|
Posted on 09/28/2005 9:38:12 PM PDT by snippy_about_it
|
|
 are acknowledged, affirmed and commemorated.
|
| Our Mission: The FReeper Foxhole is dedicated to Veterans of our Nation's military forces and to others who are affected in their relationships with Veterans. In the FReeper Foxhole, Veterans or their family members should feel free to address their specific circumstances or whatever issues concern them in an atmosphere of peace, understanding, brotherhood and support. The FReeper Foxhole hopes to share with it's readers an open forum where we can learn about and discuss military history, military news and other topics of concern or interest to our readers be they Veteran's, Current Duty or anyone interested in what we have to offer. If the Foxhole makes someone appreciate, even a little, what others have sacrificed for us, then it has accomplished one of it's missions. We hope the Foxhole in some small way helps us to remember and honor those who came before us.
|
 Then we headed to Athens...continued Note: This wonderful journal shared with us from Lee Heggy will be covered over a three day period. Please read and enjoy as Lee travels to Athens Missouri for one of his many re-enacting engagements. Thank you so much Lee for being part of our Foxhole family and sharing your tales with us.
Athens (pronounced 'Aythans' Missouri accent on the 'Ay') was established in the 1830's on the Des Moines River. It was a port for regional products of all sorts. A large gristmill was located on the banks to process the sorghum and corn. Honey trees abounded in the dense stands of maple that predominate the area. The ownership of this valuable resource, (39 cents a gallon/50 cents a pound for wax) along with the taxes thereupon was the excuse for what became known as 'The Honey War'. In the 1830's, the boundary between Iowa and Missouri was in dispute. At the time Missouri had been a state since 1821. Since Iowa was only recognized as a territory, Missouri felt it was their manifest destiny to absorb as much of Iowa as it wished, and attempted to tax the inhabitants. There were two recognized boundaries; one was that established by the French which ceded the little southeastern tail of Iowa to Missouri. The other was the ancient one recognized by the Indian tribes which ran along the Des Moines River to its confluence with the Mississippi. After much wrangling and hurling of epithets between factions, it looked as though there might actually be bloodshed since the Govenor of Missouri sent several thousand State Militia troops to the area. The Territorial Govenor of Iowa sent out a call for volunteers to defend the sacred soil of Iowa. The Iowegian sheriff of the disputed area was arrested and taken into custody. This brought matters to a head. The Federal Government then decided that enough was enough and stepped in to settle the issue, once and for all. They decreed that the old Indian boundary was the correct one and that was that. Both sides broke camp and departed grumbling. The volunteers of Iowa who were promised pay, received not a dime and the Missouri Militia were upset with their lack of provisioning. It was winter and they were sent with light clothing and inadequate supplies of everything except whiskey. Both sides suffered greatly. Any lives lost were due to the elements and privations of sickness. Athens is located precisely in this area and it was a center of activity during the so-called Honey War. With this history in mind it was no surprise that Missouri was quick to respond to an incursion by Iowa in early 1861. Troops from Iowa and some pro Union men from Missouri that had been equipped with muskets and drilled with their use and the bayonet established themselves in Athens to recruit for the Union. At this time Missouri was basically pro Southern in sentiment. The massive infusion of German immigrants had yet to change popular feelings about states rights and slavery. That wouldn't happen until several years later. After the ill-fated Missouri Compromise in the 1850's sparked off the years of 'bleeding Kansas' and the border war raids, large tracts of land were offered to pro-Union immigrants in both Kansas and Missouri. This gradually displaced the Southern sympathizers and changed the voting demographics assuring a pro Union state government in slaveholding Missouri. It reversed a previous vote in Kansas that would have made Kansas a slave state. Complicated eh? Not only were the citizens of Missouri subject to the shadowy machinations of Washington, they were also subject to the terror of living in dread of the midnight knock on the door. It was a fifty-fifty chance one would answer correctly when asked, "Who is the Govenor of Missouri?" Answer correct and you would merely be robbed. Answer wrong and you would be hung and your house set on fire. We had twenty years of this in Missouri.  Athens is now a ghost town. Where once there were hundreds of fine houses and dozens of thriving businesses there is now only a scattering of structures - some in disrepair and others undergoing slow restoration. The old streets are marked with signposts, and the land is littered with pottery shards. No actual archaeology has been conducted yet, so there are artifacts literally everywhere. The reason for Athens demise wasn't because of the war. Like most little towns, its life blood was based upon commerce. When the railroad went through Keokuk instead of Athens it was a death blow. A few people still lived in Athens up until about 1910, but the last resident, a 'Widow Grey', passed away in 1923. Except for the hum of the cicadas and the hoot of an owl, the silence was complete. A cordial reunion... Leaving the bug lights and stray dogs of Cahoka in the dust behind us, Carl and I continued the nine miles or so to our final destination. We still had plenty of daylight left so we were not in any great haste to get there. Carl pulled over onto the shoulder of the road to take in a magnificent view of the surroundings. A rolling expanse of farmland stretched away to the horizon, with thick wooded patches here and there. Scissortailed flycatchers and swallows darted about over the fields. It was a pastoral scene, worthy of Grant Wood or Thomas Hart Benton. It was one of those moments when you feel the slow, eternal pulse of nature. I was desirous of a bit of refreshment and dug out our newly acquired supply of bonded beverage. A close examination of the state revenue stamp on the neck of the bottle found it to be of a 1984 vintage. Sales of quarts of Old Cluney must be a bit slow in Cahoka. At least it was a corked bottle and not capped, or I might not have tried the stuff. Pouring a libation into my ever-ready tin cup, I was greeted with a most pungent yet pleasant aroma of peat and smoke. Taking a slow sip of the liquid my tongue fairly burst into flame as I savored the flavor of the nearly twenty year old Cluney. Those twenty years had done much to improve the basic nature of the drink. Not a trace of the usual bite and sting often encountered with less than premium liquors. As I said, it was fiery but still not half-bad. Carl took a tug and pronounced it a most agreeable aperitif, suitable for either the table or the ditch. Rounding the final corner, we spied the church. It is still in use occasionally for the few locals who conduct funerals, and perhaps a meeting or two. Its the most complete and stable structure in Athens with fresh paint and intact windows. Later I took a look inside and was surprised to see that the ancient pews and pulpit were still installed, along with a gigantic wood/coal stove and Chickering upright piano that was maintained in tune. The attendance board on the wall recorded the congregation's number at fifteen. Below that was a message declaring, "If you want Jesus to talk to you, stop talking to yourself and listen." We then drove about another two hundred yards and came to the parking area located directly across from a beautiful two story brick house studded with re-enforcing star medallions painted black. The roof was red slate. It looked to be perfectly habitable, but looking through the windows one could see that the flooring was mostly gone. The interior was in need of massive restoration, as well as the removal of many rolls of fencing and other rubbish.  We parked and began to get our kits together. First thing was to remove all trace of modernity - cell phones, wrist watches., sunglasses, ear rings, etc. Then off with our jeans, tee shirts, sneakers, ball caps and nylon socks. Off with the boxer shorts and on with the light cotton button up drawers that go down to the ankle. Then light cotton hand loomed socks pulled up to the knee over the drawers. A pull over shirt of homespun gingham with oyster shell buttons then a well-worn pair of trousers made of striped pillow tick material. Button on braces to the waist of the trousers. I selected a dark brown vest with nine silver buttons. Wind up my pocket watch and chain the fob through the button hole then drop it in a pocket. Then came the shoes. Mine are conventional brogues (Brogans?) of 1850's style with rawhide lace ups and steel horseshoe heel plates, plus hobnailed soles. My only concession to modernity is that I have arch supports inside them to keep my feet from killing me. Before I started using them it was sheer torture to wear such foot gear for more than a few hours. Give my feet a liberal powdering and slip the brogues (Brogans?) on. Feels pretty good... at first. Next I inspect my haversack, sewing kit, (called a 'housewife'), my reading glasses are an original 1857 small lensed, steel-rimmed pair that I found in a junk shop in Gettysburg. Corn cob pipe, tobacco pouch and wood matches. Bone handled three tined knife and fork. Small enameled plate to eat on. Various paper-wrapped items such as dried fruit and rice etc. Looked like everything was there, so I the put on my black frock coat, slung the haversack over one shoulder, then my rolled up wool blanket over the other, tucked a pistol into my waistband, put on my wide-brimmed slouch hat and picked up my candle lantern. Carl has finished his preparations and is slowly pouring some Cluney into a flask. We inspect each other for correctness and pronounce ourselves to be ready. It's a sort of tradition with Carl and I that after the inspection we greet each other with such phrases as, " Ah! Mr. Anderton. It's truly fine to see you again. Shall we commence my old friend?" Then Carl will rejoin with, " Well, if it isn't the Widowman Heggy. It's certainly a welcome sight to see you are no longer the guest of the bailiff, sir." We shake hands and he shoulders his banjo. We begin the walk to the encampment of the Missouri Home Guard and 1861. The encampment August 11 2005, 10:47 AM  There were other new arrivals in the parking area going through their rites of passage, and as we walked to the road, they greeted us with a nod or a shout. Many of these fellows are well known by us and its a good feeling to be in their company again. A young man I met last year at Pea Ridge whom I know only by the nickname of 'Cuppy' ran up to us asking Carl if he was going to play that night. Carl answered in the affirmative and Cuppy clapped his hands saying "Hot dog!" Cuppy is probably about nineteen, is always in pretty much the same ragged outfit and, except in winter, is always barefoot. He is a member of 'The Texas Ground Hornets'. They are a pretty 'hard-core' bunch that makes being authentic almost a religion. Cuppy, with his bad grammar, devil-may-care attitude and disheveled appearance fits right in. He looks and acts like he walked right out of Tom Sawyer. He went to college one semester and dropped out because of girlfriend troubles. He works at odd jobs when not re-enacting. For him this is not a hobby. Right now it's his life. Its taken him all over the country, taught him history, fed and clothed him while he is trying to grow up. Someday he will make a very interesting man if life doesn't make him mean. We proceeded down the road towards a well-lit new shelter house to register. The pavement abruptly ended, and on the same pole that held the sign 'Athens', was another saying - 'State Maintenance Ends'. We crossed to the shelter house and identified ourselves to the Park Ranger, who checked us off the list of those expected. This little formality also means that in effect you have just signed a waiver of any responsibility to claim damages to the State should something unfortunate happen during the event. We inquired as to the location of The Missouri Home Guards and were told that they were camped down a road in a hollow to our right. We started downhill towards the river. The sounds of the woods closed in and so did the twilight. At the bottom of the hill we turned towards the flickering light of a dozen campfires scattered amongst the huge trees. Shadowy figures moved here and there. Off to the left came some laughter and in front of us was suddenly a sentry demanding our names and purpose. We gave our names and stated that we were here to defend Missouri from the damn Yankee invaders. He let us pass and we proceeded to where the officers were billeted.  Frank Yerby is a long-time re-enactor. He is currently in charge of The Missouri Home Guard. He goes by the name of Col. Angus. Frank throws himself into every endeavor with great energy and enthusiasm. I like Frank a lot. He greeted Carl with a hug and at seeing me he laughed. "Well Carl, I didn't think this situation at Athens was so desperate that you would bring along old 'Aces and Eights!" I told him I just came for the fine food they served and to not pay me any mind. We shook hands and Frank then pointed out a place or two for us to bed down for the night. I went and staked a claim under a big old river maple. 'Sleeping' under the stars August 11 2005, 11:33 AM When I was a much younger man, my cousin and I would often take a couple of old gunny sacks and stuff them with straw then sleep out in an alfalfa field. We did this just for the fun of it. No joke. Time has caught up with me, and the mere thought of doing such gives me aches and pains. I had no choice at Athens. It's a fact that no matter how carfully one chooses or prepares a spot to sleep on the ground there will always be a walnut missed or an anthill overlooked. I chose what I figured would be as good a place to be miserable as any other and spread my groundcloth. Staking my candle lantern's shepards crook nearby I then prepared for sleeping. Carl was off playing somewhere. I could hear his banjo twanging away to the tune of 'Dandy Jim From Caroline' and the fellows joining in on the chorus.  "My old massa told me so. You the best looking darky in the country o. Looked in the glass and I saw it's so. That's what my massa told me o I'se strong an tall and am so fine I'se Dandy Jim from Caroline." I sat there for a bit munching on a handfull of granola listening to that old tune. 2005 was already starting to receed into some sort of memory and I was drifting back. At first being bundled up in my thick wool blanket, the ground didn't seem too bad. My rolled up frock coat made a serviceable pillow, and the breeze wafting between my bare toes was delightful. Then the ants came. They were not the bitey sort so it was just the annoyance of them crawling on me. Anyway, I decided to move over a bit. After I did that I was once again comfortable and began to slip off into sleep. It must have been several hours later that Carl was back. I was aware of his arrival from the racket he made when he put his foot into our double boiler and crashed headlong into the tree. I sat up and asked him in all politness just what the f**k it was that he was doing. His explanation made little sense to me so I just sat there waiting for him to get his sleeping accommodations arranged. I was beginning to notice that my back was hurting a bit so I asked Carl for the flask. Took a pull of old painkiller and then laid back down. I'm not a well padded man and later that night it seemed that no matter how I lay, some bone or other was trying to grate through my skin. Several more jolts of 'medicine' and I was finally able to sleep, albeit fitfully, through to about four thirty in the morning. Carl's snoring was seismic in proportion but I was able to insert the hearing protection we use when firing our cannon. This somewhat diminished his rumblings. For some reason, four thirty was deemed the hour of reveille for The Missouri State Guard. All of a sudden there was the clanging of a spoon on a pan. This was substituted for a bugle since the bugler hadn't arrived yet. Good morning sweetheart August 11 2005, 12:08 PM I sat there fuzzy-headed trying to see through the darkness around me. Then I noticed that I couldn't see my lower half. Only my head and shoulders protruded above the thickest ground fog I've ever seen. It had become quite chilly that morning and, snug in my blanket, hadn't noticed it. Now I did.  I heard talking off to my left and bent my ear to listen. It was the Sargent talking to the commisary. "Jim, I think it best if we distribute rations. The men need something in their stomachs." "How many of us are there Tom?" "I don't know. Lets line 'em up and count 'em." "Okay." Then Jim goes and gets all the guys lined up and starts counting them. "Tom,there's 29 of us." "Okay, tell em to go back and lay down." He does this to much cursing from the ranks. "What have we got for rations?" "Three loaves of bread and a shank of ham." 'We'll divide up the bread by cutting it in half until we have enough for each man to have a piece and do the same with the ham." This is all in the dark mind you. The sun won't be up for another hour at least. "Got a knife?" 'Nope." Go get one from somebody." "Okay." A few minutes later Jim is back with somebody's knife. "Shit! This damn knife wouldn't cut lard! I'm just mashing the bread!" "Okay, tear off 29 hunks." "Tom, if it won't cut bread how in the Hell is it gonna cut cold ham?" "Dig out chunks of ham with the point until we have enough." This process goes on with some mixed cursing for another ten minutes or so and finally the 'meal' is ready for distribution. 'Tell, the men to line up for rations." The guys stumble into line and each receives a wad of bread and a mutilated gouge of greasy ham. The dismay was almost palpable. One fellow had the temerity to exclaim, "What the f**k is this?!!" To which Tom replied, "It's breakfast and your in the army so shut the f**k up an eat it or do without." I sat there listening to all this munching my granola and dried apricots with a nice slice of edam cheese thanking God I was in the artillery and not the infantry. As the sun came up August 11 2005, 1:11 PM I was gradually able to discern more of my surroundings. The glade we were camped in was next to a cornfield. Several of the boys had already availed themselves of the nearly ripe sweet corn and were roasting ears over their campfires. I had some myself and it was quite tasty.  Carl and I broke our camp and decided that the next night would be in more comfortable conditions. We trudged back up the road to the main area and had our breakfast with some very nice ladies who were playing the parts of civilians. Fresh biscuits and gravy with salt pork and eggs. Yum! Strong black coffee and thick slices of fresh bread with hand-churned butter. Thinking back on our unfortunate camp companions and their miserable mess, I almost felt guilty...almost. We spent the rest of the morning roaming around Athens looking at stuff. Our other friends that work the cannon had arrived at about two in the morning. We found them asleep on the trailer, underneath our six-pounder. We let them sleep on. The event organizers posted a notice that no issued canteens would be allowed on the battlefield since at the original battle there had been none. We were encouraged to 'forage' for suitable bottles in the town dump. Carl and I went to the dump and after poking around found two intact medicine or whiskey bottles of 1860s or earlier vintage. They cleaned up nicely and with proper corks and slings served quite well as our canteens. We were allowed to keep them afterwards as mementos. Mine is a square pint bottle of dark brown glass.  We wandered over to the civilian encampment and met a couple of very nice young ladies who were acting the part of 'camp girls. Most people think this means 'whore', but actually they were more in the business of doing laundry and sewing. I can't say if other favors were for hire but they were quite attractive. Something about a corset....hmmmm. One of them gave me a Tarot reading that was surprisingly accurate. Carl had the other measure him for a new shirt. I believe it cost him about thirty dollars. Joanne maybe will post a picture I took of the one who gave me the reading as soon as I send the pictures to her. We pretty much lazed around for most of the morning. Then after lunch we had cannon drill. Dave, our gunny, is very much the stickler for having a safe and well-drilled team on his cannon. So far we haven't had any accidents -which is a good thing because there is no such thing as a little accident with a six pound cannon, or any firearm for that matter. You don't just get a boo-boo and a band-aid. Most likely you'll get maimed or even killed. We've uninvited people to be with us in the past because they just didn't take the job seriously enough. I certainly don't wish for myself or someone else to get hurt because of some idiot fooling around. None of us do and we're damn careful it doesn't happen. Next---The Battle      |
Interesting point. I wonder though if the South had won if folks still wouldn't overwhelmingly want to portray Southerns? Something romantic about it that is more than just being underdogs. Who knows? What the heck, if the South would have won we probably wouldn't be here on FR. :-)
Good morning Valin.
Good morning feather.
Not sure if I will be. I've been moving around some and family problems (death of my grandfather) kept me from reenacting since 2004. I've done some classroom presentations, and a little WWII, as well as some old west, but the traveling required for me to get back together with my pards in the MIB has been a bit harsh lately. I hope I'll be able to shoulder a musket again sometime.....I miss the smell of black powder in the morning.....and the hardtack, bacon and disgustingly strong to lethal coffee we get in our camp.
Faj an bealac! Carry on.
Snippy, Some National Park sites that do living history events also provide volunteers with everything needed to portray events. Fort Scott Kansas only requires that if you wear glasses that they be of the sort appropriate to the period. Everything else right on down to shoes, hats and gloves are in the wardrobe room for checkout. Of course, you will want to have your own undergarments. If you have never worn a corset, (I haven't!) you will want one thats fairly comfortable if possible. 19th Century womens clothing can be simple or very complicated. Its up to you and what you are portraying. You need only contact the sites in your area to find out whats available. They love volunteers.
The food is usually really good unless your in the infantry and even then it depends on how well the commisary is stocked. Some of the guys are very good at cooking. What with the fresh baked bread and vegetables I actually eat better when I'm on a re-ennactment than when I'm back in fast food land.
We had some great sleeping weather here last night. It got down to the lower 50's.
We have rain in the forecast for tommorow and Saturday.
How's it going for you?
Hey EGC. Your weather forcast sounds just like ours. It's been hitting 50's at night and low 70's daily. Tonight rain is due in and tomorrow's high only 68.
The new pup is running us in circles!
Wow, thanks Lee. I always heard it costs and arm and a leg to get all the gear. I didn't know they might have some for you to use. I really must look into it.
Hey Sam, wouldn't that be a kick, what a way to spend our vacation or a couple days off!
Your welcome Snippy. The most expensive re-ennactment gear for Civil War is portraying Cavalry and artillery. A good mount that isn't gun shy and is trained in Cavalry manouvers dosen't come cheap and is expensive to maintain properly. Some artillery outfits are called 'Flying Guns'. They have four mules or more to pull the cannon and limber to different positions on the battlefield at a moments notice. Two men ride the limber. One drives and the other hangs on. The rest are also mounted. Very expensive but if you love mules thats what you do. The uniforms, clothing and gear for infantry can be accumulated for around $1,500.00. It's a good idea to buy the best you can when you can and follow the advice of more seasoned re-ennactors in making selections for your impression. Nothing is more derided or looked down upon than the 'farb'.
I suppose Revolutionary outfitting would be more expensive but I haven't done any of that. I'd like to but here in Missouri it was coonskin hats and buckskins for britches in the 18th century.
You might find that an occassional weekend volunteering at some historic site is really fun and relaxing. You'll meet some very fine people and learn too. If you like it then it might be a good idea to get in touch with a seamstress who makes period clothing with the appropriate fabrics, dyes and buttons. There are many such artisans around who produce both civilian and military goods. One such is a business in Virginia called Blockade Runner. They are on the web. The one her close to me is called James Country, also on line. Take a look.
I enjoy reading the presentations. Makes me feel like I'm a part of it.
Diesel? Wasn't he the guy who made the first candle?
Hi miss Feather
Thirty-eight years ago today, my enlistment ended as I saluted the OOD and the Colors and crossed the brow for the last time. Looking back at one of those days of old...
Hi Dave.
Hey Dave, where's the one of you getting ready to dive for repair work? You shared it with us once but I can't find it.
Thats real nice looking Snippy. If you dressed up like that you had better keep an eye out for 'skirt lifters'. I bought a shell jacket and some other items from them. Top notch in every detail and reasonable in price too.
You mean this one?
What you say about our rural areas is sad but true. The heartland's rural areas and small towns are being depopulated.
Disclaimer: Opinions posted on Free Republic are those of the individual posters and do not necessarily represent the opinion of Free Republic or its management. All materials posted herein are protected by copyright law and the exemption for fair use of copyrighted works.
