Preserving the earthworks

Standing 12 feet tall and 100 yards long, hand-built from dirt, sweat and fierce optimism during the Civil War.

They are earthworks — the stout Confederate defensive fortifications that loom up like sentinels on James Island just south of Charleston, S.C. They read off like a military roster: Battery Pringle, Battery One, Battery LeRoy, Battery Tyne.

Like old soldiers, they’re slowly fading away, however, despite their heritage as front-line protection for nearby Fort Lamar, where 1,250 Confederates fended off 3,500 Yankees in an 1863 battle that historians have dubbed “the Union’s Gettysburg.”

Wind, rain, time and the footfall of the curious have taken their toll on the triangular-shaped “redans” and free-standing “redoubts” that protected those local sons, hunkered down in the damp, dim interiors so long ago.

Another young man has taken a keen interest 141 years later.

Reuben G. Bullard Jr., a doctoral geology student at the University of Cincinnati, has walked, measured and studied those earthworks with much care and precision.

“They’re not falling apart, but they’re becoming more rounded at the crest and base, slowly leveling at a rate of about five millimeters a year,” Mr. Bullard said. “The slopes are becoming more gentle, and subtle features are diminishing.”

Such talk strikes fear in the hearts of historians, archaeologists, preservationists, historic re-enactors and “trench nerds” who revere and study the battlefields and accouterments of the War Between the States. They revile erosion almost as much as they do real estate developers who buy up historic acreage as staging grounds for their own particular brand of warfare.

Mr. Bullard has some newfangled computer software and the work of Union Maj. Gen. Quincy Adams Gillmore to help him assess the damage, however.

His arsenal includes Slopeage — a new computer program developed at the university, which gauges and dates hilly sites of historic interest with pinpoint accuracy.

Mr. Bullard also has the detailed sketches and measurements of the senior Yankee officer, a one-time military engineer himself.

The somewhat ironic combination has helped Mr. Bullard discover that the earth is gradually taking back the earthworks. Their sharp shoulders and angular brows are rounding out; they’re losing their man-made telltales.

His research, though, is for a greater cause. The same problem plagues similar sites around the world.

“The Charleston earthworks are the perfect laboratory for studying erosion of hillsides and of larger earthen constructions,” the Kentucky resident notes.

Unlike burial mounds or ancient tells, the Civil War batteries have detailed measurements readily available — those taken by Gillmore at the war’s end in 1865.

Such excruciating details interest the National Park Service, which has been charged since 1936 with the daunting task of preserving Civil War-era trenches, earthworks, bunkers, forts, bastions, batteries and blockhouses, which can be damaged by even routine maintenance such as mowing or pruning, right along with the natural erosion.

Mr. Bullard’s work helps give a more realistic perspective to preventative and protective measures.

He presented his findings before a Geological Society of America symposium in Tysons Corner last month and has been asked by local interest groups to investigate Confederate earthworks near Vicksburg, Miss.

And while Mr. Bullard prepares to plumb aging earthen fortresses down South soon, some 5,000 other Civil War devotees did their duty March 27 at 80 historic sites in 24 states.

Seven generations removed from those who fought on both sides, an army of volunteers — armed with weed whackers, trash bags, paint brushes, brooms and rakes — descended on battlefields, cemeteries and shrines for some gentle upkeep.

“Civil War sites are often the victims of their own popularity,” said James Lighthizer, president of the 50,000-member, D.C.-based Civil War Preservation Trust. “Without proper maintenance, battlefields suffer the ravages of time and tourism.”

Prairie Grove in Arkansas, Kennesaw Mountain in Georgia and Cedar Creek in Virginia are among the regional battlefields that saw sprucing up by those who raked, clipped and tidied in the name of history — with only a commemorative T-shirt and some camaraderie in return.

“These are hallowed fields where our ancestors gave their lives,” Mr. Lighthizer observed. “Now is our turn to honor their sacrifice.”