Beast of civil war past

The Beast of Civil War Past

I participated in a Civil War reenactment several years ago at Pleasant Hill, Louisiana.  It's considered one of the very last Confederate victories.  Not coming from a military family, the experience intimately deepened my understanding and appreciation for soldiers in any war representing any country.

I constantly imagined I was a thousand miles and two years away from any family or friends.  Waking to a foggy morning, aware of the 'enemy' being camped two fields south, made coffee more bitter and the heat more oppressive.

I was taller than some of the other soldiers (rare) which put me on the back row, typically reserved for experienced shooters.  Having just met the captain, he knew nothing of my affiliation with firearms.  He looked at my friends on each of my shoulders and asked, "Does he know how to shoot?" Their snickers were answer enough.  After they assured the captain that I was competent to shoot a rifle between the heads of the kids on the front line, we were off. 

During the battle, my friend 'died' and fell to the ground without warning.  We remaining soldiers had to close the gap in his absence without a moment of respect to 'mourn' his loss or tend to his 'wounds'.  I looked back soon after and saw him sipping from his flask – he'll be alright.  At one point we halted, placing my feet directly in an ant bed.  I moved, but a real cadet would not have had that luxury.

The black powder we shot was prepared and rolled into small, vial-shaped pieces of paper, and our satchels were packed with hundreds of them.  To load, we bit off the top of the paper and poured the powder down the barrel, renewed the firing cap, and blasted away.  The paper rolls were tossed aside.   A sobering moment was passing over large areas of discarded papers, evidence of heavy gunfire, and marching over 'dead and wounded' soldiers from both sides.   

The most moving part for me was seeing the memorial lanterns glowing all night.  Hundreds of lanterns were placed in the field.  I sat with my friends for quite a while absorbing the image.

We sat around the campfire for some time.  I had driven a long way to get there, so I decided to turn in early.  The party continued into the night, until….

The following is a retelling of a horrifying event.  For reference, the standard army tent had to be crawled in to and was barely wide enough for two.

              It was a blustery night in the West Louisiana forests.  A small field was cut into the tall                        pines, but the rest of the forest was raw, foreboding.  Only a few narrow roads curled through the looming pines.  I had been travelling many hours, trying to keep my wary nerves quiet.

              At camp, I joined several crewmates who were already setting camp, pounding heavy stakes into the soft red dirt.  The humidity beaded muddy trails along their wrinkled foreheads.

              Tents secured and spirits more relaxed, we retired to the campfire for the curious experience a    campfire fosters – shared stories and strengthened friendships – and drinking.

              I hung my hat early.  It had been many sleeps since I had spirited a night on the grounds under a tent, but these were my quarters.  Bravely I dozed among the bugs and dirt.

              Soon entered an enigmatic beast so and terrifying that I laid still in my covers, portending invisibility.  Crawling on four meaty appendages, rummaging through the tent’s rations, the animal made noises so fierce, so offending, that playing dead was my only defense.

              The hairy beast crawled, belched, groaned and moaned and expressed such flatulence that I thought the tent might billow as if the Big Bad Wolf as here.

              My pillow vanished, rabidly snatched from beneath my head, leaving a soft thud as I smacked the ground.  Still, my instinct to scream was held tightly behind clenched teeth.    My eyes were pinched closed to avoid sneaking a glimpse of the oncoming offenses. Mumbles and snorts continued, and then Smack, a grimy hand landed on my face.  Fear raced through me as it inched closer…closer… closer, until inaction was no longer extending my life.  I, like a slug, slithered away from the approaching assault, rolling under the wall flap to safety.

              I retreated to the safety of my private vehicle.  Still, I could hear the beast grunt, from afar, throughout the night, but I was safe.