Back in the Spring

Well, I've tried to publish something every month--even if just one small thing--but this time I'm out of ideas.  Nothing is going on concerning Civil War Reenacting at this time.  So, for now, I'm going on hiatus.  We'll see in you the spring...

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/

Guyandotte and Weenie Dogs

Guyandotte WV 2012

November 3-4, 2012

Sgt Mergle getting carried off the battlefield.  He was dropped four times.
photo courtesy Toril Lavender For The Herald-Dispatch

Cpl Carte and I arrived early on Friday at Guyandotte WV to get settled in and kick back for the rest of the day.  It was around 2 when we pulled up next to the usual spot where the 5th KY set up.

With Capt Steiner and his men nowhere to be found, we just figured we were the first of the group to arrive.  But in our usual spot, another group had marked out a campsite, laying out canvas and poles to mark where the tents would go.  The real kicker was the flag--there seemed to be an awful lot of stripes on that furled flag--like somewhere around thirteen.  Confederate flags do not have that many stripes--only the first national has any stripes at all, and they stop at three stripes.

Something did not seem right.

Well, we went ahead and registered and asked them where the 5th Kentucky camp should set up, pointing out that the usual spot appeared taken.  The coordinator in charge of Confederate camping took us out to the regular spot, and suggested a vacant lot on the other side of the house.

Seemed fine, but there was still that thing about that flag of many stripes.  Pretty soon, Jonesey of the 5th KY showed up as well, and suggested we wait for the Captain.  As I was not keen on the idea of relocating after unloading, I was completely agreeable to this recommendation.

In the mean time, I noticed I had lost my heal plate to one of my brogans.  The plate was there at some point during our hike about the village, so it had to have fallen off somewhere nearby.  Cpl Carte assisted my retracing my steps, taking a different route than I in our excursion, and fortunately came across Capt Steiner pulling into the center village square to set up camp.

Capt Steiner had been in contact with the Confederate commander and was instructed that the camping locations were switched this year--the Yankee camp was where Confederate camp was last year, while the Confederate camp was where the Yankees had camped.  Or something like that.  There was a severe absence of significant coats of blue, and one Yankee infantry camp set up close behind us.

It was also a bit disconcerting that the coordinators seemed to have a bit of a communication problem--after all, had Cpl Carte and I set camp in that vacant lot, we would have been camped with a part of the Yankee contingent.

Capt Steiner expressed his concerns for the event.  The area, though in the heart of Huntington (Guyandotte had long since been annexed into the city of Huntington), nearly all businesses in the area were closed down.  The nearest restaurant was probably over a mile away--although the two bars (one being the VFW), were certainly within easy access.

Another bad sign was the tailless black cat that crossed our path as we marched out to the Saturday battle.

The fight was not much more that a short advance and fire street fight.  The colonel was putting on a show, but it was Capt Steiner that was really running the battle.  There were a few Yankees there I knew--one normally a Confederate (James Sturkler), but chose to galvanize to help with the numbers.  The 5th KY was the main Confederate force, and pretty much the only Confederate company as rebel numbers were down as well.

At one point during the evening, several of the 5th KY and I discussed Perryville.  Since I had taken a hit before the end of the Sunday battle at Perryville, I was unaware of how battle progressed near the end, but once the Independent Guard Battalion reached the last road, I was told there was a company of federals waving us on, to get us to push them across the road and up the hill beyond, and both the 5th KY and those federals were confused as to why we never crossed the road.  It had never occurred to me that the message simply had not been passed down the chain of command--at the battle walk-through that morning, we were very clearly made to understand that the road marked the end of the battle--under no condition were we to cross that road.  Only the companies that had rehearsed hand-to-hand were to cross the road.

Back in Guyandotte--the organizers did provide a decent breakfast and lunch both days, but no supper, so Capt Steiner’s men all headed out to a place called “Hillbilly Hot Dogs” about five miles down the road, while Cpl Carte and I watched camp, sharing in some of his homemade chili.  Capt Steiner gave such a good report of the place (particularly since he never stopped singing the “Weenie Song”), we stopped there on the way out after the event, but I think Cpl Carte and I had a better meal.

I almost always enjoy myself at an event, and Guyandotte was no exception, but I feel bad for the place--it does seem to have declined a lot in the past few years, and I am concerned it may not last much longer.  We can only wait and see.

Photo Gallery at the Herald-Dispatch, Huntington WV

Fallen Friend

October 27, 2012

One of our beloved comrades in arms suffered a heart attack.  Last week, Gary Shaw, former 1st Sergeant of the 1st Tennessee Company B, was admitted to Mount Carmel East in Columbus, Ohio.  A few of us visited him after the Ohio Leadership Conference.  He is doing fine, and is expected to return home on Tuesday.

I personally owe a lot to him.  If it were not for him, I am uncertain that I would be in this hobby today.

Our prayers are for him.

The Stump

Monroe OH

October 20-21, 2012

When I arrived at Monroe, I camped near the same place as the year before.  Sgt Nyman arrived about the same time as I and since we were the only ones of the 1st Tennessee to be camping, we chose a spot a little up the hill, where we could use an old tree stump as our campfire.  Only Pvt Quinn Marcotte and Pvt Jay Uilhein of the 9th Kentucky were there at the time, so we hoped more of the 9th would show up Saturday morning to give us a unit to fall in with. Pvt Kletzli lives close, so he chose to sleep in the warmth of his home.  Pvt Steve Battishill made an annual appearance both days for the battle, along with Pvt Jason Foust for Sunday’s battle.  Shawn Swart also showed up Sunday in a civilian suit of the period, bringing his wheelchair-bound wife along to enjoy the day with us.  Most of the 9th chose to come in later, with the 1st Sergeant making it just in time for the battle both days.  It did seem strange that most of the 9th Kentucky guys only came for the short time between drill and the battle, but they are entitled to run their company their way.

Wood seemed to be a bit of a problem.  There was plenty of it, but most were the diameter of telephone poles.  Still, with sticks from some piles and use of some of the smaller logs, we were able to get enough of a fire to meet our needs.  But I had a challenge to get that tree stump burned up.

Saturday went through, the weather was good, but the reenactor attendance was a bit light.  In the battle we pushed constantly forward, facing the Red Leg Yankees and a small Yankee infantry unit, and eventually we won the battle.  Their turn came Sunday.

The evening meal was provided by the same caterer as the year before, and was just as good with pork and potatoes.

That evening the event held candlelight tours through the park, with stations set up for presentations.  They asked for volunteers to play dead in the cold field while waiting for tours to go through.  Quinn volunteered and returned with a report of scaring a guy senseless as he jumped into the arms of his girlfriend when Quinn suddenly raised up and said, “Help me,” while grabbing the guy’s ankle. Quinn also spent time talking with some of the Red Legs, and said they seemed a good bunch of guys.

Sunday's battle had us being pushed back.  At one point, only one of the Red Leg Yankees was still standing, and we fired a company volley--and he did not go down.  I guess we all fired a bit high. Later, both Pvt Marcotte and Pvt Swart ran off the field as deserters.  Marcotte got his due when half the company turned and fired their muskets at him.  I cried out, "Hey--we've got Yankees in front of us!"  I guess they wanted to make sure Quinn was dead.

The weekend was light and there was not much to report, but it was a relaxing and enjoyable weekend.  And I did succeed in burning up that tree stump.

Gone with the Windy Shiloh of Indiana

Hartford City IN

October 13-14, 2012

Hartford City was always one of my largest events every year, and I had probably attended that last six years there.

But going there just a week after Perryville seemed anti-climatic.  None of the 1^st Tennessee joined me to continue recovering from the onslaught experienced at Perryville (or perhaps they are just not quite as addicted to wool as I am).

I took the time to get to know members of the 19^th Virginia and 50^th Virginia better.  The 33^rd Virginia and 44^th Tennessee were also there, but camped a bit further off. 

Somehow we were outnumbered by the Yankees, which was unusual for this area, but we were lacking two regular companies, the 1^st Tennessee and the 5^th Kentucky.

The theme for the weekend was Shiloh, so all battles—two on Saturday, and one on Sunday—were representative of skirmishes from that battle.

The battalion came out at the start of the morning battle overrunning the temporary Yankee camp set up for the scenario.  The camp was a bit odd—one dog tent with one wood chair, and a bunch of blankets and bed rolls. All the blankets and bed rolls were our own—the Yankees only donated the one dog and chair for the scenario.  I guess it made it look better when we confiscated the blankets and returned to camp.

At the afternoon battle we had a bit of a strange addition.  One dandy in a lieutenant’s uniform came up with a mountain man and claimed to be scouts—that the would be there as observers.   I had seen the guy before on rare occasion and did not really have much to think about him.  The colonel approved them as observers thinking they would not cause much trouble, but when the mountain man began pouring powder straight from his powder horn down the Hawken he was carrying, the Lt Colonel stepped up and put an immediate stop to it. 

As a side, a general rule of thumb is that if you don’t drill with a company, you don’t play in the battle with the company.  We are playing with explosives, and people get injured at these things.  Injuries occur even when the best safety practices are followed. 

So a number of safety issues were suddenly thrown at us—a guy we didn’t know was going to fire a weapon amongst us, he was not part of any of the companies, and he was pouring straight from a powder horn (the scariest part of all).

That dandy tried to defend the mountain man.  After the Lt Col had his say and left, the dandy kept talking back to me, since he was on my wing.  The whole issue was brought to the colonel’s attention and he backed the Lt Col, so when the dandy spoke to me and asked in arrogance, “And just who does he think he is?!” I simply responded, “He’s the overall Confederate commander—and his word goes.”  That put a stop to the whole mess.  The dandy left the event in a huff after the battle.  Good riddance.  This hobby does not need that kind.

A solid pattering of rain hit about the time for supper and continued for a few hours.  But the weather warmed significantly from the night before.  I spent most of the rest of my evening trading stories with the colonel and his wife.

Winds whipped up in the morning.  It helped with getting a good roaring fire going for breakfast, but as the day progressed, so did the strength of the winds.

The battle was scheduled for 2 pm, but after flies started demonstrating bird-like behavior, many started packing up.  There was a thread of a storm, and most wanted to get packed up while they could still drop dry canvas.

I lost another corner to my tent.  I had just sewn the second lost corner Friday after losing it at Perryville, so now I have another repair before my next event.  With the loss of that corner and fearing of losing my entire tent, I finally gave into the peer pressure and broke my camp, cramming everything in rush into my car.  This left only the colonel’s tent standing, but even he lost part of his fly by end of the battle.  It was strange and eerie to see all tents gone, with a battle yet to come.  Many sutlers also packed up early.  The sun was out for the battle, though.

The battle went okay—by the end of it, the battalion had lost all officers, captains and NCOs.  Only a few privates were left carrying the wind-whipped flag, commanded by the guy who does General Pickett, and I’m not sure he’s ever done this kind of thing before.

The weekend good, and I got to greet with some of my friends of 4^th OVI I hadn’t seen in awhile. I said my goodbyes to the battalion staff and many from the companies, as this was the last battalion event until next year.  But the season is not over for me—there are still three more events.

The First National

Perryville Battle, 150th Commemoration

Perryville KY

I grew up in Ohio, and my idea of seafood was something from Red Lobster.  It was something passable for supper, but stank fishy.

But then I visited Barcelona, Spain, and had fish fresh from the Mediterranean.  I realized Ohio does not have seafood—it only serves spoiled fish.  Seafood can actually taste good.

Courtesy David Stephenson of the Lexington Herald-Leader

A national event was an experience that has escaped me until now, so when I arrive at Perryville, Kentucky, I was not sure what to expect.  But after this weekend I realized I had not really experienced a reenactment before—the thrill in contrast to what I had been attending was that much different.

Since this weekend was a battalion event, so I held my new rank of major.  Studying up on the rank’s duties, I realized that since our adjutant was not able to come, his duties fell to me—and of all times to fulfill extra duties, this was the one weekend with the most work.

I drove down in the midst of a seven-car caravan of the 1st Tennessee, setting up camp in the “mixed” camp (as opposed to the “military” camp).  The mixed camp was the 1st Tennessee’s choice so that many of their wives could join us.

After setup, I hunted down colonel, locating him in military camp on the other side of a hill, half a mile away.  That half-mile is no exaggeration.  The Confederate commander had measured the distance—0.62 miles if you took the easy, winding road, or .45 miles if you took the shortcut that took you up a steep hill of which even a mule would be leery. It was a long ten-minute walk.  That first Friday evening alone I had to make the trip about four times—once after locating him, once after the brigade officers meeting, once to get all the adjutant’s (my duty, remember) company and battalion forms I had forgotten in mixed camp for the battalion officers meeting, and once more when the colonel of mixed camp informed me battle was moved from 7 am to 8 am, to confirm with Colonel Julian. I believe by the end of the weekend I made a total of eight round-trips.

I already experienced the level of activity of an entire weekend, and the weekend had not even started.  I drained my sixty-four ounce canteen plus in all that walking on that first evening.

In addition to Lt. Porter unable to attend to fulfill the adjutant’s position, Lt Col Clark was also unable to attend, so Colonel Julian brevetted Ben Cwyana of the 12th South Carolina to fulfill this role. Cwyana was the one who filled the role of major for the Saturday battle at Jackson, Michigan.  Since I had never served with him before, I was not sure what to expect.  I had no issue with not being brevetted myself since I have not had the opportunity to prove myself as major.

Saturday morning, and my first duty, as battalion adjutant, was to deliver the morning reports—in military camp.  A half-mile hike, up a long, steep hill, to Independent Guard headquarters to consolidate the reports from the mixed-camp units of the 1st Tennessee Company B and the 9th Kentucky Company D with the military camp units of the 12th South Carolina and the 5th Kentucky Company B.  Then a return hike to Confederate headquarters to deliver the reports.  There was no point of returning to mixed camp at this point—the battle started in under an hour.  I marched out with the military camp units to the rendezvous point on the battlefield.

In a sense, I wish the battle started at the original earlier hour.  I had heard that fog always fills the hills for the morning battle that adds to the ambiance of the weekend.  There was no fog, but to watch two full brigades populated by five battalions was an experience I have not been privy to before.  The battlefield was large—perhaps among the largest I had seen at an event—but did not appear anything out of the ordinary.  But it was on the grounds of the original battle that the event was reenacting.  However, after seeing what I thought was the entire field for our battle, I came under the impression that the grounds we were using to fight on were a scaled-down version of the actual thing.

In preparation for this weekend I studied various battle maps ahead of time.  I learned that the battle front of Maney’s Brigade fell on the same location where the 1st Tennessee was camped.  There were many details of the battle I did not know, but I did know that the space filled by both the original armies was vast.  I had not realized that the morning battle only gave us a taste of things to come, as we ended it just before we crested the hill at the end of that field.

After the battle we held morning parade.  I misplaced my little cheat sheet of the commands the adjutant was to call, so went from memory, only missing the final “Present, arms”.  Capt Sharp later told me that I rattled off the commands way too fast, threatening to put me on Riddlin, thinking I was nervous.  I was not nervous—I do not get nervous—that speed was just the adrenalin rush I was feeling from the excitement of the weekend. Or maybe it was just the coffee.

After parade, the park presented us with the flags we used for the morning battle.  The concept appeared as strange to us as it sounds reading it.

The flags used for the battles were all authentic reproductions of the actual battle flags.  When Capt Sharp heard that the park was going to give us the flags to use, he was concerned that they would be cheap nylon and polyester farbie banners that would embarrass us on the field, so offered to use the 1st Tennessee’s banner, which was a careful reproduction Polk-pattern flag.  However, when he saw there was practically no difference between the 1st Tennessee’s flag and the flag presented by the park, he was at ease.  The only thing he could find wrong with the park’s flag was the lack of seams in particular places.

The second battle started halfway up the hill about where morning battle ended.  I had a bit of confusion about this start point and expected the battle to be short; there did not seem anywhere we could go once we reached the top of that hill.

Courtesy David Stephenson of the Lexington Herald-Leader

But when we got to the top of the hill, the field continued on.  We went down the hill and up another.  The field turned to the right.  Up yet another hill, and it turned to the right.  Up another hill and it continued on.  Up another hill and it turned to the left.  In all, that battlefield must have been at least a mile long.  It had to have taken half an hour to return to camp, as we stopped occasionally in shade to take a break.

At one point near the end, we were taking severe casualties, and Capt Sharp tried to get his men to take hits.  He ordered Jackson Nyman to take a hit, but the private was oblivious.  Capt Sharp repeated his command, then resorted threatening to pistol-whip him if he did not take a hit.  I am not sure what went on in Pvt Nyman’s head—he seemed confused by what Capt Sharp wanted.  Finally, someone told Pvt Nyman to lie down—so he turned around and carefully laid down.  It took all I had to keep my composure and not roll on the ground with laughter.

I was probably the only casualty in that battle from friendly fire.  During the confusion, my wing took massive casualties, and I lost track of who was still standing.  While I worked to orient myself in front, the battle line suddenly leveled muskets to fire, one musket firing unsafely close to me, leaving a bit of ringing in my ears and peppering my face with some residue.   It was a bit of my fault for not paying closer attention to the situation, but it did give me a scare.  I went down to call it a day for me—but let the sergeant who got me know that I was all right—he was pretty shaken up himself from the incident.

That evening, the ladies of the 1st Tennessee made an enjoyable pot roast.  I am sure the soldiers of the Civil War did not eat as well as we did.

Sunday morning came around and I again delivered the morning reports.  At Confederate headquarters, I informed him this was my first time at Perryville.  He told me it was his first as well.  When I told him it was my first national, he commented that he could not tell.  I took that comment with pride that I was succeeding in my duties as major and adjutant.

The battalion commanders all met later that morning for the battle walk-through.  This battle was a little more involved than Saturdays—we were to fight on the opposite side of the park, north of the mixed camp, ending through the same cornfield noted in the original battle.  Due to this year’s drought, the cornfield was more of a field of tall weeds.

As I joined the meeting, I watched a drill between one Confederate battalion and one Yankee battalion, with the confederates charging and entering into hand-to-hand combat—I knew something was planned for battle.

The battle was quite the thrill.  For the infantry, it started ahead of the artillery pieces as we crossed a fence, cramped in against the other four battalions.  The plan was that we could take casualties on the approach to the Federal artillery, and then I would take them up as “walking wounded” and rejoin battalion.  But I think all the men had their dander going as no one took any hits until much later (or they did not believe I would bring them up to rejoin).  As we went up the hill to the artillery, the right wing started a double-quick charge after the signal that guns done. I took the cue and ordered my wing to double-quick.

At the top, the artillery changed uniforms and turned the guns—and we advanced down the hill toward the cornfield

Courtesy Erik Weisgerber

The original 1st Tennessee Company B had almost no survivors through that cornfield, and the Independent Guard Battalion was representing the 1st Tennessee Regiment for this battle.  At the point of entering the cornfield, we had taken no casualties yet.  In honor of that original 1st Tennessee, the modern 1st Tennessee Company B planned to all become casualties in the cornfield.  As we advanced, I was completely hidden by the tall weeds, so I raised my sword to be seen.  As we progressed, I could see the weeds starting to clear, so I took my hit—anyone watching would have seen the sword just suddenly disappear.  I turned on my back to watch for the advancing battalion—I did not want them to step on me. A rabbit wandered by, but ran off as I drew my sword to capture some lunch.

I wandered as a walking wounded back to the rally point Capt Sharp set for our return. I marched back with them to the museum to return the flag.

It was an exciting weekend—and I am ready for more.  Like this Ohioan experiencing fresh seafood for the first time, I feel as if I had experienced the elephant for the first time.

This event does end the season for the 1st Tennessee, but not for me.  I still have a few months left to my season.

1st Tennessee Company B

Video of start of final battle.
Final battle--part 2
Final battle Part 3
Final Battle part 4
Final Battle part 5
Final Battle--through the cornfield

Battle
Battle
Artillery Fire