CIVIL WAR PULP FICTION
Burkittsville 2005 or 2004
by Dave Towsen

Burkittsville 2005—most likely the last Burkittsville event ever—was held on September 9 through 11. I think it’s most appropriate to present this event report in a fashion similar to how the event was organized. Was it the worst event I have ever been to? Heck no. However, and I really mean this, it was one of those events that was fun primarily because my friends were there.
Despite the fact it wasn’t on the CR’s or 122nd New York’s schedule, about eight Columbia Rifles and 122nd New York members attended Burkittsville 2005. CR participants in notable roles included Nic Ellis as the battalion Adjutant, Dave Grieves in his first outing as a company commander (at this event, that also meant he was a wing commander), Chris Piering as Orderly Sergeant, and Rob Willis as 2nd Sergeant; I also served as a non-commissioned officer.
Like the successful Burkittsville 2001 event, a portion of this edition was held on the Campton’s Gap battlefield (September 14, 1862) at South Mountain, at Burkittsville, Maryland. No, the Blair Witch again failed to appear, but at times some of us thought we felt her presence.
Okay, here’s my report, and don’t expect it to be terribly cogent.

Hallelujah and Praise the Lord!
The abuse began almost immediately after I arrived on site. “I checked my almanac and somebody had torn out the page showing good weather all weekend and replaced it with one bearing your name and the forecast of rain, rain, and more rain,” is how Chris Piering greeted me. I was a little frightened about mid-morning Saturday when the sky to our west began to darken and a haze formed under growing black clouds. Guess what? It didn’t rain!! My streak of wet-weather reenactments—nearly two years long—was finally, thankfully, mercifully broken. [It rained for about ten minutes early on Saturday morning at Payne’s Farm. Personally, I think it was all Grumpy’s fault – Ed.]

There Were Civilians at Burkittsville?
The only civilian portrayals that I saw were: the two “angels of mercy” who kept bringing food into our Friday camp, the two little girls who brought aprons-full of canned soda to the Confederate prisoners (a nice period touch, NOT!), and a gaggle standing on the street in front of one building as we avoided parked and moving cars while we strolled through Burkittsville. We had no interaction with civilians at any time during our trip through the town… other than the camera toting, car driving modern civilians, that is.

“A River Runs Through It”
At one point during our little stroll through the Maryland countryside the Adjutant with the Sergeant Major ran up to Sergeant Willis and screamed, “Take those four men into those woods and investigate that structure!” So five of us R-U-N-N-O-F-T into the woods to find the aforementioned structure (with the Sergeant Major still in tow).
We’d gone about fifty yards through some pretty hostile shrubbery when a voice emitting from somewhere ordered us to rejoin the company. We found in short order that, “Getting out wouldn’t be so easy.” The woods thickened to an impassable entanglement of vines and thorny you-name-it plants in every direction.
Sergeant Willis saw some light and the tops of corn in the nearby field and headed in that direction with several of us close behind. Jamming himself into the opening in the woods, he found a fallen tree cleverly disguised by Mother Nature entirely buried under hostile vinery and was quickly entangled. He had a tree branch wedged between his knapsack and his back, thorny vines around both arms, and honeysuckle twisted around both feet. After some of the finest connections of four letter words that I have yet heard, he freed himself and created a path for the rest of us to follow, albeit in a safer and less comical fashion.
We beat feet back to the company, not having seen anything resembling “a structure”. The Adjutant, still with our company, asked, “Where’s the Sergeant Major?” There were many blank stares, followed by; “Umm…he was with us when we went into that mess.” It seemed we had lost our Sergeant Major—how careless of us. He eventually showed up, after taking the long way out of the woods, none the worse for his experience.

No Kidding, the Confederate Commander Backed Out on Wednesday Last
I heard the astounding rumor written above in bold italics, which sadly proved to be true, soon after I arrived onsite. It was Mike Hendricks, and with the failures of Reams Station 2004, Burkittsville 2004, and Lee’s Final Retreat 2005, and now this, he’s zero-for-four. How anyone who organizes an event could ever ask this guy to be part of anything ever again is beyond me. Heck, how he even got Chance Number 4 is a mystery.
As a side note, the Federal artillery didn’t show up either (again). Two months after Burkittsville I finally discovered that the artillery voted to dissolve themselves as a group about four or five months prior to Burkittsville, but neglected to tell anyone in their battalion. (Yes, I’m president of the battalion, and no one told me until mid-November.)

A Guy Who Looked Like Kevin
Charles Heath and I were sitting in camp on Saturday, doing what we usually do when there’s nothing to do (well, we were doing what CR’s always do…eat), and Charles says, “Hey Grumpy! Look—there’s Kevin!” Now understand, I don’t spend long hours looking at Kevin O’Beirne, but this guy was the deadest ringer you’ll ever find. If he’d had period eyewear and a detailed schedule in his hand, I’d have been convinced.

Holly Mule Says, “Where’s Sebastian?”
I thought the cavalry camp was nearby because I kept hearing a “horse” neighing, fairly loud and in a constant rhythm. It was sort of neat to hear… because there weren’t any horses near us. When Beverly Heath and Charles visited us in the bivouac on Friday night—walking the whole quarter-mile from their house—I found out that the noise was the Heaths’ poor ass, left all alone by her friend Sebastian-the-Horse, who had been detailed to the cavalry. Poor Holly, solo and lost, probably thinking she was the only ass left in the world.

Cars Parked on the Street?
We were selected as the skirmish company—to sweep the village clear of secessionist troops, you understand—and our platoon was the reserve. It was sort of silly: skirmishing down a street where modern cars were parked—and not just a few of ‘em, either. Imagine if you will, men in blue wool darting in and out in between parked cars and the regular Burkittsville traffic. The possibility of real injury from the traffic was not a nice touch. The locals were driving somewhere and in a hurry. Yeah, you got the image.

Charles and Beverly Coming Through the Picket
So here we sat, Rob Willis, some of the boys, and me, in Friday’s Federal infantry bivouac, surrounded by a posted Guard, it’s dark, and the sound of the pickets marching their beats through the grass is clearly audible. Rob Willis and I were discussing with some dismay the current small number of men in our company and the projected arrival of our company commander and Orderly Sergeant. Suddenly, out of the darkness, appeared two civilians bearing a basket and a large box. Who could it be? Why, it’s Bev and Charles, of the CRs’ Quartermaster Corps! Pie! Soft bread! Ebufulyptus oil! (Make Homer Simpson noise here.) I’m sure they exited the camp through our vigilant picket line with the same difficulty they entered. Did I mention it was apple peach pie?
It wasn’t even Saturday Reveille yet, and we already had pie. Heck, this event wasn’t so bad…

Cameras Everywhere
Some television company from Vermont was apparently filming every minute of this event. Heck, these folks were even stalking the company at Chatham Manor in July. Every time you turned around, a camera was visible. Any chance of enjoying the short march through rolling Maryland farmland on dirt lanes was usurped by some stupid camera stuck into your face. Fun? Period “moment”? Hardly! More like, “Seriously annoying.” You bet!

Cars Trying to Run Us Over
The winding roads of Maryland in and around Burkittsville are apparently heavily traveled solely by vehicles that travel at very high velocity. Several participants, on their own volition, dropped behind the column to act as an early warning system to the speeding traffic—the nobility of those who selflessly sacrifice themselves. There were what I’d consider many close calls at the end of the column, and I’m sure there were near misses that could have been head-on vehicle/reenactor collisions at the front.

Asphalt, Asphalt, and More Asphalt
Holy mud, I was sure stiff on Monday morning—my legs ached—and I have a pretty good idea of the cause of this discomfort. I’d venture that three-quarters or more of our march route was on hot asphalt pavement. The temperature on Saturday reached the low 90s during the noonish hours, and the asphalt must have been at least 10 degrees hotter. The temperatures took a harsh toll on some of the “mainstreamers” who were sticking their toe out of the ‘stream for the first time. Feet clad in “gunboats” traversing nearly five miles of hot asphalt are not happy. By the constant incline of our march route, it wouldn’t be hard to believe that the Burkittsville event committee had purchased Doug Oakes’s formula for march routes that go only uphill.

The Hospital Steward Was an EMT, Nice Idea, and Nice Touch
The event organizers provided a hospital steward who was an actual EMT. His kit was in two haversacks. There were several boys who had become overwhelmed by the heat and had to fall out and were damn glad he was at the end of the column, with a modern radio to contact some far off sag-wagon.

How Long for the Next Shuttle?
My Friday drive to Burkittsville was mostly uneventful. I was forced to make a short detour around an accident just off the National Highway but, by following the locals, I was able to get back on track. I found the Federal parking/registration area, parked, changed, and spent some time conversing with the sutlers/vendors onsite for Friday evening. I had plenty of time to talk, too. I was ready for a shuttle to the bivouac by 7:15 p.m. The shuttle finally arrived to take us to the Federal camp at 8:45 p.m. My plans to arrive before dark were thus tossed out the window by an errant van driver. Maybe he was just doing what he was told. [Count your blessings…it could have been worse. For the 2000 Hodge March the shuttle drivers had no idea where they were going, and took 45 minutes to shuttle us six miles one way, becoming repeatedly lost along the way. – Ed.]

Is There a Raffle?
There was no indication on Burkittsville’s event website or anywhere at registration of a “preservation raffle” like the one held during Burkittsville 2001. So, not being afraid to open my mouth, while filling out my waiver, I asked the nice (yeah right, she needed my nickname.) lady behind the counter, “Is there a raffle this year?” The reply: “Oh yes, there is.”
It seemed like it took so much effort for her to pull the tickets out of a cardboard box, and yank out the prize list out from underneath a stack of papers. “Here you go,” she grunted. Like Robert E. Lee at Chancellorsville, I saw an opportunity, and therefore tossed a bunch of dollars at her and filled out some tickets.

The First Camp Was Pretty Nice
The Federals’ Friday night bivouac was in a very nice location; there were no modern intrusions at all. Someone had nice fire pits dug and piles of firewood next to them all ready to go. Fires were visible here and there in the field when I arrived in the darkness. Crickets and an owl played their nighttime tunes. One of the boys was playing “Lorena” on his mouth organ. God bless Rob Willis for making for me such a nice bed of hay.

All Night Guard?
With the Rebs being five or more miles distant on Friday night, of course we had an all-night picket guard. The organizers made no effort to provide an historical basis for an all-night guard, and so I questioned the need for this activity. That I saw, all it did was make a bunch of guys needlessly tired. The company that was used to supply the guard was from New England—guys who’d just had a nice, short drive of about 11 hours to get here. Maybe the event organizers just wanted to provide the participants with the “all night guard” experience. The Guard was, to me, totally unnecessary.

Hey, Be a Movie Star!
At one point I was asked by the Vermont TV crew to lag behind and portray a soldier falling out because of the heat. I was great for this role because shirking is something I do well. When we turned the corner at a certain cornfield some of us were to fall out and simulate heat exhaustion. No problem. Annoying, but not a problem. The column came ‘round the bend, I went down, and Mark Benedict helped me get water from my canteen, which I promptly “threw up” for the camera every time he gave me a swig. I’m hoping to be left on the cutting room floor.

Peach, Apple, and Rhubarb Pies, Soft Bread, Biscuits, Sausage, and the Really Big Sausage!
I am always amazed and always grateful for the way Charles can produce food out of thin air, or at least out of a thin haversack. The pies, soft bread, and much more are always a great treat at any event. I can’t express how much we appreciated the treats provided by Bev and her lovely husband Chawls. I’m sure I mentioned to Bev this was the first time since my grandmother passed away that I’d had rhubarb pie. Then there was the Saturday evening feast that Charles whipped up. There was just too much food. God bless you two. Burp. Got Tums?

No Bite From Arachnids and Dork Skin is Intact
The spider population and variety in this area of Maryland was simply fascinating—Nic “Bugs” Ellis must’ve been in his glory. I saw literally several species of Orb Weavers that I hadn’t seen in quite a while. Rob “Spiderman” Willis had wisely prepared against a repeat of his wicked chafing problem at Burkittsville 2001, but had to dip into my special concoction of insect/arachnid repellent. I am happy to report that, although there were many attempted spider assaults, every attack was thwarted, and all parts of Rob’s body remained pretty much in their pre-event condition. Coupled with the dry weather, this was another sign that the planets were truly aligned for this event.

Nic Ellis Was a First-rate Adjutant
I must say the Federal command structure for this event was first-rate from top to bottom. All of the commissioned and non-commissioned officers did a fine job maneuvering the troops in the field and taking care of their men. Dave Grieves performed like a veteran company commander. I think his, “Ready, aim, load!” was first-rate. I will especially mention the efforts of “Bugs” Ellis who, donning straps and cheese knife for the first time, made a top rail (and not “half-assed”) Adjutant—one would never have known it was his first try at this duty. Kudos to Nic and Dave for jobs well done!

Sebastian Says, “There’s My Dad!”
I’ve heard folks call horses “big dogs” before and, something happened on Saturday that was just too neat not to mention. The Federal cavalry rode into the sun-baked field where we were resting or, perhaps I should say, slowly roasting. CR member Tom Craig was in the line of mounted men near us when Charles called out to ask him how Charles’s horse Sebastian was doing. Instantly, we could tell that Sebastian recognized Charles’s voice, because he continuously cocked his ears in the direction of Charles’s voice. Sebastian pawed the ground in excitement as Charles and Tom continued their conversation and Sebastian finally worked his way into a slow turn so he could see where Charles was sitting. It seemed the horse wanted to make sure Charles saw how well he was doing.

Rest Stops in the Sun, and More Stops in the Sun
Was it just me or did anyone else notice that, every time we stopped, with the exception of the stop just past General Franklin’s headquarters, we were in the blazing sun? Shade = good. Ninety degree sun + dark blue wool = bad.

Meatless Rations
Mark Benedict did a fine job of preparing rations and issuing them to the troops. Everyone received everything that the sponsors advertised and plenty of it. I especially enjoyed the Essence of Coffee. The only problem was that there wasn’t any meat. Yes, it was my understanding; the meat ration was the victim of a budget cut. I guess this group of politicians wasn’t afraid to “cut out the pork.”
For what it’s worth, the meat ration at Payne’s Farm the following month cost about $2.60 per man. How’d they ever afford that?

Mr. Winnebago and the Sam’s Club
Several of the event participants had obviously never, ever been to an event that involved any kind of movement. Here, their transition from campaigning-from-your-car-to-your-campsite was about to strike them like a baseball bat strikes a tomato. I have never in my time in the hobby seen so many men carrying so much unneeded junk.
One fellow, who was playfully nicknamed “Mr. Winnebago”—“Winnie” for short—by some of the boys, had his knapsack filled to behemoth proportions. Imagine, if you will, two blankets and a carpet rolled and strapped to the top. The silly looking thing looked like it weighed 75 pounds. Sergeant Willis recalled Winnie saying before the march started, “Nobody told me I was going to have to carry all of this stuff!” I think Orderly Sergeant Piering put a big star by his name on the company roster, and Winnie was one whiney sum beyatch.

Run, Forrest, Run!
It was the same scenario as Burkittsville 2001, but with a lot fewer men—the Federal battalion was two companies totaling about sixty or seventy men, and the Rebel horde numbered nearly twenty-five…men.
Being fifty pounds lighter for this event than I was last time made this walk and the whole event much more enjoyable. I was hot but certainly not miserable.
Nobody wanted to take hits in the poison ivy-covered field. I wonder why?

Guarding the Rebs
I’m sorry: all I can say about the whole Saturday night Guard thing was that it was even sillier than it was in 2001. Sometime between when the Rebs were taken prisoner and when they were placed in the formal charge of the “provost guard” the number of Confederates dwindled to around a dozen. Hmmmm… Further, I usually actually like guard duty in any capacity—and I guess we’ll leave it at that.

No Water for My Horse? Wait, No Water for Me Either?
Yep, the Federal cavalry discovered to their dismay there was no water at their Saturday camp. I understand that the situation was rectified and all were eventually taken care of. Sebastian say, “O’Tay!”

Where’s the Firewood?
One thing I especially like to do after a march and battle is to cook supper. Well, cooking requires fire, and fire requires wood, and on Saturday after the “battle” there was no wood to be found. Guess why? There wasn’t any! After much scrounging through the weeds, enough was gathered by the two companies for three fires for supper and breakfast. Charles opened his magic haversack and cooked, we ate… and ate… and ate… and then smoked cigars.
And by the way, discovering the firewood—all leftover from 2001—hidden under a huge growth of poison ivy was something that didn’t impress us.

The Cavalry Boys and the Boys From New England
From top to bottom the 1st Maine Cavalry and 5th New Hampshire are a credit to the Potomac Legion. They are well led, well drilled, look great, and perform well in the field.
Monetary contributions can be sent to my home address. Make your checks payable to “Please Stop the Rain.”

I Won!
My name was pulled out of the box during the mystery raffle. I actually won something! Now I have three copies of Hardtack and Coffee. More proof the curse is broken, ‘cause I never win anything in drawings.

And So, In Conclusion…
I’ve tried to express herein my honest views of Burkittsville 2005—yep, I was disappointed in this event. Did I have a good time with my fellow CRs and friends? Certainly, but then again, I had a great time with them at Mumford, too.

“Grumpy” Dave Towsen is a member of the Columbia Rifles from the Harrisburg, Pennsylvania area. Burkittsville 2005 was his first rain-free event in two years.