Michael Schaffner
Posts : 338
Only the insane take themselves
quite seriously -- Max Beerbohm |
 Posted 15/09/2009 08:20:27 AM | | South Mountain in the Rain
AAR by M. A. Schaffner
ex-Pvt., 30th OVI
On Friday, September 11, 2009, Josh Mordin and I drove up from northern Virginia through Middletown, Maryland to camp on Hawk Hill Farm, the mid-point of the next day’s South Mountain Preservation March. The owner, Ned Hallein, had graciously offered his place as a camping spot for those who didn’t want to drive down the morning of the march, scheduled to start at 7:30 a.m. on Saturday the 12th. Arriving there around 4:00 p.m., we found Audrey Scanlan, the organizer, Elaine Kessinger, and Mr. Hallein talking beside a goodly sized wall tent set up to accommodate campers. They had also provided other amenities, including a porta-john, a five gallon jug of water with more available from a hose a short walk away, plus a metal fire pit and firewood from the Hallein’s personal supply.
A light rain fell as Josh and I set up an A-tent. I believe the forecast called for a 30 or 40 percent chance of rain, but this particular rain decided it wanted more. A chill came with it – not much, just enough to make us think twice and twice again about the wisdom of driving up the day before the march. Just before dark, however, the rain let up and it seemed to get warmer. John Teller came by with a light stick for the Porta-John. Audrey, who’d gone home to dry off, came back in uniform as Andy, and, over the next few hours additional reinforcements showed up: John Buker, Bernie Biederman, and a friend of theirs from Ohio, with the national and regimental colors of the 30th OVI; fellow Brady Sharp Shooter Mark Maranto; Doug Dobbs; and Dave Wilson and a friend.
With the rain gone we had a reasonably pleasant night. I always count myself lucky if I get more than three hours sleep on a reenacting Friday; I think I got five or six, then rose at four to start the fire. It seemed a bit early for it, but since I was doing it, I figured it might take a couple of hours. As it was, it probably only took half that time, as well as half my matches and half a candle. Still, by the time the sun came up most of us had risen, cooked our coffee, and had breakfast. We moved our cars from the immediate area of the camp to behind the Hallein’s barn a few hundred yards away. Volunteers shuttled us to the Middletown Municipal Center where we found several more marchers already gathered, including Joe Bordonaro (“Iron Joe” of 6th Corps march fame) and Greg Hillenbrand, the Pied Piper of the Loudoun-Hampshire Mess.
Greg’s a corpsman at Bethesda and about to be deployed to less hospitable surroundings. That simple but sobering fact provided a reminder of the significance of the previous day in our history, and the continuing need our country has for the spirit that moved the “boys of ’61.” We all look forward to his safe return to reenacting.
Altogether we had eighteen marchers, including two flag bearers, two musicians (Greg and a drummer), Josh as officer in command, Mark as first sergeant, and a dozen of us other folks to carry muskets, without whom the first half dozen might have looked a little silly.
In addition to the marchers we had an escort of sheriffs to drive in front and behind us with their flashing lights. This wasn’t necessary in 1862, when the original 30th Ohio marched from Middletown to Fox’s Gap, but the road now is no wider, has no shoulders to speak of, and typically sees speedier traffic. After taking a few minutes to form up, inspect weapons, and go through the manual of arms, we marched off and followed the historical route down Main Street, which becomes the Old National Pike. A number of folks came out to wave hello and we surprised at least one person stepping out in deshabille to pick up their morning newspaper. Altogether the natives were as friendly Saturday morning as the area was in ’62.
About a half mile out of town we turned left to Marker Road, marched a couple hundred more yards, and took our first break. We had pleasant weather, nice and cool, and some of the more experienced marchers had yet to break a sweat. I’m not that experienced, but I did find it a pleasant walk. After a short breather, and refilling our canteens from the five gallon container John brought around, we set off again. The rolling countryside showed at its best in the sun of a late summer sky, with the corn tall and the fields and woods lusciously green after the previous day’s rain.
After another mile and a half, more or less, we turned off to Hawk Hill Farm and there stopped for 30-45 minutes. A local reporter took pictures and notes, and a small group of supporters gathered to talk about the reason for the march: Dominion has purchased a 135 acre farm and plans to build a compressor station for a natural gas pipeline on it. Everyone understands the need for energy, but few can quite see the need to build an industrial facility on land zoned for farming in a heritage area. Although our numbers were small and our direct preservation contribution similarly modest, we hoped that our march would underscore the historical value of the property and give some moral support to the Citizens for the Preservation of Middletown Valley. Several people spoke, including Audrey, and we had a chance to mingle with the local concerned citizens and catch up with each other. Before we left Doug Dobbs addressed the group to announce another South Mountain march to take place this time next year, a short distance away.
When we formed up again we returned to Marker Road and continued on to Bolivar. The sun had only briefly come out and now, as the ground slowly rose under our brogans, we seemed to march into a light drizzling rain. We stopped at a creamery for another short break during which the marchers could buy some local ice cream, or talk about the rates at which their muskets were rusting, or both if they preferred. After we set off again and turned on Reno Monument Road, both Dave Wilson and I noted that not only did Doug Dobbs never appear to perspire, but while the rain beaded up on everyone else’s sack coat, his appeared to stay mysteriously dry. Doug calls himself “Stickbug” online, but I began referring to him as Doug the Magic Marcher, and think I will continue doing so, at least till he tells me to stop.
On Reno Monument Road the degree of slope appeared to incline toward the precipitous. In total the march was only about five miles, but it’s worth noting that the last few hundred yards seemed to go straight up, which I think counts as a couple extra miles. One of our local marchers said, “I’ve lived here ten years and never walked up this road. I’ll never do it again, either.” But steep as it was it didn’t keep Greg from piping out a chorus of “Hell on the Wabash.”
We had one more drizzly halt on an unnamed farm road, or a long driveway, then pushed on the last few hundred yards, or mile and a half, to the Reno Monument. Oddly enough, by the time we got there it had either stopped raining, or we had pushed up through a thin layer of clouds. Either way, we had the pleasure of beginning to dry off, at least on the outside.
At the Reno Monument we formed up for the final time to hear words of thanks from Audrey and to cheer her in return. A contingent of the Christian Commission had arrived to bless us with their presence and a very thankfully received bounty of sliced apples, hard-boiled eggs, lemonade, and homemade short cake. We ate, a lot of folks took pictures, and then most of us hung around for a tour of the 30th OVI’s fight led by NPS employee and fellow-reenactor Isaac Forman. It’s one thing to tour a battlefield from a vehicle, and quite another to do so on foot. It’s a step further to do it the actual time of year that the battle took place, after marching from where the troops bivouacked that morning.
We were grateful for Isaac’s knowledge, and I think he appreciated our new perspective on the battle as well. I was particularly taken by the high meadow where the 30th charged the Confederate line with cold steel. They had just fallen to the ground to let a volley pass over their heads, then rose to attack the outnumbered defenders. Greg hung back after most of us had gone on, then ran across the field to see how long it would have taken the Ohio boys to cover the distance. One rarely gets to experiment like this using a fully equipped infantryman who has just finished the approach march himself. Thirteen seconds. The Confederate commander reported losing several men to the bayonets of the 30th OVI, the rest having already left.
At the end of the tour local volunteers shuttled us back to Hawk Hill Farm and the Municipal Center to start our drives home or, in the case of our Ohio contingent, to spend one more night in the field.
While the march was not a long one, between the rain and the last hill it had its taxing moments and, because the whole of it was on asphalt, I suspect some of our feet are still unhappy with us. On the whole I found it an excellent event – beautiful country, good comrades, great cause. Kudos to Audrey Scanlan for bringing it off, despite having to coordinate with about five hundred local authorities and encountering near fatal liability issues just a few weeks before the scheduled date. It was certainly worth it to those of us who had the pleasure to attend.
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