Following the Dead: Road Trip, Part 2

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After spending the day in Bethlehem, we continued on to Gettysburg. I had been wanting to visit this battlefield for many years, but had never gotten the opportunity to do so. Since I took up my obligations to the military dead, however, that desire had become most pressing. It seemed that connecting to the dead of the land in which I lived, from a battle that had such a tremendous and long lasting effect on our country, was important in some way. It was, at least, an important starting point and I was being pushed hard to go there.

So, on this trip, since I and my two travel companions had to go through Pennsylvania anyway, we determined to visit the battlefield for one night. Our itinerary didn't allow for much more than that, but we all figured a day and a half was ample time.

We arrived about 5:00 pm on a Tuesday, staying at a small bed and breakfast not too far from Culp's Hill. It would be impossible for me to give a complete history of this particular battle in the span of my column so I'm not going to try. For those wanting to learn more about Gettysburg or the Civil War, I recommend Gettysburg by Stephen Sears, Hallowed Ground: A Walk at Gettysburg by James McPherson, or Stars in Their Courses: The Gettysburg Campaign by Shelby Foote. That should get you started. I will say that not only was the battle of Gettysburg one of the major battles of the Civil War, but it had the largest death toll of any battle of that war: an estimated 50,000 casualties. Fought on July 1-3, 1863, it was one of the turning points of this conflict. It was also utterly brutal and many dead still lie undiscovered beneath the now serene landscape. Ironically (and completely inadvertently) our visit occurred two days before the 150 th year anniversary of the battle.

The feel of the battlefield, which is an immense expanse of land, was palpable (at least it was to me) before we even entered Gettysburg proper. I could feel it as we approached. Battlefields are holy places to me. There is a sentience there, a memory, and a particular resonance unlike any other type of holy space. I was prepared for all of that to a degree as I'd experienced something similar when I first visited Culloden a few years ago. What I hadn't prepared for was that my work with the dead had deepened in the interim, as had my sensitivity to them and my ability to tap into their experiences. But I'm getting a bit ahead of myself.

We passed the first night quietly, dining at Dobbin House, one of the oldest buildings in Gettysburg. The food and service were amazing. Of course, I should have known from my experiences at the restaurant that this wasn't going to be a pleasure jaunt. On the second floor, Dobbin House has a tiny Civil War museum/display, including a hiding hole that was used by the Underground Railroad. I didn't want to go up and look at it (I was there for the military dead after all and I can get tunnel vision sometimes in my work); my ancestors, however, insisted. So up I went.

Looking at that small space, and it was very small, was wrenching. To think that human beings, sometimes whole families, had once had to squeeze into a space barely large enough to hold two large, packed suitcases in order to win their freedom had me all but bursting into tears. The place stank of desperation and fear and something else too: bitter resolve. I returned to my traveling companions and took my place at the table shaken and quite emotional.

The rest of the meal passed without incident and then we took some time to walk around the town of Gettysburg, just as twilight was falling. One of my companions, having been raised by a medium, was quite sensitive to spirits and kept commenting that there were ghosts all over. I'm afraid my response was a less than elegant "No sh-t! Just wait till we get to the battlefields tomorrow!" We returned to the hotel fairly late and though I had intended to walk out to Culp's Hill to make my first offerings after dinner, I decided this could wait until the morrow.

The morning came all too quickly. I was urged awake by a press of my own ancestors and the collective military dead of that place. Well before 7:00 am, I was told to walk out to Culp's Hill (perhaps a quarter of a mile from the bed and breakfast, maybe less) to meet the battlefield, commune with the dead, and begin my round of offerings. (I've found that there is a protocol to honoring the dead, but for us, its restoration is often a matter of trial and error, since we are just now relearning how to do all of this properly. I suppose ease and excellence will come as the restoration of our ancestral ways progresses but for now, sometimes I need to be prompted by certain of my dead).

During the battle, Culp's hill was a key point in the Union's defensive line and suffered several thousand casualties. It was rather eerie walking out alone into what is now a memorial park. I could feel the point where I passed into the place that had seen the worst of the killing. It was as though I had crossed an invisible divide. I could smell it. All along the way, I stopped at various monuments (Gettysburg battlefield is littered with them, many raised by individual regiments to commemorate their fallen comrades) to leave offerings of alcohol and tobacco. I was pushed to go further, beyond the monuments and to address the spirit of the field itself. It has a relationship with the dead that dwell there, and it needed to be honored first. It's impossible to go far off the paved trail, for most of Culp's field is now occupied by cattle, but I was able to lay more tobacco in the field itself and spend a fair amount of time with the land spirits there and with the dead.

I stayed so long with them, in fact, that I ended up running back to the Inn. I had booked a registered battlefield guide (who turned out to be excellent) for myself and my friends and did not wish to be late in meeting him. By 9:00 am, we were on our way to the place where the battle had actually started, and over the next four hours we made our way to several key places, as our guide brought the story of the battle of Gettysburg alive. He seemed not only very knowledgeable but also very invested in his work. I found out later, when we visited the cemetery there, that he was descended from Union soldiers who fought at Gettysburg with an Ohio regiment. He even had their regimental symbol —a crescent moon - -tattooed on his arm in honor of them.

As we went from place to place, I played what I've tongue-in-cheek referred to as "ninja shaman," leaving massive and major offerings all over the place without ever being seen. Only once was I so incredibly moved that I had to fumble with offerings out in the open, and that was at a monument to peace graced with an eternal flame. There I openly laid tobacco and poured out alcohol, simply telling the guide that "I had to do a thing and that it was the way we honored the dead in my family." This was more or less true, if one counts one's ancestors as current family, which I do.

By the end of the tour, I was exhausted. I felt as though I had been physically beaten, because in a way I had. I learned then what ancestor workers the world over have long known: sometimes dealing with the dead (and also powerful spirits of the land like battlefields) in this way involves experiencing their body memories too, including memories of battle: physically, as well as the noise and stench and heat. All of this had poured over me, and nearly laid me out on the ground.

I have a very stoic demeanor and a very high tolerance to pain, so I was able to conceal what was happening to me from the others. They only noticed that more and more I trailed far behind the guide. The spirit of tobacco, which I honored by keeping lit most of the time I was walking the field of battle, consecrates and protects, but not from those experiences. I didn't quite comprehend what was happening to me, and by the time we left Gettysburg, I was aching, sore, and very confused. It took a call later that night to a more experienced ancestor worker to clear things up. If I ever had any illusions about honoring the dead being something that one could relegate safely to the realm of rigid intellect and calm, measured action, my visit to Gettysburg rid me of them. Honoring the dead is sometimes about stepping into their experience, pouring out offerings and, in whatever way one is able, witnessing the defining aspects of their lives and deaths.

One very good thing I discovered was that at Gettysburg the dead were very well tended. The Union cemetery there was spotless, the stories of the battle and those who fought in it are memorialized throughout the town, and all in all they are very well remembered. There was no aching loss, or hunger, or pain at having been forgotten, or dismissed, or otherwise treated with disrespect. Here the dead were part and parcel of the lives of everyone living in that town. It was the first time I had visited a place where there were so many dead present, who were so well and consistently honored.

Late in the afternoon, we departed for Fredericksburg, where our ancestor work would continue.