AAR Struggle for Statehood
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My "brother", Cato the slave dog, and I arrived in the area on Friday morning only to find that his love interest had pulled up stakes and vacated her home for the relative safety of the valley nearby. Mr. Trent decided that since we had traveled from Guyandotte it was foolish to return without visiting Mrs. Dolen. Being more than a little curious to meet the lady of which I had heard so much I wholeheartedly agreed. Little did I know of the rough terrain and weather conditions that were in store. I was not prepared for such an extended visit, neither with supplies or my dress, and it turned out to be a very cold and strenuous couple of days to say the least.
Due to the fact that the road had been washed out my "brother" decided that it would be best to leave the carriage on the road and continue down the hill on horseback. At the top of the hill, we ran into the Mckendrees and the Dolens, who were in the process of trying to pack some of their belongings over the hill. Mr. Trent, who was trying to make a good impression with the families in hopes to further his intents with Miss Dolen volunteered our horse to pack the belongings. I must say I was more than a little distressed at this declaration since it meant that I would have to continue the journey on foot. Being more accustomed to city life I was not prepared to make the journey down through the muck and mire. We arrived in the valley after a climb down what I can best describe as a short mountain that had been covered in mud.
As we arrived in the valley, I must say that I was quiet pleased to find the object of Mr. Trent's affection residing in a rock outcropping of all things!!! In these surroundings she had little resemblance to the grand lady with the farm of which I had heard Mr. Trent speak. She did however seem to be a pleasant enough lady. I cannot say the same for her friends!!! Especially the likes of one Miss Yantes Mckendree!!! What an outspoken person!!! The one thing that was off interest was the strange behavior of Cato, the elderly slave dog. He kept showing interest in a cave nearby and, this, coupled with the strange behavior of the inhabitants made me more than a little curious. I spoke as much to Mr. Trent and suggested that he keep his eyes open for the possibility of a negro in the area.
I was more than a little put off by her demeanor and lack of manners or good graces of Miss Mackendree, and it grew more and more evident to me why she had remained a spinster!!! After but a brief time this lady had the nerve to suggest that Mr. Trent's sister find lodging elsewhere!!!
However, since both Mr. Trent and I were trying to keep the full extent of the relationship between us under cover I was actually slightly relieved to leave the cave. Her questions and prodding told me that she was beginning to suspect the true nature of our acquaintance. So, I began the trek uphill, stopping quiet often and silently cursing my choice to wear a corset and not the more comfortable stays which would have been more suited to this type of travel.
Upon reaching the top of the hill I was relieved to find Mrs. Johnston and her daughter, who I had met earlier in Guyandotte when she had me commission a dress for herself. She reluctantly agreed to allow me to stay in the campsite with herself, her daughter, a Miss Walker, and a poor Mrs. Aulds who was nearing the time of delivery. I felt very sorry for her being forced to leave her comfortable home and stay in this inhospitable place, remembering what my own pregnancy had been like. Mrs. Johnston made the trek down the mountain to water her pack horse Justin, and Cato decided to follow. Only if he had remained!! AT some point in the short time that Mrs. Johnston was gone Mr. Trent's crafty horse Bird managed to break her bridle and slip from the picket line!!!! While we were all setting within a few feet and Miss Elizabeth and I were looking in her direction!!!! I knew Mr. Trent would be furious!!! Not to mention the fact that with her absence so went the chance that I would be able to leave this place at first light!!! We spent the night huddled under a cart trying our best to keep warm. After what seemed like hours but at most must have only been a few minutes I awakened, thinking it surely must be close to dawn. Fortunately, Miss Walker had stoked the fire,this was especially fortunate for me since I had no experience in such things. We spent a few minutes in cordial enough conversation and then Mrs. Johnston awoke along with her daughter. We all felt that surely it must be nearing dawn, and spent the next several hours freezing and huddled under blankets, proclaiming "I can see it is getting lighter" and "As soon as the rooster crows we will know it is almost dawn." Little did we know that the animals were playing an April Fools trick on us and spent the next several hours crowing and laughing at the strange behavior of the inhabitants of the valley, thinking dawn was coming when at best it was 2:00 am!!!! I became the laughing stock of the residents when, fumbling in the dark I could not tell the difference between a carrot and candle by the feel of the items!!!
Finally, morning did arrive and with it the chill of the air was replaced by quiet a warm day. Mr. Trent appeared and was actually less angry at the escape of his horse than I would have believed. He was however, upset at the lack of his dog to track the beast, proclaiming to everyone that I spoil him. The poor creature is quiet elderly and arthritic!!! I feel that it is beyond time for him to be retired and because of his many years in the service of my "brother" is more than deserving of a rest!!! However, I digress. Mrs. Johnston and her small company decided to make the trek over the hill to visit the inhabitants of the cabin to see if one Rev. Parker had received a letter for her from her husband. Upon our descent down the hill we were greeted by a small band of Union soldiers. They informed us that a deserter was in the area, and of course this immediately made us suspect that our poor horse was now on its way to heaven only knows where being ridden by some scalawag!!! I was quiet pleased to see that Mr. Rector and his cousin Mr. Solomon were in the band of soldiers, having made both of their acquaintance at the boarding house in Guyandotte. I was more than a little pleased at the prospect of speaking with them and catching up on information but was not to see them again for the rest of the stay!!! We continued on our way to the cabin and poor Mrs. Aulds fell at least twice while crossing the creeks in the valley and I was more than a little concerned for her well being, however she proclaimed that she was quiet well. We arrived at the cabin to find a small band of people that proclaimed they had spent most of the last several hours in the company of Union soldiers. I was pleased to find that these neighbors were much more pleasant than Miss Mckendree. The Parker's proclaimed they had found a drum in their cabin when the returned and were quiet concerned that the Union army suspected they had a hand in the desertion of the wayward drummer boy. Mr. Trent purchased the item (why my "brother" found the need to do this is beyond me) and Mrs. Johnston declared he would NOT be bringing this item to her camp!!! Our small band decided it would be in the best interest for us to return up the hill since the soldiers had proclaimed that they would be paying a visit to our campsite to make sure we had indeed spent the night there.
The entire way through the valley Mr. Trent proceeded to beat the drum, I believe with the sole intention of bringing the entire Union Army down upon our heads!!! Mr. "brother" can be the most pigheaded of men!!!! We finally managed to survive the climb to the camp, with both myself and Mrs. Johnston making numerous stops along the way. Once at the camp we dined on a lunch of bacon, crackers and cheese and got quiet giddy from our lack of sleep!!! WE spent part of the afternoon getting better acquainted while Mrs. Aulds napped. I was quiet concerned about her well being as was her sister in law Mrs. Johnston. Once she awakened and dined on lunch, she, Mrs. Johnston and her daughter proclaimed they would once again make their way down the hill to visit the Dolan's and Mckendrees. Not wanting to have anymore contact with Mrs. Mckendree than necessary I chose to stay at the campsite with my trusty companion Cato. I was quiet pleased that I stayed when shortly after they left young Master Lorenzo Joy came upon our camp to check on the status of Mrs. Aulds. I spent a few moments in his company. I was quiet fond of the young boy since he was around the same age that my own dear Ethan would have been had he survived. I was more than a little disappointed when he proclaimed he must return down the hill to his camp. I finally managed to fall asleep, and was awakened when Cato started barking at the Ox as he was led up the hill to get hay for the ticks of the cave people. Mr. Trent was with the Mckendrees and Dolens and I was getting quiet upset at the lack of attention and concern he was displaying for his "sister." After all, I was far form accustomed to these types of surrounding and was in the company of more or less complete strangers!!!!
Not far behind the ox came my campmates. Mrs. Johnston was slightly upset that the Rev. Parker had yet to find the letter from her husband. We spent the rest of the afternoon pleasantly enough. The peace of the valley was occasionally interrupted by the soldiers below who appeared to be searching the hills for the deserter. Late in the afternoon we heard shouts and gunfire on the hillside opposite us and shortly thereafter the soldiers came back leading three Confederate prisoners. My campmates were concerned since they had heard the the Confederates in the area were local boys. I, being from Richmond originally knew none of the locals so was unable to help them in the identity of the prisoners. We once again ate a lunch, this time of beans. In short order a storm moved in and we spent what seemed like an eternity huddled under the wagon getting quiet wet in the process. It was halfway through the storm that Mrs. Johnston suggested we leave our camp for the warmth of the barn. I wholeheartedly agreed and we made our way slipping up the hillside while carrying enough items to ourselves be pack mules. We reached the barn and were relatively warm and made to feel quiet welcome by the soldiers in the hay loft, one even going so far as to help me up the stairs with my wayward, 130 pound canine that had decided he liked it best downstairs. (It was around this time that Mr. Clagg came in and several people, myself included, broke character to discuss the situation and for the most part the event ended. It did resume in the morning for me however)
In the morning, while Mrs. Johnston and I made our way over the hill back to our camp to rescue what we could I was stopped by the Dolen sisters and Miss Mckendree, who much to my chagrin had managed to intercept a letter that I had written Mr. Trent. At this point the full extent of our involvement was brought to light and Miss Dolen discovered that , in fact was not Mr. Trent's sister, but rather his former mistress. I informed Mrs. Dolen, (secretly gleefully I might add) that I had in fact given birth to Mr. Trent's son Ethan. I had even gone so far earlier in our brief acquaintance to show her an image of Ethan, she never suspecting it was in fact Mr. Trent's son!!! She was quiet distraught, and gave me every indication that she was through with Mr. Trent. I was quiet happy with this and proceeded over the hill. I ran into Hank halfway over and informed him that Miss Dolen was informed of the whole affair. He said we would discuss it on our return to Guyandotte.
I reached the campsite and for me the event ended. I was more than happy with the event and dearly hope that these characters can be revived at a later date, since I never got to see what became of Miss Dolen once the true nature of Mr. Trent was known!!!! I had a wonderful time!!!!! I want to thank Linda Trent or organizing this event and allowing my character to play such a pivotal role!!!! It was a wonderful event!!!!!!
Miss Abigail Cordelia Hines
AKA Miche' Todd
Re: AAR Struggle for Statehood
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Dear Brother,
I take a little time now to tell you the events of the past week. On March 30, we were in a fight at Point Pleasant, just up river from Guyandotte. We pressed the Yankees hard and they looked as if they might be whooped, but they got reenforcements from Ohio and we were forced to withdraw. In retreating, Brad Caudill, Abraham Flemming, and I got seperated from the rest of the 8th. We knew that Jenkins was heading for Howell's Mill on the Mudd River so followed the Ohio river as far as Clutt's Hill and then went south in the direction of Cabell C.H. About dark on the April 3, we met James Ault, a store keep from Point Pleasant whose sympathies were with us. He had fled after the battle, but not before he loaded a sack full of things we sorely needed - bacon, rice, soap, preserves and the like.
We camped with him on top of a ridge near Jeff Clagg's farm. The next morning, we noticed some women camped on the side of a hill, about a half mile from us. We saw what looked like Yankee soldiers with the women. I decided to get a closer look and went around the ridge to a point. When I got there, I could see no soldiers, only the women. The view was somewhat obscured of the camp, so I moved down the side of the hill about half way to get a better look. I looked again and was satisfied that there were no soldiers there and turned to go back to our little camp. It was then that I heard talking on the valley below me. It was the Yankees we had seen the women's camp. They were a piece off, so I was not very concerned, but then I heard their captain give the order to wheel around and go back. When they wheeled, thier man on the right flank came within 20 yards of me, close enough to shoot himwith my pistol. I was never as scared before as I was then. I doubled over and ran about 10 yards and lay down by a rotten tree. The Yankees did not see or hear me. After I was sure they were gone, I ran as fast as I could back to our camp and told the others what I saw. We thought that the Yankee's might come down the ridge we were on, so we blocked the road and hid to await them. The never came up.
In the late afternoon, Abraham, Brad, and I decided to go over to the women's camp and see if that had any food to spare, so we went down the hill. At the bottom was a road and we took it. As we came to a bend in the road, a Yankee stood up and yelled for us to stop. We immediately ran back up the road. When we saw that no one followed, we stopped to catch our breath. That, brother, was our mistake. Soon about 20 Yankees came after us. We tried to run again, but the hill we came down was too steep to run up. The Yankees caught us and took our guns and the side knife I made. They ordered us not to talk and marched us back to thier camp not too far from where we saw the picket. This gave us the blues and at that moment, I wished I was back at home.
Thier captain asked us our names and what unit we were with. We sat for some time on the ground with guards over us. They were suprised to see us; they did not expext any Confederates out there. They were looking for a deserter. As we sat, I watched then. Those Yankees were mostly young merryandrews and old milksops. If the Federal army is like that everywhere, we are sure to beat them. They knew nothing of military discipline.
About supper time, they marched us to a nearby log house and fed us stewed pork, it was capitol, even if it was a Yankee pig. As we ate, I heard a Christian service begin on the other side of the house. I wanted so much to hear it all, as I had not a chance to hear a sermon in more than a week, but the Yankees marched us back to thier camp.
Soon a storm came up and the captain was a gentleman enough to see that we were taken to a barn at the top of the hill to keep us dry. Our guards took us there and put us into the loft. From the time we were captured, I endevoured to escape. That barn and these guards gave me that chance. As we lay in that loft and the light faded, I could see that our uniforms started to fade from sight as well. Then, as if it were scripted in a play, a woman came to the gate by the barn, for we had crossed through a fence by the barn. She could not get it open, so one of our guards went to assist her. The other guard sit down by the loft door to watch. When he turned, I saw it was time for me to leave. I scaled a high wall of hay in the loft and over I went. In the dark and noise of the rain now falling, he never knew I was gone. I got to the other side of the hay where there was another loft door. Below was puddles of water and deep mud. I was going to jump when the rain came down hard again, as it would muffle the sound of me jumping in the the mud. The rain had stopped though and I dared not jump without the cover of the noise the rain in the roof. Seeing I could not go further, I climbed back up on the hay and made a hole in it. I climbed down in to the hole and covered myself so as not to be found should the guards come looking. They never did.
The next morning, I waited until nearly noon to come out. When I did, they were gone. I made it to Howell's Mill and back the the 8th. I do not know what became of Brad or Abraham, they are probably on thier way to a prison camp. If they write to you, tell me where they are. I will write again when I can.
Sanford Scott
Co. E, 8th Virginia Cavalry
Aka Chris Propes
Re: AAR Struggle for Statehood
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Ok, I posted my first person AAR, here's my modern opinion of the event.
I think that with this event, the hobby has stumbled on just the thing it needs - more non-spectators events. This event was an eye opener for me. There were no slack-jawed yokels on the side lines asking stupid questions like "Are you hot in that?" and "Do you use real bullets?" The authenticity of all involved was first rate, as far I could see and everyone was dedicated to making the event was real as possible. Instead of an event where everything was scripted, there was a specified set of parameters that allowed for a number of different scenarios and no one knew exactly what was going to happen. The course of events was unpredictable and flowed quite naturally. What developed was a specific event in time that didn't happen, but very well could have happened. It forced me to think more like a soldier in that situation. I found my self experiencing real fear of being captured and sent to a prison camp. And then when I was captured, that fear was intensified and then I was forced to seek a means of escape. Instead of thinking about what a soldier would have done , I was thinking about what I would do. The lack of modern intrusions, coupled with my and other's dedication to authenticity, made for a unique event for me and I hope more events of this genre will come about in the future.
Chris Propes
AAR: Struggle for Statehood
--or--
"Maybe He's On That Hill"
The setting for the event was April 1-3, 1863, just after the expiration of Lincoln's offer of amnesty for deserters. We (the Federals) were searching for a 16 year old drummer who had deserted and was rumored to be in the area. This is a couple of weeks after the skirmish at Point Pleasant with Jenkins raiders.
The participants were mostly Kearny Guards and Rowdy Pards, with myself and Matt Rector in attendance from the GHTI. Captain for the weekend was Bill Watson, first sergeant was Fran Kiger, and corporal was Dane Utter.
Found the site (the Clagg farm) and arrived about 11:30 Friday morning. Weapons and knapsacks were checked. We waited for the remaining participants to arrive. Rations were issued, and the form of bacon, onions, potatoes, green coffee, and apples. We waited for the remaining participants. We sat down, talked, introduced ourselves, and waited some more. We rolled a wagon down into the valley for the civilians (amidst many comparisons to mules and army soldiers). And then we waited a bit longer. Finally, the last car rolled in just as we were getting ready to go on in.
The event site consisted of three valleys with a common intersection and the surrounding hills and ridges. The only open, level ground was at the botton of the valleys near the intersection. Each valley had a small brook running down its length. Total area was around 90 acres, plenty of room for an event of this size.
The civilians had entered the site some time before. We hiked in about 200 yards, stopped to adjust gear, and "lit the lamp." One thing I was proud of was the absolute lack of modern conversation at this event. I never heard anyone, with the exception of one or two modern phrases, break character (not to say it didn't happen, I just didn't hear it) until Saturday night...more on that later.
We heard sounds of hammering as we descended into the valley. Half of our detachment approached the cabin straight on while the other half took a position covering from above. As we were sighted, two young boys in partial uniform took off running up the opposite side of the valley. We were excited at the idea of finding our missing drummer so early, especially after discovering a military drum in the cabin for which no good explanation could be given. The captain sent two men up the hillside in the direction the boys had run, and posted guards each direction up the valley. As I was posted as a guard, all I can give is hearsay of what transpired.
The boys were found and brought down. They said that they ran when they saw our rifles, figuring us for Rebels, and further claimed that were out of furlough, though they admitted they had lost track of time and suspected it might be up. One was a soldier, the other a fifer. The civilians were apparently the family of these two young wayward soldiers. Neither of these lads matched the description of the drummer we were looking for, but seeing as their furloughs were up, the captain decided to bring them with us. The drum had been there when they arrived. Their theory was that the cabin had been used by the drummer, assuming it was abandoned. Why he'd lugged that drum with him all the way out into the wilderness, none of us could figure.
The folks at the cabin claimed to be pro-Union abolitionists, but seemed rather odd to us. We cooked our rations around their fire, and the captain took half the detachment off to search further up the valley, leaving instructions with the sergeant to meet at the campsite for the evening. The half of the detachment that remained at the cabin were those who had been on guard duty, myself included. I noticed two of the men from the cabin starting off down the path. Sergeant Kiger told me to follow at a distance. Sure, send me off alone, what's the worst that could happen?
They went about a quarter mile down the valley to the point where the three valleys intersected. At the intersection was the remains of a collapsed barn, which afforded me enough cover to observe the two men talking to another group of people. In the dusk, their numbers and gender could not be determined.
We moved out to the campsite, which was a small clearing about 200 feet above the cabin, which was obscured from view. To avoid announcing our presence, no fires were lit, and the evening was quite cold.
We went back down to the cabin in the morning. Sergeant Kiger asked me to take him to where I'd followed the men last night. Sure enough, we could make out at least one man with a cow. We returned with the rest of the detachment.
Two groups of civilians had taken refuge in the rock outcroppings (calling them a cave would be a bit of an exaggeration). One group consisted of four or five women and a young boy who gave a story of being warned from their home because the armies were on the move in the area. The other group was a man and his son, who nearly matched the description given to us, but was ultimately was determined not be the the missing drummer. They did report some missing food.
This left only the 3rd valley as the remaining location of the drummer. We swept the valley, which was not an easy task, considering the terrain. As we began the search, we ran into yet another group of civilians. While they seemed none too pleased to see us, they reported not only some missing food, but also a missing horse. We realized that the drummer could be 15 miles away by this time, but the captain still had us search every damn nook and cranny in that valley. We came across a lot of tracks, but nothing that looked like they'd been made by a human. No signs of a campsite, either.
Our sweep ended as we re-approaced the cave from above. Weary of being used like mountain goats, we petitioned the captain for a change in strategy. He paid Hank Trent (who was sporting a fine hat, if I may say) to seek out whatever information he could. We took shelter in the cave with the ladies during a brief rain squall, after which Mr. Trent returned. He'd found out where food was being left for the drummer. Sure enough, when we checked the spot, we found an onion and two potatoes. Meager fare, and probably explained why he'd been lifting food off the local civilians. We posted a lookout in the brush nearby and returned to the clearing in the intersection of the valleys.
The rain squall had set our minds to shelter for the night, and we struck up some shebangs using material from the collapsed barn. The captain paid for the family at the cabin to slaughter and butcher a pig for our supper. Once we'd hauled and chopped an obscene amount of firewood for the cooking of the pig, I sacked out in our luxurious and very well-built shebang.
I slept through the only shooting of the weekend. Apparently, the guard stationed to overlook the food dropoff found something other than a drummer...three straggling Rebels from the fight at Point Pleasant. After a brief skirmish they surrendered and were set to work gathering firewood for the night. Since I had been sleeping though the excitement, I was set to guard them.
They turned out have been recruited in the vicinity, a point brought home when one of the Johnnies nearly got himself shot running toward his wife, one of the civilians in the cave. It wasn't exactly the happy reunion he had in mind....both the wife and her family were furious with him.
The pig was ready not long after that, and as we ate dark clouds were rapidly approaching. Thunder could be heard in the distance....and then not so distant. We made it back to camp right before it let loose.
Matt and I were relatively dry and perfectly warm in our shelter, but some of the others weren't faring so well. After a couple of hours, we were asked whether we wanted to stay or pack our gear and head up the hill to the Claggs' barn. We replied that we were comfortable as we were. A little while later we were told that the rest of the company had voted to make for the barn. Not wanting to be the only ones left down in the valley, we hastily took down our shelter. It was full dark and in the middle of a full-blown thunderstorm now.
I'm not usually in favor of pulling out of an event early, but as soon as we hit the hill, I must say I agreed with the decision. The ground, soft to begin with, was giving way up to our ankles with each step, and the dirt road up the hillside was slick and a river of mud. I now believe every word when I read a soldier's account of "sinking knee or ankle deep in mud."
The hike out of the valley took at least half an hour. We had to stop often, simply to catch our breath and stay together. I couldn't see 5 feet in front me.
Finally we made it up to the barn, at which point we were greeted with the words "Ain't no room up here." We'd sent the Rebels, who were lacking shelter, up there at the first sign of the storm, and it seemed the civilians had had the same idea. Since the hay loft was full, our only choice was to bed down on the ground level. Only trouble was, with all the farm equipment, there wasn't enough room for the entire company. Plus, we had all worked up a sweat getting up the hill, the temperatures were beginning to drop, and the storm showed no signs of letting up. Jeff Clagg came down with the forecast, which called for storming all night, changing over to snow before dawn. After a bit of discussion, we came to the conclusion that, given the condition of the terrain, the event was over for all intents and purposes. Matt and I said our goodbyes and headed out. It was about 8:30 PM but seemed much later. I don't know who all stayed, or what, if anything, happened Sunday (I seriously doubt anything did...it would have been a miracle to get down that hill and back up alive).
Overall, I must say I was very impressed with the way first person was maintained throughout the weekend. It was never (to my knowledge) broken, with the exception of one or two modern phrases.
The site was as pristine as could be asked for. The difficult terrain certainly made for a challenge.
Despite the rainout, I had a blast! My thanks to Linda Trent for getting this put together, Jeff Clagg for the use of his property, and all the participants that made the event work!
Craig Solomon
AAR: Struggle for Statehood
--or--
"Maybe He's On That Hill"
The setting for the event was April 1-3, 1863, just after the expiration of Lincoln's offer of amnesty for deserters. We (the Federals) were searching for a 16 year old drummer who had deserted and was rumored to be in the area. This is a couple of weeks after the skirmish at Point Pleasant with Jenkins raiders.
The participants were mostly Kearny Guards and Rowdy Pards, with myself and Matt Rector in attendance from the GHTI. Captain for the weekend was Bill Watson, first sergeant was Fran Kiger, and corporal was Dane Utter.
Found the site (the Clagg farm) and arrived about 11:30 Friday morning. Weapons and knapsacks were checked. We waited for the remaining participants to arrive. Rations were issued, and the form of bacon, onions, potatoes, green coffee, and apples. We waited for the remaining participants. We sat down, talked, introduced ourselves, and waited some more. We rolled a wagon down into the valley for the civilians (amidst many comparisons to mules and army soldiers). And then we waited a bit longer. Finally, the last car rolled in just as we were getting ready to go on in.
The event site consisted of three valleys with a common intersection and the surrounding hills and ridges. The only open, level ground was at the botton of the valleys near the intersection. Each valley had a small brook running down its length. Total area was around 90 acres, plenty of room for an event of this size.
The civilians had entered the site some time before. We hiked in about 200 yards, stopped to adjust gear, and "lit the lamp." One thing I was proud of was the absolute lack of modern conversation at this event. I never heard anyone, with the exception of one or two modern phrases, break character (not to say it didn't happen, I just didn't hear it) until Saturday night...more on that later.
We heard sounds of hammering as we descended into the valley. Half of our detachment approached the cabin straight on while the other half took a position covering from above. As we were sighted, two young boys in partial uniform took off running up the opposite side of the valley. We were excited at the idea of finding our missing drummer so early, especially after discovering a military drum in the cabin for which no good explanation could be given. The captain sent two men up the hillside in the direction the boys had run, and posted guards each direction up the valley. As I was posted as a guard, all I can give is hearsay of what transpired.
The boys were found and brought down. They said that they ran when they saw our rifles, figuring us for Rebels, and further claimed that were out of furlough, though they admitted they had lost track of time and suspected it might be up. One was a soldier, the other a fifer. The civilians were apparently the family of these two young wayward soldiers. Neither of these lads matched the description of the drummer we were looking for, but seeing as their furloughs were up, the captain decided to bring them with us. The drum had been there when they arrived. Their theory was that the cabin had been used by the drummer, assuming it was abandoned. Why he'd lugged that drum with him all the way out into the wilderness, none of us could figure.
The folks at the cabin claimed to be pro-Union abolitionists, but seemed rather odd to us. We cooked our rations around their fire, and the captain took half the detachment off to search further up the valley, leaving instructions with the sergeant to meet at the campsite for the evening. The half of the detachment that remained at the cabin were those who had been on guard duty, myself included. I noticed two of the men from the cabin starting off down the path. Sergeant Kiger told me to follow at a distance. Sure, send me off alone, what's the worst that could happen?
They went about a quarter mile down the valley to the point where the three valleys intersected. At the intersection was the remains of a collapsed barn, which afforded me enough cover to observe the two men talking to another group of people. In the dusk, their numbers and gender could not be determined.
We moved out to the campsite, which was a small clearing about 200 feet above the cabin, which was obscured from view. To avoid announcing our presence, no fires were lit, and the evening was quite cold.
We went back down to the cabin in the morning. Sergeant Kiger asked me to take him to where I'd followed the men last night. Sure enough, we could make out at least one man with a cow. We returned with the rest of the detachment.
Two groups of civilians had taken refuge in the rock outcroppings (calling them a cave would be a bit of an exaggeration). One group consisted of four or five women and a young boy who gave a story of being warned from their home because the armies were on the move in the area. The other group was a man and his son, who nearly matched the description given to us, but was ultimately was determined not be the the missing drummer. They did report some missing food.
This left only the 3rd valley as the remaining location of the drummer. We swept the valley, which was not an easy task, considering the terrain. As we began the search, we ran into yet another group of civilians. While they seemed none too pleased to see us, they reported not only some missing food, but also a missing horse. We realized that the drummer could be 15 miles away by this time, but the captain still had us search every damn nook and cranny in that valley. We came across a lot of tracks, but nothing that looked like they'd been made by a human. No signs of a campsite, either.
Our sweep ended as we re-approaced the cave from above. Weary of being used like mountain goats, we petitioned the captain for a change in strategy. He paid Hank Trent (who was sporting a fine hat, if I may say) to seek out whatever information he could. We took shelter in the cave with the ladies during a brief rain squall, after which Mr. Trent returned. He'd found out where food was being left for the drummer. Sure enough, when we checked the spot, we found an onion and two potatoes. Meager fare, and probably explained why he'd been lifting food off the local civilians. We posted a lookout in the brush nearby and returned to the clearing in the intersection of the valleys.
The rain squall had set our minds to shelter for the night, and we struck up some shebangs using material from the collapsed barn. The captain paid for the family at the cabin to slaughter and butcher a pig for our supper. Once we'd hauled and chopped an obscene amount of firewood for the cooking of the pig, I sacked out in our luxurious and very well-built shebang.
I slept through the only shooting of the weekend. Apparently, the guard stationed to overlook the food dropoff found something other than a drummer...three straggling Rebels from the fight at Point Pleasant. After a brief skirmish they surrendered and were set to work gathering firewood for the night. Since I had been sleeping though the excitement, I was set to guard them.
They turned out have been recruited in the vicinity, a point brought home when one of the Johnnies nearly got himself shot running toward his wife, one of the civilians in the cave. It wasn't exactly the happy reunion he had in mind....both the wife and her family were furious with him.
The pig was ready not long after that, and as we ate dark clouds were rapidly approaching. Thunder could be heard in the distance....and then not so distant. We made it back to camp right before it let loose.
Matt and I were relatively dry and perfectly warm in our shelter, but some of the others weren't faring so well. After a couple of hours, we were asked whether we wanted to stay or pack our gear and head up the hill to the Claggs' barn. We replied that we were comfortable as we were. A little while later we were told that the rest of the company had voted to make for the barn. Not wanting to be the only ones left down in the valley, we hastily took down our shelter. It was full dark and in the middle of a full-blown thunderstorm now.
I'm not usually in favor of pulling out of an event early, but as soon as we hit the hill, I must say I agreed with the decision. The ground, soft to begin with, was giving way up to our ankles with each step, and the dirt road up the hillside was slick and a river of mud. I now believe every word when I read a soldier's account of "sinking knee or ankle deep in mud."
The hike out of the valley took at least half an hour. We had to stop often, simply to catch our breath and stay together. I couldn't see 5 feet in front me.
Finally we made it up to the barn, at which point we were greeted with the words "Ain't no room up here." We'd sent the Rebels, who were lacking shelter, up there at the first sign of the storm, and it seemed the civilians had had the same idea. Since the hay loft was full, our only choice was to bed down on the ground level. Only trouble was, with all the farm equipment, there wasn't enough room for the entire company. Plus, we had all worked up a sweat getting up the hill, the temperatures were beginning to drop, and the storm showed no signs of letting up. Jeff Clagg came down with the forecast, which called for storming all night, changing over to snow before dawn. After a bit of discussion, we came to the conclusion that, given the condition of the terrain, the event was over for all intents and purposes. Matt and I said our goodbyes and headed out. It was about 8:30 PM but seemed much later. I don't know who all stayed, or what, if anything, happened Sunday (I seriously doubt anything did...it would have been a miracle to get down that hill and back up alive).
Overall, I must say I was very impressed with the way first person was maintained throughout the weekend. It was never (to my knowledge) broken, with the exception of one or two modern phrases.
The site was as pristine as could be asked for. The difficult terrain certainly made for a challenge.
Despite the rainout, I had a blast! My thanks to Linda Trent for getting this put together, Jeff Clagg for the use of his property, and all the participants that made the event work!
Craig Solomon
One footnote
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"Matt and I were relatively dry and perfectly warm in our shelter, but some of the others weren't faring so well. After a couple of hours, we were asked whether we wanted to stay or pack our gear and head up the hill to the Claggs' barn. We replied that we were comfortable as we were. A little while later we were told that the rest of the company had voted to make for the barn. Not wanting to be the only ones left down in the valley, we hastily took down our shelter. It was full dark and in the middle of a full-blown thunderstorm now."
Matt and Craig had a first-class shelter and indeed were in pretty good shape to make it through the night. Some of the others weren't. There wasn't a vote, however: Several fellows admitted they were drenched and already cold, and acknowledged that a barn certainly sounded like a fine concept, but they would not be the ones to raise a hand to abandon the site (and, quite likely, have to listen to Monday morning quarterbacks as a result). So I exercised my authority and pulled us all out.
It turned out there was enough room in the barn, nobody knew about the other loft until Jeff Clagg came down about 10 p.m. and got everyone squared away. By that time Matt and Craig were on the road and I was in the back of my van -- and the only colder night I've ever spent was in the back of my pickup truck at an Andersonville living history in 1994.
The fellows in the ground floor of the barn passed an interesting night amongst the horse-drawn gear (not too much modern in that barn). They successfully defended their beds against an angry goose who berated them for 10 minutes after they barricaded him out. Then they spent a night with rats running over them. :-) One of them (one of the rats) turned up dead in the cold light of dawn, but none of the soldiers would admit to being part terrier.
"I don't know who all stayed, or what, if anything, happened Sunday (I seriously doubt anything did...it would have been a miracle to get down that hill and back up alive)."
Some folks had to leave, but we carried on the next morning. Mr. Propes successfully escaped, we recast one Confederate as a civilian and kept the other as a somewhat doleful prisoner. We went up and down the hill by another route -- none of us wanted to revisit that pitch-black, drenching knee-killing agony from the night before. Had a fine breakfast at the cabin, swept the valley one more time, and then we called in the dogs (yellow dog accompanied us all morning) and put out the fire and headed for home. A lot of Sunday morning was skill building stuff for those young fellers from the New Jersey Living History Society, done in 186x style. Those four took everything dished out and were still on their feet going a mile a minute when we left. Wish I had that much energy.
And if I hadn't been so surprised to see that Rebel scuttling up the hill Saturday afternoon, I'd have remembered to call out "You fellers stop!" instead of "You guys stop!" :-) Mea culpa.
I've got the "official" Company E aar posted over in the sinks -- should have had another cup of coffee this morning before deciding where to put it.
It was a great weekend, I was with a dozen (not 20, those four youngest ones just seemed like more, Chris :-) ) of the best Union living historians anyone could ever hope to share a campfire with, and I think we've helped the Trents write a pretty satisfying chapter in the annals of reenacting.
__________________
Bill Watson
Company I Mess
Civil War Living History Institute
142nd PVI
Etc.
Re: AAR Struggle for Statehood
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Bill--
I hope some of my statements weren't mis-interpreted. It was a great event. My only nitpicks with it were just that: nitpicks. If that's all I could find to fault an event with, then it was a fine event indeed! A couple of accidental modern phrases is nothing... (and the one you mentioned wasn't the one that even came to mind...remember, I was sacked out in that fine shelter when all the action with the Rebels went down ). I was probably guilty of a few myself. I mentioned them not so much as a criticism but more to illustrate how well character was maintained through the weekend.
The decision to pull out of the valley was the right one, whether it was a vote or "executive order". I merely assumed that it was a vote, since Fran came around asking everyone...
I'm glad that the event carried on Sunday morning, but I'm also kind of upset, in that the only reason I left Saturday night was that I was under the impression that the event was over due to the conditions of the land in the valley.
Again, I had a blast!
--Craig Solomon
Tar Water Mess
GHTI
Re: AAR Struggle for Statehood
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Bill--
"I hope some of my statements weren't mis-interpreted."
snip
"The decision to pull out of the valley was the right one, whether it was a vote or "executive order". I merely assumed that it was a vote, since Fran came around asking everyone..."
"--Craig Solomon"
Craig,
No problems. I only responded to make sure any criticism from the outside about moving to the barn comes in my direction. :-) GHTI again contributed to the success of an event and I look forward to falling in with you fellers again.
__________________
Bill Watson
Company I Mess
Civil War Living History Institute
142nd PVI
Etc.
Re: AAR Struggle for Statehood
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I can personally say I didn't put up too much resistance in the idea of abandoning camp on that stormy Saturday night. While we were dry for the time being, who knows what the rest of the night would have brought. I knew the rain had set in and the temperature was going to get colder. I could already feel it drop as we headed back up that hill. That trek up the hill to the barn was an experience in itself. Ankle deep mud, rain in all directions, slippery rocks, halts, men falling, griping…..while miserable; it gave me appreciation for what the real boys had to do on many, many occasions. I believe I lost my pocket knife while we made that trip. I imagine it got buried under two feet of mud!
It was probably just as well that I took off Saturday night for the comforts of home. I am currently fighting off a cold that I woke up with Sunday morning. I had a great time at the event. As mentioned, everyone did a first rate job of staying in first person. The conversations I overheard from the civilians were really outstanding. I could tell there was a lot of effort put forth in developing those stories and dialogue.
Bill, thank you for your leadership. It was a pleasure to be in your company this past weekend. I look forward to seeing you in the field again. That goes for the rest of the Feds in the company, too. It was good to meet many of you for the first time-face to face at least. Hope to see you all again soon.
Many thanks to the organizers of the event. I won’t list them all for fear of leaving someone out. I believe your efforts paid off. Jeff Clagg-a big thank you for having us over there! It was a good experience to have.
__________________
Matthew Rector
Tar Water Mess
GHTI
Re: AAR Struggle for Statehood
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"One of them (one of the rats) turned up dead in the cold light of dawn, but none of the soldiers would admit to being part terrier."
The dead rat in question was found by Tiny and I in the hay loft, and I gave him the boot out the door. I don't know if he strayed too close to one of our southern guests or what
Great event!
Chuck "Amos" Reynolds
