states who participated in the great struggle in 1863. “This is creepy. It’s horrible,” my friend said with a shiver. “We shouldn’t be here at all.”
He was right, of course, but I argued that at this point we had no choice but to throw down our sleeping bags and try to pass the time till dawn. We tramped over damp, frosty grass to within sight of the Pennsylvania Memorial—a huge, four-story Victorian monstrosity with cannon and sentry statues, multiple columns, soaring arches, and a dome, all of which seemed to offer some sense of protection or reassurance. Nevertheless, sleep remained completely out of the question as we exchanged hushed, frightened words with the sleeping bags drawn up to our eyes. The noises we heard all night could connect to rational explanations—birds, owls, foxes, raccoons, deer, or other creatures that might normally wander through open country. The visual shocks made far less sense, however: about 4 a.m., shivering and shuddering and trying to catch some sleep, we both suddenly sensed moving figures not more than thirty yards away. “Do you hear that?” I hissed, grabbing his arm. My friend pulled his head deep into the sleeping bag and tried to cover his ears, but I propped myself up on my elbows, peering through the darkness and felt my blood race when I saw a small squadron of uniformed figures—perhaps eight of them, not more than a dozen—carrying weapons and running at full tilt along the ridge. They looked gray and shadowy, but notably lighter (almost illuminated, in fact) than the gloomy mist behind them, before they careened out of view in about six seconds.
Of course, Civil War reenactors love the battlefield at Gettysburg, and their costumes and equipment often look chillingly authentic. But why would a group of modern-day history buffs and weekend warriors suddenly turn up at four in the morning, running away from the Pennsylvania Memorial and disappearing into the silence within seconds? We remained too terrified to talk and waited through the excruciating minutes until the dawn—which was announced ahead of time by the mournful lowing of some cows that must have been let of of their barn by a farmer behind the ridge. At first light we jumped up, threw together our packs, and ran in panic from the haunted battlefield.
Though I never shivered through any further ghostly visitations, I continued to spend the great majority of my free time on sporadic, largely unplanned voyages of discovery and exploration.
Mmmm, Chamberlain...
(inside joke)
I’ll believe in ghosts when I see one, and I’m really not an over-imaginative fellow, but I have to tell you that the Little Bighorn is exactly like that. I honestly believe that if someone parachuted me in with a blindfold on I’d still be thinking that something happened here. My late uncle, a major Civil War buff, told me that there are several places like that: Gettysburg, of course, and Antietam and Shiloh. Maybe when I retire I’ll buy a camper as he did and see them firsthand.
I think you could very well be right BtB! Thanks for sharing.
No sense at all!
The OldPossum participated as a re-enactor (from Virginia, naturally) in the 125th anniversary Battle of Gettysburg.
Mrs. OldPossum also was there, as a wife of one of the soldiers. She even made her own period dress and found a pair of ladies shoes that were “correct,” both of which had to be okayed by a committee, so they looked authentic).
I’ll never forget how it felt to be re-enacting Pickett’s Charge. Facing the Yankee cannon and musket fire was deafening.
It was a wonderful experience.
I’m in awe of Chamberlain. One of the greatest Americans this country has ever produced. Every school child should know his name and story.
The CSA foot soldiers were often lacking shoes. So in July, not so bad heat wise, especially if they were wearing the usual homespun cloth dyed with butternut (a sort of canvas coloring). The men from Johnson Pettigrew’s (a North Carolinian young scholar, linguist and true genius, wiki him— a terrible loss in the retreat)one of Hill’s brigades, went into Gettysburg looking for shoes.
It was then they encountered Union cavalry (advance) of John Buford and skirmished. If they had done as ordered and pulled back, and concentrated in Cashtown (higher up) 8 miles west-— the ground would have required the Union to come to them. It didn’t happen that way and a whole lot else.
The Union soldiers definitely suffered in the heat with well supplied woolen uniforms/tunics and boots. And, lot’s more ammo, too.
Classic of warfare, taught at the Point. “Re-fusing the line and pivoting as on a hinge sweeping downhill” and they were near to out of ammo. A bayonet charge.
Gettysburg is full of ghosts. Many un-placed souls from rapid violent death with little time for blessing. Same is true in Spotsylvania in the Bloody Angle. The depression in the field where thousands of Union soldiers hunkered and died— many report ghosts.
And at Shiloh— no question— they wander the woods of an evening.
There is a middle dimension- where many believe the soul gets trapped.
I’m in awe of Chamberlain. One of the greatest Americans this country has ever produced. Every school child should know his name and story.
Concur..awarded the Medal Of Honor for actions on Little Round Top..Suggest you read, “In The Hands Of Providence”, the story of Josha Chamberlain and the Civil War..Excellent.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.