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Brice's Crossroads, MS. June 30-July 1
As on previous trips to Mississippi, a bus was chartered to take any members south, but a different route was planned as we'd be stopping off at Shiloh. (I don't believe this was a Kincaid bus-we had tired of their services, so we sought the services of a different bus line, but don't recall who it was). We fought off the boredom of the long drive by consuming adult beverages as we had done on other bus trips to Dixie.
It was early Friday morning when the bus pulled up at the Shiloh National Park. A mixed bag of Holmes Brigader's and greybacks from Crowley's Confederates had once again made the journey together, with little or no squabbling during the trip that I recall. Among the Holmes Brigaders from Kansas City included myself, Higgy, John Maki, and John Condra-who would be making his debut and see the elephant for the first time. I'm not sure who, among other Federals, were on the bus, but I think Dickson Stauffer, Frank Kirtley, Bill Fannin, Boyd and Brent Wilson, Mike Stokes -just to name a few- came to Mississippi in their own vehicles.
It seemed that the Shiloh Battlefield Park had "gone back to nature"- unlike Vicksburg, there were less monuments. There were several metal plaques located here and there, plus the ever present artillery cannon turning green due to the elements of nature. The highlight of the tour -and the one which made all the johnnies on the bus squirm- was the tree where the mortally wounded Confederate General Albert Sidney Johnston crawled under to draw his last breath. A rotting old peanut shell of a tree trunk is about all that remains, and is kept from tottering over by a protective cage wrapped around it. Nevertheless, it was viewed as hallowed ground as members of Crowley's groveled before it like it was some sort of sacred cow. The other memorable site we visited while at Shiloh was "Bloody Pond". You all know it got it's name because of soldiers washing their bloodied bodies in it, and how the pond remains a rusty color to this day. After leaving the park, it seems we had a side trip to an antebellum home/museum close to where the event was to be held. I believe we were charged a small fee to enter the old home, but we had a guide who escorted us around the place, telling us stories of " the glorious old south"-you know, back when they had slaves.
We finally got to the event site sometime Friday afternoon, where the Federal camp was situated within a wooded area. As we had done at previous trips to Mississippi, we traveled light with many dog tents setup. We could not depend on the host to provide us with rations for the entire weekend-although I believe we did have some sort of fish fry that first night. John Maki had gotten some MRE's (MEALS READY to EAT) from the Army/Navy store in Kansas City, plus we had some odd and end vegetables, as well as "dead things from the sea." The eating of "dead things" began with Dick Stauffer and Higgy, who about a year ago at this time began this ritual of eating tinned oysters and sardine's during the play of domino's. Before long, many of the boys in Holmes began including "little fishies" in their haversacks, including yours truly who brought to the Brice's Crossroads event a small tin of octopus meat-"in its own ink".
Sometime early Saturday, we had a parade in town. Later on we had a brigade drill, with all the Federals in our Army of Tennessee group. We practiced a series of evolutions and tactics as instructed by Dickson, as well as Captain Lou Islen, who was technically in charge of the "left wing" of our "battalion." Lou Islen's pet peeve was on how we handled our muskets during the firing demonstration. When we were given the order to come to the ready, he only wanted to hear "one cock"- that is everyone pulling the hammer back on their muskets at the same time.
A late afternoon tactical was planned that Saturday-to begin about 6:30 PM. This would be a non-spectator "wargame" that would take place about one mile north of our present camp site near the johnny area. It would be a judged "wargame" and similar to ones we had done in Prairie Grove-in which objectives had to be taken, points awarded for each capture, and casualties taken based on performance in the field. I distinctly recall having to take a massive BM just before we started out, so I parked myself in a nearby port-a-john and soon completed a successful evacuation of all orifices. No sooner had I returned to the ranks, when the order was given to march out. (I believe we had two battalions, including some Texans under the command of Glen Smith. It seems they moved out before we did. We had about 50 men, including officers and NCO's. We moved out in a column of fours with our muskets already loaded, but with the hammers at half-cock. We turned left, then another left after hitting the main road, then advanced up this road about a quarter-mile when ordered to undouble and file left down into a ravine. Soon we were in line of battle, two ranks deep facing a black forest of thick limbed trees to the north. Suddenly we could hear a commotion somewhere deep in the wooded gloom (not sure where the Texas Federals disappeared to, but they must have found their own avenue into the wilderness). Captain Lou Islen (in command of the left wing) recommended we advance cautiously-maybe with skirmishers out in front, but Dick Stauffer-as overall commander of this battalion-was quick to poo-poo this suggestion when he said,"HELL, NO, LET'S GO!" and so we dashed forward into the woods in line of battle, muskets at the right shoulder shift. Tree branches snatched at our clothing and threatened to tear the muskets from our grip, but we pressed on as the ground rose upwards into the trees. It was about halfway up that Robbie Piatt tripped over a root and fell flat on his face, his musket going off with a loud bang.
Much of what happened next is a blur as we were traveling so fast with barely a moment's hesitation. What images come to mind, popped up like brief Polaroid snapshots. It seems there was a Boy Scout camp that suddenly materialized in our path. Why they camped so close to our event site is anybody's guess; they seemed as surprised to see us as we them. Roasting weiners on a stick and singing "Koom-by-ya" was forgotten as the terror stricken lads watched us come streaming past their pup tents. I can see Higgy pausing just long enough to plunder a young scout's cooler as we pressed on. The next image I recall was passing through a Confederate camp. It seemed we had rolled up an entire company of greybacks without a fight. At this time, Don Pautler was commander of the Missouri Confederate's and it was his face I recall seeing as we rode the blue tidal wave in on his boys. His face had lost all it's color, while his jaw hung unhinged in disbelief. Nearby was the refugee camp where all the civilians stayed, including our own Ladies Union Aid Society who had assumed the role of displaced Mississippians for the weekend. Kathleen Fannin gave one of the greatest account's, from a spectator's perspective, of the action that took place as we broke from the woods:
"There we were in our camp...Penny James, Fran Lipton, Cindy Ahlers, Karlene Kirtley, Constance Soper, Maria Sloan, Kathleen Fannin...it was Saturday afternoon. We were Confederate refugees, forced to survive in the woods on roots and berries after our homes had been ravaged and burned by the scurrilous Union forces in the area...a short time later we heard firing in the distance. We had begun to wonder if we were in the midst of a war zone when suddenly...two Confederate scouts reappeared on the dead run, streaking at top speed toward the Confederate camp. All at once there was a loud crashing, thrashing, slashing just beyond the trees to my left. Our attention was riveted as what to us looked like the entire Confederate Army dashed by. A split second later, in hot pursuit of the Confederate force, there appeared the glorious blue of the Union. For some of us, this was more than we could bear. Faithfully as we had tried to portray self-respecting southern ladies that day, the sight of 'Our Boys' hot on the heels of the Confederates raised goose bumps on our arms...and huzzahs in our throats. 'HUZZAH! HUZZAH!' we yelled, and yet again...'HUZZAH!' Fran Lipton muttered, 'My, you certainly seem to change colors with ease.'...Our true feelings could be hidden no longer."
After emerging from the woods and sweeping past the futile "johnny" resistance, we made a wheel to the left and halted briefly. A Confederate cannon suddenly opened up on our left flank, from its position about 50 yards away. We had not yet fired our muskets since the climb through the wilderness, so we emptied them at the pesky artillerymen. When the smoke cleared away, the judge in the area ruled that the cannon was indeed disabled by our musketry, but it had also caused some casualties in our ranks. About a dozen of our boys were designated as "killed or wounded", including both our 2nd and 1st Sergeant's, and had to remain behind. As I was the next NCO, I found myself temporarily promoted to fill Bill Fannin's shoes, and so I stepped into the front rank next to the captain as we redressed our lines. I don't remember whether we resumed our march in line of battle or if we formed a column of fours-it may have been the later-but within moments we were once again off at a trot. The green of the wilderness was replaced by an arid desert, broken by numerous cracks in the dry earth, and as we advanced, it was many an occasion we had to walk into and out of a trench much like ones found in France during WWI. Captain Dick continued to insist on a rapid pace, and he kept a watchful eye to the rear because he feared Shelby's Cavalry would pounce on us at any moment.
After covering a space of a couple hundred yards, we halted and formed two ranks facing south. A company of greybacks had got themselves boxed into a small ravine about fifty yards in front of us. They must have thought themselves safe from all sides, but didn't expect an attack from above, which we accomplished by dividing our company into two platoons and swooped down on them in an inverted V. It was like fish in a barrel; one look at the muskets above them, caused the unconditional surrender of the caged beast. With this final act, the tactical was officially over, although there were still some units scraping in the woods somewhere. It was close to 8 PM; dusk was at hand. We'd lost some boys along the way, some who'd fallen out or were "killed", and as the rest of us shuffled back to camp in loose order, it was with an adrenalin high. We were too wound up to sleep after this, so we sat around the fire, drank popskull, and relived the moments of the last hour. At some point, Dickson made the remark that we had moved as fast as greyhounds. Although the reader may not think it much, the Brice's Crossroads tactical had been our finest hour as a unit. We had captured two Confederate companies, destroyed one cannon, and had outrun Shelby's Cavalry (they may have been sent to another sector of the battlefield, in all honesty).
On Sunday, we had the battle reenactment for the public, but it was uneventful. Other than the fact the "johnnies" were allowed to win this one, the scenario had the Federals behind breastworks until overwhelmed by the enemy. I spent most of my time unfowling John Condra's musket, so I don't recall much of went on this day. As in all events held on Sunday afternoon, it was officially concluded after this fight and it was time to return back to the 20th Century. Back on the bus, our southern cousins didn't want to talk about the tactical-for good reason. Instead they were content to drown their sorrows in Mississippi "moonshine" or spoke of the whippin' they'd given us on Sunday. Though there'd many more quality events in years to come, the Saturday evening tactical at Brice's Crossroads, Mississipi-personally speaking-was firmly etched in stone as one of the greatest in Holmes Brigade history and earned us the name, GREYHOUNDS.
The next chapter continues the legend of Holmes Brigade with our trip to Athens, Missouri in August. It was at Athens that a world famous expression was coined-a phrase that is still used to this day. Please jump ahead to the next chapter and I'll tell you all about it.
Chapter 19: "Just a Quarter-Mile More, Boys!"