Joe Pearson, Confederate Soldier
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On July 6th, 1996...I went to Gettysburg, with my 35mm camera, as a spectator to watch a Civil War re-enactment. I was so overwhelmed that by 8 p.m. on the following day, I was on the phone trying to track down a contact on how to get myself involved in becoming a Civil War Re-enactor.
Twenty-eight days later, I was in Leesburg, Virginia.
The following is an excerpt from my first re-enactment:
This, being my first actual engagement as a participant, not spectator, has given me true excitement, nervous flutters, and a deep thrill knowing that I will now start to truly understand what it could have felt like to have been one of those many men who picked up a rifle to fight for what they believed.
I had never left the safety of my home so unprepared as I did on this day. Not fully knowing the destination or what was about to be expected of me, I started my journey to Leesburg, Va. at 3:30 am in a very steady downpour of humid rainfall. I traveled through an hour and one half of unbelievable rain until I reached the township of Leesburg.
When I arrived, I wrongly entered into the graveyard of the Civil War dead. What an eery and ghastly mistake on my part. Darkness, rainfall, dead-calm, and not another soul in site.
Regaining my composure, I finally found the entrance way into Ida Lee National Park. No one was stirring despite the fact of many vehicles, tents, and damp-smoked campfires. Having a good three hours before registration, I elected to rest. What would follow this day would prove that I made a wise decision. I didn't sleep, but rest I did.
Entering the registration area, I was obviously like a fish out of water. This was so strange for me, because this was my first re-enactment and I had nothing to wear that would even make me look like a re-enactor. Today would transpose me as a 20th Century civilian into an 1861 soldier of the Confederacy. What follows is the life of a soldier who would have been called "fresh fish" entering the life as a raw recruit which could've been northern or southern. In my case, it was Southern, by my choosing.
I finally located & joined up with Larry Bopp and Steve Bockmiller, two other members of the 4th North Carolina Regiment. They had been awaiting my arrival at the tent of Sullivan Press, and thus started the purchasing at the Sutlers. Larry aided me without any hesitancy. As he put it to me: "It's easy spending your money." His eye for quality and authenticity was priceless to me. I saw so many items that I would have foolishly bought, but he continually brought fine details to my attention. All in all, it turned into a very wonderful experience, with the hopes that I will have many years of use of all theses items. I bought: shoes, heel plates, canteen, bayonet, socks, tin cup, belt, NC buckle, cartridge box, cap box, poncho, haversack, shirt, rifle, sling, and even purchased a ladies'handkerchief that I will always carry with me having my wife's perfume scent. Unfortunately, I was without a wool jacket & pants, a kepi, or suspenders. Larry and Steve graciously loaned me these items to use on this day.
By the time the early morning sun opened the sky, and the smothering humidity rose from the damp ground, I was a Confederate soldier in full uniform waiting to serve proudly in the 4th North Carolina Regiment, which was part of Jackson's Brigade. We were considered the elite and also the Interpretive Brigade. We represented all that was to be followed and respected in the entire Confederate States of America. I was honored, I was sharp, I was scared.
For the first time, I met up with more members of the unit: Dave, Tom, Lee, John, and Tina (John's wife). They all made me feel very welcomed and I was extremely happy with my choice of units to join. These were all very fine folks and I was very comfortable to be with them.
Day One - First Manassas
The day was full of firsts: Civil War, Leesburg, wool, heat, humidity, sweat, blackpowder, cannons, cavalry, drilling, marching, mingling with spectators, & eventual heat exhaustion.
Throughout the entire day, we were kept very busy with manual of arms and marching drills. It was a unique style of how things were done during these times. I could not believe how close we would march together in formation. We would be elbow to elbow side to side and 18 inches front to back.
I personally found this disquieting for the main concern of how little it would take to annihilate a large number of soldiers with a canister from cannons or a large volley from rifles.
But, when you consider this to be common practice on both sides of the battlefield, it all just ends up in God's hands. Just the luck of the draw, so to speak.
While we were out on our last demonstration of manual of arms for the spectators, one man had fallen to the 96 degree heat and an ambulance had to be brought in to carry him from the field. I don't mind telling you, with the non-stop demands thrown upon us throughout the course of the day, we were all doing a hell of a lot of sweating. We drank and drank constantly from our canteens. It finally came to my mind that I was on the verge of passing out myself. We marched back to our camp, disrobed all of our 20 pounds of gear, and also our hats and wool jackets. We then turned them inside out as to let what little breeze was flowing to cool down the soaked interior. I was completely exhausted. Everything had been spinning around in my head, which was probably the first and main indication that heat exhaustion was taking charge of my body. I lowered myself to the ground and let rest and time do its best to correct the dehydration that was lending its normal course over my invulnerable condition. I felt better at times, but every time standing up was tried, the equilibrium just would not yield. As I lay on the ground, periodically taking drinks from my canteen, I began to wonder if my body and mind were going to be up to the challenge. Luckily, we were given adequate time to rest before we were informed to fill our canteens one more time before falling into formation. This only meant that a battle was about to commence. As the time finally came to fall in, I had an idea which might help me to make it through the battle and heat. I pulled out that white handkerchief, the dearest reminder of my wife who would always be the strength to push me past all the hurdles. I then saturated it with the wetness from my canteen, and tied it around my neck. Oh how wondrous that felt, and I knew that I could do this. I'd be all fine.
The 4th North Carolina was part of the Color Guard on this day. To those unfamiliar with this honor, I'll explain briefly. The Color Guard are those unlucky, yet privileged souls who carry and guard the flag of your Regiment. This is also a suicide mission, because the aim of the enemy is to defeat and retrieve the flags of those that they are fighting. If the flag bearer should fall from the field, the Color Guards in turn pick up the flag and continue on with their orders. The entire Regiment dresses on these colors, and therefore the Color Guard is an intricate part of the entire formation. My mind knew deep down inside that sooner or later, it would be my turn to eventually pick up our flag. Knowing that you're a dead man before you actually become one is a feeling you must ignore. You can only do your duty.
Our entire Army marched proudly to the designated point of where we were to begin our engagement on the enemy. When we got there, we must've had at least 20 cannons on the rise awaiting the cannonade which would begin the end. We were allowed to fall out, dispersing in the wooded area to shield ourselves from the unrelenting heat of the sun. Again, not fully recovered and hoping the heat would lessen, I unbuttoned the top four buttons of my jacket to desperately try to release the inferno that was expelling from my body. I again drank from my canteen and carefully poured a minimal amount on my now drying handkerchief. When I tied it around my neck, it almost felt like a cool spring splashing on me which aided in lowering my body temperature. I was gradually starting to feel somewhat relieved when we were called to fall-in immediately and without delay. And so we did, so we did. As we stood in formation at a rest position, we could hear the drums and fifes of the Union soldiers as they began their approach to where their stronghold would be. There was nothing but determination in all of our eyes and parched lips. Every so often, canteens would be opened, gear checked, and cartridge boxes unsnapped. As, what would appear to be, the whole Union Army stood across from us in the valley. I was in awe of how magnificent it looked. I could only imagine that we appeared the same to them. I surely hoped this to be true.
Before I could blink my eyes, our cannons started their fury of roars that echoed like a thunder storm across that valley. I could feel the blasts as if my heart was trying to jump out of my chest. I turned my head and watched in amazement at the precision at how our artillery performed their duties. I saw the cautious thrusts of their rammers being thrown into the cannon barrels with no hands on the shafts to prevent the accidental loss of a hand or arm if the cannon would misfire or discharge from any lingering sparks coming in contact with a fresh supply of gunpowder. The inner lining of the barrels were kept cool and partially cleaned by other ramrods that were kept in water buckets for frequent use. We fired and fired those loud man-killers, and we were ordered to fall in at attention and to go to shoulder arms. Showtime...and let the adrenalin begin. I sure hope I had at least a bucket of adrenalin in me this day. Our Army was spread out in what seemed to be a mile of grey. We started our Regiment in a straight line headed not directly, but towards the right side of the Union line. Our captain had commanded us to halt, even though we were a safe distance from the enemy, but everyone was ordered to load rifles.
Everyone, except the Color Guard, which stood fast and tall. We began marching again with the orders of left wheel, right oblique, right wheel, forward...until we started receiving volleys of musketry. We had some casualties, but we were beginning our own volley from our Regiment of rifles. While we concentrated our aim on theirs, I could also witness the other three quarters of our Army doing their maneuvers way to our left and from what it appeared, we were beating the pants off of them Yanks. Suddenly, Dave went down with the flag, and I was almost in shock, having spoken with him only moments earlier. As I tried to swallow, I was just about to grasp the courage to pick up the flag, when I saw that Lee had already reacted. Onward we continued our surge, continuing to pour on the pressure with well dispersed firing and of course our Rebel Yell, which almost scared me. But how strong the will is and how furious we can be when driven. As we came closer and closer to the Union line, more fallen soldiers lay around me and, then, Lee went down with flag. He held it aloft, and this time, I didn't even think. It was in my hands and then we charged. All of a sudden, I was completely surprised to see that the Union formation we were starting to outflank was now assembling into a circular defensive position. This was an assembly that was usually notable in a cavalry defensive tactic, yet we were only infantry now approaching. This was a sad mistake on their part, because this reduced their effectiveness upon us by more than one half of aimed muskets. We swiftly took full advantage of this strategic error pouring into them like a mountain stream onto half buried rocks. We were giving the Yanks a small taste of hell, and they began retreating at a very quick rate.
We continued our now furious charge and had a victory that turned into a major humiliation to the Union and to the government in Washington. How anyone could ever think that this would become a one battle war is beyond me. The North may have their financial power, railroads, and what seems to be an endless supply of food, goods, supplies, and men, but they will never have the devotion and spirit that lives and will never die in the Southern soldier.
As the battle was coming to a close, I had also taken a hit before the engagement was over, but it was not serious; nothing that some rest wouldn't heal, and was able to return to duty knowing this will be one of the many to come. As the days, battles, or years go by, I can only hope that having lived through this first battle of the Civil War will not be a blessing in disguise. To see men standing next to, or in front of you no longer there, you sometimes wonder who was the lucky one, and who will really be the one to suffer.
Even though those hearty southern boys gave old Abe Lincoln something to think about, I sometimes wonder if Jefferson Davis knows more than he'll ever tell.
As the smoke cleared ghostly from the field of infernal battle, as the fading echoes of cannons and musketry faded slowly into quiet sounds of wind and birds in the distance, we all heard on the crest of a hill the solemn yet calming bugle playing taps for the fallen heroes of the day. No words could ever describe the emotions that you go through as you listen to these simple notes. When the last note sounded and started to fade away, a Northern soldier most likely from the Irish Brigade, began playing the bag pipes to also honor those who had fought so bravely on this day. A day that only ended the start of the war that would seem to go on... and on...and on...and on.
Joseph C.Pearson, Private
joep@schmitzpress.com
American Civil War (Loads of Links to other sites)
CIVIL WAR WOMEN Primary Sources on the Internet
Pictures of the Civil War
National Civil War Association
The Confederate Network
The Dixieland Ring (Confederate Links)
Library of Congress Photo Collection
Joe can be reached at his email address jpearson@schmitzpress.com