Liberty Hollinger, Her Gettysburg Legacy

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JPK Huson 1863

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town from evergreen.jpg

From Evergreen, Gettysburg and an encampment below. Children who lived in these houses we see in these famous photographs saw and experienced things which set them apart forever. It took until 1925, until Liberty Hollinger could be induced to go back through Time.

Liberty Hollinger did not exactly leave us an account hot from a youthful fist. It was 1925. Like so many whose childhood , when 16, encompassed those awful days beginning July, 1863, passing years created urgency in their own children. You see it again and again,

" My children, and other members of our family, have often expressed a wish that I would make some permanent record of my recollections of the Battle of Gettysburg "
liberty hollinger.JPG

She died in 1925, too. God Bless her. Those eyes saw a lot. She finally allowed us to share " Gettysburg ". As did her family, so many thanks.


At the time of the battle I was a young girl of sixteen. We


were living on York Street where the present high school building

stands. Our house, a roomy brick one, stood in the center of a

large plot of ground between the York Pike, which was the continuation

of York Street, and what was known as the Bonneauville,

or Hanover Road, now Hanover Street. There were then

only a few houses east of ours, also between the two roads, and

a few opposite on the other side.

balt st.jpg

Pre- round-de-round. Baltimore St. A child's world, ' before '.






These one time children were veritable relics, walking History, veterans were dying, stories had to be told.

Liberty Hollinger writes as " Mrs. Jacob A. Clutz ". She must have loved him extremely. I am sure it is a very nice name. Exchanging ' " Liberty Hollinger " for him was worth it- happy life- he a doctor, she immersed in family and church.

Jacob, Liberty's father owned a warehouse- grain merchant. Somewhere across from Lincoln's railroad station, it was no where near their York Street home. Someone ratted out Jacob Hollinger as the owner. Confederate soldiers came to his home demanding its key. He impolitely refused. Jacob figures large in Liberty's little book. You feel glad he had daughters. Throughout her memories, many so shocking just one would make national headlines and bring squadrons of CPS to the scene, should a child be exposed to it in 2017, he remains a presence- and a rock.

https://www.findagrave.com/cgi-bin/fg.cgi?page=gr&GRid=15565057, FYI.

Cont'd. Liberty's Story.
 

JPK Huson 1863

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In the era, a plethora of children's periodicals could be purchased, furnishing one's children with adventures sweeping imagination from dragon to castle to- battlefield. Children of the war, like Liberty Hollinger, had no need to stretch imagination. Adventure? Came a Boomin.


" While we were deliberating what would be best to do, two


wounded Union officers came up, one a captain with a bullet in

his neck, and the other a lieutenant with a bullet in his wrist.


Both were suffering greatly "


In the first chaos, cavalry in town, the family in turmoil- no one understanding what had overtaken their town Liberty's first encounter with war. Holy Vow. Wounded, these men carried a swooned mother to the basement. Mrs. Hollinger had an inkling.


" As the two lines of soldiers


ran past, firing as they went, we watched them through the cellar


windows. Oh! What horror filled our breasts as we gazed upon


their bayonets glistening in the sun, and heard the deafening roar


of musketry! Mother was roused to consciousness by the terrific


explosions and murmured over and over, "Have they shot at the


town?" "



"The Confederates filled the town. They were appearing


everywhere on the streets and taking possession of our neighbors'


houses that had been abandoned. After making biscuits in a house


across the street several called to Julia, my sister, who was on our


balcony, and asked for butter for their biscuits. She saucily answered,


"If you are hungry you can eat them as they are." They


laughed and went back into the house.


Some of them rode into our yard and demanded the keys to the


warehouse from father, who had locked it and come home when


our men retreated. He refused to give them up, and they said


calmly that of course they would get in. "Well," said father, "if


you do I cannot prevent it, but I am not inviting you by giving you



my keys." They then requested father to allow them to come into


the house, and asked whether we would not cook and bake for


them. Father again said "No,"




" the


Confederates forced the locks of the warehouse and took what


they wanted and then ruined everything else. They opened the


spigots of the molasses barrels and allowed the molasses to run


over the floor. They scattered the salt and sugar on the floor also,


and anything else that was accessible.


Finally they also took our horse when they retreated on Saturday,


but I suppose they soon discovered that father had told them


the truth when he said it was too old for service. At any rate


they did not take it very far, and a few days later we heard


that it was at Hanover."


Love this part. How, in the middle of post-battle shambles and chaos Jacob Hollinger received news his ancient horse had been ditched in Hanover is anyone's guess.


We stayed quietly in our cellar most of the time during the three


days of the battle. How glad we were for such a safe retreat from


all harm and danger! A few bullets struck the cellar doors, and


occasionally we could hear them strike the brick walls of the house,


but we felt perfectly safe. There was a large wheat-field south

of our house on the Culp farm, ripe and ready for harvest, and it


seemed to be full of Union sharpshooters. We could see them


pop up and fire when any of the Confederates, especially officers,


rode by. We could see them in the trees beyond also. When father


left the cellar to feed the chickens or to milk the cow, the bullets


flew all about him. Finally, he spoke to the sharpshooters about it.


An officer said, "Why, man, take off that gray suit; they think you


are a 'Johnny Reb.'" He put on a black suit and had no further


trouble. We ate cold dinners in the cellar, and sometimes breakfast


too. One morning the cannon planted around our house began


to shake the house with their unearthly explosions before we were


ready to descend. "



Such was our life for three days, Wednesday, Thursday and


Friday. On Saturday morning we went downstairs to try to get



a little breakfast and soon realized that all was quiet there. We



ventured out to look around.


No, not the end. The beginning of after. Her ' Gettysburg ' experiences begin more with their emergence from the basement, into Gettysburg's ' after '. Cont'd tomorrow. So sorry! These threads take a chunk of time.





 
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WJC

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In the era, a plethora of children's periodicals could be purchased, furnishing one's children with adventures sweeping imagination from dragon to castle to- battlefield. Children of the war, like Liberty Hollinger, had no need to stretch imagination. Adventure? Came a Boomin.


" While we were deliberating what would be best to do, two


wounded Union officers came up, one a captain with a bullet in

his neck, and the other a lieutenant with a bullet in his wrist.


Both were suffering greatly "


In the first chaos, cavalry in town, the family in turmoil- no one understanding what had overtaken their town Liberty's first encounter with war. Holy Vow. Wounded, these men carried a swooned mother to the basement. Mrs. Hollinger had an inkling.


" As the two lines of soldiers


ran past, firing as they went, we watched them through the cellar


windows. Oh! What horror filled our breasts as we gazed upon


their bayonets glistening in the sun, and heard the deafening roar


of musketry! Mother was roused to consciousness by the terrific


explosions and murmured over and over, "Have they shot at the


town?" "



"The Confederates filled the town. They were appearing


everywhere on the streets and taking possession of our neighbors'


houses that had been abandoned. After making biscuits in a house


across the street several called to Julia, my sister, who was on our


balcony, and asked for butter for their biscuits. She saucily answered,


"If you are hungry you can eat them as they are." They


laughed and went back into the house.


Some of them rode into our yard and demanded the keys to the


warehouse from father, who had locked it and come home when


our men retreated. He refused to give them up, and they said


calmly that of course they would get in. "Well," said father, "if


you do I cannot prevent it, but I am not inviting you by giving you



my keys." They then requested father to allow them to come into


the house, and asked whether we would not cook and bake for


them. Father again said "No,"




" the


Confederates forced the locks of the warehouse and took what


they wanted and then ruined everything else. They opened the


spigots of the molasses barrels and allowed the molasses to run


over the floor. They scattered the salt and sugar on the floor also,


and anything else that was accessible.


Finally they also took our horse when they retreated on Saturday,


but I suppose they soon discovered that father had told them


the truth when he said it was too old for service. At any rate


they did not take it very far, and a few days later we heard


that it was at Hanover."


Love this part. How, in the middle of post-battle shambles and chaos Jacob Hollinger received news his ancient horse had been ditched in Hanover is anyone's guess.


We stayed quietly in our cellar most of the time during the three


days of the battle. How glad we were for such a safe retreat from


all harm and danger! A few bullets struck the cellar doors, and


occasionally we could hear them strike the brick walls of the house,


but we felt perfectly safe. There was a large wheat-field south

of our house on the Culp farm, ripe and ready for harvest, and it


seemed to be full of Union sharpshooters. We could see them


pop up and fire when any of the Confederates, especially officers,


rode by. We could see them in the trees beyond also. When father


left the cellar to feed the chickens or to milk the cow, the bullets


flew all about him. Finally, he spoke to the sharpshooters about it.


An officer said, "Why, man, take off that gray suit; they think you


are a 'Johnny Reb.'" He put on a black suit and had no further


trouble. We ate cold dinners in the cellar, and sometimes breakfast


too. One morning the cannon planted around our house began


to shake the house with their unearthly explosions before we were


ready to descend. "



Such was our life for three days, Wednesday, Thursday and


Friday. On Saturday morning we went downstairs to try to get



a little breakfast and soon realized that all was quiet there. We



ventured out to look around.


No, not the end. The beginning of after. Her ' Gettysburg ' experiences begin more with their emergence from the basement, into Gettysburg's ' after '. Cont'd tomorrow. So sorry! These threads take a chunk of time.




Thanks for sharing these fascinating personal stories!
 

JPK Huson 1863

Brev. Brig. Gen'l
Forum Host
Joined
Feb 14, 2012
Messages
19,138
Location
Central Pennsylvania
So sorry, the next chapter will be tomorrow? Hate to make such a ridiculous promise then vanish. Little limited on time- and saw ' National Teachers Day '. There's a thread with Ladies Tea written all over the yearbook!
 
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