On this Memorial Day, like all before it, we honor the sacrifice and valor of those who paid the ultimate price in service to our country. As we learned in our school days, this sacred day started out as “Decoration Day” shortly after the Civil War, for the purpose of decorating the graves of those killed in the war. As we beseech God to ever bless our fallen brothers and sisters from all wars, I’d also like to take this moment to share a special moment of humanity that occurred during our great national strife 162 years ago.

When I moved to Chattanooga a few years ago, its Civil War history became a passion of mine. Whenever friends and family are in town, I like to give them a tour of the famous sites and battlefields, along with the backstory of the events, famous Generals, casualties, etc.

There is one stop on my tour that always has the biggest impact. It’s not the stunning view from the Lookout Mountain battle site, nor is it the ghosts or monuments of the bloody Chickamauga battlefield, nor the somber drive along the crest of Missionary Ridge. Instead, it’s a simple weed-strewn lot at the end of a dead-end road along Chattanooga Creek, just south of downtown. What makes this spot so special isn’t the fighting and killing that occurred here, but just the opposite, the humanity and American brotherhood that played out here.

In the Fall of 1863, Chattanooga Creek served as the boundary between the Union troops under siege in Chattanooga and the Confederate troops that had them boxed in. The main armies were set back a distance, with a small number of advance troops, called “pickets,” serving in front of their main armies. The pickets’ purpose was not to engage in combat, rather it was to serve as sentries, lookouts, and tripwires. But due to their shared language and close proximity, the pickets from both sides of the battle often engaged in a unique American fellowship.

The Civil War marker at this spot (35°01'22.0"N 85°19'11.6"W) reads as follows:

During Confederate Gen. Braxton Bragg's siege of Chattanooga, part of his line followed the bends of Chattanooga Creek in the narrow valley that separated Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge. On this line both armies deployed advanced guards or pickets to warn of enemy attacks. These soldiers dug rifle pits to make their positions safe from enemy fire. Shortly after the siege began, however, a short truce was declared to let a train of Union ambulances retrieve wounded soldiers from the Chickamauga battlefield. The pickets, tired of the constant sniping that occurred between the lines, decided to continue the truce unofficially and on their own terms. As Sgt. Joseph T. Gibson of the 78th Pennsylvania Infantry put it, "The pickets of the two armies along Chattanooga Creek were not more than seventy-five to one hundred feet apart, and they were on the best of terms, and conversed frequently on various subjects." Gibson added: "The Confederate pickets had the impression that we were pretty hard up for rations, but, ...they always found the pickets on the Union line ready to fling a cracker across the little stream that separated them.” Throughout the remainder of the siege, the soldiers on picket duty could be seen chatting with each other across the creek and on occasion soldiers from the Union and Confederate army could be seen playing cards together or trading tobacco and coffee. Officers deplored these "soldiers' truces" but could do little to stop them.

I can tell you all about the famous Generals who converged on Chattanooga – Grant, Bragg, Sherman, Rosecrans, Thomas, etc. I can also tell you about the strategies, supply chains, battle sites, and the awful casualty counts.

But I’ve found that the most evocative part of my tour is a non-descript site where the death count was zero. It was here along Chattanooga Creek that long-forgotten combatants engaged in American brotherhood rather than in battle.

I have a Memorial Day piece up at The Blaze today, The helicopter went down in Gia Dinh. The grief never left.

My childhood best friend’s uncle died in Vietnam. 25 years after Uncle Jack’s death, I went on a beach vacation that included Uncle Jack’s still-grieving parents.

Each night at supper, Grandfather bowed his head and thanked God for the years they had with Jack. He prayed that Jack would remain in God’s care until the family could one day be reunited in heaven.

It’s behind a paywall, but if you’re a Blaze subscriber, I’d be honored if you’d give it a read.

Blessings to all of you who are grieving the death of someone who gave his or her life in service to our country. They are honored, and I bow my head in humble gratitude to them and to you.

[buck.throckmorton at protonmail dot com]