Frozen to the Ground

150th Battle of Franklin

Franklin, TN

November 15-16, 2014

I set up my pitiful excuse for a dog tent, grumbling about my need to make longer uprights for it.  One of these days I’ll get around to it.

My pitiful dog tent

No shovel, but the fire pit had to be dug.  I was assigned the detail of digging the pit, and with the assistance of Pvt Myers we moved the dirt with a hatchet and bayonet.  Pvt Foust used his ingenuity and procured a shovel from a neighboring camp and finished the pit out for us.

We were informed that firewood for Friday evening was in short supply, but more would come in the morning.  We were to take only what we needed.  We set up a stack and I piled some wood in the pit to ready a fire, but we waited to start it so that we could make a trip into town to visit the local pub for some burgers.

We first hit a few of the Franklin Battlefield sites about the town, seeing where several significant actions took place, then made our way to dinner.

A few, including Capt Sharp, stayed behind to cook their meal.  I chose to join the crew for burgers as I like to be lazy the first night after the work of setting camp—plus I wasn’t sure I had brought enough provisions to include Friday evening meal.  Within the warmth of the pub and full on what must have been a half pound of beef, I received word that Capt Sharp was having difficulty getting the fire going.  Since Sgt Kletzi was unable to attend due to surgery, I knew that he couldn’t be the source of the difficulty, so I was a bit confused as to why the captain would have trouble.  My pile included plenty of kindling plus a couple of firestarters, so a single match should be all it took to get a good bonfire.

I found my explanation when I returned to camp.  By the time I arrived a small fire was smoldering in the pit, but almost no flame nor heat came from it.  It looked as though the men were gathered around a candle trying to keep warm.  The cold had started to hit, but the fire refused to warm us due to wood that was extremely green.  It was as though the wood had been chopped down from living trees the night before.  I piled a few more logs onto the flames, but it was to no avail.  It took until well into the night before a decent flame was emitted within the dense cloud of smoke pouring out of the pit.

The night was cold.  Well, that does not quite describe it.  The night was very cold.  Bitter cold.  Artic cold.  So cold even the fire couldn’t burn.  It might not have been a night where hell was freezing over, but certainly the lake of fire needed stoking.  The morning report told us that Louisville experienced a record low of 16 degrees.  We heard mixed reports of somewhere between 18 and 22 for us.

Pvt Foust struggles to get warm.

Thank the Lord, I’m not a hard-core campaigner.  Though I used a dog tent (and a pitiful one at that), I did have a modern army sleeping bag and one of those hand-warmers.  Capt Sharp loaned me a spare Zippo hand-warmer.   I was able to keep satisfactorily warm during the night, getting a decent sleep, and ready for action in the morning.  I was far more fortunate than Privates Foust and Hampton, both of whom roughed it by going true campaign-style with only a couple of blankets and a ground cloth.  Pvt Foust had it worse with only a summer quilt and ground cloth.  No end came to his informing us in the morning of just how cold he was.

As company clerk, my duty for this event was the morning reports.  In total, we had 18 soldiers, seventeen rifles, including Sgt Carte’s as acting 1st Sergeant.  We made it through the night, but supplies were grim.  No water buffalos, though we were promised them the night before.  Sufficient water was provided within the time of our need for them, but only by a supply of one gallon jugs.  Porta johns were sufficient, but only convenient for the Yankees—we could only get to them by trudging through the Yankee camps, which fortunately was not far, but still—a little awkward.  Servicing of the porta-lets was non-existent, so by Saturday afternoon they had become unusable—but the park gave us all-night access to the permanent facilities.

Overall, there was an air of disorganization about, but it was what it was.

The battle itself went well, following a decent scenario from the Battle of Franklin, though there was a bit of confusion from not knowing the colonel’s command style, which was far different from the various battalions we’ve fallen in with in the past.

We opened forming a skirmish line, and I found my new trousers to be troublesome as the smaller pockets kept spitting out all my possessions all over the battlefield.  Somewhere is a pocket knife someone else will enjoy.

We soon advanced in waves upon the Federal breastworks, eventually failing the charge.

Saturday evening a few of us wanted to try to make for Stone’s River to see a bit of the museum, but unfortunately were delayed by a technical issue with one of the vehicles, so opted instead to run to the local Taco Bell for supper.

Upon our return, Pvt Hampton somehow succeeded in creating a blaze that stood to his reputation, warming us to the point that vests were all that were sufficient to hold back the cold.  The night was warming than the previous, but rumors were abounding of possible sleet hitting us during the early morning hours.  Some of the Rebels, scared off by the rumors, deserted.  We discussed the option of leaving, but decided it best to stay and await for what the morning would hold for us.  We had come this far and had been through the worst with the night before—we should at least see what was in store for us in the morning.

I woke Sunday morning almost too warm, not quite so tightly bundled in my sleeping bag as I had been the night before.  A light pattering of spitting rain danced on my canvas as I struggled to convince myself to squirm out of my coverings.

A glance about revealed by the absence of canvas that a large portion of the Rebel force had gone AWOL due to the weather, with the Yankees across the field soon following.  It did surprise us a bit to see the Confederate forces leaving first, as in the North we’re used to seeing the Yankees desert first at the sign of inclement weather.  We decided to join the crowd and abandon the cause, packing up our gear.  We were held up by another technical issue—one of ours locking their keys in their car—so we held on in the rain.  Soon, the captain of the other 1st TN came over to tell us the event was canceled, so once our comrade freed the keys from his vehicle, we made our way to Stone’s River to view the museum, stopping first at the Confederate Cemetery at the edge of the park.

We viewed the museum and drove around the battleground, spending little time out due to the continuous rain.  From there, we drove to the Sam Davis Homestead, where artifacts from the original 1st Tennessee were said to be.  Unfortunately, we found the place closed on Sundays, so settled for a few cameo photos of the cotton field.

We finished our day driving to the Civil War Museum in Bardstown, Kentucky, arriving about a half hour before they closed.  It was an experience to see this museum, and I wish we had more time, as the artifacts were more than could be viewed in the little time we had.  An elderly volunteer, however, offered to take us up to another location of the museum, just to the top of the hill, and show us the flag captured with John Hunt Morgan, in spite of it being after-hours.  We were able to see that among many other things in that other part of the museum.



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The battle hot and heavy, I’m fighting for my home.
The Yanks have got Nashville, and the lead is falling down.
My mate Frank fires his musket, a ball takes me down.
And on this field I lay, wondering if tomorrow I'll be home.

A victory or defeat escapes my eyes and ears
For I am buried to keep the crows from feeding
Upon my flesh which finally stopped bleeding
And leaves my kin in tears.

But one day comes and I am dragged
to one corner of that field
Where with my mate Frank I lay
And rest through the years.

Time goes by and a Juniper grows
That forgotten may we not lay
Marked by a stone that all may see
That Frank and John fought and died
And now lay under the Juniper tree.

The Wilderness

150th Battle of the Wilderness

Spotsylvania, VA

May 3-4, 2014

The trip was long.

I set my tent in a tight corner by the Colonel's tent.  The Independent Guard had two of the their companies—the 50th Virginia and the 5th Kentucky—in attendance, and the 2nd Florida joined us.

The morning was early.  I woke to the 4 am sound of drums in the distance.  We wrestled up and all were strongly encouraged to participate in the tactical that would have us marching out at 5:30.

The march was long, but took us into the woods where, I was told, parts of the original Battle of the Wilderness was fought.

I had never been involved in a tactical of the scale that we had—I never saw all the reenactors involved.  In the woods, the fighting was different than I was used to.  I've done this on the small scale, with a few companies wandering around—but never with several full battalions, struggling to keep their lines as trees, creeks, and underbrush got in the way.

It became a battle of confusion—Yankees first coming at us from one direction, then another.  At one point, the 5th KY, established as the third and last company of the battalion, somehow got turned around and ended up on the right wing.  And first company—the 2nd FL—vanished as they pursue some Yankees deep into the woods.  The experience was of one of the best tacticals experienced.

The afternoon battle took us onto a field that would have been huge for the numbers we're used to, but for the numbers that were there, it was a bit small.  The field was perhaps 100 yards wide, and Confederate soldiers line the entire back end of the field.

The battle was relatively uneventful.  We pretty much lined up toe-to-toe against the Yankees and blasted away until they left the field.

Courtesy Roddell Durbin

The Sunday battle held more excitement.  We were to advance into the mule shoe of the Battle of the Wilderness, but in a bit of confusion, the ANV Division completely blocked the path for us and the battalion we were relieving—so we adjusted and took up positions in the trench beside the shoe.

We were able to adjust, but it put us into a part of the scenario that we weren't fully aware of the details of.  Originally the Yankees were to take the trenches where the battalion we relieved was located three times, with the third time pushing the battalion away to where the reserve battalion would push the Yankees back.

Instead, that Confederate battalion left early—probably because the Yankees were late in their first push, so we encountered the second and third overruns, which led to terrible confusion when the Yankees expected us to break, and we didn't.  There was a bit of an argument, but someone finally pointed out that now it was starting to look stupid—so we pulled back, and the battle promptly ended.


Overall, it was an enjoyable weekend.  Sometimes these fits of confusion add to the experience.

The Battle in Winter

150th Battle for Olustee

February 15-16, 2014

Sgt Jeff Carte, his wife Trish, and I packed together in our horseless SUV on our trek for reenactment during the worst part of winter.  The ground was white and the weather maps showed that the worst part of the latest storm would be gone in North Carolina just as we passed through.

All seemed good.  We made good time, leaving Thursday to take our time down and possibly enjoy some of the sights on the way.

Trouble with snow ahead

Unfortunately, when we reached Dobson, North Carolina, on I-77, we learned that the South is ill-equipped for dealing with a significant amount of snow.  The amount they got would have been challenging for Ohio, but we would just need to add a bit of time to our drive.  In North Carolina, forget it.  It was the apocalypse.  Six hours we sat, car shut off, waiting for traffic to move again.  As the hours passed, we remembered more and more of the story of Atlanta two weeks prior—where cars were trapped for 20 hours—or something like that.

Trish said, “Look at the bright side, at least we haven't had to wait as long as those in front of us.”

I responded that a couple of pennies out of a hundred dollars really doesn't make much of a difference.

But fortunately the National Guard arrived and somehow things cleared up.  We passed the piles of snow. Past snowmen on the side of the highway, built by children looking to pass the time.  Through the single lane of cleared highway.

We had planned to arrive at Olustee early Friday, but because of that delay we only managed to get there with just enough daylight to set our camp.  The sun and warmth of Florida gave us hope for a good weekend.  Temperatures reaching the 60s, and barely a cloud in the sky lifted our spirits from the winter depression.  I made sure to send a text picture to Capt Sharp of every palm tree I could find.

The park was away from everything.  The nearest town, Lake City, was a good fifteen minutes drive away.  We have all done so many town events that Trish momentarily mistook the brightness from the moon for a streetlight—hoping the park would turn it off before we went to bed.

There was no other light beside the moon, the campfires, and candlelight. The forest of pines and brightness of the moon made it difficult to see any stars.

At morning reveille we fell in for roll call, followed by getting bused off to Lake City for the parade, where they served breakfast while we waited for the start.  The walking of that parade was not a good start after having been away from activity since October.

We fell in with the 3rd Florida, Co A.  Capt Dennis Short has an interesting and effective method for recruiting for his company.  The 3rd Florida brought sixty rifles to the field, which is significant for any company, even if it is a national event.  What Capt Short does is to have special packages that he rents out with all the gear needed for the weekend.  This has the benefit of giving people a chance to try out the hobby without dumping any real expense up front.  The catch is that about a third of our company had never been in battle before—all fresh fish.  It was a different experience, and it made me miss the 1st Tennessee, which is made up primarily of veterans.

The Saturday battle was short the needed number of Yankees, so the entire 3rd Florida galvanized.  Sgt Carte had no Yankee gear, so had to borrow a kepi and coat.  Unfortunately there weren't any trousers to spare, so he went out with his white and blue pillow tickling cotton.

We marched out to the battlefield.  It was a long walk.  Several miles passed, and by the end of it I began to realize how bad my boots were.  The pain I felt left me barely able to walk.

Pushing through the pain, we pushed into battle.  At one point, the inexperience of the troops became an abundance of confusion.  The colonel ordered a change of fronts—whereby the battalion would basically turn ninety degrees to the right.  The maneuver calls for each company to perform a wheel.

Capt Short ordered, “Right half-wheel, MARCH”, and immediately Chaos Theory proved a reality.  Jeff and I, and a few others (including Capt John Fross of the 4th Texas, here as a private) were left behind while the rest of the company marched in random directions at varying paces.  The words I shouted were, “Hey, where is everyone going?”


As chaotic as it was, Capt Short did a good job of regaining control and getting us roughly where we needed to be.  I'm not sure many captains would have the patience he had in the situation.

We marched back to camp, with me hobbling the entire way, struggling to keep in step.  My feet were suffering—I had no choice but to replace my ill-fitting boots with a new pair.  My fortune was that a pair I had been eyeing at Rum Creek were still available.

At least Sunday had no parade.  My feet improved and the new boots making a definitive difference, I still hobbled my way around.  Morning held a memorial, with most of the morning free for breakfast.

When we formed up for the battle, this time in a proper gray, chants of “Sword” were heard.  The entire battalion chanted it until an old general came forward with a sword, marching down the entire length of the battalion as he held it up.

The story was that this general was at the 125th Gettysburg.  A Yankee tried to take his company's flag.  The general used the sword to punch that Yankee and protect the flag, and the story has become legend with these Confederates.  Apparently, they hold this ceremony with the sword every year.

The battle went well, but did not last long for me.  I took a hit about halfway.  With my feet they way they were, I kept my cap ration down, and went down when I ran out.

Back in camp the Cartes and I took a moment to relax to a pineapple while everyone else packed up.  Worn out, I think both Jeff and I realize we need to work out a bit more before the next event.  We both ached.

There was a bit of sadness at having to leave the sunshine and warmth of Florida into the grey and cold of the north.

Chickamudda and Camp Farbie

150th Commemoration, Battle of Chickamauga 

Chickamauga, GA 

September 19-21, 2013 

We arrived and set up camp on this farm located between Pigeon and Lookout Mountains south of the city of Chicamauga.  The views were spectacular.  We found the Pigeon Mountain Grill about twenty minutes away to eat our first night, on Thursday.

Unless Perryville last year was a Blue-Gray Alliance event, the 150th Chickamauga was the first Blue-Gray Alliance event I ever attended.  My expectations were high.  I heard that Blue-Gray Alliance events had extraordinary battle scenarios, and that authenticity was critical.  That if an event were a Blue-Gray Alliance event, you can count on having a spectacular experience.

I have never been so disappointed.

I had heard that the Blue-Gray Alliance has trouble with logistics--Porta-johns that don't get cleaned with no toilet paper, water running out, and other logistics issues.  These rumors proved true (except that firewood was in good supply, thanks to rain that prevented its consumption), but I always come prepared anyhow, so I wasn't concerned with these issues.  But I was looking forward to setting up camp in an area with other reenactors that held value in keeping the camp streets clear of farbisms, and battle scenarios that went beyond the everyday type I get at home in Ohio.

We fell in with the 5th Kentucky Co B out of Columbus, Ohio.  That level of clarification is important, because there were two other 5th Kentucky companies there in our battalion.  You see, the military organization level there was near non-existent.  Colonel Julian from the Independent Guard was there as well, falling in as the 5th KY's lieutenant, and so even though I was a private for the weekend, I was able to get a little insight as to the organizational capabilities for this event.  Colonel, er Lieutenant (titles in reenacting sometime get rather confusing) Julian found that basically by Friday of the event, nothing had been planned out.  The battle scenarios were still unknown.  He had hoped--as I had--that enough Independent Guard companies would attend so that we could stand as our own battalion.  But alas, that was not to be, so we chose to fall in elsewhere--though Julian was hoping something could be worked out whereby the Independent Guard could still go onto the field.

The 5th set up their camp in one long row.  I think Capt Steiner would have liked to have seen us forming our own street, but the ropes marking the tent rows marked the opposite side some 30-40 feet or so away, making putting our tents opposite each other in a street impractical, and basically merging our camp with three or four other companies.

This setup would not have been all that bad, except the line from one end of the 5th KY's camp to the other was quite long--perhaps over 100 feet.  And the intermingling of the other camps on the other side of the street, and at the end of the 5th KY's line, would have been acceptable had it not been that every single one of those camps were farbies--with modern coolers laying about, five gallon plastic jugs of water and plastic trash bags littering their camps, reenactors quickly switching to shorts and T-shirts after battle, etc.  The entire 5th KY had the only authentic camp in the midst of Camp Farbie.  When the lines filled and more space was needed, the battalion staff stuffed tents in the middle of the street, with one tent in line with the end of Capt Steiner's fly, directly across from the 5th KY.  And the soldier who set that tent up gets the title of Private Farbie, as he left several modern coolers laying about and many other modern gear, nearly to the quantity of all other camps combined, plus he had no idea how to set up a proper fly.  Imagine canvas stretched over four uprights, no ridge pole, tied down with nylon ropes.  When the rain came on Saturday, the fool looked as he were collecting water for the local reservoir as he sat mere inches below the bottom of

Camp Farbie with Private Farbie's fly conserving water.

the bulge in his fly, holding perhaps a hundred gallons of water.

Where were the company commanders, policing their camps to get the modernisms removed, or at least hidden?  It left me with a rather low impression of the Blue Gray Alliance.  I paid $20 and travelled seven hours to be here to commemorate the 150th anniversary of one of the bloodiest battles of the Civil War.  I expected something significant for my efforts.

But that is not the end of the story.

Thursday night did hold an all-night tactical, where those who participated would sleep on-arms and be provided rations.  We chose not to participate in this--and I'm sure those who were in the campaigner camp probably enjoyed this, but it was beyond what I really wanted to do.

But Friday held the first battle for the rest of us.  This one held some promise for me as no general public would be admitted, so this was a reenactor-only battle.  The general ordered us on a march, and his generous consideration realized that the heat of the day was putting quite the strain on his troops, so ordered us to march another half-mile up a steep hill to a nice shady zone in the woods of Pigeon Mountain.  Although the view was spectacular here, a number of the 5th KY decided that a shady location that avoided the March of Death was a much better choice and bivouacked at the bottom of the treacherous climb, to await the start of the battle, basically spitting distance for them, but a considerable tumble for the rest of us.

Once the battle began, the battalions took turns entering the fight.  Being southern gentlemen, it seemed only considerate to allow one battalion enter the fight, fire a few volleys (which made sounds reminiscent of a common theater snack--with exception of the 5th KY, whose volleys sounded like a single bang), then retreat to allow the next battalion in.  As the Yankees pushed through a narrow gap only large enough for one battalion, our commanders apparently thought it inconsiderate to flank them and force them back through that hole too quickly.  Although as the battle progressed, it became apparent that our battalion would soon be left out of the fight, so we marched down to a convenient trail through the woods and single file crossed to the other side onto a road, where in column of companies we could advance and watch the first company engage a volley or two while the rest of the Confederate forces pushed on through the gap.  We reformed the battalion and rejoined the rest of the Confederate forces as the Yankees continued to skedaddle, and took a nice breather since the fight was now beginning its second hour.  The commanders discussed amongst themselves for awhile to determine what they should do next as we watched the Yankee skedaddle continue to widen the gap between us and them.

Finally, however, word was given that we should re-engage the enemy.  We tramped, tramped, tramped through the empty cornfield toward what we thought were those Yankees, and as we got within range, began to fire volleys.  But then a few of us started to noticed something about that flag those distant forces were carrying.  It seemed to be missing a few stripes.  Apparently that banner we saw was not the Stars and Stripes.  It was the Stars and Bars.  I suppose it's easy to make that confusion.  We apologized to our southern comrades, and finally decided to retire for the night.

Back at camp the 5th KY discussed a review for the battle and came up with a grade of D minus.  Yeah, that kind of cluster is not even common at home.  But sure, it was the first battle, and the first battle always goes awry.

Saturday morning began with rain.  A lot of rain.  And then more rain.  And when we had enough of the rain, it rained some more.  And then, since it was still early in the day, and the rain seemed to be letting up just enough to get the campfire going, the rain decided to really let loose.

No, there was no breakfast that morning.  But I have no complaints--that is part of the experience.  Lunchtime came, and I scrounged together the last of my cold cuts and cheese, trying to stay dry under Jeff and Trish's fly, giving up completely on any attempt to get a fire going.

The rain finally ended  early Saturday afternoon, in time for us to form up and move out for the 4 pm battle.  The march was on flat ground, unlike the day before, but it was through mud--a lot of mud.  The road was covered in the ruts produced from the artillery driving the cannons off to the battlefield, and we wondered if there was hope in being able to get our vehicles back to our campsite on Sunday.  Trouncing through the mud for the Battle of Chickamudda, our Confederate uniforms became more uniform as the brown Georgia mud covered them.

On several maneuvers it became apparent to me that the 5th KY Co B was probably the best drilled company of the battalion.  It might hold true with the rest of the field, but it is difficult to compare outside your own battalion.  We did fight through rows of standing, ready-to-harvest field corn, and it added significantly to the experience.  There were no lulls, though it was the usual forward and back that most of us dread to see--and get back home all the time.  The stalks of corn just gave us better cover than elsewhere.  I suppose that if the scenario we were reenacting was like this, then all is good--I'm admittedly a little unfamiliar with the fighting of the Battle of Chickamauga.  The 5th KY agreed this was significantly better than the battle from the night before, ranking it around a "B".

Saturday also held a night battle, though most of us chose to opt-out of it, being that the battle area was rather vast and it would be easy to get lost in the fields.  But a few, including the 5th's first sergeant and a few others that had energy to spare.  They reported back an enjoyable experience, but a command structure of confusion.

Sunday came, and I was looking forward to ending the event and returning home after the many disappointments.  Other than the numbers and the spectacular scenery, there really wasn't anything here we could not have found back in Ohio. And it was wearing, with everything a mile walk.  It was a mile to the sutlers and a mile to the battlefield.  This is not something I am complaining about, other than it is wearing.  Sure, there was some kind of shuttle service to the sutlers, something like one an hour, but its schedule was not convenient.  The Sunday battle came, and we trudged through the muddy roads, glad to see a grader clearing the mud for the vehicles.

Sunday battle was worse the Friday's.  The fighting itself, when it occurred, was acceptable, pretty much the forward-and-back we came to expect.  But there were lots of time spent waiting on commanders to figure something out.  The best way to describe the Sunday battle is as follows:  march-march-march, shoot, shoot, forward, back, march-march-march, wait-wait-wait, march-march-march, shoot, shoot, forward, back.  It was kind of like a dance by a couple of lame pigeons.  We'd fight a little, march a lot, wait a lot, march some more, then fight a little.  At one point, we were within range of the Yankees, on their flank, perfect position to completely crush them (although it would have completely blown the scenario), and instead of engaging, we were given the command, "Rest"--all within perfect viewing of the spectators--well I suppose it was perfect viewing if you had a good set of binoculars.  The whole thing was pretty far from them--I'm not sure how much they would have enjoyed it since we must have looked like little lines of ants blowing smoke at each other.  At another break, while waiting on the commanders again--and watching the Yankees stand around just as bored as us, one of the 5th finally got fed up and started shouting, "DO SOMETHING!"  Finally, against orders, members of the 5th KY just starting popping rounds off.  I was about to do the same (does it really make sense for us just stand and look at each other, admiring each other's uniforms?) when we were finally marched at the flank up to a nice conveniently flat spot to cross the road.

Well, after the battle, we were all interested in getting home, so a grade wasn't discussed, but I'm sure it ranks about how Friday's battle went.

With the event over, I'm glad it is, and I'm left wondering, "So what's so special about the Blue-Gray Alliance events?"

Link to article: http://www.timesfreepress.com/news/2013/sep/21/live-updates-battle-chickamauga-re-enactment/

Rain and the Battlefield

150th Commemoration, Battle of Buffington Island

Portland, OH

July 20-21, 2013

Our camp, with us preparing to drill. Courtesy Martin Unrue.

Friday night arrival through torrential downpours revealed an empty park where the event was held.  We set up camp in a back corner.

Buffington Island is Ohio’s only Civil War battlefield, and this was to be the 150th commemoration.  Unfortunately, there seemed a lack of interest among reenactors.  There were two small groups of Federals, one of the units was members of the 76th OVI.  The total Federals matched our numbers of about 12.

It seemed sad to me, as I had heard of spectacular event some years back for Buffington Island, and for the fact that this was the 150th commemoration of the only battle in Ohio.  But I looked forward to the time with my friends.

Awakened by Reveille.  Photo courtesy Martin Unrue  

Saturday held a basic ceremony, and we provided a firing salute with the Yankees.  We had planned to perhaps have a small skirmish with the Yankees.  But unfortunately, the weather did not cooperate.  At first the winds whipped up, where the Yankees decided to pack up, followed by torrential rains.  We kept semi-dry underneath Kletzli’s fly.

That evening, Capt Sharp took us through some safety issues and training to fix some of the issues encountered at Gettysburg.

Sunday wasn’t much better for rain—most of the morning brought a soaking experience.  But we did get a good breakfast from the coordinators. Once the rain finally cleared, we went through the manual of arms.  A small crowd gathered, so we switch to a bit of drill, segueing to skirmish drill, firing as we advanced.  At one point, we neared the sutlers’ tents, and one of the sutlers popped a few rounds at us through the tent flaps.

It was a slow weekend, but we enjoyed each other’s company.

Book about Morgan's Raid

The Best and Worst of Times, Part 4

GAC 150th Commemoration, Battle of Gettysburg

Gettysburg, PA

July 3-7, 2013

Day 6: The Charge: Deploy the Belgians!

Courtesy J.R. Sharp

The last day of the event was a quiet morning.  We had all day with nothing to do be pack up and rest.  The battle was not until 3 pm.  At seven in the morning, we had a photo shoot for the brigade, but it was optional.  We had just enough of the Independent Guard represented to acknowledge that we were there—the battalion staff and a handful of the 50th VA to carry the colors.  Just before taking the wagons to the photo shoot at the battleground, I was talking with the colonel, and in mid-sentence, I started losing my voice.  It was as if I were entering puberty—it cracked and creaked.  From that point on for the rest of the day, I had trouble being heard.  I was able to make it through the battle by forcing my voice, sounding angry as I pushed by vocal cords beyond their limits.  Capt Sharp nearly went into shock when I shouted at him to get his attention—he thought I was about to rip him apart for something, when I was just trying to push past the laryngitis to be heard.

As I’m sure many units experienced, many of the units of the Independent Guard Battalion had visitors fall in with them.  The 1st Tennessee had a couple of guys try to fall in as they were forming up for the Pickett’s Charge battle, and that is a bad idea.  Most units worth their salt with eject reenactors that fall-in without warning.  The general rule of thumb is that if you don’t drill with a unit, you don’t play with that unit.  I caught one of those guys trying to fall in, asked Capt Sharp if he recognized the guy, and pulled him out, sending him to any other unit down the line.  I’m not sure if he found a unit, but I doubt it.  The reason for this is safety concerns—there was no time to drill the guy to see if he was even capable, and his weapon could not be inspected.  All of us reenactors have heard nightmares of some yahoo sneaking into the ranks with a musket with a live round, shooting someone for real on the field.  The entire IG staff stands behind its companies to support this philosophy.

But we did have a number of reenactors contact us ahead of time to arrange to fall in with us.  The 5th KY had someone as far away as Denmark.  I suspect the 50th VA had a few, along with the 10th TN.  The 1st TN had a guy from Utah, along with three from Belgium.

The Belgians were quite the experience. Back in Belgium, they did ACW reenacting, along with Renaissance period reenacting.  It was a bit humorous to imagine the two combined, so the joke became that we’d just send the Belgians after them.  “Deploy the Belgians!” became the catch-phrase.

For Pickett’s Charge, most units were not supposed to go over the wall—only Armistead’s brigades went over in history.  But two special companies were formed with select members from each company to go over the wall.  There were enough open spots that the 1st Tennessee selected the three Belgians to go, as an honor to them.

The Army of Northern Virginia (ANV) division—First Division—at the top of the hill was in charge of those companies.  During the morning, someone came around and said that the company had to be formed immediately for drill—if they did not drill, they would not be going over the wall.  All of us in the battalion staff were a bit perturbed we were not informed there would be drill earlier.  Having drill made sense, but not informing anyone ahead of time did not.  It seemed rather suspicious—like perhaps there was intent to leave out any non-ANV reenactors.

We did manage to get the word around about drill, and the Belgians rushed up the hill.  They told us later that drill was a bit goofy, with commands that included “Check shoelaces”.  Their opinion was that there was a bit of a lack of skill there.  The Belgians agreed that our group was better.

The day overall was pretty slow—many packed their gear up.  A lot of reenactors from other units across the field broke the rules and brought their cars in to pack up—we were only allowed to bring cars in after the afternoon battle started, yet it seemed more than three quarters of the camps had at least one vehicle parked in it by noon.  The 1st TN obeyed the rules, and I believe the other units of the IG also did, though I made no note of it.  It did mess up our experience a bit, but at least we obeyed the rules.

We marched out for the battle, waiting in the sun for the moment to start at the edge of the battlefield.  A couple of generals stood with General Julian—I didn’t know who they were, but one must have had a wireless telegraph communication with General Pickett as he talked into a device he held to his ear within site of the spectators, oblivious to the Yankee entrenchment forming at the wall in the distance.

We began our march, halting to fire once, then marching in echelon in columns of two across a bridge over the semi-dry creek.  Once across, we reformed the battalion and fired some more at the Yankees on the wall.  The 1st TN all went down quickly, leaving us with parts of three companies. We advanced further to the split-rail fence and we struggled with that fence.  Some of us tried to push it over, but its posts were buried too deep, so we had to pull the rails out of their supports.  I climbed over to see if I could help others over, but at this point, we were in total chaos.  The 5th KY advanced to the right, while the 50th VA advanced to the left, leaving me in the middle all alone.  I took a hit like I was shot with a machine gun and landed on my tin cup, pretty much destroying it.  It’ll make a good prop on my haversack, but I’ll never be drinking out of it again.  I thought I might as well look like a good severely wounded soldier and started dragging myself with my sword to the rear, leaving my right leg limp.

The battle ended and I followed the sergeant-major back to camp.  The rest of the 1st Tennessee pretty much walked straight to their cars and headed off.  About a third of the way back, it started raining for the first time all week.  It seemed it was saving up for this moment, because it was not just a light drizzle—it was a torrent.  By the time I arrived in camp, I was drenched to the bone, pouring a puddle of water off the rim of my hat.

Joe shared my tent all week, and we had originally planned to stay the night there, but decided we might do better finding a hotel instead.  While I waited for a break in the rain, we talked with the Belgians, who were going to camp overnight to leave in the morning.  The Belgians told us that the unit they fell in with was prohibited from going over the wall since they did not get to drill—perhaps my suspicions were correct?  I reported this to Colonel Clark.  I’m sure the report got up the command chain from there, but I don’t know what will come of it. The Belgians did say that the unit that made it over the wall shouted something on the order of, “We are the elite!!”  Sounds like they were a company of children.

At the first break in the rain, I sloshed to my car and brought it back to camp, pretty much tossing everything in, not worrying about anything but being able to shut my truck.  Everything was soaked, and all would have to come out when I got home to dry out.  Joe and I led the Belgians and Dancing Dave to York PA where the rest of the crew had a hotel room.  We all trucked out to a restaurant called “Smokey Bones” and enjoyed a rather entertaining night with those Belgians.

J.R. was kind enough to let Joe and I use their shower before dinner, but Joe had left his brogans in the room when we went to eat, so we had to return to their hotel to retrieve them, while everyone else waited at the restaurant.  When we arrived at the hotel, Joe pulled out that Civil War plaque he had obtained from that guy in Gettysburg that let us take a shortcut through his yard for the Pickett’s Charge on the Battleground park.  A devious idea crossed his mind, and he took the plaque up to the hotel room with him, leaving it under J.R.’s pillow as he retrieved his brogans.

On our return to Gettysburg to get to our own hotel, we got a text from J.R.

That plaque now hangs in J.R.’s wall.

Day 7: Antietam/Sharpsburg

It was now Monday.  The GAC Gettysburg 150th Commemoration was now over, and an eight hour drive waited for us.  But the Antietam (or Sharpsburg, if you are die-hard Confederate) Battlefield was only about an hour drive away, and Joe had more than one area of Civil War battlefield expertise, so offered the Belgians, Dancing Dave, and I a tour of the battlefield of the bloodiest day in American history.

I actually found this tour more interesting than the tour of the Gettysburg battlefield, though I’m not sure if it was because Sharpsburg was only a one day battle, or because of the overall simplicity of the tour (only taking three hours) over Gettysburg (which took several days).  We covered the three main parts of the battle, starting with the Cornfield, proceeding through the Sunken Road, and ending at Burnsides Bridge.   I studied the land and could imagine the soldiers in the fight.  As I examined that steep hill with two rifle pits high up, from where the Confederates defended Burnsides Bridge, I imagined the rain of lead the Yankees encountered as they tried many times to take that bridge.

Conclusion

The GAC Gettysburg was definitely an event to remember.  I enjoyed myself thoroughly.  But it was Quinn who said, “I think I like the smaller events better.”  Our fun at Gettysburg came more from the camaraderie of friends spending time together, than from the action of the battles.  Those battles had their place, but they didn’t have the thrill we find at the smaller events, where it might be just our battalion, maybe one more, and anything can happen (and usually does), in spite of the planned scenario. With an event the size of Gettysburg, we are locked into our specific place, the scenario must closely follow the history (even though it still gets blown)—so it’s more of a disappointment when plans go awry, as the battle for us is more for the history.  At the smaller events, it’s just a basic, typical skirmish, so the history that is laid at a particular battle is irrelevant, plus we have the camaraderie of each other.

Basic video of the last day: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=k60yVvO6MgY
Videos of Pickett's Charge:
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=S7_LzBFAIps

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A0GbLJGW6BI

http://usiavideo.smugmug.com/CivilWarReenactments-4/150th-Gettysburg-Videos/30502995_GGrcwv#!i=2630838666&k=5mfK9NC&lb=1&s=A

News articles:
http://www.nbcphiladelphia.com/news/local/At-Gettysburg-150-Sides-Still-Being-Taken-214283411.html
http://www.npr.org/2013/07/03/198388728/gettysburg-swells-as-throngs-mark-civil-wars-turning-point

Courtesy Matt Rourke, Associated Press

The Best and Worst of Times, Part 3

GAC 150th Commemoration, The Battle of Gettysburg

Gettysburg, PA

July 3-7, 2013

Day 5: Bivouacked

Saturday arrived, and we had already fulfilled a normal reenactment, but we were only halfway through this one.

I again fried up my bacon and eggs—I brought a lot of bacon and eggs with me—and enjoyed a quiet morning.

One thing I had failed to mention was that the first day we had a bugler in our brigade echoing the commands of General Julian. Unfortunately, though it seemed like a cool idea, there were certain inherent problems with this concept. The first being that none of us knew any of the bugle calls. It was therefore nothing but some mood music while we battled. The second problem was that since we were 2nd battalion of a three battalion brigade, the general and the bugler were stationed immediately behind us. So, the general would give his command, with the bugler blaring in our ears, and there was some difficulty in hearing the voice commands. It would have been great if we had some idea what the bugle calls were. Several respectfully requested at the next officer’s meeting if the bugler could find a better place to shove his horn.

So, for the morning battle, we had no mood music. But we had to wait in the sun by the grandstands for about an hour before the battle began. I wish I knew what the delay was—but at least there was a water buffalo nearby, and I kept suggesting to the captains to keep the canteens all full. Even I, with two canteens, had to refill one of mine. That is one thing I learned about nationals—two canteens are better than one. Through every battle I finished off one and got about halfway through the second.

When the battle finally started, we advanced onto the field away from the grandstand. We did not move far from that location, but we pushed forward against what seemed insurmountable odds. I don’t really know where the other Confederate brigades were, but they had to be somewhere—though I did hear the entire ANV division decided to rest for the morning. I guess that left us to fend off the Yankee hoards.

We were toe-to-toe with the Yankees, and a dismounted cavalry unit in front of us extended their lines, extending around our flank. Capt Sharp expressed concerns they were beginning to surround us, so I told him to go ahead and extend his line as well, as he refused our flank—we couldn’t have the Yankees surround us. Our other flank was in no better shape—we lost our left wing and were refusing that flank as well with the little we had left.

Somehow, we pulled through the battle, but it seems we had unknowing help from another of our battalions—they were situated so that the Yankees were caught in a crossfire, coming up behind the Yankees before us. It wasn't until the end of the battle that we could even see the other battalion.

Resting between battles.  Courtesy J.R. Sharp

The 1st Tennessee was the worse for wear at the end of this battle. Twice there were shots fired by privates in unsafe positions in the chaos, getting pvt Jared Springer’s eardrum blown own and Joe Bellas ear rung. Joe sat out the evening battle to recover, but Jared had to be taken to the hospital for examination. Jared seems to come through okay, but was pretty much done for the rest of the weekend, only able to watch from the sidelines.

Having learned about how wearing the march back to camp was, the battalion decided to bivouac on the battlefield in a nice shady area. This saved us—I don’t think any of us could have participated in the evening battle had we not rested in the shade. A water buffalo was handy in that shade, allowing us to keep well hydrated. We were going to have to leave the area once the Yankees started forming up on the battlefield, as we were at the location the

Courtesy J.R. Sharp

Yankees were to start. But we still had several hours, and it gave a chance for a few to visit the sutlers.

There was a bit of sucking up to General Julian, as Bob Mergle of the 5th KY retrieved the general’s favorite treat of Hawaiian Ice, and Jim Kletzli of the 1st TN gave him sips of Peach Schnapps. I couldn’t tell you who won out there—it was tough competition. I think one of them came up with an idea of Peach Schnapps Hawaiian Ice as the ultimate treat for the general.

We enjoyed watching some live mortar fire. It was interesting to watch, particularly from our perspective, as the mortars were being fired in our direction. Fortunately, the mortars fell short by several hundred yards. But the last shot apparently had a special charge added and landed a earth-rumbling blast about a hundred yards from our location.

(Video of live mortar shot: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=OE6VN29iQ7M)

As we waited, we saw the ANV division march through, fresh from their long morning rest. We soon followed them to the staging area where we would begin the fight for the afternoon battle.

(Video of ANV arrival: http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HnQBi5FiQTE)

It was a fight that I feel left a bit of a sour taste. We marched until we were out of site of one set of grandstands, all the way back to the woods where we had bivouacked. We seemed to advance a bit close to the Yankees that had entrenched in the woods, but all the Confederate brigades had them in matched lines. The whole battle just seemed a bit “off”. Once we reached that close location, the Yankees in front of us ceased firing and stood at attention. The 1st TN waited for some company fire and all took hits. We pulled back and stood and waited. At some point, someone told me that some Yankees were throwing vulgar and obscene insults at us. One Confederate from another battalion ran up to the Yankees, running up and down their lines throwing insults back at them.

I kept expecting the bugler to blow taps to indicate the end of the battle, but it never came. As we stood, us not firing, they not firing, I lost my adrenaline. Not long after I took a hit and just stayed out—I was spent, and the battle really wasn’t fun anymore, anyhow.

Next time: Day 6: The Charge--Deploy the Belgians!

The Best and Worst of Times, Part 2

GAC 150th Commemoration, Battle of Gettysburg

Gettysburg, PA

July 3-7, 2013

Day 2: The Tour

Joe Bellas giving the tour.  Courtesy Cookie Owens 

Most of the rest of the 1st Tennessee arrived around 3 am Wednesday morning, renting a hotel room for a couple of the wives to stay at, but crashing there until they could come and pitch a shebang on the campgrounds.  I was delighted to learn just how knowledgeable Joe Bellas was about the Battle of Gettysburg.  It turns out that he is a high school history teacher with a focus on the Civil War.  He even told me that he passed the National Park Service exam for becoming a tour guide of the battlefield, but simply did not get the certificate as it would require him to give paid tours, which would require him to be away from home for extended periods.  He took the company around the battleground of Gettysburg and gave us the stories of the battle.  It was a personal tour better than we could have ever gotten from anyone else.  We spent the morning and most of the afternoon touring the battlefield, covering only the first day of the battle.

Shortly before 3 pm we headed over to the field where Pickett’s charge occurred.  Since today was the 3rd of July, 3 pm was 150 years to the minute from when General Pickett started his charge.  If you know your history, you might be saying, “But 2 pm was when the charge started.”  Yes, that is true, but Daylight Savings time had not been invented 150 years ago, so technically when we were stepping off to start the charge when our watches said it was 3, it was really 2 according to the way the Civil War period tracked time.

We parked our cars for heading over to the charge on a residential street.  The owner of the house where we parked came out and met us.  He was a friendly gentleman, happy to see us.  He directed us to a shortcut to the field through his backyard into the woods.  That shortcut saved just enough time for us to get to the start just in time, but it was still a mile from our cars.

We had hoped to march independently, just our unit.  But the park service would not allow us to do that.  We had to march with one of the groups forming up.  We found off to one side of the field and formed up to the left of another Confederate unit that formed there, with a brigade in front of us. The march began and that other unit and us marched in formation, with many in modern clothes following along.  We approached several fence rows with openings, and J.R. maneuvered us behind the rest of the battalion to get us through the opening, then back into position at the left of the battalion.

(Video of the march, thanks to Cookie Owens: https://www.facebook.com/photo.php?v=10201404623743724)

The march continued without stopping, nearly the full mile length, getting ever closer to the rock wall the Yankees defended 150 years ago.  We halted about thirty yards from the wall, about the distance the furthest the regiment of Confederates would have reached from this position.

Courtesy Jared Springer

J.R. said he could not have gone further.  It was a long march, and it was a long return.  We stopped at the Tennessee monument to get pictures, then return the rest of the mile back to our cars. We hiked through those woods behind that gentleman’s home, putting in a total of about four miles on our off day.


Trish Carte was thirsty, so Joe Bellas asked the gentleman for a glass of water for her.  Joe talked with that gentleman for awhile, and before we knew it, the gentleman had gone into his house and returned with a Civil War wall plaque with both Confederate and Yankee flags, and presented it to Joe.  It was quite a surprise.

By this time it was getting late, so we ate at another branch of the Appalachian Brewery, returning to camp for the night.

The 1st inspected their muskets, and I gave them mine to inspect.  Because of a number of visitors we had that were falling in with us for the weekend, we loaned out five muskets, mine included.  It was a good thing I had mine inspected, as it failed.  It turned out both the tumbler and sear spring had gone bad.

Day 3: The Event Starts

Courtesy J.R. Sharp

The second morning began with bacon and eggs and four cups in one of my coffee.  We had morning meetings.  We formed for parade, performed weapons inspection, then proceeded on a long march to the field of the first battle.  The scenario called for us to win (1st day struggle, Willoughby Run), but the Yankee forces were tough.  We advanced to the creek, but we kept losing our numbers, while the Yankee Kevlar was impenetrable.  I don’t think a single Yankee fell, and we were quickly dropping in numbers.  In the distance, we could see the Yankee camps, and we watched as an entire Yankee brigade marched from the camps to the field.  We were in trouble, no chance of success.  1st company (the 1st Tennessee) broke, running to cover in the rear.  2nd company (5th Kentucky) was gone.  I have no idea what happened to 4th company (10th Tennessee).  Only a handful of the 50th Virginia (3rd company) remained.  I ordered 3rd company to a single rank to widen our line.  Captain Sharp of 1st company managed to get a few of his men back, but requested of Brigadier General Julian that the battalion retreat.  However, General Julian said, “Why should we retreat?  They’re falling back.”

Sure enough, the Yankees, still full in numbers, were falling back.  The battle was soon over, our victory assured.

Yeah, sometimes the scenario has a mind of its own.

The march back was exhausting.  Just as long, but now uphill.  I crashed back at camp, stripping down to my shirt and cooled off as best as I could.  Most of the 1st TN were too beat to return to the evening battle, so chose to instead get more touring of the Gettysburg Battlefield, with Joe Bellas as their guide.

Like most companies at Gettysburg, we had a number of visitors fall in with us for the weekend, including three from Belgium.  The Belgians decided to stay behind to fall in with the 5th KY for the evening battle.  I also stayed for the evening battle.

We marched to the field for the evening battle. The length of the march was far longer than the morning battle—it was probably as far as we could have marched and still be in Adams County PA.

We stacked arms, and as the scheduled time to start, we took arms and waited.  The we open ordered and ground arms and waited some more.  The we took arms, then rest.  Wait and wait and wait.  Finally, a tractor came with a tank of water, so I ordered the captains to send details to refill canteens.  Probably an hour after the scheduled time, we finally started the march into battle.  I found out later the reason for the long wait was that the ANV battalion had arrived over an hour before the start of the battle and used up all their water.  They refused to start the battle until they were resupplied with water.

But anyway, we marched out and quickly encountered resistance.  Across the entire field, heading toward the grandstand where the spectators sat, we pushed the Yankees.  The company directly in front of us was always the last to fall back, causing our battalion to always be behind the other battalions and brigades as we advanced.  That company made a final retreat, faced us, and then stood at attention.  As we continued to fire upon them, a Yankee brigade marched in columns of four in front of that Yankee company, proceeding off the field back to their camps.

I guess it was time to go to bed or something.  Maybe that delay at the beginning got them tired of playing.

Video of evening battle

Weird day.

Anyway, I made it back to camp and crashed again.  After I cooled off, I threw an ear of corn on the fire and a can of Chef Boy-R-D ravioli into my skillet.  It was a good feast.

Day 4: Indigo Messes with the Head

Bacon and eggs again for breakfast.  I was well supplied.  I must have been the best fed soldier in the battalion.

Fortunately, we only had an evening battle, so I spent the morning with the 1st TN perusing through the sutlers.  There was quite a large number of them, but we quickly blasted through them.  I think we all have started to reach the point that we feel like we have seen all that could be bought and have all that we need.

I stopped at James Country where I had Trish Carte and Lindsay Sharp deliver my musket yesterday for repair while I was in battle.

James Country really took care of Christine.  The repair cost was reasonable.  I had thought that the problem was only the sear spring, but he also found a problem with the tumbler and replaced it.  He also suggested I replaced the main spring.

The evening battle was interesting.  The brigade came onto the field and we quickly were faced with a Yankee brigade.  To the left of our brigade was another Confederate brigade.

Courtesy J.R. Sharp

While we fought, I watched while a Yankee battalion pushed that brigade to our left back.  And it kept pushing.  Before I knew it, that Yankee battalion was beside us.  General Julian expressed concerns that it would flank us, but it was apparently completely focused on that brigade in front of them.  They kept going.

I started wondering what they were thinking.  It must have been another case of the Indigo dye messing with the Yankees’ brains.  Before long, third battalion of our brigade (the battalion to our immediate left) took advantage of the situation and slide in behind the Yankee battalion, putting them in a crossfire.  Third battalion proceeded to shoot the Yankees in the back, but that Kevlar just held strong.  After awhile the third battalion figured out that the Yankees had no idea they were being hit from behind, so marched to the Yankee’s flank and fired hard to penetrate that Kevlar.

In the meantime, we were shooting toe-to-toe at the Yankees in front of us.  With third battalion preoccupied, our numbers were a little thin, but we were okay so long as first battalion was to our right.  They are too our right, yes?  Where did they go?  For some reason, first battalion decided to retreat. Okay, now we had a problem.

We were left hanging in the middle of nowhere, fully exposed to a brigade of Yankees. General Julian told me something, and I somehow got it all wrong. While General Julian went back to that battalion to get them, I ran in front of our battalion and ordered them forward.  I only brought them about five feet forward, but I know I freaked out just about everyone.  I really don’t know why I thought that was a good idea, because I looked at all those Yankees and suddenly realized just how bad a situation we were in.  I think I’ll chalk that up to confusion and insanity.  All that indigo dye in front of us must have messed with my head.

Well, dinner held more ravioli and corn.  I think I must be about the only soldier to have gained weight that week.

Video of Friday evening battle (the "Wheatfield")


Next time: Day 5: Bivouacked

The Best and Worst of Times, Part 1

GAC 150th Commemoration, Battle of Gettysburg

Gettysburg, PA

July 3-7, 2013

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times, it was the age of wisdom, it was the age of foolishness, it was the epoch of belief, it was the epoch of incredulity…”

That quote from Dicken’s A Tale of Two Cities gives a good description of my opinion of the Gettysburg Anniversary Committee’s (GAC) Gettysburg reenactment.  I qualify this as the GAC Gettysburg, since there were two of them, the other put on by the Blue-Gray Alliance (BGA) the week before.  I missed that one, so I only know how it went based on rumors that got to me.

The GAC Gettysburg had its moments, both good and bad.

Day 1: The Trip and Setup

The event started early for me.  Tuesday morning July 2, I drove with Joe Bellas as my passenger through the mountains of Maryland to reach Gettysburg.  It was a beautiful drive, along with avoiding toll roads.  Upon arriving at registration after the seven and a half hour drive, we bought a couple of souvenirs, then headed to the campsite.

We took our time setting up camp—the event did not start until Thursday the 4th, so we were going to take it easy.  Things were going well, everything as smooth as could be, but then I realized I did not have my car key on me.  Somehow, I must have dropped it.  Joe and I looked everywhere for it, combing through grass.  I had taken it off my key chain to put my other keys away, and that turned out to be my demise.  Colonel Duane Clark (normally our Lt. Colonel) and most of the rest of the battalion staff had already set up their camp and came down to help.  It must have taken us two hours of searching, while I continued to unpack my car in the hopes of finding it dropped in my gear.

Finally, at the point of giving up, I phoned the local dealership to see what it would take to get a replacement key.  Discouragement came upon me when I hung up as I realized it could pretty much ruin my week—requiring my car to be towed in, along with the costs of replacements.  But despair almost immediately turned to joy as the Colonel reached under the chair I was sitting in, and asked while pulling out an object, “Is this your key?”

I have no idea how we could have missed it.  It was as if it had latched itself to the backside of my trousers or something—but there it was.  I gave the Colonel a good bear hug and thanked him tremendously.  Lt John Porter, the battalion’s adjutant, got some string for me, and for the remainder of the week, that key was either around my neck, or in one of my boxes under my cot.

Joe and I ate supper with Dancing Dave Rothert a local restaurant called The Appalachian Brewery.  It was a good, hefty meal, not far from the campgrounds.

Back in camp I was looking forward to a good week.  I had been brevetted to Lt Colonel for the event, and I hoped I could meet the challenge.

Next time: Day 2: The Tour

The Wall

Fredericksburg, VA

December 8, 2012

The last event of the season finally arrived and I began my long trek to Fredericksburg, Virginia crammed into a Ford Explorer with three other guys and their gear.  I joined Quinn Marcotte, Charles Russ, with Butch Foster in his SUV.

It was a long 11-hour trip with Butch arguing with my GPS about the way we should go.  The lady in the box was determined to always get even with us whenever we tried to veer off her planned path, always leading us back to her route.

It probably would have been a shorter trip if we had simply given in to the shrew.

We camped at Slaughter Pen Farm, which was the actual battleground where Jackson had his front lines.  That night we met with the colonel of our battalion, and Capt Steiner of the 5th KY (the unit we fell in with) requested we be deployed as skirmishers in the town of Fredericksburg as the Yankee invaders crossed the Rappahannock.  He had the experience of doing this for the 145th, and hoped we could do it again.  The colonel agreed to the request.

But in the morning the battalion sergeant major informed us we would be the color guard since we were a small unit (seven rifles plus the captain) and appeared to have the only flag.  With reluctance, we conceded, and Butch took the flag as the first bearer, the plan being that we would rotate around so all could have the opportunity to shoot.

Butch appeared near depression as he trudged with us into formation to mark the line for the battalion, carrying the 5th’s St Andrew’s Cross.  However, as we waited, another battalion officer came to us with a request.  He told us that a North Carolina unit requested the honor of being the color guard, to allow their flag the history of being in all the 150s.  Butch could not contain himself as he handed the flag to Quinn.  “Here, hold this,” he said as he charged off with the determination of a tiger seeking its prey, nearly trampling another battalion in the process.  He was after his rifle, and we had to holler after him to take the flag with him to return it to its cradle by the captain’s tent.

And it got even better when we were told we would be deployed as skirmishers after all.

It took two buses to transport our entire battalion over to the staging site near where we would confront the Yankees.  For awhile we had lost the colors in transport, but they managed to find their way to the battalion formation.

The colonel found a local resident willing to donate his small yard enclosed with a short stone wall as our defensive position.  Located directly across the street from the landing for the pontoon bridge, we were in a prime configuration for harassing the Yankees.

We were instructed that we were to die at that location.  So after harassing the Yankees as first a platoon landed from a pontoon boat, we started making ourselves easy targets.  But the Yankees must have been marching with horse blinders as they only aimed at the Yankee battalions in front of them up the hill beside us and down the street in front of us.  I put a few double-loads in hoping to make enough noise to attract their attention.  We were at the point that just one Yankee shooting in our direction would have experienced a miracle ricochet that would take out all four of us in that little alcove.

Capt Steiner, beside me, even started shouting orders to the Yankees.  “Fire to your oblique!” he shouted.

But nothing seem to work.  Capt Steiner kept mumbling, “How did they ever win the war?”  Imagine if this was for real—our little platoon had a total of nine rifles (two had fallen in with us looking for a home), and we were being completely ignored.  We could have probably succeeded in taking out more than an entire battalion.

We were finally overrun when a Yankee commander and a couple of other Yankees started chasing that other Confederate battalion up the hill beside us.  I think we caught that Yankee completely by surprise—he had been oblivious to our presence until he had practically stumbled upon us.  Capt Steiner started to pull out his sword and hollered, “SHOOT US!”

That Yankee was something better left out of print.  He was furious with us, shouting to us to not to shoot and being as threatening as he could have, never mind that if has been real, he would now be contributing donations of lead to future Yankees.  What could we do?  At that point we basically hid in that corner as the Yank stumbled on like something out of the Three Stooges and ignored us—no pickets to guard his prisoners or anything to cover for the scenario screw-up he caused.

All was well, however.  After the Yankees moved on, we regrouped and joined our battalion up the street behind the fighting.  We watched from behind as Rebel sharpshooters took potshots at the Yankee battalion, making each step a struggle for those Yankees.  As they moved on we shared lunch from food we stored in our haversacks.

Some of us were noticeable short on water in our canteens.  I had plenty in the half-gallon water buffalo I keep at my side, but others were not so fortunate.  Water could only be had by foraging for water facets about the nearby buildings.

Our battalion reformed and marched up to Marye’s Heights.  It seemed rather quiet, so someone—I believe it was Capt Steiner—asked me to lead us in “Bonnie Blue Flag”.  It was an honor that gave me a thrill to sing that song in remembrance of all those soldiers that lost their lives 150 years ago.  After finishing, the fifer played a few ditties, then returned to Bonnie Blue Flag, where I started up again.  The hike went about a mile up hill to Marye’s Heights, where we stacked arms and waited for the concluding battle.

We had plenty of time, so Quinn and I wandered to the visitors’ center and the original wall where the Yankees met their doom.  Not much remained of that original wall, but a sobering moment passed through me as I stood behind it and imaged a sea of blue falling against the wall of singing lead from the dragon breath that spewed forth from men defending their homes.  Or the awe and terror the Yankees must have felt facing that stonewall where an invincible wall of gray stood fast.

Back where we were to fight, which was at the end of the Sunken Road, a painted plywood wall was set up in a one acre plot to represent the stonewall.  The field felt cramped with our four Confederate battalions preparing to face the four Yankee battalions on a field barely large enough for a single battalion. They lined the gray backs four deep against that wall.  We worked the rifles, the front man passing his empty rifle back while the rear man loaded powder, the next up priming, and the second from the front trading muskets around.  Not long in, the field had such a fog of smoke we could barely see the blue as the planked the ground with their coats.

And we had forgotten the artillery battery parked up the hill, perhaps 30 yards behind us.  As we blazed away, a cannon blasted over our heads.  The hill sloped well enough to keep us well below the danger zone, but that concussion was sudden and severe.  At that point Quinn expressed his gratitude for having brown trousers, while Charles Russ, in his Irish accent, said, “I think I peed a little.”

The smoke was thick.  The muskets fired so quickly as to produce the steady rumble of machinery.  Men fell within five yards of the wall, yet were difficult to see through the cloud.  The battle ended when the Angel of Marye’s Heights scenario was reenacted.

Weather was amazing for December.  I had feared that it would be cold and wet—even snowing, like what those men experienced 150 years ago.  But the balmy air held in the sixties.  When we marched that mile march from the river to the heights, I found myself sweating.

Although I was well stocked with water, numerous others had issues with the water supply.  Once we were in the town we were completely on our own for water and latrine facilities, which was a problem since we had little break between the nine a.m. battle and the two p.m. battle.  But for me, the only real issue of the event was the wait for the buses to return us to camp.  The original trip into town did not take overly long as it was well planned with sufficient busses.  But returning to camp took a wait of nearly an hour as only two school busses traded loads.

However, overall it was spectacular.  Perryville was better, but there is much history here, and it was unique.

The trip back proved as long as the trip out, and having to listen to the single CD of Irish music that Charles Russ had purchased for the entire trip seemed to extend it even more.  I think it replayed around eleven times—we nearly memorized every song when we finally dropped Chuck off.

I enjoyed the time with these men and the 5th KY—we had become a band of brothers.  I look forward to more events with them, but the season is now over.  My next event is not until March with Hurricane—my addiction to wool will send withdrawal symptoms into overdrive.








Links:

Fredericksburg.com news desk.

http://news.fredericksburg.com/newsdesk/2012/12/09/fredericksburg-a-city-plundered/

http://news.fredericksburg.com/newsdesk/2012/12/06/irish-will-have-a-role-in-battle-weekend/

Examiner

http://www.examiner.com/article/this-week-the-civil-war-the-battle-of-fredericksburg

Washington Post

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/battle-of-fredericksburg-re-enacted-commemorate-150th-anniversary/2012/12/08/0b524d52-417e-11e2-a2d9-822f58ac9fd5_video.html

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/civil-war-battle-rages-again-in-streets-of-fredericksburg/2012/12/08/382e3e84-3fea-11e2-a2d9-822f58ac9fd5_story.html

Photos

http://www.washingtonpost.com/local/the-battle-of-fredericksburg-at-150/2012/12/08/11e26ca2-4182-11e2-bca3-aadc9b7e29c5_gallery.html#photo=1

Youtube

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Z5BG3tUJyso&feature=share

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3SS-9wIGXA4

http://www.facebook.com/photo.php?fbid=10151140088120841&set=a.10151140067495841.434244.52585440840&type=1&ref=nf

http://www.facebook.com/dckinsella/photos_stream

Civil War Trust

http://www.facebook.com/media/set/?set=a.10151278889673851.487778.21813808850&type=1

Virginia Guard Public Affairs:

http://www.flickr.com/photos/vaguardpao/8254962957/in/photostream/ (oops--guess the bridge is a little short)

Event Site:

http://fredericksburg150.org/