The Field Music School at Pamplin Park, 2008
AAR by M. A. Schaffner, 1st Lieut. & Adjutant

One of the most memorable of many pleasant moments at this year’s music school came Friday night, just at Taps.  As adjutant, I’d spent the day helping to set up camp, first getting my own canvas up, then directing others to their assigned locations.  I also helped a bit at registration, and kept track of the military volunteers and staff as they arrived.  And at the direction of the music director, Jari Villaneuva, once enough students had gathered and settled in, I gave them a brief inspection.

It had been a hot day, just over 90 I think, and as I finally lay down in my dog-tent I was pretty tired.  Just then a bugler – a very good bugler – played the first few notes of Taps.  A second very good bugler joined in, then a third, a fourth, and a fifth, each farther off in the distance, so for several minutes the song carried canonically over the fields around the Hart House and barn, the cabins and tents of the students, and the encampment of the volunteers.  When it at last wound down, each bugler seemed to strive with the next for a more drawn out and tranquil coda.   Jari had arranged Taps as it would have sounded in a Civil War brigade, with the call starting from headquarters then making the rounds of the regiments.  It was peacefully stunning, a wonderful reward for the first day’s work, and a prelude for more good things to come.

Despite the lingering heat and the newly wakened mosquitoes, there were some other good omens, mostly in the form of the people I’d be working with.  Doug Dobbs served as the military commander and Joel Hummel as sergeant major.  As “Air’s Army,” Doug, Joel, and I have worked together to provide period and real-life staff support to Kevin Air when he commanded forces at events like Summer of ’62, Down the Valley, and September Storm.  

Other old friends filled key positions.  Jim Tate of the 3rd US, one of the most knowledgeable and genial drillmasters I know, would lead the fifers.  Andrew Dangel, who besides being about the best dressed man in reenacting has an encyclopedic knowledge of both tactics and ceremony, would lead the buglers.  Steve Hane, the new captain of Company B, 28th Massachusetts and a friend for some years, would lead the infantry company with the assistance of the inimitable Rich Hill as first sergeant.  Ron Myzie, another old Kearny Guardsman as well as an expert commissary, would oversee kitchen operations.  Best of all, in addition to Jari we had Heather Faust, who put an extraordinary amount of work into planning the event and making sure all the pieces came together.

It didn’t stop there.  The infantrymen included Bernie Biederman, Gary Schwartz, Glenn Dieters, and Andy Scandal  (who would all stand guard at some point during the weekend, along with Steve Giovannini, Joe Cole, and Scott Bryan).  The students included Jack Dixon, Anita Henderson, and John Teller.  The Pamplin Park support staff included Aaron Bradford, my comrade in gray from the last two McDowells.  Then there were folks I’d not worked with before, but came to know and appreciate over the weekend, like Denny Rohrbaugh commanding the drummers, 1st Sergeant Jay Callaham, Steve Isberg, who quickly became indispensable as our Hospital Steward, and a veritable battalion of Wilcoxes providing civilian support.  Throw in musicians such as George Rabbai and the Federal City/26th North Carolina Band, and you get a really extraordinary concentration of talent and experience.  

Altogether, according to Jari and Heather, over a hundred folks showed for the event:  44 students, 12 military staff, 25 infantry, 13 civilian volunteers, 12 instructors, and 10 members of the band.  Between the music and the good feelings it felt a bit like a little Woodstock in wool, despite the heat and storms that threatened to overwhelm the camp on Saturday.

We got our first taste of the weather to come at Saturday’s reveille, which we held on the parade ground to the north of the Hart House and yard.  In an improvised variation of a dress parade, the companies formed and presented arms as the band played both “The Star Spangled Banner” and “God Save the South.”  It wasn’t a long ceremony, but the combination of shaking out the formation for the first time that weekend, standing through several airs, and dealing with the adjutant’s spasmodic attempts to figure out what he was doing, all before breakfast, left us with three or four early heat casualties. None of these proved serious, or at least fatal, though they were uncomfortable enough to the victims I’m sure.

Ron and the civilians then served breakfast to the companies in turn at the cookhouse among the barracks, perhaps a hundred and fifty yards east of the Hart barn.  We had scrambled eggs, biscuits, bacon, and doughnut holes, with coffee, juice, or ice water.  Good stuff, though the sun was already making us sweat like soft cheese.   Plus, though service was prompt and staged so no one waited long, it still took much of the time scheduled for meals just to serve the food.  Despite this the lessons went on for the length of time scheduled, though not necessarily at the precise time.  

Not that anyone had any reason to look at a clock – everything was done by bugle and drum.  Two “attentions” sounded in succession alerted everyone to heed the following call.  This device allowed us to distinguish the calls we had to respond to from all those sounding as practice or instruction.

A day that began hot now began to turn beastly.  I retired to the stifling shade of my “office” to consolidate the morning reports and consult my crib sheets for guard mount and dress parade.  A late change in staff for the school had resulted in my being bumped up to adjutant and, though I’ve done a pretty extensive range of clerking at events, I’d never actually handled a dress parade or guard mount.  Fortunately it all proved fairly easy to remember (something like one of those foreign language exercises in high school – if nothing else, I can now at least ask directions to the library in three languages).  A couple of notes, though.  The "assembling" part may vary according to local custom, but generally involves the adjutant and sergeant major (I was lucky to have Joel in this role) acting as flank markers and directing the companies in order onto the line.  Then, I was informed, the adjutant cautions the company commander on his left to go to "parade rest" -- though here I was blessed with Andrew Dangel, standing to my left, who was also available as a prompter should I forget my lines.  I also noted that the first command given by the adjutant is "Beat Off!" not "Music, Beat Off!" which I assume most folks prefer as it's slightly easier to say with a straight face.  After uttering the command, the adjutant should go to parade rest like everyone else, coming back to the shoulder for the next series of commands.  I only mention it because it took me at least one mistake in practice before I got it down.

So lots of people learned something at the school.

Still, I had it pretty easy compared to others.  The infantry company, for example, went out at 1 p.m. for a skirmish drill in front of a few spectators.  They’d practiced in shirtsleeves in the morning, but were now buttoned up and fully accoutered in the heat.  Captain Hane kept the reserve in the shade, but the deployed platoon was out in full sun performing a variety of maneuvers by the bugle, finally rallying on the reserve and giving them a spell in the outdoor sauna.  

As the afternoon wore on I think the temperature climbed well into the nineties and the humidity above seventy.  Our steward kept busy watching out for all of us and taking care of the occasional casualty who fell through the few cracks in his vigilance.  I ended up lying down under a tree in the front yard of the Hart House with most of the infantry, who had finished cleaning their rifles after the skirmish drill.  Conversation was not especially lively as the atmosphere had a tendency to suck all of the air out of you as soon as you opened your mouth.  For the life of me I have no idea how the musicians handled it.  

But they weren’t the only ones who persevered.  Sergeant Hill and I reminisced over old campaigns, some of which actually happened, and at one point he began singing a few Irish airs.  No one else knew the words, which was one thing, but when Schnapps croaked out the first verse of “Hinaus in der Ferne” he thought it time to give us “No, Nay, Never” and we all joined in on the chorus, though with no particular strength.

With conditions as they were the rehearsal for dress parade was canceled.  My first guard mount ceremony had also been canceled, though not the actual posting of guards.  We’d asked for volunteers for a fire-watch Friday night and posted four soldiers through the night – three on two hour shifts and a corporal who stayed up all night.  I’d managed to be awake en route to the bathroom for the first two shift changes but slept through the third.  We put on a new set of volunteers for Saturday, but without ceremony as the musicians were otherwise occupied and the numbers involved hardly warranted it unless as practice for the students.

Dress parade itself went by the boards when we heard that a line of thunderstorms was approaching and expected to hit by 7 p.m.  A quick glance at the western horizon confirmed the menace and we passed the word around to batten down the hatches.  I packed up my desk, rolled my equipage and ordnance up in a gum blanket, dropped my dog tent and fly over the whole and secured the canvas with a table and two chairs.  We all had supper and passed the time before the storm playing rounders, listening to music, or equally pleasant pursuits.  Then we heard that the storm had passed to the north.  

Relieved, but also a little disappointed with the hot and heavy air, I waited a few minutes before getting help to re-raise the fly and tent.  A few minutes after that, however, word came that a lesser storm was heading our way and, sure enough, the horizon again darkened accordingly.  I thought I’d let my canvas chance this one but the first few gusts provided a convincing counter-argument.  So down it all went again, and I went off with most everyone else to shelter in the barn.  

For a brief while, as the storm blew up, we enjoyed a cool cross breeze but soon we were engulfed in rain and had to close up the front doors.  Lightning flashed alarmingly amid concussive booms of thunder and the view out the rear door to the east showed a deluge that might have seemed familiar to old Noah.  Dramatic as it all was, the music faculty soon lightened the mood with some spirited playing and we all discovered that one really nice thing about being storm-bound in a barn with musicians is that you get a good barn dance out of it.  There were drums and fifes and strings and spoons, twirling couples and clapping lines, with Captain Dangel in the midst of it all upholding the finest traditions of the Union officer corps.

When the wind eased, we reopened the front doors and enjoyed the fresh breeze.  I returned to my office and, with some misgivings, re-re-raised the canvas.  A intermittent rain began that would last all night so, when I finally bedded down, I kept my boots on and only wrapped up enough to keep the mosquitoes away from my face and hands.  Captain Hane, who’d been roughing it in the open, brought his traps under the fly and, with the occasional exception of a stray clap of thunder, or my gastric system, we passed a peaceful night.

Morning dawned cool but as soon as the sun topped the trees the warmth returned.  Still, the air felt dryer and it did not seem like it would get as hot as the day before.  The morning parade for reveille and roll call went more quickly and smoothly than Saturday’s.  After another hearty and tasty breakfast, Joel led divine services for the majority of the attendees whilst the pagans, atheists, reprobates, and morbidly curious repaired to the adjutant’s tent to be read the Articles of War.

I actually do not know whether it’s a period practice or a reenactorism to read the Articles of War in lieu of divine services.  Such a practice would assume that the adjutant himself never goes to church, though perhaps that simply confirms the diabolical nature of army paperwork.  Still, I was happy to go over Kautz’s summary of the Articles and read specific excerpts as we went along.  A dozen or so comrades stretched out on gum blankets or the bare grass as we went through the text and discussed the more interesting or significant.  Since Sergeant Hill seemed eager to participate more actively, I asked him to read Articles 41 through 52, which he did with great gusto, with particular emphasis on the refrain “shall suffer death.”  But we all learned something.  Specifically, I learned that while the offences that lead to potential execution for an enlisted man generally only cause an officer to be cashiered, the execution of officers is explicitly allowed in cases of sounding a false alarm (Article 49).  For some reason, that seemed nice to know.

After services variously divine and profane the students were off to class.  Major Dobbs and Captain Hane decided not to post a guard but to allow the men this time to prepare for the afternoon parade and their subsequent departure.  We packed up and, as became blindingly clear at the parade, many of the enlisted volunteers polished their brass.  I rubbed some of the worst rust off my scabbard and reported for a walk-through of the dress parade that, due to the heat, we limited to officers, first sergeants, and senior musicians.  By this time I felt fairly confident of my ability to remember the scrïpt I’d excerpted from the Regulations but, in the event, that would not be enough.  Jari wanted for obvious reasons to modify the parade into a graduation exercise, with a break for musicians’ demonstrations and handing out awards, as well as a final march in review.  This posed a few extra challenges and new opportunities for me to mess up.

In the meantime, though, there was more music, including another fine concert by the 26th NC band, and another good dinner.  With the day heating up, I emptied a couple of canteens into my gullet and got halfway through a mug of ice water before I began to feel it tickling at my gills.  I gave the rest to a young man in a gray frock coat and returned to the office to dress for the parade, or I should say to button up my coat, buckle on the sword, and don a pair of white gloves.

When at last the ceremony began, it went well.  The field music of instructors on one flank and the band on the other provided a solid base for demonstrations by the buglers (quick march and reveille) and the massed fifers and drummers (“Battle Hymn of the Republic” and “Downfall of Paris”).  When Jari handed out the awards I was grateful for the sweat beading up on my forehead and running down because my eyes actually teared up to see the kids step up for their “most improved” certificates with bigger smiles and wider eyes than you commonly see at Christmas.  

With that, the address from Major Dobbs, and Jari’s tribute to Don Hubbard – who got this all started a few years ago before dying entirely too suddenly and young – we marched off, dismissed, and returned to camp for the last time.

Or rather, the last time this year.   I think we’re all looking forward to many more National Civil War Field Music Schools, and a continuing tradition of good music with good people.  

--Last edited by Michael Schaffner on 2008-06-20 11:22:50 --

Mike,

Glad to see Jay Callaham is still attending a Civil War event now and then, in addition to his Rev War hobby.  

Yeah, it was good to have him.