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It was a bridge, in the middle of a lush, green forest in the backwoods of Georgia, near the bustling town of Savannah. Secluded, surrounded only by the shade of the great willows and oaks, and by the stone bottom creek running beneath its aged splinters. The only remote indicator for its existence was the small dirt path leading from the bridge to Ogeechee Road, which took one into Savannah. On the other side of the bridge was simply more green forest, the path seemingly overgrown from ages of growth of the unkempt bushes and wild grass. The bridge held an old, and mysterious aura…there was magic in the grain of that wood. You could see everything from there, Savannah and the abandoned battlefields of civil disputes. I can only imagine that the bridge had seen the great Civil War...possibly being even older than that. But the magic of it, I could sense the most magic came from around the Civil War era.
I first saw this bridge when I partook in a small hiking trip near my hometown of Richmond Hill, just outside of Savannah itself. It was White Oak Forest, my old stomping ground as a child. For all the time I spent in this wooded kingdom, I’m astonished by the fact that I had never come across the bridge before this point in time. The forlorn path merged on the edge of my vision and caught my attention like a moth to a light. It was the small, rugged path leading to the old bridge. I followed it for what seemed like an eternity, the trail of coffee colored dirt winding in and out of trees, leading me deeper and deeper into the forest than I’d ever gone before. And then I was there, at the magnificent little bridge over the creek. I instantly recognized the shallow flow of water as Cobblestone Creek.
I walked carefully towards the bridge, testing my steps on the wood before decided to step firmly onto the old overpass. Surprisingly, it remained incredibly stable for its age. It was a beautiful little bridge. The wood had the grain of oak, with a layer of chipped white paint. There was pleasant and homely feel about the bridge. It was only a couple feet over the water, so I took my boots off and hung my legs over the base, my toes barely dipping into the water beneath me. It was cold and clear, running over what look like hundreds upon thousands of brilliantly smooth rocks, magnified under that flow’s surface. As I began to drift off into a place that I’d likely never return from quickly, I saw a small carving on one of the bridge posts. It was a heart, with the lettering “JS+EB”. So this bridge had a history I knew not of, and that wasn’t going to last very long. I got up from where I was sitting and left back down the path I came down, got into my truck, and drove to the nearest library. It must’ve been hours that I sat there researching Cobblestone Creek, Civil War history, and anything I could find about that little bridge. After the incursion into all this information, I came out clutching a couple of laminated, old Civil War era newsletters from Savannah and a book on Savannah history/lore. Piling it all into the backseat of my truck, I left the library and returned once more to White Oak Forest, to the small dirt path…to the magical little bridge. I placed myself once more by the post with the small etching, taking my boots and socks off to dip my toes back into the crystal water, and immerse myself in the reading I had obtained. The minute my eyes hit the pages of the book I checked out, the magic of the bridge consumed me and I was gone, my mind delved into the story unfolding before me.
Turns out the JS stood for Jonathan Sethings, and the EB stood for Eleana Brightmore. Sethings was a young Civil War soldier back in 1862, recruited at the age of 16. His dad was a well-known gunsmith in Savannah, and his mom was known for being a large part of the community as well. Southern heritage ran deep in his blood pumped veins, and it appeared that his parents had more Southern pride than anyone else around, proud that he joined the Confederate army. He had no care or concern for being on the battlefield. In all actually, he deeply despised anything to do with the continuance of slavery, and resented his parents for their “old ways” and ideas. The only thing drifting heavily on the very front of his mind was Eleana Brightmore. She was the young daughter, 15, of a local and wealthy plantation owner. She wore the fancy laced dresses, the color of every pastel imaginable. Her hair was always in an up-do when around her parents and in public, tied up with a bow of silk and more lace. Neither of her parent’s let her openly associate with anyone other than the richest of the rich...meaning her seeing Jonathan would have made her parent’s blood boil and they’d raise holy cain about it.
When it got out that the daughter of a wealthy plantation owner was courting with a common soldier, all hell broke loose. Jonathan was at the battle of Fort Pulaski when, to put it in crude terms, s**t hit the fan and there was sudden upset within the small community near Savannah. Eleana couldn't walk around town without being berated by malicious comments and jibes about questioning her "blood" quality. It was three days after the Confederate battalion stationed at Fort Pulaski had abandoned the fort in attempt to maintain the minimal amount of troops left that Jonathan received a letter from his dad, explaining what happened in town. Turns out that Eleana's father convinced the local authorities to arrest Jonathan under false pretenses of sexual assault and abuse towards his daughter. He couldn't return to town, so he wrote his dad a letter to give to Eleana.
My dearest Eleana,
I have received the news from my father about the events taking place in town at this moment. I'm must regrettably tell you that I can't return to town, not now. But if you'll have it be so, I'm escaping town and retreating towards the north. I'm tired of the army, and I'm tired of the immorality presiding here. You need not write me back, simply meet me at the edge of White Oak Forest at sundown two days from now. I'll be awaiting you love.
With sincerest love,
Jonathan
So it came to pass, they met at the edge of the woods. At her approach Jonathan dashed towards her, scooping her up in his arms and holding her tight. He then let her down and she informed him that they must make haste, for her father learned of the letter and sent the authorities to arrest him at the forest. They began walking through the dense thicket of trees and shrubs, making not but fifty paces into the forest when they heard the sounds of rushed footsteps behind them. The sounds struck fear into their hearts, and they began sprint full speed through the wooded environment. They ran for what seemed like ages when they finally came to a clearing, with nothing but a shallow creek and a wooden bridge stretching from one end of the bank to the other. No longer did they hear the footsteps behind them...the only sound in this utopic clearing were the soft gurgling of the creek. Eleana was trying to rush Jonathan across the bridge in fear she'd hear the footsteps once more. But he paused, and told her that there was nothing to fear anymore. He took his boots and socks off, sitting at the base of the bridge, and dipped his toes in the water, murmuring something about the rocks looking like the cobblestone streets of Savannah. Eleana was in histarics at this point, frantically jumping up and down, telling him that they were bound to get caught. Jonathan looked at the bridge post next to him, took out his knife, and meticulously carved a heart, and in it carved the letters "JS+EB". He then got up, put his socks and boots back on, and continued with Eleana onto the other side of the bridge and through the small path that appeared on the other side.
It wasn't for another couple of weeks that the authorities chasing Jonathan and Eleana found the old bridge. A path had happened to be uncovered in the time, and they had followed it to the bridge. When they got to the clearing and crossed the bridge, they saw that the other side was nothing but a dense thicket of trees and shrubs. The path the two lovers had left on was no longer visible. As they were leaving the bridge, one of the men in the search party saw the carving on the post. He merely smiled, and followed his comrades back down the path and out of the forest. And so the bridge was left alone for years to come. It can only be assumed that more people, like myself, have the discovered the bridge since Jonathan and Eleana made the journey over and beyond it.
I closed the book, with a satisfied smile on my face. My toes were still dipped in the creek, the cold water flowing smoothly past them, unobstructed. There was a beauty about that bridge, and that creek. I wasn't sure if it was the antique, nostalgic feel about the bridge or if it was the rocks reminding me of the remaining cobblestone streets in Savannah. Maybe it was simply the newfound history of the bridge that I had uncovered, and the neat little carving on the post next to me. Regardless, I achieved peace here. I sat there relaxing for hours, until the sun touched the horizon behind the dense wall of trees around me. I got up, put my boots and socks back on, and walked back down the path I had come from, with a smile on my face as I left White Oak Forest. I have since been back to the forest, and have yet to find the bridge again. There's magic in the grain of that wood.
 AshtonTSC · Mon Dec 05, 2011 @ 03:55am · 0 Comments |
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