Picketts Mill 2004

by Kevin O'Beirne

"I have been a good deal disappointed in the state of Georgia. I expected to find a splendid country, well cultivated and productive. But it is the toughest country I almost ever saw and nearly all woods, a dense forest with scattered huts inhabited at one time by the 'poor white trash.' The women and children we seldom see, as they are led to believe that the Yankees will kill them."

- Private William Bentley, 104th Ohio, 23rd Corps, Army of the Ohio, August 4, 1864[1]

DALLAS, Ga. - " Okay, your attention is fixed by the title of this article and an historical quote apt for our recent event in Georgia, so here is the story of the Columbia Rifles at the Pickett's Mill battle commemoration, held on May 28-30, 2004 on the Pickett's Mill battlefield near Dallas, Georgia.

The event was hosted by the Pickett's Mill Battlefield State Historic Site and sponsored by the Western Independent Grays (WIG). Principal members of the organizing committee included WIG members Coley Adair, John Cleaveland, Tripp Corbin, Pat Craddock, and others. The event had about 260 participants, including 80 Confederate infantry portraying the 33rd Alabama, a Confederate artillery piece (mounted), about fifteen Confederate cavalry, a few civilians, and a Federal infantry battalion organized into four companies, portraying the 5th Kentucky Infantry (Louisville Legion) of William Hazen's brigade of the Fourth Corps, Army of the Cumberland. The CR served with the 5th Kentucky.

Colonel Dom Dal Ballo, Lt. Col. Pat Craddock, and Acting Major Steve Dunfee led the re-created "Louisville Legion". The battalion mustered 146 men on Saturday morning, and 130 on Sunday morning.

Nine members and friends of the CR attended Pickett's Mill, including Corporal Steve "Quiet Man" Tyler, Dan "Brother Yoder" Hindman, Dave Grieves, Chris Piering Sr., Chris Piering Jr., Garr Gast, Nick Redding, Charles Heath (who attended as a Confederate cavalryman), and Lt. Kevin O'Beirne.

The CR made up about one-quarter of Company F, which also included the upper-Midwest-based Hogg Mess, Hardhead Mess, "Mess No. 3", and a few others. The company was ably commanded by Captain Steve Acker (Hogg Mess), assisted by yours truly and Orderly Sergeant Derik Morefield (Hogg Mess).

In particular Mr. Morefield was exceptional in his ability to properly and ably portray an orderly sergeant. He wrote of the weekend, "About Company F: My thanks to all of those who made the trek and agreed to fall in. It was truly one of, if not the, best Federal company that I have ever had the privelege of participating in. Hats off to Sgts Scott Frank and Jason Reinholz and Cpls Stephen (sic) Tyler, Dave Gerow, Joe Hill and Terry Sorchy for keeping the company organized and effective. Finally, to Capt. Acker and Lt. O'Beirne who provided much enthusiasm and quality leadership in getting the company through a pretty rough weekend. I was proud to call roll on Sunday morning and not have one man missing from the company."

It's probably necessary to explain the "naked hardcore reenacting" mentioned in the title. The event participants were clothed - well, most of the time anyway!

There are several types or styles of living history events, each of which, if properly planned and executed, can provide useful glimpses into the life of the common Civil War soldier. The glimpses of soldier-experience provided at Pickett's Mill were largely physical - it was perhaps the most straight-ahead, physically demanding, grueling, and simply "naked" portrayal of the hardships of soldiering on campaign I have ever experienced while reenacting.

There was nothing "fancy" about this event: the men in the ranks slung their blanket rolls, shouldered their muskets, and marched through thickly wooded, trackless terrain comprised solely of steep hills and deep ravines, in heat that was in the upper 80s and humidity that was even higher. The woods crawled with millions of huge insects and pests of every description - many of us discovered that northern Georgia actually has scorpions - and dripped with rain that fell at clockwork-like intervals. In terms of "naked" soldiering in reenacting, Pickett's Mill was about as hardcore as it gets.

"On the official Port Gibson March Difficulty Index, Pickett's Mill 2004 was an 11. Most marches go to 10, but this one went to 11," opined Joe "Pogue Mahone" Smotherman (Cleburne's), who fell in with Company K at Pickett's Mill.

The May 27, 1864 battle of Pickett's Mill was part of a week-long series of battles during the Atlanta campaign in an area known to Federal troops as "the Hellhole"; other battles just a few miles from Pickett's Mill included Dallas and New Hope Church.

The battle at Pickett's Mill resulted when Generals Sherman, Thomas, and Howard attempted to flank the Confederate Army of Tennessee. William Hazan's brigade led the Federal advance, which took many hours to traverse steep, trackless ravines. In the end, it was for naught: Patrick Cleburne's crack division of Hardee's Corps had occupied a line in Hazan's path and in the late afternoon, the Yankees marched into a trap. Hazen's men, including the 5th Kentucky, charged up a slope covered by an immature cornfield right into Cleburne's guns and were slaughtered. Hazan's units, which got far out front and attacked alone, lost around 500 men - about one-third of their number. They managed to fend off a lame Confederate counterattack but were spent. Federal reinforcements, arriving later, did nothing but add to the bluecoats' casualty toll.

For the CRs, Pickett's Mill certainly qualified as a "long distance event"; by actual measurement, the site is located 890 miles from my home near Buffalo, New York. The ride was as pleasant as fifteen hours in a car (each way) can be, particularly because of my traveling companions, Steve Tyler and Nick Redding. We passed through terrible thunderstorms on the way through southern Ohio on Thursday evening. During our journey we visited battlefields at Chattanooga (Lookout Mountain, Orchard Knob, Missionary Ridge), Chickamauga, and New Hope Church, in addition to Pickett's Mill. All of the CRs arrived onsite in the early evening of Friday, May 28 and engaged in the usual meet-'n-greet in the registration area.

As we donned our uniforms and kit, I had to make The Big Decision about footwear. One of my bootees had blown out a toe during April's CR Camp of Instruction. I'd obtained new shoes but neglected to break them in, and now the choice was either tight shoes on a strenuous march, or comfy footwear with a missing toe - and the knowledge we had to cross at least three creeks and numerous other small rivulets. My traveling companions patiently listened to my ridiculous obsessions about footwear for at least fifteen minutes.

I finally compromised: wearing the old shoes and tying one new bootee (which of course I wound up never using!) to the strap of my blanket roll. This set the stage for some unintended comedy and first-person opportunity, because during the weekend at least ten different men asked, "Lieutenant, why do you have that shoe tied to your blanket roll?" It's regrettable that I wasn't quick enough to tearfully respond, "My brother was at Chickamauga and was hit by canister at close range, and afterward all they found of him was his shoes. Now I carry this shoe to remember him by," or something witty like that.

As darkness drew on, the company straggled into the bivouac site along a trail in thick woods about 200 yards from the registration area. Small fires were kindled and the men relaxed on a thick, spongy carpet of pine needles, awaiting the "go live" time of 11:00 p.m. Even amongst the commissioned officers, rumors circulated that the battalion would be marching at 11:00 p.m., but the scuttlebutt came to naught, and we spent the entire night at this location.

The evening was slow, with some men opting to remain with their comrades at one campfire, and others moving from fire to fire to meet men from other messes within the company. I split my evening between the Hogg Mess campfire, the CR campfire, and spending time getting to know Captain Acker, who proved to be first-rate pard and a fine officer.

Little information was provided prior to the event and through Friday night. The fact that 260 quality reenactors showed up despite fairly little hype and very small bits of information is a testimony to the high reputation and good track record of the event committee.

Friday evening was warm, muggy, and initially dry. I sacked out right on the pine needles without any cover, using my blanket roll as a pillow. Sometime after midnight I was mostly-awakened by the pitter-patter of raindrops in the trees - my first in-uniform experience with the northwestern Georgia "rain forest". I felt a few drops on my face and hands and rolled over, resolving to "just endure it" (I had little choice - none of us brought shelter halves, because Hazen's men did not carry them by this stage of the Atlanta campaign). Mercifully, the raindrops ceased after about five minutes.

Of course, this cycle repeated itself at least a half-dozen more times before dawn. We had twenty minutes of a more-forceful but still quite endurable rain shortly before the company was awakened by Orderly Sergeant Morefield. Roll call was held in the dark woods' pre-dawn murk, after which a detail was sent to battalion headquarters for rations.

Each man's ration issue consisted of eight hard crackers, three-quarters of a pound of salty fat that the commissary mistakenly referred to as bacon, and some cornmeal. The bacon had almost no meat but lots of salt, as remarked upon by CR "Brother Yoder" Hindman: "That had to be some of the fattiest, saltiest 'bacon' I've ever come across. While I didn't care too much for the taste, it did appear to be an active electrolyte source for the whole weekend. Kevin may have been disappointed that we didn't get to cook bacon in the dark, where one can't see bacon 'dripping with trichinosis', of course." [inside joke â " Ed.]

After cooking and swallowing a couple balls of warm lard, I settled on crackers. They were okay at the edges but, as it turned out, each had a core of metal. I don't know what method was used in baking them, but that hard center was so inedible it made my molars hurt, and frequently forced me to toss the remnant into the woods, hoping that some furry animal wouldn't choke on it. Can minie balls be made of flour?

After the event, committee member Coley Adair laughingly confirmed my suspicions that the pork was so utterly fatty that the issuance of such terrible "meat" was entirely on purpose. Poor rations, albeit without health hazards, are one of those "common soldier experiences" that many reenactors rarely get to truly understand and appreciate.

Joe Smotherman (Cleburne's) recalled, "The best first-person moment at Pickett's Mill was Will Leech bitching about the lack of coffee: 'When are those idiots up on battalion staff gonna get us some coffee?' Then, Will turned around to see [Colonel] Dom Dal Bello standing about 3 inches behind him listening to his every word. The entire company busted out laughing."

Firewood was foraged from the woods. To maintain realism there were basically no sanitary facilities provided - the Great Outdoors served as the men's "campaign sinks" and woe to he who didn't realize it before arriving onsite and kitting up. Water supplies - always critical to life and limb at warm weather events like this one - were plentiful, well situated, and disguised as wells. Each "well" consisted of a large plastic barrel surrounded by wooden walls about three or four feet high, with a wooden top, with a bucket on a rope nearby.

"The water wells were not about 'hiding' the plastic water containers. Rather, they were about forcing the men to get water in a 19th Century manner: yeah it slows you down, but that's the point. It also clearly shows the limitations of a period water supply. It does this while generally keeping things fairly sanitary, because we had no complaints of the trots," remarked event coordinator John Cleaveland (Wool Hat Boys/Critter Company/WIGs).

Saturday morning saw rations preparation, an officers' meeting, weapons inspection, and some drill. When the battalion was assembled I was impressed with the physical appearance of the men: by and large, they were one of the most "period-looking" group of reenactors I've ever seen. Like original soldiers, however, looks are not necessarily an indication of soldierly quality. I checked the rear rank of another company during the weapons inspection, and found three men out of thirteen with unacceptable muskets: one with a non-functional half-cock, one with a rammer stuck down the barrel(!), and one with an unidentified "something" stuck down the barrel.

Drill allowed us to work up a good sweat and, in the heat and humidity, "asssap" flowed freely. We returned to camp, slung our blanket rolls and knapsacks, and the battalion started on the march around 10:00 a.m.

We entered some very thick woods - it appeared to be triple-canopy jungle - and clawed our way through it. There were no trails or roads on this hike because we were attempting to trace portions of Hazen's approach march. In general the march route was a big near-circle within the bounds of the battlefield park. That morning I'd asked Pat Craddock about the length of the march. He smiled and thoughtfully replied, "Well, about four miles when scaled on a flat map. Probably about eight miles when ya consider the ups and downs."

I thought he was kidding.

I was wrong.

Moving through the jungle for a half mile or so, we descended into a deep ravine. Somehow I managed to cross the small creek or rivulet at the bottom without getting the inside of my bootees wet, including the one with the missing toe.

It was damn dark in that jungle - particularly down in the ravines - and at times my crappy eyesight forced me to grope the knapsack of the man to my front to get along. My poor night vision (it was dark in the jungle even at high noon...at least to me) and bad peripheral vision meant I smashed face-first into about 500 saplings and trees and was repeatedly twacked in the face by twigs.

As the men crossed the stream, they commenced climbing a very steep slope about 200 feet high - all thickly wooded. Somewhere near the top, the men, huffing and puffing and utterly soaked inside their jackets, were halted for a fifteen minute rest. Whew.

The bugle blew "Officers' Call" and the straps gathered around the field officers. Lt. Col. Craddock advised, "Okay boys, this is the no-shit point of no return. If any of your men are having a difficult time with this terrain and the heat, they must turn back now. We're less than a quarter way through this, and this is the easy part. After this, the hills get higher and steeper and, in the last part of the march, the brush is so heavy it will be difficult for anyone to get through it. Tell your boys if anyone has any doubt about his ability to make it, turn back now or else we'll be carrying him out of this."

Eventually about six or seven men of the battalion decided that discretion was the better part of valor and turned back when the battalion stood to resume the march, crawl, scramble, climb, journey, quest.

After fighting the woods for the first quarter of the march, I realized that my eyesight was not only a serious handicap in the murk, but I was doing absolutely zilch for the company. Captain Acker was doing a great job and getting along fine, and so I opted to swallow my pride and return with the played out guys to the visitors' center. Some of the fellows were already in rough shape, and we were afraid one fellow was on the verge of a heart attack, so we took almost 90 minutes to go a mile back to the visitors' center.

I felt bad about leaving, seeing how I was tired but generally in much better shape than the others, and tried to make myself feel better about my eyesight by carrying a knapsack or musket for those who needed it. I wound up spending half the day sitting on my ass at the visitors' center instead of reenacting, but we were reluctant to leave the one or two guys who required medical attention, to intercept the battalion near the end of its march. I was pretty ticked at circumstances that I really knew were beyond my control, but it was still annoying to bow to my eyesight problems. I finally caught up with the battalion after an absence of about four hours - remember, they were basically going in a big circle anyway.

Meanwhile, the rest of the battalion scratched its way through the miserable terrain.

"The march had some rough terrain sure, but the ass-kicker was the constant starting and stopping, in single and double file no less. On more than one occasion, I complained that I would've rather seen the battalion form in column of fours and just keep up the march, wilderness, ridges, and creeks be damned. Historically, Hazen's boys managed to move at a rate of less than a mile an hour in that mess, and we handily managed that rate of movement," remembered Mike Phineas of Texas.

The officers came up with a novel approach to inspire the men: "C'mon boys, just one more big hill and then we're there!" What a lie that was. The men heard it numerous times, until it became a rueful joke that probably cannot be fully appreciated unless you were there. "One more ridge!" "Two more hills!" "A half-mile and one more big hill to go!" How many times did we hear that?

The difficulty of the march taught Mike Phineas: "I learned a couple things at 'the Grinding Mill': one was that you can't really 'train' for a hardcore event like this; rather, you'd better already be in shape. I've been six months out of the last year in the desert, with nowhere to spend my free time but the gym, and Pickett's Mill still kicked my ass sideways."

Mile after vertical mile, the battalion moved through the jungle. Every once in a while a cannon shot echoed through the woods from the prepared positions occupied by the Confederates. Now and then a short rain shower penetrated the leafy canopy under a grayish sky.

To underscore the rapid residential and commercial development occurring around the battlefield's perimeter, the organizers directed the march route to the park boundary where a yellow bulldozer sat with its caterpillars motionless for the weekend. The un-subtle lesson was not lost on anyone who saw it.

Eventually the battalion reached an honest-to-goodness trail and stumbled to a halt, about a half-mile from the visitors' center, although none of the rank-and-file knew it at the time. "Rest" was ordered and the exhausted men stripped to their shirts and sat or laid down in the crawling woods.

It was at this point that I caught up with the company. While I was pretty fresh from sitting on my butt for hours at the visitors' center, everyone else looked exhausted and wrung out.

The men rested for about two hours. During this time, some fellows from Company A put on a very entertaining minstrel show, minus blackface and instruments, of course. It helped pick up everyone's spirits and prepare us for a final push to the Confederate works.

Around 4:30 p.m. word was passed to pack up and prepare to resume the march. Lt. Col. Craddock told me that we were 500 yards from the Confederate works, and that the assault was planned for 5:30 p.m. - the same time that Hazen's men hit Cleburne's Rebs on May 27, 1864. I thought it odd that we were moving out an hour early to go just 500 yards.

It turned out, I still hadn't learned the basics of moving a body of men through the area around Pickett's Mill.

The battalion formed ranks and then the heavens opened. Some boys pulled out and wrapped a gum blanket around their shoulders; most of us just stood there in it - it was difficult to get as wet on the outside as most of us were inside our jackets. The humidity was incredible.

Joe Smotherman recalled, "The weather was 'fine' until about mid afternoon when the humidity became oppressive. Seeing your own breath in the middle of a late May afternoon was odd. Sitting in the woods and watching steam rise from your pard on a late May afternoon was odd. Of course, all things in perspective, sitting in the woods wearing wool, getting rained on, eating hardtack and fatty bacon, and getting as nasty as one personally can without puking into your own pants and calling it a good time on a late May afternoon, is odd."

Mimicking Hazen's movements 140 years earlier, the battalion faced by the left flank and then formed its two wings in two parallel "columns", a total of eight ranks (plus file closers) wide. We moved out. The "march" or "stumble through the woods" was almost farcical. We stopped now and then while the field and staff attempted to determine if we were still going in the correct direction. Sometimes they disagreed and pointed "It's that way!" in directions 90 degrees different from each other.

Lt. Col. Craddock promised, "Just one more big hill!" We descended into what I thought was a fairly deep ravine and climbed out of it, and then Craddock yelled, "Just one more hill ahead boys!" Bitter laughter rippled down the floundering columns.

Private Phineas recalled, "Our approach advanced in a 'column of eight', that turned the battalion into a confused mess. The same thing happened to Hazen's men: in Ambrose Bierce's own words, 'The trim battalions became simply a swarm of men struggling through the undergrowth of the forest, pushing and crowding'. The men of Hazen's brigade were well-disciplined, hardened veterans who'd been on campaign for a month and in the field for three years. They probably did not look wholly unlike us over-age, out of shape, modern day reenactors floundering around in that Godforsaken jungle. That thought made my entire weekend."

I never knew 500 yards could be so long. The heat, humidity, and exceedingly rough terrain caused me to straggle on the final approach to the Rebel works. A little over half way through, the battalion halted for a rest and, incredibly, there in the trackless tangle of jungle was a "Cleaveland water well", and a welcome sight it was: after probably 300 yards my canteen was almost empty.

The re-created 5th Kentucky watered up and continued on. I had a few "moments" on the final approach march because I wasn't sure whether to believe Craddock's assertions of "one more hill", so each time we got to the bottom of a ravine and started up the next hill I wasn't sure if this was "the hill" on which the Rebs lay in wait for us. Somewhere in the woods, generally off to our front left, skirmishers' rifles peppered the dripping woods. Artillery sounded now and again.

I knew that historically Hazen's men approached up a hillside with a stunted cornfield and were blasted at close range. I expected it at any minute. Knowing we were on the same ground where this happened 140 years plus two days earlier was almost creepy. A couple times we started up a hillside that was partially cleared and each time we topped the rise and found no graybacks. We continued on, led by the sound of the skirmishers somewhere out in front.

We came to the edge of an open area bordered by a new snake rail fence. Cries of "tear down the fence!" were heard and obeyed. The battalion advanced into a field, down the slope, through a grove of trees, and entered the bottom of a ravine. Rising ahead of us was an open slope of immature, scraggly corn. The rain started falling again.

Firing broke out ahead of us. Through the rain and haze and leafy foliage, the Rebs were entrenched ahead of us and shooting! The left wing deployed and opened fire. The right wing (including our company) made its way through some more trees and finally deployed and also opened fire.

The rain and humidity held the rapidly gathering gunsmoke close to the ground. The field officers ordered the wings forward, bugles blew the advance and retreat - sometimes nearly simultaneously. Men yelled, guns crashed, the Rebel artillery roared, the rain beat down, soldiers dropped their arms and fell to the ground "wounded", line officers and file closers tried to scream above the din, and all was confusion. It was difficult to see the Rebs, but we could certainly hear them.

Unlike other living history events, participants on both sides at Pickett's Mill 2004 used ramrods to load during the battle. It was a risk, but it paid off because no one was hurt, nothing was fired except gunpowder, and it slowed down the rate of fire to a realistic pace. It also contributed greatly to realistic battle-grime, because the rammers became dirty with powder residue each time they were placed down the barrels, and the blackness was then transferred to the wielder's fingers, face, uniform, and kit.[2]

The 5th Kentucky's line advanced, crested like a wave breaking on the shore, and retreated leaving the field dotted in blue bodies in its wake - some of them just a few yards from the Rebel works. The Federal lines reformed and charged again with the same result. Repeat. The men advancing into corn through the "fog" of smoke and rain created some surreal images in my brain as memories of this event.

Finally, with the men exhausted, the two wings of the 5th Kentucky retreated toward the bottom of the ravine - first the left wing, then the right, and soon the firing in the field tapered off, with just the bodies of the casualties to tell the tale of what had just happened.

Singly and in small groups, the exhausted men stumbled back up the slope on the "Yankee side" of the field as the line officers yelled to reform behind the partially scattered rail fence. The rails were stacked back up and a patchwork line cobbled together to resist a counterattack.

Five minutes after we arrived back at the fence, through the rain a line of beige-clad men appeared marching up the slope toward us. Captain Acker ordered Company F to open fire and the remains of the Federal line blazed away. There was more yelling and firing, and the officers encouraged the men to greater exertions. I remember seeing Chris Piering kneeling behind the rail fence, loading and firing as fast as he could, voicing worry that his ammunition was running out. After two or three counterattacks, the Rebs withdrew leaving a few "bodies" strewn in our front.

New Jerseyan Bo Carlson attended the event as a Confederate infantryman and enthused, "Saturday's cornfield battle was just about the best thing I have ever seen in reenacting. It was probably the most realistic battle recreation ever done." Afterward many folks who witnessed and/or participated in it agreed with him.

Some of us began to take stock of what had happened in the twenty or thirty minutes of whirlwind simulated combat. I looked for my travel companions, Corporal Tyler and Private Redding, and both were nowhere to be found. I could conclude only that Rebel "bullets" had "found their marks".

It's almost embarrassing to admit but, when I realized that both Steve and Nick were missing after that "fight" - perhaps the most realistic simulated combat I've encountered in eleven years of reenacting - I became saddened and somewhat depressed. Unbidden, a "first-person" thought jumped to mind: "Nick was only 18 years old - what am I going to tell his mother back home? What am I going to say to Colleen Tyler?" It sounds corny now, but these thoughts floated through my brain pretty continuously for at least fifteen to twenty minutes and provided some provocative insights to ponder for quite a while afterward.

Within five or ten minutes after we drove off the Rebs, it became apparent that the lame counterattacks were over, and Orderly Sergeant Morefield assembled the company and called the roll. Out of thirty men who made the charge we were missing ten, which was about the same proportion of casualties suffered by Hazen's brigade on this site 140 years earlier.

Sitting in the damp woods, in my dirty and dripping sack coat, I pondered what we had experienced that day. Unfortunately, my musings were repeatedly interrupted because not everyone was so introspective.

Rather than take the opportunity to reflect on the "battle" and gain some insights from it, many - perhaps even most - of the men in the battalion settled into modern talk, guffaws, and anything other than what would have resembled period conversation appropriate in the aftermath of a battle.

Throughout the weekend, talk of reproduction gear was rampant. Sure, there were isolated instances in the ranks where men engaged in some quiet first-person conversation among two or three comrades[3], but by and large I heard little of it. I was pretty disappointed that such physically impressive, well-attired reenactors were unable to take their portrayal a step further into a complete reenacting experience.

Gearhead talk in bivouac and in the ranks during the weekend was pervasive. There were a few semi-newbies to campaigning - call them "second-time bacon-eaters" if you will - in our company, and guys like that love to talk about gear as they buy new stuff to replace old junk. It's understandable, and most of us did it at one time or another, but I still wished that more guys could take advantage of the "semi-immersion" label on the event and engage in increased amounts of first-person.

Afterward I thought a lot about the failure of first-person at Pickett's Mill. I have been to only three military events where there were truly extended periods of first-person - more than an hour or two which, Lord knows, is difficult enough to achieve - and those were the Immortal 600 2002 and the Winter 1864 2003 and 2004 events. All three of these, however, were garrison-style events where the participants were able to focus their energy on first-person, rather than simply putting one foot ahead of the other to keep moving. Further, the desire for first-person was well communicated to participants at the Immortal 600 and Winter 1864 events, and communication was lacking from the Pickett's Mill event.

The opportunity was not lost on everyone, as Mike Phineas reflected, "The absolute feeling of physical and mental exhaustion that consumed me after Saturdays cornfield battle, gave me that very sobering perspective. It was a wierd feeling of closeness, being there on that ground and knowing what they endured and suffered through. You can experience a period moment at an event by standing picket on a dark cold night, or maybe pitching in on a battle line with hundreds of others. But to actually follow in the exact footsteps of Hazen's men, feeling the same fatigue and weariness, fighting the same terrain and brutal weather, well... It sort of thrusts you into 'the moment.'"

Evening drew on and the battalion's exhausted men needed something of a break. The bulk of the battalion withdrew into the woods about 200 yards to our right-rear, leaving our company along the fence line as sort of a trip-wire for the rest of the regiment, in case the Confederates were still "up for some fun".

Company F's Steve Parrish (Hogg Mess) recalled, "After the heat, the hard marching and the scrape with the Confederates, our company was given the priviledge of setting up a picket post on the same spot where Hazan's Federals held after falling back. We stayed along that fenceline all night. Our company was made up primarily of folks from Wisconsin, northern Illinois and western New York, and the LONG drive was definately worth it to be allowed to spend the night on the line in the same spot as Hazen's boys." Guards were posted for part of the evening, but eventually the guard was suspended so that the men could rest.

The company kindled several small fires in the damp woods behind the fence. Our rations, such as they were, were long since cooked, and the small fires were instead used for drying out, and the men held their sack coats and shirts up before the flames. I was able to partially dry my sack coat, and I reckoned that "less-wet" was better than "more-wet".

Pickett's Mill 2001 had a concept called, "the dead company" in which the "casualties" from the battle remained separate from their company until Sunday morning. The organizers intended something similar for this year's event, but after the "casualties" lay in the rain for over two hours on the battlefield, the decision was made that everyone was too pooped to continue with it and, as darkness drew on, the "casualties" straggled back into our camp in ones and twos. Needless to say, I was happy to see Steve and Nick again.

The eight-man "CR mess" huddled around a couple adjacent fires and talked over the day. Everyone was wrung out-tired and eager for a good night's sleep. I don't recall when we finally turned in, but it was before 10:00 p.m.

Dawn came and the company began to awake. Slumbering next to Nick Redding, I groggily sat up in my blanket, and then came a startling noise. Nick's wool and gum blankets erupted into the air as he scrammed out of them screaming, "Arrggh!! There's a f____n' SCORPION in my f____n' blanket!!" No one got stung - not even on the eyeball[4] - and it provided perhaps the most amusing incident of the day.

Shortly after Nick's encounter with Mr. Scorpion, nearby, one of the second-time-bacon-eaters-still-preoccupied-with-gear had a tragedy and bellowed, "Arrgh! I just burned a hole right through the middle of my RADEMACHER shelter half!" Yes, we're in the era of designer reproductions.

The company prepared for the day, and around 7:15 a.m. Captain Acker and I trudged to the section of woods temporarily known as 5th Kentucky headquarters for an officers' meeting. The straps discussed the condition and attitude of the men, and it was generally agreed that the men wanted one more event-related thing, and everyone agreed when I opined, "The men have it in them, but let's not sit on our asses for a couple hours or even one. If we're gonna do this, let's get it done now." The field officers concurred and we were dismissed with all of fifteen minutes to get back to camp, kit up, and return with the company to the thin trail that passed for the battalion parade.

By 8:00 a.m. 130 men of the 5th Kentucky were in line in full marching order just inside the woods. Colonel Dal Bello was planning a little morning visit on the Rebs. The popular opinion among the officers was that the Rebs wouldn't suspect our arrival until it happened.

As it turned out, they were right. The Rebs must have heard our bugles blowing "Assembly" and "To the Color" on the opposite side of the ravine, but apparently no one in gray was curious enough to send pickets to investigate.

The battalion line formed virtually in the same where our place previous afternoon's assault began. At the order, the line moved forward down the slope, through the copse of trees, across the bottom of the ravine, and commenced climbing the cornfield-slope on the "Rebel side". We were maybe a third of the way up the slope before the first Confederate musket fired, and then we broke into the double-quick (at least as much as we could, given the uphill grade, full marching order, 80-degree temperature, and residual fatigue from the day before). We got within about 40 yards of a rail fence line behind which we could see the Rebs. We fired into them and advanced. The engagement became general, and the men paused only 25 yards from the Rebel line to repeatedly load and fire. It was rapidly taking on the air of a mainstream "battle".

I looked down and saw Captain Acker on the ground - always the gentleman, he was offering me the chance to command the men in the last battle of the weekend. Yelling above the din, I moved the company up to within literally ten feet of the Confederate works, waved my sword, and yelled pretty loudly for the outgunned Rebs to surrender. In response, most of them ran back into the woods to continue the fight; again, we were about ten feet from them when they did this. I was becoming rather disgusted.

Some Rebs popped out of the woods to our right and fired. I wheeled the company to face them and fired, and then Lt. Col. Craddock ran in, yelled, "Follow me!", and we charged into the woods in pursuit. We chased them through the trees for 100 to 150 yards and finally ran them down. At this point, after we'd worked up another good sweat (asssap was again rolling well), the event was basically over.

It took fifteen minutes for the two scattered battalions to collect themselves and march out toward the visitors' center. We posed for a few photographs, heard about some upcoming events, and then the battalions were dismissed.

The post-event version of meet-'n-greet started, and we socialized in the parking lot for nearly an hour with fellows from far away and farther away. When Steve Tyler brought in our minivan from the remote participant parking area, we started changing into our modern clothes, and a fellow from Texas walked up, looked at the New York license plate, shook our hands, and said "I ain't never met no one from New York before."

Charles Heath and "Brother Yoder" Hindman made a hasty exit to get a good start on the trip back to Virginia and Maryland. The remaining seven CRs went, at Steve Tyler's request, four or five miles to the New Hope Church battlefield to view the ground where Steve's ancestor from the 60th New York (Twentieth Corps) had fought. While development is encroaching toward New Hope Church, much of the crossroads area where the battle was fought still retains many of its wartime landmarks, including the church itself (a modern replacement for the period structure), cemetery, and even earthworks. After waiting 45 minutes for a burger at a Wendy's near Kennesaw Mountain, the "CR mess" split, with Chris Sr., Chris Jr., Dave, and Garr heading to Atlanta for an afternoon of museums before catching a plane to Syracuse, while Steve and Nick and I headed north toward Tennessee.

The trip home took fifteen hours, not counting an overnight stay outside of Columbus, Ohio. North of Lexington, Kentucky we passed through storms even worse than those we'd encountered on the way down. On Sunday we saw ominous funnel clouds galore, and the National Weather Service's radio network repeatedly issued tornado warnings as we drove. The next morning, the Weather Channel reported that eighty tornados had touched down in the region on Sunday. The 22-oz beer in the Applebee's in Columbus at 11:00 p.m. made me sleep like a baby on Sunday night. We arrived back in Buffalo around 1:00 p.m. Monday.

After the event I had a good long talk with Coley Adair (Critter Company and one of the event coordinators) and became more aware of the site preparations and stuff the event committee worked against to get this event from plan to reality. Someone had to build the fences, plow the field and plant the corn, get the rations, and deal with moving targets set up by certain folks on the battlefield park's staff, and other issues, and the stuff no one really "saw" seems to have been the lion's share of the event committee's work. Just placing and filling the "water wells" in the woods must have been a backbreaking effort.

By most measures Pickett's Mill 2004 was a big success. The event raised $11,249 for the Pickett's Mill battlefield park and, judging from the post-event Internet forum posts, had a lot of satisfied participants.

Like all events Pickett's Mill wasn't perfect in all respects. "The several cameras that I saw in the Federal ranks were a little annoying. The gear talk was too much. And it seemed that every time the grunts perceived that a scenario was blown, any pretense of first-person dropped, except for Dave Grieves, the Pierings, and other CRs," offered CR "Brother Yoder" Hindman.

Bo Carlson pointed out one particularly sad fact: "There were very few Easterners at the event. Thank heavens for the CRs who were there or we few Eastern guys would have been really out of place."

Company F's Matt Prost (Hogg Mess) summed up his experiences: "The hills were challenging, but do-able. Watching others fording the streams ahead of me as I came down the hill was a image that will last. The fatigue and confusion of the battle on Saturday was a great experience. The Saturday evening roll call at the rail fence, that revealed just how many men were missing, left an impression. Trying to dry out by the fire on Saturday night was impossible. It hurt sleeping on the rock-hard cornfield, but the reward of driving the Confederates down the road on Sunday at a full sprint with Lt. Col. Craddock leading was a rush."

Steve Parrish (Hogg Mess) was more succinct: "I think I can say for all of Company F that we had a splendid time. The marching was hard but gave us a real appreciation for the hard work done during the Atlanta Campaign."

DAVE GRIEVES' PICKETT'S MILL DIARY

by Dave Grieves

Below is the diary I kept during the Pickett's Mill 2004 event. It includes no times because I cannot afford a timepiece on a private's pay. The facts and chronology may be askew because I wrote this from the private's view without outside information. It was an interesting exercise, and I thank Dave Towsen for the idea.

Friday, May 28, 1864 â " Arrived at marshalling area [registration check-in] around 7:00 p.m. Got naked around women, but there wasn't another way to change clothes. Marched to co. area and started fire. Met Orderly Sgt. Morefield. Slept peacefully under the trees with small fits of rain.

Saturday, May 29 â " Woke at dawn. Detail brought rations that were quickly issued and cooked. Drilled a little, went to bn. drill and learned "marching by 8s". Broke for a while and went on water detail.

Formed bn. at 10:00 [a.m.] and began a march approaching the rebs. Very steep hill cost us some men to fatigue. Another Â½ mile and a good rest and refilled canteens. Just before the rest we heard musketry to our front.

After resting we marched another Â½ mile or so, with another big hill. No casualties that I know of. After crossing a cold creek (only one foot wet) we stopped for another break.

More marching. We were told at our first rest of the day that there would be two more large hills. We've now done at least 3, and the boys are whipped. We are resting again, and the Col. says we will be here for 2 hours. There was more firing by our skirmishers, but I have not yet seen a reb. Water has been plentiful, which is good, for some of the men need it. At our sec'd rest, 2 men from another co. went missing, which extended our break.

The last time we crossed Pumpkinvine Creek our feet got fairly soaked, so I have my socks and shoes off to dry.

After our long break we began our approach on the rebel works. More very steep climbing that tested the boys. Our skirmishers met dismounted cavalry and drove them away. We crossed a deep ravine and at the top took position briefly behind a wooden fence. After brief firing we pushed the fence down, crossed it and advanced across a field. We crossed 2 or 3 hedgerows moving steeply downhill. All this maneuver was done in "column of 8s".

At the bottom of the field we encountered another steep ravine. We pushed hard all along. At the bottom of the ravine was a deep gully cut by a stream. I stopped to help Brad out of this gully. We pushed up the hill, which opened on a small cornfield. We made it part way across the field, but were pinned down by withering fire. We remained there for firing prone for a long time, but retired back down the hill. The rebs followed us, and we took a position behind the fence we pushed down earlier.

The rebs approached us and we held them off from behind the fence. They left and we spent the night there.

Sunday, May 30 - It had started to rain hard as we formed to move on [Saturday's] assault, so by the time we were in camp [on Saturday night] we were fairly soaked. It rained throughout the night, and all were wet in the morning. We are waiting for word to move. Nick [Redding] let out a screech while packing up: he'd found a scorpion in his things.

We received word to move and rejoined the bn. from our position on the skirmish line. It is reported that several soldiers from other companies skulked away during the night, but our co. is all here.

The bn. then moved to our old skirmish line. We then followed yesterday's route, but this time in line. We quickly lost order, and re-formed past the deep gully. We then advanced up the hill, and as we moved quickly, we lost order again. We formed a line as best we could about 40 yards from the rebs behind their fence and charged them. They fell back from the fence and we tore it down to build breastworks.

We watched the rebs re-form and move to our right, so we marched by the flank and came upon them. We gave them heavy fire and they turned to retire. We charged them, chasing them about a quarter mile and taking many prisoners. It was hot work.

The bugler sounded the halt and to the colors and we re-formed and took roll. We lost 5 or 6 men, including Capt. Acker, but drove the johnnies from the hill.

After roll call the battalion marched to a clearing, where we received words of appreciation for our deeds from the Lt. Col and other officers.

We had a bully time. I thank the organizers and our company leaders for taking us through the re-creation of the 5th Ky's travails at the Mill. I'll never forget those darned hills.

Dave Grieves is a member of the Columbia Rifles and 122nd New York from Syracuse, New York

[1] Smith, Barbara and Baker, Nina eds., "Burning Rails as We Pleased": The Civil War Letters of William Garragues Bentley, 104th Ohio Volunteer Infantry, Jefferson NC: McFarland & Company, 2004, p. 106.

[2] Oddly enough, after the very positive experience with ramrod-use at Pickett's Mill, three weeks later I participated in a small, local reenactment in western New York State as a Confederate private. While my comrades and I manned a section of earthworks at this event, a Rebel yahoo ten yards down the line from us actually fired his ramrod downrange at some Federal reenactors; thankfully no one was hurt. It took a few minutes to understand and appreciate what I'd just seen.

[3] Happily, pretty much all of the CRs present engaged in quite a bit of first-person conversation and behavior.

[4] Probably because Rob Willis was not there.