“I’d like to hike the Union line trail.” I told the rangers at the counter of the Visitor Center of the Chickamauga National Military.”
They looked at me like I had styrofoam cups on my ears and then began to show me hiking maps.
Oops. No Union line trail. Of course, there was a Confederate Line Trail but no Union Line Trail. This was Georgia, after all.
Since 2011, I’ve had a fascination with battlefields. They combine the history of our nation together with the study of strategy. Seeing the terrain of the battlefield always gives me a fuller perspective than just reading about a battle.
But this visit was going to be different.
Over the past year, I had researched my own family history and genealogy. What I had come to realize is that my own family history intersects the great points of our nation’s history at so many points.
I had identified 15 of 16 of my 3rd Great Grandfathers (in other words, my grandparents’ great grandfathers). I was amazed to find that 6 of these 15 were soldiers in the Civil War, all on the Union side (I thought for sure I had found my first Confederate ancestor when I discovered that 3rd great William Smith had served in the 1st Alabama Cavalry. Turns out it was Union and accompanied Sherman on his infamous “March to the Sea.” Not surprisingly, he moved to Kentucky from his Georgia home shortly after the war).
My 3rd Great Grandfather Benjamin Lindsey was a solider in the 42nd Indiana Infantry. He was at Chickamauga. Before I had explored the strategy of movement of armies. Now, I wanted to walk where my fathers had walked.
So, it was with a sort of religious awe that I walked up to the monument to the 42nd Indiana on the grounds of the battlefield. This is where my ancestor had fought. As I read the description of the action of the 42nd Indiana, I was no longer reading about nameless and unknown soldiers. This was my own grandparent.
This was no longer the general love of country. This was intensely personal. This was my family. I, metaphorically speaking, had been there before. I was there in my great, great, great grandfather Benjamin Lindsey.
Another one of my 3rd greats, Benjamin Allard from Portsmouth, OH was not at Chickamauga, but he was at Missionary Ridge in the Battle for Chattanooga. Through the rangers at Chickamauga, I located where he and the 53rd Ohio had been during the battle: there plaques that marked their presence in the Sherman Forest Preserve, east of Chattanooga.
The next day, on my way home, I stopped at the Sherman Forest Preserve. Shockingly, the Sherman Forest Preserve had not been given a lot of attention. There were only three parking spots in a beat up parking lot dangling off the road. Fortunately, there was a clearly marked trail through the forest that led to the monument to the 53rd Ohio.
I walked about a third of a mile through the forest wondering where all the monuments were. Then, to my surprise, the trail ended and opened up to a beautiful meadow spotted with monuments in a long line extending downward from the hill and cannon positioned atop the hill. It was far more pleasant than I had expected after parking there.
I walked through the meadow and came almost to the end of the mowed section. And there were the plaques and monuments to the 53rd Ohio. Not far from there, on November 24, 1863, his unit had taken position on this hill in support of other units. This is where Benjamin Allard had marched and was stationed as a soldier in the battle.
I stayed for a while and pondered the weight of this. Then, I made my way back to the car and pondered it throughout my trip home.
Thinking of Benjamin Allard, I realized how few of his descendants I really knew. I wish I knew an Allard, I thought. And then I realized, I do. Me.