Copyright (C) 2012, 2022 by Frederick Walton, Historian
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| First Lieutenant Rick Walton, 6th North Carolina State Troops Holding a piece of corn from Millers Corn Field |
The murmur of low voices and clanking of metal implements awoke me from a restful sleep. My messmates where already busy around a smoky campfire cooking breakfast. I threw off my blanket and stretched in the cool mountain air. The smell of freshly brewed coffee coaxed me from my slumber as I shuffled my aching bones to the warmth of the fire. It was Sunday, September 9, 2012 and our camp was hidden in a woody grove on the edge of the battlefield. The sky was still dark, sunrise was more than an hour in the future.
Today we would be reenacting the fierce battle of Sharpsburg through Millers Cornfield, where our names-sakes, the 6th North Carolina State Troops, fought and died 150 years ago. It is for them that we have traveled to Boonesboro, Maryland to honor their memory. We have joined over 3,000 reenactors from across the country who have gathered on a remote Boonesboro farm for the 150th anniversary commemoration called "Maryland, My Maryland" The Battles of South Mountain & Antietam sponsored by Rear Rank Productions.
The several acre Cornfield was specifically planted for this reenactment to provide a realistic experience for us reenactors. We have talked about this for months and are looking forward to this battle.
Around us the camp is coming to life. Bugle calls and drums can be heard echoing from every quarter of the compass, calling the sleepy soldiers to Reveille. We line up in the woods for roll call, all are present and accounted for.
The glow of the coming sunrise illuminates the eastern horizon as the reenactors start putting on their gear anticipating the call to “Fall in”.
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| Carolina Brigade formed before the battle of Sharpsburg |
We are soon gathered with the brigade as men hurry back to camp to fetch a forgotten item, or dump off an unneeded greatcoat as the morning chill dissipates. I have butterflies in my stomach as I think about the coming battle. I have been reenacting for nearly two decades, but the sound of the fife and drums still quickens my heart beat…I’m still a little boy playing soldier.
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| attempted shoe repair with a sock |
I take a moment to appraise my self as I struggle to buckle my sword-belt while on the move hurrying to the line. The weight of the pistol pulls it one way while the swinging pendulum of a sword works with gravity against me. The whole activity is difficult enough while standing still and nearly impossible on the move. I find my place behind the line as a file closer…First Lieutenant Walton, proud to have earned my position with years of experience. I silently review myself, Kepi?- check!, Haversack and full canteen?- check!, Sword and pistol?- check! What am I forgetting? I feel like I’m ready until I look down at my flapping shoe. It's the one that lost part of the sole in yesterday's downpour. I tried wrapping it with bailing twine to hold it together, but that quickly unraveled in camp. My next brainstorm was to sacrifice a sock and put it on over the shoe to keep the flapping sole from flapping. It sort of worked, but now I am walking with a slight limp. Oh well that’s not too noticeable amongst my aging comrades!
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| Here comes the Sun September 9, 2012 in Boonesboro, Md |
Forward MARCH! was being shouted down the line as we began to move toward the legendary corn field, stirring me out of my daydream about wardrobe malfunctions. I suddenly beheld an amazing sight as rays of light from the rising sun blasted through the trees on our right like lasers. If this had been accompanied by heavenly choirs, it wouldn't have surprised me a bit. But it was the shrill tweet of the fifes and rat-a-tat-tat of the drums that brought my attention to the front where there was another amazing sight. The slight valley we we marching into was covered in a dense gray fog the hovered over the field almost obscuring the corn field in front of us.
Hundreds of Confederate troops had already lined up outside the corn and were blasting volley after volley into an unseen enemy. Return fire and distant shouts confirmed they were there, hidden by the fog and the corn. Our brigade was ordered to stop behind the other troops. Soldiers began murmuring among themselves, worried that we would be held in reserve and never even get into the fight. A long drive to the reenactment just to stand on the sidelines and watch? And even more disappointing since this was the actual battle that the Sixth North Carolina State troops historically fought in. We felt like we had more right than any other reenactors to be here on this day! We were eager for a fight and very happy when the Colonel ordered us forward. We passed through the front line troops, breaking our formation and reforming in front of the Confederates already there. I was worried that a fight might break out between us, but the other Confederates started cheering and yelling “give ‘em hell boys!” I guess it had been planned that we would take the cornfield.
The officers positioned themselves in front of the companies and “dressed to the center” forming a long straight battle line. This was accomplished quickly and with ease. I knew that anyone watching would be impressed with our professionalism. As soon as we where formed the order “FORWARD….MARCH” was given and we were into the corn. The authentic Rebel yell, as we rehearsed from recordings made by old veterans during the ’30’s, sounded up and down the line. The “yip-Yip” sounded more like an Indian war chant than the “YEE-Haw” more commonly mistaken for this distinctive and what has often been described as a terrifying sound.
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| Members of the 6th North Carolina State Troops pushing into the corn field |
The corn was easily six feet tall and quickly formed a wall in front, behind and to either side. Other than the men directly surrounding you, we could not see a thing. In addition, the gunpowder smoke combined with the misty fog that hovered overhead. Wisps of both floated through the corn stalks as we pushed our way through.
Suddenly our officers, leading in front, came rushing back out of the dense corn ordering HALT, followed by a ragged sputtering of enemy fire. The sudden stop had Soldiers colliding into one another, like an accordion closing, but they quickly reformed into an orderly line. Our Colors’s pushed their way behind the line to await the return fire. All that could be seen was a thick forest of corn stalks under a floating gray mist, the enemy was yet to be seen.
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| Colonel Chris Roberts shouting Orders to FI ...ER |
“R-E-A-D-Y!” brought our loaded muskets forward with a uniform slap of hands on wooden stocks . “AIM!” Brought the muskets to our shoulders. “FIE—ER” resulted in a the solid BOOM of a well fired volley.
This was soon answered by a volley from somewhere in front of us. How close they were we couldn’t tell as the smoke drifted between the corn stalks making it impossible to see anything.
We stood our ground and fired at will, the musket firing sounding like corn popping in the microwave. Individual Rebel yells pierced the misty morning air. Hearts beat faster as men quickly loaded and discharged weapons. My job, as a file closer was to keep a close eye on the rear rank of my platoon. It is critical that in the heat of the battle, the men don’t forget to step up when firing. Proper foot placement is critical for safety and something we can’t afford to get sloppy about because the muzzle of their musket is only inches away from the face of their front rank comrade. This is emphasized and practiced during drills, and is usually not a problem, but I like to think that, as a lieutenant, safety is one of my more important duties.
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| 1st Lt. Walton (2nd on right)on line with the 6th North Carolina State Troops at Sharpsburg |
The return fire suddenly died away, did we have the enemy on the run? The Colonel ordered a cease fire as we prepared to moved forward. We quickly dressed our lines as the order "Forward…March" was shouted up and down the line. A loud Rebel yell spontaneously arose from hundreds of throats and the fife and drum encouraged us on our forward motion.
Moving through the unyielding corn forced us to break up the ranks, as we moved forward into the unknown and unseen.When the HALT was called the men quickly redressed the battle line. "FIR BY FILE!" was ordered and this time, instead of the loud bang of a large volley, the ripple of gunfire sounded more like a machine gun as the muskets exploded down the line in a fast and orderly manner, one pair of men at a time. Scattered yips could be heard as the men expressed their satisfaction in a well executed maneuver. The Drumbeat competed with musket fire as the high pitch fifes sang a familiar tune.
"CEASE FIRE, CEASE FIRE!" Scattered muskets got one last shot in. The colors pushed forward. The Colonel pointed his sword and commanded Forward March. The Colors rippled above our heads as we once more pushed through the corn to the sound of musketry in our front and rebel yells all around.
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| Colonel Roberts directing us forward |
We halted for another stand having pushed the enemy before us. The colors fell back once again as the line rippled with the staccato rhythm of “fire by file”. The enemy remained concealed from us by the thick corn stalks, still swaying above our heads.
The drums beat on and the fifes played another merry tune to keep up our spirits. Anoyher "CEASE FIRE" order came quickly as we prepared to push forward. Once again the colors moved out in front and the Colonel, even further in front, ordered "FORWARD MARCH" allowing the line to once again pick its way between the tall corn stalks to our next position. White paper cartridges littered the ground as we passed, a sure sign that the unseen enemy had made a stand here. Rebel yells filled the air supported by the fife and drum music. In the distance the pop, pop of muskets fire was a continuing noise in the still air.
HALT! The Colonel and the colors quickly pushed behind the lines as he shouted “Fire by File” which erupted into louder rebel yells and renewed machine gun like fire passing down our line. This manuever ensures that not all muskets are emptied at the same time. In the event of a surprise rush by the enemy there will always be loaded muskets ready for our defense.
Looking into the dense fog, created by gun smoke and mist, I thought I got a glimpse of the elusive blue enemy in the distance, but a welcome breath of air pushed the smoke aside and all I saw were corn stalks and shadows. The reenactors were slowing their rate of fire to conserve ammunition and maybe because they were starting to get a little tired. The musket fire became a little more erratic as a result.
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| Captain Stan Morton Commanding the 6th North Carolina State Troops |
CEASE FIRE! Forward MARCH. We moved forward again into the misty corn field. The volume of the Rebel yell increased as we marched forward once again. We struggled through the dense corn stalks for quite a long distance this time before the Colonel brought his sword down yelling HALT!
We continued firing, even though we had yet to see the enemy, but their return fire told us they were there. The band stuck up aanother tune to accompany the popping of muskets. Another move forward was ordered. Someone in the ranks yelled “Let's hear it boys!” And the Rebel yell crescendoed as the line pushed through the corn again. This was a HUGE Cornfield!
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| Carolina Legion Band in the Cornfield |
The line was halted again and the order “Fire by Files” given. Muskets rippled down the line. In the distance a bugle blew the call to fire a volley resulting in a loud, coordinated bang of volley fire from the still unseen enemy. We replied with a brigade volley of our own. The band struck up “DIXIE” as we fired several more volleys. You could seen spines straighted and smiles appear as pride flowed over the brigade from this simple melody.
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| The 6th North Carolina State Troops in the heat of Battle |
We marched forward once more, this time with a renewed energy. The corn was thinning out, mixed with six foot high stalks of grass heavy with seed heads swaying as we passed. We had finally reached the end of the corn field, but still could still not see the enemy hidden by the foggy mist hovering in front of us. We were out in the open. A dark band on the horizon appeared to be a brigade of Yankee soldiers. Fire by file was again ordered and the muskets spit bright yellow flames as they roared down the battle line. The band was silent and the rebel yells ceased. The smiles were gone and the men concentrated on firing in the face of the enemy. We made sure that performed as the well drilled unit we were, not wanting to embarrass ourselves in front of spectators or the enemy troops. Pinpricks flames of enemy fire could be seen in the distant fog bank We kept up a well paced and disciplined fire, holding our ground, just as the Law's Brigade historically did 150 years before.
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| Federal soldiers on the edge of the cornfield hidden in the fog |
The band started playing again, in the background. The volley continued, on and on. Behind the lines the Colonel called the officer’s together. We were done, we had pushed across the entire cornfield and poured volley after volley into the distant shadow, but now it was time for us to leave. The firing tailed off. “Come on fellows”. Officers stood to the edge of the field beckoning us on. The end of a battle is always a bit of a letdown as the adrenalin rush once again recedes. We shuffled back toward camp along the edge of the cornfield in no particular order. Our part was done and we simply had to get out of the way. The long rows of corn naturally funneled us into several long files of men. The band was silent and the sharp pops of musketry could still be heard coming from the corn field behind us as other reenctors took the field. We silently picked out way out though the stalks, alone with our thoughts and the excitement of the battle we were just in. We reached our starting point much faster than it took us to advance through the massive field. Turning around, I was treated to the mystical site of an unending line of gray soldiers appearing out of the mist like so many specters.
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| specters emerging from the cornfield |
I joined my fellow officers in directing the men to form on the left near where we started. We did a head count, discharged weapons and marched back to camp. What seemed like hours was in reality only about 25 minutes or so.
Marching back out of the fog covered valley, I looked back toward the corn field. Volley’s could still be heard and flashes of light seen, but the battle was over for us. It was time to go home.
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| time to go home |
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