Conservators at the Virginia Department of Historic Resources carefully remove items from the 1887 time capsule discovered beneath the Lee monument pedestal earlier this week.
It was a center spread. The picture of Lincoln in his coffin buried in the time capsule retrieved from the former Robert E. Lee monument pedestal was not a glass negative worth thousands of dollars. It was the center spread from the April 29, 1865, issue of Harper’s Weekly. And it doesn’t even show Lincoln’s face at all — just a casket labeled with the name “Lincoln.”
Maybe disappointing, but not surprising.
The opening of the copper time capsule evolved into a fascinating distraction. On Dec. 28, national media reporters and photographers momentarily abandoned their endless stories about COVID-19, gas prices, inflation and rancorous politics to jam the conservation lab at the Virginia Department of Historic Resources on Kensington Avenue to record the big reveal of this Confederate relic. It was a moment many hoped would provide a firsthand look into the mindset of the former Confederacy.
Julie Langan, director of DHR, told reporters that the unexpected and widespread fascination with the time capsule’s history was “the most moving part for me.”
The capsule was discovered just before noon on Dec. 27 in the northeast corner of the pedestal, about 4 feet below where the search stopped on Sept. 9 of this year. Devon Henry, who owns Team Henry Enterprises, the construction company removing most of Richmond’s Confederate memorials, said his crew found the box while jackhammering a particularly tough foundation section. Inside a carved-out granite block sat the copper box, protected by a 2,000-pound capstone.
Once removed, the sealed box was taken to DHR’s lab and opened the next day by State Archaeological Conservator Kate Ridgway and Sue Donovan, a conservator with the University of Virginia Library.
Since the box was found sitting in a puddle of water, Ridgway mused that the contents could be “soup.” Still, she and everyone present were pleasantly surprised after peeling off the lid with a Dremel tool to find the contents damp but relatively undamaged.
The opening, and the contents, proved to be relatively anticlimactic compared to the twists, turns and false starts associated with locating this time capsule over the past several months. Using Teflon spatulas, Ridgway and Donovan, under the unblinking eyes of dozens of cameras and searing lights, carefully removed a few bullets, an envelope of Confederate money and a chunk of exploded ordnance (which had been scanned and okayed by a bomb squad the previous day). Next came “the constitution and bylaws of the Lee Camp for Confederate veterans,” which coincidentally sat at the exact location as the DHR, at the corner of Kensington and Arthur Ashe Boulevard.
A book, “Detailed Minutiae of Soldier Life in the Army of Northern Virginia," found inside the time capsule was in surprisingly good condition.
While more study is needed, it appears everything found was on a list published in 1887, and there were no surprises.
Two of the more exciting artifacts included a small hand-carved Confederate flag and a Masonic compass, which had been donated in 1887 by Rev. Jonathon W. Talley. The two relics were supposedly carved from a tree that grew over the top of Thomas J. “Stonewall” Jackson’s grave in Lexington’s Oak Grove Cemetery.
Jackson’s troops accidentally shot him near Chancellorsville on May 2, 1863. His wounds were severe (resulting in the amputation of his left arm, which was buried separately), yet field doctors predicted a full recovery. The general developed pneumonia, however, and died on May 10. After a public funeral in Richmond, he was buried in Lexington on May 15.
In 1864, some fervent followers of Jackson planted a twig near his tomb. The twig grew into a “Paulander tree” that by 1884 wrapped itself “directly to the coffin and embraced by curious curves and bendings the body of the dead Champion of the South,” according to the late Rev. John J. Lafferty.
Worried that the expanding growth might disturb the gravesite, Jackson’s widow wanted the invasive tree removed. This irritated many old former Confederates, who felt the tree was a fitting metaphor for Jackson’s dying words, which were reportedly, “Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”
The wood was cut up and distributed among several people, including W. Charlton, the cemetery sexton, who had several walking canes made from the trunk. According to the Lexington Gazette, President Warren Harding received a cane, and several were given to “Confederates of note,” including Talley, who had served in the Goochland Light Artillery. He then carved the square and compass, two of the three symbols of Freemasonry, and donated them.
Ridgway told reporters that since the capsule had no “open by” date, the items within probably weren’t intended to send a message to any future generations. Consequently, the collection is more a “cornerstone box” than a “time capsule,” Ridgway said.
The final disposition of the items found in the box has not been determined. Since the DHR functions only as a conservatory and holding facility, the state will decide where the contents will eventually find a home.
Meanwhile, there are still four more time capsules in the Stuart, Jackson, Davis and Maury pedestals along Monument Avenue. Will they be opened, and what will they reveal?
