Civil War Battle Re-enactment: Pleasant Hill, Mansfield

By Rob Watson

As a student of the American Civil War, having read Bruce Catton's four volume set and Shelby Foote's three volume set, along with numerous other books, and watched the Ken Burns series twice, recent events have combined to expose my massive ignorance on that subject. The first event was a series, in a small local paper, of the history of the Civil War in Louisiana. The second was a three day excursion to Pleasant Hill Louisiana for their 33rd annual reenactment of the battle in that tiny town.

Bruce and Shelby, both, mostly ignore the events in Louisiana, except for a page or two on Port Hudson and New Orleans. When, in reality, there were frequent clashes around Morgan City. Baton Rouge exchanged hands twice. The Red River Campaign was an effort to capture the rest of Louisiana and all of Texas.

In March and April of 1864 40,000 soldiers and sailors under Union General Nathan Banks, supported by Admiral David Porter's fleet of river gunboats set out to capture the Red River valley, the capitol of Louisiana in exile: Shreveport, and Texas. They captured Alexandria then Natchitoches. On the afternoon of 8 April, they met General Richard Taylor (son of President Zachary Taylor of Louisiana) Three miles south of Mansfield.  Discouraged by this group of Louisiana and Texas Rebels, the Union boys lost interest in their quest and retreated to the even smaller town of Pleasant Hill. Here, on the afternoon of April 9, Rebel forces under Taylor engaged Union troops under Banks and fought the largest (and almost universally ignored) Civil War battle west of the Mississippi River. (to add insult to injury, the National Park service preserved the Mansfield battle site and ignored Pleasant Hill)

Fortunately, the owner of a part of the four square mile battlefield, and descendant of the original owners (and participant in the battle) established a re-enactment of both battles on his property. His descendants carry on the events. The house seen in The background of some of the photos is that original house, on the property during the battle at Pleasant Hill.

Friday was "School Day" for area students to visit the encampment and talk to the participants. Visitors were encouraged to wear period clothing...

 

Saturday: the parade was at 10am this morning. it was disappointing. There were lots of local people and cars and fire trucks etc. a small group of cavalry. a small group of union infantry and a smaller group of rebel infantry. Below is Union Infantry riding to the parade. They marched in it. The Rebel unit was smaller.

I looked up the guy from the cowboy shoot-em-up that had given me the information on this event. I visited with him and a small group from his unit before the first "battle". I spoke to him again afterwards. They were assigned to be Union Soldiers and operated their cannons on the union side. (The union and rebel cannoneer uniforms are similar, red caps, sky blue pants, just change the coat... which they all had.) These guys had done three events in Louisiana this year. They are going to the 150th anniversary and reenactment of the battle of Gettysburg in July.

While waiting for the re-enactment to start I shared my shade tree with a woman who's family has just gotten into re-enactment. They started four months ago and this was their fourth event. The husband, two boys, and their girl were all in the battle. All but the girl were in the union cavalry. The mother and their youngest child were in period dress. They are from Palestine Texas and home school their children. Below, True Southern Ladies visiting the troops.

The battles both days were held on the ground of the original Pleasant Hill battle. The land has been in the same family from the 1840s and the re-enactment was started by a descendant of the original land owners. The announcer was a great... nephew of those people. The original house still stands there but I did not take time to see it... maybe Sunday. The event Saturday was a re-enactment of the Mansfield Battle. Sunday is to be a re-enactment of the Pleasant Hill fight. Below: Recruits in training. You are missing several photos and a video of them trying close order drills.

For the individual it is less expensive to be in the artillery. (about $300 for the uniform plus the infantry must buy a musket for another $300-$400 plus leather belt, cartridge box, plus...) The guy who owns the cannon, of course, is several thousand dollars into it. Some had just cannon. The unit I visited had four. (They tow them onto the field with their trucks.) some have caissons (ammunition carriers) and one group had cannon, caisson, mules to draw the hardware and horses for the cannoneers. (This guy was the one who sold the powder... at nearly half price... for all the weapons) At $10 to $18 a pound for powder, most cannons shoot 1/3 pound charges. The powder supplier has a larger gun and shoots two pound charges. The regular cannon make a big blast. The big one can be felt as well as heard. Below is Robinson's Battery lined up in the rear of the union position. These are full size, civil war era, field piece replicas. (12 pounders)

The large cannon, caisson, mule team, outriders and gun crew:

From time to time the viewers would see a simulated shell explosion... a large white puff of smoke not associated with a cannon:



The battle opens with a small rebel unit advancing onto the field: at the side is the first of five rebel cannon.

 Followed by a union artillery barrage, answered here by a rebel barrage.

Larger units: The dead are on the ground. Being dead is voluntary. I asked how one determines when to die. The answer: when they get tired of the goings on. Some dead lay there for more than an hour as the battle raged around them. On the second day the big cannon fought for the rebels. When it rolled onto the field and set up over ground where an infantry fight had occurred and several dead lay, the dead resurrected themselves. Later, a Union Cavalry officer was "killed" near me. He spent the rest of the battle trying not to be trampled by his own horse (which was remarkably calm considering the dozens of cannon blasts and thousands of musket shots all around him)

 

engage:

 The big cannon being loaded:

and fired:

Next April 5, 2014 will be the 150th anniversary reenactment of Mansfield/Pleasant hill. The organizers hope to have an extraordinary show. If you come, plan for three days. April is a pleasant month in Louisiana, sometimes cool, sometimes damp but, otherwise pleasant. If you bring black round toe boots, sky blue pants belt loops removed, suspenders, any old dress shirt with the collar wings cut off, a slouch hat or straw hat and $100 for the uniform jacket of your choice, you can help fight for your side (or both sides if someone loans you the other jacket) in the battles of Mansfield and Pleasant Hill... probably in the artillery.

The doctor, keeping his records:

Of his amputations:

A rebel cavalry unit advances onto the field:

That is all for now

Poor Choices

By Rob Watson

I believe that at least some of you readers have made poor choices from time to time. This blog is a chronicle of a small sampling of my poor choices. The subject came up a few days ago and was renewed yesterday by a visitor to my new home, my Fishing Cabin as I call it.

This cabin is surrounded by a forest. The trees are mostly 90 feet (30 meters) tall. Outside the area of the yard, the underbrush ranges from thick to impassable. Lots of varmints live there. I have seen squirrels, rabbits, and one coyote. I have caught three mice. Evidence abounds of wild hogs, mostly rooted up sections of my yard. Though Wife and I have made an effort to limit varmint access to the area under the cabin, it is not unusual to hear thumps, bumps, and gnawing in the night.

Because the floor under the bath tub has been damaged (and desperately needs repair) there is a hole through that area and varmints like to take up residence there. One would think rats or squirrels would be fairly quiet but they are not. My cursing and energetically pounding the sides of the cast iron tub, seems in no way to discourage what ever is there.

Though I am an occasional hunter, I am not a killer by temperament. Even bugs, flys and mosquitoes excepted, get a free pass if they stay outside my home. Therefore the idea of killing my visitors came slowly. The first prompting came when I caught a mouse alive. I put him in a 30 gallon trash barrel and fed him mouse poison. Took him nearly a week to die.  Next I saw a mouse dash from the living area to the kitchen. Speeding up the killing process seemed prudent. I bought a trap and set it in the kitchen. When it snapped I found the mouse, caught by the nose, and very much alive. I took him outside and smashed him with something. I hate to see animals suffer, even mice. The third mouse was fortunate enough to put his whole head in the trap and died instantly.

Things got serious when some varmint, most likely a squirrel, caused $300 damage to Wife's van by chewing through three of six spark plug wires. I have a tendency to let things slide but this was a bit over the top. Wife, on the other hand, elevated herself to mortal enemy to all varmints. (Due to shoulder injuries she cannot fire a shotgun so now I am in the process of creating shot shells for my revolver.) This sent her looking for the poison I had used earlier.

This brings us to the poor choices with which I began this post. A mouse, in search of food, had gnawed his way into the box of poison and eaten some.

Wife bought more poison, conveniently packaged in little trays, and put it out under the van, the motorcycle, and my truck. It is not clear if the spark plug wire culprit "got his" but the poison keeps disappearing. I, being the cheapskate I am, buy the poison in whole boxes, without the convenient little trays... I just reuse and refill the ones remaining after I ran over the one under the truck.

The varmint under the tub has died. I found him while crawling around under the house trying to get water to a sink in the laundry room. He has been replaced. Nearly a half cup of poison has disappeared from the handy trays in the last 24 hours. The trays have been refilled and I have high hopes that the new resident under the tub will continue the poor choices of his predecessors.

First Dates

By Rob Watson

My alternate title for this piece was "An Idiot on the Loose". As you will see, this was an accurate description of my first dating experience. So, lets begin, jumping forward three full years from the incident related in my post: "Fear". Never having asked any girl for another date.  (You may recall, I claim to have been unsuccessful with the females. In this almost year long relationship DD never directly expresses any form of affection toward me and allows exactly one kiss... You be the judge. But then, six or seven years later I end up living next to this girl. She tells my first wife, that I am the one that got away.)

By some forgotten sequence of events, I am in the lake cabin of the neighbor of one of my high school teachers. Present are the cabins owner, his wife and their 14 year old daughter (lets call her DD to save typing). The time is the Autumn of my freshman year of college. The older ones have put on a humor record by Rusty Reynolds. By the record jacket one can see Rusty is a rather attractive red head. She is also the flithiest mouthed woman I have ever encountered.

The wife and mother notices that I am embarrassed to the absolute limit of my ability to cope. She takes this as a sign that I am the boy for her little girl. I am, thereafter, invited to their cabin whenever they are in town. They live about 50 miles from the lake, and, 50 miles from my college.

DD is physically well developed for a 14 year old, (or for a 20 year old) has a pretty face, keeps her auburn hair well fixed, and dresses to accent her figure without "over exposing" it. I eventually learn she emotionally flashes from warm to cold and back again at short intervals that are unpredictable in all respects.

Sometime along the way, I ask for a date and we begin to correspond by snail mail. (actually, back then, a letter deposited at the end of the day at college would be delivered 280 mile away in the next days mail... Also 50 miles away) DD liked the attention of receiving a daily letter and was quite put out when I failed to deliver. She, however, only felt the need to write once or twice a week.

While at college, my only mode of long distance transportation was hitchhiking. One week I was invited to DD's home for the weekend and hitchhiked there. Her mother picked me up and transported me to the house after I got to their town. I knew hitchhiking after dark was an iffy enterprise and, at the end of my visit, I asked to be delivered to the road back to college in late afternoon... too late afternoon.

I stood beside the road for an hour, until full dark, with my thumb out. Then, having classes the next day, began to walk. At the time it was in vogue to do 50 mile (80km) hikes in 24 hours. (a resurrection of some Teddy Roosevelt thing) I had just over 14 hours. Walking being my main mode of transport otherwise, I had developed my own technique for racewalking and switched into high gear. A faster mode, developed and fostered by the boy scouts, was to run 50 steps and walk 50 steps. As time began to get short, in the later hours of the night, I switched over to this mode. I never failed to present myself as a hitchhiker to any passing vehicle until the last one.

An hour or more could pass between cars on the road. I got very tired and decided to take a nap on a bridge... you know the footing of the bridge side rails. I was awakened by a car passing a foot or so from my nose. Thereafter I kept moving.

At 4:30 AM. I was 5 miles from my destination when I heard a car coming. I decided my ego could not stand another rejection and I ignored the man as he zoomed past. He jammed on his brakes and backed up. He asked if I needed a ride... Yep!! Forty five miles in ten hours, nap included, must be some kind of record. Heck, I could have been a Teddy Roosevelt Marine twice over, or a Stonewall Jackson Foot Cavalry, or an Idiot on the loose.

The last I saw of DD (until six or seven years later) began with an outdoor party the following summer. She, or her mother, invited 20 or so people, our age, for a weenie roast beside the lake. I spent most of the evening following DD around as if I were a lost puppy, and being totally ignored. After an extended period I began to feel like one and stopped following her. Within minutes she came and punched me in the back, wanting to know why I was ignoring her.

The next evening, we were suppose to have a date. She was out, standing on the dock, when I drove up in my family's car. I walked out to her and she turned. "Go away. I don't want to see you any more." was all she said. I said nothing, turned and walked away. Six or seven years was not enough time for the anger to go away. I lived next to her for a year and never remember speaking a word to her.

The good news was it opened the door for the Merry Bee (and Mary B. ), and, the girl from Dallas, and, more tales of an idiot on the loose.

Notes on the above: President Theodore Roosevelt  initiated  the requirement that the Marines be able to march 50 miles in a day. Someone brought this up again in the 1960's and it was the in thing to do at the time, for non military boys trying to prove their manhood.

During the American Civil War, Infantry usually moved 10-15 miles a day. Cavalry moved 25 miles. General Thomas J, Stonewall, Jackson frequently moved his infantry corps 50 miles in a day, earning the moniker: Stonewall's Foot Cavalry.

Lost Opportunities

by Rob Watson

I think I may have an inferiority complex.  If not, then I feel most other people are superior to me in many ways.  I spent time pondering this tonight as I lay awake in bed.  Such contemplations often lead me to recall opportunities in which I failed to take advantage.

The two things I have sought most and failed to find most often have been love and money.  Lest you be concerned, Wife is as good a love as any man may hope to find, and as long as our government remains solvent, we will have enough money to survive, perhaps even taste a bit of the honey in this life.

In my favor I have to say I have two advantages that might have been used to take advantage of opportunities.  The first I learned at my mother's knee.  Polite treatment of others.  This skill was further refined at the movies by observing the hero cowboys of the Saturday movies of the 1950's...Yes Ma'am, no sir...everybody deserved respect until proven otherwise.  (Mama also taught me to cook, wash my own clothes, and keep things neat...though this latter is frequently left unpracticed.)

My other asset is the ability to understand science.  I first developed this skill in the library of my elementary school.  Later in life I learned to enjoy reading fiction and history.  In these early years science was the subject that interested me.  There in the cradle of education I sought out science books.  (I am sure I was forced to go to the library, outside was where I longed to be.)  As early as the third grade I found and read the fourth, fifth and sixth grade science books.

One day, business was slow at my parents business.  During such times I would sit on a bumper guard out front and look at rocks I picked up from the gravel parking lot.  On this day I found a rock that was the shape of two pyramids base to base.  It was clear in color and about 1/2 inch on each side.  After carefully examining it I threw it out to the middle of the lot and forgot about it until the third year of college.  There in geology class I learned that rock was most likely a diamond  (Flaws not withstanding, my diamond might have been cut into a round brilliant cut about 1/2 inch across and weigh 10 carats or so.  Coincident with my college discovery was the discovery that the gravel pit where my rock originated contained diamonds.  (For those who like irony, the roads of one of the poorest states in the Union are paved with diamonds.) Going back to recover my diamond was not an option as my parents had, by then, paved over the gravel parking lot.

A few years after this I took a few thousand dollars to a stock broker, and by moves based entirely on good fortune, parlayed them into $106,000.  I was able to pick the turn in the stockmarket correct to the hour.  There, good fortune deserted me and learning began.  I lost nearly all of the gains in a few weeks time.  Unfortunately the lesson learned was not applied until I had confirmed my hard found knowledge after repeating the process a second time quite a few years later.  If I make another pile of money, I hope to have the wisdom to hold on to it.  There is a huge uptick in the markets these days....

Opportunities in love are not so easily defined... but I got a treasure there: Wife!!

All You Can Eat

By Rob Watson

Those who know me understand I like to eat. I am a fair cook but, eating in great homes and good restaurants is better. (You might look back to Wife's post: Eating our way through Louisiana.) In moving to New State, Wife and I were hoping to find some good places to eat, as Last State had slim pickings. (Having been a long time resident of New State in a former life... You may be from New State if... You find the food everywhere else slightly disappointing... Has been mostly true in my case. My apologies and condolences to those other places I have lived for the last 1000 years.)

Without looking very hard, and being seduced by their 30 shrimp add, wife and I decided to try Red Lobster here. I looked up the address of the local restaurant on the internet and programed the trusty GPS to take us there. On arrival, it was a vacant lot. a local resident informed us it had gone out of business years before. So, then the search began in earnest.

The area had a number of places near by. The first we passed touted fresh seafood, steaks, and sushi... too many things to be good at any of them... There were two cars in the large parking lot. Other places were about the same... big signs, big parking lots, two cars. Then we came upon a small place with six parking places and nine cars parked around. My fried catfish was served, along with hush puppies, coleslaw, pickles, and fries, on a beer tray... you know the ones you see on beer ads all the time. Eighteen inches (Half a meter) in diameter and 2 inch (5 cm) high sides. Oh, yes, it was $11 each.  Beer not served.

I use to say, in my gun business, If you need an excuse, almost anything will do. So when Wife and I could devine a good excuse, we went there for great food and good service. The bad news being it is fifty miles away.

Near by our fishing shack, places to eat out are as slim pickins as in Last State. That is until the restaurant near by, 13 miles (17 KM) got mad at the world and closed down... leaving an unfriendly comment as a headline in the local newspaper. The business was taken over by another entrepreneur, remodeled, and reopened.

Wife and I passed by the place a number of times but did not stop due to forced fiscal responsibilities, brought on by over indulgence in other areas. We did, however, notice fair numbers of cars and trucks stopped there at meal times. Today, we felt able to treat ourselves after an uplifting Palm Sunday Service. The food was great... Fried Catfish... and one other thing, if you are considering visiting in our area...

You have heard of places that offer "All You Can Eat", right? These two new places offer twice as much as I can eat for about $10.

A Small Tornado

By Rob Watson

Everyone has seen the destruction done by large tornadoes. Whole towns, even significant parts of cities destroyed. The average tornado is 75 yards (meters) wide. An average of 55 touch down in State every year. Here I would like to show you the effects of a small tornado. This property belonged to my friend Charlie. This first view is of an equipment building that was blown down.

The august person in the center of this second photo is your humble correspondent. Notice that the large, full, grain bin in the background is undamaged as is the small empty one in the foreground.

The tornado bypassed these empty grain bins as well...

Here is a combine head for harvesting sunflowers... it is mostly undamaged.

 In the background is an undamaged animal barn.

Below, the large bin on the left was empty. The small one in the middle was used to store odds and ends.

Here, part of the roof of the equipment building rests in the shelter belt north of the place.

The rest of the roof landed about 200 yards (meters) north of the shelter belt.

The trail of this tornado wandered across a milo field for a few hundred yards before doing the damage seen in the pictures above. The corn in the foreground of this last picture shows it was still on the ground  a few dozen yards after the row of trees. Then, no doubt satisfied with itself, it lifted and went to that great thunder cloud in the sky.

The Song In My Heart

By Rob Watson

The other day one of the love songs of my youth came back to me. I sang it to myself. Today it came back to me in the early predawn hours. I sang it again. It set me to thinking of songs and their relationship to my life. For many years I was a closet romantic, or at least, an unsuccessful one. I entertained myself with songs, lots of songs.

"The Wayward Wind" should have been my lifelong theme song. I have lived in nearly 30 places in my 60 plus years and traveled to hundreds. Trouble is, I never thought of myself as a wanderer. I always loved coming home to rest. After about two weeks of wandering I was ready for my own house and bed. I didn't grow up to the sound of the "outward bound" and I always found train whistles in the night a great irritation, as opposed to a calling.  I have made a number of train trips but they never really attracted me either, as departure time always seem to be 12 midnight. "Wandering Star" from "Paint Your Wagon" is one I sing frequently, for entertainment, because I would like to identify with its theme... but do not.

"The Impossible Dream" from "The Man of La Mancha" is one of my favorites. I use to spend a lot of time dreaming... impossible dreams... in former years, mostly about the girls. This is no longer necessary as Wife is an amiable and satisfying companion.

The love song, learned early in adolescence, that I frequently immagined myself singing to a girl, went like this:

When I was young and dreams were new, I loved a girl a lot like you.
I saw her face in mountain streams and lost myself in dreams.
but we were young and tossed away our precious love along the way,
we parted strangers and set our hearts to wander aimlessly.
But looking back, somehow I see, how seldom love has come to me.
and I confess, I think of her, remembering when...
If I were young, and dreams were new, I'd love a girl a lot like you.
I'd hold her close if she'd agree to love, perhaps, a boy a lot like me.

Trouble is, there was never a "her" or a "we". No face to see "in mountain streams". No "love" to "toss away." The truth to tell, is, I had a serious lack of boldness. If there ever might have been a "her" I was too cowardly to make it a "we".

The song I really always sang and really resonated in my soul was "On The Street Where You live" from "My Fair Lady". I would walk, ride my bicycle, or drive past the home of my crush de jour singing that song.  This lasted well into my college years, until... One very pleasant day I took a rather attractive young woman on a fancy evening out... Dinner at a fine restaurant, and a movie: "My Fair Lady". In the process I learned my favorite love song was sung by the looser. This fact struck way too close to the truth. I was truly a looser in love. I do not recall if I ever passed another young woman's home again, but I clearly remember never singing that song again.

The character trait women want most, in their man, is self confidence, a quality I was wholly lacking until the middle years of my life. Then I met Wife and have lived happily ever after.  An impossible dream coming true. That is the reason love songs now seem to come only from a long, dark, and distant past.