How to Become a Reenactor Part 3

It was a sunny day in September, sometime around 2003 or 2004.

My wife outfitted me in some borrowed clothes to make me look like I belonged to the 1860s--or at least make me think I looked like I belonged to the 1860s.  I wore a borrowed bowler, a borrowed civilian coat falling apart at the seams, my modern dress pants and modern shoes.

Yeah--I hadn't yet learned about the term, "Farbie".   I was wearing an outfit I wouldn't be caught dead in today.

We went to Pioneer Village, Caesar's Creek in Waynesville Ohio, only about an hour from home, where, according to my wife, they were holding a Civil War reenactment.  As we pulled up, we saw a sign charging $5 per car, so drove down the street and parked in an out-of-the-way location and slipped in the back entrance.

We wandered around a bit, looking over the old pioneer-style homes.  Eventually we wandered into a row of tents that looked much like the Rev War tents I was used to seeing.  A guy in all dark blue and bars on his shoulder came out of a tent and started talking to us a bit about the Civil War.  He was Shawn Farkus, captain of the 4th Ohio Company B.

It didn't take long before he asked me, "Hey, you wanna join us for the battle?"

Black powder, musket--my response was, "Uh, okay..."

He was able to scrounge together some sky-blue trousers and a coat.  He sold me on the acceptability of my bowler, and slipped some tarred gaiters around my ankles to hide the modern shoes.  He handed me a musket and went through some basic drills.

From that weekend, my wife and I did other Civil War events along with our Revolutionary War reenacting, falling in with the 4th OVI.  Some time the following year Capt Shawn Farkus disappeared off the face of the earth, with Vern Woodruff taking his place.  I found myself liking Civil War better than Rev War, probably because there seemed little for a civilian male reenactor to do--so if my wife was to have me join her to the Civil War reenacting, it required me to join as a soldier.  In my Rev War reenacting, I primarily did civilian reenacting--and I always felt a bit out of place.

The following summer my wife and I found ourselves downtown Columbus, Ohio for their annual Independence Day celebration, and ran into a Confederate reenacting group--the 1st Tennessee Co B.

They were there for the parade, and had rented a hotel room in the short north.  My wife--knowing no stranger--managed to get an invite back to their hotel room, and I tagged along.

Now, it hadn't really sunk in with me yet that the uniform color really only mattered (in general) on the battlefield.  Out of view of the public, a reenactor (in general) is just someone else in the hobby.  I got to that hotel room, feeling a bit awkward.  Do I tell these guys that I wear blue?  Are they just waiting to gang up on me?

The hotel room was packed.  In one corner I found a small group playing cards.  I found out they were playing Euchre.

That changed everything.

In high school, Euchre was a required course--they called it "Study Hall".  I played a lot of Euchre.  But since getting married I didn't have anyone to play.  So when I saw that game in that hotel room, I couldn't help but ask if I could join in while my wife wandered the room, making sure there were no strangers there.

We continued with both Civil War and Rev War reenacting for several years, falling in sometimes with the 4th OVI, and sometimes with the 1st TN, depending on the event and who we ran into first. My wife gave me a Federal uniform for Christmas, and the 1st TN's 1st Sergeant outfitted me with Confederate gear.  I still had to borrow a musket, but I was joining in.

Eventually, my wife started following a different direction than me, pursuing a 1st person experience with a specific character, while I stuck to the soldier experience.  Up to this point we always drove home Saturday night to return late Sunday morning, or stayed in a hotel if too far from home.  We started doing different events, and I was freed camp with the rest of the unit.

By now, this was 2009 or so.  I hadn't yet decided to dedicate to a particular unit.  At Reynoldsburg that year, I showed up with my Federal gear and camped with the 4th Ohio.  It was a one-day event at that time, where Sunday was to have a morning tactical, then end.  I discovered the 1st Tennessee was there, so on Friday night, in my Federal gear, I made my way to the 1st TN camp to play Euchre all night long.

I spent Saturday with the 4th OVI, but that night the younger crowd of the 4th ran off to the local pub--something I wasn't into--while the older folk took to bed early.  That left me with no choice but to wander back to the 1st TN camp and play more Euchre.

Needless to say, it was that event that sold me to the 1st Tennessee--and things haven't been the same since.

Am I a slave to a deck of cards?  It's funny--that first year after that we played Euchre every chance we had.  This past year, we played maybe three games the entire season.

Since that time both the 4th OVI and 1st Tennessee have changed into completely different units.  Had the 4th been what I have found them to be today, I probably would have stayed with them all those years ago.  But because of the directions that were taken, I am now a part of bringing both these units together to work together in the field.

The only constant is change.

Next time--tips to get into the hobby, and recruiting tips for units. 

How to Become a Reenactor Part 2

Everything written here are my sole opinions and observations and do not represent the opinions or observations of anyone else or any organization

Before reenacting, my life was average--even dull.  I was raised United Methodist, attended a private Christian school, majored in journalism for two years at a Christian college in Kentucky, graduated with a bachelor's in business from Ohio University, and began a career as a computer programmer.

I had a cursory interest in history.  My eyes were on science fiction--the typical geekish interests of a computer nerd like myself.

Average and dull.

I was introverted.  I made few friends.  Never talked much--unless it was about Star Trek or something sci-fi.  I gained few friends through my church.

Average and dull.

And then one day, my wife made a discovery.

It was a bit before 9/11, around 2000.  My wife and her mom came home from a run.  There was a terrifying excitement on my wife's face.  She saw something cool and wanted me to join her.  West Liberty, Ohio, had some kind of festival going on where everyone was wearing clothing from the Revolutionary War time period.

You don't argue with my wife.  I agreed to go up with her to this festival--it was something to do and kept me out of chores, anyhow.  How bad could it be?

It certainly seemed strange.  There were men dressed as Native Americans, wearing nothing more than a wool covering around their waste.  Lots of tricorn hats.  I remember a lot of them.  There was an archer showing off his hand-carved bow and shooting at a target.  Campfires everywhere.

I felt very out of place.

"It is only this one time," I kept telling myself.  "It'll end soon, and we can go home, never to remember this day again."

But then, we found the dancers.  I hated dancing.

It was okay to watch.  The moves reminded me of that day of square dancing I had in my gym class in high school.  There were a couple of cute girls in the mix as they danced in circles up and down the row.  A live band that included a fiddle and dulcimer played for the dancers.

It would soon pass, I hoped, and we could move on.

That is, until the dancers opened up the next dance to the crowd.  My wife insisted we join in.

I felt very out of place.

It was a simple dance--one called "Jefferson's Reel".  To simplify the teaching, each of the dancers partnered with one of the crowd, so that all I had to do was follow my partner.  I got one of the cute dancers.  They had us count with our partners as one's and two's, then our group of four took hands, and proceeded to learn the dance, walking through the steps as the dance master taught them to us.

I felt so out of place.

We went over it again, and then danced to music.

Afterward, my wife, who has never met a stranger, talked with the dance master and a few of the others.  They called themselves "The Liberty Dancers" and met every Thursday in Yellow Springs--and invited us to join them.  And since it was only a thirty minute drive for us--

At this point my wife and I were only into our fourth year or so of marriage.   I had not yet figured out that when my wife tries something--it is all the way.  She doesn't just dip her toes in to test the waters--she dives in, and it's sink or swim.

This was July.  By Labor Day, we were ready to perform for the public.  There was this big Revolutionary War festival that weekend in Springfield, Ohio.  The Faire at New Boston.

And just my luck, it was only twenty minutes from home.

Since we had absolutely no clothing relating to the Revolutionary War of our own at the time (it had all been out of fashion for about two hundred years), we were able to borrow everything.  We were able to get everything we needed, though my shoes were some beat-up modern things.  I was given a pale blue wescot, a hat blank with the sides sewn up to make a tricorn, and white trousers.  I found a pair of infantry trousers that went to the ankle to avoid the knee britches.

I felt more out of place than ever.  What had I gotten myself into?

It didn’t help that all the Liberty Dancers were very liberal in their modern political thinking, but I should have expected that when Yellow Springs was their base.  I learned it was pointless discussing elections and politics with them—I felt as if they thought Jimmy Carter was a good president.  Yes—I’m very conservative with my political views.

I later met others who were more normal thinking in the political views, but they were also the weirder ones in Revolutionary War reenacting.

The Faire at New Boston opened with a parade, where all reenactors in their 18th century getup meandered around the tent city.

There were a lot of odd creations there.  One guy was carrying around a rat, face dirtied up, missing teeth, and a huge sore on the side of his face.  He was the rat catcher—uh, but wait, I recognized him as one of the Liberty Dancers.

Oh, this was interesting.  What had I gotten myself into?

In one corner of the fair was this flamboyant Frenchman.  He wore a frilly, formal suit, a large white curly wig, and white makeup on his face.  Had it not been that he was portraying a Frenchman of 1800, I would have thought him gay.  He was making lace and demonstrating to the crowds how lace was made, but he had a whole spiel about how he normally had indentured servants to do his work, but since he didn’t have one he had to do it himself.  He tried to recruit a few kids for their assistance, promising something like a penny a month pay.  He also had an extreme arrogance about him—to the point of absurdity.

Having met this man outside of reenacting I can tell you that this is only one of his many acts.  He performs the acts in first person such that you believe he believes that he is that character.  He performs with humor and is very entertaining.  But he has a certain advantage—he is as eccentric as the characters he portrays.  He is very entertaining to be around, whether he is portraying a character or portraying himself.  You should see his son—he has snapped mousetraps on his tongue for the Discovery Channel.

Oh my, what had I gotten myself into?

Since the Liberty Dancers only had two or three half-hour shows to perform, my wife and I had a lot of time to wander around.  There were several tents of vendors selling wares, which were interesting, but kind of like wandering a flea market.  There were the strange acts that felt like you were watching the sideshow at a circus.

At the end of the day, they served all the reenactors a meal of ham and beans.  It was good stuff.  We hung out with the reenactors until after nightfall.  There were a couple of concession tents that served beer and lemonade throughout the day, but now just served beer.  And lots of beer.  The reenactors seemed to have had no tab to worry with.

Why were we here, anyhow?  They at least had lemonade when I asked for it, and there was no odd bite to the throat.  But I felt so out of place.  Can we go home now?  This proved one of the hazards of being married to someone who never knew a stranger.  Everyone at all times was her best friend—it was difficult to pull my wife away, even though neither of us drank.

We drove home, and returned the next day to start all over again.

When the event was over on Sunday, we followed a number of reenactors to a corner of the park, where the ham and beans had been served all day long.  I wondered what could possibly be so fascinating in this corner.

It started with the need to empty the left-over beer. It ended with the need to get rid of the left-over waxed boxes the supplies came in.  There was a campfire.  That pretty much says it all.

There is a tree in that corner, with a branch that extends over the campfire where the ham and beans are cooked over all day long.  It is probably thirty feet off the ground.  It has long been charred black from the annual box-burning ceremony.  I wonder if by now it has disintegrated to pure ash.

What had I gotten myself into?

There were a couple of small Rev War reenactments we attended that had battles, and I don’t remember the particulars, other than it was again at George Rogers Clark Park.  In fact, every single Rev War reenactment we went to was at George Rogers Clark Park in Springfield.

But it was at these events that had battles that I got my first taste blackpowder—and that started down a road of addiction that led me to where I am now.

I think it was my wife that pushed me into talking with some of the militia about the idea of trying things out.  It was before the battle and I had to borrow a musket, rounds, and a cartridge box.  They took me through the paces to show me how to handle the Kentucky rifle (I hadn’t even handled a modern gun before), and load it by tearing the round, pouring a little in the flashpan, and the rest down the muzzle.

Then they had me fire it.

Oh, that was sweet.  I was hooked.  Ah, the smell of blackpowder.  The nuzzling of the butt against my shoulder, lightly kicking from the fire. The smoke lingering in the air.  Oh sweet musket, where had you been all my life?

That event was just a small one with about a dozen or so militia.  I learned some of the basic commands and maneuvers.  But it was the 225th Battle of Peckuwa, at George Rogers Clark Park in Springfield that gave me a real taste of what reenacting can be like.

For that battle, I borrowed a beautiful Kentucky Rifle from the head park ranger, who also was the commander of the 6-pounder brass Napoleon cannon used for the fight.  Somehow I would up on the side of the British--which in this battle involved mainly Native American Shawnee against the American Regulars.

Someone helped to smear war paint all over my face and cover my hair with a cloth to hide the fact that I wasn't Shawnee.  And with a breach cloth and large shirt, I followed the rest of the band into the woods where we waited for the battle to start.  A group of kids were given wooden muskets to add to our numbers, instructed to stay at the far end of the battlefield so as to hide the fake muskets.

I hadn't yet learned about keeping water out of the muzzle of my musket, and when a light drizzle moistened the air, my borrowed rifle became sabotaged.

We formed up in a cornfield that was grown just for this event.  As the Americans approached, firing their cannon, then pushing it forward to fire again, we fired from within the corn--that is, except for me who could do nothing more than create a nice flash in the pan with the flintlock.

We were pushed back, and the cannon was pushed through the cornfield, and I fought my musket constantly, trying to get it to fire.  In the middle of the fight, the rains picked up.  Well, that's a bit of an understatement.  Rather, Lake Erie decided to up and relocate over our heads, dropping down such that there was more water than air falling around us.  This pretty much put a halt to our attempts to shoot.  As we took refuge  in the little wooden fort, that cannon fired the remainder of its rounds, with pyrotechnics creating little craters around the fort to simulate the cannon hits.

Eventually the rains let up and we were able to go back to firing back at our enemy, falling back into the woods to conclude the battle.  There were a couple of "Rendezvousers" with us.  I learned those are guys that are a bit different than reenactors--the best explanation I can come up with is that the big difference are that they do their things for themselves as opposed to doing it for public, like reenactors do.  They do more live-shoot competitions, collect antique-style weapons, and hang out together in mountain-man style outfits.  I could always tell when the Rendezvousers shot, because they formed our artillery response, shooting with perhaps three times the blackpowder the rest of us used.

I found, though, that there was a bit of difference between Revolutionary War reenactors and Civil War Reenactors.  When I discovered the Civil War, I discovered something more my style.

To be continued...

How to Become a Reenactor Part 1

Everything written here are my sole opinions and observations and do not represent the opinions or observations of anyone else or any organization

With the reenacting season now over, I thought it a good idea to find something to keep this blog going for the off-season.  Here and there I've been asked the question, "How do I become a reenactor?"


I've thought about answering the question with humor.  After all, most of us are a bit nuts.  On overly hot days--say in the nineties--we'll don wool trousers over cotton drawers, followed by a wool vest and wool jacket, a hat, a large leather belt with a cartridge box, percussion cap box, and bayonet hanging from it, a canteen full of water (a half gallon for those fully prepared), and a haversack full of various food items.  For the excessively zealous, we'll also wear a 30-pound knapsack on our backs, or a quilted bedroll around our neck.  And of course, there's the 5 to 10 pound musket on our shoulder.


And on wet days we'll add a poncho to keep our gear dry while the rest of us gets soaked to the bone (remember it's wool?) with mud up to our thighs.


And with all that on, in the heat of the day, we'll gather around the campfire with the smoke stinging our eyes just to add a bit of reenactor perfume to our countenance.


And on overly cold days we'll add a heavy greatcoat (a wool winter coat) to the mix along with fingerless gloves so that only our fingers, ears, and noses get frostbit.  The smart ones protect their ears by flapping the greatcoat's cape over their head, but then any chance of seeing is gone.


When night falls, the daring will sleep on the ground between some tar-painted canvas and a rubberized poncho beside the campfire with a stack of logs--waking every so often during the night to throw another log of the fire, hoping they don't turn in their sleep and end up in the fire.


On the really cold nights, we sleep in our clothes, with a greatcoat or two on top of a ton of blankets to keep warm by, only to be immobilized by the weight of the blankets, yet still shiver from the cold.


Sound like fun?


I think it's a blast.

Of course, the height of the weekend is the battle, with only rain being the only show-stopper for the thrill (powder does not burn too well when wet).  But even if it does rain, it's got to be a hurricane-level downpour to put a stop to our battles and our fun.

But there's also the time spent with friends who also share an interest in reenacting.  We are all sorts of people--some are doctors, some work maintenance, some are architects, others police officers.  Others, like me, are computer programmers, while still others are engineers.  There are janitors and assembly-line workers among us.  One I know is a city attorney who plays in a rock band.  Heck, we've even got a comedian.  As disparate our lives are, we all share one thing in common--Civil War reenacting.

So, now that I've sold you on all the perks, how does one become a reenactor?


Every reenactor has a different story as to how they got into the hobby.  A few in the 1st Tennessee started as kids, even before they were old enough to carry a musket (16 is the minimum age to carry a musket on the field for the 1st Tennessee and for most companies).  Others got into it late in life, stumbling on a reenactment, and offered a taste of the experience.  When you find a good unit, they usually have enough spare gear to outfit you until you can get your own stuff, so you shouldn't have to dump a bunch of money down right away to get started--but you certainly can get the bug quick.


I'll start by telling my story, and finish by giving some tips as to how to get into the hobby, and how you might select a unit to join with.   I'd love it if you found the 1st Tennessee Company B and join with us--but there are plenty of good companies out there--and some may be more suited to you than others.

Some time in the early 2000s, when I was still in my thirties, my wife dragged me to a Revolutionary War reenactment.


"Rev War?" you might ask.  "I thought we were talking Civil War."  Yeah--I'm getting to that.

To be continued...

Closing the Year

Monroe, Ohio 

October 26-27, 2013 

It was a long year of reenacting, with Monroe making number 18 for 2013 for me.   I arrived Friday evening, but no one else from the 1st Tennessee was going to be there that night.  The weather was also going to get cold.

Jim Kletzli was going to come in the morning, so I decided to camp in the comforts of home and ride in with Jim in the morning.  Normally I might have stayed, but for as many events as I attended, I felt it better to avoid miserable nights for my last event of the year.

So, we arrived Saturday morning, falling in with the 9th KY.

The event was pretty quiet.  The cold and winds kept the crowds away all day Saturday, so when we went up against the Yankees, chasing the 7th KS into the woods, it was pretty much for ourselves.  The cold was such that this was probably the only event, except possibly for Hurricane in March, that required wearing the greatcoat all day, including during the battle.

Sunday went just as quick, though the weather was better.    Spectators showed up and wandered the camps.  We formed up for the battle, advancing onto the field.  We blasted a few company volleys, when suddenly we realized the 7th KS had taken position behind us.  Basically, we were in a crossfire.

It didn't end well. It was pretty clear--the Confederates lost.

But, getting caught like that was a good way to wind the year down.

Gettysburg in Indiana

Hartford City, IN

October 12-13, 2013 

Everything written here are my sole opinions and observations and do not represent the opinions or observations of anyone else or any organization. 

The weekend started at Hartford City with the annual wooden State of Indiana plaque deposited in my car to be added to my Indiana mosaic now plastering my wall at home.  I set my camp with the 1st Tennessee, reporting in later with the colonel to let him know of my arrival. 

The weekend schedule was full, with both a morning and evening battle.  A night battle was scheduled for the first time, as well, but we were uncertain as to how that would work, since the artillery night fire was scheduled that evening, followed by the dance, which was scheduled to be on site--on the battlefield--for the first time. 

Saturday morning opened with battalion parade--before I could get an adequate supply of coffee into my bloodstream.   My mind was a bit sluggish so messed up a few things in parade, but we got by.  We ran through some drill, then went straight to the battlefield for the morning battle. 

The battle went well and pretty much as planned.  We had a little down-time between battles--a chance to make future plans and talk with spectators as they came through our camps.  

Culp's Hill was the scenario for the  afternoon battle, and it definitely had a better result than the Culp's Hill scenario at the Gettysburg 150th.   We advanced by division, with Lt Col Clark taking the right wing up against dismounted cavalry, and I taking the left wing against the hill's center.  We pushed forward and fell back several times.  I kept expecting the Yankees to push beyond the fence in the confusion of our regrouping, but never did they leave the security of their fence.    Col Julian stayed with my wing, but he took a bit of a hands-off approach with me--merely giving me the actions to take, and letting me take command of the wing, being there to be my crutch.  It was the thrill to feel like I was expanding to the next level. 

That evening the 1st Tennessee enjoyed a simple stew together.  Some provided various cookies for desert.  I brought some homemade applesauce.  It was a good meal and a good time together. 

Afterward, Capt Sharp, Sgt Kletzli, and I slipped over to the camp of the 4th Ohio Co B, where we discussed some ideas and rudimentary plans for next year.  The meeting went well, and I think we all are looking forward to that which is to come in 2014. 

The artillery night fire filled the field, and apparently the night battle occurred during the night fire, as we could see the silhouettes of various lines with muskets firing across the field.  And although the ball was marked to take place on the battlefield, it was apparently relocated back to its regular location at the 4H building on the county fairgrounds. 

Sunday morning started early as we hoped to get the Yankees incited to join us for the scheduled tactical, but orders were given for the Yankees not to participate so as to not wear themselves out for the memorial service for one of there own who had fallen recently.  We trampled through the nearby woods and fire a few shots off.  Capt Steiner brought out his double-barreled shotgun with some extra powder to be our mobile artillery, rattling the frame of the Yankee cabins with each shot. 

We joined the Yankees for the memorial service.  Words were given and the service was concluded with battalion volleys, using rounds that contained the ashes of their comrade.  The Yankees fired their volley first, with the commander ordering, "Ready, Aim," a series of booms, and finishing with a bit of an embarrassed "Fire", and a final boom.  

At least the Confederates were able to show them how it is done, the entire battalion firing as one. 

The afternoon battle was simple--Pickett's Charge.  Again we split the battalion into two divisions, with Lt Col Clark leading the charge with the right wing, and I leading the left wing.  We advanced forward in spurts of about twenty yards, paused to straighten the lines, then advanced again.  As we reached the crest of the last hill we reformed the battalion and fired a few rounds.  I instructed the captains of the left wing that we needed to start taking serious casualties, but few took hits, so when I returned to the front of my wing to lead them in the final advance, I went down when the Yankee battalion fired, hoping to give the rest to start taking serious hits. 

It was a terrific weekend--and a great way for the 1st Tennessee and Independent Guard Battalion to end the year, though my year is not yet over.

Video of Saturday afternoon battle

Ambush in the Village

As I go into my experience at Pioneer Village, I would just like to say that many seem to treat my writings as after-action reports.  They really aren't.  They are merely my observations, sometimes opinions, of the sequence of events that occur.  They are my perspective on things--and nothing more.  When I go to an event as a private, there are many things hidden from me, so I see things often at the lowest level, and never the big picture.  When I go as a battalion officer--I see things from a different perspective--but again since I'm not in charge, the whole picture is not always available to me.  Large national events have thousands of reenactors--but I am only going to be exposed to a minute fraction of that number, so my story only reflects that corner of the picture.  Even with small events I rarely interact with the Yankee side--or if I galvanize, I would not see the Confederate side, so at best, my story is only half the picture.  I also mean no offense to the parties I write about, but occasionally I do step on some toes.  My goal with this blog is to primarily write about my experience, but also, as a secondary goal, to better the hobby.  I do sometimes let my emotions control what I write, not always thinking through the ramifications.  I apologize if you take offense at what I write and ask to look beyond what is offending you and at what you can do to fix problems that get noted; I would love to return to an event with issues I note and find those issues corrected.  If you wish to discuss matters with me, feel free to send me a note on my contact page--I am willing to listen to anything you have to say, so long as you keep it civil.  It is not without precedent for me to alter to my writings.

I am continually surprised by the growing popularity of my blog, receiving the occasional compliment for it--that someone is actually reading it--so I am not yet used to the idea of just how much care I must take with what I write.    These United States is a great country, where I am free to write what I want, but with that great freedom does come great responsibility, and a true exercise of freedom is to execute true responsibility.

With that said, Pioneer Village started on good footing.  I arrived early Friday morning to assist Joe Bellas with his high school class in a bit of living history--and possible recruitment.  The kids were bright and inquisitive.  Shawn Swart, Jim Kletzli, Chris Silvers, and I all assisted in demonstrating a life of the soldier--even giving the a bit of drill.

Saturday brought a sunny and warm day.  The morning was quiet.  For the afternoon battle we tried what we did for Ohio Village, which was to continue the scenario beyond the battle and have a medical scenario take care of the dead and wounded.  

It started with Jared Springer and I on picket duty.  Suddenly, from the woods behind our camp, several shots were fired by the 7th Kansas.  They descended upon us with shouts of alarm as the 1st TN formed the company to respond--they had just given the first call and had hardly started equipping themselves when the fighting started.

We were pushed back, and then the rest of the Federal forces joined the field, but in the end, we pushed them from the field and won the day.

After the battle, we carried wounded off toward a tree for Doc Gill to tend to.  James Sturkler was one of the dead.  George Moore came to his friend and said a prayer over him, then balled over him theatrically.  We stripped him of his gear, then carried him off the field.  We gave the spectators a taste of the horrors of war.

That evening we enjoyed a superb dinner with the 7th Kansas.

A little while after supper and after a cannon nightfire, I called the ball.  The dancing went well, with about a third more dancers than the year before.  I stood with most of my tried-and-true dances, but did try a new one I learned called "The Irish Quadrille".  I had never even seen a quadrille prior to the Jackson MI, but I took notes at Jackson and was able to teach it pretty well.  There were a significant number of new dancers, so I had a bit more work teaching the dances, but it was an enjoyable evening.

Sunday started on a mournful note.  Michael Hernandez, commander of the 9th Kentucky, passed away about a month ago, so both Federals and Confederates came together to perform a memorial ceremony in his honor.  I did not have much exposure to the man, but the few times I met him, he was a good man.  I served under him a couple of times at Monroe, and he was on my wing at Perryville, when I was on the battalion staff.  I could see that he will be long missed.  My regret is not having the chance to get to know him better.

Beginning with that ceremony, the sun never shone that day.  It even drizzled a little in sorrow for him.

At one point during the day, the captain of the 7th Kansas came over to discuss matters with Capt Sharp when we heard gunfire. It appeared that some of our men engaged members of the 7th KS in an impromptu skirmish.  Capt Sharp seized on the opportunity and took the 7th KS captain at gunpoint over to the fighting, instructing the 7th KS to lay down arms, and they would be allowed to leave the field with their captain.

But, the 7th KS had other ideas.  Their captain ordered them to open fire, taking a hit with the first volley.  Skirmishing continued for awhile, until some from another Federal unit decided to join in.  Fighting was quickly halted when Sgt Kletzli realized they were pulling their ramrods, which is an extremely dangerous situation.

The battle began later that afternoon.  As guest commanders, Gary Evens and Edd Sharp were brought in to participate.  The 9th KY handled the left side of the battlefield, with the 1st TN handling the right.

Things just went sour from there.  I'm not real sure what went wrong, and I can't really do it justice.

At least Hartford City in two weeks will be a new start.

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/