Rambling in Maryland: On the trail of U.S. Grant to Antietam

In the fall of 1869, President Grant visited the Antietam battlefield. 

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On the morning of Oct. 15, 1869, President Ulysses Grant and his party traveled in carriages from Frederick, Md., to Sharpsburg to visit the Antietam battlefield. For the former Union commander, this would be his first publicly known visit to the place where seven years earlier George McClellan had defeated Robert E. Lee, Grant’s fierce war-time rival.

The president's close friend, 49-year-old William Sherman, was along for the ride, as was Jacob Cox, Grant's Secretary of Interior. The former Union general had great military knowledge of the area, having led troops at South Mountain and Antietam in 1862. Grant's group -- which included "several ladies" and state politicians, according to an account -- had been in Frederick for the county agricultural fair and political events.

The 20-mile trip through the beautiful western Maryland countryside was eventful.

Correspondent George Townsend's story on
President Grant's journey through western Maryland
to Sharpsburg was published in
Chicago Tribune on Oct. 23, 1869.

“On the way Secretary Cox and Colonel Vernon pointed out the various scenes of the conflict in which they both were engaged,” the New York Times reported the next day, with “South Mountain possessing peculiar interest of President Grant and General Sherman.” Known to friends as "Cump," Sherman bounded about that old battleground on foot to “better understand the events and the movements of that day.”

In those days, presidential security was not nearly as tight as it is today, so Grant's constituents had little trouble getting an up-close look at their leader.

“At Middletown large crowds surrounded the open carriage of the President, greeting the visitors with cheers,” the Times reported. “Handkerchiefs and miniature flags were waved by the ladies, and the bells of the village rung.” Grant received an “equally enthusiastic” reception in Boonsboro and then in Keedysville, just a few miles from Sharpsburg. The 47-year-old president's caravan arrived at its destination about 2:30 p.m..

Cheered by a large crowd and swarmed by "a number of ladies and children," Grant and Sherman, according to another account, "engaged in handshaking, which evidently afforded them much pleasure." Clearly, the men who were instrumental in vanquishing the Confederacy were popular figures in Sharpsburg. Short on time, the president made a few brief remarks before he caught a 3:30 p.m. train from Keedysville back to Washington. The Times report made no mention whether the president visited such notable Antietam sites as Burnside Bridge or Bloody Lane.

Tagging behind Grant's party en route to battlefield was intrepid newspaper reporter George Albert Townsend, then employed by the Chicago Tribune. During the war, Townsend was a stellar correspondent for Philadelphia Inquirer and New York Herald. In April 1865, he covered President Lincoln's assassination for the New York World.

Unfortunately, Townsend -- who wrote under the pen name "Gath" -- lagged behind Grant's group and never caught up with the president in Sharpsburg. But he did file to the Tribune a lengthy, and often rambling, report about his trip to the battlefield and visit to Antietam. Let's join the 28-year-old newspaperman for his long-ago trip through western Maryland:

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George Townsend, a newspaper correspondent during
the Civil War, followed President Grant's caravan
to Antietam in 1869.

(From Our Own Correspondent)

WASHINGTON, Oct. 17 --Thanks to Mrs. Stowe, while I was reading again the preface to Childs Harold, on Friday, I saw the words: "Travel, except ambition the most powerful of all excitements;" and this made me remember that General Grant had gone up to Frederick City. I took the first train that presented a chance, and was speedily in the midst of the most graceful sceneries and thickest clustering recollections of the midlands of the Atlantic slope. I was on the former city of the frontier, in the heart of the "Little West.":

FREDERICK CITY

Here, fifty miles west of Baltimore, was a capital of the Great West one hundred years ago. What are now stations of Chicago, St. Louis, and Cincinnati, then drew the attention of capital and industry to Utica, Winchester, and Frederick. West of Frederick, not many miles, stands an old fort, which was one of the last defences toward the Mississippi. In 1796 Frederick had 700 houses, and four thousand people, while Winchester, its rival, was half as large. The National Road, which Mrs. Trollope called "the Simplon of America," drew off the frontiersmen to Hagerstown, Cumberland, and Wheeling.

But I am sure that one hundred years hence Chicago will not look half so old as Frederick now. They built here in the proportions of humility, and the houses went up old, because the people were oldish, the manners quaint, and the time demure. The founders of the town were German Palatines, precisely the same people who settled the Mohawk Valley and the valleys of East Pennsylvania. Frederick City is now about 160 years old, and it contains ten thousand people. It is one of the most exquisite country towns to be found in any nation, and is also remarkable for the beauty of its women, and the thrift and fertility of the neighboring country. Very many of its people are directly descended from Hessian prisoners who were confined near by this place during the Revolutionary war, as are numerous Winchestrians from the English and Germans captured at Yorktown and elsewhere.

The country between and adjoining to Frederick and Winchester is the Belguim, the cockpit of America. At Winchester the rebel army of the Flank made its rendezvous for every new campaign; at Frederick, the corresponding Union army. It was to look at some of the battle-fields by Frederick that General Grant, with a part of his cabinet, came up to the agricultural fair on Friday, and on Saturday he took a noble carriage drive across the Catoctin and South Mountains to Antietam, returning thence by a new railroad which descends by the valley of the Antietam to the railway for Baltimore and Washington.

              GOOGLE STREET VIEW: Market Street in Frederick, Md., perhaps much as
        President Grant and correspondent George Townsend may have seen it in 1869.

The fair at Frederick, like every agricultural fair of the East in our days, was less a collection of huge and curious products of the soil and the stock-yards than a place of advertisement and exhibition for the numerous machineries which have stripped husbandry of its picturesqueness, while they have added to its comfort. I was much more interested in going through the agreeable streets of the place, reading the signs of old inns, peeping into stable yards, looking at the numerous priests, and at their large convent and seminary. Some of the residences are large and imposing; the streets are lined with shade-trees, and Barbara Freitchie's old house is torn down. These were the chief matters of the moment. President Grant was received with manifest respect, and by the folks of German descent particularly, while the traditional hospitality of Maryland was not evaded or grudged by the political opponents of Republicanism.

The Republican party of Maryland is divided into two bitter factions -- one led by Creswell and Fulton, and the other by Judge Bond. The former section is represented by the leading daily paper of Baltimore, and by a seat in the Cabinet, so that Bond's party may be said to be in disfavor at present. Yet one section is ostensibly as radical as the other; the Bond folks claim Creswell was an original rebel who was cozzened to loyalty by Winter Davis with the gift of Senatorship; the Creswell people have read Bond out of the party as a malcontent. I guess they both are right, and both politicians. Bond is the best talker I ever listened to, and he has the reddest nose, while Creswell quotes Latin elegantly, and is getting round in the belly.

I do not suppose that Grant cares anything about this feud of the caucuses, After the Fifteenth Amendment is passes, both these parties will find that merely blind Radicalism and the indiscriminate federalization of every issue and interest will be losing stakes. Not what they were, but what they know, and what judgment they show will be indices of their political standing. Both of them are progressive and talented men who would probably be in accord if it were not for tattlers and hangers-on who keep the flame of discord alive and prejudice the cause of toleration and charity in the important State of the city of Baltimore.

RIDE TO ANTIETAM BATTLEFIELD

George McClellan and Ulysses Grant: "Him and Micklillin is great boys," an Irishman who served
under them said of the generals during Grant's 1869 journey to Antietam.

So many events of battle and biography have been crowded upon my attention in the past eight years that it took a strong effort to summon any enthusiasm at following Grant over the route of McClellan's last important campaign. I had small hopes of overtaking him, provided as he was with a fleet span, and as I had determined to remain over Sunday in the region, I drove quietly, stopping often to examine a map or to ask a question. The entire ride was over a most noble country, the streams tilted out of their destined channels by a pair of mountain ranges, so that instead of flowing eastward to the Chesapeake they ran southward to the Potomac.

The first stream of this region, the Monocacy, separating Frederick and the Baltimore plains, had interposed in 1864 between Jubal Early and Washington, so that, as it is alleged, the battle of Monocacy, fought a little south of Frederick, saved the capital. On the Pennsylvania headwaters of the Monacacy the battle of Gettysburg had been fought the previous year. Nearly opposite the mouth of the Monacacy the battle of Ball's Buff occurred, in 1861. And in 1862 the struggles of South Mountain and Antietam formed another group of great actions in this historic district. It has been so long since these battles happened that any mere reproduction of them would weary your readers. At the present time they are interesting only as they lead to some comparative remarks upon McClellan and Grant, the idol of the early part of the war and the hero of its termination, one of who is now visiting the best contested battle-field of the other.

Former Union General Jacob Cox traveled with
President Grant from Frederick, Md., to Antietam.
He was Grant's Secretary of Interior.

The roads in this part of the country are as admirable as the sceneries. Before us rose the long arcs of the wooded Catoctin Mountains, broken through at the gaps, and plain views were afforded, at a little distance from Frederick, of both Turner's and Crampton's Gaps; where Reno died, the present Secretary Cox fought with admirable persistence and success, and Joe Hooker won another Battle of the Clouds. The German-looking farmhouses and barns by the way were light patches of white and vermilion in the midst of long declivities of shocked corn, plentiful stacks of golden straw, and green fields of grass, freshened by rills and springs of bright water. We heard of Grant ahead at every few rods, and the answers were always given with a mixture of heartiness and interest which made us feel that the office of President was still considered far remote from party.

“What do you think of him?” said my companion to an Irishman.

“Will! He just looks like a murthern’ little feller. But he don’t say much, while he look at you mighty hard.”

“You think he’s game, don’t you?”

“Yes! Him and Micklillin is great boys. I fought wid ‘em both.”

Here is the old superstition of McClellan again, and we left the Irishman in the road protesting that the “government wouldn’t give Mack troops because, gorrah! They were afraid of him.”

The Germans, interrogated in a like manner, always roused a little from their stolidity, and pointed after the Magistrate’s carriage. “He’s there. He spoke to me and other men. You’re bout d right.”

Not only were there cheerful indications of that undertone of personal loyalty which shows the citizen beneath the partisan, but in this part of Maryland the bulk of well-to-do partisanship seemed to be Republican. Wherever Saxon blood grows the purest the principle of liberty is most universal; it is more conspicuous in the Swede and German than in the Englishman, and with these, besides, it is idealized by some fine show of confidence in the ruler. I had talked at Frederick with a group of Germans who stoutly protested that Barbara Freitchie did shake the American flag in Stonewall Jackson’s face, notwithstanding the decisive evidence that this alleged incident was merely an exaggerated form of another episode in which the old lady figured; the German faith was based upon the German wish.

I also noted along the way, and even at Sharpsburg, the acrimonious remembrances of the war are nearly exaggerated. The eternal hate of which poets and town orators tell is soon overgrown like the graves all round about. It would serve a politician’s purpose to keep one set of the people from father to great-grandson at dagger’s points, but war, being one, is a practical issue in America and can survive as a handle to office-getting no longer than the question undetermined by it. The Maryland rebels who hid their faces at the time of danger are much bitterer at this safe distance than the poor devil of a Virginia rebel who looked to them for comfort in vain.

During Grant's trip to Sharpsburg,  Joseph Hooker's
name was "mentioned with sad respect," 
George Townsend wrote.  

It is also a mistake to suppose that the ravages of war endue heavily upon the surface of nature. They continue to exist most onerously upon the body of society, and are felt more keenly a thousand miles distant upon the spot of conflict. I defy any man to come from a long distance blindfolded and detect this region between the Monocacy and the Potomac as having been marched over, encamped upon, and fought upon, at one time or another, by four hundred thousand men. The traces of battle are microscopic at this day. Of several hundred strong block houses put up along the Baltimore & Ohio Road, not five now exist, and even they have been transformed into corn cribs or cattle sheds. The rankest and most ardent vegetation of nature has entered into contract to cover the rifle-pits and fortifications of five years ago. Of graves of slain soldiers, except in decent graveyards, there are positively none that can be found without a guide. I was shown the place of interment of about thirty rebel dead by the Dunker Church, on the field of Antietam, and it was a serene duck paddle, with swimming muscovites quacking and mating over the handful of bones, well covered, below.

Human nature does wisely to imitate nature in aversion for keeping conspicuous the souvenirs of slaughter. The rebellion was the culmination of the crime of generations of a bloody blunder by the last generation, and its penalties reached from cotton mills of Manchester to Mexico, and to Nova Scotia, even more terribly than to the actual battle-fields. Maximilian died at Queretaro by the rebellion; Canada lost profitable reciprocity by the rebellion; and England acquired the Alabama debt by the rebellion. But whoever drives through Turner’s Gap to see the havoc of war will have little for his pains. In this gap, lifted sixteen hundred feet in the air, with cones of mountain rising four hundred feet higher on either side, with my horse’s head in a pleasant tavern water-bucket, and the landlord, well-pleased at having spoken a President of the United States, chattering at the wheel. I felt that there was no dead man so inconsistent as to get up from his grave to disturb this way-side scene. The dead are nuisances as the living in crying “Hate! hate!” You may put your ear to any soldier’s grave and hear nothing harsher than the blowing of the grass.

At this gap, Secretary Cox, a modest scholar and hero of South Mountain, entered into some description of the fight for Grant’s edification, Creswell listening. Joe Hooker’s name was mentioned with sad respect, for he was a beaked eagle here as elsewhere. I asked the landlord if anything was said about McClellan. Nothing had been expressed as to him; but I believe that Grant invariably mentions him respectfully, and says that he is an accomplished engineer.

ANTIETAM AND ITS JUDGMENTS

                GOOGLE STREET VIEW: Townsend's trip to Antietam took him through 
       Keedysville, Md. Many buildings on the main street there date to the Civil War era.

In little better than an hour more we were in Keedysville, having beheld exquisite pictures of valley country on the descent. As we drove into the village a whistle sounded; it was Grant departing in a special train, and our only satisfaction was to hear the talk of the people assembled, none of whom expressed other than warm gratification at having looked at leisure upon the conqueror of Lee. The frequent remark was:

“Well! I’ve seen him, anywho!”

“What do you think of him, Squire?”

“Spry little fellow! He’ll do!”

Fifty years hence this recollection of Grant’s visit will be a thrilling reminiscence through all this country, fully as vivid as any stories of the battle, and much more cheerful. It is the best privilege of eminence that by its mere appearance it can commemorate places and rejoice society. I heard a woman say:

“Wel’, Hannah! I’ve heard my mother say that she expected she would die without seeing any President. I’ve seen one!”

        GOOGLE STREET VIEW: George Townsend's route to Sharpsburg took him over
       Antietam Creek. The war-time bridge long ago was replaced by this modern span.

As an instance of the march of improvement in this country, observe that over the field of Antietam passes a railway, entirely built since the warfare. The stone bridge over the Antietam Creek, by which insufficient portions of our forces moved while the great battle raged on our extreme right wing, gave me passage to the Soldiers’ Cemetery, which stands on a ridge where Lee in person is said to have taken position, almost within the limits of the clean village of Sharpsburg. The Southerners call this battle after the village; we name it, more picturesquely, in honor of the valley and stream.

An early post-war view of Antietam National Cemetery, probably
 much as it looked to George Townsend during his 1869 visit.
(Library of Congress)

The cemetery is the worthiest of the whole series of battle graveyards that I have seen, albeit it contains no monument like Gettysburg; a plain and stable grandeur of site and elaboration mark it; a strong stone wall set round, surmounted by a stately iron paling, while the enclosure is sloped like the cross-section of a huge dome, columns of white boards – and under every board a martyr – rising to the chord of the dome, and in the concentric arcs above are the unknown dead and those from States feebly represented in the fight. Here are buried, also, the dead of South Mountain, of Shepherdstown, and of innumerable skirmishes all round about. The farmers in many cases refused to indicate the site of graves, because their growing crops would be disturbed in the disinterment. While I was in the cemetery, a man of surly countenance said to me:

“The State of Maryland will put Southern dead in here yet.”

If he wanted to get an angry answer he was disappointed,

“I hope they will be put here,” I replied, “if there’s room for them.”

This would be better than at Winchester where the rebel dead lie in a separate cemetery, near by ours, and the two cemeteries make as much contention in the community as a homeopathic and aliopathic doctor pitched side by side. The one is always covered with flowers, and the other scarcely with grass.

"There is an old but juicy look about the region, pastoral and precipitous together," Townsend wrote 
about the Sharpsburg, Md., area. Here is a view of the 40-Acre Cornfield at Antietam.

I used to imagine Antietam to be a creek in the Wilderness; but the scene from this cemetery is one of the most delightful stretches of fertile landscape in the world, and, to my experience, the noblest battle-field in America, not excepting the Plains of Abraham or the field of Brandywine. On the crest of the hills across the Antietam is McClellan’s signal station, marked by a bare spot amongst the timber. At the foot of these hills the green and golden undulations of vegetation roll for several miles, and ample timber patches standing straight and dark, and cosy farms and orchards thick together, and cattle plentiful.

There is an old but juicy look about the region, pastoral and precipitous together, and here the North and South struck their alternate flanks together, with centres immovable, like a couple of magnetic eels till one withdrew and the other was unwilling to follow. Here expired Mansfield; but here died McClellan and his little group of personal Generals. Mansfield was an old soldier of duty, who went down at his work. This battle put Burnside at the head of the army, disastrously, though Sprague does say the same thing. Quietly looked into after this interval, it is manifest that Burnside at Antietam was ineffective and dispirited, and no such prompt soldier as Joe Hooker, who opened the battle on the tick of time, prompt as the sun. If McClellan had advanced his centre that day, with Fitz-John Porter in command, and Porter had died on the field, it would have been better for his memory, because lying idle in this action the old due of Chantilly had to be settled by court-martial, to his disgrace.

George Townsend was no fan of George McClellan, seen here in
a cropped enlargement of his post-Antietam meeting
with President Lincoln.  (Library of Congress)

In this, his last campaign, McClellan showed that he had no heart, that his errors were chronic. Possessed of Lee’s plans by a lucky miracle, he permitted that fine Captain to practically disband an army in his face, and to send separate corps on several errands, while he was too indecisive to mass upon any one of them. Lee showed practically contempt for McClellan at Antietam, and late official developments of Confederate forces have shown that McClellan was never aware of the strength of his enemy; that he was never cheerful, much less sanguine, in the presence of battle, and that he was the very feeblest commander ever brought into prominence by any considerable nation of men. The gigantic error of his existence at the head of our army will provoke wonder of history; and that he should have presumed to add to his military imbecility political advice to Abraham Lincoln will ever be a monument to the forebearance of that first of politicians and best of Americans.

Among the souvenirs of the battle-field of Antietam is an inscription, written in lead pencil by a visitor, upon one of the head-boards:

ONE UNKNOWN UNION SOLDIER

Here, where you boys shall come
On the tree trunks your names to indite,
I, one of “The Boys” at sound of the drum,
Carved my life into the fight,
I lost my name in the shout
That we litted into the rout
Of the rebs, as we beat ‘em;
My birthplace I lost in my death;
Into my fame leaped my breath;
Call the one and the other “Antietam!”

-- GATH

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SOURCES

-- Chicago Tribune, Oct. 23, 1869.
-- Pittsburgh Weekly Gazette, Oct. 16, 1869.
-- The New York Times, Oct. 16, 1869.

'Masterpiece' no more: Antietam secretary exposed as fake

The "Antietam secretary" in Massachusetts antiques dealer Harold Gordon's house in 2011.

Read my story on the fake in The New York Times | Like this blog on Facebook
The eight-foot-high memorial secretary -- a piece of American folk art with a tie to the Battle of Antietam -- has been described as "astonishing," "a rare example of a Civil War mourning rite," "extraordinary" and a "profound piece."

Now there's a new description for the ornate piece of furniture in the collection of the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art in Hartford, Conn.:

"One of the best folk art fakes of all time."

The secretary on display at Hartford's Wadsworth Atheneum
Museum of Art in August 2017.

In a lengthy story posted Monday afternoon, Clayton Pennington of Maine Antique Digest reported the secretary was a forgery created by Massachusetts antiques dealer and craftsman Harold Gordon. “I’m going to keep this short. I did it. I made it," he told Pennington.

In 2014, Gordon sold the secretary to noted Connecticut-based antiques dealer Allan Katz, who had the piece tagged at $375,000 at a 2015 winter show. In March 2015, the Wadsworth purchased it from Katz for an undisclosed price, and the museum had it prominently displayed last summer.

Gordon had touted the secretary as a gift presented on July 4, 1876, by Civil War veterans to Wells Bingham in honor of his brother,  John, who was killed at Antietam. The brothers served as privates in the 16th Connecticut. (I first blogged about the secretary in 2011 here, and mentioned it in a story about the Bingham brothers in my 2013 book, Connecticut Yankees at Antietam.)

"Allan fell for it, and to be honest with you, I want to make him whole," Gordon told Pennington. "It was not fair what I did. It was a terrible thing, but I did it for the money — I didn’t do it for the glory." Gordon said there was "nothing" on the secretary when he began turning it into "Antietam" folk art -- a project that took him months to complete.

Spelled out in cattle bone on the ornate front are the words "Antietam" and "Sept. 17, 1862" as well as John's first two initials and last name. A Ninth Corps badge is mounted between the "18" and "76," which are also made of cattle bone. The knobs are bird's-eye maple with bone inset circles. A clock, crowned with an eagle and including the words "The Union Preserved" near the base, is mounted on top. When the inside right front door is opened, "Yankee Doodle Dandy" plays on a music box.

All expertly faked, of course.

Pennington told me the clincher for him was a 2011 photo of the secretary that I had taken at Gordon's house. He compared my image, seen at the top of this post, to another image of the secretary -- unadorned with the bells and whistles -- in the same spot in Gordon's house. In 2011, Gordon told me he had purchased the secretary from a member of the Bingham family.

A close-up of the front of the secretary at the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art.

Katz said he plans to offer the Hartford museum a full refund. In a statement e-mailed to me this morning, the Wadsworth Atheneum Museum of Art said:

As stated clearly in our mission statement, we hold our collections in trust for all people, and we are dedicated to advancing knowledge and inspiring everyone to experience and appreciate excellence in art and culture. To realize that mission, we work to acquire items for our collections. In the acquisition and accession process we strive to confirm the authenticity of every item in accordance with our Collections Management Policy.

In late 2016, we received an anonymous report that one of the items acquired for our folk art collection in February 2015 – a piece of antique furniture adorned with relics of the civil war at the time of the American centennial, 1876 – was fake. We began to investigate and in 2017 took the item off view at the Atheneum until the investigation could be completed. One of the steps we took was to engage a materials scientist to try to determine the age and timeframe of the adornments. Other steps included a thorough review of a wide variety of historical sources and our own records in an attempt to scrutinize the authenticity. 

This week, we learned that a Massachusetts antiques picker and craftsman has reportedly confessed to adorning the antique secretary himself, forging the provenance documentation, and misleading the dealer to whom he sold the piece. That dealer, who sold it to the Atheneum, has offered the museum a complete and total refund. We are also in contact with the appropriate authorities to follow up on this matter.

While it can be difficult to authenticate folk art of this kind, and this was by all accounts a masterful forgery that fooled a number of experts in this field, we will review our accession process and make every effort to ensure that art we acquire is what it purports to be.

We thank the concerned individuals who brought this to our attention and pursued this matter to this conclusion. We take our role as a steward of the public trust to be paramount and appreciate your support. Collections are fundamental to this institution’s identity, essential to its core function as a place for art and public engagement, and a defining element of our present and future plans. We will continue to do our best to identify, authenticate, acquire, preserve and present culturally significant works of art in our collections.

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Antietam in 1907: 'Sacred' damage, mass grave in 'lot yondah'

"The spot that probably has more interest of New York State veterans is Burnside's Bridge,"
 the Buffalo newspaper correspondent wrote in 1907. (CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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Even in the summer of 1907 — nearly 45 years after the fighting at Antietam — a visitor could still spot battle damage in Sharpsburg, Md., and the immediate surrounding area. Assigned to write a feature about the battlefield that year, a Buffalo Evening News correspondent easily found effects of artillery strikes on the Dunker Church, bullet marks on Burnside Bridge and "great gaping apertures made in the gables" of houses in town. 

A lengthy feature story about the Antietam
 battlefield appeared in the
 Buffalo Evening News on June 29, 1907. 

"It is not due to the shiftlessness on the part of the people that these have not been repaired. No, indeed!" the correspondent wrote about war damage in the village from the battle on Sept. 17, 1862. "With them those shot holes are well nigh sacred and they have no other reasons for preserving them but that you and I and our children and children's children may see them when we come."

The reporter's most astonishing moment came the morning of his second day on the battlefield, when he and farm laborers gazed at a grisly find: a mass grave for six Confederate soldiers. The bodies were uncovered by the workers while plowing on the old David Smith farm. 

"Most remarkable of all," the reporter wrote in his "exclusive" feature story that mentioned the discovery, "their clothing and accoutrements, even to their shoes, were in a perfect state of preservation when uncovered but crumbled to dust when exposed to the air."

Eager to serve a readership that included many Civil War veterans, the Evening News devoted nearly a full page to its Antietam account, which included seven photos and an illustration. The lengthy feature story didn't include a byline for the reporter, who made several errors. But before you declare it "fake news," read the story and decide for yourself:

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(Written Exclusively for The News)

The inclination of the Federal and Confederate authorities to choose varying names to designate their great battles may have been justified at the time, but at this late date it is confusing, to say the least. Thus is that when a man from the South speaks of "Sharpsburg" it is apt to drive his Northern brother to a long session with his history, where he will find no mention of a battle of Sharpsburg. And when a Northerner asks a Southern native to "direct him to the battle of Antietam," said native is apt to put him on a long and tortuous highway leading in the opposite direction. Occasionally there is "reason and rhyme" for this variance, but at other times there seems there was a mischievous desire to confuse posterity. For instance, I can see why Southern people would change the name of the battle of Cedar Mountain to the battle of Slaughter Mountain and get some little satisfaction out of it, for there, they maintain, "we-all give you-all a right smaht drubbin'!"

Beyond this single instance I have never found any possible excuse for this selection of varying names, beyond that given me by Gen. [Edward Porter] Alexander, the last of the Confederate historians, an explanation that, by the way, sounds entirely logical.

"It was the result of the difference in the people who fought the battles," said Gen. Alexander. "The men who composed the Northern army were, for the most part, men from the cities and were naturally attracted by the natural things about the battlefields. On the other hand, the men of the Confederacy were largely from the rural districts and natural things did not impress them much."

PANORAMA: Iconic Burnside Bridge across Antietam Creek.   (Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)
Hence, the Federals were attracted by the little stream — Antietam Creek — that crosses the battlefield and named the great struggle the Battle of Antietam. But their opponents, men from a country where the natural scenery far excelled that along the Antietam in point of beauty, were attracted by the village -- the only artificial thing thereabouts — and named it the Battle of Sharpsburg.

"Sharpsburg," or "Antietam," it gives the same impression to the visitor, a beautiful rolling expanse, dotted with fertile farms and cosy, white-washed homes of humble standing, that it is difficult to reconcile with even a thought of war. The people are simple and just now enjoying a considerable degree of prosperity. Many of them, the older ones, suffered terribly during the campaign that McClellan "fought with a halter around his neck," but today manifest a good-natured toleration of the scars that surround them — scars reminding them of the bitter old days of the past — and have figuratively "ploughed around" and preserved them for posterity. So it is that scarcely a house in Sharpsburg — for few have been built since the war — but that shows its bullet holes and, many of them, great gaping apertures made in the gables by cannon balls. It is not due to the shiftlessness on the part of the people that these have not been repaired. No, indeed! With them those shot holes are well nigh sacred and they have no other reasons for preserving them but that you and I and our children and children's children may see them when we come.

And these natives are taciturn when it comes to the war. They seem to be as much divided in sentiment today as when the Rebellion rolled all about them and their sentiment changed with the change of the battletide, for it was obviously unsafe to be of one mind when their homes were within range of guns manned by those opposite sentiments. Once launched on their story, however, and they describe vividly the scenes to which they were a party or saw with their own eyes; the magnificent charge across the cornfield, the stand made by our own New York soldiers at Burnside's Bridge, the piles of Confederate dead that were packed solid almost to the height of a man behind the Hagerstown Pike fence and along Bloody Lane after the battle.

BLOODY LANE: It was "invariably associated the world over" with Antietam, the reporter noted in 1907.

Early in the morning of my second visit day on the Antietam field I was aroused by my host knocking at my door.

""Sorry, sah, to disturb you," said my host apologetically, "but the boys ah plowin' this mawnin' and they've just tunned up somethin' I reckon you-all will be interested in!"

Hurriedly dressing I met my host at the door and together we went down into "the lot yondah," where three strapping boys were doing the belated spring plowing. The plow lay turned in the furrow and the boys and the negroes on the place were gathered around a spot in the center of the field, the later more or less terrified by the sight before them. The plow point had uncovered a burial trench and the help had cleared away the dirt to the depth of a foot or more. There lay the remains of six soldiers just as they were placed, probably that rainy night after Antietam. Most remarkable of all, their clothing and accoutrements, even to their shoes, were in a perfect state of preservation when uncovered, but crumbled to dust when exposed to the air. One, a major, had been buried with his shoulder straps, sword and revolver across his breast. Later, after my return, I received a letter saying that the bodies have been identified as six members of an Alabama command. The identification was made by a man who belonged to the burial party and to whose attention the discovery of the bodies came. The officer was identified by his sword and his body was claimed by a brother now living in Savannah. It was impossible, of course, to identify the other five and their bones were sent to the Frederick Confederate Cemetery for burial in one grave. (See Postscript for more details.)

But from this incident it may be seen that the scars of Antietam, rather than diminishing, are increasing and for many, many years the ground will show its association with war in various ways.

THE 40-ACRE CORNFIELD: "It seems to be the popular conception that a battle
is fought in a 10-acre lot," the Buffalo Evening News correspondent wrote.

You — I am speaking to you men who helped fight Antietam — probably have grim recollections of that march to Sharpsburg; vivid recollections of the tramp over narrow roads already congested with miles and miles of heavy army wagons. Today, if you were to revisit it, I fancy you would approach from the Frederick side, over a smooth running trolley line that might or might not have contributed to the success or failure had it been operating when Antietam was fought. Instead of thousands of comrades, silent before the impending storm, you would have for company a jolly old market woman with a basket of eggs and two live geese, as I had. But do not pass her lightly -- she is a rather remarkable character. She lives — and has always lived — in Hagerstown, and if you can engage her in conversation she can tell you a wonderful story of that terrible September day.

"I remember just as well, suh," she will continue. "I was sittin' in the kitchen an' all day we had heard the cannons 'tother side of the mountain an' knowed McClellan an' Lee was at it again! Late in the afternoon 'Liza — she was our colored woman, suh — come runnin' into the house shoutin', 'Fo de Lawd, missy, deys a-comin' up de road! Deys wagons an' wagons fill up to de top wif de sojers what's hurt! De blood am runnin' knee-high 'long de road I reckon!' Then we went into town to take care of the wounded. I remembah — I was a gal, suh — but I remembah of workin' ovah the wounded in the old warehouse and remembah bein' faint at the smell and sight of so much blood and sufferin' Finally, suh, I just shut my teeth hard an' said: 'If I faint I just hope somebody kicks me int' a corner an' leaves me stay there. After that I got along well enough with my work. I staid there two days helpin' t' dress the soldiers' wounds an' then I had t' give up. It was awful, suh. Tell yoush ladies up No'th I'm glad none o' them evah had t' do it!"

At Beaver Junction you must leave the trolley and the old lady with the live geese and the reminiscences for at that point the spur leading to Sharpsburg and Antietam leaves the Hagerstown trolley. In a ride of a half hour or an hour and a half, depending much on the activity of the fireman at the power house — we reach the battlefield. There is always something ridiculously pathetic in the person, who, shunted off a train on a battlefield, says: "Well, where's the battlefield?" It seems to be the popular conception that a battle is fought in a 10-acre lot and that a snake fence marks the line where historic ground ceases and commonplace farm land begins. As a matter of fact, most of our battlefields cover more ground than one can see from a single point. So it is with the battlefield of Antietam -- a great rolling expanse which wanders beyond our vision for many miles.

BURNSIDE BRIDGE: In 1907, it was still scarred by war,  the Buffalo newspaper
 correspondent wrote.

Of the landmarks which veterans will remember, few have been obliterated. Thus far they have not formed any material barrier to the simple progress of these farming folk. The houses that stood there when the battle was fought are good enough now; the land that was put to corn then is still good enough for corn; the same old spring houses, the same bridges, the same lanes and pathways that were there when McClellan fought Lee, would be there for their use if McClellan should fight Lee again.

The soldier who fought at Antietam, should he revisit the scene today, would find little change in the village of Sharpsburg. Entering on the pike he would see to the right the Grove House where Lee made his headquarters when "Sharpsburg was in the Confederacy for a few minutes." It is still in its natural state, no remodeling has been done and only enough repairing performed to preserve it. In the accompanying picture it may be seen on the extreme right. On the left and not discernible in this picture is the Lutheran Church that figured so much in covering the sharpshooters.

The spot that probably has more interest of New York State veterans is Burnside's Bridge, or Sharpsburg Bridge as it was known at the time of the battle, for it was here they most distinguished themselves. During the progress of the fighting orders were received from Burnside to hold the bridge at all hazards — this after the disastrous attempt of the 2nd Maryland and 6th New Hampshire regiments to cross it. Receiving Burnside's order General Sturgis selected the 51st New York and 51st Pennsylvania and directed them to not only hold the bridge, but cross it in the face of the enemy's fire. This was done and afforded one of the most magnificent spectacles war has ever shown. It is said two regiments started with a cheer and though under terrible fire crossed the bridge with a rush, planting the flag on the opposite ban amid the cheers of not only our own army but those of the enemy who could not but admire gallant impetuous dash. The same bridge is in use today and shows its scars in the shape of bullet marks.

               PANORAMA: Bloody Lane, where Confederate dead were "piled high."
                                      (Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

A spot of greater historical interest because it is invariably associated the world over with the story of the battle is Bloody Lane. We have evidence of the terrible slaughter there — photographs that show the dead piled high and far too horrible to print. Its appearance at the time of the battle and its appearance now forms and interesting contrast and is shown in pictures accompanying this article. The Government has spent considerable money macadamizing it and otherwise improving it. The picture showing Bloody Lane as it was when it became historic was secured by your correspondent from an old gentleman, a photographer of Hagerstown, who took the picture but a few days after the battle.

DUNKER CHURCH: In 1907, it too bore
 the marks of  the 1862 battle.

Another center of hard fighting during Antietam was the Dunker Church which stands out sharply in white outline against the green Westwood. A commendable effort has been made by the people to preserve it in its original form. Close inspection, however, will show traces of great holes in its sides torn by cannon balls, and innumerable chips taken out of the walls by the old-fashioned "minnies." The church is still in use, services being held, I believe, every other Sunday.

The "Little Mill" and its environments are practically the same today as in that September when thousands of blue and grey-coated men crowded into the natural "pocket" where it is located and fought practically a "battle royal" that had but few survivors. The bridge has been rebuilt upon the abutments of the old, wire fences replaced the old ones, but the same buildings stand today that gave cover to the sharpshooters then and the sharpshooters' presence is attested by thousands of scars in the old walls.

Everywhere the story is transcribed. One might walk through the Smoketown Hospital woods and there uncover dozens of interesting little relics of the day; from the position of the Union camp can still be seen the ruins of Antietam furnance; if you care to walk you may go past the toll house and the North Woods on the Hagerstown Pike, then cross Bridge No. 1 over the Antietam where Hooker took his men across and into action. All are in a good state of preservation.

   PANORAMA: The National Cemetery. (Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

The sight which impresses one most with the horror of it all is the National Cemetery situated there. We speak of "thousands of men" and have but a vague understanding. When, however, we see them stretched out, row after row, all marked with little white stones, we more clearly comprehend the awful cost of war! In the Antietam Cemetery the burials number about 5000, soldiers from nineteen states. The greatest sacrifice was made by our State, burials of New York State men numbering 869 as against 644 from Pennsylvania, the State that furnished the next largest number for the sacrifice. Fully one half of the burials are of unknown men, only their regimental and corps affiliation being obtainable.

The Government has taken a most commendable part in improving the grounds, preserving the historic spots and in other ways saving the battlefield for posterity. Also division, regimental and company organizations and individuals have materially assisted by marking positions and erecting monuments to their dead. Notable among these monuments is that erected to the memory of the late lamented McKinley by his native State. Major McKinley fought at Antietam with the 23d Ohio. Others are the monuments to the 11th Ohio, 50th and 51st Pennsylvania Infantry, 9th New York Infantry, Confederate Artillery, the Roundheads, the National Soldiers' Monument erected by the Government; Maryland State Monument and beautiful shafts to General Mansfield and General Reno.

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POSTSCRIPT: Although the bodies of six Confederate soldiers were indeed recovered near the Antietam battlefield in the spring of 1907, an Alabama soldier apparently was not among them.

According to a story published in the Frederick (Md.) News on May 23, 1907,  Frank Otto and Arthur Day discovered the bodies while plowing in an orchard on the old David Smith farm. (Click on report at right to enlarge.) The body identified by the Buffalo Evening News correspondent as an Alabama officer apparently was Colonel William T. Millican of the 15th Georgia, who was suffered a wound and Union soldiers had captured at Antietam. A lawyer, he  died on Smith's farm, where he was buried.

On Oct. 15, 1862, the Southern Watchman of Athens, Ga., published a eulogy for the 37-year-old officer. "While we offer to his memory the tribute required by a becoming custom,"  the report concluded, "our interest in the duty is deepened by our recollection of him as an honorable and useful man and a valued friend."

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Dunker Church hotel? In 1889, an awful idea for Antietam

1884 photograph of the Dunker Church at Antietam. (Mollus Collection)

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On Oct. 10, 1889, the Hagerstown (Md.) Torch and Light reported that "several New Yorkers" were negotiating to purchase the Dunker Church property with the intention of constructing a "large hotel" there on the Antietam battlefield. "The church building will not be disturbed," the newspaper reported, "but is to be preserved as a distinguishing mark of the battlefield."

Thankfully, this plan never got off the ground.

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'Secret' stash: What public doesn't see at Springfield Armory

This Enfield, part of the "secret" stash at the Springfield Armory, has bullet embedded 
near the trigger guard. (SEE VIDEO, PHOTO BELOW.)

A fraction of the collection of Civil War rifles in the Springfield Armory storage room.
(CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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If you've been to the Springfield (Mass.) Armory National Historic Site, you probably were impressed with the Civil War weaponry. Hands-down my favorite exhibit there is the organ of Springfield muskets, certainly a work of art. But only about half of the Civil War weapons in the Armory's collection is on public display.

During an hour-long visit to the Armory recently, curator Alex MacKenzie and National Park Service ranger Susan Ashman showed off some of what's currently not on public view -- the "secret" stash, so to speak.  In a massive, temperature-controlled storage room,  rows of meticulously tagged Civil War weaponry are kept in huge cabinets. Look but don't touch were my orders from MacKenzie, who carefully handled the artifacts while wearing gloves. Here are some of my favorites from the "secret" stash:

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A 'DINGED-UP' PATTERN 1853 BRITISH ENFIELD

The name "R.H. Weakley" -- perhaps a 42nd Tennessee private who was killed at the 
Battle of Franklin  -- is carved into the stock. (WATCH SHORT VIDEO ABOVE FOR MORE.)

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A PIKE FOR A MADMAN? OR A MARTYR?

Springfield Armory curator Alex MacKenzie holds one of the pikes fiery abolitionist John Brown intended
 to use for his slave insurrection in Harpers Ferry, Va. The pikes were made in Collinsville, Conn.

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WHAT WAS IN JEFFERSON DAVIS' BAGGAGE?

Manufactured in Paris, this circa-1855 big-game rifle reputedly was found among the belongings 
of Jefferson Davis, the former president of the Confederacy, when he was captured on May 10, 1865.

A close-up of the weapon shows the fine French craftsmanship. (READ MORE HERE.)

The rifle's maker -- F.P. Devisme -- is engraved on the barrel. The .74-caliber weapon was 
designed to fire exploding projectiles. It has been in the Springfield Armory collection since 1887.

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A BLOWN-OUT RIFLE BARREL

Perhaps the sad demise of this Springfield musket was caused by a Union soldier who forgot 
to remove the tompion before he fired it.

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A DRAWER OF CONFEDERATE SWORDS

For most of the Civil War weaponry in its collection,  such as these swords, the Armory does not 
have provenance. The 12 edged weapons may have been battlefield pickups during the war.

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Flashback: 1976 images of house where Antietam officer died

A 1976 image of the Jacob A. Thomas house, where Union officer Wilder Dwight died on Sept. 19, 1862.
The post-war bay window seen here has crumbled, leaving a gaping hole. (See this post on my blog.)
ALL PHOTOS: MARYLAND HISTORICAL TRUST.

                                   HOVER ON IMAGE TO SEE PRESENT-DAY VIEW
         In 1976, the second-floor porch, a feature of several area houses, was still intact.
                                   HOVER ON IMAGE TO SEE PRESENT-DAY VIEW
            The circa-1850 summer kitchen and farmhouse have deteriorated since 1976.

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In a little more than 48 hours since I hit the publish button, a post on the crumbling house where a Union officer died from his Antietam wounds has cracked the top-10 most popular entries on my blog. The story of 2nd Massachusetts lieutenant colonel Wilder Dwight -- who succumbed in an upstairs bedroom of the old Jacob A. Thomas house near Boonsboro, Md. -- has many tentacles.

2nd Massachusetts officer
Wilder Dwight died of his
Antietam wounds on Sept. 19, 1862,
in a bedroom of Jacob A. Thomas'
house near Boonsboro, Md.

Since publishing the piece, I've learned that, upon receiving news of his son's wounding, Dwight's father traveled south to the battlefield via train from Massachusetts with the father of 20th Massachusetts officer Oliver Wendell Holmes, who had suffered a neck wound at Antietam.  (He recovered -- Oliver became a U.S. Supreme Court justice in 1902.) William Dwight received news of his son's death when he reached Baltimore.

Also, a reader of the blog has shared with me a letter from a 2nd Massachusetts officer, dated Sept. 19, 1862, to Chaplain Alonzo Quint, who was with Dwight  when he died.  "My best love to the Col.," Colonel George Andrews wrote. Wilder, a Harvard-educated lawyer, died early that afternoon.

Unsurprisingly, many of you wonder why the house hasn't been preserved, and I'll aim to write about that in another post. In the meantime, I want to share these 1976 images of the circa-1850 Thomas house and circa-1870 barn on the property. The photographs were part of a 1978 Maryland Historical Trust  report, which noted that even then the farmstead was "deteriorating seriously."

Compare the images here to photos from my recent visit. Also, hover on the second and third images in this post to see a present-day view of the summer kitchen and farmhouse. (Note: Hover effect does not work on phone or tablet.) At the bottom of this post, find an interactive, present-day panorama of the old Thomas farmhouse and summer kitchen.

I'm keenly interested in telling the story of Wilder Dwight's death. If you have information to share, e-mail me here.

The summer kitchen in 1976. It has deteriorated significantly since this image was taken.

Another 1976 view of the front of the once-stately home on a knoll near Boonsboro, Md.

The fence seen in this 1976 image has long since been removed.

The circa-1870 barn underwent significant restoration in 1999, 23 years after this photo was taken.

       INTERACTIVE PANORAMA: Present-day view of  summer kitchen and farmhouse.
                                     (Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

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Death spiral: A sad end for house where Antietam officer died

Boarded up and battered by time and nature, the circa-1850 Jacob A. Thomas house near Boonsboro, Md.
(CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

The summer kitchen and farmhouse have seen much better days.

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In its death throes, the circa-1850, red-brick house is cloaked in sadness.

As if scooped out by a massive hand, gaping holes expose the heart of the abandoned, two-story structure on a knoll just off a Maryland country road. Steps away, tall weeds grow from a pile of rubble -- all that remains of what once was a splendid bay window. An ancient, well-worn set of stone steps is an orphan due to the demise of small, wooden porch. Once an eye-catching accessory on an impressive house, a second-floor porch mirroring others in the area is nearly gone.

Because peeling green paint and graffiti on the front door aren't unwelcoming enough, a small sign on the weather-beaten, white transom warns would-be intruders: "Private Property Keep Out." Probably baked on the farmstead kiln long ago, bricks litter the sloping front yard. A stone's throw from the back door, a wooden privy and summer kitchen slowly lose their battle for life while yards away a beautifully restored, post-Civil War barn thrives.

The interior of the once-stately home may be seen through gaping holes.
(CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

A warning sign to trespassers on the weather-beaten and graffiti-marred front door.

Who trod on these well-worn -- and probably original -- steps?

A view of the once-splendid second-floor porch.

A close-up of outside brickwork reveals effects of time and neglect.

Time, nature and trespassers conspire to wreak havoc inside the Greek Revival-style house. Debris spills from a fireplace on the first floor -- one of five in the once-stately home. A brown doorknob, perhaps a victim of a vagrant, lies on the floor, forgotten. Boarded-up windows block a magnificent view of South Mountain.

Wary of falling through rotting wood, two visitors gingerly make their way upstairs, carefully stepping over more rubble. Bricks choke the hearth of a bedroom fireplace while steps away, a beam of light from the outside reveals walls painted deep blue in a small room. Nearby, a chasm created by the collapse of a section of the second floor prevents further exploration. 

Briefly alone upstairs, one of the visitors closes his eyes and says a silent prayer for a long-ago inhabitant of one of the bedrooms.

Debris litters the steps leading to the second floor.
(CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

Bricks and debris clutter a second-floor bedroom. Could this be where Wilder Dwight died?

Light streams into a second-floor bedroom, revealing the remains of a bed (left) near a wall.

In late-summer 1862, this was the home of Jacob and Sarah Thomas and their daughters, 23-year-old Annie and 17-year-old Eliza. In the vortex of the war in mid-September 1862, families such as the Thomases heard the boom of artillery and crackle of musketry as Union and Confederate armies clashed nearby at South Mountain and at Sharpsburg, near the banks of Antietam Creek.

Wounded at Antietam, Wilder Dwight 
died two days later in a bedroom at the
 Jacob A. Thomas house near Boonsboro, Md.

On the afternoon of September 18, war arrived on the doorstep of the "airy and comfortable" house of Mr.  Thomas, a wealthy farmer. A sense of urgency spurred a group of Massachusetts soldiers, who carried their grievously wounded commanding officer into one of the family's upstairs bedrooms. The lieutenant colonel, a Harvard-educated lawyer, had somehow endured a harrowing, three- or four-mile mile journey on a stretcher from the Antietam battlefield, where his left thigh had been shattered by a Rebel bullet. As he lay in agony near the Hagerstown Pike on the morning of September 17, he completed a note, stained with his blood, to his mother: "All is well with those that have faith."

As comrades lifted him into his bed at the Thomases' house, the soldier repeated, "Now, boys, steady and true! Steady and true!" Soon after soldiers left the bedroom, the wounded man summoned enough energy to tell them, "Wait a minute, boys; you've taken good care of me, and I thank you very much. God bless you!"

Thankfully, the beloved officer was in good hands -- unlike many of their neighbors, the Thomases were a staunch Union family. A devout man and member of the United Brethren Church, 46-year-old Jacob Thomas may have even tended to the spiritual needs of his important house guest.

Also shot in the left wrist, the officer -- who "seemed quiet" -- suffered intense pain in his wounded leg that afternoon. But 2nd Massachusetts Chaplain Alonzo Quint still expected he would live a few more days. Growing weaker, the officer sent a note to a surgeon. "They tell me," he said, "that I may recover. I do not believe it ... " He wondered if his brother, William, a colonel in the 70th New York, were near. Preparing for the worst, he also had a dispatch sent to his father back home in Brookline, Mass., urging him to quickly travel to the red-brick house near Boonsboro, Md.

Painting of Wilder Dwight, completed in 1863. 
(Harvard University Portrait Collection,
 Gift of the children of Mrs. William Dwight
 to Harvard College, 1884.)

The next morning, the ever-attentive Quint kept the blinds closed in the soldier's bedroom and allowed no one to enter. At about 10 a.m., the chaplain noticed his comrade was "considerably weaker." About two hours later, Quint was in the kitchen with Sarah Thomas, who was preparing a beef tea. Suddenly, the wounded soldier's servant alerted the chaplain, "The Colonel is wanting you quick, sir." Quint rushed to the bedroom and  "instantly saw a change" for the worse. Grabbing the wounded man's hand, he said a short prayer; the officer, who couldn't distinguish Quint's features, slowly moved his lips in prayer, too, concluding with an audible "Amen."

Pale and his eyes sunken, the lieutenant colonel slipped away at about 12:30 p.m. on Sept. 19, 1862. "Oh, my dear mother!" he said shortly before he died.

Wilder Dwight -- "the best man in the world," according to a 2nd Massachusetts comrade -- was only 29. He left behind his parents, William and Elizabeth; three brothers and scores of comrades and friends to mourn.

Art Williamson, the friendly owner of the old Jacob Thomas property, on the front steps
 of the crumbling farmhouse. (CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

Understandably, this Civil War story of the old house and the Massachusetts officer fascinates more than just its two visitors.

"If only I had known this history back then," says 76-year-old Art Williamson, who bought the Jacob Thomas house and surrounding property, including a barn, in 1986.

A peek inside the decrepit summer kitchen, 
which also pre-dates the Civil War.

A retired Bethlehem Steel employee, Williamson and his wife, Judy, originally intended to restore the farmhouse. A contractor gave the couple an estimate of what it would cost to make the place livable and to modernize it. But the price tag was exorbitant, Williamson says, so Art and Judy moved instead into a large house they had built nearby on the property. Even as long ago as 1978, the homestead was on life support. "... deteriorated seriously in recent years," a Maryland Historical Trust report noted then about the Thomas farm and other area properties.

In 1999-2000, Williamson did sink a considerable sum into renovating the circa-1870 barn on the farmstead. Justifiably proud of that fabulous structure, he also enjoys showing visitors about his farm, where he raises llamas, emus, toy donkeys and an assortment of goats. "It's my funny farm," Williamson says with a chuckle. On a recent morning, the gregarious man flaps his arms to shoo away two pesky llamas while an inquisitive donkey nudges a visitor.

Some think the Thomas house is haunted, says Williamson, who regrets that wayward youths have used it for parties and other mischief. As visitors inspect the back of the house, he tells the story of a local man who used a first-floor room for much more ceremonial purposes. His fiancee relished old houses, and so one day the man took her to the Thomas house, where he had a bottle of wine, two glasses and an engagement ring placed on a small table. He proposed right there. "How 'bout that?" says Williamson.

The bedgraggled backyard outhouse.

As the visitors leave the "funny farm," they try to imagine the awful September day the mortally wounded Wilder Dwight was brought to this beautiful western Maryland countryside. And they also mull many questions, perhaps unanswerable:

Could the property somehow have been saved long ago?

In what room did the courageous 2nd Massachusetts officer die?

What was Dwight thinking as his life flickered out?

What was the reaction of the Thomas family upon his death?

What written record, if any, exists of the family's thoughts about that day?

As the visitors drive off, a small part of them also grieves. A remarkable house is dying, and a sliver of our history will soon die with it.

I thank my friend, longtime Washington County (Md.) resident Richard Clem, among the best Civil War detectives around, for his tremendous assistance on this story.

Donkeys and an emu approach a visitor on Art Williamson's "funny farm."

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SOURCES

-- Dwight, Wilder and Dwight, Elizabeth Amelia, Life and Letters of Wilder Dwight, Lieut.-col. Second Mass. Inf. Vols, Boston, Ticknor and Fields, 1868.

-- Wilder Dwight battlefield letter to his mother, Sept. 17, 1862, Massachusetts Historical Society Collection.