I don’t know how to write or “Journal” today’s outing.
I want you to imagine something—really imagine it. Really put yourself there.
It’s 1864.
You have a big home on 1400 acres.
The Civil War is ongoing, but you haven’t had to deal with it.
The closest town has a population of 750.
You awaken one day and get ready.
You don’t suspect anything wrong.
You eat Breakfast with your family.
You don’t know it, but 30,000 Confederate Soldiers are about to meet up with 27,000 Union Soldiers—many right on your Property.
You walk out on your front porch and see Soldiers on both sides of your Property.
You ask yourself what to do.
Do you get your kids, get the horse and buggy out, and take off?
That’s when you realize you don’t know what’s happening at other places in town and around.
—Remember, there is no TV, Radio, or even Electricity. You have no way of knowing if you should leave or stay.
You decide to stay, thinking your 9-year-old Son should at least be around his normal surroundings. In his Home. In his bedroom. In his comfort zone. If you and your family are going to die, it should be at home.
Yes, you decide to stay.
Knowing that no Army (at that time) can fight at night, you wait for the Sun to set.
You pace, and you wait.
When it turns 4:00 p.m., you think you’ve made it through the day.
“It’s too late to start fighting at this time,” you think to yourself.
Shortly after, Soldiers come into your home and tell you that your home will be used as a Field Hospital. You learn that the War has come to Your Property. Your Home. Your Family. And it’s about to begin.
You get told that everyone in the house, including your young boy, must help. No one gets out of helping.
Shots get fired.
The Battle starts.
Before you know it, every room in your home has 30 Wounded Soldiers—every room.
The Hallways get filled with Wounded. Underneath the Stairs get filled with Wounded.
Soldiers are carrying Wounded over the bodies of Wounded.
The Cries of the Dying now fill your once-happy home.
The sound of War fills the outside.
Your young boy is seeing and hearing all of this, as well as helping with the Wounded. Touching the Wounded. Smelling the Wounded.
Thousands more Wounded are lying in your field waiting to get treated in your home, which has become a Field Hospital. Thousands.
The Surgeon is Amputating Limbs but can’t throw the cut-off Limbs away. The Limbs get stacked up in a pile in the corners. Thousands of Amputated Arms and Legs piled up in your home.
The Surgeries are getting done in your Son’s Bedroom.
Blood covers the floors of your home.
When no more Wounded can fit inside your home, your Front Porch and Front Yard get used for the Wounded.
Cries from the Wounded can be heard everywhere.
Many cry for friends. Many cry for their Momma. Many beg for death. Many beg to be put out of their Misery.
The sounds are everywhere.
Death is everywhere.
Within 5 Hours, 10,000 men lay Wounded or Dead.
You think to yourself, “It started out such an ordinary day.”
I visited that Home today. It’s been preserved.
A Cemetery is now on the Property.
Blood Stains still cover the Floors. Yes.
A Tour Guide with a Degree in Geneology toured us through the house. You do not always get the same tour guide, though.
Much of the Furniture is the same Furniture from then.
Much of the home is still the same as it was then.
No Photos are allowed inside the home. Outside Photos are fine.
They want people to come and see it for themselves and not on the internet.
After hearing the story behind it all, men and women cry while looking at the blood stains.
Every 30 minutes, they give a tour.
For $21, you can tour the home and the grounds.
For around $35, you can tour Two homes.
I paid the $35 but only toured the first home.
I was worn out after going through all of the first home and the grounds.
So, I have a ticket for the second home that I can use on my next trip.
Civil War Medical Tools were on display.
Tools that would have been used to Amputate Limbs were on display.
Throughout the town, over 44 buildings were turned into Hospitals.
And Blood Stains still cover the Floors at Carnton.
And that’s the only way I can think to write this story.
—Battle Of Franklin – Carnton
November 30, 1864
09/24/2023
–Lynn
