Red Karl in Gray
AAR of Ridley Creek 2007
M. A. Schaffner, Pvt. pro tem, Co. B, 4th Texas

Anyone who has served on general staff at a reenactment will probably appreciate how very attractive the prospect of shooting your erstwhile colleagues can be, and having served as a Federal staff officer for several events this year, I jumped at the chance to galvanize for Ridley Creek.  Plus, this gave me the opportunity to fall in with Company B of the Fourth Texas, which includes old friends like Captain Mark Moore, First Sergeant Ron Lauser, and Private/Generalissimo/Feldmarschall Bill Rodman.  Further, the weekend promised to be dry, with cool nights and warm days.  

Just to keep things from being perfect, a movie shoot had commandeered the main parking lot at Colonial Plantation, the site of the reenactment, and in the resulting confusion the registration desk seems to have disappeared.  I spent my first couple hours after arriving Friday afternoon alternately driving around and lazing about before I finally just drove in, met up with Bill, Mark, and Ron and set up.  I had a whole dog tent to myself, plus two gum blankets, and some other garrison equipage I don’t get much use out of, but no desk or forms.  Bliss.   I parked my car in the adjoining field and spent the rest of the afternoon and evening hanging out.  That included meeting Tom Pritchett, who I knew only as a moderator of Mr. Szabo’s internet forum.  I asked Bill to introduce me.  Extending my hand I put on my best attempt at a glare and identified myself as “Mike Fowler.”  A micro-second later I saw that Mr. Pritchett had a hammer in his hand, so I quickly smiled and gave my real name.  For the record, Tom handles jerks well.

Not long after, I turned in.   It got cold, but with a few adjustments I slept well.  The moon was so bright dawn really snuck up on me, but I was up around 6:30.  My first real adventure of the weekend began when I tried to move my truck, ran over one of the few big rocks on the field, then stalled out on top of the only large chunk of wood.  A fellow whose name I didn’t get came out to help me with directions and, while I was ineffectually following them, I heard someone shout, “Red Karl!  Is that you?”  

It was Nick Chakounis of the 14th NJ who had bivouacked under a nearby tree with some friends who were also galvanizing for the weekend.  I have three hobby nicknames, none of them of my own invention, though all of them my fault.  I like “Red Karl” best, I think, largely because it was a gift of Rich Hill, who freely distributes nick-names while keeping to himself a wide range of accents and aliases.  I wasn’t sure how well the Marxist line would play in the rebel ranks; instead I later observed to my fellow citizens that I was a follower of the socialist Proudhon and joined him in supporting the struggle of the agrarian workers of the south against the northern industrial hegemonists.

But just then was no time for political analysis.  With the additional reinforcements I made several more attempts to free myself.  Ultimately, using the floor mats for traction, I was able to get out by straightening my wheels and releasing the parking brake, which latter hindrance I took care not to mention to my saviors.  Despite the apparent direness of the situation, any permanent damage to my ’88 S-10 failed to reveal itself during the three hour drive home the following day.

After one more wrong turn I got out of the camping area, registered, parked, and got a shuttle ride the mile back to the camp site.  The rest of the morning passed with a short detail to traffic duties and some company drill.  Around 11:30 we formed up for the first battle of the day.  The rebel forces consisted of three companies – besides the Texans we had the 3rd Arkansas under Pritchett and the 9th Virginia under Aaron Bradford.  The latter group also included Greg Bullock and the Falstaffian “Vaughn,” who’s a lot nicer when you’re on his side.  Altogether it looked like we had about sixty men, with the 4th Texas accounting for nearly half.  

Captain Moore had been bumped up to command the battalion so Ron took over the company, apparently leading it in the field for the first time.  This was a bit more of a challenge then it might seem because, in addition to me, he had Nick and his pards falling in, as well as a couple of Liberty Rifles who showed up not long before we took the field.  Normally the 4th, like most units, doesn’t let just anyone walk on, but in this instance they were more than forbearing, probably because of their respect for the USV and the LRs (in fact I had first met the 4th at an LR camp of instruction at Fort Frederick; it seemed to be a requirement in those days that all LR COIs be held in wind storms or on fields at least half a foot deep in snowmelt, but that’s another story).  Anyway the guests brought the strength of the company to a level that, given the ground, required breaking it into platoons, so Ron had a little more on his hands than the average company commander.

With all that the battle went smoothly.  There isn’t a lot of ground to fight over at the Plantation, but it’s nicely broken up into two fields of a few acres each, separated by a barn and other outbuildings with fenced and walled enclosures.  We advanced behind the 9th (who acted as skirmishers) and sent a platoon around on each side of the barn.  We drove the yanks back a little ways, fired at them for awhile, then got driven back ourselves.  In the course of getting driven I took a hit and had the opportunity of discretely waving to Andy Siganuk as the Mifflin Guard overran me.  Right behind them came the 71st PVI of the 2nd USV, whose commander, Craig Mullen, is someone who sees me two or three times a year, always in a different uniform.  After briefly reassuring himself that I was who he thought I might be, he pulled out his revolver and offered to put me out of my misery before moving on.  I politely declined.  After a few minutes I realized that I had fallen bravely in full sun, but out of view of the spectators, so I got up and joined some other dead men in the shade.  Shortly after that the battle ended and I returned to the company.  Altogether I fired about 15 rounds, including two during weapons inspection.

At that point we had about half an hour until the “infantry demonstration” so I grabbed a snack and rested.  The demo was pretty much a repeat of our morning drill.  We didn’t do much more than a few wheels and facings, including company into line by the right and left, but even these maneuvers were challenging because the ground was rough and sloped about thirty degrees, so with a company roughly at full mid-war strength, some of the fellows on the end had to double-quick quite a bit to get into line.  But because of my skill at remaining at medium height, I had it fairly easy.

The second battle was at four.  Most of us decided not to clean our muskets till after that one, so I had more time to visit with friends and laze around.  There were a few sutlers, but I decided to enjoy the cool shade instead.   The 4th is a family-friendly unit, so there were several women about as well as an energetic squad of urchins, but the company requires everyone to hide anachronisms so the Victorian domesticity was more charming than otherwise.  When I add that, except for bringing an armful of wood or two into camp on Friday I had studiously avoided all fatigue, I must conclude that in some ways this was my most pleasant event of the year.

About three-thirty we fell in again and marched over to the edge of the Federal camp while they marched over to ours so we could fight each other in the opposite direction from the earlier battle.  We passed by a number of spectators and, as one who usually portrays a soldier of the Republic, I was surprised to note the vehemence of some of the cheers we received.  One woman even shouted, “Thank you for your service!”  

Our service?  Did she mean our spirited defense of states rights, or of slavery, or did she simply want a version of the Pledge of Allegiance that omits the phrase “one nation, indivisible...”?  Didn’t she realize that none of us had any real bullets and would not, in any case, want to shoot our play-mates?

But I had no time to ask before we entered another sharp little engagement.  This time the 4th formed the right of the Confederate forces and swept around the flank of the hated northern oppressors, not withstanding the stolid defense of a company of perhaps eight men in blue, who received several full volleys before calmly turning their backs to us, marching in retreat, and turning around again, equally oblivious and impervious to our fire.  We finally advanced on them, chased them into the barnyard, then scaled the rail fence and broke both them and another packet of cowardly blue-bellies (this invective stuff is catching).  We then charged into the big field and received their surrender.  We had some “living historians” portraying General Longstreet and his staff who marched out to collect swords, but I think the rest of us would have been more than happy to let the yankees go if they would shoot down or bayonet our senior officers.  Not that we really had anything against them; it was just a little embarrassing to have a Corps staff for 6o guys.  During this fight I fired another 18 rounds.

We returned to camp and spent the rest of the afternoon cleaning our weapons, getting something to eat, and talking about everything and nothing in particular.  Nick and his buddies got a tin-type made, I dried my shirt on a branch, then changed into a fresh one and put on a cravat.  Around seven I followed the buttonhats and LRs off to their bivouac and there encountered an emissary from the National Army, tin cup in hand, who in the manner of a town crier announced to everyone within a quarter mile the presence of refreshments down by the plantation house.  

Having the advantage of position, we reached it before the main body of the Confederate forces and there found the Camptown Shakers holding forth on the porch, while beside them a couple of boys in blue set out period refreshments – i.e., pretzels, Saratoga chips, and Yuengling lager (since 1829…).   In this particular setting you could tell the authentics from the ‘streamers by whether they drank from tin or translucent gutta percha cups.  I used the latter; I ain’t proud.  

I had a couple of beers and spoke with a number of friends and acquaintances on both sides.  Besides catching up I had the opportunity to get some more insights and suggestions regarding “Down the Valley” and “September Storm,” which I plan to share with the organizers of “At High Tide.”  By and by it got late and I retired to camp, where I bundled up and slept pretty well, not rising till around 7:00 the following morning.  Because the afternoon battle was not scheduled till 2:00 and I hoped to be home well before dark, I had already made known my intention to leave early.  After a large cup of coffee, some breakfast, and a little more socializing, I packed up my things and marched out, arriving at my parking space just as the first shuttles began to run.  

On the whole I had a splendid time.  Good weather and good company are always welcome, but the event had other virtues that showed that the organizers knew exactly what they were doing.  Despite the glitches with registration and parking there was room for all and the volunteer shuttles did their work faithfully and well.  The number of participants was well scaled to the amount of land available, and the facilities, including water, sanitation, wood, and straw, were more than adequate to the demands placed on them.  The scenarios I participated in were planned and carried out to provide as much variety as the numbers would support and to give everyone a chance to experience both victory and defeat.  

It by no means met the standards set for “authentic” events – there was no overall setting in early or late war.  There were scrupulous safety inspections, but no inspections of kit.  No one attempted to establish first person, and civilians and military camped together, generally in A and wall tents.  Despite this, no anachronisms were exposed to public view and cars were out of camp by the time it opened for visitors.  There was alcohol, but no apparent drunkenness nor rowdy behavior.  It was an informal event, but nonetheless seemed to have unwritten rules that everyone abided by.

I can think of a number of self-described “p/c/h” reenactors who would disdain to attend an event like this, but I also think that, on balance, they would only be cheating themselves.  Anyone who has a Ridley Creek in their area and lets ideology keep them from driving an hour or so to participate probably needs to go a lot more than they realize.

I look forward to going back.

Mr Schaffner

It was good to see you at Ridley. That is a well written AAR.

I hope to be able to get some time and put together my thoughts on the event also.

Ridley Creek PA?..Hmmmm did not know about an event there. I have just moved West of Ridley Creek on Route 3 near West Chester. The least I could have done would have been to stop by.....

Quote :

Marc wrote : Ridley Creek PA?..Hmmmm did not know about an event there.

Marc,

I have a soft spot in my heart for the Ridley Creek event. It was the first event I attended when I was getting into the Hobby. Ridley is a great recruiting tool for the local units that attend. The 4th. Texas and 3rd Ark. had five or six new soldiers at the event.

The usual cast of suspects attend almost every year with a sprinkling of lost and confused CPH types! Mike Schaffner did an excellent job of discribing the flavor of the Event in his AAR. If you are interested in a low key, fun event, Ridley is for you. If an event with women and children running around, and a few "Fresh Fish" wearing work boots gives you hives, stay far, far away.

As Mike discribed, there are rules, but they are the rules of the units involved, not the event. Of course, since the same basic units are there every year, I guess you could say they are the Event's rules. As Mike mentioned, we are much more concerned about safety, than people's kits. By the nature of the scenarios, the ranges are often very short, since we are "fighting" around and between farm buildings. The chickens go nuts, while the sheep pay almost no attention to all the commotion.

Like Mike, I did not participate in Sunday's scenario. My ram rod extension broke while I was cleaning the rifle on Saturday afternoon, leaving a jag stuck in the barrel. I was not a happy camper!

I watched Sunday's senario as a spectator. It looked pretty good, except for a fight that took place with the Rebs and Yanks on opposite sides of a road. The Rebs were behind a stone wall, while the Yanks were behind a split rail fence. Man, did that old wood fence give the Yanks great cover, only one of them took a hit!   Funny, as usual, there were far more hits as the scenario reached it's conclusion.

As an aside, I think we may be more critical of ourselves than the spectators are. I've had the opportunity to watch a number of scenarios with the spectators this year and the only thing I've heard them comment about is the bad behavior of some of the casualities. Guys up on one elbow watching the action or taking pictures. I have to say I didn't see any of that stuff at Ridley. Probably because everybody is aware just how close the spectators are to the action.

The money raised at Ridley Creek goes to support the Colonial Plantation where the event is held.

After the 2nd battle on Saturday we did a wounded scenario with some of our boys around the barn.  It went quite well and the dead stayed that way for the whole 20 mins that we did it.  We had people asking how do they lay still for that long..

We had covered them with blankets and the wounded were being cared for until they could be moved to the surgeon.  Those of us who survived were to march off to "catch up with the column" which left the farmer's wife very upset about the mess we left behind.

We repeated the scenario Sunday afternoon and the wounded wailed a little more.  But I think it went pretty well, the spectators who stayed to watch it commented that it looked pretty good.

Ridley was the first event that I saw when I came up here for an interview.  The office I work at is across the street from there.  It is where I found the current group I am with.
We too had about 6 new fish this weekend.  It is a nice event to let them see the elephant and not worry about them getting lost in the shuffle of the size of the event.