Lessons From a Hidden Battlefield

Last weekend I made a yearly journey to one of my favorite battlefields from the War Between the States. I have been to Gettysburg, Fredericksburg, Manassass, New Market, (which comes in second on my list), Chancellorsville/Wilderness, Chickamauga, Mufreesboro, Franklin, Shiloh, Vicksburg, Prarie Grove, Pea Ridge, Mansfield, and I'm sure I've missed one somewhere. But out of all of them, there is one that stands above the others for the experience: Pleasant Hill, Louisiana.

It is not preserved by any Federal or state entity, but by descendants of the families who were there at the time of the battle. Other than a small park they've constructed to pull off and read some plaques, you have to get the family's permission to walk the property, which includes an original building from the battle that was used as a hospital. That is of course, unless you visit on the anniversary weekend.

The Battle of Pleasant Hill was one of the largest battles west of the Mississippi River and was the end of the Red River Campaign where General Banks' army stumbled around in the primitive backwoods of Louisiana and were cut up by General Richard Taylor's forces at Mansfield. Banks pulled back to Pleasant Hill where he made a desperate stand on a small knoll, finally able to hold off Confederate forces in a stalemate. Still, Banks knew he was beaten, and went no further, and Texas was never invaded.

Today, just like Banks, if you visit Pleasant Hill, you must weave down a narrow highway through tall pine forests. You'll pass logging trucks and, unfortunately closer to Mansfield, an area of strip mining. But past that, there is little. Not even cell phone reception. Occasionally, a white iron historical marker will appear by the side of the road marking troop movements, and at one point a granite monument not unlike a headstone. About twenty minutes drive south of the Mansfield Battlefield, you'll finally come to a cow pasture with an old dog trot house. This was used as the Union hospital:

Further on, you'll come to a small knoll. This low rise is "Pleasant Hill" where Banks' army managed to bring up reinforcements and finally halt Taylor's men. While he could have claimed a victory, Banks left in the middle of the night. Taylor left soon after, leaving the approximately 300 citizens of Pleasant Hill to care for the wounded and figure out what to do with the dead.

Stories vary on what happened, and what makes me love Pleasant Hill, is that unlike other battlefields, which have been made into state or national parks, you have to search for the stories here. Most of the time I am put off by the narratives given at state and national sites as they have been undermined by politics. (For example, the most recent NPS brochure for Vicksburg says nothing about the hardships experienced by civilians--which is my main interest in that event--but goes on instead about the Emancipation Proclamation--which had little to nothing to do with the siege.) 

At Pleasant Hill, you can go down the road a few miles to where the town later picked up and moved, stop in at the Dairy Delight, and while you have a plate of some of the best fried fish and crawfish you might ever find, you can ask old timers about the battle. They'll start giving you stories about their great grandpa and what he saw. Some of the reenactors that come out on the anniversary are from the area and have connections to the event that are very personal. Such as one white haired gentlemen working a cannon who told about his fourteen year old great grandfather. The story he gave was that some local farmers, after the battle, hitched up horses to plows and plowed deep furrows into Pleasant Hill. The bodies of the Union dead--the Confederate dead were taken away by family members who buried them in local cemeteries--were rolled into the furrows. It was really all such a small community could do as there were approximately 3,000 dead for the 300 citizens to take care of. And many of those citizens had been treated poorly by the Union troops, so putting great effort into their burial might have been too much to ask. 

The stories of the treatment of the local population by Banks' army will definitely raise some eyebrows. In fact, my first time venturing into Pleasant Hill taught me just how alive those feelings still are. I had just moved down from New England and had joined a reenacting unit that portrayed a New York unit. On Saturday morning there is a parade of all the reenactors through town. Ladies in dresses usually fall in behind, which was where I was positioned. The area citizens are fairly racially diverse and most come out to watch with excitement. As the troops marched through town the Confederates were met with cheers and waving of battle flags--yes, from ALL citizens. Then as the Union troops began to pass I was shocked to hear boos and hisses. Unexpectedly, rocks began to be hurtled at the bluecoats.

My reenacting unit did not come back for many years after that, and when they did, they stayed away from town. But for myself, the occurrence did the opposite of keeping me away: it stirred a curiosity. Other than for the year my daughter was born and a year when the event had to be cancelled due to flooding, I haven't allowed a year to go by without attending. The experience of seeing individuals, after such a long passage of time, still have a passionate hatred for an army that came and invaded their homes, didn't make me want to run away, but to learn more. Here was the cataclysmic event in American history still living and breathing 135 years later. I learned that Banks pillaged and raped his way through the area, and his soldiers were more cruel to the people of color than the white citizens. White, black, slave and free, those people suffered and remembered. (I even came across one story of a free black woman in the area who owned a large plantation and slaves. Does that not make one's head spin? But I looked her up and she, Mrs. Ovalle, existed.) I later had a wise professor who studied the history of Louisiana and East Texas tell me, "To understand the social construct of the old South, and the ideas of race at the time of the War Between the States, to say you understand it, would be like a man saying he understands women. You just can't and anyone who tells you otherwise, is fooling you and themselves." 

Visiting Pleasant Hill is realizing the professor's words and seeing a rare display of that truth. Oddly enough, for such a painful event in the parish's past, the anniversary is met with fanfare each year: food trucks, patriotic music blaring from speakers, and crowds milling about the vendors and the reenactor campgrounds. Leading up to the battle, several weeks before, there is even a pageant to pick a "Battle Queen." 

At first I thought the practice sacrilegious. Insulting the memory of the men who fought and died there. And for years I cringed whenever "Miss Battle of Pleasant Hill" was announced from a stage set up by the battlefield before the cannons started firing. I, along with others, rolled eyes as other queens were announced as well. Until, that is, the 150th anniversary. That year I won their poster design contest and got to sit right next to Miss Battle of Pleasant Hill, and talk with her.

I always preach about the necessity of talking to people whom you don't understand rather than ridicule them, and I should have followed my own advice. As it turns out, it is a long standing tradition in parts of the south to have a "queen" for each local festival. Queens are not chosen by trotting around in different clothes or answering silly questions like a stereotypical beauty pageant. This isn't a beauty pageant. To be "Miss Battle of Pleasant Hill" a girl must have respect, love, and understanding for the event. She must posses a kind spirit and yet be strong enough to stand up for her event. She must raise money for her event, and if chosen, she must travel all over the state to other festivals and promote her event. (Hence who all the other queens announced were and what they were doing there.) My respect truly grew when a certain tourist town an hour away thought the Confederate battle flag might offend visitors and told Miss Battle of Pleasant Hill she could not ride in their Christmas parade with her crown because it had a battle flag on it. This caused a firestorm of controversy in the area and locals rightfully felt this was a slap in the face and an insult. (The city had also informed Confederate reenactors who had always marched in the parade they couldn't carry their flags, causing insult to even more people.) The queen stated she would come wearing her crown or she would not come at all. The mayor of the offending town replied, "Then don't come." In reaction, a boycott was called for and fellow queens from festivals all over Louisiana joined in. Needless to say, after all I have seen them do and now know, the "Southern Festival Queen" is no longer something I sniff at.

In this age of seeing so much of American history being twisted, rewritten, misunderstood, and even downright bulldozed, I believe Pleasant Hill holds a special place in America's past for the lessons it holds. And only those who come with an open mind, and who stop and earnestly listen, will receive and learn those lessons. I admit, it taught me a lot. I arrived as someone with confusing roots. As a child and adolescent I had been shuffled all over the country from California to Boston and a few places in between. In each place I had tried my best to understand the people and customs, but I never felt like I fit in. Pleasant Hill didn't just teach me a new history lesson, it opened a door into what "Southern Heritage" is all about and what a large role the War Between the States plays in it. For the first time I also felt oddly at home. Over the years I've made many friends who are involved in putting on the annual reenactment, and those in the reenacting community have become like an extended family. (I ended up marrying one.) And while I may travel to events and historic sites all over the country, if you ask me which one is my favorite, I will say: Pleasant Hill.

Text and all photos (c) S.H.Ford, 2017.