The Failings of a Reticent Historian

Note: One of the newer additions to my vocabulary is the word ‘Reticent’, or ‘Reticence’, to which I was exposed by a translation of M. Dumas’ The Three Musketeers, in which the translator uses reticent to describe the demeanor of Athos. To be ‘Reticent’ is to be not given to speech, or to be normally silent.

I have been grieved by a section of the American population.  A group not defined by race, nor age, nor socioeconomic status, but by the way they treat history.  This group is a mob of pretenders, who espouse their appreciation of history in a peculiar way.  In their efforts to show their great love of all things old, they find it necessary to remove or otherwise damage historical artifacts and sites.  Of course, there is no better way to preserve and appreciate history than to destroy or steal from it.

                                    

My wife and I once visited the Ninety-Six National Historic Site together.  At the entrance to the park, there is placed a replica cannon barrel, protected by iron bars from vandals.  It was this cannon barrel which first brought to my attention the phenomenon of historical destruction.  You see, people touch things, and when they do so, they leave bits of oil on the object.  This oil from the hands does very little damage by itself, but when thousands of visitors touch an object, it creates an awful lot of damage that is not immediately apparent.

 Let us return to our replica cannon barrel at Ninety-Six.  Even if it were touched by the modest number of one-thousand people in one year, the oil and grit left on it would be tremendous.  Multiply that over the course of a decade— which in the scheme of history is quite little— and the damage done to a historical artifact, or even to a carefully constructed replica, could be fatal. 

Ninety-Six Battlefield, with earthworks in the foreground
and the Star Fort behind.

This gradual destruction also occurs in the landscape of a historical site.  To begin, particularly with earthen ramparts, roads, and the like, land wears-down with time.  Largely, this cannot be helped, so the historical appreciator is free from guilt.  This is the case, in my experience, of the Star Fort and Ninety-Six, the trenches at Spotsylvania Battlefield, and the earthen portions of Fort Moultrie.  Again, it is largely unavoidable.  However, those who wish to touch and experience history tend to further contribute to the washing-away of these earthen artifacts, which, once gone, will have gone forever.  Therefore, I plead with anyone who visits a historical site not to tread on earthworks.  Now, there is a caveat to this request; certain historical sites allow visitors to stand-upon earthworks.  In these locations, everyone should feel free to stand-upon the earthworks, but not to intentionally damage them in any way.

The worst crime one can commit upon a historical site, and one which makes me sick to my stomach, due in majority to the offense itself, and in part to my own reticence on the matter, is the removal of historical artifacts from their site of rest for personal pleasure.  Of course, as with any strong feeling, mine stem from an actual event to which I bore witness.  During my travels to Europe, I had the privilege of visiting some remarkably well-preserved trenches on the Western Front, near Mulhouse, France.  These century-old trenches looked much as they did at the Armistice, even down to the rusted barbed-wire which has lain still for nearly a century.  Imagine my horror, when, upon leaving this hallowed site, I observed three members of our group wrapping-up a section of barbed-wire to take home to the United States.  Of course, I said nothing, despite my shock, and I profoundly regret it. 

The trenches at Mulhouse, largely
unchanged since 1918. 

To those people—whom I refuse to name—if you by some chance come across this article, shame on you for what you did.  I understand that it was out of appreciation for the subject, and for the sake of memory that you did so, but I believe that you neglected to think—as many do—that such an object was not yours to take.  In addition, your response may be that it was cowardly of me to call you out in a public blog, rather than to confront you in person.  I admit to this cowardice, although for your sake, and that of our entire group, perhaps it is better that I could not find the words to say to you at the time, for they would not have been kind. 

To all who by chance may read this blog, I beg you in sincerity not to remove anything from a historical site, for any reason.  If you do,  the immediate damage may be as oil on a brass cannon, barely noticeable in the single occurrence.  But over the course of a decade, or a century, if each visitor to a site robs but a little, thinking it no large matter, any trace of living history on that site will be destroyed.

So again, I implore everyone not to harm historical sites beyond what is expected of time and weather, for this historical appreciator, reticent no longer, will have strong words for you.