MaineMilitia.com

Miss Brown and I left Brunswick Thursday at 9 am joining Private Mildner along the way, and making only the minimum amount of brief stops, arrived in Gettysburg at around seven pm.

It was good to see the street laid out when we got there, and so to have a place where we could set up the tent without worrying about having to move it later. The Captain and the early arrivers greeted us with a big smile.

For dinner I soaked a piece of hardtack in some bacon grease, and with that stone settled hard into my gut, rested for the evening. We spent the evening around the campfire, sharing jokes and stories.

Sleep did not come easily that first evening - it was humid and issues with the air mattress required maintenance during the night.

Arose with the sun Friday morning, coffee was scarce, and the camp roused slowly. Andy and I were to hook-up for a trip to the sutlers’ to try to rustle up some breakfast, however due to my error I thought he had started ahead of me and we didn’t connect. Early roll call and colors. We started to see how we would form comfortably and with familiarity into a Company again.

During the morning the company filled out with the crowd smart enough to stay in a local hostelry the night before, those folks arrived rested and smelling better than they would for the next few days.

Later, dress parade and inspection, but mostly that day was spent in fellowship with our comrades, in camp, checking and preparing our gear and trips to the sutlers’.

Friday battle - Marched down the road to the cavalry camp where we stacked arms and waited. We reformed, marched up the hill when suddenly the Captain ordered “Eyes front!” Unfortunately, human nature being what it is, the best way to make someone look at something is to tell them not to. We then spied the Captain’s concern - several soiled doves stood nearby - those poor children had cast away dress and bodice to make clear to the passing soldiers their commercial intentions. The Captain’s concern for the men was most understandable - like the sirens of antiquity, any weak soul harkening to such a seductive call could only find himself soon dashed among rocks in ruin.

We formed up on the battlefield in deep reserve, and eventually maneuvered to the far right of the army. The Captain took firm command and directed us skillfully into position. We executed the maneuvers well and, if not crisply, with speed and urgency, ending up exactly where we were intended to go. However, we only got off about 2 volleys before the end of the battle was called. This was a disappointing effort, and we were assured by division command that amends would follow.

Chef Bray's excellent dinner improved the troop’s morale considerably. Campfire chatter tended to end early for the 3rd Maine, however other camps did not seem to have the same Ben Franklin philosophy of “early to bed, early to rise.” I guess they can expect to be neither healthy, wealthy nor wise.

Sleep that night was fitful, but better than the night before. The air mattress exhibited further complaint, requiring maintenance during the night again.

Arising between five and six, the fire had been started by Pioneer Cylik, and I visited the sinks. I determined that the best time to visit the sinks for morning constitutional is about 5 am - there are no lines, the facilities were clean and one may do one's business without feeling pressured to hurry up and allow space for the next in extremis in line. Properly sanitized, I shared breakfast duty.

Saturday dress parade and drill. We were advised that the morning battle had changed from “Optional” to “Mandatory”.

When I returned from drill I noticed that the strain of standing as long as I did had played hard on my feet. Mrs. Beverage noticed my extreme discomfort and was nice enough to draw a hot footbath for me. I was grateful, and was surprised at the restorative effect that merely a short soaking in hot water would allow.

Saturday morning battle - Again we were marched over the hill and came into the battlefield from the top. We waited and waited in the fine drizzle and when it came time to move suddenly the air was filled with shouts and commotion. We go from standing patiently to almost panic-driven frenzy in a matter of seconds. “Company into line!” pushing and shoving, and waiting on the enemy advance. Took a hit with Private Young early, and watched the battle through the haze and smoke. Seeing the Confederate colors waving in the distance, suspended in the smoke was a sight to make one gasp. The rains came down and soaked us on the ground. The Confederate and Union lines passed over us several times.

It is different being an observer than being an active participant. As a member of the line my attention is taken up by the actions of marching, loading my musket and listening or straining to hear orders. As such, my focus is narrow. Lying in the grass as a casualty allows one to take in a sweeping view of the battlefield.

We return, thrilled with the battle, and satisfied that Command had taken our earlier complaint seriously.

I set up my dog tent and that afternoon it was an ideal place to rest and nap during the day and keep the sun and occasional drizzle off.

Saturday afternoon battle - Being warned to stay away from the “orange circles” that were used to mark the buried explosive pyrotechnics, we were promptly marched almost on top of one. The Confederates advanced in front of us, but we could not get a clear shot off due to some Berdan’s sharpshooters in front of us who stubbornly would not be driven off. The lieutenant loudly complained behind me, begging for a chance to open up on the closing enemy. Soon the order was given and we gave several fast volleys in front of a fence, then we were marshaled for a retreat across the river where I thought we could rest under the shade of the trees. Instead we were put back into reserve. That senario ended and the Battle of Little Roundtop was to follow, and we were asked if we wanted to participate. What Maine man would not?

However, command confusion reigned, and we were “disinvited.” That caused not small amount of grumbling and dismay. A place to stand out of the way was offered to us, and rather than be where we were not welcome, we returned to camp with plainly expressed disgust at certain of the command staff.

Returning to camp the ice angels kept pace with our winded regiment and we gratefully received their offering. Approached by one charming young lady who was tendering frozen relief, I refused the first offer and pointed to Sergeant Manning who happened to be standing next to me. “Please, take care of my father first,” I deferred. The good Sergeant was not amused with my playful jest. To apply a biblical reference - like Mary to Joseph on the road to Bethlehem, he rode my ass all the way back to camp.

Dinner was suburb and after sitting up around the fire for a little bit I headed to bed early.

Frustrated with the air mattress and the humid air inside the stuffy tent, I thought it would be nice to sleep in the dog tent that night, and Heather joined me for the experience. After rolling around on the hard ground for a few minutes, my hip found a small depression to sink into and I suddenly “remembered” how to sleep on the ground.

One would think that sleeping on hard ground would be less comfortable than sleeping on even a partially inflated air mattress, but that would not necessarily be the case. Properly arranged into the slight contours of the earth can allow a very surprisingly comfortable situation, indeed. I actually had the best sleep of the weekend that night. It was colder toward morning, but I found that wrapping the blanket tightly around myself tucked me in as snug as a bug in a rug.

I awoke early, poured a basin of hot water and scraped off several days of beard with my straight razor, splashing myself with Bay Rum. I presented myself to the sergants for inspection, and was advised that I smelled like a cathouse, which, for me, I was told, was an improvement.

We assembled for colors and I looked to my right and saw that Mrs. Captain Lawson had joined us in the ranks in her colorful wrap and flashing a mischievous smile. She executed a crisp "by files right" with the rest of the Company and marched out with us to unfurl the colors.

“Humrph. I don’t think what you guys do is so hard,” she muttered as we broke ranks, while she returned to the civilian group.

Grand dress parade had the entire division standing in ranks with the cavalry and presenting a spectacular phalanx of blue that would strike fear into the heart of any Confederate unit contemplating an attack.

Mail call followed when we returned to camp. Sergeant Bray read that he was being pursued by an admirer with a glass eye, and private Jared Johnson received news of an impeding Blessing. I learned that my beloved was arming herself at home to discourage any of the numerous scoundrels and cowards who had excused themselves from honorable service so that they could graze at leisure on the fine crop of loyal women who were waiting for their men to return.

Thanks to all who made the effort to assure that all the soldiers received mail - I know it is a lot of work and it is a fun part of the experience.

After lunch the musicians put on a fine musical review, showing their talents and bringing appreciative cheers and applause from the group. At one point they played a strange jungle beat that seemed to stir the loins and call for decadent behaviors. Merely swaying to such a primal rhythm caused one’s hips to “rock and roll” in uncontrollable spasm. As I understand it, the alert Sargent Major, himself possibly finding his own primitive instinct aroused by the seductive cadence, prudently ordered an immediate stop to that activity.

And just in time, too, as who knows what he might have saved us from.

Resting under the fly before the battle Sunday, one of the civilians offered a titillating joke about a veterinarian who neuters his date's dog. I wondered, what would a female veterinarian neuter under similar circumstances? I started to revise the joke to that effect: “A female veterinarian on a date does what she does best...” “What would that be?” I am asked. Suddenly seeing where the joke was headed, I attempted to beat a retreat. “Uhh.. That’s all there is to it,” I said, attempting to save myself.

Such attempt was in vain, as that result was even worse.

Applying the rule of holes, “when you are in one, stop digging” I begged my leave and scampered away followed by a chorus of scorn and rebuke. Clearly this private is out of place in polite company.

Formed into a regiment, marching to battle we were buoyed by the sight of the 3rd Maine ladies who were standing by the road waving their white handkerchiefs. Knowing the “Pie Brigade” was fully behind us was uplifting, indeed.

Stepping onto the battlefield we could see we were in deep reserve. This did not seem promising, and the regimental staff was apparently off lobbying on our behalf. Soon the Captain came and clued us in on the plan - we would circumvent the overall plan and force ourselves into a position on The Wall. Once there, neither Confederate nor Union nor the Devil himself would be able to dislodge us.

The cannonade started. As I read later over 100 cannon were involved on both sides, the largest display on artillery in any Gettysburg reenactment. Reports are that about 14,000 reenactors were present.

The Confederates started their advance from over half-mile away. A long gray line stretched across the battlefield, the individual soldier indistinguishable in the smoke and haze.

We were pressed into place behind a Pennsylvania company, and coordinated how we would alternate fire. Firing started hot and heavy, and I was called for a safety violation, but I am not sure just what it was, Sargent Manning thought I might not have been bringing my rifle properly into my shoulder. “Hold it in like you are hunting,” he advised. It’s tricky sometimes when firing in a reenactment, although the motion you are doing is designed to kill, you are, instead, trying to make sure that no harm or danger can come out of it.

Thus adjusted, we fired on order and watched as the line of Confederates came closer and closer and finally just in front of our line they fell in droves. Some hearty souls actually reached the line and held out their hands where men in blue grasped them and pulled them over the stone wall. A Confederate officer reached the wall and hands came out and pulled him over, steadying him and passing him gently through the line. The flushed and breathless Confederate officer looked around and spied Captain Lawson and walked up to him and tendered his sword. The Captain gently, and displaying humility, accepted the sword - immediately returning it to the defeated officer with a salute.

Butternut-clad troops were being helped over the wall, where handshakes and embraces were given all around. As moving as it was at the time, in retrospect, outside of the noise and haze, confusion and shouting, the emotional nature of the event stands out now even clearer.

“Fredericksburg! Fredericksburg!” the Union line started to chant, thousands of hoarse voices bringing the chorus up to a roar.

Taps was played from points along the field, finally echoed by a trembling version played slowly, out of cadence, the notes falling like Pickett's men fell along the line.

We were very happy to see that the camp gear had been struck and packed when we returned to camp, and we only had to strike and pack our personal gear. Grateful appreciation to those involved.

All in all the weather was tolerable, and even with the mild occasional rain, about as good as one could expect.