I, being geographically challenged, had no idea we were THISCLOSE to Williamsburg and Yorktown. I may never come home.
Today we visited the Museum of the Confederacy, just around the corner from Jefferson Davis' White House in Richmond, which we did not see. There was a magnificent display of Confederate flags (right next to the magnificent gift shop), and a lesson that the flag I associate with the South's cause was a battle flag, not the official one.
One floor displays uniforms and belongings of various lights, including the sword Lee wore into the Appomattox court house. (He did not offer it to Grant, and Grant did not request it) What struck me here at the downstairs "Knickknackery" exhibit is how small and slight everyone was. I know the war's privations brought some to near starvation, particularly towards the end, where we're currently marching to. But these weren't tall guys or robust women. A hard physical life, I'm told.
I loved the downstairs displays: the doll whose hair concealed an opening for smuggling quinine in its head and chest, the grand painting of Lee and Jackson parting the day the latter is killed by his own men, the homespun dresses and suits, the woven straw hats and hair necklaces, medicines. . .
Racing yet again for the bus. To be continued.
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