“Steadfast to the Last”- Part I: Traveling the Road Less Followed

[This is the first of a two-part blog from the writer’s 100-mile march from Five Forks, Virginia,

to Appomattox Court House, Virginia, commemorating the 150 th Anniversary of the surrender of

the Army of Northern Virginia in 2015.]

William Faulkner once said “The past is never dead. It’s not even past” Sometimes, those words

are lost on many people. Many people look at history the same way they look at newspapers-

yesterday’s news today. It fails to capture their attention in a way that conveys its significance

and relevance to the modern day. The lessons of the past are relegated to the proverbial

bookshelf where they collect dust, their spines never cracked, and their pages never turned.

That is one thing that I have generally found enjoyable and worthwhile about Civil War

reenacting. I have been a Civil War reenactor for seventeen years. It is a hobby from which I

have gained a profound appreciation for history, derived a great deal of enjoyment, made

incredible friends, and shared terrific memories.

Rather than just being an exciting hobby, it is a history lesson that engages all the senses and the

mind. It is one thing to read about the fight at Snavely’s Ford at Sharpsburg, Maryland in 1862,

Culp’s Hill at Gettysburg in 1863, or the battles along Little Sailor’s Creek in 1865; however, it

is quite another thing to experience it- to smell the gun smoke, to hear the rattle of musketry, to

see the columns of blue and gray advancing proudly and retreating in despair. This captures the

attention and imagination of the spectators, enticing them to learn more, if not become active. It

also challenges the authentically minded to improve their impressions, hone their research

capabilities, and become an educator in their own right.

In 2015, the Nation was celebrating the Sesquicentennial of the War Between the States. My

“Comrades in Arms” and I had attended numerous Sesquicentennial events, from First Manassas,

to Sharpsburg and Gettysburg, to Spotsylvania Court House, and countless others in between.

We looked ahead to participating in the 150th commemoration of General Robert E. Lee’s

surrender at Appomattox Court House that April.

However, a few of us felt that we should do something a little different to commemorate the end

of the Sesquicentennial rather than just attend another reenactment. We pondered and

brainstormed ideas for months before settling on a bold and ambitious idea: we would retrace

one of General Lee’s westward lines of retreat from the Richmond-Petersburg Line near Five

Forks, Virginia, to Appomattox Court House, a distance of 99 miles, where he was compelled to

surrender. As if that wasn’t ambitious enough, we would do it in uniform and in roughly a

week’s time- just like General Lee’s Army had done 150 years prior. We would stop at several

historically significant locations along the way: Amelia Court House, Namozine Presbyterian

Church, Sailor’s Creek Battlefield, Farmville, Chestnut Grove Baptist Church, the Old

Richmond Highway, the defense lines outside of Vera, and, finally, Appomattox Court House,

where we would participate in the National Park Services’ stacking of arms ceremony.

“Lee’s Retreat” had the makings of being a most memorable undertaking – if we survived to the

end.

Now, if I sat down and dedicated time to chronicling every memorable moment of that trek west,

this story would span volumes, and just as my fingers would grow tired of typing, your eyes

would grow tired of reading. Rather, I will highlight the most memorable highlights from the

trip, those that I feel warrant special attention.

On April 2nd, 2015, after leaving our vehicles in Appomattox, just down from the village, and

taking the support vehicle to Five Forks, six of us – a small contingent representing the various

branches of Confederate service- began our adventure. Our spirits were high; we were jovial,

fully rested, keeping excellent stride.

Our merry “Band of Brothers” at Five Forks, Virginia, just prior to beginning our march. From left to

right: Private Eugene Cook, First Sergeant Dallas Edwards, Private G.M. Whitla, Private Bryan Beard,

Private Shannon Joyce. Not Pictured: Private Ryan Minter. The cannon marks the site where, on April 1,

1865, Union General Phillip Sheridan turned the Confederate southern flank, commanded by General

George Pickett of Gettysburg fame. The collapse of the Confederate line at Five Forks necessitated the

evacuation of Richmond and Petersburg.

However, by the time we reached our first encampment site for the evening, some 15 miles later,

we were all on the verge of collapse. My feet were tired and torn, like everyone else’s, and I was

too tired to eat that night. I was in such pain and was genuinely concerned that I would not be

able to walk the next day. Fortunately, we had plenty of ibuprofen and Tylenol in the support

vehicle, and I became very-well acquainted with these little life savers.

The next morning, despite our aches and grumbling, we were back on the march. Our march

became a test of endurance and resolve. I found that by keeping my eyes fixed on the horizon,

looking down the road towards our next destination rather than looking down at my feet, I was

able to put the pain out of mind. I kept reminding myself that each step was one step closer to

Appomattox.

It was in the midst of this “shared agony” that I experienced what I consider to be a true “period”

lesson. On the third day of our march, my feet felt as though they were going to fall off. Our

support vehicle was just about 20 yards or so behind our rear of column, and I was imagining the

comforts of a reclining seat and air conditioning more and more. Finally, I broke from the

column and went back to the support vehicle. I sat there and let my feet rest, taking in the cool

air, but as I did so, I stared out ahead at my fellow compatriots still on the march, with feet

equally as tired and sore as mine in the basking sun. I suddenly felt ashamed for not being out

there with them. Five minutes after I had hitched a ride in our support van, I had rejoined the

others on the march. I didn’t ride in the van for the rest of the trip.

Often, it is asked how those men could endure the carnage of war and enter the fray time and

again, especially after knowing the devastation after their first action. Now, marching along these

Virginia roads, although we had never been under fire or were risking our lives in any way, none

of us wanted to let the other down. We didn’t want to “take a break” so long as one of our

brothers was still marching along - tired, worn, but determined. At that very moment, we were

forming a special bond not all that different from those men of so long ago, I like to think. This

commitment to each other is a theme that is often wrote about in soldiers’ journals and

correspondence, and I believe this commitment oftentimes was all the motivation that the

soldiers needed to endure the Hell of war.

Seeing the historical sites along the way made the journey all the more profound. Small towns

and hamlets, Civil War wayside markers and Confederate monuments in town squares,

Antebellum churches, scarred battlefields, and vast swaths of land touched only by the Hand of

God all marked the miles we traversed.

Private Bryan Beard and Private G.M. Whitla outside of Namozine Presbyterian Church. On April 3,

1865, Namozine Church saw the first rear guard action fought by elements of the Army of Northern

Virginia after evacuating Richmond and Petersburg. Union elements under General George Armstrong

Custer attacked elements of the Confederate Army commanded by Generals William P. Roberts, Rufus

Barringer, and Bushrod Johnson. Although the battle itself was inconclusive, it is cited as the first of two

battles in which Captain Tom Custer, General Custer’s brother, would earn a Medal of Honor for

capturing a Confederate battle flag.

I would be remiss if I didn’t mention the incredible people we met. Whether townspeople,

tourists, or travelers on the highway, curious minds were interested in hearing what we were

doing, and all were appreciative of our efforts to keep history alive. I will call attention to two

special occasions when we interacted with the public. The first was on April 6, 2015, at Sailor’s

Creek Battlefield near Rice, Virginia. It was the 150th anniversary of the battle, where nearly a

quarter of Lee’s Army was cut off and fought a desperate “last stand” on the rolling hills

overlooking Little Sailor’s Creek.

We were 52 miles into our march, and had stopped there for the night. The next morning, after

having spent a little time checking out the museum, we were about to hit the trail again just as a

tour bus pulled into the parking lot, filled with tourists. We knew that our departure was almost

certain to be delayed….

The bus door opened and a woman came out and approached us. She introduced herself and said

that the tour guide wanted to meet us and get a picture taken. She then told us that the gentleman

leading the tour was the venerable Civil War historian and United States Marine, Mr. Ed Bearss.

Needless to say, any desire to get back on the trail immediately dissipated.

I had known Mr. Bearss from watching him on the old History Channel series “Civil War

Combat” and “Civil War Journal” (Yes, there was a time when History Channel actually aired

history programs). I always looked forward to the tales he would tell and the rich history he

would impart to the viewers. Now, to learn I would be meeting him as I tramped along a winding

Virginia roadway was something totally unexpected and remains one of my fondest memories –

not just in terms of reenacting.

Renown Civil War historian and Marine Ed Bearss and a few of us pose for a picture at Sailor’s Creek

Battlefield Historical State Park. Ed has apparently just said something that he and I found rather

amusing…

Mr. Bearss was as much a gentleman as you’d expect he would be. He was friendly and spoke

and joked with us as if we were old friends. A youthful spark glistened in his eyes as we told him

what we were doing, and he seemed to want to join us in our endeavor (and from the way our

feet were feeling at this point, he probably could have easily outpaced us all if he had).

Mr. Bearss has since passed away, leaving behind a void in the field of Civil War academia that

will never be filled.

As excited as we were, the time came for us to part. Mr. Bearss wished us the best on our

journey, and we extended our utmost respect for all the man has done for our country, as well as

his contributions to the field of history. We then fell in and headed westward.

Behind us lie Five Forks and Sailor’s Creek. Before us, 47 miles remained.