Colleen looked out over the beautiful grassy hills that had been an American battlefield. She couldn’t believe that she was actually there. A wispy mist drifted over the battlefield of Gettysburg as the morning sun slowly burned it off. Colleen had read several books on the battle in her history studies. Her goal was to become a professor in history—particularly, Civil War history. Perhaps it was because one of her great, great grandfathers had been in the Union army during the war. Though he hadn’t been at this particular battle, his journal had told of a few of the skirmishes he had participated in.

“Wow, this place is fascinating Colleen,” Julia said. Julia had been Colleen’s best friend since high school and could always be counted on for adventures such as this.

Colleen nodded in excitement. Pulling her video camera out, she and Julia walked slowly along the auto trail route that wound through the civil war site. There were monuments along the path that were dedicated to the many squadrons and regiments of both the Confederate and Union armies. Stopping to film and read some of the inscriptions on the monuments, Colleen found the story of Cowen’s Battery. According to the inscription, the confederates were charging up the hill and Cowen had only enough ammunition for one charge from each of his cannons. He waited until the confederates were almost upon them before yelling “Fire!” When the smoke cleared, there was not one Confederate soldier left standing.

Lowering her camera and looking down the slope, Colleen could almost see the gray-clad soldiers rushing up the hill as the Union soldiers waited breathlessly, their hearts in their mouths. She wondered what her great, great grandfather would have done had he been one of those soldiers. What would she have done?

“You know,” Julia’s voice broke in. “If it weren’t for the monuments and cannons, you would just think this was an old colonial farm.”

Pulling her thoughts back to the present scene, Colleen surveyed the land around them. Julia was right. There were cows grazing in the middle of the battlefield behind the split-rail fences. Gentle hills rolled before them, dotted with trees and vivid in color. It looked like a pastoral painting, she thought.

But looking across the quiet and peaceful setting, Colleen’s mind could almost see the massive forces of gray and blue meeting on the hilly farmland. She could almost see the blood of thousands of wounded bodies soaking into the ground and she could almost hear the groans and cries of the dying. The mists could almost be the smoke of the cannons and muskets as they sent forth their deadly volleys.

Julia touched her arm. “Hey, there’s a small house over there. Should we go check it out?”

Colleen’s vision disappeared. “Of course.”

Walking over, the two girls found the heavy front door open and they entered the house. It was furnished in the rough-hewn furniture of the era and Colleen could see that it had been restored. Directly in front of the front door was another thick door that opened into a kitchen/eating area. A layer of what looked like flour was spread upon the large table in the room and there was a wooden rolling pin set to the side. A plaque hung by the doorframe and Colleen read the plaque.

According to the information on the plaque there was only one civilian killed at Gettysburg--a sixteen-year old girl. She had been making bread in that very kitchen when a stray bullet had pierced through the two doors, killing her. Colleen directed her eyes to the thick wood door on her right. There was the bullet hole—right in the center of the door.

“Wow,” Julia commented after reading the story. “It must have really been her time to go.”

Colleen smiled. This is what she loved most about history—the small individual stories like this one. She turned on the video camera and carefully took shots of the plaque, the bullet hole in both doors, and the table. She had never heard of this story—she wondered why it wasn’t in the history books she had read thus far.

The girls continued on their walking tour of the battlefield. They chatted about the monuments and Colleen told Julia the stories she knew about the battle, pointing out where Picket’s Charge had taken place and where the armies were positioned. When they finished their tour of the battlefield, they walked over to the visitor center and a tall round building. Reaching the doors they found that the building was the Cyclorama and that it housed the largest painting of the civil war ever done.

“We have to see this,” Colleen said.

Julia smiled patiently. “I know. Let’s go.”

The two girls entered through a pair of glass doors and found themselves in a walkway with stairs going down to a lower level. Looking over the banister, they could see a painting of George Washington hung before chairs and sofas on a linoleum floor. It looked like a waiting area for tourists.

“I think we go down this way,” Colleen said and they went down the stairs to this lower level. In the middle of the floor, a round structure rose up with a ramp ascending along the side of it. People were walking up and down the ramp and Colleen surmised that this must be the path to the painting. Looking around, she saw a small office that was selling tickets. Nudging Julia, she led the way over.

The next showing wasn’t for another twenty minutes. “We could walk around and look at the displays,” Colleen suggested.

“Sounds good to me. Is there a snack food dispenser? I’m starving.”

Colleen looked around. “There’s one over there.”

After Julia had something from the vending machine, the two girls walked around the circular structure, stopping to look at the small dioramas that had been set up in window boxes.

“Julia, look at this,” Colleen said.

The diorama was a model of the battle of Gettysburg. Figures were dressed in blue or gray uniforms. Some were lying on the ground, apparently dead, while others were posed in fighting postures, small replicas of bayonets, rifles, and hand pistols in their hands. The front figures were representing a wounded Union general with a Confederate general kneeling beside him, a canteen in his hand while his plastic horse stood nearby.

On the wall, next to the diorama, was written the true story of a Union general who had fallen from his horse, wounded in the battle. As he lay close to death, a Confederate general saw him and dismounting from his horse, offered him water from his canteen. The story went on to say that miraculously, the Union general lived and after the war had ended, the two met accidentally and became the best of friends.

“To think that in the midst of a battle, he had enough compassion to offer aid to a man who was his enemy,” Julia stated. “That’s amazing.”

Colleen nodded as she switched on the camera and began filming the story. Why didn’t they put things like this in the history books, she wondered. This was the kind of stuff that historians should focus on. After all, a historian is merely a recorder of people and events—not just facts.

By the time the girls finished their tour, it was time to go up to see the painting. They climbed the ramp and walked into the large circular room with the others in their viewing group.

“Look at this,” Julia said, obviously impressed.

Colleen didn’t know where to look first. The entire circular wall was a painting. She had never seen anything like it before. She walked slowly along the wall, wishing she could film it. The artist had drawn the landscape with every detail. The painting showed the location of Jackson, Mead, and the famous Picket’s charge. It was realistic in its depiction of the wounded and dying. Cannons were shown being fired by both sides, officers on horses were galloping across the field, urging their men on, and smoke filled the air.

The girls spent about fifteen minutes in the room and Colleen sketched some notes on the pad she had brought with her. When it was time for them to leave, Colleen slipped the pad into her camera bag and gave a final look to the painting before walking down the ramp.

“Let’s go get some lunch” she told Julia.

Our A-student rock continued to travel and have great adventures. Colleen will be telling her own story soon. Happy Travels!