December 18, 2005, 01:27 PM | #126 |
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Repelling a Confederate amphibious assault - single handedly
Here's the tale of an unsung Union Hero as told by one of his regimental comrades:
"We had several members who were troubled with an optical illusion - especially in the night when on guard. They could see millions of boats, loaded to their utmost capacity with rebels armed to the teeth crossing the river to massacre us, advance, take Washington, and subdue the North. Just at the critical moment, when the Nation's life hung by a thread, he would fire. The Corporal with a file of men would double quick to his post to find out the cause. He would relate what he saw; but the dull eyes of the Corporal could see nothing but the running water on it's [sic] way to the sea. The next week an extract of the heroic soldiers letter would appear in the Westboro paper, through the kindness of friends, giving the details of the Nation's narrow escape through his vigilence."
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December 26, 2005, 01:34 PM | #127 |
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Fatherly advice from an olde soldier...
“A woodsman who was noted as a ‘crack shot’ among his hunting companions felt sure he was going to win fame as a select rifleman in the army; for he said that in killing a squirrel he always put the bullet through the head, though the squirrel might be perched at the time on the topmost limb of the tallest tree. An Irishman who had seen service in the Mexican War, and was attentively listening to this young hunter’s boast, fixed his twinkling eye upon the aspiring rifleman and said to him: ‘Yes; but Dan, me boy, ye must ricollict that the squirrel had no gon in his hand to shoot back at ye.’ The young huntsman had not thought about that; but he doubtless found later on, as the marksmen of both armies did, that it made a vast difference in the accuracy of aim when those in front not only had ‘gons’ in their hands but were firing them with distracting rapidity. This rude Irish philosopher had explained in a sentence one cause of the wild and aimless firing which wasted more tons of lead in a battle than all its dead victims would weigh.”
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January 2, 2006, 11:21 AM | #128 |
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From the pen of a soldier of the 114th New York Volunteer seving in Bayou Boeuf, LA.
"Friend... I am a Democrat; proud of my party. Proud of its success, its history, and its acts, but am no poltroon, fettering myself with the shackles of party when my country turns her bleeding hands to me and asks for my aid. He that calls himself a Democrat, and yet basely cries, Piece [sic] at any price! Peace with tarnished honor! Peace with the flag trailed in the dust! Peace when all we hold dear is threatened - when our promises to the world are falsified and our government is shaken to its very center, is a liar and a coward, and to such men, whether at home or in the foeman's ranks, I throw my gauntlet and are them to touch it. I have the steel for them that I have for the deepest traitor in Jeff Davis's ranks. If any one of them cries 'quit" from a mistaken sense of kindness to us, he little knows the temper of our boys or the mettle they are made of..."
This was dated March 24, 1863 and may be found in R. L. Murray's, "Madison County Troops in the Civil War," as published by Benedum Books.
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January 3, 2006, 11:33 PM | #129 |
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When your nation calls... or this Bud's for you!
Departures of soldiers for service is always sorrowful for those left behind. Amid the fanfare of uniforms and martial music, it doesn't matter what country or culture, it's always been a tearful event. Here's an incident involving the 108th New York Volunteer Infantry as it left for the front. I give you your Bullwinkle Choice: (if you're old enough to remember how each episode of Bullwinkle ended): When your nation calls or This Bud's for you!
"It was a sad parting of the soldier boys from home and friends, that many were never to see again; but the last good bye was said, and amid deafening cheers the train moved slowl out of the depot. As the last car reached the river bridge, a portly German, with eye glasses upon his nose, a drawn sword in his right hand, and a foaming glass of beer in his left, rushed franctically after it shouting. "Stop dot train! Got in himmel, you have left der captain of Company I."
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January 3, 2006, 11:37 PM | #130 |
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Gary,
Just been sometime since I posted to simply say Thank you sir! Steve |
January 12, 2006, 09:29 PM | #131 |
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Cadet mischief
"When in the hospital, a very hot day in the summer of 1846, clad in my shirt sleeves, and white cadet pants, I was on the front porch. I saw a cadet coming down the walk; he stopped under an apple tree loaded with green apples, and took a seat on the grass. I went into the passage leading to my ward, and threw myself into a rocking chair and was soon enjoying a delightful siesta. I was awakened by footsteps in the hall. The hall intruder was the same short plebe I had seen take his seat under the apple tree, and he had both hands pressed on his abdomen. I at once saw a chance for fun. He had mistaken me for the doctor. I started from my chair, assuming the most ferocious look I could put on, and said, 'What is your name?' 'Brown,' he answered. 'Plebe Brown,' I said, 'have you studied the Academic regulations?' He answered, 'Not much.' 'So, I supposed,' I replied; 'if you had done your duty you would have informed yourself that it is a dismissable offense to awaken the chief surgeon of this post when taking his evening nap. What is the matter with you, sir?' 'Oh, doctor, my belly! my belly!' "Let me see your tongue; let me feel your pulse.'
"Starting back, I said, 'Plebe Brown, you have been eating green apples.' This he denied. I said, 'Don't tell a falsehood; every beat of your pulse to the skilful surgeon says, 'Green apples! Green apples! Now, sir, tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth; how many green apples did you eat?' After some hesitation he said, 'I suppose about my cap full.' I started back, exclaiming, 'About a cap full! Plebe Brown, the only way I can save your life is to cut your abdomen open and take out those green apples. Come with me to the dispersary. Sit on that chair.'" ...to be continued. In our next installment, you'll find out what devious things the "surgeon" did to Plebe Brown. I'll also divulge the culprit and his place in history.
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January 15, 2006, 01:21 PM | #132 |
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Conclusion of the last post
Our story continues...
"I found a case of surgical instruments, took them out of the case and examined them. Browning was turning very plae. I said to him, 'Plebe Brown, I regret very much I can't cut you open now, as both my assistant surgeon and steward are absent, and I find I will need their assistance to hld you and keep you from wriggling. Brown," I said, "Do you think I could trust you not to wriggle?" Brown siad he was afraid he would wriggle. "Yes," I said, feeling his pulse, "I find you are a wriggler, and though I am disappointed not to cut you open, I will defer the operation for the present, and see the effect of medicine. If the medicine does not relieve you, come here after sick call tomorrow morning and I will ahve my assistant surgeon and steward here and proceed to cut." "I mixed in a pretty large glass some of every medicine on the shelves which I knew not to be poisonous - castor oil, sweet oil, epsom salts, common table salt, and red pepper I remember were some of the ingredients. I told Mr. Brown that I would excuse him from drill and evening parade, on one condition, that he was not to bother me any more that day, nor was he to come to sick call next morning. I was afraid of his seeing the real doctor and being exposed. "I made Mr. Brown drink every drop in the glass. I watched him as he went up the walk leading to the encampment. He had not gone a hundred yards when he stopped, laid hold of the fence on the side of the walk, and I though before he got through, he would throw up everything inside of him. When the steward, my friend Stoddard, returned I told him what I had done and he excused Mr. Brown according to my promise. Brown never put in an appearance again." Note: Frances G. Brown of Ohio never did graduate. The culprit was West Point Cadet Henry Heth who later became a Confederate major-general commanding a division in A. P. Hill's Corps. His men were the ones who first wandered into Gettysburg and initiated combat that day.
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January 16, 2006, 08:45 PM | #133 |
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One tough Indian who gave it his best...
"In the early settlement of Alabama, there lived on the south side of the Tennessee River, in Jackson County, opposite to where Scottsboro now stands, a couple of Creek Indians, who had built a little hut near Coffee's trading store and suported themselves by hunting. One of thse, called by the whites Creek John, was an excellent hunter, and always returned from the mountain loaded with peltries. late one evening he came down the mountain from a hunt, and instead of going directly to his hut, he stooped to get a drink. While in this posture an immense panther leaped from an overhanging rock on his prostrate form, and a desperate struggle ensued at once. The Indian being taken unawares, as placed at a great disadvantage, and the panther inflicted fearful damage on him before he could get out his long hunting knife; this he plied vigorously on his adversary, but it was too late to save his life. His abdomen was torn across by the animal's claws, and the muscles of his chest stripped to the ribs, while the blood flowed from other wounds. Yet he drove his long knife into the panther so vigorously that it was compelled to let him go and make off the field, leaving him victor of the despeate battle, but mortally wounded. He managed to drag himself to his hut, one hundred yards distant, where his companion, coming in a little later, found him in the agonies of death. The panther was tracked the next morning, by his bloody trail, to a ledge of rocks a short distance off, and found start and stiff, showing he had been dead some hours. He proved to be the largest specimen of his kind ever killed in that country. Creek John's Knife had passed through him in several places from side to side, showing the strength and vigor with which it was plied. With an equal advantage, there is no doubt but that the Indian would have escaped with his life."
One heckuva story.
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January 18, 2006, 11:58 PM | #134 |
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Bear hunting made easy...
Here's an incident that happened after the Mother of American Family Feuds, the Late Unpleasantry Between States (1861-65):
"One night while a party was up after a load of logs, a black bear came into camp and got into a bean kettle that had been left standing about since breakfast. The bear evidently liked beans because he continued eating until he got to the bottom of the kettle, but by that time he had gotten his head so far inside that he could not get it out. About that time, he was discovered by the men and they had lots of fun with that bear with the camp kettle over his head. Being blinded, he did not know which way to retreat. One moment he would strike out in one direction and then, hearing a voice, would conclude to go in another, about the same as a cat will do if you blind her. We finally got tired of the fun and shot him and took him back to camp the next day."
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January 25, 2006, 07:55 PM | #135 |
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Sounds familiar?
"I expect you will have some high times this fall. I some times think I would like to be there. Then I think perhaps it would not be so well, for a soldier in such times is very apt to get his feelings hurt by the remarks and actions of the home traitors. For it fairly makes my blood boil to read their speeches, let alone hearing a man uttering such traitorous sentiments. It would tempt a man to chastise such a person on the spot and then he would get into trouble. This is one reason why I would not like to be there during those exciting times. But there is no use of their trying for they are bound to be beat, they cannot win the day even by their secret and traitorous acts. They will go down to political perdition and all the sins of a traitor to his country will be brought against them to their entire condemnation."
This was written by a Civil War Yankee in the 83rd Ohio to his sister in Oct. 2, 1864. The November Presidential Elections was coming up and Abe Lincoln's grip on office was not seen as favorable. The Democrats under Maj. Gen. McClellan were talking of making peace with the Confederacy. Lincoln himself was worried as no president had been reelected since Andrew Jackson. Still, it sounds very much like the position that we're in today, doesn't it? Hystery repeats itself.
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January 26, 2006, 09:21 AM | #136 |
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True love was never better expressed...
In Collin's "Historical Sketches of Kentucky" about Lawrenceburg, Kentucky in Anderson County, he states that Lawrenceburg was first settled by an old Dutchman by the name of Coffman, who was killed by the Indians. When his good wife first heard of his melancholy fate, she exclaimed in the bitterness of her affliction, "I always told my old man that these savage Ingens would kill him; and I'd rather lost my best cow at the pail than my old man." Not even the bard Shakespeare could express love in a truer form.
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February 2, 2006, 09:10 PM | #137 |
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Stripping for the ladies
"An order was issued from headquarters, forbidding any person wearing U. S. clothing (blue) that did not belong to the army, and authorizing the provost guard to strip any such person of all such clothing. The 20th was at this time doing provost duty. The boys used to go for such persons lively. One day, walking down main street, they saw a gent coming, with a lady on each arm. He had one of our blue blouses and a military vest. The boys asked the officer in charge what they should do. "Follow orders, of course." So they ordered the gent to strip, but he showed fight, inspired by the presence of the ladies. The boys knocked him down, and stripped him of his coat and vest, and left him to escort his ladies in his shirt sleeves."
In another incident, we learn, "On another occasion, they stripped a man of his pants also, leaving him in a still more unpresentable condition." I know war is hell, but that's a helluva way to wage war on civilians.
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February 5, 2006, 09:47 PM | #138 |
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Deth to all ablishners!
In conducting research, I've come across numerous examples of phonetic spelling. After a while, you get use to it and it becomes part of the "charm" of finding some obscure letter or book. Being more fortunate in having a dictionary which I should add that I should avail myself of with greater frequency, I don't sit in judgment of the writer. However, I came across one example of someone who, understandably because of the war, was less generous. I share this tidbit from over a century ago:
"Lieut. Borland sent home to the True Democrat an interesting relic from Fort Henry. It was an 'Arkansas tooth-pick,' being a knife about one foot long, made from an old rasp, and enclosed in a leather sheath, on which was rudely printed the words - 'deth to all ablishners.' I judge from the spelling that the schoolmasters had already been killed off in Arkansas."
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February 18, 2006, 11:43 AM | #139 |
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Killed by a rabbit (almost a Bugs Bunny story)
"[O]ur regiment was ordered to double quick across Bull Run, and charge a battery that had been shelling us for the last twenty-four hours. We had not advanced more than half the distance before the order came to lie flat on the ground, our colonel having learned that there were more than thousands of Yankees between us and the battery. Young James Manning stood behind a tree instead of obeying orders, and a solid cannon ball, weighing twelve pounds, suddenly cut the tree int two, and his body was literally cut in two. He was the first of our company killed.
Many of our men witnessed the shocking sight, among these being the captain of a company from Wilson Co., who was a Methodist preacher. During the disaster a rabbit was frightened from its hiding place, and running about at last jumped with all force against this captain's side. He whirled over, and cried that a ball had killed him, and begged that his body be sent home. He was told that nothing had touched him but a rabbit, but he did his best to die. Failing in that effort, he disappeared. "It was a most natural thing, after the war was over, for this to be the subject of conversation. In the summer of 1868, I met some very pleasant gentlemen on the train and entered into conversation with them. One of them asked me what command I was in, and when I told him, he asked me if I remembered anything of the rabbit scrape at Manassas, to which I responded in the affirmative, laughing heartily. He said, 'Young man, that preacher is still living, but the rabbit affair will live long after he is gone.'"
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February 26, 2006, 12:00 AM | #140 |
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The unfaithful fiance, or wed or be dead.
Army of the Potomac Commander Maj. Gen. Ambrose Burnsides was an unlucky man. He was whupped at Fredericksburg by Lee and then when he tried to outflank Lee a while later, the heavens poured rained upon him, slowing his army down to a crawl in what is now known as the mud march. Shortly afterwards, he was sacked and replaced by Fighting Joe Hooker.
Even in civilian life young Burnsides was unlucky. He courted one young lady and you can see how that went (thank you Ranger Don Pfanz): Bad luck was something of a theme in young Burnside’s life. One tradition has it that he became engaged to a young lady from Ohio, but when the minister asked the flighty young woman if she would take Ambrose to be her husband, she replied, “No, sirree, Bob, I won’t,” and fled the room. (The story goes that this same woman became engaged to another man a short time later. The man apparently had heard about his fiancée’s earlier engagement, for as the wedding began he drew a pistol from its holster, showed it to his bride, and announced that there would be “a wedding tonight or a funeral tomorrow.” This time, the woman fulfilled her pledge.) Burnsides did marry and after the war, was the first president of the NRA.
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March 1, 2006, 08:11 PM | #141 |
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Stop! Thief!
Scholars and historians have long debated the cause of the Mother of American Family Feuds: the American Civil War. Well, after over seven years of research into the blackpowder sharpshooter, I've discovered why and I share it with you now.
"Fort Foote was the largest and most complete earthwork that was built for the defense of Washington, and I believe it is still standing. It commanded the approaches by the river for several miles, and its great guns would make it exceedingly difficult for an enemy to get past it. There had never been such large guns mounted before as it contained, and it seemed to me that the soldiers (it took three or four hundred at a time) would never be able to get them up the bluff and into position. The balls fired from them were so heavy that I couldn't even turn one over on the ground, each weighing 500 pounds, and required 100 pounds of powder to fire them. When fired, the men were instructed to raise on their toes and open their mouths to lessen the effect of the concussion. One day there came down the President, Secretary of War, and several general officers and distance measurements had been made for the first experiment; about two miles below. The men had practiced until they felt sure of their aim. Just as the party were assembling to witness the smashing of the target with one of the great balls, the colonel was astonished and chagrined to see through his glass a small party of rebels row out from the shore, cut the anchor ropes, and quickly tow the target around the bend of the river out of sight; so the firing had to be made at other objects of an unmeasured distance." Remember, you learned this here first and at the finest firearm forum on the Web.
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March 7, 2006, 09:17 PM | #142 |
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Eat more garlic
"Five days later the young diarist recorded that Captain Smith Bankhead had come to the Blackfrods' for tea. 'I found him very agreeable,' he wrote. 'He told me a very curious fact that the wolves will not devour the bodies of the Mexicans that fell in battle, but will scratch up the Americans and devour them; the cause of it is attributed to the use of garlic by the Mexicans. He said... that they can not bury their dead unless they pile great piles of stones over the graves or the wolves will scratch them up."
Next time you're at the pizzeria or the pasta house, ask for more garlic. Personally, I love garlic.
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March 7, 2006, 09:22 PM | #143 |
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kid's cannons
"In 1847 the boys all had a wonderful Christmas. Their stockings were full of nuts, apples, and homemade candy. Lanty described the day to his grandmother: 'We shot our little cannon several times until the Police Master, Mr. Brown, came after us about it and was going to make us pay a fine, but let us off: the fine is $2.00 a shoot. I think we ought to have been excused anyhow as it was Christmas and every body else was doing it."
Now, how many of us as kids played with toy cannons? I did and I loved shooting it - even if it didn't have a missile. It's a boy thing and I couldn't shoot it enough. There's a painting somewhere of two boys with a small brass cannon. They're leaning back to distance themselves from the blast as one of them is lighting a fuse. The cannon is pointed at some girl's doll - presumably their sister. Who among us would not have done the same during our childhood?
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March 20, 2006, 10:54 PM | #144 |
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In the sacred soil of Virginia...
"A man was going along the edge of a forest, when, looking out into the so-called road where troops had passed, he saw a hat in a great mud-hole. He reached out for it, and discovered a head under it. 'Why, what are you doing there?' he cried out. The man in the mud answered, 'I am looking for my horse; he is somewhere below."
Such is the sacred soil of Virginia. I've heard of mules sinking in the mud until only their ears show. What a horrible death and next time it rains in the Old Dominion State, remember to think, "God Bless Asphalt & Concrete."
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March 22, 2006, 08:33 PM | #145 |
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Job Opening - Brigadier General or (Bullwinkle Choice)
Plucky Irishman.
Now, at one point in our front, torpedoes had been planted the day before, and to prevent any of the garrison from treading upon them, a sentinel was placed to warn them off. At that time the man who held this post was private Donnolly, of Company G, First Georgia, a native of the Emerald Isle, as this name would indicate, and a true son of his mother. Of any knowledge of ordinary military manoeuvres he was calmly innocent. On one occasion a Lieutenant of the company asked him, impatiently: "Donnolly, why don't you keep step? All the men are complaining about you." And received the reply: "Faith, its divil a one of 'em can kape shtep wid me!" Past this hero General Ripley spurred his horse, and was riding straight for the dangerous ground, when he was suddenly brought to a halt by a loud "Stop!" uttered in the most emphatic tone, and the emphasis receiving additional point from Donnolly's attitude, as he stood with his musket at full cock, at the shoulder, and squinted along the barrel, taking dead aim at the General. For a moment there was strong probability of a vacancy among the Brigadiers of the Confederate army, but an officer rushed forward, struck up the gun, and explained to General Ripley the reason for his being halted. Subsequently, our sentinel was asked: "Donnolly, what were you going to do?" "I was going to shot him." "And why? "To kape him from being blown up with the saltpaters, to be sure." Donnolly's comrades, in view of his little infirmities of drill, had always insisted upon his having a place in the rear rank, but on this day he was heard to say, with much satisfaction: "There's moighty little trouble getting in the front rank now." The private involved is Pvt. Thomas Donnolly of the 1st Georgia Infantry.
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April 2, 2006, 10:41 AM | #146 |
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Fragging
As most of us know, fragging is a term coined in Vietnam to describe grenades or "stray" shots directed to an unpopular superior. Braxton Bragg, who later led the Army of Tennessee, had a lit shell rolled into his tent when he was a captain of artillery during the Mexican-American War. Here's an attempted fragging effort by one Union soldier against his lieutenant:
The bullet whizzed over us, but at the same moment Orr got onto his knees, turned around and fired at me. That would have certainly settled my carier [career] had not Charles Buck, at the moment Orr pulled the trigger, with a quick move of his arm pushed the rifle upward exclaiming: 'Orr, what are you doing?!' The bullet whizzed close over my head. The lieutenant took Orr's rifle and cartridge box for his own use and had a guard posted over Orr to prevent him from further attempts. He wrote Orr up to the Colonel who supported a court martial which would certainly result in his execution. The Colonel deferred the outcome to the lieutenant who forgave Orr on account of his wife and child.
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April 2, 2006, 01:35 PM | #147 |
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Look at the Injun!
North & South magazine is working on reducing an article of mine for their knapsack column. The article discusses the Black-Confederate sharpshooter and mentions the possibility of besmooted or grimy white soldiers being mistaken for blacks. Here's an incident of one white soldier being mistaken for an Indian:
"On the way we passed several Brigades of eastern troops who had sta[c]ked arms near the road in order to let us pass by. These boys, who had read a great deal about Indians, but never had seen any live ones, were much surprised and amused when my Comp[any]. passed by and they discovered the duskey fellows. Now it happened that I had a man in the Comp[any]. named Jim Walker who was of genuine English ancestry but who nevertheless could pass for a full blooded Injun. He wore a heavy mess of coalblack hair, had a towny, coppercolored skin and big, bulging eyes. Besides he was not a special friend of water, soap and comb which made the matter so much worse. When the boys discovered the Indians they began to yell: "Look! look at the Injuns look at this one! and this one with the calfs eye"! pointing to Jim Walker. That made Jim so mad that he fixed bajonet and threatened to stab the first man who dared call him an Injun. That of course made matters worse and poor Jim had to stand the consequences of mistaken Identity as well as he could. The afternoon as soon as we went in camp he went to the drummer Paine and had his hair cut short, and next he went to the Chickamauga river and rubbed his hide down to half its thickeness and sure enough, he looked all the better for it."
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May 21, 2006, 07:50 PM | #148 |
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Tax evasion in the Confederacy
"In 1864 it was hard to get food for the army. Confederate notes were almost worthless and there was no silver or gold in circulation. People who had anything to sell did not want to take Confederate money for it. The Confederate Congress finally passed what was called the "Tax in Kind Law." By this law everybody who raised anything had to give one-tenth to the Confederate government. Of course, all sorts of ways were used to evade the law. The most original that I heard of was that of an old dar___ near Staunton, Virginia. A farmer near there was in his hay harvest and he was going in town that day and before he started he called up his foreman who was a colored man named Joe. He said to his foreman, "Joe, I am going to town today and I will tell you what I want you to do. I want you to put nine loads of hay in the barn, but the tenth load I want you to take to Major Harmon in town and tell him that it is my tax in kind." Joe said, "Yessir." The farmer went on to town and stayed all day but saw nothing of Joe. When he got home about dark, Joe was coming from the stable. He said, "Joe, I did not see you in town today." Joe said, "No sir, I did not go." "Why? I told you to carry that load of hay to Major Harmon." Joe answered, "Twa no tenth load, I squeezed her all in nine!" There was no answer to that.
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May 24, 2006, 07:58 PM | #149 |
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Be careful of what you ask for...
After the James River Squadron was stymied at Drewry's Bluff, Commodore Charles Wilkes, the new squadron commander, wanted a means to conduct reconnaisance to determine the Confederate defenses along the James River. He wrote the Navy asking for armored scout canoes. Intended to be fast, light and agile, the armor was suppose to be proof against rifle fire.
The New York Navy Yard took the order and began construction. When the scout canoes arrived, Wilkes looked at them in disgust. Instead of a slim, fast craft, what he got were rowboats that were covered with boiler plate. As unwieldy as they appeared, he decided to test one by launching it. The boat capsized immediately... and then sank. Somehow someone in the Navy Yard either couldn't read or wasn't very good at engineering. Either way, Wilkes was so frustrated that he never revisited the idea.
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May 30, 2006, 10:25 PM | #150 |
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Banning the Band...
"On one occasion, with the permission of the captain, a serenade was planned for Major Terrett; but those artistic, well-meant efforts were treated ungratefully - scornfully, in fact, and sad to relate, the amateur band was confined to the guard-house the next day. It happened thus:
After permission had been granted for this pre-supposed treat to the commandant, the few lucky performers were excused from evening drill that they might practice and furbishup old tunes. To aid the memory, a nip of brandy came between each tune. As night drew on every single man of them, having imbibde so much, was in that blissful state where he felt he was a band unto himself. The performers started out with their instruments, accompanied by a quartette, whose sole instruments were a flask of brandy to each, merely as a matter of throat medicine. They reached the commandant's residence quite late. That worthy man, all unconscious of the treat in store, had long since retired. After a discussion, which came near ending in a fight, as to whether the vocal or the instrumental should open the serenade, it was decided that the quartette most merited the honor. So clearing their throats by a long pull at their melody-inspirer they opened up with 'Come where my love lies dreaming,' but in spite of the tenderness of the refrain the window remained closed. This was rather discouraging, so that the band struck up an attitude; the flutist leaning against the lamp ost, the cornet propped alongside a tree trunk, the small fiddle sitting comfortably on an ash-barrel, the bass vil squatting on the doorstep, while the banoist found himself most satisfactorily lodged on the pavement. As for the quartette, they were almost anywhere; one lying on the cellar door, sound asleep, from whence he was, at the close of the performance, carried home in a wheelbarrow. The other three had voluntarily commenced in stentorian tones, 'Look into my eyes, love.' In the meantime the instrumental was doing its best. The bass viol grunted, the fiddle shrieked, the cornet tried to blow the roof off the house, the banjo thumped away on its own individual merits, the flute was black in the face and out of wind, when the window was raised at last, the Majory's head protruded, and he thundered out: 'What the devil is all that noise about? What is the meaning of this?' 'Meaning,' replied one of the quartette in hiccough; 'we've come to serenade you, ole boy. Come and take a drink, won't you?' 'Take yourselves off,' shouted the voice, thick with passion, 'or I'll court-martial every mother's son of you in the morning.' A dead silence followed the sound of the gurgling liquor as it flowed down eavery throat. The cornet suddenly revived and shouted back: 'You be d__d; we've come to serenade you, I say, and we are going to keep on; ain't we, boys?' A chorus of assent responded, and the music struck up where it had left off.... [to be continued]
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