Copyright (C) 2023 by Frederick Walton Historian and Reenactor
I climbed out of a warm, cozy bed on Saturday morning February 18, 2023 to find bright sunshine streaming in the bedroom window. Outside the temperature was a cool 40 something degrees, not nearly as warm as the 70's of the past several days. My wife chucked. It never seems to fail that on days of a reenactment, regardless of how beautiful the preceding weather is, it would be worse that day then any other day. No matter, The date is set and the activities are planned. I looked forward to going to my first reenactment in two years.
I had to go bowling that morning, the last game of the season and I couldn't miss it so I was planning to travel to Fort Anderson in the afternoon. Maybe the temperature would be warmer by then.
The invitation to members of the Sixth North Carolina State Troops read "Plunging Shot and Screaming Shell: A Nighttime Bombardment" with the above picture of an air burst and troops scrambling up the interior walls of the fort to defend it from attack.
"As we commemorate the 158th anniversary of the fall of Fort Anderson, the night sky will come alive with a realistic reenactment of the bombardment and evacuation of the Fort. This event will be a rare opportunity to witness a heavy artillery duel."
That looked like something I wanted to do, especially since it was almost literally in my back yard. My last reenactment was January 17-19, 2020 at Fort Fisher. Then Covid and political correctness managed to shut pretty much everything off.
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| Rick at Fort Fisher in January 2020 |
I wasn't really even sure where my reenactment gear was at this point. I spent the week before the Fort Anderson event gathering together my stuff. It was scattered in the garage, the attic, the guest bedroom closet and who knows where else. If nothing else this was a good excuse to inventory my collection and get it centralized in one place. Next was my rifle. It was looking a little shabby so I spent one afternoon stripping it down and giving it a thorough cleaning. I might even have went a little too far. It looked brand new! I hope the other reenactors wouldn't mistake me for a fresh fish.
Next I pulled out my uniform and couters. It was in the 70s that day and I was wearing shorts and sweating from moving boxes in the hot attic. Would I need the flannel long underwear? Wool gloves? Scarf? Greatcoat? It is February after all. I figured I'd throw them in the car just in case.
At some point my bayonet and cap box got removed from my belt and that took me the better part of an hour to get them put back on correctly. When was the last time you put your bayonet scabbard on your belt? The first three attempts are ALWAYS wrong. It ends up facing backwards or on the wrong side. And do you think I could remember which was the right side? Or find a picture with the bayonet facing the right direction? When I finally finished this exercise I needed to take a break!
Next I checked out my uniform. Any missing buttons or holes I meant to fix two years ago? That all looked good so I laid it out on the guest room bed. Rifle ...check, uniform...check, Canteen, haversack, couters...Check. It looked like I had everything ready, and still had two days to go! good job! Hmm I had this nagging feeling I was still missing something. Cartridges! They mentioned I would be doing a lot of firing. I remember having a bunch left over from Fort Fisher, but who knows where they ended up, so I decided to roll some more and spent that night rolling cartridges in front of the TV.
Where is Fort Anderson
Fort Anderson was built on top of the ruins of an abandoned colonial village and port called Brunswick town. In 1861 the Confederate States of America took advantage of the high bluffs overlooking the river halfway between Wilmington and Southport by building a large fort at the site as part of the river defense of Wilmington. The Cape Fear was an essential route for supplies moving by rail from Wilmington to Petersburg and Richmond for General Lee's army. By 1865 it was the last remaining Confederate port.
The Fort Contained There were two batteries, each with five cannons overlooking the shipping channel and providing protection to blockade runners. The forts sand mounds provided a strong defense to the batteries.
In February 1865, a month after the fall of Fort Fisher at the mouth of the river, Union forces repositioned to attack Fort Anderson. Federals attacked from the land and river. After three days of bombardment, the Confederates evacuated the fort at night. Union gunboats started firing at first light, unaware Federal soldiers were scaling the walls of the fort. The infantry frantically waved sheets and blankets to stop the deadly fire from their own forces. Union Admiral David Porter came ashore to accept the surrender of Fort Anderson from Union General Jacob Cox. The Federals occupied Wilmington on George Washington's birthday, February 22, 1865.
The Re-enactment
By Saturday afternoon it had warmed up to a balmy 49 degrees! But it felt fine as I left the house all dressed in Confederate Gray wool. My gear had been in the car for two days, waiting for this moment, so off I went. I arrived at the Fort an hour later. The parking lot was full and cars lined both sides of the road leading to the parking lot. But why were streams of people LEAVING? It turns out that free activities showing what life was like for soldiers and civilians during the American Civil War were scheduled for 10 a.m.-3 p.m. Visitors were able to see infantry demonstrations, medical and embalming interpretations, and Artillary presentations throughout the day. You needed a ticket to see the nighttime scenario, which I has especially come to participate in and that didn't start until 6:00. It was not quite 3:00 when I got there so I was too late for drill...oh darn!
I wandered into camp and found a cluster of large tents. Looking further I failed to see the dog tents of my comrades in the Sixth North Carolina State Troops. Seeing some familiar faces in the 26th NCT, I made my way over to their campfire where I was warmly greeted and welcomed. They pointed me to a lone figure reclining against a tree on a rubber blanket representing the 6th North Carolina State Troops. As I approached, I recognized my old friend Jeff Morton and we exchanged greetings, glad to see each other.
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| Rick and Jeff at Fort Anderson |
Jeff explained that the usually reliable members of our regiment each had other conflicts and couldn't make it for various reasons. I was disappointed that I would not be able to renew my acquaintance with some of the finest men I know after an absence of two years. I was very happy to sit down with Jeff and catch up, soon to be joined by another old friend, Don Scott, who joined our little circle. As good as the wool felt, the temperature started dropping as the sun began it's westward descent. I was glad I had my greatcoat in the car, and excused myself to retrieve it. I was surprised to see the parking lot was now half empty and my car was sitting by its lonely self way down on the side of the approach road, so I moved it to the parking lot. I returned to camp in greatcoat, scarf, and gloves, starting to feel toasty again. Thank goodness there was little or no wind coming off the nearby Cape Fear River.
When I got back to Camp there was a general movement toward the parking lot because the food truck had arrived and it was supper time. I discovered that my participation had earned me a free meal ticket, so I got in line and came away with a delicious hamburger.
Finishing my meal I perceived a general restlessness in the camp and realized the men were coutering up in preparation for first call, so I disposed of my paper dinner plate and joined them. "First Call" shouted someone, but the ranks were already closely formed and I inserted myself into the rear rank, causing mass confusion to those around me who wondered who the new guy was and if I even belonged in their midst.
We counted off, came to attention and marched off to get ready for the evening program. We were all long time veterans, so this was all being done on autopilot. Since this was one of the first events of the season for most and for many, perhaps, the first event in two years, we were a little rusty. Needless to say, the term "parade ground precision" was on nobody's lips, but it didn't matter, there were no spectators watching us anyway.
In years past this would have been considered a "small" event and would have only attracted a small contingent of troops. Small, in those, days meaning a couple of hundred reenactors. As I looked around at our small company, I'll bet there weren't more than 30 in total for the entire event. Sadly (and I mean no disrespect to any of my fine, fellow reenactors, most of whom have been reenacting for 25 or 30 years) the blush of youth has faded from our white whiskered cheeks. Where are the young guys following in our footsteps?
A few of us were discussing this and sadly, this hobby is dying out because our older members are getting too old, and in some cases they have passed from this earth . Unfortunately few in the younger generation have taken up the banner to carry it forward to educate future generations about their Confederate heritage.
The proposed scenarios described the attacking Federals "bombing" the fort from the river, simulated with fireworks representing cannon air bursts, ground charges representing cannon hits and piles of wood set on fire. The scene would be one of mass confusion as troops run to the walls to defend, other troops run around in the chaos. Couriers would be running around and officers shouting orders, eventually abandoning the fort. As we started moving around the fort to begin the program, I was amused... All that was planned occurred...except the running. Our running days are pretty much long gone!
Our company marched to the walls as twilight was turning to darkness. We hobbled up the steep, slippery trails and positioned ourselves in skirmish order and began firing over the wall at the approaching Yankees. To be as authentic as possible I knelt down, then laid prone to make myself less of a target to the enemy. It all came back to me as I rolled over on my back to reload, again and again. One time, in my hurry, I missed the muzzle, positioned on my chest, and got a mouthful of black powder, but that's all part of the fun.
The next order was to extend the line. Not a problem when you are 20 years old and limber, but a little difficult when you are 65. Let me just say there was a lot of grunting as I made my way back to my feet and eventually shifted my position. I decided that since no one was actually shooting at me, it might be better to be less authentic and stay standing, especially since it was now so dark I could barely see the end of my musket to load it.
Officers did a great job shouting orders and counter-orders as information came in by courier of the attacking yankees. Cannons blasted nearby brightened the sky and shook the ground. Eventually we were ordered to abandon the fort. We had prearranged a dramatic exit as some of us grabbed bales, boxes and bundles and carried them to safety through the crowd of spectators creating a stir of excitement amongst some of the children watching us.
Once behind the spectators, at the edge of our dark camp, we quickly changed our uniforms and became the attacking Yankees. Our plan was to circle around and reenter the fort, through the spectators, to make them feel like they were part of the scene. Even as cannons blasted away in the background, the spectators began leaving, thinking it was over when we abandoned the fort. We tried to fight our way back into the fort as attacking Yankees, but the eager spectators were more successful than the Confederate troops 158 years ago in keeping us "Yankees" from accomplishing our mission. Like a hole punched into the bottom of a bucket, the spectators flowed out quickly and unstoppable before disappearing into the night. The Cannons died out to be replaced by crickets and silence. "Plunging Shot and Screaming Shell" was history.
Stumbling around it the dark I made my way back to camp as fellow reenactors began feeding fuel into campfires to provide some light and warmth. The temperatures had dropped to the mid 40's making my greatcoat feel very comfortable. We said our farewells and I turned toward the parking lot. My first reenactment in two years was quickly over. I had shot enough rounds to make my barrel too hot to hold. I had seem some good friends for the first time in two years. I was glad to be wearing the wool again. I was glad I came. Unlike my comrades in the 26th NCT who had traveled here from across the state, I was a local. I was glad to be heading home... I was glad to be sleeping, on this winter night, in my own warm bed.
