Beans in Blue

Durbin Bean Bake, September 4-5, 2011

Having an event on a holiday is always a bit different.  The Durbin Bean Bake was one of those different events.  Started sometime around the 1880s, this annual festival was originally organized by veterans of the 40^th OVI.  As such, and since we were the only unit there, most of us dressed in blue.  A few of us stayed in gray to represent Confederate opponents, but since we had the option to go blue or gray, I did not have a choice but to go blue.  It actually only occurred on Labor Day itself.  Sunday, the day before, we spent the day for ourselves.

Sgt Mott put on Lieutenant blues and was the primary coordinator for the weekend.  Cpl Moore (Girth) assisted more on Monday, since he was pretty much the hometown hero—being on the Bean Bake Committee and all.  Sunday started pretty normal—I fried up my usual bacon and eggs, then went into some Euchre as the day proceeded, with no other expectations.  Around 11 am, however, Sgt (er, Lt) Mott started up a couple of simple games to pass the day.

The first game broke us into two groups of four, with both Mott and Pvt Winston abstaining.  They set up small ropes about two feet above two separate fire pit and gave each group a small and equal amount of wood, along with some char cloth, some kind of fungus useful for starting fires, a small piece of twine, and a flint and steel.  The object was to be the first team to burn through the rope.

My team consisted of Sgt Gary Shaw, Kevin Feeman, and Zach Carte.  We quickly decided that I would start and manage the fire, while Shaw would chop the single half-log into small pieces.  We also had a single nine inch 1x6 board he would work on.  Feeman and Carte would use knives to produce shavings from the few sticks we were also provided.

Winston and Mott were excluded because they both had extensive experience with building fires from flint and steel.  Other than that, any of us that had started a fire always cheated with fuel and a match.  My only experience with flint and steel was firing a flintlock. As we gathered the materials to start, I made sure to note where the sharpest part of the flint was.  At the start, I shredded up the twine, put a couple of shavings on top along with a little piece of the char cloth, then struck the steel with the flint.  I got a spark right away, but it took about three strikes to hit the char cloth.  I was surprised how quickly it produced a hot coal.  Within a minute I had some good flames coming from the tinder.  I glanced at the other team and realized we were well ahead of them.  But then I realized I had a problem—Feeman and Carte did not have enough shavings ready for me.  I had jumped the gun getting things started, and now I was rushing to assist in getting shavings added—but it was too late.  All the twine was now burned up and the fire was out.

Fortunately, I still had a good amount of char cloth and that fungus.  I couldn’t break up the fungus, so I just threw it in and got a hot coal on it.  A couple of times I looked up to see someone stopping to watch me and I had to push them to get more shavings.  We just kept throwing more shavings on the pile and I kept blowing on that one small hot coal, certain I would lose it altogether.  At one point Mott gave each team a splinter soaked in pine sap, but that seemed more trouble that it was worth.  With perseverance, we finally got a flame.  At that point it was simply a matter of getting all the shavings on the pile ablaze, then adding the kindling that Gary made of all the remaining wood.  I piled it up in a simple teepee fashion, stacking it as high and heavy as I could.

I again glanced at the other team, and it looked like they also had a fire, but I noticed they were stacking the wood strangely.  Instead of forming a teepee at the start and stacking on top of that with as small pieces of wood as possible, the and placed nearly all their wood flat.  Although they had chopped the wood smaller, they only produced about ten or so pieces. We probably had thirty or more.  And with the three last sticks, they formed a small pyramid.  I was confident.

Zach and I got into a rhythm blowing the flames until they reached well into the rope, then simply stepped back and watched it finish.  The other team accused us of stealing extra wood—and I guess the stack we had did look like a lot more wood than theirs, but it was the same amount—we had simply chopped up a lot more and smaller pieces.

It was a fun game, and the women had arranged some prizes for the winners.  Gary got some candy.  I got a harmonica.  I guess I am going to have to learn to play.

The second game brought Steve Winston on my side while Gary Shaw was excluded.  Gary was to be the judge.  We were given various food items, and the idea was we were to cook up a meal for Gary to eat.  It took about an hour to cook everything up. We made some Gumbo, with a vegetable side and fried apples for a desert.  I did not pay too close attention to what the other team made, other than the main course was a soup, but I did hear something about them caramelizing everything.

We finished up the day—except for more Euchre—with a three team tactical with three to a team.  Zach Carte and James Sturkler were on my team.  We all enjoyed it, but I think there were some kinks that need worked out for next year.  Each team was given five challenges, with the order than we had to respond whenever engaged in battle.  We got confused somehow in that the order of the challenges were to be first from Jen Mott, then Andrew Mott, then Jen Mott, then Andrew Mott, and finally Jen Mott—or at least that seemed to be the explanation to me.  Jen gave a Civil War trivial question whenever approached, while Andrew gave some kind of physical challenge.  The trouble was that after the first challenge—given by Jen—we started getting confused as to the order of things by first trying to return to Jen for the second challenge, who redirected us to Andrew, but then we somehow thought all remaining challenges were to come from Andrew.  Shaw’s team also experienced some kind of confusion—he told me they had a difficult time cornering Andrew since he kept moving around.  In that confusion somehow we skipped a step.

I know the Mott’s will probably read this, so I want to make sure they understand that we all had a blast, in spite of the issues encountered.  I am sure if time is taken to examine what did not work and what did, then these issues can be resolved for next year.

Monday was the actual Bean Bake.  We were a part of it since Mercer, Mott, and Girth are all from the area.  For most of the time we pretty much did a living history—although surprisingly with the weather dropping from 97 on Saturday to 60 on Monday, we had more public hanging around us to keep warm by our fire (the only one on the grounds) than anything.  Lt. Sharp showed up to participate as well-this time as a private in blue. 

In the early afternoon we set up a silly skirmish with three of us dressing gray to attack the rest of us in blue.  We seemed to have way to small an area to work with and somehow ended up doing more fighting among cars in the parking lot than in an open area, but it was fun.  A good opportunity to work out some more kinks for next year.

The last piece of participation for us was to stir the beans.  Most of us thought it was to be little more than a photo op to have us all up there stirring all the pots of beans, and then we would be done with it.  But time seemed to pass with little concern.  I do not know how long we were stirring, but my arms are still hurting—three days later.

We finished up the day with a challenge from JR for a speed shoot competition.  I blew any chance of winning early on when I forgot to ram paper and had to pick my first tube off the ground to shove it down the barrel.

The Durbin Bean Bake is a laid-back event that we look forward to, even though it really is not much of a Civil War event, and we have to go Federal.  It is only one day of living history, with the rest of the time entirely for us as we see fit to spend, far out in the country away from anything that could interfere (or interrupt).  I look forward to next year, and hope that perhaps the Bean Bake Committee seriously considers allowing us to invite a Yankee unit to expand the Civil War representation to the festival.

Far Away on the Mini Battlefield

Jackson, Michigan, August 27-28, 2011

Jackson is a good distance for all of us to travel—I think it is nearly five hours for me.  This is really only worthwhile for large events.  Fortunately, Jackson is a large event.  We set up camp in a distant corner of the campground, right against where the suburban neighborhood began.  Sergeant Mott selected this location as a means of both ensuring the unit would be able to camp together and to get good shade from the nearby trees.

Breaking in Lt. Sharp's new slouch hat.

Once we set up camp, we visited the large number of sutlers that opened early.  Fall Creek and the Regimental Quartermaster were both there, along with several other large sutlers.  Jackson is a great place for shopping the sutlery.   Caps were $12 for RWS and $10 for CCI.  Regimental Quartermaster had the best price with a sleeve of 10 tins of the German caps for $95.  Prices overall were disappointing—I was looking to finish out an officer’s uniform (to go with the pistol and my recent sword purchase), but the gauntlets I found at Fall Creek (which had the best price of $35) would not fit, even though they were extra large (large size gloves normally are the correct size for me). And sashes were around $40—so I decided to go with eBay instead.  I did find a good cravat, though.

The event provided pulled pork for the Saturday supper, which I am sure would have been a wonderful meal, but due to the distance from camp, we chose to prepare our own food of ham and potatoes, with corn and squash.  It was very good, and nice to not have to wait in any kind of line.

After supper Private Zack and I challenged Captain Evens and Lieutenant Sharp to a battle of Euchre.  I suppose this was to break the curse of last year’s round of Euchre (Jackson 2010 After-action report) where Sergeant Enyart was my partner—but Enyart was absent this weekend.  I believed we did not stand a chance this time.  My experience over the past year was that the only way I could defeat the Evens-Sharp team was with Enyart has my partner.  Anyone else and I could keep the match close, but I could not win.  With Zack as my partner, I honestly expected quite the whooping.

But apparently I was quite successful in training Zack up at Nelsonville with those 14 or so games.  He disposed of many of his tells, so you could no longer read him like a billboard on Times Square.  And his confidence had reached its pinnacle.  I also learned how to play better against JR and Evens over the past year.

The first of three games we did lose, but we kept it a challenged.  But the second and third games we won, still keeping the game close the entire time.  I think I taught JR one thing, too—and that was to beware of trying to bluff me.  At one point I had a hand of questionable strength and would have had to order the Ace of spades into JR’s hand.  I nearly passed on it, but then JR said, “Go ahead and order it up.”  So I did.  It turned out he was trying to bluff me—he had a loner hand in hearts.

The only trouble now with winning was that Zack and I were put on detail to guard a puddle of water in the middle of the battlefield.  Well, I guess that’s the price for beating the commanders.

And then there was the Sunday morning romantic breakfast between Lt. Sharp and Pvt Silvers.

Saturday morning I finally caught on what was meant by Battalion parade.  I had always thought of it as basically a march in front of the public—but apparently it is really nothing more than lining up as a battalion, to the rear in open order, first sergeants reporting on numbers, close ranks, then going off to drill.

During that drill we overheard an NCO of another unit spew forth all sorts of profanities at his men trying to get them in line.  Mercer commented to our captain, and I think all of us agreed, that if any of our NCOs talked to us in that way, we would head back to camp, pack up, and go home.  The biggest problem was that this was in front of the public, and the event coordinators complained to our colonel.  During Sunday drill, the colonel warned us (without naming names, even though we all knew who he was talking about) that this is not the place for that language and that it needs to be kept under control.

But as we lined up for the Sunday battle, that same unit passed by us while we were in formation and a number of their soldiers were having difficulty keeping the line.  That NCO, the second sergeant, had no pause about spewing profanities like an alcoholic on some bad liquor.  There is no way his captain could have missed that.  Even without the warning from the colonel, that sergeant should have been summarily dismissed from the battalion—told to pack his gear, and go home.  He has no business being a reenactor.  He was warned by the commanding officer, and yet he chose to ignore those instructions.  In the real military, insubordination like that can get you a dishonorable discharge.  Maybe the NCOs commanded like that 150 years ago, and maybe not, but reenactments with public attending are supposed to be family events—kids will be there and within earshot.  I will admin that private in most groups, including ours, the language is like any normal gathering of adults.  But bring kids into the picture and we do our best to keep our French under control.  The colonel was present, but I am not sure he heard that sergeant or not—but if he had, I think he should have gone to the captain of that unit and requested the sergeant be removed. 

The battle was good, but the grounds were rather, well, strange.  My biggest complaint of that battlefield is the ridiculously small size of it for the number of soldiers.  The battlefield is small for even a small event, but for the numbers we had—two battalions on each side—it was difficult to maneuver.   But this year there was another problem—the park had used heavy equipment to plow and completely reshape half the field.  Half the field was completely absent of sod, and had tons of ruts, rocks, and various mud holes to injure ankles and knees. It was better on Sunday after we had packed it down significantly from the Saturday battle.  But anyway, the battle quickly ended up not going as planned.  From what I have been told, the Federal forces were led by Shackleford, and from what I hear about him, he throws out all plans five minutes into the battle and creates his own scenario.  Although I enjoy the battle, it felt cramped.  The Yankee forces advanced far closer than felt safe.

But it was the Sunday battle that had a moment of insanity.  Overall I liked the Sunday battle better as it seemed to last longer, and we were all over the field taking advantage of holes that the Yankees gave us.  But there was one point we watched one Yankee battalion corner and advance on the other Confederate battalion.  We were all backed to the edge of the battlefield, so could pull back no further.  But the Yankees continued to advance in a scenario where the Confederates were supposed to win (the Battle of Bethel Church), although casualties were near zero.  Then the moment of insanity occurred.  The Yankee force advanced close enough to actually shake the hands of the Confederate soldiers—and that is no joke.  It looked stupid.  Both sides were in confusion—they did not know what to do.  They were too close to even load.  All they could do was stand there, admiring the color of each others’ eyes, until the commander figured out how to get out of this kerfuffle.  It was not until the federals finally pulled back that the battle could be re-engaged.

Of course, there are not many that can be blamed for such a farce.  The only one responsible was the Yankee colonel of that battalion.  Everyone else was just following orders, and the Confederate colonel was pinned with nowhere to go.  Perhaps that Yankee commander should try playing private for awhile.  I know a few privates that could better command a battalion.  Although the 1^st Tennessee was not part of that Confederate battalion, we were all wandering, “What are those Yankees thinking?”

It had to be the absolute stupidest thing I ever saw.  It was insane to see two opposing battalions standing close enough to shine their enemy’s boots, looking around, waiting for someone to figure out what to do next.  Here is an idea—the Confederate colonel could have claimed the entire Yankee battalion as their prisoners.

The thing is, the only possible thing that Yankee commander could have been thinking was how he could make the Confederate forces look foolish.  If that Confederate force had pulled back as little as fifteen yards, they would have been in our lap.  Both battalions of the Confederate forces would have been jumbled together, their artillery overrun, and would have been the farce.  And in my opinion—that’s what makes this Yankee commander as worthless as a deerfly.  He is so concerned with making others look foolish that he himself is made the fool.

Despite that disturbing moment, and the lack of space to maneuver, I thought the battle quite an enjoyable experience.  I nearly finished off my rounds, to which Mercer said, “Well, if you didn’t shoot eighteen rounds a minute, you might still have some.”  I guess I have gotten a bit quick on the reload.

And despite all the fussing I have made, I did enjoy the event.  I was even told that the announcer acknowledged our unit for the first time (apparently they acknowledged every unit but ours in the past).  The food was great and the quantity of sutlers were extraordinary.  The only real downside (other than the “N” gauge battlefield) is the distance.

Youtube video of battle
Youtube video of battle

The Red Carpet of Coshocton

August 13-14, 2011

This was the third first-year event that I have ever attended, the first being Fort Recovery last year and the second being Nelsonville last week.  Coshocton (or “Shocatoan” as Pvt Jim Kletzli says it) was a good event.  They treated the reenactors very well.  It was surprising that they supplied T-shirts, 3x5 period flags, powder rations, and showers to the registered reenactors for this free event.  I’m not sure they will be able to keep that up.  It was a small event—and I am not sure if they have much room to grow.  Again, as usual, the Confederates outnumbered the Federals, but Hale Farm is nearby the same weekend, so that did not help.  Located at the highest point of the town, next to the airport, we occasionally joked about the Confederate Air Force preparing a raid.  The airport distraction is not a problem—only small aircraft used it.  The in-town reenactments are far worse.  The event provided two good breakfasts and a Saturday dinner, all of which were very good. 

It was a disappointment that no sutlers, other than a Sassparilla vendor, made it to the event—but again, this was probably due to Hale Farm.  It’s too bad that it did not occur to even one small vendor that there would be a good opportunity for them here.

I was surprised to learn that the nine rifles that showed up for the 1^st Tennessee made the largest unit—particularly when this event was not even on our calendar (it was a free weekend).

Saturday battle went well as we joined with the 5^th Kentucky to defeat the Yankees, whose numbers were not too much less than ours.  I think the Confederate commanders are starting to learn that if we promise the Yankees to win on Sunday, they are more likely to stay for the Sunday battle.  It seems that if they win on Saturday, they tend to go home right after.

Near dusk Alabama, of the 19^th Virginia, and Private Steve Winston decided to initiate an artillery barrage on the Union forces.  Alabama pulled out his 12-pound Napolean (no, it did not fire 12 pound balls, it weighed 12 pounds) and Steve brought out his toy cannons.  It was hilarious to watch as Alabama called out artillery commands.  “Fire by battery, two second intervals.”  “Gun number one, ready.”  “Misfire on gun number two,” and then he crossed his arms over the little pea-shooter.  The union tent they were shooting at also had a toy cannon, and was kind enough to play along with return fire.  I heard that the artillery crew that was there asked, “Are they making fun of us?”

The Union forces challenged us to a Sunday morning tactical, which we were more than happy to oblige them with.  The only concern was that the prediction was for rain.  The night did bring some heavy rains with slight drizzle off-and-on in the morning, so we thought the Yankees might cancel—although I think we would have been more understanding that we were at Reynoldsburg because of how wet everything was.  But to our surprise they wanted to continue anyhow.  I discovered later that they had a bit of a tactical advantage that they wanted to use.  They had scouted out the nearby woods and knew the lay of the land the night before—we never had such an opportunity due to the lateness of the challenge.

But none of us mind that if it gets the Yankees to play.  There were some killer ravines in that woods that we climbed through trying to get behind the enemy forces while the 5^th Kentucky held them down at a clearing.  But we had a lot of fun, even if we did end up a bit late to the battle.

The Yankee numbers had dwindled for the Sunday battle, so three of us (including me) from the 1^st Tennessee galvanized to balance the numbers.  The Rebels still outnumbered the Federals, but they were about 14 blue to around 17 gray.  We started out at the bottom of the battlefield, pretty much out of site from the public.  The plan, which was made clear to us by the Federal commander, was to allow the Rebel troops to march in toward the public.  We were then to advance, pushing them more to the public.  This was obviously so that the public would get a clear view of all the soldiers.  The field was narrow, but long.  The rolling nature of the field put the Confederates at their starting position completely out of view of the public.  We took a knee at the start of the battle to take us out of view as well.  Since we did not have full Federal gear with us, the three of us basically just took off our jackets and wore blue vests to appear as militia.  To our right were the eight or so regulars, and two Henrys held position to our left.  Granted, if this battle were for real, and if the Henrys fought like they really would have back then, the two Henrys alone would have defeated the entire Rebel force on that field.  But those Henrys really seem to have no idea what they are doing out there.  There we were, waiting for the Captain to give the command to rise and advance.  The Rebels were just advancing above the first hill and turning toward the public to move into position.  All of a sudden we hear this machine-gun fire to our left.  Those blasted Henrys—against all common sense and chain of command—fired off all 17 of their rounds in under five seconds.  The 1^st Tennessee, the unit closest, had no choice but to respond.  And now, with the battle now underway, the rest of the Federals also had to react.  I looked to Big Dave, who was next to me, and said, “What the heck?”  What was wrong with those Henrys?  They basically ruined the entire battle for everyone on the field—public and reenactor alike—in less than 5 seconds.  The entire battle was found over 200 yards from the public, with most of the Confederate forces completely out of site so that it looked like the Yankees were shooting into a hole.  I still had fun—but it did not sit well with me at all that a couple of soldiers on the field are nothing but loose cannons—pretty much worthless to the reenactor community as a whole.  No—I think they really don’t have any business being on the battlefield.  Someone needs to give them lessons on chain of command and on the art of “aiming”.  It is not the fact that Henry rifles were on the field that bothered me—it is the fact that they were used solely as a means to become the center of attention.  My recommendation to any commander that reads this is that if these Henry soldiers ever end up on the battlefield again, either prohibit them or locate them such that any Confederate response will put the Confederate into the position you need them to be—instead of like the preempted position they ended up in at Coshocton.  For example, if those Henrys were placed by themselves at the top of the battlefield, near the public, the Confederate response would have moved all the action close to the public—plus those insane Henrys would have become the center-of-attention clowns they wanted to be.

But anyway—now that I have gotten that gripe out of my system—it was a good weekend.  I have seen those Henry rifles before, I have always thought little of them because of the way they machine-gun those things—I had just never seen them mess up the entire battle like that before.

I do hope they continue with this event.  They should probably move this to a different weekend than they Hale Farm event, since that is a rather large event.  For the 1^st Tennessee to return, they also need to keep it out of September, since that’s a pretty big month for us.  But I know we are looking for to next time for how well they treated us.

Cavalry Raid on the Nelsonville Train (without the horses)

This weekend was a first-year event in Nelsonville, Ohio.  We were to do an impression of dismounted cavalry and take over the train.  I did the Civil War Train Raid in Lebanon, Ohio a few years back, and it’s hard not to have this type of event be a farb fest.  But it was fun nonetheless.  Since we were to be dismounted cavalry, I got to play with Lil’ Mary (my .44 1858 Remmington) and Nicolas (my best guess is that it is some kind of American target rifle reproduction from a little before the Civil War period).  The concern was that the Confederates would heavily outnumber the Yankees (big surprise there), so a few of us, including me, came ready to galvanize.

The raid was planned for only one train ride, starting a little after 5 pm Saturday, so that left the four of us that camped Friday a lot of time to kill playing Euchre.  Most of the rest of the reenactors showed up around 3 to gear up and attend the planning meeting.

The plan was that the Rebels hide on the train in the last car (which was otherwise empty) to about halfway to one end of the line and sneak off as a few civilian reenactors got on (to give the excuse for stopping the train at an unusual point).  The train would continue to the end, where we would take the train with the public and civilian reenactors (including Doc Gill) on its way back, then ride the train to the end of the line where the full battle would be held.

Being one that was to galvanize, I boarded the train at the depot in my full Confederate gear, with my sidearm in a borrowed holster (I’m still looking for one for myself), both my Springfield and target rifle, and my Yankee blues in my knapsack on my back (try climbing into a train with all that).  When we stopped at the raid point, I left Christine (the Springfield) behind with my knapsack.  I think that’s when I realized there was only one other reenactor galvanizing.  We mulled about for the half hour it took the train to return, with Kevin Feemen asking every so often, “You got yer cards?” Okay, I like my Euchre, but we’d already gotten about 15 games in that day—couldn’t give it a rest for 30 minutes?  I was grateful that Captain Evens (or “Capt’n Sprinkles” as Private Kletzli calls him) gave orders to post us at several locations to prepare for the surprise attack—locations that kept four of us from being together at one spot.

As the train approached we were to fire off a couple of rounds to stop the train, then board it, harassing public and civilian reenactors for a bit of a show.  Somehow this was a bit different than what we ran into at McConnelsville—I guess it was the smaller number of public, or perhaps that we were not doing our standard infantry to begin with.  It just didn’t feel so awkward like McConnelsville did.  My improvisation was off that day—I did little more than look pretty, but still, I got one shot out of my pistol and one shot out of the rifle.  I wanted to get a second shot out of the rifle—but with it using #11 caps, and those were in my vest pocked underneath my jacket inside an old plastic cigar container with a tight lid, I could not exactly reload in a hurry.  It would not have mattered even if the caps were loose in a cap box—have you ever tried to prime a rifle quickly with those tiny little things?

At this point the plan was we would stop at the end of the line when Yankee artillery fired at the train.  The Rebels were to unload, where there was supposed to be a pause in the action so that the public could unload.  I was to take advantage of the pause to race to the last car where I would switch coats, hats, traps, and rifles, unload and stow my knapsack, straw hat, and target rifle in a safe place, then join the Yankee lines to shoot at all my friends.  But, the battle started as soon as I boarded that last car—I had to hurry if I were to join the fight.  It wouldn’t have been so bad if it were just the coat, but I had it in my head that I needed to use my Yankee traps—plus I still had five rounds in the side arm, so I had to relocate the holster from my belt with the Georgia frame buckle to my US belt with keeper.  I shoved my butternut shell jacket into my knapsack and almost put it on—but realized I’d probably miss the entire battle if I took the time.  When I got off the train and set my unneeded gear down, I realized I was right next to the public—I tried to give them the impression I had snuck around behind the Rebels (yeah—that’s the ticket).  Unfortunately, I didn’t see any reenactors—they were all around the buildings of the pioneer village we had stopped at.  I had no idea where the Yankee line was, so I did the only thing I could—follow the sound of musket fire.  I saw some butternut moving between buildings, so headed that direction, only to find Confederates on two sides of me—but I had the advantage as they didn’t know I was there.

It was a lot of fun—I emptied my sidearm on Sergeant Mott, who took a hit in glorious drama.  Ducking around a cottage to reload my musket, I started to a corner where a musket blast shot in front of me.  I jumped out around that corner and fired a blast toward Corporal Carte, giving him quite the surprise.

Every so often I could hear what sounded like machine-gun fire.  Then I realized it was just Flash emptying his Henry.  It was in the book, Company Aytch, that Sam Watkins talks of soldiers loading their Henrys on a Sunday and shoot all week long.  I don’t think Flash ever read that book—he loads at 4:15, then again at 4:15 and 30 seconds.

Afterwards, the event coordinators served a delicious pulled-pork meal.  It was probably among the best we’ve had this year.

We discussed ideas and tips for next year, such as seeing about locating the campsite in some shade, or somewhere where the public could interact with us in camp.  I think they should do more than the one train raid ride for the day—with nothing else going on, and with the raid so late in the day, most of the reenactors didn’t have a reason to camp when they could show up at 3 and leave by 8.

Hopefully we’ll get solid numbers next year—it’ll be nice to be able to stay in butternut next year.  It’s kind of awkward being a Confederate in blue—although Kletzli thinks I secretly enjoy it.

A Weekend Off to buy some toys.

July 16, 2011

I apologize if this entry is more of a rambling, but since I can’t go to a reenactment (yeah, I'm missing out on 1st Manassas), then I should at least get some toys for one, right? 

Lil' Mary.  Ain't she shiny?

Since nothing was planned this weekend I went to the gun show down in Dayton and found Lil’ Mary, a nice Navy Arms replica of a brass frame .44 1858 Remmington revolver, for only $125.  Okay, so I’m not an officer and don’t have much use for one—but someday, I’ll be totin’ one of these things around with an officer’s sword and pop off a few just for effect.

At first, I wasn’t sure if I really wanted the gun.  The guy was asking $135 for the gun, and I was tempted to grab it and run for that price, but fortunately gun shows aren’t exactly the best place for buying and selling Civil War era reproduction weapons—everyone wants modern.  So I wandered awhile thinking about it.  Returning, I figured I’d offer $125—what could it hurt?

I had been pricing these pistols for about a year or so.  Most of the time even used ones were more than $200.  I had only seen $125 twice—once on Craigslist where the revolver sold in about 15 minutes—way before I could get to it—and once at the Dayton gun show by a reenactor getting out of the hobby.  That guy was also selling his 3-band Enfield for $200 (which I grabbed before he could spit).  I beat myself silly for not also buying the pistol, but I just could not bear to part with that much cash in one sitting. 

Oh, if you’re wondering about that Enfield, since I always talk about Christine, my Springfield, it’s spoken for.  I had named it Marty and got to play with it once or twice, but decided I liked Christine much better.  I sold the Enfield to a fellow reenactor (Mercer) in the 1^st Tennessee.  He got quite the bargain on it (I was willing to cut him a deal since he brings fresh steaks to the Durbin Bean Bake), but I also came out a good amount ahead.  If he hadn’t bought it, I’d probably gone around trying to sell it for $450—and considering the price of Enfields these days, I’m sure I would have found a buyer.  Marty was in pretty good shape after I fixed up the few small problems it had.

Nifty new, er old, er whatever, campchairs.

Then, on my way home, I found some nice folding chairs at a flea market.  These things folded up such that they looked like those folding campstools, except with the back added.  Instead of canvas these things had some sort of carpet.  The wood was a real fine, dark finish.  I could picture sitting back in one of these while enjoying a good game of Euchre.  They were antiques, though I have no idea how old they were—I’m hoping they date to prior to the Civil War, though I doubt they do.  The only problem for this set of 4 was that they were covered in mold.

But that’s no problem for me.  For thirty bucks I took these things home and gave them a good bath.  Cleaned them up real good.  I intend to keep two of them for myself, and try to sell the other two to recover some of my expense for the chairs.  I think they’ll make great additions to any mainstream campsite.   May even work for an authentic campsite if the captain is the only one with the chairs.  At McConnelsville a reenactor who fell in with us accidentally destroyed the canvas on my campstool—I didn’t mind much since the stool was a rescue from the campfire, anyhow.  But he offered to take it home and replace the canvas.  I’m thinking now that the guy can keep the leg-cramping campstool while I enjoy some real comforts.

Finally there was the Goodwill run.  Goodwill is a good place to get random knickknacks.  Sgt Mott is good with converting modern shirts into period shirts, so I found a couple of cheap shirts that I’ll have him work on.  There were also candles there.  A lot of candles—I’m probably well supplied for a couple of years now.  And finally are the candlestick holders.  I must have some kind of addiction with buying these things—they’re only ninety-nine cents.  I think I’m up to 14 now—and I had to restrain myself.  I’m going to try starting with just a couple during an evening Euchre round, and steadily build up to all 14—or at least until my friends start calling me nuts (whichever comes first).

Is that a bit over the top?  I'll have no problem seeing the Euchre cards!

And by the way, if you’re in need of a candlestick holder, just look me up—I’ll give you quite the deal on one.

Edit (07/20/2011): I did some research to try and find what I could on those chairs and YEEEEHAAW!!!  It was far better than I could have hoped for--AND I think I made a killing.  They are from US Patent number RE2891, patented 1866 (does that mean they could have been sold during the Civil War, or only after the patent was issued?), issued to B.J. Harrison and J. Condie of New York, NY. (link to patent). I also got some information from one Anna Worden Bauersmith, who gave me some good information and tips on the chairs--I think she left drooling over them.

I also found these eBay links, which give an idea of the value of these chairs:
http://cgi.ebay.com/Antique-Civil-War-Era-John-Folding-Camp-Carpet-Chair-/350460468309
http://cgi.ebay.com/ws/eBayISAPI.dll?ViewItem&item=160618978232+&clk_rvr_id=248806893211

Raiding McConnelsville

July 9-10, 2011

This event is one that the 1^st Tennessee goes to with mixed feelings.  There are those of us that like the event, and those that don’t.  It almost didn’t make it on our schedule this year, save for a barely large enough vote.

I like this event.  But it takes a lot for me to give a thumbs-down to an event.  If you attended the last year of the Granville, Ohio event (some years back), you experienced one of the few events I would give a thumbs-down to.

One of the things that turn off some of our members is in-town battles.  They consider this too farby due to the asphalt and street signs that we end up fighting around.  Personally, it doesn’t bother me—it’s a change of pace from normal field fighting.  Just don’t die on the asphalt—it can get so hot you might start thinking you’ve arrived at some fiery destination instead of the Pearly Gates.

McConnelsville’s Saturday battle is in-town while the early afternoon Sunday battle is held at a nearby farm.  They have followed this pattern for years. 

This year, however, the Saturday battle had some kind of strange scripting.  The script called for us Confederates to take the town with a small skirmish and the basically pillage—er “forage” for pre-established bounty, which included some apples and a few other period-type things.  In order for us to accomplish this, the battle was basically put on hold for a while until our pillaging was complete and the announcer called for the arrival of Federal troops.  This downtime for us was very awkward—we are not used to this kind of thing.  The 1^st Tennessee is a disciplined group.  We portray the Rock City Guards, and as such were all volunteers.  Our research showed that nearly all of the original soldiers had significant wealth, ranging from today’s equivalent of lower middle class merchants to wealthy planters that owned multiple slaves.  Although we wear the expected not quite matching and patch-repaired uniforms, we aren’t the ragtag group associated with the Confederate Army.  We aren’t perfect, but we are well drilled and are proud of our skill in formation.  Therefore, when we’re expected to act like the Federals at Fredericksburg, we feel out of place and grumble our disappointment.  I think the highlight was when Zach made off with the gentleman’s top-hat that seemed to be part of the bounty.  He left it in his tent back at camp—only to have the owner hunting camp-to-camp for it.

The complaint I heard concerning the pause in the battle was that when we go into a fight, we get an adrenaline rush, and that pause causes a letdown.  I never get that adrenaline rush (although I do enjoy the battling) so I think, as a side note, that event coordinators need to realize that we reenactors are not entertainers.  Yes, what we do entertains the public—but that’s not our goal.  We are educators, and in camp we will talk the public and educate them about the life and the times of the Civil War, but probably the best analogy to the battle is to consider that we are merely playing a game when we go out to fight.  We follow basic rules and one side wins—only we usually know which side will win before the game starts.  When something outside our paradigm is thrown at us—we’ll tend to get a little upset about it.  Maybe this is a flaw in reenactors, but if the event coordinators will keep this in mind, then when they need something unusual to happen, then perhaps things will work out better with the use of entertainers for those special things.

As Saturday wore away and Euchre playing picked up, our lieutenant showed me the script for the Sunday battle.  The battle was scripted?  The very concept shocked me.  I had never been to the officers’ meeting used to plan the battle, but I always imagine them to go something like this:

Federal Commander: Heads or tails?

Confederate Commander: Heads.

Federal Commander: Tails—the North wins today.

Confederate Commander: Okay—We’ll come in on the west side of the field and push you from your positions at the breastworks.

Federal Commander: Sounds good—we’ll fall back and have our company in reserve flank you to push you back.

Confederate Commander: Yeah—sounds like a plan.  See you at 2.

And so the battle would be fought.  If there is artillery, they’ll shoot at each other for awhile until they’ve used up enough ammunition.  If there is cavalry, they’ll dance around the field swing sabers and taking pop shots until they get bored.  Then we’ll come on the field and kind of—sort of follow the rough idea from the officer’s meeting.  The battle rarely goes anything like it was planned—or so our officers tell me.

But, the script for the Sunday battle at McConnelsville read like a chapter out of the Civil War Times.  Every cannon shot was noted, along with the response.  It described when the infantry should shoot and where they should be on the battlefield and when.  The entire script was roughly two pages long.  It scared me silly—it sounded stupid—like some kind of children’s story or comic book.

I have to give the Sunday battle credit.  Somehow it all worked.  The battlefield is a good-sized hill and somehow every year we seem to always have to climb it to the Yankee position at the top. 

The Sunday battlesite from my perspective among the casualties

Marching to our positions on the battlefield, we had to march through a swampy manure field.  I only mention this so that next time we remember to go around it.  Our lieutenant nearly disappeared when he got his boot stuck to his knee in it.  Big Dave had to pull him out.

Lt Sharp intentionally deviated slightly from the script early on, moving us into position to attack the Federal artillery and firing a couple of unexpected volleys, but otherwise the script was followed.  I was surprised to hear this because it seemed to go so well.

Sutlers were a definite issue.  There was only one, unless you count the going-out-of-business sutler that lasted about an hour clearing everything out at incredible prices.  I heard they had some great stuff—but I missed it all except for the $20 8 ½ size brogans that only Pvt Silvers could wear.  At least he got a deal out of it.

Powder was nice—there was a half-pound bounty for all soldiers

Personally I liked the event, other than the issue with the battle—and they could do something to improve the food—it wasn’t bad, but I just think there was room for improvement.  The Saturday breakfast of nothing but biscuits and gravy with biscuits that were a bit dry could have been better (I would have fried my usual bacon and eggs had I known this was what to expect), and the Saturday “Cowboy beans” really needed a bit of work.  Mercer, in the rank behind me, suffered from them at the Sunday battle when they finally caught up to me.  I didn’t partake of the Sunday breakfast (same as Saturday’s, except with the addition of scrambled eggs).  

However, by the sound of many of the members of the 1^st Tennessee, it seems unlikely we will return next year.  If the event does not conflict with an event on the 1^st Tennessee’s schedule, I’ll find my way out if I can get a few to join me.  In a worst-case scenario we’d just fall in with the 5^th Kentucky—unless we had enough numbers to form our own unit.  But we won’t be going in force like we did this year—our numbers were somewhere between 20 and 30 for the Sunday battle.

Zanesville Times Recorder article
McConnelsville Facebook page
News report on WHIZ

Cump's Backyard

Lancaster Ohio, July 3-4, 2011

There doesn’t seem to be very many Confederate generals born in Ohio.  But there are certainly lots of Union generals born here.  Over the Fourth of July weekend, a small contingent of us spent time in a rather precarious territory in the heart of the home of one of the most notorious (at least to the Confederacy) Union generals—William T. Sherman.  Lancaster, Ohio was not only celebrating Independence Day, but also celebrating the restoration of one of the cannons that Sherman had brought back after the Civil War.  Of course, they seem to keep pretty quiet about the fact that the cannon was captured Confederate artillery—but I don’t think it would go over too well if we tried to reclaim it.

Due to the fourth falling on a Monday, the event actually did not start until Sunday.  I had my 11 year-old nephew from Colorado with me to be our flag bearer.  It was a small event, and I think the six of us on Sunday were about an even match to the Federal count, who were mostly members of the 76^th Ohio and Sons of Union Veterans.  A pretty laid-back event, but with plenty of potential if the Union side cooperated.  We had the ambulance that we had rescued a couple of weeks ago parked near our camp, while the Federals had Sherman’s cannon and a couple other artillery pieces parked by theirs.  A few Cavalrymen also camped near the Federals, but I think they came more to look pretty than to play.  During the skirmishes we held, they pretty much either stood in place or quickly ran to the other side of the field.  Not that I’m complaining—the infantry numbers were so slight that you really couldn’t do much with the cavalry.

I have to give kudos to the Federal forces on that first day for giving us a surprise attack on our camp in the morning.  Sgt Shaw saw a platoon of them heading our way thinking that perhaps they were drilling—that is until they formed a skirmish line and advanced on our position.  Caught off guard, we had to dive into our tents to grab our traps and ammunition.  But we gave a good show and pushed them back.

In the afternoon we cootered up to prepare to return the favor, only to have a federal messenger approach to ask which side of the battlefield we’d like, spoiling any chance for a surprise.  But it was a fun attack.  My nephew hadn’t seen any kind of reenactment before—so marching out waving the Polk flag around was a real treat for him.

Before that afternoon battle I noticed Steve Winston’s speed with reloading to shoot down a couple of Federal prisoners and suggested we challenge the Yanks to a bit of a friendly speed shoot competition.  After the battle, the impromptu challenge almost went unmet as most of the Yanks complained they had already cleaned their guns (a little antsy, if you ask me—we had barely heated the water by that time).  Fortunately, a couple of the young soldiers accepted the challenge when their sergeant agreed to re-clean the guns.  Steve won the competition, save for a little detail.  Having never participated in such a competition, he wasn’t clear on the rule that you actually do ram paper—he simply rammed without pushing the paper tube in, which gave him a bit of a speed advantage.  But it was all just for fun, anyhow, so we didn’t worry about it.  I beat the Yank next to me by a second or two, keeping my time to about 55 seconds for three shots.  I would have been a bit faster had I not thrown my first tube to the ground, or fumbled around so much with my ramrod.

We returned the favor of the morning ambush with a sneak attack of our own near dusk.  We used a bit of Confederate ingenuity—splitting our group into two platoons.  I was with the color detail advancing down the front with double charges to draw their attention, while a slightly larger force flanked the Federal camp.  After about three shots the Federals were finally about to defend themselves—only to have the flanking force lower their muskets and force surrender.

Much less happened on Monday—with the parade taking our morning, and the Federals having to vacate to make room for parking for the fireworks, we could only hold an early afternoon skirmish, with the Camp Chase Fife and Drums playing to our gunfire.  We had a few late additions to our numbers, so we were a decent company. Since we were to lose, we gave them casualties until we were down to three, then gave them a final charge, only to discover they had empty guns.  I got lucky and found a federal on our flank able to fire before we got to close, but Sgt Shaw and Private Feeman had to perform an impromptu hand-to-hand, which is never really a good idea, but it was a good show, though Sgt Shaw suffered a bruise of some kind that he was complaining of the next day.

The event was held at Rising Park in Lancaster, and the Federals provided decent food for us throughout the event, including Sunday (first day) supper, Monday donuts for breakfast and McDonalds after the afternoon skirmish.  Rising Park didn’t seem large enough for numbers like we experienced at Reynoldsburg, but perhaps the event will grow—the Fairfield County fairgrounds are right across the street and could provide a good overflow.  All the Independence Day events both provide a foothold for the Civil War reenactment and a limitation for it (as focus will never be fully on the reenactment), but if there comes to be enough support, perhaps we can see the reenactment stand on its own.

Even so, the Lancaster 4^th of July event is good.  The laid-back nature gave us plenty of time for Euchre, which is always a bonus.