Notice how this soldier’s letter has torn along the crease where it was originally folded over 150 years ago. Storing it flat and unfolded could have prevented the additional strain on the crease that caused that damage. Knowing the best way to store historical documents can make a tremendous difference in the life of a collection.
This week while scanning some Civil War letters I ran across damage that I’ve seen all too often with old documents that have been folded. The original crease of the letter had become brittle and damaged over time to the point that it had torn nearly the entire length except for a short 2-inch section. This is something that tends to happen when documents are stored folded. It’s not necessarily from poor handling (although that certainly plays a role) it can happen just from being stored improperly. Here are a few tips on how to store historical documents that you can use in your archive to avoid similar damage.
Store Historical Documents Flat
This is a simple thing to do and it makes a huge difference in the care of documents. At first, it might seem strange to take a letter that has been folded in half for 160 years and store it unfolded. But the reason behind it is simple: the paper was produced in a flat sheet and that is position that puts the least amount of stress on it. Creases over time become tears because the crease is putting a large amount of stress on the paper fibers—eventually weakening them to the point of tearing. If you’ve ever wanted to tear a straight line on a sheet of paper, what’s the first thing you do to it? Make a crease where you want the tear to be. Doing that first weakens the paper so that when you apply stress to it, the tear will follow the crease. The same principle applies here even though you are not intentionally applying stress to the paper to tear it.
Store Historical Documents in Sleeves
This is something I’ve mentioned in previous archive posts, but I strongly recommend storing historical documents in protective sleeves. The sleeves themselves provide another layer of strength to the fragile period paper which helps prevent damage. In addition, storing a document flat in a sleeve allows both sides of the paper to be completely visible without folding/unfolding, and the sleeve protects the document from hand oils, dirt, dust, etc.
If sleeves are not viable for your collection, I would recommend using archival paper as interleaves between the historic documents. This will provide a buffer between one paper and the next, which offers some protection.
Store Historical Documents in Archival Boxes
Storing documents flat produces the least amount of stress on the papers themselves. Once the papers have been sleeved, you can place them in archival folders and those folders should fit neatly into the box. I understand that boxing everything may not be practicable for everyone, and the alternative would be to store them vertically in filing cabinets. This is something that is accepted and done by many major archives, and can be very efficient.
If you have oversized documents such as muster rolls, ledger books, newspapers, etc., I would strongly recommend storing those flat in appropriately sized boxes. If the oversized loose papers are pliable and strong enough to be rolled, they may be stored rolled using an archival tube and rolling the papers around the tube and storing them in a second tube or wrapped in archival tissue and then polyester film. This ensures that the document is not rolled too tightly causing damage.
Here you can see staff at the National Archives rolling a historic document around a tube which will then be wrapped in archival tissue and polyester film to be protected.
No archive is perfect, and when you are working with old and fragile items, unfortunately, some deterioration is unavoidable as the very materials simply age. But, the more steps we can take to better care for our collections, the longer they will last. For other archival tips, check out previous blog posts here: https://researcharsenal.com/category/archival-and-preservation-tips/
As Americans prepare each year for a festive Thanksgiving dinner, it’s worth remembering how deeply the holiday’s modern identity was shaped by the Civil War — and by the long efforts of a single woman who lobbied tirelessly for a national day of thanks. The story of what soldiers ate in camps, and what the holiday came to symbolize, shows that Thanksgiving as we know it was born in hardship, hope, and national war.
From Regional Rites to a National Holiday — Enter Sarah Josepha Hale
Portrait of Sarah Josepha Hale, a celebrated author and editor, and the driving force behind the creation of a national holiday for giving thanks for over 30 years.
Before the 1860s, Thanksgiving existed in many places (especially New England) — but there was no consistent national day of observance. That began to change thanks largely to Sarah Josepha Hale. Known today as the “Mother of Thanksgiving,” Hale was a prominent writer and editor (of “Godey’s Lady’s Book”), a wildly influential 19th-century magazine for women. If you haven’t heard of “Godey’s Lady’s Book” you have likely heard her short rhyme “Mary Had a Little Lamb” at one time or another. Yes, THAT “Mary Had a Little Lamb”
Beginning in the 1840s, Hale used the pages of Godey’s to argue for a national Thanksgiving holiday. She published not only essays and editorials, but poems, family stories, and even recipes — roast turkey, pumpkin pie, and other autumnal fare — to build a vision of what Thanksgiving could look like across the entire nation.
In her own words (in a letter to Lincoln dated September 28, 1863), she urged him to make Thanksgiving “a National and fixed Union Festival.” She wrote that there had been, “for some years past, an increasing interest felt in our land to have the Thanksgiving held on the same day, in all the States,” and that only a national proclamation could “secure forever the permanency and unity of our great American Festival of Thanksgiving.”
After decades of lobbying presidents (Zachary Taylor, Millard Fillmore, Franklin Pierce, James Buchanan), Hale’s persistence finally paid off — but only in the midst of a bloody civil war. Thus, by the time Lincoln issued his famous 1863 Thanksgiving proclamation, the idea had been primed for decades — and the timing of the Civil War made it more urgent.
The 1863 Proclamation — A Nation at War Still Asked to Give Thanks
On October 3, 1863, Lincoln issued what is now considered the first “modern” national Thanksgiving proclamation. He named the last Thursday of November “a day of Thanksgiving and Praise” for the whole country.
In that proclamation, Lincoln did not ignore the reality of war. He acknowledged that the United States was in “a civil war of unequalled magnitude and severity.” Yet he urged citizens — “fellow-citizens in every part of the United States, and also those who are at sea and those sojourning in foreign lands” — to unite in gratitude for the “blessings of fruitful fields and healthful skies,” for the nation’s continuance despite trials, and for the promise of peace and restoration.
Hale’s dream of a “permanent” day of thanksgiving had become reality — at a time when unity was more fragile and more necessary than ever.
Thanksgiving on the Front Lines: Soldier Celebrations During the Civil War
But what did Thanksgiving look like for the soldiers who were living through those years of unimaginable hardship? The reality was mixed — often modest, sometimes surprisingly festive. According to a recent article in Staunton Star‑Times, many men serving in the war made do with whatever they had:
In a letter home after Thanksgiving 1861, an Illinois infantryman described his holiday meal bluntly: “hard bread” and salt pork. He added wistfully that during the day he thought of “you at home having your nice dinners,” and that he wished “maybe that you might present a plate to some of us soldiers filled with your own goodies.”
Private Zebina Bickford of the 6th Vermont Infantry, writing from camp in Virginia, joked to his family that though they got a care package — “a box of clothing and a few nicknacks consisting of eatables” — the supper might as well have been “a piece of sour bread and salt pork.” Still, he added with gratitude that “some of mother’s cookies and doughnuts” made the evening “very good Thanksgiving for us.” It would tragically be his last Thanksgiving — he died the following April.
On the other hand, not all celebrations were austere. A doctor in the 114th Ohio regiment, Asa Bean, described a November 27, 1862 “surprise party” for soldiers and nurses. The feast, by wartime standards, was rich: “roast turkey, chicken, pigeon and oysters stewed,” along with “baked chicken, boiled potatoes, turnips, apple butter and cheese butter.”
Elsewhere — at a fort in Georgia — Federal soldiers held a full “fete and festival,” with target practice, foot races, a rowing match, a greased-pole contest, even a greased-pig race, and a “burlesque dress parade.”
Some soldiers used Thanksgiving not for feasting, but for spiritual reflection and a brief escape from military discipline. On the first official nationwide Thanksgiving in 1863, a soldier in the 95th Illinois, Sewell Van Alstine, noted in his diary that he “went to town” and “heard an excellent discourse by an army chaplain at the Presbyterian Church.” He also recorded that there was “no drill today,” a welcome — however brief — respite.
In the midst of war, Thanksgiving could mean anything from a meager meal of hardtack to a modest but morale-boosting feast, or simply a moment of rest and spiritual comfort. As one soldier wrote, reflecting on donated food and treats: “it isn’t the turkey, but the idea that we care for” that mattered.
Why Lincoln’s Proclamation — and Hale’s Work — Resonated So Deeply
Given the grim backdrop of the Civil War, why would a president ask the public to give thanks? Why would soldiers bother, when hardship and danger hovered daily?
Part of the answer lies in what Hale believed: a shared Thanksgiving — celebrated on the same date across every state — could help bind a fractured nation together. She viewed the holiday as more than mere parlor-room feasts: she argued it could become a moral and social force, a “Union Festival” to remind Americans of their shared identity, their common institutions, and their bonds of home-and-country.
Lincoln’s 1863 proclamation echoed that hope. In it, he acknowledged the suffering and the war — but also invited the American people to look beyond present suffering, toward blessings still present: abundant harvests, prosperous industry, growing population — signs of resilience and promise.
For a country ripped apart through bloody battles, loss, and political division, Thanksgiving could become a moment of solidarity — a way to quietly affirm that, even amid fratricidal war, the nation still held together.
And for the soldiers, home-front, families, and the wounded, that reminder carried weight. A simple meal — or a humble pie, or tokens from home — could mean more than words of comfort; it could stand for hope, connection, and recognition that their sacrifice was seen.
What This History Teaches Us Today
When we sit down at our Thanksgiving tables — laden with turkey, pies, stuffing, casseroles — it’s easy to forget that the modern holiday was forged in a time of violence, loss, and a desperate desire for unity.
The 1863 proclamation reminds us that Thanksgiving was turned into a national institution exactly when the nation was at war with itself. It was meant, in part, to help heal — not just individual wounds, but national ones.
The modest, improvised celebrations of Civil War soldiers remind us that thanksgiving doesn’t depend on abundance. Even “hard bread and salt pork,” plus a few cookies from home, sufficed — because gratitude, at its core, is about appreciating what remains, not what’s missing.
The decades-long advocacy of Sarah Josepha Hale shows the power of persistence and conviction: a private citizen, using words and influence, helped bring a holiday into being — something that would long outlast her lifetime.
This Thanksgiving, maybe take a moment to reflect not just on what’s on your plate — but on where the holiday comes from. On the soldiers who paused for a prayer, a letter home, a simple supper. On a woman who believed a shared day of gratitude could bind together a fractured country. On a president who — in the darkest days of war — still called for hope, unity, and thanksgiving.
Bibliography
Image from Harper’s Weekly depicting President Lincoln’s Thanksgiving Proclamation in 1864. The proclamation was issued on October 3, 1863, making the Thanksgiving of 1863 the first official national celebration of the holiday.
For more primary source reading on Thanksgiving, visit the Research Arsenal Civil War database and search for the keyword “Thanksgiving” in a library of your choice. There are 200 letters currently on file that have “Thanksgiving” in the transcriptions.
Here is one of the first newspaper bookmarks we found in this Civil War clothing ledger. You can see more scraps of newspaper further into the book. Our angry archivist was not happy to find these….
This week, we were scanning new material to add to our Research Arsenal database. This is always fun because you never know what historic gems you might uncover while you’re digitizing, but in this case we found a new archival faux pas that we’re passing on to our readers–newspaper bookmarks.
We’re probably all guilty of this at one point or another in our lives. You’re reading a book and want to save the page, so you stick a piece of paper in it to mark it. No big deal, right? Well, it is if the piece of paper you place in the book is acidic and you leave it there for nearly 50 years.
Here is an example of the yellowed acidic discoloring left behind on the original Civil War document from the 1974 newspaper clipping. The longer the acidic paper sits there the more pronounced the damage will be.
While scanning some clothing ledger books we discovered several pages in each book “marked” by a scrap of newspaper. Luckily, one of the scraps had the publication date on it, so we know that these have probably been in the ledgers since close to that date—January 27, 1974.
Yellowed paper is a classic sign of acidity and as you can see, these torn newspaper pieces are pretty yellow. All that acid has been sitting in these books for nearly 50 years discoloring the original Civil War era pages.
This is a good reminder for any well-meaning researcher who marks pages this way, not to do that. You may mean to go back and remove those markers, but what happens when you don’t and they lie forgotten for decades? The same applies for sellers of Civil War era books and diaries who like to mark significant pages with scraps of paper (or worse, post-it notes). Please don’t do this! If you ever purchase a diary or book, please go through it and make sure that there are not things like this squirreled away inside your books damaging them.
If you do have to save pages and need to use markers, please use archival paper so that it does not damage the book’s pages. Archival paper is easy to find nowadays; you can even find it in 8.5 x 11-inch sheets at Walmart very inexpensively.
Please do not use newspapers as bookmarks! Thank you for coming to my TED Talk.
The 1st Minnesota Infantry: Courage Beyond Measure
The following is a short summary of the regimental history of the 1st Minnesota Infantry as published as History of the First Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, 1861–1864in 1916. The 1st Minnesota Infantry is one of the regiments on the Research Arsenal database that we have their service record from the National Archives digitized and available for research. This includes their Regimental Descriptive and Casualty Book, Consolidated Morning Report and Order Book, as well as company specific Descriptive Books and Morning Reports. To browse through these records (or all of the Records Group 94 records added to our database), simply click on “Search NARA Records” on the homepage, then select “RG 94” as the call number.
From Frontier State to the Front Lines
In April 1861, when the call for troops went out, the new state of Minnesota was scarcely three years old. Yet within days, it had organized the first regiment to answer President Lincoln’s call for volunteers. The book’s preface proudly recalls:
“The First Minnesota was among the very first to offer its services to the Government… before even the ink was dry upon the President’s proclamation.”
The men who joined came from farms, small towns, and lumber camps—a rough mix of frontier settlers and immigrants bound by the idea of preserving the Union. They would soon find themselves on a journey from the Mississippi’s upper reaches to the blood-soaked fields of Virginia and Maryland.
Early Engagements: Baptism of Fire
Their first great test came at the First Battle of Bull Run. While many regiments broke under the confusion and carnage of that July day, the 1st Minnesota “stood firm where others fled.” As one officer later wrote,
“We were green soldiers, but we stood our ground until ordered away; our regiment did not run.”
That reputation for steadfastness would follow them throughout the war. Yet the early months also brought disease, poor rations, and weary marches. The men learned quickly that glory in war was often “measured in mud, hunger, and sleepless nights.”
The Maryland Campaign and the Field of Antietam
By the fall of 1862, the regiment marched with the Army of the Potomac into Maryland. At Antietam, they fought in the Cornfield—an inferno of musketry and artillery that claimed thousands of lives. One soldier recalled the terror and chaos:
“We went in at a run. Men were falling fast, but no one stopped. The air seemed alive with bullets; yet somehow we pressed on, loading and firing until the barrels burned our hands.”
The book recounts that after the smoke cleared, the regiment had suffered grievously but held its ground. For many, the experience at Antietam marked the end of innocence and the beginning of grim endurance.
The Crucible: Gettysburg, July 2 1863
Painting of the 1st Minnesota Infantry at the Battle of Gettysburg. Painted by Rufus Zogbaum in 1907. It is currently on display in the Minnesota State Capitol building.
The regiment’s defining moment came at Gettysburg. When a gap opened in the Union line on Cemetery Ridge, General Hancock ordered the 1st Minnesota to charge a vastly superior Confederate force. The regimental historian writes:
“There was no time for hesitation, no hope of retreat. The First Minnesota went forward as if on parade.”
Of the 262 men who made that charge, only 47 stood unhurt afterward. Captain Colvill, who led the charge, was found wounded and barely conscious amid the dead and dying. A survivor recalled:
“The order came — we fixed bayonets and went forward. I saw men drop on either side; I felt something tear my sleeve and knew it was a bullet. Still we went on. We drove them back, but at what cost.”
General Hancock himself later said of the charge:
“There is no more gallant deed recorded in history.”
Voices of the Regiment
Beyond the statistics and official reports, History of the First Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry preserves the soldiers’ own voices — letters and recollections that reveal courage, humor, and heartbreak.
From a letter written after Antietam:
“Our company has been reduced to a handful. I have lost many friends, and it seems strange to eat and sleep beside their graves. Yet we are proud — we did not give an inch of ground.”
From another soldier describing winter quarters:
“We live in little log huts chinked with mud, smoke pouring through the cracks. Still, we make the best of it — a fiddle and a song go a long way toward keeping men cheerful.”
And after Gettysburg, one survivor wrote home:
“Our regiment has been nearly destroyed, but we are content. We did our duty. Tell mother that if I do not come home, she may know I fell where I ought.”
These letters give the regiment its soul and humanity; ordinary men enduring extraordinary trials, with an unshakable sense of purpose.
Aftermath and Legacy
Following Gettysburg, the regiment’s numbers were replenished, but it would never again be the same. The survivors carried their memories through the campaigns of 1864 and into the war’s final year. When the regiment finally mustered out in May 1864, the historian wrote:
“They returned not as they went — the flush of youth had given way to the calm of endurance. The First Minnesota had written its record in blood and honor.”
Today, their memorial stands at Gettysburg, overlooking the field they charged across in 1863. It bears a simple inscription:
“In memory of the men of the First Minnesota who gave their lives that the nation might live.”
Final Thoughts
The 1st Minnesota Infantry stands as one of the Civil War’s most inspiring examples of courage under fire. Their history, recorded in the regiment’s own book, is more than a chronicle of battles; it’s a testament to endurance, loyalty, and the unyielding spirit of men who believed in something greater than themselves.
“When the call came they were ready; when the hour struck they advanced; and when the victory hinged, they held the line with their lives.”
Their story still speaks — across the generations — reminding us that honor, once earned, does not fade.
Sources
History of the First Regiment Minnesota Volunteer Infantry, 1861–1864. (Antietam Institute, Historical Research Center Collection). Full PDF here.
Painting and more information on the 1st Minnesota Infantry: Minnesota Historical Society. Article link here.
The 2nd Delaware Infantry Through Robert G. Smith’s Eyes
Whenever I am looking for information on a regiment, I especially seek out any period written histories or histories written by veterans after the war. A Brief Account of the Services Rendered by the Second Regiment Delaware Volunteers in the War of the Rebellion written by Robert G. Smith (1909) is one of those books. Smith served in the 2nd Delaware Infantry as a 2nd Lieutenant in Company A. He was slightly wounded during the Battle of Gettysburg and was eventually discharged later that year in November. The following is a brief summary of the regiment’s service during the war based on Smith’s book.
A Modest Beginning, a Proud Record
In the early summer of 1861, Delaware answered President Lincoln’s call, and the state’s second infantry regiment began to form. As Smith notes, the regiment was “the first body of volunteer infantry in the State to form under the call for three years’ men.” The men rallied in Wilmington and across the state; some companies even reached beyond into Philadelphia and Maryland to recruit devoted Unionists.
The 2nd Delaware mustered into federal service between June and October 1861, committing to a three-year term. From the start, soldiers of the regiment faced the steady tension between civilian life and martial duty.
Early Service: Garrison Duty, Transfer to the Field
After organization, the regiment spent months on garrison duty in Baltimore, Maryland. This period, though less dramatic than pitched battle, was crucial for discipline, training, and acclimatization to military life. Smith records that these initial months were spent “without great incident,” but helped mold the regiment into a fighting unit.
In mid-1862, the 2nd Delaware was ordered to join the Army of the Potomac for the Peninsula Campaign and the subsequent Seven Days’ Battles. It would be in this crucible that the regiment earned both scars and renown.
Into the Fray: Seven Days, Antietam, Fredericksburg
This monument stands at Antietam and reads: DELAWARE 2nd DELAWARE VOLUNTEERS CAPT. DAVID L. STRICKER 3rd BRIGADE, 1st DIVISION, II CORPS This regiment of Richardson’s reserve brigade crossed Antietam Creek. Advanced with division and came under heavy artillery fire while holding position immediately beyond crest of the ridge. It moved to right and helped repulse counterattack in gap between French and Richardson’s divisions. In final assault on Bloody Lane, the regiment crossed here and took possession of Piper Farm buildings until ordered to retire. LOSSES OFFICERS MEN Killed 12 Wounded 2 Missing 2 Total 58
During the Seven Days before Richmond, the regiment was engaged in several hard fights: Savage Station, Gaines’s Mill, White Oak Swamp, Glendale, and Malvern Hill. In the aftermath, the 2nd Delaware had earned hard lessons in maneuver, command stress, and casualties.
At Antietam, the regiment took its share of fire. The battle remains one of the bloodiest single days in American history, and Delaware’s volunteers were hardly spared.
In December 1862, the regiment faced the bitter cold and carnage of Fredericksburg. Though it was not in the main storming columns, its presence before Marye’s Heights and in reserve still confronted the grim realities of war.
Smith’s account, though compact, honors the steady persistence of the regiment: “no regiment of its size in the service performed greater service by its steady discipline and endurance under fire.”
1863: Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and Endurance
Illustration of the 2nd Delaware Infantry during the fighting in the Wheatfield of the Battle of Gettysburg
The year 1863 brought repeated tests. At Chancellorsville, the Delaware men were caught in the ebb and flow of Jackson’s flank assault and Hooker’s offensive. They held lines, withdrew in order, and endured. Their steady professionalism drew positive mention in Smith’s narrative.
But their most famous hour came at Gettysburg in July 1863. The 2nd Delaware was positioned near the center of the Union line. When senior officers fell, command fell to junior officers. Smith writes of the moment with pride:
“When their leaders were disabled the men of the regiment held together and did their full duty.” In fact, Captain Charles H. Christman took command after Colonel Baily and Lieutenant Colonel Strickler were disabled, and kept the regiment fighting. Their monument at Gettysburg now commemorates that tenacity.
After Gettysburg, the 2nd Delaware marched, refitted, and remained active in the Bristoe and Mine Run campaigns. Though perhaps overshadowed by larger units, they were consistent, dependable, and often in the thick of things.
1864 and Final Campaigns
In 1864, the Union war machine shifted into high gear under Grant’s Overland Campaign. The 2nd Delaware advanced into the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, Cold Harbor, and ultimately took part in early operations around Petersburg. Their experience was hard-earned: continual marching, skirmishing, entrenching, and sustaining losses.
At Spotsylvania Court House, in the area known as the “Mule Shoe,” the regiment was caught in fierce fighting. One account in Smith’s history reflects on the strain of those days:
“The constant strain upon both body and mind was greater than men could well endure without suffering.”
By summer 1864, the regiment’s term of service was nearing its end. On July 1, 1864, the 2nd Delaware was mustered out. Veterans and recruits were consolidated into the 1st Delaware Infantry.
Smith, in closing, remarks that the Delaware men left behind a “record which their state may proudly claim.”
Legacy and Reflections
Though compact in its published form, Smith’s Brief Account offers more than a roster or order-of-battle. It reflects a belief in duty, in small regiments doing steady work over glory. The repeated references to discipline, endurance, and quiet courage suggest that the 2nd Delaware’s character was built less on flamboyance and more on consistency under pressure.
Over its nearly three-year service, the regiment participated in many of the pivotal eastern campaigns of the war — the Peninsula, Antietam, Fredericksburg, Chancellorsville, Gettysburg, and the Overland Campaign.
In many respects, the 2nd Delaware typifies the story of many small northern state regiments: fewer thousands than the great regiments from New York or Pennsylvania, but responding with equal heart to the nation’s call. In Smith’s words, they performed “greater service by its steady discipline and endurance under fire” than many might suspect.
In placing their modest history on the record, Smith gives us not only names and dates, but a window into the lived experience — the quiet resolve of men from Wilmington, New Castle, Elkton, Philadelphia — who marched into war, held in battle, and marched home changed.
The 2nd Delaware Infantry is one of the regiments on the Research Arsenal database that we have their service record from the National Archives digitized and available for research. This includes their Regimental Descriptive Book, Consolidated Morning Reports, and Roster of Commissioned Officers, and Roster of Non-Commissioned Officers and Staff, Clothing Book for Company I, and Descriptive and Morning Reports for Company I. To browse through these records (or all of the Records Group 94 records added to our database), simply click on “Search NARA Records” on the homepage, then select “RG 94” as the call number.
This week, we spent a day scanning and cataloging new material for the database, and unfortunately, I found some Angry Archivist disappointments. I thought I’d share them here in the hope that it might discourage folks from doing things like this in the future and also offer some alternatives. I only ended up scanning 40 or 50 documents and found too many things to be angry about in such a small bundle of papers! Ha ha.
Ballpoint Pen
Here you can see someone made a notation of “Box 80” on this original Civil War document with ballpoint pen. Obviously, this is not a period notation, and likely the work of a collector or an untrained librarian/archivist, at some point in the document’s history. Unfortunately, once something like this is done to a historic document, it cannot be reversed.
Hello, it’s me again…ballpoint pen, your old nemesis. I know we’ve already had a couple of blog posts about writing on historic documents with ballpoint pens, but here we are again. Honestly, this is one of the most common things I find in dealing with historic documents (the second most common is the next section) and I know that it is not done maliciously, but please, NEVER write on historic documents with ballpoint pen—or any pen for that matter. ALWAYS use pencil because it can be reversed. Any time something original is written on with permanent ink, it damages it. Period. And there is no reason to write on any of these papers with permanent ink. Whether it’s tracing old letters to make them “more legible” or writing notes on them, there is just no reason for it at all, so don’t do it.
Tape
Here you can see this oversized muster roll has been unfolded and laid flat within a protective sleeve. You can see the yellow stains from tape and it is easy to see the wear patterns on the document along the folds. This is why it is best to store documents flat.
This is the second most common issue I find with historic documents. They are old, they fall apart, so people tape them. Again, please DO NOT tape historic papers. I know they are falling apart, it’s okay. It’s better to have them fall apart than put Scotch tape all over them. Here you can see a Civil War muster roll that is falling apart so it was taped back together, and the tape has discolored and damaged the paper.
Now, if you have a letter, or a muster roll that is falling apart there are a couple of important things to consider. The first: I would be willing to bet you that it is falling apart where the creases are in the document. Again, look at this muster roll and you will see that it is tearing all along the lines of the folds. This leads to another important archival tip: Do not store historic documents folded.
You’ll notice that the muster roll in the photo is now completely flat and stored in an oversized sleeve. That sleeve with the muster roll is currently stored in a large archival box so it can remain flat. There is no more stress on those creases and folds, so it will not continue to fall apart on those seams. If you have letters or other documents that are folded, invest in some sleeves that you can store them in flatly. That will ensure that they do not continue to fall apart.
Tape Part 2
Two pieces of rolled up Scotch tape on the back of this historic document were stuck together when it was folded in half. It discolored the original paper and also left behind a sticky residue.
This is a second example of tape that was used on a historic document. Someone took pieces of Scotch tape, rolled them up, and stuck them to the back of the document in each of the four corners so that they could mount it to something. Likely, to the inside of a frame to stop the document from sliding. Then, after some time, the document was removed from the frame, folded in half (which we just learned is bad) and sold. Now the tape has caused the document to stick to itself.
Before I could scan it, I had to very, very slowly peel the tape from the paper. And as I am doing that ever so gingerly, I can see it has discolored the paper. There is no avoiding that. And some of it is still stuck to the paper and needs to be professionally removed by a conservator in order to be fixed. Conservators are very expensive (more expensive than that paper is worth), so now the document has been permanently damaged just because someone didn’t want it sliding in a frame (which probably wasn’t UV safe either so that faded the document) and put tape on it.
Adhesives of any kind—tape, glue, or sticky labels—have NO business on anything historic. Period. I also peeled off a sticky label from seller on a historic photograph this week that took part of the velvet lining in the case off with it. Just don’t do it. Ask yourself if what you want to do is something you’ve seen in a museum. Do you see museum staff tape papers back together? Do you see museums tape historic documents to walls? Do you see museums put sticky informational labels on their artifacts in exhibits? No, you don’t. And if you do, then chances are the person making those exhibits is not actually a trained museum professional. (Small museums with untrained staff is a whole other discussion in itself.)
Folks, if you recognize yourself in any of these examples, please stop. As I’ve mentioned before, when you are a collector or seller of anything historical, you do not own the item in question. You are its caretaker. The goal is to have the item live on beyond you for many years to come, not wither under your care. Please be mindful of simple “quick fixes” using tape or ballpoint pens. And please consider how your items are stored. I know many collectors invest a considerable amount of money into acquiring the items in their collections, please invest the same into caring for them. Leave them better than you found them, or at least no worse off. It breaks my heart to see so many things damaged in this way.
The 116th USCT (United States Colored Troops) Infantry, raised in 1864, not only served through the latter years of the Civil War but continued into the post‑war occupation period. Its story is one of battlefield duty and perseverance under hardship. Today, its memory lives on through the preservation of its reunion flag at Camp Nelson National Monument in Nicholasville, Kentucky.
Origins and Military Service Summary
Organization and Attachments
The 116th USCT was organized at Camp Nelson, Kentucky, between June 6 and July 12, 1864. Initially, it was attached to the Military District of Kentucky in the Department of the Ohio. Over time it was moved through various command structures: to the 10th Corps (Army of the James), the 1st Brigade, 2nd Division, XXV Corps, and finally assigned to the Department of Texas and the Department of the Gulf until its muster-out in January 1867.
Campaigns and Duties
After duty at Camp Nelson, the regiment joined defensive operations at Hickman’s Bridge during a Confederate attack. In September 1864, the 116th USCT moved east to report to General Butler’s forces at City Point, Virginia. From October 1864 to April 1865, the regiment participated in the Siege of Petersburg and Richmond, engaging in operations across the James River, trench work, and expeditions including Hatcher’s Run and the Appomattox Campaign. The 116th took part in the fall of Petersburg on April 2 and pursued Lee’s forces to Appomattox Court House.
After Lee’s surrender, the regiment remained in Virginia until May 25, when it embarked for Texas, arriving in June. There it undertook occupation and garrison duties, including in the Lower Rio Grande district, before moving to New Orleans. The regiment was finally mustered out in Louisville, Kentucky on January 17, 1867.
Formation, Training, and Early Challenges
Kireker recalled the early formation of the unit under many doubts:
“The organization of the regiment commenced under difficulties, with much doubt expressed as to the propriety and utility of raising still another colored regiment when so many were filling the ranks of the Union Army already.”
From a contemporary Christian Recorder article, one recruit was quoted as saying:
“I go so that none may say our people stood idle when freedom called.”
Kireker emphasized the expectations placed on the new soldiers:
“It was necessary to instruct not only in drill and discipline, but in the habits and confidence of soldiers who must bear in mind that all eyes were upon them.”
Training life was tough. The regiment suffered shortages of clothing and shoes, and pay was delayed:
“Shoes were wanting, clothing not furnished in time, and pay was often delayed without proper explanation.”
One private, writing in the New York Anglo-African, remarked:
“If they send us to the rear of the lines, we will drill until they see we belong at the front.”
Combat, Disease, and Tenacity
On campaign, the 116th USCT was engaged in sieges, trench work, and assaults. But disease, exposure, and the wear of constant duty claimed many. As Kireker wrote:
“Disease proved our most relentless foe. Men who were strong at muster found themselves laid low in strange places, with too little comfort and often no family to attend them.”
From a soldier’s pension affidavit:
“I fear the fever more than the rifle. There is no running from it.”
Kireker described moments of valor in skirmishes and defenses:
“Our men stood their ground with firmness, executing each command with exactness, to the notable satisfaction of the officers overseeing the post.”
He also recorded praise from higher command:
“They did not falter where others had done so. The bearing of the 116th was creditable to the service.”
Racial bias within the Union structure also tested the regiment. Kireker noted:
“Prejudice from certain quarters was not infrequent, whether in matters of supplies or the disposition of duties. Yet the men comported themselves with dignity, seeking no special favor.”
A white officer later wrote in a veterans’ circular:
“They knew they fought two battles—one in the field, and one in the minds of men who doubted them.”
In southern towns through which they marched, impressions shifted. One Christian Recorder field report observed:
“The colored troops moved with precision, their uniforms neat, their muskets shining. Citizens who had scoffed now looked on in silence.”
Within the unit, mutual support and a shared sense of mission bolstered morale. Kireker remarked:
“Among them was a spirit of mutual regard not always discovered in older organizations. The men seemed resolved to succeed together, not singly.”
A postwar county veterans’ history quoted a sergeant:
“What drove us was not only country, but the belief that our actions would speak for those who had no voice.”
Muster-Out and Legacy
As the war ended, the regiment’s final months involved demobilization and occupation duty. Kireker recorded the closing with dignity:
“The 116th, having answered the call of the nation, departs its post with honor. Whatever history shall say, these men have borne true witness to their valor and fidelity.”
A veteran, in pension testimony, reflected:
“I wore the blue so my children would not have to beg for the right to live free.”
Their name lists, promotions, casualties, and movements survive in Kireker’s roster, making the 116th one of the more thoroughly documented U.S.C.T. units.
The 116th USCT Reunion Flag: Preserving the Memory
This is the reunion flag of the 116th USCT dated to a reunion sometime after 1912 given its 48 stars.
Beyond the battlefield and muster rolls, the legacy of the 116th USCT lives in a humble, poignant artifact: the regiment’s reunion flag. The Stories Through Keepsakes article “Rolling up the Reunion Flag of a Civil War Regiment, the 116th U.S. Colored Troops” recounts how, decades after the war, descendants, veterans, and historians safeguarded a banner that symbolized remembrance and identity.
I highly recommend reading the Stories Through Keepsakes article as it is a brilliant example of how we as collectors and museums preserve and protect these important artifacts from our history. It is incredible to follow a regiment’s journey from its original formation all they way through to modern times with the preservation of that regiment’s reunion artifacts.
The 1st Kentucky Cavalry: Wild Riders of the Union
A Regiment Born in Division
In 1861, Kentucky stood on a knife’s edge. Families and neighbors split over Union or Confederate loyalties, and the border state quickly became a hotly contested battleground. From this divided soil sprang the 1st Kentucky Cavalry (Union) organized at Liberty, Burkesville, and Monticello and mustered into service on October 28, 1861.
Colonel Frank Lane Wolford, a bold and outspoken Kentuckian, assumed command. Wolford’s men soon earned a nickname that stuck—the “Wild Riders”—a nod both to their hard campaigning and their reputation for individuality. Even their structure was unusual. Where Civil War regiments used companies A through M (skipping J), the 1st Kentucky Cavalry fielded a Company J, marking them as unconventional from the outset. Company J was very rare to see during the war as it was easily mistaken for Company I both visually and in written documents.
Baptism of Fire in Kentucky
Map showing regimental positions during the battle of Mill Springs, Kentucky on January 19, 1862. Visit https://www.battlefields.org/learn/articles/kentucky-chaos for more information on the battle.
The regiment’s first months of service were spent close to home, skirmishing with Confederate raiders in central Kentucky. The men were still raw recruits, yet their duties demanded toughness from the start. They scouted long miles of road, stood picket in cold autumn nights, and learned the shock of combat at places like Mill Springs.
Their own regimental historian later wrote that the unit was defined by “rapid and severe marches, hard service, and fierce conflicts on many a bloody field.” That hard service quickly became their daily reality.
The Perryville Campaign
When Confederate General Braxton Bragg invaded Kentucky in the fall of 1862, the 1st Kentucky Cavalry was called upon to shadow his movements. At Perryville, the largest battle fought on Kentucky soil, the regiment served on the flanks, skirmishing and screening. After the Confederate retreat, the cavalry pursued Bragg’s army southward in grueling marches through dust and hunger.
The campaign revealed the regiment’s endurance, but also its humanity. One cavalryman remembered that “the boys had had nothing to eat for two days, and many fainted from hunger and fatigue, yet not one left his place in the ranks.” Such moments showed the grit that sustained the regiment through the war.
Hard Riding in Tennessee
After Perryville, the regiment shifted south into Tennessee, where duty was even more unpredictable. Here they confronted not only Confederate cavalry but also guerrilla fighters. Daily service included scouting dangerous mountain passes, raiding supply lines, and fighting off ambushes.
There were lighthearted moments amid the tension. On one scouting expedition, a small squad surprised a Confederate outpost. Instead of fighting, the Union troopers leapt from their horses, “captured the enemy’s breakfast,” and rode off laughing, leaving the astonished Confederates to chase them too late. Such “amusing incidents” became campfire stories that lightened the soldiers’ weary days.
But East Tennessee was also a place of tragedy. Captured Union cavalrymen were often sent to notorious Confederate prisons. One veteran recalled “pathetic scenes” in the camps, where comrades “lay stretched upon the bare earth, wasted to skeletons, yet still clinging to life with desperate hope.”
Thrilling Adventures and Close Escapes
Cavalry service produced moments of hair-raising adventure. One tale tells of a trooper cut off during a skirmish. Surrounded, he spurred his horse to a desperate leap over a rail fence and tore through a cornfield with Confederates in hot pursuit. “Bullets whistled around him,” the account reads, “but he escaped unharmed, to the wild cheers of his comrades.”
Another man, taken prisoner in Tennessee, managed to trick his guards by feigning illness. When left unattended, he slipped away under cover of night, surviving for days on green corn before rejoining his regiment. His “thrilling escape” became a source of pride for his company.
These stories—half grim, half heroic—illustrated the life of the “wild riders,” where every march might bring danger or absurdity.
Into Georgia and the Atlanta Campaign
By 1864, the 1st Kentucky Cavalry was seasoned. Their skills were put to full use in General William T. Sherman’s drive on Atlanta. The regiment helped raid Confederate railroads, burning bridges and tearing up track to cut the lifelines of the besieged city.
At one point they rode more than fifty miles in two days, surviving on handfuls of cornmeal, just to reach their objective. A trooper later remembered, “Our saddles were never dry, our horses never rested, yet still we pressed on, for the fall of Atlanta depended upon our speed.”
These raids were exhausting, but they helped choke off Confederate supplies and hastened the fall of the city, one of the great turning points of the war.
Colonel Wolford’s leadership defined the early regiment. Courageous to a fault, he once led a charge so recklessly that his own men joked, “The colonel never saw a gray coat he did not wish to chase.” Wolford also became notorious for criticizing Union authorities, especially over emancipation policy, which eventually led to his arrest and resignation.
Other officers rose in his stead, including Silas Adams, who served ably and went on to a career in Congress. The regiment’s leadership was as colorful as the rank and file, reinforcing their “wild” reputation.
Muster Out and Memory
As enlistments expired, the regiment mustered out beginning on December 31, 1864, though some elements remained until September 1865. By then, the war was all but over. The 1st Kentucky Cavalry had carried the Union banner through Kentucky, Tennessee, and Georgia, fighting in dozens of skirmishes and campaigns.
When the survivors looked back, they remembered both the misery and the humor of their service: the “pathetic scenes” of prison camps, the “amusing incidents” of stolen breakfasts or pranks, and the “thrilling adventures” of desperate rides and escapes. These words became part of their story, capturing the extremes of Civil War cavalry life.
Legacy of the Wild Riders
The legacy of the 1st Kentucky Cavalry rests not only on their military record but on their identity as Kentuckians fighting for the Union in a divided state. Their odd structure—with its rare Company J symbolized their unorthodox character. Their leaders were bold, their troopers resilient, and their stories a mixture of tragedy and humor.
In their own words, they were men of “rapid and severe marches, hard service, and fierce conflicts on many a bloody field.” During their service they carried the Union cause on horseback, and the “wild riders” of the 1st Kentucky Cavalry stand as a testament to the endurance, daring, and humanity of the Civil War soldier.
On the Research Arsenal Database, we have a number of documents relating to the 1st Kentucky Cavalry. Simply select the Library you wish to view and filter by regiment. There are seven letters that come up on search as well as numerous ordnance returns and other military forms.
On a foggy morning of September 17, 1862, the fields around Sharpsburg, Maryland, were transformed into the single bloodiest day in American military history. The Battle of Antietam (or the Battle of Sharpsburg, as Southerners called it) brought Robert E. Lee’s Army of Northern Virginia into violent confrontation with Major General George B. McClellan’s Army of the Potomac. In the span of twelve hours, more than 22,000 men were killed, wounded, or missing—that’s over 1,800 men per hour. Beyond its staggering human cost, Antietam changed the direction of the war and, in many ways, the nation itself.
Lee’s Gamble
In September 1862, buoyed by victories at Second Manassas, General Robert E. Lee made the daring decision to carry the war into Union territory. His goals were ambitious: disrupt Northern morale, encourage Maryland to join the Confederacy, resupply his army, and perhaps secure diplomatic recognition from Britain or France. McClellan, moving cautiously as ever, learned of Lee’s plans when Union soldiers discovered a copy of Special Order 191. Even with this advantage, McClellan delayed, giving Lee time to concentrate his scattered forces at Sharpsburg, where they took defensive positions behind Antietam Creek.
The Battle Begins
At dawn on September 17, Union General Joseph Hooker led the opening assault against the Confederate left. The fighting in the Cornfield near the Dunker Church became a nightmare of smoke and musketry. Regiments surged forward and fell back, often leaving heaps of dead and wounded where they stood only minutes before.
In the center of the line, Union forces struck a sunken farm road, quickly christened “Bloody Lane.” The Confederates used the eroded roadbed as a makeshift trench, repelling wave after wave of attackers until their lines finally broke. Although Union troops captured the position, they failed to press their advantage.
Later in the afternoon, Union General Ambrose Burnside launched an attack on the Confederate right, attempting to cross a narrow stone bridge over Antietam Creek. For hours, his men faced withering fire from Confederate marksmen. At last, Burnside’s men surged across and began to push the Confederates back toward Sharpsburg. But just as victory seemed possible, A. P. Hill’s “Light Division,” marching twenty miles from Harpers Ferry, arrived on the field. Their timely counterattack drove Burnside back and saved Lee’s army from destruction.
Stalemate, Yet Turning Point
By nightfall, neither side had gained a decisive advantage. Lee’s army held its ground on September 18, then slipped back across the Potomac the following night. McClellan, wary of Lee’s strength, failed to pursue. Militarily, the battle was a draw.
But strategically, Antietam was a Union victory. Lee’s first invasion of the North had been stopped. More importantly, the outcome gave President Abraham Lincoln the confidence to issue the preliminary Emancipation Proclamation, redefining the war as a struggle not only to preserve the Union but also to end slavery in the rebelling states. Foreign powers, particularly Britain and France, were now far less likely to recognize the Confederacy.
The cost was enormous: Union casualties numbered about 12,400, including more than 2,100 killed. Confederate casualties were around 10,300, with some 1,600 killed. In one day, more than 22,000 Americans became casualties.
First-Hand Accounts from the Field
Colonel Turner Morehead. He first served in a Philadelphia Militia company called the Washington Grays in 1835, becoming Captain by the start of the Mexican War. In May 1846 he was mustered into service as Captain in the Pennsylvania First Regiment of Foot, and saw combat service in Mexico. “As the 106th Pennsylvania retreated northward across the open fields between the West Woods and the Hagerstown Pike, a bullet struck Colonel Morehead’s horse, sending both mount and rider sprawling to the ground. Morehead was pinned under his horse when three members of the regiment, seeing his predicament, returned to free him.” “Badly bruised, the Colonel was making his way northward when he realized he had lost his sword. Those by his side tried to persuade him not to return for the cherished possession, but his reply was ‘Yes I will, that sword was given to me by my men and I told them I would protect it with my life and never see it dishonored, and I am not going to let them damned rebels get it.’ “ “Morehead rushed back to where his horse lay and recovered the sword. The enemy, by then only yards away, ordered Morehead to surrender. He refused and fled northward amid a volley of enemy rifle fire. None of the bullets hit its mark, and the Colonel made it safely to friendly lines in the vicinity of the Miller house.” Image: https://app.researcharsenal.com/imageSingleView/1085
There is no substitute to primary accounts of an historical event. These are just some of the many voices from the battlefield:
Major Rufus R. Dawes, 6th Wisconsin Infantry
In the Cornfield, Major Dawes of the famed Iron Brigade witnessed the chaos firsthand:
“A long, steady line of rebel gray, nothing shaken by the fugitives who fly before us, comes sweeping down through the woods around the church. They fire. It is like a scythe running through our line. ‘Now, save, who can.’ It is a race for life that each man runs for the cornfield.”
Dawes later recalled how men were “knocked out of the ranks by the dozens.” He also remembered the death of Captain Werner Von Bachelle of Company F, whose loyal Newfoundland dog refused to leave his master’s body, dying beside him. The two were buried together.
Surgeon William Child, 5th New Hampshire Volunteers
For medical staff, the aftermath was often worse than the battle itself. The emotional toll faced by surgeons in primitive field hospitals would have been traumatic to say the least. Surgeon William Child wrote home:
“The days after the battle were a thousand times worse than the day of battle. I dressed 64 wounded men that day—many with two and three wounds each.”
Private Alexander Hunter, 17th Virginia Infantry
On the Confederate side, Private Hunter captured the sounds of the battle in poetic imagery:
“It was no longer alone the boom of the batteries, but a rattle of musketry—at first like pattering drops upon a roof; then a roll, crash, roar, and rush, like a mighty ocean billow upon the shore.”
A Soldier’s Loss
Another unnamed soldier recorded the moment he marched past the body of his own father, killed in a nearby regiment.
“A wounded man, who knew them both, pointed to the father’s corpse, and then upwards, saying only, ‘It is all right with him.’ Onward went the son, by his father’s corpse, to do his duty in the line, which, with bayonets fixed, advanced upon the enemy. When the battle was over, he came back. and with other help. buried his father. From his person he took the only thing he had. a Bible, given to the father years before, when he was an apprentice.”
Remembering Antietam
Today, Antietam National Battlefield preserves these rolling fields and quiet roads, places once filled with the roar of cannon and cries of the wounded. To walk through the Cornfield, stand at Bloody Lane, or gaze across Burnside Bridge is to be confronted by the staggering human price of the conflict.
Antietam was not the final battle of the Civil War, nor was it the bloodiest overall. But in a single day, it forced the nation to reckon with the terrible costs of division—and pointed toward a broader vision of freedom. Through the words of those who endured it, we remember not just strategy and numbers, but the courage, grief, and sacrifice of the individuals who lived through September 17, 1862.
Antietam on the Research Arsenal
You can filter each library on the Research Arsenal by battle and applying that filter with the term “Antietam” brings up 38 letters and diaries related to the battle, as well as 45 photographs. In addition, you can search for specific regiments involved in the Ordnance Returns, Clothing Ledgers, Morning Reports, and Military Forms libraries for additional search results.
Illuminating the Past Without Destroying It: Safe Lighting for Exhibiting Your Collection
When we walk into a museum or gallery, the first thing we often notice is the light. It sets the mood, guides our eyes, and brings the details of fragile objects into focus. Yet, the very thing that allows us to see history can also destroy it. Light—whether from the sun, a gallery spotlight, or even dim ambient sources—causes irreversible harm to artifacts. Fading, yellowing, and weakening of fibers all accumulate quietly over time, leaving objects permanently altered. Museums face the difficult challenge of balancing accessibility with preservation: making objects visible to the public while also protecting them for the future. This is the same challenge that private collectors face while being the caretakers of historic artifacts.
And if this is a challenge in museums, it’s really going to be a challenge in personal homes. However, private collectors can follow museum best practices as best they can and that will help prolong the life of their collection.
The Conservation Center for Art & Historic Artifacts (CCAHA) emphasizes that light damage is cumulative and cannot be undone. Once colors fade or paper embrittles, there is no restoration to its original state. What’s more, light damage doesn’t occur evenly—certain materials are vastly more sensitive than others. Photographs, textiles, and works on paper are particularly vulnerable, while ceramics, metals, and glass are more forgiving. But even the strongest object will eventually show the effects of long-term exposure if left unchecked.
The science of safe lighting revolves around two major considerations: how bright the light is, and how long an object is exposed to it. Brightness is measured in lux (lumens per square meter), and cumulative exposure is calculated as lux multiplied by time, known as “lux-hours.” To put this in perspective, imagine a manuscript displayed under 100,000 lux of daylight for just one hour—that’s the same exposure as keeping it under dim 50 lux gallery lighting for two thousand hours. The math makes clear why even “safe” low light levels can become dangerous if the duration stretches too long.
Because of these risks, museums follow general guidelines for different categories of sensitivity. The most fragile objects—things like photographs, textiles, and paper documents—should not be illuminated above about 50 lux, and even then only for brief periods. Moderately sensitive artifacts, such as oil paintings, wood, or leather, can tolerate up to 150 lux, while sturdier items like metals or ceramics can withstand up to 300 lux. The difference might not seem dramatic to the naked eye, but for the objects themselves it can mean decades of preservation versus rapid decline.
It isn’t just visible light that causes harm. Ultraviolet (UV) radiation, which the human eye cannot see, is especially destructive. Museums work hard to minimize UV exposure by using specialized bulbs, applying UV-filtering films to windows, or installing protective acrylic glazing on display cases. Even then, filters degrade over time and need replacement every decade or so. Without these measures, daylight streaming innocently through a window could cause a vivid textile to fade in just a matter of months. UV light can also rapidly fade and yellow historic papers. It will fade the writing off handwritten documents and wash out photographs quickly.
Another equally important aspect of protection is time. Restricting how long an object remains on display is often the best safeguard. Institutions often rotate collections, allowing fragile objects only a few months of exhibition every few years, then resting them in dark storage for long stretches in between. In some cases, facsimiles or digital reproductions stand in for the originals, especially when public demand for viewing is high and conservation concerns outweigh continuous display. To further cut down on exposure, some museums use motion sensors or timed lighting systems so that cases illuminate only when visitors are nearby. While collectors often want their collections on permanent exhibit, rotating items is definitely something to consider. If that’s not possible, I would recommend displaying the collection in a room that is in darkness most of the time with no windows.
Here is an example of an exhibit gallery using very low lighting. This is at the Met and you can see how the artifacts are in nearly total darkness and lit only dimly. This is helping to preserve the colors and overall condition of the works while still allowing visitors to see them. Often these galleries have motion sensors and the lights do not turn on until someone walks in.
Monitoring is also critical. Conservators regularly measure light and UV levels with handheld meters or data loggers, keeping track of an object’s cumulative exposure. Test cards and spectrophotometers may be used to check fading rates, particularly for valuable or unusually fragile items. Over time, museums build careful records of each artifact’s exposure history, ensuring that no single piece receives more than its safe share of light across multiple exhibitions. This is important because if something is being damaged gradually, you are not likely to notice it until it is too late. These devices that can track that data will be able to tell you if something is at risk even if you can’t see it.
This constant balancing act between visibility and protection shapes the design of entire exhibitions. Galleries often remain in darkness outside of public hours, with blackout shades pulled tight over windows. Cases are designed with UV-filtered glazing, and even the interior lighting is carefully designed to ensure it falls within recommended ranges. Light boxes, where illumination passes through an object from behind, are typically avoided because of their intensified effect on sensitive materials. Everything about the display environment is engineered to minimize harm while still allowing visitors to engage meaningfully with the past.
At first glance, these rules might sound overly restrictive—fifty lux seems impossibly dim compared to the lighting in most public spaces. Yet our eyes adapt remarkably well to low levels of illumination, especially in darkened gallery environments. What feels like a hushed, intimate setting is, in fact, an intentional design choice. By lowering overall brightness, curators make the most fragile objects legible without overwhelming them. Visitors often leave with a heightened sense of atmosphere, not realizing that the ambiance is as much about conservation as it is about aesthetics.
The lesson in all this is that light, while essential, must be treated as a carefully controlled tool rather than a neutral presence. The objects entrusted to museums carry centuries of history, and their survival depends on choices made today about how brightly they are lit and how long they are exposed. By respecting safe thresholds, rotating displays, filtering UV, and monitoring conditions, curators ensure that artifacts endure.
For those of us who collect historic objects these same principles apply. Limit direct sunlight, use UV-filtering glass or films, choose lower-wattage bulbs, and think about how long objects are exposed. Remember that every hour of illumination adds up. The goal isn’t to lock history away in darkness, but rather to reveal it thoughtfully—balancing access with stewardship. This ensures that our collections will live on long beyond us.
