Then & Now: The sad decline of Custer's 'honeymoon house'

"Clover Hill" in March 1864

A cropped enlargement of Custer with his staff on the front porch of "Clover Hill"
 in March 1864. (CLICK ON ALL IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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Every year since 1984, my friend Clark "Bud" Hall — a Vietnam vet and former FBI agent — has photographed "Clover Hill," the Stevensburg, Va., plantation house where George Armstrong Custer honeymooned with his 22-year-old bride, Elizabeth "Libbie" Bacon. The most recent photographs of the abandoned. circa-1775 house aren't pretty — nearly obscured by trees and undergrowth, it barely clings to life.

Frank Hampton
(Find A Grave)

Clover Hill — which sits 300 yards north of Route 3, near Culpeper — has a rich history beyond "The Boy General": It was home to James Barbour, a prominent lawyer, planter and delegate to the Virginia secession convention. Barbour served as a major in the Confederate Army. 

In the aftermath of the Battle at Brandy Station, 2nd South Carolina Cavalry Lt. Col. Frank Hampton — Rebel cavalry commander Wade Hampton's younger brother — died in the house from a saber wound suffered in fighting nearby. "Utterly disfigured," diarist Mary Chestnut wrote about his wound. (Hall was instrumental in saving "Brandy" from developers.)

Last week, Hall — who lives in Culpeper — shot his annual Clover Hill photograph. Here's a selection of those photos and Hall's story about the house, Libbie and her "dear life hero.":

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1937

Works Progress Administration photo

By Clark Hall 

Most married men — if honest about it — will admit their good fortune to have wed women who are better human beings than themselves. (I confess.) This marital dynamic proved uniquely valid when George Armstrong Custer won the hand of Elizabeth Clift Bacon, one of the most persevering wives in American military history. It is of note that nearly 158 years ago, “Autie and Libbie” honeymooned in Stevensburg, Va.

Spending part of his boyhood i n Monroe, Mich., George “Autie” Custer went off to West Point, where the undisciplined cadet graduated last in the class of 1861. Advancing rapidly in the Civil War, Lieutenant Custer functioned as a key aide and received high marks for his role at the Battle of Brandy Station, June 9, 1863. Appointed in late June 1863 as a brigadier at the age of 23 — the youngest general in the Union army — Custer received command of the Michigan Cavalry Brigade. He then effectively led his “Wolverines” in the Gettysburg Campaign. 

Incontestably, Custer was a superb cavalry officer. Further, his men adored him simply because he led them into battle.

George Armstrong Custer and his
bride, Elizabeth — best known
as "Libbie," — about Feb. 15, 1864.
(Library of Congress)

On Sept. 13, 1863, General Custer received a slight leg wound at the Battle of Culpeper Court House. Granted leave, the opportunistic Custer traveled west and audaciously courted Monroe’s most beautiful belle, 22- year old Libbie Bacon. Judge Daniel Bacon had no desire to see his beloved only child marry an intemperate soldier of modest roots, especially one known to favor “excessive alcohol and gambling.”

Now a nationally heralded officer, however, Custer convinced both Judge Bacon and Libbie he had given up alcohol (true) and gambling — untrue; he never quit gambling. As usual, Custer succeeded in capturing his objectives, and vows were exchanged on Feb. 9, 1864, in the “most splendid wedding ever seen in the state,” according to a reconciled Judge Bacon.

Departing on their honeymoon, Custer escorted his bride to West Point, New York City and Washington, where huge receptions awaited them. An attentive Custer never left Libbie’s side, and her own early devotion to him was evident: “Every other man seems so ordinary beside my own particular star.” She also referred to Custer as “my dear life hero, my boy general.”

While in Washington, Custer received urgent telegrams from Army of the Potomac winter headquarters at Brandy Station directing him to report immediately for a “secret” assignment. Libbie pleaded not to be left behind, and the couple trained to Brandy Station in late February.

Soon arriving by coach at Stevensburg, Libbie was made comfortable at “Clover Hill,” the beautiful, church-appearing home of Jack Barbour. Barbour was not in residence. Custer quickly departed for a raid toward Charlottesville on Feb. 28 and returned to Clover Hill on March 2, where he determined to provide his wife an “army honeymoon.” 

In honor of his bride, General Custer re-named Clover Hill “Camp Libbie.” For entertainment, Libbie was often hoisted into a “silver harnessed coach” and escorted to Mount Pony, where she toured the army’s main signal station. From atop the summit, Libbie wrote her parents that she observed the “white tents of the Army ... stretched far as eye could see.”

With her coach accompanied by mounted escort, Libbie also attended “six-course dinners” hosted by Custer’s superiors at Rose Hill and at the Dr. Daniel Green farm near Brandy. After spending just short of a month at Camp Libbie, General Custer secured a leave and took his wife on General Ulysses Grant's “special train” to Washington where their “official honeymoon” continued.

In mid- April, Custer deposited his wife in a Washington boarding house and he returned to the army for the “Overland Campaign.” Libbie much enjoyed Washington, where she met President Lincoln, commenting to her parents that he appeared to be the “most painfully careworn ... man I ever saw.”

Libbie lived in Washington throughout the remainder of the war and later followed her husband west to the plains. Following his death at the Little Big Horn, Libbie survived him by 57 years and “devoted the rest of her days to defending and gilding his memories.” They are buried together at West Point. 

One is certain Libbie never forgot her “Stevensburg honeymoon.”

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1984

Clark Hall

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1991

Clark Hall

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1998

Clark Hall

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2016

Clark Hall

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2021

Clark Hall

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2023

Clark Hall

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SOURCE:

Chestnut, Mary Boykin, A Diary From Dixie, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, New York: D. Appleton and Company, 1906

Rambling: A year of listening, observing and learning

Ken Rutherford on the Cross Keys (Va.) battlefield in the Shenandoah Valley.
(CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE.)

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In rambling from Picacho Pass, Ariz., to Resaca, Ga., over the past year, I've focused on becoming a better listener. A better observer, too. Ah, what stories can be mined -- and what lasting connections can be made -- if you do. "If you make listening and observation your occupation," a smart person once said, "you will gain much more than you can by talk."

Here are people who have enriched my life over the past year:

On Father's Day weekend, Ken Rutherford and I toured the Cross Keys, Port Republic and Piedmont battlefields in the Shenandoah Valley in Virginia. We talked about the Civil War, football, life and his life-altering experience: In 1993, Dr. Rutherford, a professor at James Madison University, was critically injured in a landmine explosion in Somalia. His legs were amputated. Ken's tremendously inspiring. Read my Civil War Times column.

W.C. "Burr" Datz holds a copy of an old image of the creation of the Robert E. Lee sculpture behind him.

Moments after I pass through the white doors of Lee Chapel on the Washington and Lee University campus in Lexington, Va., docent W.C. "Burr" Datz springs into action. “Do you have 10 minutes?” the Long Island native asks from atop the stage. Datz, whose white beard gives him a passing resemblance to Robert E. Lee, is flanked by a large painting of George Washington to his right and one of Lee to his left. Next to him is the chapel's original wooden podium, a work of art that dates to 1868. Behind Datz is the main attraction: a small room that houses Edward Valentine's impressive memorial sculpture of the recumbent Lee. Read more.

Stan Hutson in the Slaughter Pen at Stones River (Tenn,) battlefield.

“It’s all gone,” Stan Hutson tells me, referring to core Stones River (Tenn.) battlefield. Remorseless developers have pounded the life out of much of this great battlefield, where more than 24,000 souls became casualties in one of the bloodiest fights of the Civil War. Our aim on this deep-blue sky afternoon is to find where five of them fought and received their mortal wounds. What would we see on this battlefield lost? Read my Civil War Times column.

Larry DeBerry at his relic shop near the Shiloh (Tenn.) battlefield.

Shortly after greeting a visitor at his small museum/shop near the Shiloh (Tenn.) battlefield, 72-year-old Larry DeBerry deploys a time-tested technique to win him over: He tells a great story. "See over there?" he says, gesturing to painted toy figurines that fill several shelves at Shiloh Battlefield Museum and Souvenirs. The longtime accountant tells how he acquired the massive set (from an elderly man in New Mexico) and points out figurines of Chinese communist leader Mao Zedong ("look at that receding hairline") and a reviled Japanese World War II military commander (Hideki Tojo) whose name escapes him. Later, DeBerry hands me a very special gift. Read more.

Trapper Haskins founded a vintage baseball league -- it plays by 1864 rules -- in Middle Tennessee.

On the 157th anniversary of the Battle of Shiloh, I met Trapper Haskins at Duncan Field, scene of savage fighting in April 1862. The National Park Service granted permission for his Tennessee Association of Vintage Base Ball to play a doubleheader on the hallowed ground. In 2007, Haskins, a custom wood worker, was in Port Huron, Mich., working on a Gloucester schooner. At the local library, he saw a flyer for a vintage baseball team seeking players. He joined and was hooked. Read my story in America's Civil War magazine.

Along a wall at the H Clark Distillery in Thompson's Station, Tenn., site of the 1863 battle, sat a massive tub of brown liquid. Spent grain, it's called. A local farmer takes this waste product from the alcohol-making process and feeds it to his cows, a pleasing feast for the animals. “The cows love our bourbon mash,” Kim Peterson, the distillery's tour experience manager told me. "They come running for it. Then they just lay in the field, chilling.” She wants to shoot video of the cows enjoying the mostly alcohol-free slop someday. What a scene that must be. Read more.

At Point Park atop Lookout Mountain, Tenn., I briefly spoke with a group of Union reenactors portraying a Kentucky unit. The distinctive smell of burning firewood filled the air. Small talk led to a discussion of Civil War flags, which led to this image of Todd Watts of Nashville. The flag was a tremendous backdrop for a photo that was an exclamation point for a great day walking an awe-inspiring battlefield.

“Ladies and gentlemen, on our right is the oldest living fossil,” a reenactor said in jest about 83-year-old Jere McConnell at the reenactment at Resaca, Ga., in May. Jere sat by a tent eating a hamburger, giving visitors pointers in between bites. Wearing Federal blue pants and Confederate homespun, he told me he has reenacted for 30 or so years. What a distinctive face! Read my Civil War Times column.

And then there's 76-year-old Charles Garvin, a reenactor since 1962. He was chewing on the stubby remains of an unlit cigar at Resaca as we talked about his hobby. He made me laugh when he mentioned a reenactor who used to put moonshine in his canteen. “He put in some water," he told me, "to make it 100 proof.”

On the 2.5-mile trail at Fort Pillow (Tenn.), I met a terrific couple from Louisiana, Carolyn and Mike Goss from Bossier City. Carolyn's great-grandfather George "Washie" Johnson, who served in a Louisiana regiment, lost a leg at the Battle of Mansfield (La.) on April 8, 1864. He was probably only a teenager. After the war, "Washie" eventually turned to drinking and gambling. (He apparently had a fondness for slot machines.) Johnson also befriended a former slave named Dick Chaney, who was treated like a member of the family. When Chaney died, he was buried next to the Johnson family cemetery in Louisiana, outside the fence. Years later, Carolyn discovered the fence was extended around Chaney's grave. How cool. Read more.

No one on the planet knows more about the rich Civil War history of Culpeper County, Va., than Clark "Bud" Hall. No one is as passionate about saving hallowed ground there than the ex-FBI agent and former Marine. “Young Americans fought, bled, and died on our Civil War battlefields,” he told me, “and I profoundly believe we share a collective responsibility to secure and save these sacred fields.” Above, Hall leans against a pillar at Powhatan Robinson’s war-time home, “Struan.” It was used by Union Maj. Gen. Gouverneur K. Warren as a headquarters and by the Army of the Potomac as a hospital in the aftermath of the Battle of Morton Ford’s in early February 1864. Hall knows the 1840 house and its owner well; its expansive porch is a perfect place for a man with a full flask and an active imagination. Read my Civil War Times column.

As a steady rain sent many fans scattering for shelter in the bars at the NFL draft in Nashville in late April, David McCormick watched from behind the counter at Ernest Tubbs Record Shop. The 69-year-old Tennessee native has worked at the store since 1968, owned it since 1972. Outside the Lower Broadway landmark, a large sign proclaims “Real Country Music Lives Here. Our 72nd Year.” Inside, the aisles are filled with country music albums and memorabilia. "It’s a joy for me every day to meet people from all over the world who may find something here they want," McCormick said. Oh, man, I wish I asked him one more question: "Did you know your building was used as a Civil War hospital during the Union occupation?" Read my Yardbarker story.

Retired chimney sweep John Mack – you can call him “The Mad Hatter” -- aimed to persuade visitors at the Resaca reenactment to purchase replica coonskin caps. The 6th Alabama, the “Raccoon Roughs," wore them, he insisted. Years ago, Mack was passionate about the Revolutionary and French and Indian wars, leading an inquisitor to believe the caps with real raccoon tails may simply be, ah, re-purposed.

Melea Medders Tennant has lived on the Resaca (Ga.) battlefield most of her life. "I can’t tell you how many times I've been working, pulling weeds and [visitors] come by telling me about a great-great uncle or great-great granddaddy who fought here." Occasionally, Tennant gives them a bullet she found on the battlefield. Melea regrets not keeping a diary to document meetings with battlefield tourists. On a Saturday afternoon, Tennant took me to see the remains of embrasures for Captain Maximillian Van Den Corput's "Cherokee Battery" of four Napoleons (above). It used to be her family's property. Read more.

On a Sunday morning, Gary Burke and I stood on a graffiti-marred, modern overpass in South Nashville to view a seldom-seen railroad cut. It was there on Dec. 15, 1864, that Burke's ancestor and his comrades in the U.S. Colored Troops were caught “like pickles in a barrel” during the Battle of Nashville and routed by Confederates. Burke once sneaked into the cut — it’s about 10 feet deeper than it was during the war — because he wanted “to feel the fear that went through them.” Read my Civil War Times column.

At the Resaca reenactment, Robert Miller sat at table with a pile of his books on the 129th Illinois, his great-great grandfather's regiment. His ancestor was killed at the northwestern Georgia battlefield, less than a quarter-mile from where we talked on a blazing-hot Saturday. The 78-year-old retired computer programmer from Oklahoma enjoyed telling me about Private Joseph Peters of Company F. Miller eagerly agreed to be photographed holding a copy of an image of his ancestor. We shook hands as we parted. It was one of the firmest handshakes I can remember.

In the pre-dawn darkness in Plains Ga., Mayor Lynton Earl Godwin III – almost everyone calls him “Boze” -- talked about his friend, Jimmy Carter.  He has known the former president most of his life. “He has not forgot where he comes from,” the 75-year-old told me. “He hasn’t changed one bit.” How I got to Plains in the wee hours on Super Bowl Sunday was, well, a little odd. The day before in nearby Andersonville -- site of the notorious Civil War prison camp -- I stopped in a small antiques store. "Does President Carter still teach Sunday school in Plains?" I asked the lovely woman behind the counter. "He sure does," she told me. "You should go." I had nothing to wear but a sloppy sweatshirt and black sweat pants. It's OK, she said. And so I booked a room in Americus, got up super-early the next morning and ...

... attended a Sunday school lesson  with these nice folks.

Life.

Enjoy the journey.

Always.

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Morton's Ford (Va.) Then & Now: The amazing Alfred Waud

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From renowned Culpeper County (Va.) historian Clark "Bud" Hall:

Yesterday, while out at Morton's Ford with off-duty sheriff's deputies, I took along the real-time sketch Alfred Waud crafted on Feb. 6, 1864, depicting Federal soldiers in attack ranks straddling Morton's Ford Road -- while hunkering down in front of the Dr. George Morton House (destroyed by the war).

Alfred Waud, Civil War sketch artist.

Waud "captioned" this drawing, "Scene at the late reconnaissance at Morton's Ford/night."

So we strolled up to the same knoll whereupon Alfred Waud sketched this dramatic scene, and you can herein observe the dead-on comparison.

Now, Waud was sketching his scene from atop a horse and I am 5-9, so I didn't achieve as much of the eastern background, as did Waud. But I will soon go back and take another photo while standing in the bed of my pick-up -- an inelegant substitute, to be sure, for Waud's steed.

As we all know, Waud possessed the uncanny ability to precisely craft a scene wherein the supporting terrain is represented as equally significant as the subject of the presentation -- for which we thank him. And you will notice that even in the waning light, Waud was able to accurately depict the moderate swale in front of the house, and the proper location of the distant background, and ford road.

General G.K. Warren visited this precise location in the early evening of Feb. 6 and conferred with Alexander Hays, and others. Is that Warren in Waud's scene? Probably. (He almost got killed here, but that's another story.)

And I don't need to point out the obvious, but will do so, anyway:

Alfred Waud sketched this scene -- like the sketch at St. James Plateau, June 9 at Brandy Station -- when the bullets were flying! Yet, he remained solid, and performed his duty.

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Why Vietnam veteran Bud Hall's passion is saving battlefields

Clark "Bud" Hall at his beloved Brandy Station battlefield.

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Like J.E.B.Stuart's ride around the Union army in 1862, the route to my first meeting with Clark "Bud" Hall was circuitous and lengthy.

In the summer of 2014, just as my wife, our two daughters and I had started a road trip from Connecticut to South Carolina for a vacation, a gentleman sent me an e-mail through my blog.

Bud Hall, left, hauling in a bad guy
during his FBI days.
(Courtesy Clark "Bud" Hall)

"If you are ever down in Culpeper (VA)," he wrote, "I’d enjoy hosting you on a visit to Morton’s Ford. The battlefield -- both sides of the Rapidan -- is almost precisely the same as in February, 1864. Clark B. Hall."

We had never met, but Hall and I certainly shared a common passion: the Civil War. I responded with a brief note and deposited his e-mail deep into my memory bank.

Fast forward three years.

In the process of editing Bob Zeller's book, Fighting The Second Civil War -- an excellent, unvarnished account of the battlefield preservation movement -- I kept running across the name of this Hall guy.

A synopsis of him: Mississippi native ... Vietnam vet ...Marine... former FBI agent, often dealt with Mafia bad guys ... key figure in saving a slice of the Chantilly battlefield and instrumental in preserving much of the vast Brandy Station battlefield ... close friend of Brian Pohanka, the renowned Civil War battlefield preservationist who died in 2005.

I seemed to recall the name of this man. Could it be?

Yes, indeed, it was the same Clark Hall who had sent me the e-mail in 2014. I contacted him again,  finally meeting him in person in Culpeper, Va., last spring on the middle leg of a 1,000-mile-plus road trip -- a Civil War Power Tour, I like to call it -- that also took me to Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, the Wilderness, Cedar Mountain, Port Republic and Cross Keys. Over two days in March 2017, he gave me a tremendous tour of his beloved Brandy Station as well as Morton's Ford, Hansbrough's Ridge and points in between.

A veteran battlefield preservationist, Hall recently answered my questions about Brandy Station, relic hunters, his legacy and more.

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Why are you so passionate about battlefield preservation?

Hall: This is an especially difficult question to consider, as I don’t at all understand why others don’t feel the same way. Young Americans fought, bled and died on our Civil War battlefields, and I profoundly believe we share a collective responsibility to secure and save these sacred fields. How could we not?

But when I scratch deeper at why so passionate, I go back to Oliver Wendell Holmes’ observation that those who have “shared the incommunicable experience of war yet feel the passion of life to its top.” In other words, I might have departed the jungle, but I remember every day what it is like to witness hard death in a foreign environment. And although I can’t save Vietnam battlefields where so many of my buddies fell, I can sure as hell — as emotional compensation, along with some measure of ongoing guilt-relief — work to save the ground upon which our ancestors fought and died. So, in effect, I never left Vietnam.

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You're especially passionate about Brandy Station, which you have fought doggedly to save from development. I've seen the look in your eyes while walking that field -- on Fleetwood Hill and elsewhere. What draws you to that place?

Hall: The first time I visited Brandy Station, in 1984, I walked out onto that glorious cavalry arena and felt deep in my psyche that men, many men, fought and died here, right here, on these now-lonely plains. Way out on the ancient Cunningham Farm, in front an ancient stone wall, I kneeled down on the ground and never felt so entirely at peace in all my life. I found my home, at last, and this is right where I am supposed to be. From that day on, I have tried never to travel too far from Brandy, feeling as if something bad might happen when I’m away. I am fiercely protective of this huge battlefield — unhealthily so, some would say. The contrary viewpoints of some others notwithstanding, I am content, however, to know every square foot of the battlefield as if others might know their living room. You know the phrase, “Everybody has to be some place.” Well, my “some place” is Brandy Station. Always will be.

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J.E.B. Stuart

If you could go back in time to meet one soldier at Brandy Station, who would that be and why?

Hall: J.E.B.Stuart, my idol as a boy growing up on a hardscrabble Mississippi farm, brought me to Brandy Station and since that time I feel like that I have never left his side. He remains a personal hero, as does Robert E. Lee and John Buford.

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Is there a place on that field that has a more special feeling for you than any other, and why?

Hall: There is a deep and remote valley on the battlefield where troopers heatedly fought each other all day long, charge and counter-charge. I quite often go down into that narrow, linear valley and just walk for hours on end. It’s the quietest, most special place on the entire battlefield. It’s all private property, but the farmer is a friend. By the way, you get absolutely nowhere in battlefield preservation if the farmers don’t like you. Being the son of a farmer, I know and admire farmers. They sense my empathy, and have never turned me away.

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           Cedar Mountain Then & Now: 10th Maine officers examine battlefield graves.

Any other Civil War battlefield that comes close to matching your feelings for Brandy Station, and why?

Hall: Cedar Mountain is a special battlefield, and I never visit without feeling the deep tragedy of that beautiful battlefield. Being a Mississippian, one would not assume my heart in that savage contest rests with the 2nd Massachusetts Infantry, but I had the deep honor of marrying a Massachusetts girl, Deborah Fitts, and early on, I adopted the 2nd Mass as my favorite Union regiment. At Cedar Mountain, this fine regiment went down hard, and I never trek through the “wheatfield” there that I am not marching alongside Ned Abbott, soon to die, tragically.

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Hansbrough's Ridge "might be the most spellbinding Civil War site I've ever visited," says Hall, standing
 among the remains of a hut there in the spring of 2017.

I walked Hansbrough's Ridge encampment site in Culpeper County with you last year, marveling at the well-preserved stone huts and more there. What's special about that place, and why was/is it worth saving?

Hall: Hansbrough’s Ridge — and you know the place, John, as you’ve been up there — might be the most spellbinding Civil War site I’ve ever visited. Back in the mid-80s, I started going up there, and once I entered those silent woods, situated way up in the sky, it seemed to me as if I had ascended into a grand European cathedral. Greeting this solitary visitor, under heavy, protective branches, were hut sites by the hundreds, miles of deep trenches, signal platforms and and huge fire-pits. Occasional openings in the trees offered magnificent views 30 miles west to the Blue Ridge and 30 miles east to the Wilderness. It seemed to me then — and still does today — that the II Corps soldiers who departed this magnificent ridge on May 4, 1864, left their Hansbrough encampment just for the likes of us to discover well over a century later. And not only have we discovered this sacred place, but the Civil War Trust has bought it (thank God!), and Hansbrough’s Ridge is now forevermore protected.

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What preservation defeat that you have been involved with nags you most and why?

Hall: In the end, we have prevailed, mercifully, in every important preservation contest. Why? We are a relentless foe of any who attempt to develop our hallowed ground. The lesson: Never give up.

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You have strong feelings about relic hunters and battlefield preservation. Tell us about that.

Hall: The bane of my very existence. In the dark of night, and in the light of day, they dig holes in our battlefields. What’s right with that? For many years, I’ve heard their diverse rationalizations for digging up hallowed ground, and absolutely none of their loopy attempts at self-exoneration hold any water whatsoever. The distinction between preservationists and relic hunters: Preservationists save battlefields for the caring public, and because it’s the right thing to do; relic hunters exploit battlefields for personal gain, which is the wrong thing to do.

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                                       BRANDY STATION PANORAMA: Fleetwood Hill.
                                  (Click at upper right for full-screen experience.)

Finally, how would you like to be remembered in the field of Civil War battlefield preservation?

For the most part — having lost the love of my life — I live almost entirely in the past, and I’m now feeling rather satisfied that I have given the modern world the slip. So, when realizing I’ll soon be someone’s memory, I’ll continue to do my best to be a good one.

So, I’ll never stop trying to save battlefields within my geographical reach. And like Sisyphus with his rock, I’ll continue to roll around Culpeper with my own tasks at hand, and never, ever stop.

Here is the daily mantra, care of Archibald MacLeish. This is framed, on my desk:

Who in the still houses has not heard them?

The soldiers say. Our deaths are not ours; they are yours. They will mean what you make them mean.

They say: Whether our lives and our deaths were for peace and a new hope or for nothing, we cannot say. It is you who must say this.

They say: We leave you our deaths. Give them their meaning. We were young, we have died, remember us.

By the way, one person can make a difference.

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-- More Civil War Q&As on my blog here.
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Top 2017 posts: Lot of 'Old Pete,' a little of 'Old Snapping Turtle'

During his 1888 visit to Gettysburg, James Longstreet stood for a photograph with his
 former adversaries, including  Henry Slocum (left).

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As the year winds down, it's time to reveal the five most popular posts on my blog in 2017. If I had known years ago what I know now, I'd have written much more about James Longstreet. "Old Pete" is a popular fella. Thanks for reading. (Traffic figures as of Dec. 21, 2017, 6:30 p.m. ET.)

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1. 'NO MAN ... MORE HONORED', Jan. 2, (52,593 page views):  A "vigorous" James Longstreet, sporting massive, gray whiskers and a cleanly shaven chin, attended a huge reunion of veterans in Gettysburg in late June and early July 1888, the 25th anniversary of the battle. For the 67-year-old former Confederate lieutenant general, the emotional visit was his first return to the area since the great battle. Longstreet, "his big broad-chested body ... straight and strong," was joined in the Pennsylvania town by an estimated 30,000 Union veterans and some of the more notable officers of the Civil War. Read more.

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2. A VISIT TO MODEST GRAVE OF GEORGE MEADE, Feb. 22, (19,298 page views):  On a gentle slope 100 feet above the Schuylkill River, the body of former Army of the Potomac commander George Meade, the "hero of Gettysburg," rests under a modest gravestone. In eternity, Meade -- nicknamed "Old Snapping Turtle" by some of his detractors -- has plenty of army company: the remains of 40 other Union generals and Confederate General John Pemberton also are buried in Philadelphia's historic Laurel Hill Cemetery, once located in a rural setting but now in a dense, urban area. Read more.

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3. 'THE FIGHTING LADY', Jan. 7,  (12,917 page views): On Sept. 8, 1897, James Longstreet and Helen Dortch -- described as "pretty, piquant and sympathetic," with blue eyes, blond hair and fair skin -- exchanged vows in the parlor at the governor's executive mansion in Atlanta. Among those in attendance were a large group of Longstreet's friends and the general's four sons and daughter. "They all warmly congratulated their new stepmother," an account noted, "which should dispose of the story that there was any friction because of the marriage." Fiercely protective of her husband's legacy, Helen led quite a life of her own.   Read more.

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4. 'HIS WHOLE FACE WAS SHOT AWAY': Sept. 3, (10,439 page views): Within a year of his regiment's ill-fated charge at Fredericksburg, Oliver Dart Jr. faced another great trial: a sitting for a photograph at a studio in Hartford, Conn. The resulting carte-de-visite, found in the 14th Connecticut veteran's pension file in the National Archives, is difficult to view. Bundled in a  coat, the blue-eyed veteran with black hair and thick eyebrows stared at the photographer. A mangled jaw, mouth and nose  are obvious. Read more.

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5. FORGOTTEN NO MORE: April 1,  (9.930 page views): The cold, gray mist hangs heavy as a Southern visitor walks slowly among gray, damp tombstones while searching for a special grave at an upstate New York cemetery. But the task frustrates as the burial site cannot be found and there is no one about in the lonely graveyard to assist in the hunt. One last scan, the stranger concludes. He then looks up high upon a badly eroded hillside and spots a small tombstone for Lt. Henry C. Cutler, the first soldier to die during the Gettysburg Campaign. A guest post by Clark B. Hall. Read more.

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Forgotten no more: First soldier to die in Gettysburg Campaign

When Clark Hall first found Lieutenant Henry C. Cutler's gravesite, it was sorely neglected.

CLICK ON IMAGES TO ENLARGE. (Photos: Clark B. Hall)

Clark Hall

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If you enjoy Civil War history but don't know about Clark Hall, you should. Born in Mississippi, the former Marine and ex-FBI agent is the foremost expert on the Civil War in Culpeper County, Va., and a passionate battlefield preservationist. Hall's efforts to save the Brandy Station battlefield, the beautiful, rolling fields and woodlots near Culpeper, Va., are renowned. During my recent Civil War Power Tour, Hall gave me my first tour of Brandy Station, Morton's Ford and many Civil War sites in between. This post is his first for my blog.

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By Clark B. Hall

The cold, gray mist hangs heavy as a Southern visitor walks slowly among gray, damp tombstones while searching for a special grave at an upstate New York cemetery. But the task frustrates as the burial site cannot be found and there is no one about in the lonely graveyard to assist in the hunt. One last scan, the stranger concludes. He then looks up high upon a badly eroded hillside and spots a small tombstone that due to its lopsided, broken, fallen configuration is deemed by the visitor shockingly disrespectful to the dead soul, whoever it may be. The hill is climbed, and indecorous treatment or not, there he is, all alone:

Lt. Henry C. Cutler
8th New York Cavalry
Killed in action, June 9, 1863
Beverly’s Ford, Virginia

In any battle or military campaign, some soldier must be the first to die, and at Brandy Station, Va., the inaugural action of the momentous Gettysburg Campaign, that man was 26-year-old Henry C. Cutler of Avon, N.Y.

8th New York Cavalry Lieutenant Henry C. Cutler
was killed at Brandy Station, Va,, on June 9, 1863.
He was 26. (Clark B. Hall collection)

At 4:30 a.m. on June 9, 1863, the 8th New York Cavalry moved carefully down in the pre-dawn darkness toward Beverly’s Ford, the sounds of their approach muffled by water pouring furiously over a nearby rock dam. The largest cavalry regiment in the army at more than 600 strong, the Empire State Regiment was known as the “lucky regiment” because the 8th New York had lost so few men in prior battles. Their “luck” was soon to run out.

Just after 4:30 a.m., the 8th New York Cavalry charged over the Rappahannock River, “the plunging horses throwing spray high in the air.” The huge conflict was now on, and here at Brandy Station “fairly begun the heaviest and most hotly contested cavalry battle ever fought on the American soil.”

As soon as the remaining elements of the 8th New York crossed and re-formed on the flats fronting the river, its division leader ordered his men to assault the enemy located in the woods ahead. Recently detailed from Company B to assume the command of Company A, Cutler, tall, blond and of serious and resolute demeanor, immediately brought forward his wide-awake troopers. Company A was ordered to “draw sabers!” ​

Courageously charging up the ford road across an open plain at the head of his men, Cutler was met violently in front of a knoll by a focused blast of pistol and carbine fire. Shot in the neck, mortally wounded, he fell sideways over the neck of his horse. One of Cutler’s stunned men observed his officer’s horse “running wild with loose rein,” with “blood on Lt. Cutler’s mouth and clinging to the pommel of his horse.” This mad dash proved to be literally a ride to the death for Cutler, as the brave officer soon fell stone dead from his steed.

And it is a fact that Lieutenant Henry C. Cutler became the first of about 55,000 soldiers tallied as casualties in the Gettysburg Campaign.

        Cutler death site. War-time ford road may be seen by sign at center of panorama.
                            (CLICK AT UPPER RIGHT FOR FULL-SCREEN VERSION.)

After his death, Cutler’s body was placed on a train and escorted home to his mother, the widow of the late John Cutler. Solemn preparations completed, the funeral proceeded at the Methodist Church in Avon to lament the passing of “this young man of great promise.” A newspaper scribe was present: “From adjoining towns, large deputations were sent to pay the last tribute ... to honor the obsequies of the brave.” As the funeral march got under way, “banners draped in mourning, the long funeral train timing their steps to a dead march, the deep solemnity ... stamped on every brow.” Three
volleys were then fired.

The last part of this newspaper description greatly troubles this writer. As the reporter turned his back from the gravesite, he noted that Cutler “was left to the starless custody of an honored tomb.”

No, not exactly. Not on this day.

In fact,  there was no honor to be found in the badly eroded gravesite and severely neglected tombstone. But wait, something is being done to reverse this sad condition. Just wait and see ...

In his day, a poem was offered in Lieutenant Cutler’s memory. It read, in part:

“Earth is hallowed where he fell —
Comrade! Warrior! Fare thee well”

PRESENT DAY: After some "nudging" from a certain Civil War historian,
Henry C. Cutler's gravestone at Avon (N.Y.) Cemetery was re-set. (Clark Hall photo)

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