New Year, New Season.

This weekend the men of Sykes Regulars came together for their annual meeting in snowy Gettysburg, PA. For most of us, it was a chance to see faces unseen for months or even longer. It was a chance to catch up with old friends. And it was a chance to welcome some new faces. But most of all, it was a chance to discuss our upcoming year--the first year of the Civil War Sesquicentennial.

It looks like 2011 is going to be one of the biggest and busiest years in the history of Sykes. Our schedule contains a fair mixture of reenactments, living history events, and a couple of other unique opportunities to relive the Civil War in new and exciting ways. But all agree nothing will be more spectacular than taking the field at the 150th Bull Run Reenactment in full dress uniforms alongside other US Army Regulars in a special Regulars Brigade.

After a few months of inactivity, it is finally time to break winter quarters and shake off the cobwebs. This season will be one of the last for a couple of our members who are moving on. For a few--hopefully many--more, this will be their first season. For most it will be another helluva year. But whether freezing cold, atrociously hot, or wet beyond belief, we will have fun and we will have it together.

Happy Anniversary!

Perhaps the most disappointing thing about Civil War Living History is balancing the hobby with the exigencies of modern life. Work related training kept me from updating this cyber extension of my hobby these past two months even though I managed to attend two events in June—Shenandoah ’62 and a living history at Gaines’ Mill. Ideas for posts came and went. I even started a couple of entries on paper which easily fell pray to the demands of long commutes, exhaustion, and two toddlers. So with all that in mind, I have decided to bear down and reflect upon the anniversary of my first year in the hobby and what it means to me.


This hobby offers a superb escape from the rigmarole of office life in Northern Virginia. At Gaines’ Mill a few weeks ago, Don could not help but exclaim how much he needed to get away from his job. And I do not think there was one of us present that weekend who disagreed with him. In fact, I believe the ability to relax is under assault by the very technology that increases our productivity. We process and transfer data at ever increasing speeds. Our connectivity via the internet increased exponentially just in the past few years. The art of simply sitting around doing nothing has become increasingly difficult in a world that never seems to really sleep anymore. People often ask me what pleasure I derive from dressing up in a wool uniform in the dead of summer and trying to sleep under constant assault by ticks and mosquitoes. Oftentimes, I would trade my cubicle farm, deadlines, and Outlook email for that and the relaxation of just sitting around a campfire shooting the breeze with friends.


Another thing that strikes me about this hobby is the campfire. In Confederates in the Attic by Tony Horwitz, an interviewee laments the lost art of conversation. Long before television introduced us to the passive, non interactive act of watching television, the fire was where man turned for entertainment and commiseration after a long day. I have found a great deal of fireside pleasure since joining this hobby. Our chatter has run the gamut from historical reflection, to idle chatter, to politics, sex, the arts, religion, and reminiscing of times gone by. There is just something about the ambience of chatting by the light of the fire on a dark night with friends. Maybe it is the lighting. Maybe it is the crackle of the fore. Whatever the reason, it is just plain different. Facebook and Twitter do what they do, but they are sure as hell do not do it the way fireside chat does it—personally and intimately.


Finally, this hobby puts me in touch with the primal and masculine pleasures of life and manhood. The media is making millions of dollars off of men seeking to get in touch with their masculine side. Pick up any men’s magazine, browse the bookstore, or turn on the television. In all cases you will be bombarded with interpretations of what it is to be a man, how to do it better, or how to survive like a man. I thought of this at Gaines’ Mill when I was starting the morning fire so we could brew our coffee and make our breakfast. It seems like the Boy Scouts and Cub Scouts are more of an anachronism these days. They still exist, but I am sure their numbers pale in comparison to those who go home to the less rigorous world of video games. Indeed, as I sat there splitting wood with a hatchet, I found myself wondering how many people could even start a fire or chop wood without maiming themselves. I know I am hardly Grizzly Adams when it comes to primitive camping. And I know people of my father and grandfather’s age did things everyday which I would probably call someone to do for me or I would have to learn how to do from a book or the internet. But at a bare minimum, this hobby allows me to reconnect with simple things like building and cooking over a fire, sleeping under the stars, and using a gun. And these are things lots of men are spending millions of dollars to learn to do every year.


My first year in this hobby has been an exciting one. It has taught me quite a few things about the American Civil War which books simply cannot convey no matter how hard they try. It has introduced me to many great people whose love of history and camaraderie is awe inspiring to say the least. I would recommend this hobby to anyone who loves history. And I would advise anyone who wonders why on earth someone would want to put on an itchy wool uniform and sweat their balls off to at least give it a try. It is not as masculine as mountain climbing or as mentally challenging as things other men do to prove themselves. But at a bare minimum it fulfills much of hat we need or are missing from or otherwise humdrum modern lives.

Reflections on Gettysburg

This past Memorial Day weekend, the men of Sykes Regulars conducted a living history on the site of General Meade’s headquarters in Gettysburg Pennsylvania. I had been looking forward to camping out on this battlefield since joining Sykes a year ago this month. And I must say, it was a mesmerizing experience for a lover of the American Civil War like me. It is one thing to visit and tread upon such a venerable field of battle such as Gettysburg. However, to sleep upon that same field after all of the tourists (and even the park rangers) have gone, is something in and of itself.

On Friday and Saturday nights I found myself alone with my thoughts and surrounded by lightning bugs while looking across Gettysburg’s moon-bathed fields. Foremost among my thoughts those two evenings was what those boys in blue thought as they tried to get what sleep they could those three nights on Cemetery Ridge. I am sure they all thought of home as they looked up at the stars like I used to do when I was in Iraq back in 2003. Quite a few of them were undoubtedly scared. Looking out across those fields, I could easily imagine some young private imagining a rebel behind every fence or lurking in every shadow. I did not see any ghosts while camping on Cemetery Ridge my two nights there. But if I was a scared, hungry, and tired private of the Army of the Potomac, I imagine I would have conjured up at least a couple of gray-clad banshees.

Gettysburg is a relatively quiet battlefield during the day. It is deathly quiet after midnight. I am quite sure those evenings would have been punctuated by the moans of the wounded and the piercing cries of wounded horses. I am sure the noncommissioned officers of that era would have placed a premium on noise and light discipline just as much then as our army does today. Nonetheless, I could easily imagine the murmur of comrades, the muffled inquisitions of lost messengers, and the labors of lost men searching for friends—both living and dead—on a too dark night. Regardless of the situation, I am quite sure that any noise would have sounded louder and more revealing than a cannon shot to the ears of anyone back in the summer of 1863.

Of course, not all my thought my two nights in Gettysburg were so deeply reflective or particularly insightful. I like to think they were in hindsight. In reality, I was probably more caught up in the simple beauty of a warm summer’s evening in rural Pennsylvania than anything. Working in a Washington, D.C. cube farm has reminded me of the simple boyhood pleasures of growing up where fire flies, moon light bright enough to read by, and the rustle of leaves on a warm summer evening could be taken for granted. Lightning bugs, moonlight, and rustling leaves—let alone crickets—tend to get lost easily in the noise and light pollution of the urban sprawl that is Northern Virginia.

Gettysburg has all the beauty and grandeur of Yellowstone to a lover of history like me. You will not find elk, bears, or snow capped peaks. But on any trip to Gettysburg, you will find history and honor in abundance. After dark, you will find even more when you are left alone with your thoughts. I had a great time at Gettysburg because I was able to sleep on the same ground as those soldiers I have spent a lifetime reading about. Not even allergies and a head cold could take that experience away from me. Forgotten Regular 2010 was a real treat and I am honored to have done so with my friends in Sykes Regulars.

My Leathers Are Here!

Coming into this hobby, I of course slavered for the leather accoutrements of Duvall Leatherworks whose pieces seem to qualify as works of art. However, the father of two—soon to be three—in me balked a little at the price. A full set of Duvall Federal accoutrements (including brass plates) currently runs $390 plus shipping and handling. All of Mr. Duvall’s pieces which I have seen for sale are truly beautiful and seem to scream, “Buy me big boy.” However, my First Sergeant and friend Mike Cribbs, turned me onto Missouri Boot and Shoe of Neosho, Missouri. And let me say, if I never had a true leather fetish before, I certainly have one now.


There are only two ways to order from MBS: online via Paypal, or an order form by mail using Paypal, cashier’s check, or money order, of which I chose the latter. My order consisted of the following: leather waist belt with standing leather loop and “puppy paw” buckle, a standard Model 1850 cap pouch, an unmarked Pattern 1857 .58 cal cartridge box and strap with eagle breastplate, and a two-rivet bayonet scabbard for an original 1855 bayonet. The cartridge box included two tins, the cap pouch included a cone pick, and all plates were securely attached with leather thongs. The grand total of this complete early-war Federal accoutrement package was $281 plus $10 shipping and handling. According to MBS, orders typically take 4-6 weeks depending on the size of the order and how busy they happen to be at the time. My order, took exactly six weeks and arrived—much to my chagrin—the day after I returned from the 145th Bentonville reenactment.


Heretofore, I had relied upon loaned equipment from our unit’s company stores and an el cheapo belt and buckle combo from a mainstream sutler in Gettysburg. What I received simply blew me away. All of the leather is a supple, waxed flesh with a rich black sheen of the sort you would see on a really good pair of leather boots. Indeed, what I got in no way resembles the shiny black, patent leather looking stuff you will find in the tents of your mainstream sutlers. The leather is high grade and the leather smell which engulfed our family apartment when I opened the box, lingered for several days—subtle, yet manly in the extreme with nary a hint of any sort of petrochemical falseness. My walk-in closet where I store all of my impression remains a leather bound treat whenever I open the door.


As far as construction goes, I have compared my cartridge box and cap pouch with my loaners, which are well-used Jarnagin models. The stitching and construction are as good, if not better, than the Jarnagin models I currently have, and compare quite favorably with the Duvall pieces I have beheld at S&S Sutler in Gettysburg. The leather used by Duvall does appear to be a little bit thicker—especially in the cartridge box flap—with maybe a bit more grain. Duvall’s pieces receive high marks in the living history ranks for fit, finish, and construction. And, had my funding for accoutrements been a bit higher, I would probably have gone with them. However, I in no way feel that my MBS gear is a step back in terms of quality, construction, or dependability.


As far as fit, everything fit perfectly. My waist belt fit my exact measurements—make sure you measure yourself in uniform as recommended. My cartridge box strap allows my box to hang exactly at my hip as it should be—not too high and certainly not too low as you see on some reenactors. I will offer one word of caution. MBS offers their cartridge box straps in both the original 64½ inch length (as per the Army Ordnance Manual) and a 72 inch length for “modern” soldiers. If you are over 5’ 8” tall or have a waist greater than 34 inches, I would strongly suggest you go with the modern length cartridge box strap. My strap is on its longest setting and it fits just right. As for my bayonet scabbard, MBS only asks your blade type, year model, and whether it is a reproduction or an original. I asked for a scabbard made to fit an original bayonet—which I have yet to buy. However, my reproduction bayonet seems to fit just fine even though an original blade is much narrower.


So there you have it. I feel my $291 dollars was money well spent. Although I did not call MBS to inquire about my order or pester them with questions, I did email them twice. The first time to make sure they received my order and the second to specify waxed flesh in my waist belt and cartridge box strap. Both emails were answered promptly and cheerily. Yes I did try all of it on with my uniform as soon as I got it all together. And no I cannot wait to show it all off this weekend at the Sykes Spring Shakedown at Fort McHenry.

Sykes Regulars Hard Tack Recipe:

When on campaign I strive to be as authentic as humanly possible in this day and age. I avoid eating fruits and vegetables out of season or those varieties unavailable to the soldier of the 1860’s. Salt pork, country bacon, and goober peas form my usual source of protein. And in true Yankee fashion, hardtack comprises the bulk of my marching ration.

At my first event, I carried the equivalent of three days marching ration on a seven mile march: 4 ounces coffee, 2 ¼ lbs. salt pork, and 27 pieces of hardtack. Add to this July heat and my first true taste of the wool fatigue uniform and you get one first-timer who got his immersive experience and then some. But in the spirit of instruction, I now seek to share my personal recipe (really a baked version of my grandmother’s dumpling recipe) for hardtack with the viewing public.

Ingredients:

1. 2 cups all purpose flour (plus more if necessary depending on weather)
2. ½ tsp. salt
3. One egg-sized ball of shortening or lard
4. ½ cup cold water (plus more if necessary depending on weather)

Directions:

1. Preheat oven to 425 degrees.
2. Place dry ingredients in large mixing bowl.
3. Cut lard/shortening into flour with a fork until the flour becomes grainy in appearance.


4. Add water and mix with fork. For this step, I find it best to make a well in the flour mixture and then add the water to the well. I then place a fork in the center of the well and begin to stir the mixture together while slowly incorporating the flour from the sides of the well. Once the mixture becomes a cohesive mess, I then dive in with flour covered fingers.


5. Work dough until stiff. At this point you may need to add more flour or more water until the dough becomes stiff yet slightly sticky—imagine something less like canned biscuit dough and more like play-doh. The amount of flour or water you may need to add will vary depending on the weather and humidity outside.
6. Roll out dough on flour dusted surface to a thickness of ½ inch and cut into 3x3 inch squares. I rework leftover dough into as many additional pieces as possible—I usually get 9 pieces of hardtack from one batch of dough.


7. Poke 12 (my sous chef accidently poked only 9 in the pics) evenly spaced round holes in each piece of hardtack. This aids in the drying out process.
8. Place hardtack on ungreased cookie sheet and insert in 425 degree oven for 30 minutes. Your goal is to dry the hardtack more than it is to bake it.
9. After 30 minutes have elapsed, flip hardtack and allow to cook an additional 30 minutes.
10. Remove from oven and allow to cool. I usually make my hardtack at night and allow it to cool overnight before tossing in my haversack or placing in a container for long term storage.

This hardtack will remain dense yet crumbly and edible with little real effort over the course of a weekend. Indeed, I find it quite tasty on its own or with some country ham. If you leave it stored in a non airtight container or in you haversack for a month it will resemble the hard inedible stuff you read about in books. Also, this hardtack will absorb the odor of the contents of your haversack over the course of a weekend. This is fine if you don’t mind a slight coffee or porky taste. However, you might want to avoid keeping loose Castile or lye soap chips in your haversack.

Happy campaigning!

Gettysburg: Three Up, Three Down.

Okay, I admit it. In anticipation of the coming season I got in one of those rare moods where I want to sit down and watch the movie Gettysburg. You can only read, surf web forums, and dream about your next gear purchase so much before you find yourself wanting to just sit back and watch the war unfold on the small screen. So, just like we used to do in the Army at the end of every After Action Review (AAR), I offer my three up and three down for Ron Maxwell’s Civil War drama.

Three Up:

1. Robert E. Lee disciplining J.E.B. Stuart. Although we will never know what Lee really said to Stuart the evening of July 2nd, this representation of it is simply magnificent. It is easy to picture Lee in such a way based on what we know of him today. And whatever was said, Stuart never let it happen again and it possibly contributed to his death at Yellow Tavern almost a year later.

2. Pickett’s Charge. The cannonade, Armistead and Pickett inspiring their troops, and the rows of Johnnies stepping off into oblivion—enough said.

3. Sam Elliot as General John Buford. As a Kentuckian I am a bit biased towards this Kentucky-born cavalryman and his contribution to the battle. But I am sure Sam Elliot was created for this role—and that of the stranger in The Big Lebowski of course.

Three Down:

1. The beards. James Longstreet looks like he’s wearing the remains of a small mammal and J.E.B. Stuart looks simply clownish. I am sure they could have done a lot better had someone convinced Ted Turner to invest a little more money on hair and makeup and a little less on his under-achieving Braves.

2. Lewis Armistead and Winfield Scott Hancock professing their love for each other. We get it already.

3. Buster Kilrain. I can overlook an enlisted man taking such liberties with his regimental commander—they were state volunteers and not Regulars after all. However, I still find his one-man defense of Little Round Top a bit much. Where the heck is that sharpshooter who took out John Reynolds when you need him?

There you have it, my three good and three bad for the movie Gettysburg. I am too cheap to buy Ken Burns’ Civil War. I have seen Ferris Bueller’s Day Off too often to stomach Glory more than once in a blue moon. And I would rather drop a cannon ball on my genitals than sit through Gods and Generals again. Sometimes you just need your Civil War fix. It is a good but not great movie about the Civil War’s greatest battle. And like Roger Ebert said when he reviewed Top Gun, the good parts are so good and the bad parts are so relentless. But sometimes addicts have to settle.

Civil War Tragedy

My current reading on the Civil War has taken me into Bruce Catton’s Army of the Potomac Trilogy. Last week I read part one, Mr. Lincoln’s Army. This week I started part two—The Glory Road—which begins with General Burnside’s ill-fated Fredericksburg campaign. I had literally stopped reading just short of the stone wall at the foot of Marye’s Heights when I had to put the book down and think of the tragedy to come. To wit, why would I want to continue to reading a story whose tragic ending I already knew?

Webster’s defines tragedy as “a serious drama typically describing a conflict between the protagonist and a superior force (as destiny) and having a sorrowful or disastrous conclusion that elicits pity or terror.” In short, tragedy is an art form whose audience derives pleasure from the suffering of its hero. Crass though it may sound, I truly do derive pleasure from the sufferings of who I consider the Civil War’s tragic hero—the Army of the Potomac. The pleasure derived is not because of some schadenfreude on my part. Rather, I believe the pleasure results from a desire to understand the dynamic of an army whose courage and sacrifice were unequal to its leadership for most of its short existence.

The boys of 1861 who answered the nation’s call for volunteers to enlist for “three days or the duration of the war” formed the core of the Army of the Potomac. And it was this band which endured privations I can only imagine 150 years later with the help of their florid descriptions. The Iron Brigade lost almost thirty percent of its manpower to death and illness before its baptism of fire at Second Manassas. At Gettysburg—less than a year later—the brigade sustained over sixty percent casualties. Such losses are unimaginable today. Yet, this army weathered such losses as they would any other storm on a regular basis without fail.

If, prior to becoming a reenactor, one asked me to list military organizations I truly revered I probably would have listed the Continental Army or the Eighth Air Force. Both achieved victory despite the heavy odds stacked against them. But after one short season of reenacting I have come to see the men of the Army of the Potomac in an entirely new light. The simple act of wearing their uniform, carrying their equipment, firing their weapons, and living as much like them as possible has formed a tangible link to men who previously existed to me only in print, engravings, and sepia-toned photographs.

First Manassas, the Peninsula, Second Manassas, Antietam, Fredericksburg—all began with such high hopes only to end far short of ultimate victory with great loss of life. They are tragedies within an American tragedy—but in my mind I sometimes like to think it is only 11 a.m. The fog has been swept away revealing the Army of the Potomac drawn up in neat, orderly lines along the too wide plain between the stone wall and Fredericksburg. The steel on their rifles gleams in the sun and twinkles of light here and there mark the glistening bayonet points. The officers have affected their best, most disinterested pose as if the pending assault were nothing more than morning parade while the surgeons sit idly by with nothing to do. And to borrow a little more from William Faulkner, maybe this time the men will carry the wall and the flags will sweep over the heights on their way to Richmond….