Neshaminy 2008
The Battle of Bensalem
An AAR by M. A. Schaffner
Clerk, Class II, AGO/WD/CSA

“Do you have a mole on your eye?”  Bill peered suspiciously at my face, then fetched a pair of tweezers from his kit and carefully removed a tick from my left lower eyelid.  After this, I began to feel ticks everywhere, but in fact would see only two more that weekend, one on the inside of our A tent and one on the outside of my pants.  Still, it’s the ones you don’t see that get you.

I should specify that the tick finder was my comrade Bill Wilson who drove us down to Neshaminy Thursday afternoon to fall in with Bill Rodman, the Confederate commander.  Rodman was a Colonel.  As galvanized USV performing a variety of duties, administrative and otherwise, on staff, Wilson and I decided we were Class II Clerks from the Adjutant General’s Office of the War Department in Richmond.  Not that it mattered, but it was a change from “Private.”  

It was now Friday morning and, having dispatched the tick, we could continue more or less leisurely to help Rodman mark out company streets.  Soon the rest of the staff began to arrive.  These included the AAG, Larry Murray, a great bear of a man who was a delight to compile morning reports for.  He could summon a late report by simply bellowing for it from headquarters rather than sending a runner.   Good man.  Mark Moore, erstwhile captain of the 4th Texas and a comrade from years back, served as quartermaster.  Jose Rios served as color sergeant – in fact, as a personal trainer with 17” biceps, Jose could fill in for the entire color guard and provide backup to the provost.  This last position was held by Bill O’Dea, who I’d most recently seen in the Cooler Hut at Winter ’64.  In time we would also gain a staff ambrotype artist in the person of Julio Zangroniz, who set up his establishment directly behind HQ.

The astute observer will note that about half the Confederate command was named Bill.  By simply shouting this single appellation in the general direction of headquarters you could get the commander, provost, and a clerk.

Following a chilly night, Friday proved pleasantly warm and I actually took a nap for about an hour until I was woken by the recollection that I was there to help Bill Rodman with the set-up.  But we had enough folks on staff that no one but the CO was very busy.  My sole military duty consisted of a brief order to the commanders to report to HQ at 7 p.m. with estimates of their on-site strength so they could determine whether to have two or three infantry battalions.   When the meeting came they decided on three:  Bob Abraham commanded the First Infantry Battalion and Bryan Boyle and Duffie Miller shared command of the Second Infantry Battalion, both primarily composed of ANV troops. Andy Peterson of PACS commanded the Third Infantry Battalion, that besides PACS included a couple of ANV companies and galvanized USV troops.

At some point the officers went off for a social gathering at the Federal HQ and  I made a trip to the sutlers, where found a nice bayonet-clasp traveling inkstand at Mr. MacIntosh’s.  I returned for a dinner of hominy and bacon, and went to bed.  A front came through Friday night with a bit of thunder and it didn’t get nearly so cool as the previous evening.  

In the morning, when I toted up the reports for the consolidated, I found our forces aggregated 299, including some 15 artillery (with a Napoleon and two ten-pound Parrotts) and about 20 cavalry (a third of them mounted).  There were seven of us on staff and perhaps thirty officers and sergeants, leaving just over 200 muskets in the ranks.  Actual numbers probably ran a bit higher as we continued to receive walk-ons after the reports came in.

Our force encompassed pretty much the full spectrum of authenticity.  On one end we had dead ringers for real civil war soldiers in groups like the Chesapeake Volunteer Guard and “The Jaunty Bunch.”  On the other we had enough examples of the egregious and ludicrous to fill several “Happy Friends” web sites with work boots, track shoes, women who made no attempt to hide their sex, women whom no attempt would help, grossly overweight soldiers, soldiers seemingly old enough to have served the first time around, and various combinations thereof.

In thinking of the worst examples I am tempted to say, “There but for the grace of God go I,” but then I look into the mirror to shave and wonder just how far God’s grace can extend.  The interesting fact remains that no matter how bad someone’s impression is, or how much baggage they insist on bringing, they very often have some bit of knowledge – good, useful historical knowledge – available seemingly nowhere else, and many of them can describe events they attended ten or twenty years ago that make today’s “hardcore” events seem like garden club outings.

About mid-morning on Saturday we held walk-throughs for both battles and discussed in a general way the tacticals.  Saturday’s tactical was intended to be less open-ended than usual – we would begin from the Federal camp and, after about an hour’s sparring, end up in a field to the left of the spectator line hidden from their view.  From there we would segue directly into the battle, driving the Federals across the field (which was just uneven and dotted with trees enough to be reasonably more interesting than a soccer pitch) until they reached the other side of a collapsed rail fence and pummeled us with musketry and cannon fire.  

For Sunday, we would have a free-form tactical in the morning, break for lunch, then fight a more complex spectator battle.  This would have the Confederates moving out from our own camp in slightly separated stages, driving off Federal skirmishers, receiving a cavalry charge, taking a section of guns, losing them to a Federal counterattack, pursuing the guns as they were prolonged in retreat, then again being pummeled to a standstill by massed fire.

Both spectator battles were inspired by the actions of Archer’s, McGowen’s, and Lane’s brigades at Chancellorsville and aspired to use the space available (a field perhaps three hundred by two hundred yards) as creatively as practicable.  CS HQ staff, battalion, cavalry, and battery commanders all attended the walk-through.  From my recollection they outnumbered the attending US staff.  The under-representation of Federal battalion staff would have consequences in the execution of the more complex Sunday scenario.

Saturday morning ended with orders detailing the order of march for our forces as well as the time and place for falling in.  At 1:00, with the artillery pre-positioned, we lined up on the road between the two camps, dismounts in the lead followed by the infantry battalions in order.  

Shortly before stepping off I heard the plaintive squawk of a bagpipe.  Turning to the nearest infantrymen, I offered to shoot the fellow.  They insisted I shoot only to lame because they wanted to finish the piper off themselves with their bayonets.  Similar conversations must have occurred all down the line as the noise soon stopped and I did not hear it again that weekend.

We marched down the road, halted near the sutlers for awhile to wait for the Federals to clear their camp, then continued.  Shortly after entering the woods beyond the Federal camp our lead troops engaged.  One pocket of Federals on the left was quickly cut off, but Colonel Rodman left them an escape route – recall that this wasn’t to be a “real” tactical, but a running fight that should lead us to the jump off point for the spectator battle.   As it was, the Colonel’s generosity not only allowed the first Federal battalion to retreat, but others to come forward.  One of our three battalions split off to use the river road on the far left to circle around the Federals.  Another battalion in the woods to the right supported the advance of the center battalion along the main road, with the dismounts skirmishing to our front.  We managed to reach the T intersection where the road to the field branched off to the right.  Then the firing, which had been more or less continuous, grew steadily more intense.

Up to this point my main job had been running back and forth to chase spectators away from our lines (one fellow was so persistent that Rodman had to threaten him with the cops before he’d leave the field).    Now it was running orders and debating whether I ought to load and pitch in.  Our two battalions were largely in the open and assailed by a growing number (three, then four and perhaps five) small Federal battalions, plus a handful of skirmishers who’d worked their way to our rear.  They all showed no inclination to give way, though truthfully we had little to push them with.  But they also didn’t show signs of much command and control; a coordinated attack by the whole lot would have quickly done us in.

As it was, more and more of our fellows took hits, more and more were running through more ammunition than anticipated for the tactical, and more and more felt a little silly just standing there getting shot at.  At the crisis of the engagement, just as the senior officers were considering a banzai charge to end it all in a blaze of glory, or something, our third battalion showed up down the main road, pushed back the Federals on our left and pursued them into the woods.  This gave us a few options, as well as an escape route.

But the fighting had gone on long enough.  Colonel Rodman got on the radio and called for a cease fire.  This sounded soon after, though it took awhile to communicate itself to all the units engaged, and it took a few more minutes for the various Federal units to pull themselves out of the underbrush and get back to the staging area.

The battle that followed went pretty much according to plan after a brief incident in which Colonel Daniels’ horse stepped on Colonel Rodman’s foot.  We feared the worst but the ground was apparently soft enough that the only effect was to inflict great pain.  As long as it didn’t affect my weekend, I guess that’s OK.  After the foot stomping the two armies faced off and fired a volley or two into the air.  The Federals retreated and we followed, slowly so as to leave them time to fall back.  Reenactor battalions always seem to advance faster than they retreat, if only because retreating involves turning around a couple of times with the need to dress ranks after each turn.  Anyway, we “chased” the Federals into the big field in front of the spectators and then proceeded to “push” them back.  A gentle reminder from the local constabulary was needed to eliminate a salient of overenthusiastic camera-wielding spectators on our right, but that was about the only complication I witnessed.  We went forward, got shot up, fell back to regroup, and the battle ended.  Once we got in front of the spectators many hits were taken and a good time was had by all.  On the road back to camp Colonel Rodman halted the staff and we saluted each of the units as it passed.  It made a good impression, I thought, and everyone looked happy.

Or so it seemed.  When we got back to camp a battalion commander reported that his standard-bearer had been captured, with his flag, and was now being held against his will in the Federal camp.  His comrades were not happy.

This was pretty serious.  Fun’s fun, but larceny and kidnapping are real crimes in some places.  Plus, there’s that whole business about taking flags.  The Federal commanders were scheduled to come over anyway for a post-mortem on the battle; Colonel Rodman got on the radio to tell them to bring the flag and bearer, but when they arrived later the bearer and flag were not with them.  Daniels claimed that the standard bearer had met with some friends in the Federal ranks and was happily drinking beer with them on their company street.  We relayed this info to the battalion commander, who sent one of his men to investigate.  A bit later the somewhat abashed standard bearer returned, with his flag, unaware that actual hostilities had almost broken out.  

Still later, as evening settled in, I heard a familiar sounding jug band from the vicinity of the neighboring battalion.  The standard bearer appeared at Headquarters and  explained that the Federals had claimed that the “capture” had been worked out between the commanders beforehand.  To back him up, save him from more trouble than he was already in, and make it up to the Confederacy, they had come over to play for us.  I walked over to investigate, cash in on the offer of a Budweiser, and see just who these yankees were.  After my initial surprise at encountering Sergeant Major Childs of the 1st USV and the musicians of the 5th New Hampshire, I realized it all made sense.  If I had to pick from among all the units I’m familiar with the one most likely to capture a rebel flag through deceit, ply the bearer with beer, nearly start a real war, and then make up for it by dropping by the Confederate camp to regale them with “Rally ‘Round the Flag, Boys” and bad minstrel jokes while drinking their beer, that unit would be the 5th New Hampshire.

The rest of the evening passed relatively uneventfully.

It started to rain in the wee hours and continued into daylight.  The morning report showed our strength had declined to 275.  Interestingly enough, we dropped 30 privates but gained four sergeants and two corporals.  Go figure.

Because of previous complaints from participants about having tacticals lead directly to scrïpted battles (some people think it feels funny to stop the fighting, rearrange things, then start fighting again), Colonel Rodman decided to try something different.  This time we would have a tactical from 10:00 to 11:15, then get back together at 1:00 for the spectator battle.  Unfortunately, the commanders reported the previous evening that there was little enthusiasm for the morning fight.  The subsequent rain had not helped.  There were also concerns that participants in the morning fight might want to leave before the spectator battle.

There were exceptions.  A couple of companies very much wanted to go out.  The Jaunty Bunch even sent a delegation to headquarters to plead for a chance to fight their erstwhile comrades in the US ranks.  They didn’t care about the odds.  “We’ll run circles around them in the woods!  It’ll be like ‘Last of the Mohicans’!”  It was infectious.  I wanted to go.  Sort of.  But Colonel Rodman played the adult for us, explaining that as commander he couldn’t see sending maybe 50 guys out to get whacked by several hundred Federals – not fair to the forlorn hope, and not fair to the several hundred who expected a real fight.

Still, some day it really would be interesting to see 50 reenactors the same age as real civil war soldiers take on several average battalions.  It’d be worth stepping up my exercise program to go along.

At one o’clock we lined up in roughly the same order of march as before, but on the road leading past the parking lot to the field in front of the spectators.  Both sides would be fighting in different directions from the day before so it was at least a little change.  The scenario promised to be interesting, too, what with a cavalry charge, captured guns, and some back and forth, as I mentioned earlier.  But also as I mentioned earlier, not all the Federal commanders seemed to know their roles, and it would show.  

After some initial skirmishing the three Confederate battalions – two up and one in support – moved across the field.  We halted briefly to receive the Federal cavalry, who rode past our right flank, then regrouped in the woods away from the spectators and went back to camp.  We then leapfrogged forward – some of the time because we were supposed to move in stages, and some of the time because it’s hard to get everything moving at once, though Colonel Rodman tried, both by using couriers and personally running all over the field.  

We took the guns OK, but the Union battalion countercharging on our right got ahead of itself and nearly ended up crossing barrels with its counterpart.  As it was there was some firing in the air and awkward moments getting the units the proper distance apart.  Once the Federals prolonged the guns back we advanced again.  All Federal units were to fall back at this point, unmasking their batteries so they could paste us but, again, one of the battalions didn’t get the word, this time the one on the far left of our front.  Unlike the first Federal battalion, which simply got a little out of hand (though with potentially serious consequences), this one just blew the scenario, perhaps unwittingly.  They stood their ground for five or ten minutes leaving the rest of the battle suspended around them while we all – blue and gray – waited for them to move.  After several radio calls from Colonel Rodman and some flanking fire from one of our lead companies, they finally got orders to pull back.  Rather than fall directly back as if in something like a battle, they dressed their lines, faced to the left, and marched off at a leisurely pace, vivandiers dutifully toting their ice buckets in the rear of the column.

After that the battle ended as planned, though a bit anticlimatically.  Daniels and Rodman formed up their forces facing each other, made a couple short addresses, then invited us to step up and shake hands before leaving.  

I lost no time running over to the USV’s ungalvanized battalion.  “I hain’t never seen no real yankees!”  I cried, as I shook the hands of Colonel Dussinger, Lieutenant Chambers, and others.  I would like to think I surprised them, but they’ve seen me in enough different guises that the only thing likely to shock them now would be if I appeared as a dutiful soldier in the ranks.

Bill Wilson had already headed back.  By the time I returned to camp the car was there and the packing already begun.  The rest didn’t take very long and we soon said our good-byes.  Once on I-95 we had the madness of Sunday afternoon traffic to contend with and got grazed in a minor accident just outside Philadelphia.  

No one was hurt but it was a sign of what the next three hours could bring, and more than enough to make one nostalgic for the peace of the battlefield of Bensalem.

Quote :

Michael Schaffner wrote : Neshaminy 2008 We took the guns OK, but the Union battalion countercharging on our right got ahead of itself and nearly ended up crossing barrels with its counterpart.  As it was there was some firing in the air and awkward moments getting the units the proper distance apart.  Once the Federals prolonged the guns back we advanced again.  All Federal units were to fall back at this point, unmasking their batteries so they could paste us but, again, one of the battalions didn’t get the word, this time the one on the far left of our front.  Unlike the first Federal battalion, which simply got a little out of hand (though with potentially serious consequences), this one just blew the scenario, perhaps unwittingly.  They stood their ground for five or ten minutes leaving the rest of the battle suspended around them while we all – blue and gray – waited for them to move.  After several radio calls from Colonel Rodman and some flanking fire from one of our lead companies, they finally got orders to pull back.  Rather than fall directly back as if in something like a battle, they dressed their lines, faced to the left, and marched off at a leisurely pace, vivandiers dutifully toting their ice buckets in the rear of the column.

Mike,

Thanks for another outstanding AAR. I'm developing quite a file of your epistles.  

Hindsight being 20-20, When the scenario got bogged down, I should have withdrawn the Confederate troops fifty or seventy-five yards and had them regroup and reorganize for the final assualt. To be fair to the Federals, they started the scenario with about 400 infantry, compared to the Confederate's 200 infantry. Even after taking massive hits as they retreated across the field, the Federal command still had somewhere between 250 and 300 infantry to reposition in order to unmask the artillery. That takes a little time in a restricted area. Although, you'd think that last battalion would have gotten the hint after all the other Federal units had retreated and both their flanks were in the air!

What really did blow my mind was the manner in which that unit finally "Retreated". As Mike said, they dressed their lines and moved off at the left flank, right across our front. It was totally bizarre.  

For some strange reason, there are units, both Blue and Gray who have decided it's somehow shameful to run away in the face of overwhelming blank fire. The folks we attempt to portray, didn't have the same scruples, when it came to people firing real bullets at them! I think you'd be hard pressed to identify a single unit that didn't break and run, at some point, during the War, either on the attack or defense.

I would be remiss if I didn't thank the Yankee Rank & File for  the massive number of hits they took during both scrïpted scenarios. Their actions contributed greatly in making the scenarios look more realistic. The Blue covered fields were noted and appreciated by many of the Reb participants. Hopefully this sacriface will be reciprocated at some of the events in Virginia, where the Federals are greatly outnumbered.    

--Last edited by Bill on 2008-05-05 11:39:07 --