Ghosts of Gettysburg

  Ghosts of Gettysburg

  Spirits, Apparitions and Haunted Places on the Battlefield

  by

  Mark Nesbitt

  Published by Second Chance Publications at Smashwords

  Copyright 2012 Mark V. Nesbitt

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  Photos by Mark and Carol Nesbitt unless otherwise credited.

  Original cover design by Ryan C. Stouch

  ***************

  To Ellen

  Who haunts me sometimes still…

  ***************

  Southeast, down by Littlestown and Taneytown, Union foot soldiers, still plodding along, pressed through dusk into moonlight and the cool, scented sorcery of a summer night. And somewhere a rumor, an eerie “fact,” began circulating among the soldiers, pushed on by no more than a wish for a hopeful sign: The ghost of George Washington had been seen riding a white horse leading the columns—the Other World was going to help them.

  Jack McLaughlin, Gettysburg: The Long Encampment

  One day, for example, when he [Major General Joshua Chamberlain] was a very old man someone asked him if there was any truth to the report that George Washington had been seen riding around on a white horse on that morning in 1863 when they were approaching the field of Gettysburg. The old warrior did not reply for a long while, then said, “Yes, that report was circulated through our lines…Doubtless it was a superstition, but yet, who among us can say that such a thing was impossible?”

  John J. Pullen, The 20th Maine

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  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1 - Acknowledgements

  Chapter 2 - Introduction

  Chapter 3 - The Homecoming

  Chapter 4 - The Devil’s Den

  Chapter 5 - Iverson’s Pits

  Chapter 6 - From Farmhouses to Charnel Houses

  Chapter 7 - The Play’s the Thing…

  Chapter 8 - Forever a Soldier

  Chapter 9 - Seeking a Childhood

  Chapter 10 - The Cavalryman Finally Rests

  Chapter 11 - An Authentic Re-enactment

  Chapter 12 - Sojourners All

  Chapter 13 - The Tireless Surgeons of Old Dorm

  Chapter 14 - Black Sunset

  Chapter 15 - The Inn at Cashtown

  Chapter 16 - Gettysburg is Re-occupied by the Enemy

  Chapter 17 - The Sartorial Spirit of Stevens Hall and the Blue Boy

  Chapter 18 - Endnotes

  Chapter 19 - About the Author

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  Chapter 1: Acknowledgements

  As any reader can see, I have been witness to only a few of these stories. This is true of nearly all writers of any historical work as well as most of the events portrayed in works of fiction. Which is to say that all writers use a lot of help from others.

  Living in Gettysburg, where almost everyone is interested in the great battle fought here, it is difficult to go anywhere without running into at least a couple of professional historians, and more than a few very knowledgeable amateurs. Discussions of the history of the area are frequent, and so it is hard, after collecting ghost stories for over twenty years, to remember and acknowledge everyone. To those people with whom I’ve spoken over the years, who’ve offered encouragement along with their personal tales of the battlefield, and who are not mentioned in this book, my sincere apologies.

  There are others, however, who contributed directly to this publication, and without whom these stories would have never come to light. I take this time to thank them all.

  When I first became interested in seriously studying the battle and visited Gettysburg as a teenager, the first person I was told to talk to was “Colonel Sheads.” His credentials were vast, and the enthusiasm with which his name was spoken by other students of Gettysburg was evident. Imagine my surprise when I came to be employed by the National Park Service at being able to work alongside “The Colonel.”

  So when it came time to write a book about a part of the folklore of Gettysburg, the first person I called was Colonel Sheads.

  Jacob M. Sheads, whose love for and knowledge of Gettysburg literally influenced generations of historians, students, and visitors, is as much a part of Gettysburg as the monuments, the landmarks, the field itself. We transients only write about Gettysburg; Colonel Sheads is Gettysburg. With great appreciation and admiration, and on behalf of all the students of Gettysburg ever touched by him, I thank the Colonel.

  When it came to researching the ghost stories of Gettysburg, the second person I called was Rebecca Lyons. Becky and I have been friends as long as I have lived in Gettysburg, and have shared spirit-tales from our first year here. She added considerably to the contents of this work with fresh and fascinating insights.

  Dr. Charles Emmons of Gettysburg College, who has written a scholarly study on Chinese ghosts and paranormal experiences, was most generous with his knowledge, virtually opening his files of local ghost lore to me.

  My friends in the library of Gettysburg National Military Park, Kathy Georg-Harrison, Robert Prosperi, and Karen Finley, all helped by making the enormous files of unpublished materials accessible to me. Their work, especially in the face of an often non-historically-minded bureaucracy, is remarkable and appreciated greatly.

  Emile O. Schmidt, Professor of English and Theater and Director of Theater Arts at Gettysburg College, took time out of his busy days to speak with me about Brua Hall. Mark Lewis, who shared his stories about the theater, introduced me to Carole Herman and Kym Miller, whose willingness to tell their stories of unusual sightings in Brua Hall and superstitions of the stage added several new stories to this work.

  Charles “Bud” Buckley and his wife Carolyn were most gracious in sharing their very personal tales of apparitions at the Cashtown Inn.

  Linda Marshall, of Gettysburg College, supplied the photograph of the apparition in Pennsylvania Hall. Barbara Klemmer, also of the administration at the College, helped gather information on sources.

  My longtime friends Joan Bossmann, Bob Lanane, Art Wasserman, and Darryl Jones all contributed, and while I don’t have the opportunity to speak with some of them all that often anymore, they are remembered with gratitude. I wish also to acknowledge the late Sam Kessel, fellow park ranger in the early days, who shared his stories of unexplainable sightings while on night patrol of the park, and first piqued my interest in the ghost folklore of the battlefield.

  Ellen Abrahamson, while working with me as a research assistant on another book, led me to several other sources for stories, including Fiona Crawley, who gave me the tales of Stevens Hall.

  William A. Frassanito, Greg Coco, and Dr. Walter Powell helped in supplying historical tid-bits about the town and its structures. Thanks go to them; they are professionals, one and all.

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  Chapter 2: Introduction

  …We died at such a place;

  some swearing; some crying for a surgeon;

  some upon their wives left poor behind them;

  some upon the debts they owe;

  some upon their children rawly left.

  I am afeared there are few die well that die in battle….

>   —William Shakespeare, King Henry V, Act IV. Scene i

  Years ago, when I first worked as a park ranger at Gettysburg, I asked one of my supervisors, Ron Wilson—now Chief Historian at Appomattox—if he knew of any ghost stories concerning the Gettysburg Battlefield.

  Ron just laughed and said, “There are enough true stories about this battlefield that will scare the pants off of you. We don’t need any ghost stories.”

  And he was right—to some extent. Documented stories of the Battle of Gettysburg are horrific, and they will scare you, because we’re talking about real men and boys who once lived and did unbelievably frightening acts, in moments of unbelievable intensity. Energy—physical and emotional—was running towards an all-time high while humans teetered on the threshold between this world and whatever comes after.

  But there is a place for the other stories of the battlefield, stories that have no explanation, sights which consistently occur, undeniable visions through the decades and across the generations, which return again and again.

  But first, a caveat: In studying history one attempts to find “primary sources” for documenting events that occurred. A primary source is, in essence, an eyewitness to an event.

  Obviously, there are problems even with so-called primary sources. With two eyewitnesses to the same car accident, two viewpoints are invariably expressed, and often disagree in detail.

  Time has its diluting effect. Usually the further away a person is from the event in time, the less reliable the account. Yet even diaries written on the spot, under fire, on the battlefield will mention merely having “a sharp fight in a wheatfield…” and that is all, about the monumental, three-day epic battle of Gettysburg.

  With the passage of the years, one sometimes discovers after studying the historical characters involved in an event, that they had received criticism and had a reputation to defend. Even the eyewitnesses’ second or third versions of the event sometimes bear little resemblance to their original versions.

  Secondary sources—people who have repeated what they heard said about an event—are considered by historians to be less reliable and their accounts more subject to individual interpretation. Like the game we used to play in elementary school where we would sit in a circle and the teacher would whisper something in the ear of one child, who would whisper it to the next, who would whisper it to the next until it came full circle, whereupon the last child would repeat out loud a version that bore virtually no semblance to the original, that is how secondary sources often go. Fortunately, much of history is not whispered, but published, for the viewing and comment upon by any and all interested parties.

  Again, the point of all this is a warning: study history at your own risk, because hardly anybody—including the people who were there—are really absolutely positive about exactly what they saw happen.

  Yet no one ever doubts that the event happened. The Battle of Gettysburg—like the Hindenburg tragedy, or Bunker Hill, or D-Day—happened. There are many, many versions of historical events, and the interested reader must choose which he or she would believe. That the event occurred is never in doubt; which version of the event is most cogent is continually debated.

  With this in mind, it is easy to place these stories of unexplainable events in the category of secondary sources—very much like the elementary school exercise of varying versions of the same event. But the fact remains that something happened to precipitate the story. An event did occur, and as you will see, sometimes was witnessed by more than one person. Often, the same sightings and images were repeatedly seen or experienced at various times by totally unrelated individuals. As well, there are tangential, documented historical events which we know occurred, which may or may not be associated with the story, yet seem inexplicably tied to the tale.

  But more than just casting doubt on the validity of history even when using primary sources, ghosts and ghost sightings bring in some eternal, somewhat scientific questions as well: about the nature of time; about the seemingly inviolable laws of energy and physics; about existence and life after death; about the nature of life itself.

  To those who wish to condemn these tales because they seem to document happenings after death, it must be remembered that a good one-fifth of the world’s population—some 950,000,000 people—have built their religion specifically around life after death. They are called Christians. As well, most of the rest of the world’s major religions believe in another world, beyond, or perhaps parallel, with the one that is visible.

  And, as far as finding an event that should supply America with innumerable stories—explained or inexplicable—there cannot be one more ripe than the Civil War, that greatest of all American spiritual calamities, the horrible, monstrous manifestation of Cain and Abel right from Genesis, where the two sections of the country tore at each other’s entrails until we were fortunate that either side remained.

  Six hundred and twenty thousand Americans died in that conflict; more Americans than in all the other wars since added together. And, it must be said, none of them was quite ready to die. For the most part, they were not the hard-core, professional mercenaries who take the chance of dying along with the pay. For $13 a month, ($11 a month if you were a Confederate private) these farmers and clerks, accountants and wheelwrights, factory workers and lawyers and laborers took what they thought would be a few months off from the boredom of every day life in their small home towns and went off to “The Great Adventure” they’d always read about, never expecting to descend into the only living hell man creates on earth. The way they died at Gettysburg (as the way all men die in battle) was particularly traumatic, with bits and pieces of their selves gouged out and splattered hither and yon like so much butchered meat. Men were shot in the faces and brains and genitals and guts. They were stabbed by the particularly savage triangular bayonet, through the eyes and spine and throat. Perhaps artillery was the worst. When a battery fired canister—hundreds of iron balls like a giant shotgun blast—at packed men attacking, they said over the smoke you could see flying arms, legs, torsos, and heads, floating surreally, disembodied, spinning through the air. Death is bad enough. To die like that is unimaginable.

  More often than not, when the men of the 19th Century wrote about the dead of the battles, they spoke of “leaving” them on the field. In fact, the way they refer to it, it sometimes grows confusing—do they speak of mortal remains, or spiritual?

  So if it is perturbed spirits who return to—or remain at—the place where they reluctantly left some unfinished business, or to the spot where they resigned this world too suddenly for their journey into the next, or to some touchstone where they need to find the answer, not to why they died, but why they ever even lived, Gettysburg is as likely a place as any for them to be.

  Nevertheless, as these stories will attest, something has been happening at Gettysburg since the battle, and a lot of people have seen things they cannot explain, but were certain enough they saw them to repeat them. Whether you believe all these witnesses to the unexplainable or not is part of the caveat. Nevertheless, here they are….

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  Chapter 3: The Homecoming

  You could not say from what world they come, or to what world they go.

  — Major General Joshua Chamberlain

  Seemingly insignificant decisions in our lives set us on irreversible courses; that we were born when and where we were, that we choose to live here or there, seem to set us on a track from which there is only one detour, only one escape….

  Wesley Culp, born and raised in Gettysburg in the 1840s and 1850s, moved to Shepherdstown, Virginia (now West Virginia) in the mid-1850s to follow his employer as he expanded his carriage-making trade.

  Being new to the area, he found immediate acceptance when he joined the local militia unit, the Hamtramck Guards. Militia units in the pre-war south were much like softball or bowling leagues or rugby clubs are today—an excuse for friends to get together, dress up in uniforms, engage in a pa
stime they enjoy, and relax and socialize afterwards. But by 1861, militia units had changed from organizations bent on frolic to organizations with more serious missions—deadly serious.

  The local militia units, replete with pretty uniforms and weapons, schooled in the military arts of drill and discipline and inculcated with patriotic fervor, joined the newly-formed Confederate armies virtually en masse. Wesley Culp, the transplanted Pennsylvanian, found himself in Company B, 2nd Virginia Infantry, under the strict, prosaic eye of one Thomas J. Jackson, former professor at Virginia Military Institute. Wesley and the other boys of the Hamtramck Guards would soon help Jackson win the sobriquet, “Stonewall.”

  Culp marched with the Stonewall Brigade through the famous Valley Campaign, bloody Second Manassas, even bloodier Sharpsburg, the deathly cold of Fredericksburg, and the heartbreaking Chancellorsville, where he lost his old commander General Jackson to “friendly fire.” Then, following the flag he had adopted two years before, Wesley’s cadenced march took him to a place he never thought in his wildest battlefield dreams that he would go to fight: Gettysburg.

  The story has other tendrils: that Culp, on the march northward, had run into a boyhood chum Jack Skelly, mortally wounded in the fighting outside of Winchester, Virginia. Skelly asks him to deliver a heartfelt message to their mutual friend, a woman to whom Jack was engaged, if and when Wesley ever returns to their home town of Gettysburg. A promise to do so is made, and when Culp finds himself in mortal combat just outside the place where he grew up—in fact, upon his uncle’s farm—he tries to deliver the missive. The girl cannot be reached; she is between the lines with a sister who just gave birth. Culp says he will try again later, and returns to his lines on—of all places—Culp’s Hill.