ChessieWriter

Sometimes you do get a second chance.

A couple of years ago, I discovered the existence of letters in family records written by a young Civil War soldier who was killed on the battlefield in Virginia. John Williamson lived and worked in Eckley, a coal mining town in northeastern Pennsylvania, and he wrote dozens of letters home to his pregnant wife Hester—informative, sometimes humorous, poignant letters. I put them into a book (You Dream Every Night That I am Home) that was published on Amazon.

John wrote the location where he was writing from at the top of his letters, and through research I was able to find photos and sketches of those places at the time of the Civil War. I currently live in Virginia, an hour from John’s last battle, and was able to go to those locations and see what they look like now. Using the Civil War-era images and my own photos, there are several then-and-now sets of images in the book.

In May 1862, John wrote from the grounds of the White House, a plantation house on the Pamunkey River, in a still rural part of Virginia, about 25 miles east of Richmond. The house was burned down by Union forces as they departed, was rebuilt and burned to the ground again. There’s only a foundation left now, inaccessible on gated land, also about an hour from my house (I’ll admit, I sat in my car there and considered trespassing to get a photo, but common sense prevailed). 

There was a railroad bridge over the Pamunkey near the White House which was also destroyed during the war. The photo below is by Civil War photographer Matthew Brady and is captioned “Ruins of bridge across Pamunkey River near White House Landing.”

Since I was unable to get anywhere near the ruins of the White House, I decided to take a picture of the current-day bridge instead.

I discovered that it is also bounded by private property (with very serious looking no trespassing signs), and there’s no place to pull off the narrow road that runs along the rail line to park a car. Pulling over as best I could, I climbed up onto the tracks but didn’t go far—the embankment on either side was steep and I didn’t want to have to dive into brush if a train approached.

The photo on the right, above is zoomed in as far as my phone was able to. You can barely make out the arch on the draw bridge.

I had a hard time driving away—I desperately wanted to see what’s in place of the bridge in the Civil War photo. For weeks after, I’ve thought about going back and trying again. I showed my photos to my husband, hoping to inspire him to help me give it another go.

He laughed and told me that I was crazy. No way. Too dangerous. I reluctantly realized that he was right.

I looked at the Google map again, wondering if there was some other way to get to it. By water? After some pondering, I decided that boating/canoeing/kayaking/rafting to try to get close to the bridge was probably a bad idea. I would also need said boat, canoe, kayak, or raft.

Looking again at the Google map, I saw that the land across the river from the White House, linked by the railroad bridge, is the Pamunkey Indian Reservation (wow, I had no idea). I wondered what had been there during the Civil War (1861-1865). 

Then I remembered an 1862 map I found while doing research (see it below). The rail line can be seen running horizontally along the top (like on the Google map) with “White House” just below it (in the correct location on the 1862 map, not where it’s pinned on the Google map). And across from the White House is what looks like an island labeled “Indian Town.” Amazing.

I considered going to the reservation to determine what could be seen of the White House ruins and the railroad bridge from that side of the river. But the more I thought about it, the more uncomfortable I felt. I shouldn’t trespass just to satisfy my curiosity about things on the other side of the river.

That was two years ago. This past weekend, as my husband and I were taking a long drive in the country, passing farms and fields and woods when we passed a sign that said “Pamunkey Indian Reservation Museum.” Hm, might be interesting I thought, when it suddenly hit me.

“Wait, what? Pamunkey Indian Reservation? Did you see that?” I asked excitedly. “Can you turn around? It’s the Pamunkey Indian Reservation! The sign said there’s a museum! We have to go! That means we’re not trespassing, right?”

Dear hubby looked totally confused. “What?”

It took some explanation to remind him why I was so excited by the Pamunkey Indian Reservation museum sign. But he took it in stride, as he always does and turning around, took a right on the road indicated.

We followed the signs and came to the Pamunkey community. There were tidy houses, farms, a log cabin, and the museum which unfortunately didn’t appear open–we plan to return when it is:

We drove on and went down a road that led us to the river where we unexpectedly came upon the burial mound for the famous Powhatan, chief of many of the tribes in the Chesapeake Bay region in the early 1600s. He was also the father of Pocahontas.

 We also found the railroad bridge that crosses the Pamunkey River. This is another zoom shot—again, I didn’t want to have to scramble down an embankment if a train was approaching.

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I was finally able to get the view of the bridge that I’d wanted for so long. I was elated and felt incredibly grateful for the opportunity that had so unexpectedly presented itself.

As I stood on top of the railroad bed, I took a moment to look around at the quiet scene around me–the burial mound, the slow-moving river, things in the distance shimmering in the intense July heat. 

I thought about John Williamson, who was here only a month before he would be killed at Charles City Crossroads, fifteen miles away. I thought of all the other Civil War soldiers, Union and Confederate, who fought and died not far from here.

I thought about Powhatan, a leader who battled and negotiated with ever increasing numbers of colonials.

Their history is here, all around us. From the ruins of the house on the other side of the river, to the railroad that goes and has been going through here since before the Civil War, to the burial mound of a great leader and the descendants of his people—they’re all right here, ready to be seen and honored and remembered.