Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

[Michael Comer]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

Sure doesn't seem like it was that long ago.

[Hairy Nation Boys]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

Still the best event I have ever been to. Nothing will ever replace what we did that week in March of 2007.

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have heard voices, strong high, and sweet, singing over the washpots as they did the laundry for 19 people, with scrub boards and washpots, with water hauled with buckets and yoke, over fires they built themselves.

Roger and Happy left out each day, building cabins in the woods, and providing wood. This left Raquelle and Sarah to their main task in the community, that of laundry.

Period laundry done in period style, with washpots, shaved soap, boiling water, scrub boards, rinse tubs, battleing sticks, and lines and lines of fresh clean laundry. Water had to be hauled from our barrels (which were being refilled from a source about 8 miles away).

To send out laundry, one had to have marked the item as it was done in the period, and various trades and payments were arranged.

Sounds like a lot of work? I'm sure it was. But they didn't make it sound like hard work. I lived some distance from their home, and would occassionally hear their voices, singing in a lovely clear harmony, carrying through the trees.

And somewhere in all this work, Sarah found time to do her other task, that of baker for the community, turning out great loaves of bread in a steam oven, while Raquelle did the family cooking.

Sunday to Sunday in period clothes--and I came home with one set of underpinnings that needed washing. All else was clean, and ready to go again. Its hard for us to imagine such being possible.

But it was then--and is now. Quite a remarkable thing.

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have seen women cook enough to feed an army in an handfull of pots over broken deadfall, and haul it a half mile over broken terrain at dusky dark to feed that army.

One of the things we had only partially anticipated was the effect of continuous physical exertion coupled with a diet of hard tack and saltpork on even well trained men.

The great majority of men had prepared well for the marching required. Only a few knew the extra toll the odd terrain , with its combination of sand, red dirt, and hills, would extract from the participants.

What men had not trained for was the vast difference a change in diet would make in energy levels and physical performance.

And Terry Sorchy, realizing that his troops were only a short time ahead of the Confederates, asked if there was any way we could get hot food of some substance to them at days end.

By then, we had collected a small number of 'invalids'--a few men with injured knees or ankles, as well as some heat exhaustion, and, as they were able, they had busied themselves with hauling up deadfall,and splitting it. We burned up an awful lot of pine, and glad to have it.

Folks cleaned out the various larders, making a pickup supper of all sorts, and as the day ended, headed down one of the many dirt roads in the forest, and finally down a path until a pickett was spotted.

Lifting the lid on the pot, he called out "Sir, I believe these folks are friendly!"

Kettles went in and out almost as expeditiously as the Confederate army had been fed on hard pursuit a little earlier.

The dicotomy of providing a certain amount of event support, especially in the form of medical aid, while still maintaining the sort of separation from the army that the majority of the civilian population would have hoped for made for some odd decision making during the course of the event. I don't rightly hold with women going parading into a military camp---it was not considered appropriate during the period.

Could it have been done better? Well of course. Could it have been done better on the fly, given our event parameters , staffing limitations, communications challenges?mmmmmmm--likely not. Are there things we will change next time? You bet.

But in this case, in the very best biblical sense, the ox was in the ditch. And that supper was necessary. We got right down into and through the 'fall back emergency foodstuffs' with that one too.

The only thing left in the place Sunday morning was cold hominey, ersatz coffee, and some french fries I'd left on the dashboard the previous Sunday........

That, and those four happy chickens that rode back to Kentucky.

[vbetts]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

Kay Wetteman of the Texas Rifles pointed out that account to me many moons ago, to use at a presentation we did at one of the usual Pleasant Hill reenactments. I, in turn, pointed it out to Dr. Richard Lowe to use in his book on Walker's Texas Division. I've used it in my article in the journal Military History of the West on the impact of the Red River campaign on the civilians of the area. It still brings tears to my eyes every single time I read it. I tried to have hominy ready for when the troops came through on RR2, but the timing and some other circumstances just didn't work out for me. I'm really glad you incorporated it so well.

Vicki Betts

[BorderRuffian]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

Emily,
Enjoyed the interaction we had as we filled canteens at the water barrel Saturday afternoon.You had stated something about "getting ran out of Texas" as your husband tried to charge us for the water.I put him off by telling him to take it up with our Colonel ;).Thanks so much for the dessert,it was delicious,and thanks for the matches as well,they were a rare commodity.

Forrest

[Emily Burns]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

There's another story here. Of one, who tended to the weary. Saturday evening, after we had made the trek with food to the Federal army. We settled into our chairs to eat a light supper. Huddled together, we had decided to eat what had been cooked or had no need to be cooked. We had a good cold supper.

I don't know who first noticed Dusty back in camp. Suddenly, he was just in the kitchen, foraging for a plate. His deed is unforgettable. Terre has described our day on Sunday. We kept multiple fires going all day, heated water, brewed coffee, kept enough to keep tables full of food all day long, and so much more.

By the time, we got back from our trek into the wilderness military camp, we were all pretty well exhausted. And, then, Dusty made an announcement concerning dessert that caused the ladies to jump from their chairs, and run wildly into the tent. I'll tell you, I think there were chairs flying everywhere. I can't promise, mind you, I was in the flurry of females rushing into the kitchen. Just as we got to the table, Sarah popped out from the side tent, grabbed the sack, and the race was on. You have never heard the like of squeals, giggles, yells, and laughter that ensued.

Dusty, I don't know how you knew what we needed, but it is one of my favorite moments of the week. Thank you.

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

Jay,

That is back to one of our purposes here---to accurately replicate civilian interaction with the army.

Sometimes feeding the army is not an accurate civilian impression. Here, in this place, feeding the army was documented, correct and not unusual. This was the case in various Deep South hinterlands that the war touched for only a few weeks at a time, otherwise leaving hardworking farmers to their business, constrained by the War, but still producing and feeding their families.

Unsung and sadly, unphotographed in all this, was the well stocked larder of the Burns/Simpson families, which was nearly empty by the time you marched through with your hat out. Sack upon sack of dried goods, prepared last summer and into the fall, some grown with Rick Musselman's heirloom seed. Row upon row of canned goods, each can carefully painted black and labeled appropriately, except in the very rare case where we could document the food, but find no label.

The Federal army had recently gotten a boost of sweet preserves and such when they came through, but not a hot meal---- whispered words with their commander requested that a meal appear later in the evening when the army came to rest.

So, the same women who had cooked steadily, along with the laundresses (our nurses being on yet another medical evacuation) hiked that a broken trail out to the Federal Army, carrying heavy kettles full, and left as quickly as they could.

Because there is an underlying purpose here---men in the company of men, with a bonded purpose, make better men. Best we get out of the path and give you what you need to achieve that purpose, and get back to the daily lives we had set for our selves.

Building, sweeping, caring for the animals, sewing, fishing, schooling children, mending, singing, cooking, chopping, doing all the chores of daily life. Everyday. Common.

And almost every night, when we gathered for story or song, my spinning wheel called me, and I was able to answer it, sitting in the corner of the room, feeding the wool that will be next year's winter clothes.

[MO-Pard]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have seen a man hungry enough for hot food, and bereft enough of something to take it in, to hold out his hat as a bowl for the food, and eat from it with his hands.

Jay Stephens wins my Gold Star Award for reading and following directions--by taking his dinner in his hat. Doug Cooper provided the Star.

With thanks to Vicki Betts, 'cause goodness knows I don't spend nearly as much time in libraries as she does.......

Poe, Clarence, comp.. True Tales of the South at War: How Soldiers
Fought and Families Lived, 1861-1865. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1961, pp. 90-92.

More often than not, however, the scarcity of food was no laughing
matter as is illustrated in this portrait of weary soldiers returning
from battle. This reminiscence was handed down to Mr. Rance J. McLeroy
of Natchitoches, Louisiana, by his grandmother, Mrs. Mary Higgenbotham,
and he writes: "Sixty years after that memorable Saturday afternoon, I
have seen big hot tears come down Grandma's cheeks as she told of this
incident:"

'Twas now Saturday afternoon of April [1864] and we heard the
roar of cannon at Mansfield the afternoon before and received rumors
that a desperate battle had been fought. We knew not whether we'd see
the Yankee army or our army before the day was over. Then about 1:30 we
heard the low rumble of drums in the direction of Grove Hill and in a
few minutes the sound of marching feet. The children ran to the house
from the bend of the road excitedly telling us, "There they come-there
come the soldiers!" Just as they told us we saw a column of ragged,
weary, gray-clad men marching in columns of four, coming around the bend
of the road. Walker's Texas Infantry Brigade [Walker's Texas Division]
had fought at Moss' Lane and the Bridwell place the afternoon before.
They halted in front of our house, then stacked arms in the road and
were told to "fall out" for a fifteen minute rest.

Some had blood-stained bandages on their heads-some had an arm
suspended in a bloody bandage or wore bandages on their necks of
shoulders. Many of them fell prostrate on the ground, too exhausted to
move. Others staggered toward the house to beg for a bite to eat. The
yard and house were soon full of the tired and haggard men-some with the
most haunted look in their eyes I have ever seen. She (my mother) gave
them all the leftovers from dinner (in fact we had been too excited toe
at any dinner at all) but still they kept begging, "Mom, save some for
me. I haven't had a bite since Thursday evening. Please, just one
bite."

Next Ma went out to the backyard followed by dozens of ragged,
bearded men. Our big old washpot (probably a hundred years old) was
full of freshly cooked lye hominy, warm and ready to eat. So she began
issuing it out with a large wooden cooking spoonful to each man. Some
of them took it in the crown of their dirty hats, some in their bare,
dirty hands, some in cups or on pieces of boards they had picked up. All of
them ate it right there like a pack of hungry wolves.

When the hominy was gone she next went to the smokehouse, which
contained the family's meager supply of bacon for the coming months.
There she began cutting up sides of bacon into portions half as large as
your hand, handing a piece to each man as with tears in their eyes they
begged for it. An officer on horseback at the road sent his orderly to
the house to beg for a piece of bacon for him and the man begged Ma to
"please give him some bacon for his Captain." Before the man reached
the gate on his way back with the precious morsel the officer galloped
up to the fence and was leaning far over into the yard when the orderly
reached him. The look of hunger and despair in his face and eyes was
something that has haunted me ever since that day. Grabbing the piece
of meat he tore into it with his teeth at once.

Soon the smokehouse as well as the washpot was empty. But the
men seemed reluctant to leave, crowding around Ma to thank her again and
again and to invoke the blessings of Heaven upon her. Some handed her a
dollar bill, some two dollars or even five (Confederate money) and
others hugged her as they left the yard. They had marched all night
Thursday night, marched and fought all day Friday, then buried their
dead at Moss' Lane during that night-all with only a few hours sleep and
without a bite to eat since Thursday.

A blast of the bugle soon brought the men back to the road where
they secured their rifles and quickly lined up. Then the order rang out
sharp and clear, "Attention! F-o-h-r-w-a-r-d-M-a-h-r-c-h!" Then the
order, "Double quick!-M-a-h-r-c-h!" Soon they disappeared in a cloud of
dust in the direction of Pleasant Hill.



The hominey was obtained from Old School Mills, the long handled spoon acquired on my first site visit to the area, the long vintage cooking paddle a gift from Neil Rose, and the early 19th century Alabama cook pot, with ears intact (that's what the museum feller babbled when he saw it on my porch) one of those things acquired from a person who said 'you have use for this, and you're the only person I know who does'.

Miz Bertie and I started thehominey the morning the Army stepped off, for hominey takes a good while to cook properly. As the days lengthened and they did not arrive, every man, woman, child and fallen out soldier in the place had a hand in cooking that hominey and keeping it from spoiling or burning. Buckets of water and drug up deadfall, through 2 days and nights, before the army was upon us, hungry silent ghosts in the dappled trees.

Terre-
Thank you for posting this great account, and for the generosity of the civilians. (I'll go into more detail on this in my forth coming AAR, but we can top the trees here a spell.)

After eating slab bacon, cornmeal and rice for several days we yearned for something different to eat. Also, I think we very accurately portrayed the men in that account as I know most were feeling beaten down and tired by that day. Feeling and looking ragged. It was also what felt like the hottest day and hydration became an issue for many who were not drinking before they felt thirsty.

The food in the hat never tasted so good and made it easy to eat on the march. Most of it actually made it into my mouth with only a small portion as 'collateral damage' in the beard. The food was hot, and tasty beyond what we could have imagined or made in the field..........the crown of that hat was licked clean I assure you. It was definitely a treat and is probably what gave me that second wind to keep me going until sunset that day. Emotionally, the support we received from the civilians in tangilble and "good Christian gestures" hit the period nail on the head. We had tired of hill after hill, and began to wade in our monotony and fatigue. You fine folks reassured us of our purpose; reinstilled us with a sense of pride.

We marched in feeling like paupers; we marched out feeling like kings.

Wonderful.

And Doug, thank you for the 'star'. Looks to be the final piece to my Texas impression.


Best Regards

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have seen a man hungry enough for hot food, and bereft enough of something to take it in, to hold out his hat as a bowl for the food, and eat from it with his hands.

Jay Stephens wins my Gold Star Award for reading and following directions--by taking his dinner in his hat. Doug Cooper provided the Star.

With thanks to Vicki Betts, 'cause goodness knows I don't spend nearly as much time in libraries as she does.......

Poe, Clarence, comp.. True Tales of the South at War: How Soldiers
Fought and Families Lived, 1861-1865. Chapel Hill: University of North
Carolina Press, 1961, pp. 90-92.

More often than not, however, the scarcity of food was no laughing
matter as is illustrated in this portrait of weary soldiers returning
from battle. This reminiscence was handed down to Mr. Rance J. McLeroy
of Natchitoches, Louisiana, by his grandmother, Mrs. Mary Higgenbotham,
and he writes: "Sixty years after that memorable Saturday afternoon, I
have seen big hot tears come down Grandma's cheeks as she told of this
incident:"

'Twas now Saturday afternoon of April [1864] and we heard the
roar of cannon at Mansfield the afternoon before and received rumors
that a desperate battle had been fought. We knew not whether we'd see
the Yankee army or our army before the day was over. Then about 1:30 we
heard the low rumble of drums in the direction of Grove Hill and in a
few minutes the sound of marching feet. The children ran to the house
from the bend of the road excitedly telling us, "There they come-there
come the soldiers!" Just as they told us we saw a column of ragged,
weary, gray-clad men marching in columns of four, coming around the bend
of the road. Walker's Texas Infantry Brigade [Walker's Texas Division]
had fought at Moss' Lane and the Bridwell place the afternoon before.
They halted in front of our house, then stacked arms in the road and
were told to "fall out" for a fifteen minute rest.

Some had blood-stained bandages on their heads-some had an arm
suspended in a bloody bandage or wore bandages on their necks of
shoulders. Many of them fell prostrate on the ground, too exhausted to
move. Others staggered toward the house to beg for a bite to eat. The
yard and house were soon full of the tired and haggard men-some with the
most haunted look in their eyes I have ever seen. She (my mother) gave
them all the leftovers from dinner (in fact we had been too excited toe
at any dinner at all) but still they kept begging, "Mom, save some for
me. I haven't had a bite since Thursday evening. Please, just one
bite."

Next Ma went out to the backyard followed by dozens of ragged,
bearded men. Our big old washpot (probably a hundred years old) was
full of freshly cooked lye hominy, warm and ready to eat. So she began
issuing it out with a large wooden cooking spoonful to each man. Some
of them took it in the crown of their dirty hats, some in their bare,
dirty hands, some in cups or on pieces of boards they had picked up. All of
them ate it right there like a pack of hungry wolves.

When the hominy was gone she next went to the smokehouse, which
contained the family's meager supply of bacon for the coming months.
There she began cutting up sides of bacon into portions half as large as
your hand, handing a piece to each man as with tears in their eyes they
begged for it. An officer on horseback at the road sent his orderly to
the house to beg for a piece of bacon for him and the man begged Ma to
"please give him some bacon for his Captain." Before the man reached
the gate on his way back with the precious morsel the officer galloped
up to the fence and was leaning far over into the yard when the orderly
reached him. The look of hunger and despair in his face and eyes was
something that has haunted me ever since that day. Grabbing the piece
of meat he tore into it with his teeth at once.

Soon the smokehouse as well as the washpot was empty. But the
men seemed reluctant to leave, crowding around Ma to thank her again and
again and to invoke the blessings of Heaven upon her. Some handed her a
dollar bill, some two dollars or even five (Confederate money) and
others hugged her as they left the yard. They had marched all night
Thursday night, marched and fought all day Friday, then buried their
dead at Moss' Lane during that night-all with only a few hours sleep and
without a bite to eat since Thursday.

A blast of the bugle soon brought the men back to the road where
they secured their rifles and quickly lined up. Then the order rang out
sharp and clear, "Attention! F-o-h-r-w-a-r-d-M-a-h-r-c-h!" Then the
order, "Double quick!-M-a-h-r-c-h!" Soon they disappeared in a cloud of
dust in the direction of Pleasant Hill.



The hominey was obtained from Old School Mills, the long handled spoon acquired on my first site visit to the area, the long vintage cooking paddle a gift from Neil Rose, and the early 19th century Alabama cook pot, with ears intact (that's what the museum feller babbled when he saw it on my porch) one of those things acquired from a person who said 'you have use for this, and you're the only person I know who does'.

Miz Bertie and I started thehominey the morning the Army stepped off, for hominey takes a good while to cook properly. As the days lengthened and they did not arrive, every man, woman, child and fallen out soldier in the place had a hand in cooking that hominey and keeping it from spoiling or burning. Buckets of water and drug up deadfall, through 2 days and nights, before the army was upon us, hungry silent ghosts in the dappled trees.

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have seen children go off a fishin', with poles and bait and picnics and such--fishin' though that does not mean catchin'

Children and men and hound dogs and terriers and some of the women, all with carefully made tackle and poles, with fiddled up bait and a picnic lunch (with a bow to the higher authority as Louisiana does require a fishing license for a cane pole, unlike my native Alabama). A sight that still leaves dancing in my heart, as we watched them walk away, leaving a scant few to keep the home fires burning.

Fishing, though that does not mean catchin'---and after a long afternoon in the dappled sunlight of the bayou, only Cami caught one---and sent it back into the meandering waters.

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

One man isn’t well enough to take broth. Sarah has been sitting by his side most of the afternoon.

We had required the medical form on Elizabeth Clark's site of all the civilians. Requiring it of the men on an event of this length and intensity would have been a good thing as well.

The man above did not get better with proper treatment in the matter to be expected of one with heat exhaustion and dehydration--simply kept cycling in and out of it. It was some time before a mumbled word of a particular medication let our Nurse Practitioner know what was really happening, and the course of treatment could be changed.

On day two, I had to assure him nobody would be dosing him with the nasty stuff again--it didn't hurt him, and it helped him some, but not as much as if we'd known his true condition.

[Emily Burns]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

Dearest Aunt Beth,

We thought we had found ourselves in a god-forsaken wilderness in our makeshift homes here in the Kisatchie. One glance at the brilliant stars in the night sky and we were assured of God’s omnipresent love and protection. We will need His strength and guidance. Word of General Banks activities has been spreading, homes and buildings in Mansfield are being burned to the ground. Good Christian people are left with nothing at all.

Before we had been here long, our quiet little community began to bustle with comings and goings. Preacher came often. We soon learned that we would value his conversation and his smiling countenance far more than the ginger snaps he brought to the children or the foodstuffs and monies he pressed on us for “hard times.” I have to admit, I mistrusted the clergyman when he first came upon our doorstep. In time, I have learned that he is truly a man of God. Sometimes he brings us packages or letters from home; sometimes he brings news of the armies. Thank you for the pencils and the candies for the children. They were so pleased that you thought of them.

I remember one night we had preacher, the wagon master and an English journalist stop in for supper. After the meal, we sat for hours in the front room, listening to readings and conversations. The journalist read a passage from one of Shakespeare’s martial plays that was truly befitting the times before us. Preacher quizzed us on the Bible. Thank goodness for Miz Lawson at her spinning wheel in the corner. She knew every answer. I remember Preacher then read the saddest letter. It had been written from a young wife to her soldier husband. Knowing that the young man had perished in battle, before he even had a chance to read his letter, brought tears to my eyes.
One afternoon, a group of our ladies in the settlement walked down a forest trail to the creek. My hair surely needed a good washing. As we left our dresses, petticoats and stockings hanging from some lower limbs we thought about the nearby armies. We wondered where they were and hoped earnestly that they were not headed in our direction. The thought sent a shiver through us all.

There was a small waterfall at the bottom of a sharp bank at the creek. It may have been a foolish act to climb down there in chemise and drawers, but the water was so cool and refreshing. When Uncle John finds out I slipped off with the others—well, old as I am, he’ll surely whip me. It was worth it to wash my hair.

Preacher visited later. He brought us a cabbage and a wounded, federal private. Poor fellow, suffering from exhaustion and probably malnourished, we took him in. Men are men and we hope that way up North some Christian woman is tending to our brothers and sons.

Young Travis leaves soon with the wagon master. The deal was made last night. Travis will work with the old man for a year to learn his trade. We’ve been bustling around getting the boy’s bed-roll ready. Packing a sack with some extra food: hard-boiled eggs, ginger snaps, dried apples, and whatever else we found laying loose that we could pack in.

More soldiers have come. Broken down, limping, shaking, used up men on our doorstep. One man isn’t well enough to take broth. Sarah has been sitting by his side most of the afternoon. We will endeavor to send him back to his family restored and well.

We hear both armies are closer. Preacher thinks they’ll meet not far from our camp. We’ve been hearing the distant thud of cannon for days, long before we heard reports of soldiers in the parish.

Sister’s calling. I’ve got to get some water on to heat. Supper is not long off and with all these extra mouths to feed. Well, I’ll write more when I can. Give my love to all. Don’t tell Uncle John what I’ve been up to.

Affectionately yours,
Emily

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have heard the coyotes howl in the night, and seen the chickens huddle closer to the door.

The period breeds of chickens and turkeys for this event were raised to the purpose, in the yards of participants. About the time we were making arrangements for my wooden chicken cage to move from Alabama to Kentucky so that they could ride in style, Mrs. Simpson discovered recent changes in regulations would severely limit the legal movement of the barnyard stock. They had to have an expensive blood test before being moved across state lines, even though their fate was the dinner pot.

Since we had no refrigeration, and cared little to serve salt beef or pork in that many ways to children, we had to find another way to acquire a flock of chickens. Not just any chickens would do, as many modern chickens are raised in enclosures, never seeing the earth, or the bugs that crawl upon it. We needed real chickens that could fend for themselves with a small amount of protection and supervision.

And found them by searching for a rancher of 'free-range' chickens.

We picked up the flock near Nachitoches early in the week, and brought them to the site. Knowing that we had two dogs on the place, a gradual introduction was in order, and we simply let down the tailgate and placed the cage upon it, well out of reach. After a few hours with no incident, the cage was lowered to the ground. Diva the Bloodhound snuffled around, and wrapped her frame around the cage, taking up the guard of her chickens against all dangers, spending the night curled around them.

The next morning, each chicken was tied by the leg on a long string and allowed to run tethered to an overhead line. Diva stood guard, and the chickens whomped up on the little terrier Tad every time he ventured a nose in their direction. By days end, they had proved their ability to stay together and were released from their strings.

Like all the other livestock, the children had charge of feeding and watering the chickens, with corn and fresh spring water. The chickens did an excellent job of ridding the area of all sorts of small vermin, a triumphant cackle following each tasty morsel down the gullet. As a rule they were well mannered, though occassionally one had to be evicted from the house.

Some chickens were destined for our own meals, some had been contracted by the Lazy Jacks, and some were meant for the plundering army at large. Those in charge of dressing them took them some distance in order that no wild animals be attracted, and the older children learned to dress chickens if they requested to do so.

The girls sold some to various soldiers and were well pleased with their period money and trades. One man offered Cami $5 in modern money not to kill the chicken, but she turned him down, knowing that all were destined for one pot or another.

When the smoke settled and the armies passed, not all the chickens were gone. We had a surplus that could not be eaten in the time remaining. We could not leave them there to the mercy of coyotes, nor would we waste them, for they were good laying hens, as those who enjoyed a hard boiled egg can attest. We could not even give them away to various locals who came through.

So, Sunday morning, a few chickens got a goodly amount of corn, and final stretch of the legs, and were hustled in the the chicken crate, with water aplenty and even more corn, braced in the trailer with rolls of canvas for shade and windbreak, and started the long ride to Kentucky, regulations be danged. Likely they will make an appearance at Perryville on the Farm.

Some feller owes Cami $5 for saving those chickens. :D Each, I would think.

[Spinster]

Re: Oh the Wonders I have Witnessed

I have seen a young widow with her baby strapped to her back and her husband's bloody shirt in her arms, dodge betweeen two armies into percieved safety and home, and find no hiding place there.

Amie Clark was my boots on the ground with the first site and date for this event--life changes left her unable to make the second date and site, and we did not expect her at all.

Lest any rumours run wild, Amie is not a young widow. James remain a fine example of an Irish Yank, fresh off the boat, profane and riled because someone has handed him a gun and made him fight off the cost of his passage over.

The story could have been much different though, and therein lies the tale of the bloody shirt in Amie's arms, the one that Gunny Hicks might have gotten himself stabbed over, if he had not let go.

I do not know all the circumstances of James' accident--but the sound that Aime heard over the telephone was of paramedics saying "We're going to give you some morphine now Mr. Clark", and James roaring "Don't cut it off, don't cut it off........Don't cut my shirt off, its handsewn!"

James' shirt was filleted in a perfect T--the better to remove it from him since the bones in his arms had stuck through it when they broke. Those long cuts are carefully sewn, but the jagged bloody holes are still there.

He was unable to work for months, only recently back to it, with long twisted scars on his arms. We did not expect to see them at all for the event, much to our loss.

But as we came through Vicksburg, little Ashland, just past two, surveyed all the trailers full of plunder, swapped slobber with the hound dog, and crawled up into the open door of my van. Seated, he looked at me expectantly and said "Want my Dress!"

Thus at the end of the week, Amie rose in the night, donned wrapper and bonnet, drove the width of Louisiana, and dodged in just in front of the Federal army, with a toddling boy strapped to her back, a bloody shirt in her arms, and a butcher knife slid beside her corset busk.

Gunny Hicks now knows how close he came...........