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The good folks at Confederate Veteran were kind enough to review my book in their latest issue. You can read the review on my website HERE.
I appreciate their positive feedback on the book. Nice to know some folks have enjoyed reading it.
Tuesday, September 29, 2009
Sunday, September 6, 2009
Reenactor Balls
One of the benefits of being in the reenacting world is to be able to attend the balls that are part of the interest. Most reenactments include a dance or ball. Some groups have a ball as an event in itself. These are very enjoyable and educational.
There are certain protocols that were observed at the 1860s balls and it is nice to try to observe them in reenacted balls of today.
First, it is more fun if one is appropriately dressed, i.e. period correct clothing. For the ladies this means a ball gown with proper accesories, purse, gloves, hair arrangement, etc. For the gentlemen period correct attire may have options. If you are coming in full dress military regalia, Confederate or Federal, you may wear your sword or side arm but please, lay it aside before dancing. You may opt to come as a civilian in which case, formal period dress is required.(DON'T FORGET WHITE GLOVES! These protect the ladies' dresses from hand sweat.)
These balls have a dance manager who conducts the dancing.
It was considered proper for a lady to have an escort for the ball. He may have been her husband, father, grandfather, uncle, brother or just a friend, any properly dressed male of the species. It is permissable for an unattached man to present himself to the dance manager with a request to be introduced to a lady with whom he would like to dance.
After an introduction he may then ask the lady for the honor of the dance. It is considered rude for the lady to refuse unless she is fatigued or has promised the dance to another. When the dance is ended the man should conduct the lady back to her seat or wherever she wishes.
It is also considered poor form for couples to dance with the same partner only for every dance. One of the objects of these dances was to be a social mixer giving people opportunities to become acquainted with others.
Why am I saying all this? Because the best of the best, the "OLD SOUTH CHRISTMAS BALL," is coming to Greenville South Carolina on December 12. It will be hosted by the the Old South Ball Committee, who are all prominent socialites and avid reenactor types. For you unmarried types, the Sheens have two beautiful, vivacious, talented daughters who are well known in the reenactor world.
YOU WILL NOT WANT TO MISS THIS EVENT. Make plans to attend. You will not regret it. For more information contact myself or check out their website at www.oldesouthball.com.
There are certain protocols that were observed at the 1860s balls and it is nice to try to observe them in reenacted balls of today.
First, it is more fun if one is appropriately dressed, i.e. period correct clothing. For the ladies this means a ball gown with proper accesories, purse, gloves, hair arrangement, etc. For the gentlemen period correct attire may have options. If you are coming in full dress military regalia, Confederate or Federal, you may wear your sword or side arm but please, lay it aside before dancing. You may opt to come as a civilian in which case, formal period dress is required.(DON'T FORGET WHITE GLOVES! These protect the ladies' dresses from hand sweat.)
These balls have a dance manager who conducts the dancing.
It was considered proper for a lady to have an escort for the ball. He may have been her husband, father, grandfather, uncle, brother or just a friend, any properly dressed male of the species. It is permissable for an unattached man to present himself to the dance manager with a request to be introduced to a lady with whom he would like to dance.
After an introduction he may then ask the lady for the honor of the dance. It is considered rude for the lady to refuse unless she is fatigued or has promised the dance to another. When the dance is ended the man should conduct the lady back to her seat or wherever she wishes.
It is also considered poor form for couples to dance with the same partner only for every dance. One of the objects of these dances was to be a social mixer giving people opportunities to become acquainted with others.
Why am I saying all this? Because the best of the best, the "OLD SOUTH CHRISTMAS BALL," is coming to Greenville South Carolina on December 12. It will be hosted by the the Old South Ball Committee, who are all prominent socialites and avid reenactor types. For you unmarried types, the Sheens have two beautiful, vivacious, talented daughters who are well known in the reenactor world.
YOU WILL NOT WANT TO MISS THIS EVENT. Make plans to attend. You will not regret it. For more information contact myself or check out their website at www.oldesouthball.com.
Saturday, July 4, 2009
Answers to the June 26 Quiz
Some of you blog followers did very well. I'm impressed.
Civil War--A war between two or more factions, each striving to take over the government. The War Between The States was not a civil war.
Subaltern--A subordinate officer. Example "The colonel and his subalterns."
Regiment--A unit of an army consisting of 10 companies, usually about 1000 men, commanded by a colonel.
Cannonade--A sustained bombardment of cannon fire.
Grape shot--a cannon projectile consisting usually of 9 balls about the size of a golf ball and held together by 4 iron discs with a bolt through the center. When fired the bolt breaks and the balls seperate. A very destructive type of ammunition usually used for anti-personel fire.
Artillery battery--A group of cannon, usually six, under the command of an officer and accompanied by supply wagons and around 40 or more horses and some 60 or more men.
Haversack--A small bag made of canvas or coated canvas having a strap for carring over the shoulder. It was used by the soldiers to carry personal items such as soap combs, toothbrush, tools for his weapon, maybe some food and other "possibles."
Brogans--A government issued shoe, usually made of leather and having neither left or right but could be worn on either foot. Most were of poor quality and uncomfortable, but it beat going barefoot.
Headstall--The part of a horse's bridle constisting of straps over the top of the horse's head and across his brow and under his neck. It also supported the bit.
Major--An officers rank just above a captain and just below a lt. colonel.
Most regiments had at least one.
Shell Jacket--A jacket usually made of wool or jean cloth and extending down to the belt line. Very popular with cavalrymen.
Ramrod--A wood or steel rod used to push the powder and projectile into the barrel of a rifle, musket, cannon or other weapon. It was also used to clean the weapon.
Most hand held weapons came equiped with the ramrod placed just under the barrel.
Most cannon ramrods had a sponge or swab on the opposite end to help clean the inside of the cannon tube.
Mini-ball--More properly called Minie bullet, it was a conical lead projectile for a rifle. It was much more accurate than a round ball. It was invented by a French captain named Claude Minie.
Caisson--A two wheeled cart large enough to carry two ammunition chests and other items for a cannon. It was made to hook on the rear of a limber makeing a 4 wheeled vehicle to transport ammunition. Usually drawn by six horses.
Secesh--A derogatory term used by the yankees for anyone associated with the Confederacy. Many Rebs accepted the title with pride.
Civil War--A war between two or more factions, each striving to take over the government. The War Between The States was not a civil war.
Subaltern--A subordinate officer. Example "The colonel and his subalterns."
Regiment--A unit of an army consisting of 10 companies, usually about 1000 men, commanded by a colonel.
Cannonade--A sustained bombardment of cannon fire.
Grape shot--a cannon projectile consisting usually of 9 balls about the size of a golf ball and held together by 4 iron discs with a bolt through the center. When fired the bolt breaks and the balls seperate. A very destructive type of ammunition usually used for anti-personel fire.
Artillery battery--A group of cannon, usually six, under the command of an officer and accompanied by supply wagons and around 40 or more horses and some 60 or more men.
Haversack--A small bag made of canvas or coated canvas having a strap for carring over the shoulder. It was used by the soldiers to carry personal items such as soap combs, toothbrush, tools for his weapon, maybe some food and other "possibles."
Brogans--A government issued shoe, usually made of leather and having neither left or right but could be worn on either foot. Most were of poor quality and uncomfortable, but it beat going barefoot.
Headstall--The part of a horse's bridle constisting of straps over the top of the horse's head and across his brow and under his neck. It also supported the bit.
Major--An officers rank just above a captain and just below a lt. colonel.
Most regiments had at least one.
Shell Jacket--A jacket usually made of wool or jean cloth and extending down to the belt line. Very popular with cavalrymen.
Ramrod--A wood or steel rod used to push the powder and projectile into the barrel of a rifle, musket, cannon or other weapon. It was also used to clean the weapon.
Most hand held weapons came equiped with the ramrod placed just under the barrel.
Most cannon ramrods had a sponge or swab on the opposite end to help clean the inside of the cannon tube.
Mini-ball--More properly called Minie bullet, it was a conical lead projectile for a rifle. It was much more accurate than a round ball. It was invented by a French captain named Claude Minie.
Caisson--A two wheeled cart large enough to carry two ammunition chests and other items for a cannon. It was made to hook on the rear of a limber makeing a 4 wheeled vehicle to transport ammunition. Usually drawn by six horses.
Secesh--A derogatory term used by the yankees for anyone associated with the Confederacy. Many Rebs accepted the title with pride.
Monday, May 11, 2009
Time Travel
Have you ever thought about taking a trip into the past? If so, which era would you choose to land in first?
How about the days of Robin Hood with his merry men and the evil sherrif of Nottingham? You could find out for sure if there really was a Robin Hood. How about King Arthur and the knights of the round table with all the pretty maidens and Knights in shining armor jousting around and quaffing ale (or what ever they quaffed)? Again, you could settle the question for certain that King Arthur was a real guy and did have a fairly round table. Or maybe ride along with Marco Polo as he went traipsing across the world of his day. It would be fun, or at least very interesting.
Or how about this, for those who love the sea... Would you have shipped out with Columbus on one of those tiny boats into the unknown? Or wouldn't it have been great to have been on board one of Lord Nelson's war ships when they met the Spanish Armada? Maybe you could drop in on ole Dan'el Boone and go 'splorin' through early America, with only a flint lock rifle and a good knife fer pertection against Indians and barrs and stuff.
Or maybe you would like to step back into the middle 1800's and live on a plantation and go to a really fancy ball and possibly meet Scarlet O'Hara. Well, we can't do time travel yet, but we can come close at times.
That is the main motivation of reenactors of history. We can recreate, at least for a weekend, some of the atmosphere of a past era. We can let our imagination run wild and sometimes for just a few moments we can make ourselves believe we have actually turned the clock back. What a wonderful feeling that is even if it lasts just a few moments. We Confederate reenactors call this "a Confederate moment."
When one is surrounded with the sights and sounds and smells of that bygone day, it makes it come to life and it is nice while it lasts. Try it some time. If you have entertained thoughts of slipping the surly bonds of time you will find a wonderful kinship with those of us who participate in this hobby.
How about the days of Robin Hood with his merry men and the evil sherrif of Nottingham? You could find out for sure if there really was a Robin Hood. How about King Arthur and the knights of the round table with all the pretty maidens and Knights in shining armor jousting around and quaffing ale (or what ever they quaffed)? Again, you could settle the question for certain that King Arthur was a real guy and did have a fairly round table. Or maybe ride along with Marco Polo as he went traipsing across the world of his day. It would be fun, or at least very interesting.
Or how about this, for those who love the sea... Would you have shipped out with Columbus on one of those tiny boats into the unknown? Or wouldn't it have been great to have been on board one of Lord Nelson's war ships when they met the Spanish Armada? Maybe you could drop in on ole Dan'el Boone and go 'splorin' through early America, with only a flint lock rifle and a good knife fer pertection against Indians and barrs and stuff.
Or maybe you would like to step back into the middle 1800's and live on a plantation and go to a really fancy ball and possibly meet Scarlet O'Hara. Well, we can't do time travel yet, but we can come close at times.
That is the main motivation of reenactors of history. We can recreate, at least for a weekend, some of the atmosphere of a past era. We can let our imagination run wild and sometimes for just a few moments we can make ourselves believe we have actually turned the clock back. What a wonderful feeling that is even if it lasts just a few moments. We Confederate reenactors call this "a Confederate moment."
When one is surrounded with the sights and sounds and smells of that bygone day, it makes it come to life and it is nice while it lasts. Try it some time. If you have entertained thoughts of slipping the surly bonds of time you will find a wonderful kinship with those of us who participate in this hobby.
Monday, April 27, 2009
Well lessee...
I believe I am the only reenactor that has had correspondence with a horse. Hit's tha gospel truth.
You see some time back I had to move to a different county in Texas. We had sold our home and wifey had picked out what, in her opinion, was a more agreeable part of the great state of Texas to call home, the little town of Crockett. Named after none other than ole Davey hisself.
Well I had a problem. Until we got settled in our new establishment I had to find a place to temporarily put my ole buddy Trooper. Trooper's my hoss doncha know and like one of the family. I started looking around and found nothing suitable and was beginning to feel a tad bit desperate when a fellow member of the SCV, one Mr. Kirk Foster, sez, "I can keep him in my back lot, which is about 2 or 3 acres, and has a small shed on it. The only problem is I have a hugh Rodesian Ridge-back dog that he will have to get along with."
So I loads up said Trooper and hawles him to Foster's back lot and very carefully leads him into the pen with the Ridge-back. They both stare at each other like two wrestlers sizing each other up. Slowly with a throaty growl the Ridge-back approaches with hackles up. Trooper has never really cared for dogs and he puts his nose down near the ground and lays his ears back and with a deep muttering sound in his throat slowly comes to meet the dog. They touch noses and both stand there in this pose for a full two or three minutes. The horse, in the past, had always been able to send dogs scurring away with tail between the legs. Foster said that the Ridge-back was fearless and it proved to be so. Neither gave an inch and looked as if any moment they would tangle in a battle to the death.
Slowly, the dogs hackles came down and the horses ears came back up and they seem to relax a little, having decided that neither was afraid of the other. The dog went back to knawing on his bone and the horse started clipping the lush grass. Foster and I decided that the animals had come to an understanding so he thought it would be alright. It turned out to be so. A few days late Foster called me on the phone and said they were enjoying each others' company and at times frolicked together.
I made my move to Crockett and after some months bought a place fenced it and built a horse shelter on it as well as a new home for wifey. Then one day I got a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Owner Dale. I opened it and darned if it wasn't a letter from Trooper. It read like this:
Dear Owner:
Mr. Foster said if I would dictate he would write a letter to you so here it is. I am doing very well. I don't mind telling you I had some misgivin's about being left here with these people who I didn't know and have an over grown pooch for a room mate. But it has worked out real well. The grass is plentiful, the Fosters feed me oats at least once a day and sometimes a carrot or two. Not bad folks, for humans, these Fosters. Mrs Foster likes me and sometimes we go for a little jaunt around the country. As for the dang dog he ain't all that bad. We've had our differences a few times but mostly he's o.k. He just wants to play more than I do and that gets on my nerves some times.
Anyway just thought I'd drop a line and let you know how I was doin. When are you coming to get me or you just going to leave me here? This pen is pretty small and I get bored sometimes. I shore would like to see some of the Roberts clan.
Yore ever faithful horse,
Trooper
PS - Them dang cars are just a passin'fancy; what with all the fuel shortages and eco-damage, one of these days it will be up to us horses again.
Well of course I was surprise to get a letter from a horse to say the least but then I knew that ole Trooper was pretty smart. So I wrote the following to reasure him that he wasn't an orphan and that he needed to hang on a little longer.
Dear Trooper:
Well now Trooper, I had myself a good horse laugh when I got yer letter. There is nothing like getting it straight from the horse's mouth.
I am pleased that you are doing so well. I tried to tell you those Fosters were good folks but you kept whimpering and snortin' 'bout going over there. Now see how wrong you were. Shucks having all that grass and oats and being coddled and curried sounds like you are doing fine. Not only that you got a nice dog, nearly as big as you are, to play with. I sure never thought you was smart nuff to dictate a letter. Now if I could only teach you to yodel instead of all that whinnyin' I could make a show horse out of you and we would both get rich.
I got yer paddock done and almost got yer shed finished so it wont be long now.
Tell the Fosters howdy and give them a whinnie for me and take it easy on them oats. I don't want a hoss that is too fat to ride.
Yer ole pal and feed bag,
Owner Dale
So there you have it, blogger types. I bet not a one of you has gotten a letter from a horse. If so you can join my club.
D.R.
I believe I am the only reenactor that has had correspondence with a horse. Hit's tha gospel truth.
You see some time back I had to move to a different county in Texas. We had sold our home and wifey had picked out what, in her opinion, was a more agreeable part of the great state of Texas to call home, the little town of Crockett. Named after none other than ole Davey hisself.
Well I had a problem. Until we got settled in our new establishment I had to find a place to temporarily put my ole buddy Trooper. Trooper's my hoss doncha know and like one of the family. I started looking around and found nothing suitable and was beginning to feel a tad bit desperate when a fellow member of the SCV, one Mr. Kirk Foster, sez, "I can keep him in my back lot, which is about 2 or 3 acres, and has a small shed on it. The only problem is I have a hugh Rodesian Ridge-back dog that he will have to get along with."
So I loads up said Trooper and hawles him to Foster's back lot and very carefully leads him into the pen with the Ridge-back. They both stare at each other like two wrestlers sizing each other up. Slowly with a throaty growl the Ridge-back approaches with hackles up. Trooper has never really cared for dogs and he puts his nose down near the ground and lays his ears back and with a deep muttering sound in his throat slowly comes to meet the dog. They touch noses and both stand there in this pose for a full two or three minutes. The horse, in the past, had always been able to send dogs scurring away with tail between the legs. Foster said that the Ridge-back was fearless and it proved to be so. Neither gave an inch and looked as if any moment they would tangle in a battle to the death.
Slowly, the dogs hackles came down and the horses ears came back up and they seem to relax a little, having decided that neither was afraid of the other. The dog went back to knawing on his bone and the horse started clipping the lush grass. Foster and I decided that the animals had come to an understanding so he thought it would be alright. It turned out to be so. A few days late Foster called me on the phone and said they were enjoying each others' company and at times frolicked together.
I made my move to Crockett and after some months bought a place fenced it and built a horse shelter on it as well as a new home for wifey. Then one day I got a letter. It was addressed to Mr. Owner Dale. I opened it and darned if it wasn't a letter from Trooper. It read like this:
Dear Owner:
Mr. Foster said if I would dictate he would write a letter to you so here it is. I am doing very well. I don't mind telling you I had some misgivin's about being left here with these people who I didn't know and have an over grown pooch for a room mate. But it has worked out real well. The grass is plentiful, the Fosters feed me oats at least once a day and sometimes a carrot or two. Not bad folks, for humans, these Fosters. Mrs Foster likes me and sometimes we go for a little jaunt around the country. As for the dang dog he ain't all that bad. We've had our differences a few times but mostly he's o.k. He just wants to play more than I do and that gets on my nerves some times.
Anyway just thought I'd drop a line and let you know how I was doin. When are you coming to get me or you just going to leave me here? This pen is pretty small and I get bored sometimes. I shore would like to see some of the Roberts clan.
Yore ever faithful horse,
Trooper
PS - Them dang cars are just a passin'fancy; what with all the fuel shortages and eco-damage, one of these days it will be up to us horses again.
Well of course I was surprise to get a letter from a horse to say the least but then I knew that ole Trooper was pretty smart. So I wrote the following to reasure him that he wasn't an orphan and that he needed to hang on a little longer.
Dear Trooper:
Well now Trooper, I had myself a good horse laugh when I got yer letter. There is nothing like getting it straight from the horse's mouth.
I am pleased that you are doing so well. I tried to tell you those Fosters were good folks but you kept whimpering and snortin' 'bout going over there. Now see how wrong you were. Shucks having all that grass and oats and being coddled and curried sounds like you are doing fine. Not only that you got a nice dog, nearly as big as you are, to play with. I sure never thought you was smart nuff to dictate a letter. Now if I could only teach you to yodel instead of all that whinnyin' I could make a show horse out of you and we would both get rich.
I got yer paddock done and almost got yer shed finished so it wont be long now.
Tell the Fosters howdy and give them a whinnie for me and take it easy on them oats. I don't want a hoss that is too fat to ride.
Yer ole pal and feed bag,
Owner Dale
So there you have it, blogger types. I bet not a one of you has gotten a letter from a horse. If so you can join my club.
D.R.
Sunday, April 19, 2009
Advice for the new reenactor recruits
Now just about anyone in the hobby can help you get involved in this sometimes-insane activity, but it is the small stuff that gets overlooked sometimes.
So you got yer yerself entangled inspite of my warnings of impending addiction and here ya are surrounded by yer new gray uniform. You got a spanking new .58 caliber three-banded Enfield shoulder cannon, a fine canteen full of Doctor Pepper, a haversack stuffed with hardtack and other possibles, and about thirty rounds of good ole black powder lady fingers. You have worked yerself into a excited blood-lust and are thinking, "Just show me a d---Yankee and I'll - !"
The cannons began to roar and the muskets began to rattle (muskets always rattle doncha know), you hear this command "COMPANY - ON MY COMMAND - " Hey you are trembling, why are you trembling? "- FIRE!"
Well now, that is fun. Be careful, this has an addictive feel already. You spend the next 25 minutes shooting them "blue bellies" and then you hear a voice behind you say "Take a hit!"
You have been taught that this means to fall dead on the ground. Like a good, loyal soldier that has given his life, you dramatically drop your piece and flop to the ground as your life blood pores from your poor bullet-riddled body. Others are falling, you open an eyeball and squint around - hey what the samhill is that crawling up my pant leg???? OH NO, it's fire ants! I'l be eaten alive - I ain't supposed to move... I'm supposed to be dead - YEOW they are stinging me - dead or no dead I'm outahere. You jump up and scurry off and ruin a perfectly good death scene. As you leave you hear the other dead bodies chuckling.
You see it's the little things that they don't tell you about, like picking yer place to fall dead. Yeah and there are a lot of other things they don't say anything about, like be sure that stopper is secure in the canteen or you will lose yer Doctor Pepper. And marching three miles in new brogans means blister blisters blisters.
After the first battle if you are the average recruit you will be thinking something like, This was supposed to be fun and I think I have enjoyed about all I can stand. But after you recover some you will most likely be saying "Ah - when did you say the next reenactment takes place?"
Ya see, yer hooked. I don't know why it works that way but it does.
So you got yer yerself entangled inspite of my warnings of impending addiction and here ya are surrounded by yer new gray uniform. You got a spanking new .58 caliber three-banded Enfield shoulder cannon, a fine canteen full of Doctor Pepper, a haversack stuffed with hardtack and other possibles, and about thirty rounds of good ole black powder lady fingers. You have worked yerself into a excited blood-lust and are thinking, "Just show me a d---Yankee and I'll - !"
The cannons began to roar and the muskets began to rattle (muskets always rattle doncha know), you hear this command "COMPANY - ON MY COMMAND - " Hey you are trembling, why are you trembling? "- FIRE!"
Well now, that is fun. Be careful, this has an addictive feel already. You spend the next 25 minutes shooting them "blue bellies" and then you hear a voice behind you say "Take a hit!"
You have been taught that this means to fall dead on the ground. Like a good, loyal soldier that has given his life, you dramatically drop your piece and flop to the ground as your life blood pores from your poor bullet-riddled body. Others are falling, you open an eyeball and squint around - hey what the samhill is that crawling up my pant leg???? OH NO, it's fire ants! I'l be eaten alive - I ain't supposed to move... I'm supposed to be dead - YEOW they are stinging me - dead or no dead I'm outahere. You jump up and scurry off and ruin a perfectly good death scene. As you leave you hear the other dead bodies chuckling.
You see it's the little things that they don't tell you about, like picking yer place to fall dead. Yeah and there are a lot of other things they don't say anything about, like be sure that stopper is secure in the canteen or you will lose yer Doctor Pepper. And marching three miles in new brogans means blister blisters blisters.
After the first battle if you are the average recruit you will be thinking something like, This was supposed to be fun and I think I have enjoyed about all I can stand. But after you recover some you will most likely be saying "Ah - when did you say the next reenactment takes place?"
Ya see, yer hooked. I don't know why it works that way but it does.
Saturday, April 18, 2009
Unusual happenings at reenactments
Some times a person is priviledged to see some interesting and unusual sights at a WBTS reenactment. I shall recite a few and maybe you readers can corntribute some as well.
Sometimes when serving on a gun (cannon), when the gun fires it will produce this giant smoke ring. My dad used to do this while smoking his pipe. I don't know what causes this phenomenon but I have a few theories. It could be they are using powder encased in a donut-shaped package. Maybe using a mixture of gunpowder and cherios, or tobacco, or pot.
If you happened to be a pony soldier, you well know bringing a horse into the scene is to introduce a variable. One cannot always be sure of the horse's behavior, no matter how well trained or how gentle. Here are a few examples I have witnessed.
One of my friends in the 8th Texas Cavalry has a horse name Maxwell; yeah that's right Maxwell. My friend, whom I shall refer to as Hank, took lots of pride in Maxwell. Yessir, he never tired talking about his beautiful black mare named Maxwell. The thing is, "black beauty" had never played war horse before.
When the cannons began to boom and the muskets began to rattle (muskets always rattle, doncha know), Maxwell decided, War is not my best game, but I sure know how to Rodeo. While everyone else was shooting Yankees and wielding sabres, Hank was fighting for his life topside of Maxwell, who was exibiting her best moves as a rodeo star. Ultimately Hank went sailing with his arms a-flapping all the while. Hank came to earth pretty much nose first. He wasn't seriously injuried but his dignity was ripped to tatters.
Yours truly once borrowed a horse because my own was not available. Don't do this if you can avoid it. I rode the gentle old mare around before the battle and she handled like the 20-year-old that she was. Nice ride, good gates, very laid back. Our unit was standing to horse immediately in the rear of a row of guns (cannons, doncha remember). For the opening salvo the cannons did what is known in the trade as a ripple fire from the right to the left. When the guns started belching fire and brimstone my gentle old mare sez, I don't wanta play. She turned into a demon, reared up front hooves flaying and teeth bared. She thumped me good with a hoof to the shoulder and broke away to find a quieter place to sleep.
Another example - the script called for a cavalry duel between our best sabre-wielding pony soldier and the best Yankee long knife. They put on a good show but the script called for our good ole Reb to lose and fall to the ground. He was well practiced at falling. ' Course, the horses had not been consulted as to their preference. The Yank's horse slipped out from under him like the saddle was greased and - so - the script was quickly changed to suit the horse's taste.
I could go on, but you get the idea. Anyone like to contribute????
Sometimes when serving on a gun (cannon), when the gun fires it will produce this giant smoke ring. My dad used to do this while smoking his pipe. I don't know what causes this phenomenon but I have a few theories. It could be they are using powder encased in a donut-shaped package. Maybe using a mixture of gunpowder and cherios, or tobacco, or pot.
If you happened to be a pony soldier, you well know bringing a horse into the scene is to introduce a variable. One cannot always be sure of the horse's behavior, no matter how well trained or how gentle. Here are a few examples I have witnessed.
One of my friends in the 8th Texas Cavalry has a horse name Maxwell; yeah that's right Maxwell. My friend, whom I shall refer to as Hank, took lots of pride in Maxwell. Yessir, he never tired talking about his beautiful black mare named Maxwell. The thing is, "black beauty" had never played war horse before.
When the cannons began to boom and the muskets began to rattle (muskets always rattle, doncha know), Maxwell decided, War is not my best game, but I sure know how to Rodeo. While everyone else was shooting Yankees and wielding sabres, Hank was fighting for his life topside of Maxwell, who was exibiting her best moves as a rodeo star. Ultimately Hank went sailing with his arms a-flapping all the while. Hank came to earth pretty much nose first. He wasn't seriously injuried but his dignity was ripped to tatters.
Yours truly once borrowed a horse because my own was not available. Don't do this if you can avoid it. I rode the gentle old mare around before the battle and she handled like the 20-year-old that she was. Nice ride, good gates, very laid back. Our unit was standing to horse immediately in the rear of a row of guns (cannons, doncha remember). For the opening salvo the cannons did what is known in the trade as a ripple fire from the right to the left. When the guns started belching fire and brimstone my gentle old mare sez, I don't wanta play. She turned into a demon, reared up front hooves flaying and teeth bared. She thumped me good with a hoof to the shoulder and broke away to find a quieter place to sleep.
Another example - the script called for a cavalry duel between our best sabre-wielding pony soldier and the best Yankee long knife. They put on a good show but the script called for our good ole Reb to lose and fall to the ground. He was well practiced at falling. ' Course, the horses had not been consulted as to their preference. The Yank's horse slipped out from under him like the saddle was greased and - so - the script was quickly changed to suit the horse's taste.
I could go on, but you get the idea. Anyone like to contribute????
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