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Came across this in my files and thought that since the previous posts are now "officially" lost I would put it back up again....
This 19-mile march on the original route was one of several campaigner adjunct events to the Antietam 140th (A140) anniversary reenactment.
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Palmetto Battalion Sharpsburg March
September 12 and 13, 2002
A combined seventy seven members of the Palmetto Battalion and the 26th North Carolina, joined together for a 19 mile march to retrace the route taken by the men of AP Hill’s Division, Gregg’s Brigade from Harpers Ferry to Sharpsburg. The march was organized by the Palmetto Living History Association. The march registration money remaining from expenses will be donated to preservation.
On the morning of 12 September, marchers registered at the A140 event site and met in the registration parking lot. Many of the Palmetto Battalion marchers were veterans of the A135 march. Marchers were aged from 17 to over 50. Weapons were inspected, logged, and tagged. Ammunition and caps were collected since part of the march would be on federal land. Light marching order. Uniforms, knapsack/blanket rolls, and haversack contents were inspected for compliance with the published authenticity standards. The preparation of the marchers showed here. A little hat brass was removed and some non-period rations were discarded but overall compliance was excellent.
A charter bus left from A140 to take the first group of marchers to the Harper’s Ferry Visitor center. The park service had requested that we only be on site between 11:00 and 2:00, so the bus made a brief stop at a local convenience store for refreshments. With 40 or so Confederate soldiers milling about outside, I don’t think that any other customers stopped in the 15 minutes we were there. After arriving at Harper’s Ferry Visitor center we were inspected by the NPS rangers and waited for the second group. Some took advantage of the opportunity to take the shuttle into town on the park proper. After the second group arrived and was inspected the marchers formed into two companies, Captain Cory Pharr commanding the Sandlappers and Captain John Runyon the Tarheels. Brevet Major Neill Rose was the overall commander.
The group set out on time and in fine spirits, the first mile or so taking us along a multi-lane highway to get to the march route. This detour and another at the bivouac site were the only deviations from the original line of march. A surgeon had joined us, pulling a small cart with water and medical supplies, but the cart broke in the first mile and he was next seen at the A140 event site. We covered a little more than half the total distance the first day. We had an advance vehicle and a chase vehicle for safety and possible emergencies. No individual baggage or water was allowed on the vehicles. Most all of the route was on pavement. Most everyone completed the march, three being brought down with foot injuries, and three having to depart early Friday. Special mention goes to my file partner, a 17-year old man with hip dysplasia. While the rest of us certainly endured some pain in our feet, this man must have felt pain with each step. Yet he kept in step, never complained, never fell out, finished the march, and was at the battle Sunday. His conduct certainly honored the memory of the Carolinians who went before him. The Major is also due of special mention for the massive effort that went into making a successful march.
The March
The terrain here is hills. The Major’s horse went lame, and he continued with us on foot. We made good time, making brief stops to rest and get water. Water was obtained from the local houses, whose inhabitants were found to be generous and sympathetic. My mess harvested a small garden and got a haversack full of peppers and some beets, with the consent of the owner. As we marched on the richness of this part of the country was apparent, with tall cornfields on both sides of the road. Despite General Lee’s orders to the contrary, some men did forage where fields were unfenced. Along the way, the locals would come out to watch us pass. I sometimes thought that either our boots on the road were noisy enough to hear for a long distance, or the locals had some way of communicating our approach in advance of our arrival. At the top of one hill in a wooded area, the landowner invited us to fill our canteens at his natural spring. The water was the coolest and best tasting anyone could remember.
It was amusing how dogs would bark ferociously, but wouldn’t approach too close to the group of almost a hundred armed men.
We made bivouac near Shepherdstown at sunset. The site was in the tree line off a field of freshly mowed hay and the forest had abundant deadwood. Generous two day rations were issued: two pounds slab bacon, one cup corn meal, one sweet potato, some dried peas and one hard cracker per man. The men divided into their messes and fires were quickly started. Some men gathered the cut hay from the fields for bedding. In my mess we decided to cook our entire bacon ration, one man set to cutting and the others to frying. The taste of huge hot chunks of bacon roasted over an open fire after a hard day’s march must be one of life’s supreme pleasures. Corn meal hoecakes, parched foraged corn and roasted peppers rounded out our feast.
The delight of our mess’s evening meal was interrupted when the sergeant informed us that our turn on guard duty would be from 2 to 4 am. It was cold and the most experienced campaigner in our mess quickly called the middle spot under our blankets. We slept well, but too soon I heard the sergeant, walking close by quietly calling us. I stayed under my blanket, hoping he wouldn’t be able to find us, but being the good sergeant that he is, he did, and we got up to stand duty. Our section retrieved our arms from the stacks and the Sergeant of the Guard marched us to our posts to relieve our comrades. The previous guards had build small fires at each post and I was able to dry my coat from the day’s sweat. After being relieved, my mess made coffee, maybe slept some more.
We soon rose to break camp and fell in at first light. Thanking the farmer who hosted us, we stepped off, leaving the road to cut across his fields. While the main body kept to the tree line, the first platoon, first company advanced as skirmishers across open fields to secure our route. At sunrise we got back on the road and the original line of march.
The morning was beautiful. We passed farm after farm. Children and women came out to watch us pass. At many points the Potomac could be seen from the road.
We stopped at one farm that had cantaloupes and small round watermelons for sale in front of the house, the farmer came out and kindly offered them for the taking. Here we experience another of life’s great pleasures, the ice cold juice of the sweet ripe melons running down our faces while we sat in front of the ancient brick house watching the sun rise clear over the golden fields of corn from behind the hills along the Potomac. As a gesture of thanks, a group of men went down the drive to serenade the lady of the house. As our color bearer bowed deeply in front of our hostess, the farm dog, a heavy Great Dane, took offence at his forwardness. The taking of a large piece of the color bearer’s lip followed. (Despite his injury, he continued the march, our camp surgeon using stitches to close the bite once we reached A140 that afternoon.) When I asked, I learned from the farmer that despite his dog’s obvious Union tendencies this, part of West Virginia was strongly secessionist. Taking more melons from the fields, we ate them on the spot and stepped off again.
We soon reached Pack Horse Ford (Boteler’s Ford). The stone building pictured in the Harper’s illustrated image is there, but in ruins. We sat down at the edge of the Potomac river to take off socks and roll up or take off trousers. Some left their shoes off, while others put them back on sockless. I had no choice as our captain ordered us to cross with our shoes on. We soon found out why. The ford was a trail of sharp slippery broken rocks, quite painful on our already swollen feet. Some who started without shoes quickly found themselves coming back to the bank or standing in the current, steadying themselves against a comrade while they put their shoes back on. The current was strong but manageable. The water was waist deep at its deepest. There were some slips but no “total immersion events.” The whole group took about 20 minutes to cross. The sight of the line of men, stretching from bank to bank was impressive.
After crossing into Maryland, we stacked arms and rested briefly, making small fires for coffee and drying our clothes as best we could. Here unfortunately, some of the Battalion staff were called away by the division commander to discuss the expected engagement and had to depart.
Our final leg of the march was probably the most difficult. Moving away from the river, the terrain quickly rises several hundred feet in what seems like one long hill. Singing helped get us up the hills. Someone would take up the verse with the whole battalion singing the chorus. The group would quickly fall into step and glide over the hill. Several songs were sung, but the two I remember that got me up hard hills were “Drunken Sailor” and “Rose of Alabama.”
Soon after crossing the river, the Major informed us that at that point Hill’s men could hear the sounds of battle. They couldn’t know what was happening, but surely knew they were needed. This thought was inspiring as we trudged along with our sore and blistered feet.
As we came up one hill, the major ordered the column into an open field were we deployed into a battle line. I still didn’t know what was happening as we received the order to fixed bayonets then forward. As we crested the hill we saw the cannons and the fields to our front. Down the hill, only a few hundred yards away, visible through the trees, was Burnside’s bridge. We had marched the same route, forded the same river, and were now standing in the same spot, seeing the same view of the terrain that the Carolinians had 140 years ago. Only today, instead of smoke and blood and death, we were greeted with the peace and quiet of a national park. Thank God.
Epilogue
We were quickly shuttled back to the A140 event site and fell in for the afternoon mock battle. Except for the “Cornfield,” the rest of the event couldn’t come close to what we had just experienced.
On Sunday, those of us who remained fell in as Gregg’s Brigade (I believe the unit on our left were the Drayton’s Brigade men, who had done their own march). We came onto the field at the last minute on the extreme right and delivered volley after punishing volley into (what should have been) the 6th Conn and 4th New Hamp. We used “fire by battalion” based on the reports of Berry Benson, 1st SC, who said that Sharpsburg was the first and last time they used that in battle, with devastating effect. The Federals fell back, but at the critical point, some scenario-breaking brigade moved in from the left, cutting off our field of fire. A bitter pill to swallow, but it couldn’t take away from the rest of our event.
This 19-mile march on the original route was one of several campaigner adjunct events to the Antietam 140th (A140) anniversary reenactment.
------------------------------------------------------
Palmetto Battalion Sharpsburg March
September 12 and 13, 2002
A combined seventy seven members of the Palmetto Battalion and the 26th North Carolina, joined together for a 19 mile march to retrace the route taken by the men of AP Hill’s Division, Gregg’s Brigade from Harpers Ferry to Sharpsburg. The march was organized by the Palmetto Living History Association. The march registration money remaining from expenses will be donated to preservation.
On the morning of 12 September, marchers registered at the A140 event site and met in the registration parking lot. Many of the Palmetto Battalion marchers were veterans of the A135 march. Marchers were aged from 17 to over 50. Weapons were inspected, logged, and tagged. Ammunition and caps were collected since part of the march would be on federal land. Light marching order. Uniforms, knapsack/blanket rolls, and haversack contents were inspected for compliance with the published authenticity standards. The preparation of the marchers showed here. A little hat brass was removed and some non-period rations were discarded but overall compliance was excellent.
A charter bus left from A140 to take the first group of marchers to the Harper’s Ferry Visitor center. The park service had requested that we only be on site between 11:00 and 2:00, so the bus made a brief stop at a local convenience store for refreshments. With 40 or so Confederate soldiers milling about outside, I don’t think that any other customers stopped in the 15 minutes we were there. After arriving at Harper’s Ferry Visitor center we were inspected by the NPS rangers and waited for the second group. Some took advantage of the opportunity to take the shuttle into town on the park proper. After the second group arrived and was inspected the marchers formed into two companies, Captain Cory Pharr commanding the Sandlappers and Captain John Runyon the Tarheels. Brevet Major Neill Rose was the overall commander.
The group set out on time and in fine spirits, the first mile or so taking us along a multi-lane highway to get to the march route. This detour and another at the bivouac site were the only deviations from the original line of march. A surgeon had joined us, pulling a small cart with water and medical supplies, but the cart broke in the first mile and he was next seen at the A140 event site. We covered a little more than half the total distance the first day. We had an advance vehicle and a chase vehicle for safety and possible emergencies. No individual baggage or water was allowed on the vehicles. Most all of the route was on pavement. Most everyone completed the march, three being brought down with foot injuries, and three having to depart early Friday. Special mention goes to my file partner, a 17-year old man with hip dysplasia. While the rest of us certainly endured some pain in our feet, this man must have felt pain with each step. Yet he kept in step, never complained, never fell out, finished the march, and was at the battle Sunday. His conduct certainly honored the memory of the Carolinians who went before him. The Major is also due of special mention for the massive effort that went into making a successful march.
The March
The terrain here is hills. The Major’s horse went lame, and he continued with us on foot. We made good time, making brief stops to rest and get water. Water was obtained from the local houses, whose inhabitants were found to be generous and sympathetic. My mess harvested a small garden and got a haversack full of peppers and some beets, with the consent of the owner. As we marched on the richness of this part of the country was apparent, with tall cornfields on both sides of the road. Despite General Lee’s orders to the contrary, some men did forage where fields were unfenced. Along the way, the locals would come out to watch us pass. I sometimes thought that either our boots on the road were noisy enough to hear for a long distance, or the locals had some way of communicating our approach in advance of our arrival. At the top of one hill in a wooded area, the landowner invited us to fill our canteens at his natural spring. The water was the coolest and best tasting anyone could remember.
It was amusing how dogs would bark ferociously, but wouldn’t approach too close to the group of almost a hundred armed men.
We made bivouac near Shepherdstown at sunset. The site was in the tree line off a field of freshly mowed hay and the forest had abundant deadwood. Generous two day rations were issued: two pounds slab bacon, one cup corn meal, one sweet potato, some dried peas and one hard cracker per man. The men divided into their messes and fires were quickly started. Some men gathered the cut hay from the fields for bedding. In my mess we decided to cook our entire bacon ration, one man set to cutting and the others to frying. The taste of huge hot chunks of bacon roasted over an open fire after a hard day’s march must be one of life’s supreme pleasures. Corn meal hoecakes, parched foraged corn and roasted peppers rounded out our feast.
The delight of our mess’s evening meal was interrupted when the sergeant informed us that our turn on guard duty would be from 2 to 4 am. It was cold and the most experienced campaigner in our mess quickly called the middle spot under our blankets. We slept well, but too soon I heard the sergeant, walking close by quietly calling us. I stayed under my blanket, hoping he wouldn’t be able to find us, but being the good sergeant that he is, he did, and we got up to stand duty. Our section retrieved our arms from the stacks and the Sergeant of the Guard marched us to our posts to relieve our comrades. The previous guards had build small fires at each post and I was able to dry my coat from the day’s sweat. After being relieved, my mess made coffee, maybe slept some more.
We soon rose to break camp and fell in at first light. Thanking the farmer who hosted us, we stepped off, leaving the road to cut across his fields. While the main body kept to the tree line, the first platoon, first company advanced as skirmishers across open fields to secure our route. At sunrise we got back on the road and the original line of march.
The morning was beautiful. We passed farm after farm. Children and women came out to watch us pass. At many points the Potomac could be seen from the road.
We stopped at one farm that had cantaloupes and small round watermelons for sale in front of the house, the farmer came out and kindly offered them for the taking. Here we experience another of life’s great pleasures, the ice cold juice of the sweet ripe melons running down our faces while we sat in front of the ancient brick house watching the sun rise clear over the golden fields of corn from behind the hills along the Potomac. As a gesture of thanks, a group of men went down the drive to serenade the lady of the house. As our color bearer bowed deeply in front of our hostess, the farm dog, a heavy Great Dane, took offence at his forwardness. The taking of a large piece of the color bearer’s lip followed. (Despite his injury, he continued the march, our camp surgeon using stitches to close the bite once we reached A140 that afternoon.) When I asked, I learned from the farmer that despite his dog’s obvious Union tendencies this, part of West Virginia was strongly secessionist. Taking more melons from the fields, we ate them on the spot and stepped off again.
We soon reached Pack Horse Ford (Boteler’s Ford). The stone building pictured in the Harper’s illustrated image is there, but in ruins. We sat down at the edge of the Potomac river to take off socks and roll up or take off trousers. Some left their shoes off, while others put them back on sockless. I had no choice as our captain ordered us to cross with our shoes on. We soon found out why. The ford was a trail of sharp slippery broken rocks, quite painful on our already swollen feet. Some who started without shoes quickly found themselves coming back to the bank or standing in the current, steadying themselves against a comrade while they put their shoes back on. The current was strong but manageable. The water was waist deep at its deepest. There were some slips but no “total immersion events.” The whole group took about 20 minutes to cross. The sight of the line of men, stretching from bank to bank was impressive.
After crossing into Maryland, we stacked arms and rested briefly, making small fires for coffee and drying our clothes as best we could. Here unfortunately, some of the Battalion staff were called away by the division commander to discuss the expected engagement and had to depart.
Our final leg of the march was probably the most difficult. Moving away from the river, the terrain quickly rises several hundred feet in what seems like one long hill. Singing helped get us up the hills. Someone would take up the verse with the whole battalion singing the chorus. The group would quickly fall into step and glide over the hill. Several songs were sung, but the two I remember that got me up hard hills were “Drunken Sailor” and “Rose of Alabama.”
Soon after crossing the river, the Major informed us that at that point Hill’s men could hear the sounds of battle. They couldn’t know what was happening, but surely knew they were needed. This thought was inspiring as we trudged along with our sore and blistered feet.
As we came up one hill, the major ordered the column into an open field were we deployed into a battle line. I still didn’t know what was happening as we received the order to fixed bayonets then forward. As we crested the hill we saw the cannons and the fields to our front. Down the hill, only a few hundred yards away, visible through the trees, was Burnside’s bridge. We had marched the same route, forded the same river, and were now standing in the same spot, seeing the same view of the terrain that the Carolinians had 140 years ago. Only today, instead of smoke and blood and death, we were greeted with the peace and quiet of a national park. Thank God.
Epilogue
We were quickly shuttled back to the A140 event site and fell in for the afternoon mock battle. Except for the “Cornfield,” the rest of the event couldn’t come close to what we had just experienced.
On Sunday, those of us who remained fell in as Gregg’s Brigade (I believe the unit on our left were the Drayton’s Brigade men, who had done their own march). We came onto the field at the last minute on the extreme right and delivered volley after punishing volley into (what should have been) the 6th Conn and 4th New Hamp. We used “fire by battalion” based on the reports of Berry Benson, 1st SC, who said that Sharpsburg was the first and last time they used that in battle, with devastating effect. The Federals fell back, but at the critical point, some scenario-breaking brigade moved in from the left, cutting off our field of fire. A bitter pill to swallow, but it couldn’t take away from the rest of our event.