Into The Piney Woods AAR

[Gery Barker]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Gentlemen, this is George, the lead ox, writing. I have undertaken to put our feelings down since everyone know teamsters are illiterate and Charlie, who offered, would just make a mess of it. And, after all, an ox is just a steer with an education.

We arrived after dark Sunday having spent sixteen hours in the trailer coming from the Kentucky hills. The muleskinners, hospitable as always, helped us get settled. The humans seemed to talk a lot, they do that sort of thing, but we finally got to sleep around midnight. I bedded down on the tarp with Gery, the driver, it makes him feel good.

Monday we laid about all day resting up with the exception of a short drive to check out the wagon and equipment. Gery went with Nathan, one of the muleskinners, to walk some of the trails. They found a fat, two foot water moccasin about a hundred yards out of Cane Camp.

After a quiet night, we were awakened well before dawn and yoked. We waited on the road for the mules to get the rest of their load and were walking shortly after seven. We were lightly loaded and had a fairly easy day. It was a bit overly warm and William was not ready for it. But, we only went about eight miles. The only real incident was that when we were being taken to water, Mike, one of the boys helping us, noticed a water moccasin in the creek right where James was about to drink. Gery threw a couple of sticks at it, but it refused to move. What I don't like about water moccasins is that they don't rattle, coil or run away, they simply lay there and dare you.

At camp the teamsters played with the feet of some ugly horse. I don't understand why a human would pay attention to a horse when there are perfectly good oxen about. A couple of the boys amused themselves riding oxen.

Wednesday, the weather turned cooler. Again we had about an eight mile walk. We came into a steep little valley with a very sandy trail. At the bottom there were deep ruts the wrong width for the wagon. The wagon canted so badly that Larry noticed that the wheels on the lower side were bending. The prospect of a broken wheel leaving the humans with a mile to carry the loads back to a road, not to mention getting the wagon out, induced them to unload us and help the wagon past the rough spots. When the wagon was being unloaded Confederate soldiers found a runaway slave hiding in the hay. That gave us some excitement. Some of the turns were very tight. At camp we had to be watered from mud puddles because the stream banks were too steep for easy access.

Thursday morning we were joined by a horse with colic. People should ride oxen, they are less trouble. After the evening before's example, it was decided that soldiers would help us up the hill to avoid risking the wagon. Also, I started out he morning with a limp, but it got better as I walked. It was wonderful having the soldier's help and the hill went quickly. At the top, the trail became much easier. We only walked five miles, but the last couple were in rain. There was a little grazing in camp and we got hay. The rain increased and the humans busied themselves with a fire and shelter. It was a wet night and I think the humans spent it in one bed under a wet buffalo robe. I suppose they were warm though.

In the morning a herd of wet soldiers walked by. We followed them. After maybe a mile we met our trailer and the adventure came to an end. I think the humans stopped it because they were cold and wet. People don't always understand that hard work is often easier in a cool rain. They just need to have a 101 degree body temperature, a ton of mass, and a fur coat.

I think William, James, Charles and I enjoyed the outing. The work wasn't too hard. That sticky stuff protected our feet from the gravel. We were well fed and watered and surrounded by friends. Every day in the Army is like Sunday on the farm. - George

[LibertyHallVols]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Now I've seen everything. :wink_smil

Every day in the Army is like Sunday on the farm. - George

Classic!

[Mcouioui]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Axel diary End...

Forest de Louisiane, Jeudi 12 mars

Je me réveille au son d’une voix. William nous dit, à moi et rougeau que nous avons un quart d’heure pour nous équiper. Ça y est, c’est l’heure de la garde. Il fait froid et humide malgré qu’il n’ait pas l’air d’avoir plu. Au réveil, difficile de se réchauffer en vitesse. Nous décidons de passer notre couverture et éventuellement notre gum autour des épaules. Après s’être totalement équipé et brièvement réchauffé auprès du feu, le sergent de garde (qui est notre unique sergent dans la compagnie) vient former la garde montante. Nous partons relever les postes après qu’il nous ait transmis les mots de passe. A moi le poste numéro 1, le même que j’occupais la veille. Mes deux compagnons sont postés plus loin vers le camp fédéral. Malgré que la garde soit calme et uniquement ponctuée de passage du sergent de garde qui nous propose de nous relever pour se réchauffer, le temps passe vite. Je ne change de position que rarement et reste attentif aux bruits et mouvements autour de moi. Les yankees sont présents auprès de leurs feux qui en ferait des cibles faciles pour les bons tireurs. Idem pour William, dont l’allumage de pipe indique directement sa position.

Le petit matin arrive doucement, il fait encore noir quand notre sergent vient nous relever. Bizarrement personne ne nous remplace. Nous rejoignons notre feu, qui est désormais entourés d’hommes allongés. Nous préparons le café que nous partageons volontiers avec nos camarades. On se demande quel sort va être réservés aux prisonnier et ce que nous allons faire de leurs affaires. Nous plierons les nôtres et rassemblerons les leurs pour les laisser sur place.

Au lever du soleil, tout le camps et debout. Les prisonniers nous sont rendus. Bien que je ne connaisse pas les conditions de cette étonnante libération, je suis soulagé de les voir en bonne santé et d’entendre qu’ils ont bien été traités. Même mieux nourris que nous.

Nous devons faire nos sacs et reprendre nos positions derrière la barricade. Au fur et à mesure les compagnies reprennent la route. Nous sommes au centre pour la journée avec les couleurs. Après un bref arrêt où le bataillon se reforme avec les cavaliers, nous reprenons la route, sur un chemin plus rocailleux. Très vite nous rejoignons un chariot. La colonne de l’armée a pris du retard et les chariots ralentissent notre progression vers le nord. Le colonel décide alors de positionner la majorité du bataillon sur des bonnes positions plus en arrière et de mener des combats d’arrière garde. Nous rejoignons une compagnie qui s’est positionnée dans des rochers ainsi que les cavaliers qui ont laissé derrière eux leurs chevaux pour se positionner en avant en tirailleur. Quand à nous, nous nous positionnons sur le côté de la route, en ligne, pour couvrir la retraite des autres.

Dans l’attente d’action, les discutions avec nos amis retrouvés vont bon train, malgré plusieurs rappels à l’ordre de la consigne de silence. Le moral est bon, et les blagues fusent, entremêlées de surnoms affectueux entre camarade.

Enfin, les premiers coups de feu, avec le retour des cavaliers qui grimpent rapidement sur leurs montures pour partir en arrière, suivis de l’autre compagnie qui descend de leurs rochers. Nous faisons à notre tour feu sur quelques tirailleurs qui se présentent à notre portée avant d’effectuer une retraite rapide. Pendant un temps ce type de mouvement de retraite en échelons se poursuit avant de prendre assez de distance par rapport à nos poursuivants. Nous marquons une pause pour remplir les gourdes. Plusieurs hommes ont les pieds dans un mauvais état. Nous les soignons comme nous pouvons, mais le temps presse. Nous perdons même le reste de la troupe à une croisée de chemin. Finalement nous reprenons la route d’un bon pas. Pour une fois, le rythme est soutenu. Le reste de la matinée n’est faite que de marche.

Nous nous arrêtons enfin pour manger, et c’est alors que la pluie commence. Certains font un rapide feu pour un café alors que d’autres font un petit somme sous leur gum. Au moment de reprendre la route, la pluie cesse temporairement. La marche reprend. Plus lentement cette fois, mais en chansons. Edouard est de nouveau de ceux qui chantent le plus, ainsi que les francophones. Peu à peu, la pluie refait son apparition.

Après une après-midi de marche, nous prenons position sur une crête. Des coups de feu récent nous indiquent que l’ennemi est sur nos talons. Nous devons rapidement ériger de nouvelles défenses. Dans un terrain déjà détrempé nous construisons des défenses et en arrière des abris pour la nuit. Le temps joue sur l’humeur et de petites tensions apparaissent. Mais de courte durée, car déjà un adversaire commun est retrouvé. Tout le bataillon est formé derrière les barricades. Plusieurs compagnies bleues descendent la crête opposée, bien décidées à en découdre. Rapidement les feus débutent deviennent continus après un feu de file. Machinalement, je charge et tir sur les masses bleues devenues timide et peu agressives. Je charge puis tire, charge et tire,… a peine je prend conscience de la situation et à peine je suis troublé par la chaleur de mon canon. Ma main et noire de poudre mouillée, mes lèvres ont le goût de poudre. Ma tête doit faire peur. Finalement, les fédéraux se retirent sans avoir égratignés nos défenses. Les colonnes repartent d’où elles sont venues.

Nous rejoignons notre camp. Une inspection est prévue. Nous nettoyons nos armes, nous lavons, préparons le repas et séchons près du feu ce qui peu l’être. Notre camarade Bill, de notre compagnie, est assez mal. Touché lors de l’affrontement et est alités sous notre abris. L’inspection des armes de notre compagnie a lieu. Je pensais avoir nettoyé correctement mon arme, pourtant, mon capitaine sort un chiffon sale de mon canon. Comment ais-je pu passer à côté de ça ? Le genre de chose qui se rajoute à la fatigue et au temps pourris…

Une nouvelle inspection, une de plus va avoir lieu avec tout le bataillon. Heureusement que mon capitaine est indulgent et que je n’aurai pas à présenter une arme sale au colonel ou au major. Je profite du temps qu’il m’est donné pour achever se nettoyage, finalement trop sommaire. L’inspection m’agasse quand même mais se passe sans trop de problèmes. Notre compagnie semble être la plus propre et ne devra donc pas faire de garde cette nuit. Heureusement…. Deux nuit de garde avec un temps pareil !

La pluie ne faibli pas et redouble même. Rougeau participe à la décapitation d’un poulet et son nettoyage sous l’œil dégoûté de notre premier sergent Chris. Pourtant nous ne touchons qu’une partie infime du poulet en échange de ce service rendu. Heureusement pour relever le repas, nous avons réussi à obtenir un morceau de saucisse qui accompagnera l’éternel porc salé avec du riz. Et pourtant, la nuit tombée nous nous réfugions dans notre abri très étroit pour déguster ce repas. Quand la fatigue est là et un temps aussi mauvais, quel régal ce repas ! J’amuse mes camarade en léchant les reste de ma poile.

Nous nous contorsionnons pour mettre des vêtements moins humides et nous enrouler dans notre paillasse. Sous cet abris nous sommes maintenant une dizaines accolés les uns aux autres. Des petites fuites d’eau nous dérangent ainsi que des souches sous notre dos. Et pourtant, sûrement par nervosité, la bonne humeur règne. Rires et chansons ponctuent notre courte soirée. La perspective de jours aussi humides que celui-ci, ne sont pourtant pas propice à relever le moral.

Dans cette chaleur de proximité, nous trouvons le sommeil. Pendant la nuit, nous nous tournons même de concert pour garder la proximité et un pseudo confort.

Forest de Louisiane, Vendredi 13 mars

Toute la nuit, la pluie est tombée. Notre capitaine vient nous réveiller. La situation à l’aire difficile, nous avons perdu plusieurs hommes cette nuit à cause des combats de la veille et ils n’ont pas résisté à cette nuit. La situation doit être pareil, si pas pire chez les fédéraux. Nous devons rapidement reprendre la route car nous sommes relevés et nous devons rejoindre le reste de l’armée. Les sacs sont fait dans la précipitation et la pluie. A peine une tasse de café est préparée à la hâte. Le bataillon est rassemblé. Notre colonel nous félicite du comportement du bataillon ces derniers jours et fait part, avec émotions, de son sentiment de fierté de nous avoir sous ses ordres. Le bataillon répond par 3 bancs de hourrah.

La colonne traverse le bois en une longue file qui fait peine à voir. Plusieurs hommes ne semblent pas avoir dormis, notre Bill marche pied nus dans ce terrain détrempé. La nuit lui a permis de retrouver quelques forces qui seront vite perdu avec une position si inconfortable.

La colonne se reforme sur la route et reprend d’un bon pas sous une pluie forte et continue. Pourtant la perspective de retrouver un relatif confort avec le reste de l’armée et les souvenirs de ces difficultés endurées ensemble réchauffe nos cœurs.

[Texasbutternut]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

The Hon. Gen. Taylor,

I humbly submit the following narrative, in hopes it may help you and your army.

The actions of the retreat up the Red River from March 9-13, from the perspective of a civilian serving in the hospital services and water supply detachment.

March 9 Monday

Arrived in camp in Kisatchie Woods, looked for my Cousin Fred, who had asked me to help supply the Confederates with water and take care of the sick and wounded during the retreat. Found him and several others dividing some very appetizing rations among the encamped troops; we discussed details of communications and mapped potential water supply points. Set up my tent. Found my other cousin Phil setting up camp nearby with his wife Nita and their dog Dixie; discussed our duties and schedules. Met the Parish Sheriff, Tom Yearby, who either has never found my stills or doesn’t want to; I suspect the latter. Cousin Fred and the Sheriff told me and Cousin Phil that they had made a deal with both the Confederates and Federals about the water supply and that we were to supply and aid both sides as they passed through these woods. As it was a gentleman’s agreement, neither side would punish us for helping the other side in these matters. I may have had too much of the honey dew vine water from my still because I agreed to help. As it turned out, both sides kept their agreement and we were not harmed.
After supper I tested the well water for suitability for a ‘bucket bath’; satisfactory result, though the water was very cold.

March 10 Tuesday

Daybreak -- watched the Confederates form up and drill in the camp, ragged at first but quickly improved under the officers' direction. Several practice volleys were fired until it sounded like a single large boom. They formed up and moved down the trail, followed by the cavalry.
A half hour later the Federals formed up and marched off into the woods, but they did not practice firing a volley.

Morning – the first watering station was manned by both Cousin Phil and myself, with Nita and Dixie waiting by the water wagon. As this was the first agreed-upon water location, I decided to come and see how it is done. Cousin Phil and I waited by the crossroads. Cousin Phil said the Confederates had already passed by a half hour earlier, the watering went well. After a while the near-silence of the woods was broken by the uneven tramping of many feet. We could see the approaching blue-clad pickets and made no move to conceal ourselves, as we were confident that the agreement for our services would be sufficient for our safety. Much to our surprise, the pickets captured us and set us on a log and searched us. Thankfully I had left my flask of honey dew vine water up on the hill behind a tree. Our cousin Fred was leading the Union battalion and introduced both Phil and myself as his cousins. Some of the blue soldiers ridiculed us and demeaned our wives, but Cousin Phil and I have heard worse insults at the local tavern so we gave them a few rejoinders in return. One of the officers said the men had taken an oath of temperance and did not drink alcohol. I said that was a shame because my stills produce some very tasty drink that keeps the varmints out of the bloodstream. One of the soldiers wanted to know what I used for the makings of the still, I told him I usually use corn, and Indian corn if I can find it. Then Cousin Phil led them to the water wagon and was made to drink some of the water before they would fill their canteens, and since Phil was thirsty he put on a pretty good show of drinking a lot of water. One fellow near me said the fighting would be over if we would just lay down our arms; by ‘we’ I suppose he meant the South as a whole. So I said ‘Lay down our arms? That’s all we got to do and y’all will go home?’ The fellow said certainly, that’s all there is to it. So I gently laid my outstretched arms upon the pine needled forest floor and said ‘There. It’s done. Now go home.’ I don’t know why them fellers laughed, I did what he asked but they never went home. Only thing I can figger is that the privates can’t speak for the whole army. I asked them if they knew the Yeti was in the woods, they just laughed. They do not know anything about the Yeti or they would not have laughed. One soldier privately asked me if I had a bottle of whiskey I could sell him, but I was not carrying anything at the moment so I could not help him; that may have been the smartest feller in the whole bunch. They formed up and marched on, leaving us sitting there on the log.

Midday – the next watering spot was on a red dirt road close to the trail, so we waved when we saw the Confederate pickets and they knew us by now and there was no trouble with the watering. Then we got word that one of the Union men was down and needed a wagon to get him out. Trouble was, the trail was too narrow for a wagon to go very far and there were two footbridges to cross over streams between us and the man. So with Mr. Heath leading our wagon, we got as far as the first footbridge and waited for some of the men to carry the wounded man out. Mr. Heath carried a banana to the wounded man in hopes it would help him a little. It was too pretty of a day for someone to be injured but there it was. Directly, here comes the stretcher bearers with an empty stretcher followed by the wounded man, known as Cornbread, limping along slowly but steadily. We put him in the wagon and turned around and went up the trail to the red dirt road and took him to the convalescent camp. He found a nice shady spot to set up his camp and settled down for a long nap.
The Federal bugler came to the convalescent camp, and was able to go to town for some supplies for the camp. Seems to be a nice fellow.

Evening, convalescent camp – a good supper was prepared by Nita, which included large tasty meatballs, a large pot of pasta and tomato sauce. I added a loaf of my wife’s sourdough bread to the meal, it was gone in a matter of minutes. Several of the convalescents enjoyed the meal and seemed to be recovering nicely around the fire. Cornbread mostly stayed at rest at his campsite and ‘caught’ a coyote during the night by tying a string from his grub sack to one of his fingers. When the coyote tugged on the grubsack, Cornbread threw back his blanket, surprising the coyote which jumped a couple feet into the air, came down and grabbed the grubsack and ran to the woods with Cornbread in hot pursuit. Cornbread retrieved most of his grubsack.
I tried the ‘bucket bath’ again in hopes the water would be warmer this time, but it wasn’t.


March 11 Wednesday

Midday – the watering of the Confederate battalion went well, the men were looking tired and sweaty but full of hope. The barrels I brought were not quite enough to fill everyone’s canteen so we used the small bottles to finish the job. The last man in line was from Europe, perhaps Germany, and got the last bottle of water. Kyle the bugler helped with the watering. A civilian who was fleeing the area rested in the wagon, his back was sore. I think his name was Amos. Quite a polite fellow, mannerly in spite of all the trials and tribulations of having to flee his home in front of the Yankee invaders.
The cavalry moved out, the infantry formed up and moved out. The Federals had not yet arrived when a message was received that the Confederate Sgt-Major was down with a bad ankle injury and would need to go to an infirmary. Cousin Phil arrived with his water wagon to give the Federals plenty of water; the water barrels were unloaded so the wagon could be used for an ambulance. Cousin Phil’s wagon was able to get down the narrow trail to the injured man. The casualty, Ox, was loaded carefully and taken out to the Natchitoches infirmary.
Then there was a little rain and the temperature dropped about fifteen degrees.
After a long break, the Federals doused fires, formed up and moved off. It wasn’t long before the sounds of battle were heard – random shots, then more random shots, then some volleys, some shouting, many volleys and yells. After about a half hour of action, the woods were quiet again.
A Confederate with a lame foot, Brook, wanted to join his wife who was with some civilians in the area, they were fleeing like Amos. So we took him in the wagon to a spot near where the civilians should be and he made his way through the woods to them as more light rain fell. I felt better knowing the civilians would be guarded by a good Southern soldier.
One of the supply wagon men, Nathan, wanted to go back along the trail to retrieve his coat that he had left, so I took him on that errand. As the weather was looking like it would get bad, a coat would be a good idea, along with a good camp site. He invited me to come look at their camp and inspect the Confederate breastworks so I agreed and we set off down the trail. About a half mile from the watering station we came upon the quartermaster and cavalry camp, which already had fires going and good-smelling things cooking. A cavalryman was attending to his horse, the other wagon animals were being fed and watered. As I looked around, some rifle shots were heard pretty close and I took cover behind some trees. The Confederates were attacking the union camp, they were close enough to see their skirmish line and hear their yells. The battle raged back and forth a while, then it got quiet again. I left for the road and took my wagon back to the convalescent camp.

Evening, convalescent camp -- A foraging party was organized to go into town for food for the hospital and some other comforts were added to the list. As some of them were not obtainable in Provencal the decision was made to continue to Natchitoches, as there was a plentiful supply to be had at a mercantile run by the brothers Brookshire. The group consisted of myself, Cornbread and Kyle the bugler. Cornbread was in his Union uniform, I in my civilian attire, but Kyle was only partially clothed in some sort of cotton shirt and some black knickerbockers (at least he did not carry the bugle on this trip). We proceeded through the woods along the narrow lanes until we came to the Brookshire mercantile in Natchitoches. Although it was approaching dusk, the store was brightly lit with nearly fifty people inside, but they were wearing strange clothing similar to Kyle’s curious outfit. No one bothered us beyond a few sidelong glances and we proceeded to fill a hand cart with the items on our list, plus a few other tantalizing treats. I found some beer from Abita Springs for sale, the nectar of the bayou, second only to my own product from the stills. Kyle was generous with his Yankee money, and I contributed what I could to the food bill. We then fed our horses and went back to the convalescent camp where a good fire was going and Nita proceeded to direct the evening cooking duties. Under her expert tutelage we all managed to turn out a sumptuous dinner which included ground beef sandwiches with cheese and sliced vegetables, and several kinds of tasty sausages.
The injured man, Ox, enjoyed the meal tremendously and regaled us with the story of his appearance at the hospital with his ankle splinted with rough sticks and tied up with an old sock. He seemed to relish to memory of clearing the room when his shirt was opened; we had to tell him it wasn’t his manly chest that made the nurses swoon, it was his personal aroma that ran them off. Of course, he didn’t believe us. He seems to be recovering nicely, or at least is enjoying the painkilling medicines the doctor gave him. His ankle should heal in a few weeks, if he doesn’t get into too many tavern fights.
Talked with a good man from Minnesota, Keith Murray if I recollect. Some of the Union men remarked that it the weather back home was probably snowing, yet there were butterflies and flowers in these woods. A Southerner suggested that they should go ahead and move down here and quit fighting on the wrong side, which brought some laughter but the Union men seemed to think about it pretty hard.


March 12 Thursday

A Confederate named Marty came in from Kansas City to join the battle, he was taken to the Confederate camp.
Mrs. Lawson of the civilian group arrived, brought some mail, which was taken to the Federals by Cousin Phil.
Nita made some mighty fine coffee and biscuits for breakfast.

Deer Check station – went with Kyle the Union bugler to the designated water point with the intent of leading the Confederates to the nearby spring. Kyle was wearing his sleeping cap, for comfort I suppose, and had his bugle when he strolled up the path toward the approaching Confederates. I thought he was admiring the landscape, but in a few minutes I heard him off in the distance blowing the Attention call. He came back to the watering point at a good trot and hid behind a tree. I wondered what was going on and started walking toward the trail crossing when a Confederate picket jumped out of the brush, rifle at the ready and pointed at me, demanding to know who I was and what I was doing. I threw up my hands and turned all the way around to show that I was unarmed, and called out that I was Cousin Hank and I know where the spring is. He demanded to know what the Union bugler was doing there and I said he was my prisoner, and was injured and is out of uniform as evidenced by his sleeping cap and I had no idea he was going to blow anything on his bugle. Kyle meekly came out from behind the tree with hands and bugle raised, and confirmed my story to the picket. After the sergeant came up and was apprised of the situation, the picket relented and lowered his weapon. Watering then proceeded, with thirsty men replenishing their canteens at a rapid pace as the rain showers occasionally fell. Some of the men privately related that they thought the bugle call was somewhat amusing because it made the entire battalion freeze in their tracks and look wide-eyed in all directions; several soldiers were reported to exclaim ‘how the he## did the Yankees get around us so fast?’
After all canteens were filled and fires doused, the Confederate cavalry moved off, followed by the infantry. About a half hour later the Federals came up the trail and Kyle repeated his bugle call with the same freezing effect on the soldiers. Kyle walked to meet the column and reported later that the picket stopped him with a rifle pointed at him and then recognized Kyle, so the picket lowered his weapon. This earned the picket a sharp rebuke from the sergeant, who reminded the picket to not trust anyone. Kyle then introduced me to the pickets and the watering proceeded without mishap except for one unfortunate fellow who ran off into the woods with a most uncomfortable expression on his face; he returned a short time later with much relief. By this time the rain shower was light and steady and the temperature was getting cool. One officer said he was from Seattle, Washington and this was normal weather for him. Bobo asked about Cornbread, was told he is recovering nicely and related the story about catching the coyote. The Federals formed up, doused fires and moved off through the tall pines as the drizzle fell through the gray air.

Some federals were taken to camp with the cold chills, a good fire at camp warmed them up.

Thursday afternoon, just before dark – Word was passed that some of the civilians fleeing the Yankees were in trouble and should be found and brought to safety. Cousin Phil and I took his wagon to their last known location and starting searching. They were found near a road, huddled under their cart with no fire. One woman had an injured hand, one of the men had started walking toward their own wagon several miles away. We loaded the ladies in the wagon and set out to find the walking man, which we did after a couple of miles. He was "Brook", the same who we had transported the previous day. All were taken to their wagon safely, where they were able to find proper shelter in the cold rainy evening.

At the convalescent camp, Nita directed the cooking of some excellent beef and pork steaks and some sausages, with beans and other tasty dishes. All present greatly enjoyed the meal.

Thursday evening – A Confederate Major or Private, not sure which, arrived with the nicest flintlock seen in these parts in years and was taken in Cousin Phil’s wagon, along with some others who felt stronger including Kyle the bugler, to their respective camps to join their comrades in arms. A steady drizzle was still falling so I had sympathy for those who were leaving the convalescent camp, and a little sympathy for the Federals who would shortly be hearing the bugle calls.

Middle of the night – Cousin Phil awakened me with the alarming news that several soldiers were very sick and needed to be brought to safety. We hurried through the dark by lantern and met the detachment on a road by their camp. They were bundled up and brought to camp, then on to better shelter in Natchitoches. Returned to my tent and warm dry blankets, fell asleep to steady rain on the tent.

March 13 Friday

Awakened at dawn by Cousin Phil, who said everyone was being brought out because of bad weather, bad health conditions for the men, and potential for a complete Union loss. A truce was declared so everyone could be evacuated back to the base camp. Emptied the wagons of all non-essential items and hurried to designated location. Both battalions marched smartly out of the woods in the cold rain, both confident that another day would bring a continuance of the fight. But for now they would go on a brief furlough. The wagons first carried those who had other wagons back at camp, those wagons came back and picked up other soldiers and continued until everyone was at camp. The quartermaster wagons made their way back to the base camp and arrived safely. I had the honor of ferrying Mr. Heath back to camp, quite the interesting fellow, even if he was wearing the Union blue.

Talked with a man from Rhode Island, who had some pretty good home brew with its own label. It was almost as good as my own whiskey.

All the soldiers gathered up their gear and rode out of camp, with many hearty handshakes and goodbyes, as brothers in arms will do.

I suspect the Yankees will form up and move north toward Shreveport so Gen. Taylor I suppose you will want to watch out for them if they come that way.

It was an honor to serve you and your troops. You may call upon me and Cousins Phil and Fred again for aid at any time.

Respectfully submitted,

"Cousin Hank" Van Slyke, civilian,
Residing in Coon Holler Bayou, Kisatchie Woods, Louisiana

[Old Reb]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Cousin Hank,
I didn't know you knew how to write. Regardless, your vote for me in the next election will be greatly appreciated and rewarded.

[Mcouioui]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

We win what to vote for you Tom? For democracy I am ready for all sacrifices ;)

[Old Reb]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

William,
You can mail in your vote. You can mail it in twice if you so desire. When re-elected, William, you can rest assured that I will continue to take care of my friends and punish my enemies, for my enemies are your enemies. Hog thieves will be arrested and receive quick justice as will any wishing to do harm to the good law abiding citizens of Natchitoches parish in any act or endeavor. Oh, and no new taxes.:wink_smil

[Mcouioui]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Ok! I agree and for the houses of pleasures, what will be your position? :tounge_sm

[Old Reb]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

William,
There are no houses of pleasure in Natchitoches parish! Such would be in violation of parish and state laws and as you fully know, I am sworn to enforce the law. However, gentleman's clubs are private establishments and therefore exempt from the laws regarding the house's of pleasure to which you alluded. In regards to your position question,I have no preferred position being one seems as well suited as any other. :)

[Mgreer]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Last part of Axels AAR

I awake with the sound of a voice. William says to us, with me and rougeau that we have fifteen minutes to equip us. That is there, it is the hour of the guard. The weather is cold and wet although it does not seem to have rained. With the alarm clock, difficult to be heated of speed. We decide to pass our cover and possibly our gum around the shoulders. After being itself completely equipped and briefly heated near fire, the sergeant of guard (which is our single sergeant in the company) comes to form the relief guard. We leave to raise the stations after it transmitted the passwords to us. With me the station number 1, the same one as I occupied the day before. My two companions are posted further towards the federal camp. Although the guard is calm and only punctuated of passage of the sergeant of guard which proposes to us to be raised to be heated, time passes quickly. I change position only seldom and remains attentive with the noises and movements around me. The Yankees are present near their fires which would make of them easy targets for the good shots. Idem for William, whose lighting of pipe indicates its position directly. The small hour arrives gently, it makes still black when our sergeant comes to raise us. Oddly nobody replaces us. We join our fire, which from now on is surrounded lengthened men. We prepare the coffee which we readily divide with our comrades. One wonders which fate will be held to the prisoner and what we will do their businesses. We will fold ours and gather theirs to leave them on the spot. With the rising of the sun, all camps and upright. The prisoners are returned to us. Although I do not know the conditions of this astonishing release, I am relieved to see them in good health and to hear that they were indeed treated. Nourished even better than us. We must make our bags and take again our positions behind the barricade. Progressively the companies take again the road. We are in the center for the day with the colors. After a short stop where the battalion is reformed with the riders, we take again the road, on a rockier way. Very quickly we join a carriage. The column of the army took delay and the carriages slow down our progression towards north. The colonel then decides to position the majority of the battalion on good positions behind and to carry out combat of back keeps. We join a company which positioned in rocks as well as the riders which left behind them their horses to position ahead as a rifleman. When with us, we position on the side of the road, on line, to cover the retirement of the others. In waiting of action, discussed them with our found friends go good progress, in spite of several calls to order of the instruction of silence. The moral one is good, and the jokes fuse, intermingled with affectionate nicknames between comrade. Lastly, first shots, with the return of the riders which climb quickly on their mountings to leave behind, followed other company which goes down from their rocks. We make in our turn fire on some riflemen who present themselves to our range before carrying out a fast retirement. During a time this type of movement of retirement in levels continues before taking enough distance compared to our prosecutors. We mark a pause to fill the gourds. Several men have the feet in a bad condition. We look after them as we can, but time presses. We lose even the remainder of the troop to a crossing of way. Finally we take again the road of a good step. For once, the rate/rhythm is constant. The remainder of the morning is made only walk. We stop finally to eat, and at this point in time the rain starts. Some make a rapid fire for a coffee whereas others make a small nap under their gum. At the time to take again the road, the rain ceases temporarily. Walk begins again. More slowly this time, but in songs. Edouard is again of those which sing more, as well as the French-speaking people. Little by little, the rain remakes its appearance. After one afternoon of walk, we discuss a peak. Recent shots indicate to us that the enemy is close on our heels. We must quickly set up new defenses. In a ground already softened we build defenses and behind shelters for the night. Time exploits mood and of small tensions appear. But of short duration, because already a common adversary is found. All the battalion is formed behind the barricades. Several blue companies descend the opposed peak, decided well with in découdre. Quickly the feus begin become continuous after a fire of file. Automatically, I charge and shooting on the blue masses become timid and not very aggressive. I charge then car, load and car,… hardly I becomes aware of the situation and hardly I am disturbed by the heat of my gun. My hand and black of wet powder, my lips have the powder taste. My head must make fear. Finally, the federal ones are withdrawn without to have scratched our defenses. The columns set out again from where they came. We join our camp an inspection is envisaged. We clean our arm, we wash, prepare the meal and dry close to fire what little the being. Our Bill comrade, of our company, is rather badly. Touched during the confrontation and is confined to bed under our shelters. The inspection of the weapons of our company takes place. I thought of having cleaned my weapon correctly, however, my captain leaves a dirty rag my gun. How board I which been able to pass beside that? The kind of thing which is added with tiredness and the rotted weathers… A new inspection, one moreover will take place with all the battalion. Fortunately that my captain is lenient and that I will not have to present a dirty weapon to the colonel or to the major. I benefit from time that it is given to me to complete cleaning, finally too summary. The inspection agasse me nevertheless but happens without too much from problems. Our company seems to be cleanest and will not have to thus make of guard this night. Fortunately…. Two night of guard with a similar time! The rain weakened not and even redoubles. Rougeau takes part in the decapitation of a chicken and its cleaning under the disgusted eye of our first Chris sergeant. However we touch only one negligible part of chicken in exchange of this rendered service. Fortunately to raise the meal, we succeeded in obtaining a piece of sausage which will accompany the eternal pig salted with rice. And yet, the fallen night we take refuge in our very narrow shelter to taste this meal. When tiredness is there and such a bad time, what a treat this meal! I amuse my comrade by licking the remainder of my poile. We contorsionnons ourselves to put less wet clothing and to roll up us in our straw mattress. Under this shelters we are now tens coupled the ones with the others. Small water escapes disturb us as well as stocks under our back. And yet, surely by nervousness, good mood reigns. Laughter and songs punctuate our short evening. The prospect for days as wet as this one, are not favourable to however raise the moral one. In this heat of proximity, we find the sleep. During the night, we turn ourselves even in concert to keep the proximity and a pseudo comfort. Forest of Louisiana, Friday March 13 All the night, the rain fell. Our captain comes to awake us. The situation with the difficult surface, we lost several men this night because of the combat of the day before and they did not resist this night. The situation must be similar, if not worse at the federal ones. We must quickly take again the road because we are raised and we must join the remainder of the army. The bags are made in precipitation and the rain. Hardly a coffee cup is prepared with haste. The battalion is gathered. Our colonel congratulates us on the behavior of the battalion these last days and made share, with emotions, of his feeling of pride to have to us under his orders. The battalion answers by 3 benches of hourrah. The column crosses wood in a long line which shows sorrow. Several men do not seem to have slept, our Bill walks foot naked in this softened ground. The night enabled him to find some forces which will quickly be lost with a so uncomfortable position. The column is reformed on the road and begins again of a good step under a strong and continuous rain. However the prospect to find a relative comfort with the remainder of the army and the memories of these endured difficulties unit heats our hearts.

[Charles Heath]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

"...for the houses of pleasures, what will be your position?"

William,

I do believe that is a darn right personal question to ask a feller. ;)

[Texasbutternut]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Yes, Charles, 'nuff said when a man is known to be 'riding a Dutch gal'. ;-)

As we feared, Gen. Banks' men have rested and reformed and are now marching toward Shreveport. A large Confederate army is gathering at Mansfield and should be engaging the enemy Friday afternoon. It is likely to be a rout because the Southern ladies are already planning a formal dance at the Pleasant Hill American Legion Hall on Saturday evening.

Credit for slowing the advance of the Federal forces goes to the iron men of the ITPW Campaign, and to the weather. ;-) Great work, all of you, on both 'sides'.

[Mgreer]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Does anyone know how to get in tough with heath hammond?
Send me a PM.

[Steven B]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Just my thoughts and recollections as a private in the ranks, an experience I'll never forget. Thanks to the organizers and everyone who came and participated.

Monday, March 9
Co. D, 28th Louisiana Volunteer Infantry
Camp Cane

The regiment arrived at Camp Cane. There are many new men in the company. Not many from Claiborne Parish. All my mess mates are gone. I will have to fend for myself until I can make my acquaintance of some of these new men. Some are English and some are French speakers.

I reported to the First Sergeant and was placed in the Second Platoon, Second Section. My corporal is called “La Plume” by his messmates but I don’t think that’s his real name. Another comrade is called William. I believe him to be a veteran and a messmate of the corporal. The fourth member of my section is a man named Jordan. He is formerly of the 2nd LA CAV and now finds himself in the infantry after Henderson Hill.

My Second Sergeant is Richard O’Sullivan, a man who is exceeding well versed in drill and holds no truck with those that aren’t. He seems fair and is tolerable patient with the men.

There is a drover in camp with a team of four oxen. They are named George, William, James, and Charles. They are docile and peaceful animals. They conjure up melancholy thoughts of home. They are calling us for ration issue…

I build a fire and cook my bacon. A civilian comes by and we talk for a time. I offered hospitality, but he said he did not trust soldiers and was shy to be in the camp at all. He was a bit peevish and after a short time he thought it politic to leave. It was the last time I saw him.

I lay down for the night alone by my fire. Many men do not sleep as the camp is in a ruckus. The weather is pleasant and I stare at the stars above the towering pines. The wind in their tops makes sorrowful sound.

Tuesday, March 10
Co. D, 28th Louisiana Volunteer Infantry
Kisatchie

No first call in camp this morning. Men start stirring in the dark. First one then another and the movement in the camp spreads like a fire in dry grass. One last cup of coffee and it’s time to pack up. Blankets are folded, knapsacks checked, and canteens filled. No one wants to be unprepared when reveille is sounded. I strap on my equipment and shoulder my rifle. I feel like a pack mule. Have I forgotten anything? Too late, the Battalion is forming.

Col. Walker is here and he has formed us for drill. We wheel and turn about the camp. Form line and practice our firing. The drill lasts but a short time and we must leave. I think we will learn more about each other on the march. Co D is rear guard and 2nd Platoon, 2nd Section is at the very rear of the whole regiment.

The heat and humidity take their toll. The trails are winding and rutted. A perfect place for a weary man to stumble, break an ankle and thus hobbled fall into the hands of the enemy. All my attention is focused on the trail. I do not remember much of my surroundings. I can only remember the trail before me and the feet and back of the man ahead of me. That man is called J.T., a Scotsman I believe and quite mad. After several hours on the march I can describe every detail of his trousers and his bed roll. I ply him with snuff at the halts; I may have a new pard.

No one talks much on the march as the energy to do so is better directed to the feet. I huff and puff up the hills like a steam locomotive. The Captain and the Sergeant are always asking how I’m doing. I know they are just concerned but after a few hours it gets annoying. So far I have been able to stay with the company, although with great effort. It gives me strange comfort to know that the youngest are also suffering.

We march through a clearing and a halt is called. We deploy on both sides of the trail in a tree line. The cavalry is to our rear and they are in contact. They fire several volleys and then pass thru our line.

I know when our cavalry is engaged by the report of one cavalryman’s double barreled shotgun. It’s almost as loud as 3in Ordnance Rifle. The cavalry I think are a great asset. I don’t understand why most infantrymen have such disdain for them.

Our first view of the Yankees strikes me as queer. They are little blue figures in Hardee hats dashing from tree to tree. These are the skirmishers. A few shots are exchanged but we do not volley until the main force is sighted. We conduct a fighting retreat, we load on the run. We do this several times and then the cavalry covers the entire company as it displaces together.

The trail has turned from dry rutted clay with the occasional slimy puddle to ankle deep white sand similar to a dry creek bottom. The ridges grow closer together. We descend into a steep ravine and climb the other side. The rest of the battalion is there. We halt and deploy either side of the trail. One last time the cavalry engages the skirmishers and withdraws.

The skirmishers appear and descend into the ravine followed by the head of the main column. The Federal Battalion formed up and marching down the road is quite a powerful sight. We fire several volleys and retire down the trail. The men are tired and dirty. Spilled powder stains my hands and jacket sleeves. I check my equipment again to make sure I’ve not lost any of it. My canteen and cartridge box are half empty.

We rejoin the battalion and march a short distance to a footbridge that crosses a small creek. We halt for a long break. Co. D, 2nd Platoon is to stand picket. We are allowed to sit but cannot remove our equipment. The rest of the battalion builds fires, boils coffee and cooks rations. The sergeant tells us we will be relieved, but this doesn’t happen. We eat whatever we can dig out of our haversacks. I can smell the brewing coffee; no one brings us a cup. I do not blame the sergeant for he has stood the duty with us and suffered the same.

The battalion is called to attention and we head north. We see no more federals that day and make camp across a clearing on the north side of a creek by a footbridge. As Co. D was rearguard today we do not stand picket, We stack arms and I do nothing for a half hour except sleep under the shade of a tree. No one has fallen out.

All around the men are preparing for the evening. Jackets, shirts, drawers and socks are hung from every available tree in order to catch the last rays of heat from the sun. I spread my blanket next to the English fire. Sergeant O’Sullivan and Corporal Brooke are close by.

At the creek I find a spot to clean up and change clothes. The weather is pleasant and rain does not threaten. In the distance I can see the fires in the federal camp. I do not fear that they are so close. I know their attention is focused on creating some comfort for themselves.

The conversation around the fire is lively, thanks to the First Sergeant and the other Englishmen. They tell tales of previous campaigns. I am content to be the curious observer. The coffee boils, men smoke, rations are cooked. I am grateful to be here by this fire. I talk with Sgt. O’Sullivan about the day’s fight, the hard march, the weather and what we might expect tomorrow. Corporal Brooke has some stiffness in his limbs and I offer him some patent medicines I have in my knapsack.

A big commotion now in camp. A woman screaming about a runaway slave, her husband in the army and a bunch of other nonsense. The Sergeant Major yelling about arresting the lot of them and having them shot. The woman is still screaming at the top of her lungs and I’m thinking I may go over and shoot her myself and put her out of her misery. The Sheriff intervenes and peace is restored. He gets my vote in the next election.

Wednesday, March 11
Co. D, 28th Louisiana Volunteer Infantry
Kisatchie

Up early this morning. No fires, no cooking and no coffee. The Colonel wants us to break camp before the federals know we are gone. I dress and pack my knapsack in the dark. Someone throws a log on the dead fire anyway and it catches and gives a little light. Figures move in and out of the light like ghostly apparitions. I crawl on my hands and knees, scouring the ground where I lay trying to make sure I haven’t left anything behind in the dark. The Sergeant Major is getting peevish; we spy a fire in the federal camp.

Attention Battalion, Take Arms.

Down the trail about one hundred yards and halt. We are told to rest, “we’ll be here a while”. What is the point of all this if we don’t put at least a mile or two between us and them. I find a comfortable rut in the trail and wedge myself in nice and cozy, take a dip of snuff, put my hat over my face and try to go back to sleep.

Lead company today. No skirmishing, no brief halts. We set the pace. I’m not aware of much, just the struggle to climb the next hill. I try to fill my lungs with enough air to keep me going. The muscles in my legs are on fire. I shift my musket from shoulder to shoulder. JT clowns in the ranks and Corporal Brooke sings the “Bonnie Blue Flag”. My single bag rides comfortably on my back and I thank God for small favors.

At a halt I learn that Corporal Brooke has been given a passport to go to his wife. She is on the road somewhere close by, stranded with a group of civilian refugees. He bids us all farewell and is gone. He is lost to us as surely as if he were wounded or killed. His presence in the platoon will be missed. Corporal La Plume is posted in his place and William is promoted Corporal for the Section. Another private fills out our section, his name is also Jordan. The Sheriff is our guide; he complains that our pace is slow. I notice he does not carry a musket, bayonet or accoutrements. I would still vote for him in the next election.

Men ask, how many miles have we marched? I say to myself, what does it matter? You march until you can go no further or you are told to halt. You fear the former and wish with all your heart for the latter. Many times I think to fall out. I do not want to let my company down. It helps push me thru the wall of fatigue and misery. I learn a lot about myself today.

We cross a creek and I dip my hat in the cool water. It gives me great relief. Up one more hill. The trail is like quicksand under my feet. At the top the command is given to halt. We build a breastwork across the top of the hill perpendicular to the road at which point it turns a right angle and parallels the road to our rear. We are posted on the right where we will refuse the flank. The rest of the battalion is on our left.

The commissary wagon has arrived. George, William, James and Charles are working hard to pull the wagon up the steep and sandy trail. It’s soon stuck and in danger of breaking a wheel. The drover calls for help to unload. Boxes and crates are piled on the side of the road. Hiding in the bottom of the wagon beneath the forage is the runaway slave, Del. He is the same rascal who caused all the commotion in camp last night. We are all taken completely by surprise. He is immediately put under arrest and shackled to a tree. He is truly unfortunate as JT is assigned to guard him. After much cajoling I think he has come to terms with the colonel as he is released. I for one will keep a wary eye on him.

Ration issue. Dried apples. I secure an extra issue from the commissary sergeant for the company. I can’t believe how happy such a simple thing makes me.

I hear the cavalry engaged. They arrive and take a position across the road on our right. Now the rear guard is engaged and soon they are running up the hill. They are over the breastworks and into the line on our left.

Here are the federal skirmishers. The main body arrives and forms a line by the creek below. We are on good ground. They will have to advance straight up hill. Strangely, that is what they attempt to do. One company at a time comes up the hill. The side of the hill is littered with the dead and wounded, all in blue. Co. D on the right has not fired a shot. A company attempts to force the road. A truce is called and the dead and wounded gathered. Men shout epithets at each other across the works. The Iowa boys are grim. They build their own works on the far side of the creek. The camps seem to settle in for the night.

Colonel Walker however is active in the camp. He forms two companies. The plan is to march around the federal left and attempt to flank them. We pass behind the cavalry and find a ravine that slopes downhill and left.

The federals have a company forward of their breastworks. Formed on the road, they are not under fire from our position on the hill. What their intention is I do not know. They send one or two men forward at a time and they fire on the hill and then retire. They cheer and yell and seem to making a game of it.

We emerge from the woods behind this company at a distance of perhaps twenty yards and form a line. They don’t know we are there. Their backs are to us and they are preoccupied with their fun. The Colonel commands us to fire. Only then do they realize we are behind them. Every federal in the company retreats headlong into their camp and not a man is left on the ground. They are literally running for their lives.

The plan was not to assault the camp but some of the boys have their blood up and follow the first sergeant in an attempt to take the colors. I am alone and firing at a company of federals behind their works. Soon some of them start to come out. I hear the command to retreat and see my Captain running to the rear. I follow him. I don’t want to be a guest of Uncle Abe. I feel the fear of being captured rise up in me. I hear the federals behind me as they chase me into the timber. I trip once and fall headlong into some brush. I get up so fast I don’t remember doing it. I run until I can’t hear them behind me anymore. I never look back. I find some men from the other company and fall in with them. Six in the company were captured including the first sergeant. Funny, you worry about your comrades for a time and then you remember that tonight you will have to stand picket for them.

Picket. I can see the federals around their fires and hear the shouts of our prisoners. The white sand trail coils out in front of me like the glowing wake of a ship. People on the trail make no sound. A small boy leading an ox approaches from our camp and I never hear them. They are just large dark shapes that I challenge in the night. Del passes and says he is going to trade with the federals. I think Del is smarter than most people think. But that’s an officer problem. Del brings me some peppermint chocolate. Off to my right men are crashing thru the timber, shouting and firing wildly. I call the corporal of the guard. He thinks some of the prisoners have escaped. Two ghostly figures approach from the federal camp. I’m not sure they are real and they appear to be floating above the trail. They make no sound. I challenge them. They turn and start to flee. I fire on them and call for the corporal. The rest of the guard is formed (including Del) when the two figures return. This time they approach waving a white flag. They are two federal officers inquiring if we have captured any of the men we heard earlier. Seems they are missing. They ask Captain Jackman if we have any men in the timber on our right. It is such an obvious attempt to gather information that everyone is silent until the federal apologizes. Later the Captain brings us hot apple tea and porridge when he checks the pickets. The Captain is a good officer. He is composed at all times, is concerned for the welfare of the men and has a positive command presence. Three hours pass, here is the relief.

We return to the camp. No one is tending the fire of the French Mess. Jordy and I gather some wood and warm ourselves there. I’m sharing a shelter with Sergeant O’Sullivan but the weather is fine for sleeping by the fire. William and Axel are awakened for their duty to find us by their fire. They boil coffee and share it with us. We speak no French and they speak little English. Yet here few words are needed between comrades who suffer together the hardships of life in the field.

Thursday, March 12
Co. D, 28th Louisiana Volunteer Infantry
Kisatchie

Up again before the federals or at least some of them. Our prisoners are returned none the worse for wear. The rumor is they were traded for a banjo. Maybe they’d give us General Banks for a sack of potatoes? Today we are the reserve and Ryan the color bearer is my file mate.

The commissary wagon is ahead and sets the pace. It is slow and the federals close the distance faster today. We stop along the road and form line with another company at the top of a rise. The cavalry engages across the ravine and then retires by us, same old game. Skirmishers appear and we fire a volley. Now we retire and fight by company. Volley, march, form a line, load. We repeat the process several times until we are no longer in contact, we continue north.

Just three days on and they all seem to be running together. Sometimes I can’t remember if something happened on Monday or yesterday.

I do remember the small insignificant things. I do remember that it starts to rain. We stop at a small clearing for the noon meal. I remember men shrouded in gum blankets huddled around smoking fires. Horses standing in the rain. I remember that nature finally called and my morale improved immeasurably. I remember worrying about how to keep my feet and my powder dry in that order.

I do NOT remember thinking of what plans General Taylor has for the army. Nor do I remember contemplating what the Federals are up to nor how President Davis is faring.

Battalion, Attention

On the march again, the rain is becoming steadier. I stumble in a rut on a downhill part of the road. I’m off my feet and heading face first towards the ground. If I land on my face I should be ok. Before the Sherriff can finish yelling “Man Down” JT and Ryan have caught me on the bounce and pulled me back into ranks. Nothing seems broken and the battalion only missies a few steps. JT now calls me, “The Clumsiest Private in the Army”. No more snuff for him.

At a halt several men fall out to have their feet looked at. This is the first time. There are at least six in the company whose feet are pretty bad. Some are bloody. Bill’s feet are in tatters. No one falls out.

Battalion, Attention

North always north. Someone starts singing, it’ Del. Funny how he shows up at the most unexpected times. I don’t know the songs so I just try to repeat the chorus. It helps.

We descend the trail into a small valley with a creek running thru it. There is a commissary wagon set up and food is cooking. At first I thought it was ours. We get closer and they’re Yankees. We march thru the mess line and I think we should take the whole lot prisoner. But we notice its pea soup their cooking and decide it does the cause more good than harm to leave them be.

Ford the creek and climb the hill. The command is halt and build. The works go up as the rain continues to fall. Rotten timber is pulled from all over the hill. I don’t even look for ticks and snakes any more. The work is done, Sergeant O’Sullivan and I pick a spot to spread our kit and start a fire. We hear the rattle of musketry and are called to attention. I see federals on the far side of the creek. A few shots are exchanged and the federal battalion appears and forms a line. We fire several volleys by battalion. The federals move left and right behind the creek but never cross it. The command is “Fire at Will”. Corporal William is on my left and JT is on my right. I load and fire as fast as I can. Men shout and the Corporal lets out a rebel yell. I have five maybe six cartridges left in my box and the order is “Cease Fire”. My hands are stained with wet powder. The Corporal wipes his hands on my sleeve, rank has its privileges.

The rain continues and the temperature drops. Clean weapons and prepare for inspection, make a shelter, start a fire. Too much work for two. The Sergeant and I decide to enlist Jordy and Ryan into our Casual Mess. Between us we have two gum blankets, a painted cloth, a ground cloth of unknown origin, a shelter half, a coverlet and three wool blankets. I’ll make the shelter while the others clean muskets. God help me if I mess it up. Company inspection and then Battalion inspection.
It’s getting dark. Let’s get in out of the rain. We sleep on our arms. First in is Jordy. Then Me, Richard and Ryan. All snuggle up real cozy like and wrap ourselves in the heavy wool blankets. A little adjustment (and a prayer) we settle in. A few leaks develop and soon the bottom of the shelter is a puddle. I’m cold, shivering occasionally. My feet are the worst. The wool blankets are wet but stay warm. Someone poked their head in the shelter and asked if everyone was alright. I don’t hear anyone answering. They must figure we’re either OK or all dead. In either case there’s nothing they can do so they left. We start joking with each other about how screwed up the whole situation is. We have a pretty good laugh over it. The rain has stopped and nature calls. It’s about 1 or 2 am. Richard and I roll out and start a fire. Soon Jordy and Ryan come out also. It’s started raining again. We gather more wood and get the fire blazing. We stand around it under an oil cloth for the rest of the night. I can take the march; I can lift the pack and tote the musket. But Lord let it stop raining.

Friday, March 13
Co. D, 28th Louisiana Volunteer Infantry
Kisatchie

We get the word to assemble the battalion. I guess General Taylor wants us in Mansfield. Rumor is that’s where we’ll make a stand

[Old Reb]

Re: Into The Piney Woods AAR

Steve,
Excellent description and you can vote for me twice.