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The Regular The Official Newsletter of Sykes Regulars

Field Commander’s Report
The Grant vs. Lee event was better than many of us had expected, and the weather was kind to us, until Sunday’s rain. Cool nights and pleasant days made the weekend comfortable. The Sunday mud, however, was a different story. Some of it still clings to many of us.
The Monocacy event was a very good small event, and it reinforces our commitment to the National Regiment. For the weekend, the 2d and 4th were joined by members of the 3rd Maryland, and the 116th Pennsylvania. Thus, we had the “NR” company, and were assigned to the second position in the battle line.
We fought battles on Saturday and Sunday. While it was rather hot on Saturday, relief came overnight, and Sunday was very pleasant. We saw many strange sights, and numerous ways of doing things. The funniest to me, was the almost complete abandonment of the parade field as the officers met with the Major commanding after the parade had been dismissed. When I turned to return to my company, all that remained of the parade was the “NR” company, with closed ranks, and at parade rest. I felt a surge of pride, and let them know it.
On both days, fire destroyed our defenses, and we were forced to retire in order, or close to it. The Sunday scenario called for the Rebels to attack our position after both the “bridge” behind us, and the” blockhouse” beside us, were ablaze. However, as usual, they did not follow the script, and attacked early before the fire had started. While, as the 5th Vermont, we were to be cut off and thus required to “swim” the Monocacy River to rejoin the Union forces, we made a hasty retreat down a depression and around our right flank. The 2nd and 4th US, 3rd MD, and the 116th PA worked well together, and I was very proud of the men.
In particular, I was extremely proud of the way Brevet 1st Sgt Jim Nickle handled the company, especially during the battles. On both days, the company commander of the first company was designated as wing commander. However, he spent all of his time with his company, and left the wing to its own devices. This caused me to turn the company over to Brevet 1st Sgt Nickle, while I kept my eyes fixed on the Union Commander for the order to advance, or “swim” for it. Mr. Nickle handled the company as if he had been doing it for years, and the men responded accordingly. It is at times such as these, when men step up and take their assignments and do well, that help make this hobby a fantastic other life. Now them Brigade has three fine first sergeants upon whom we may rely. All in all, a very satisfying weekend.

Don Rivera
Field Commander, Sykes’ Regulars

Brigade Schedule
July - August, 1999
Scheduled as: Primary Brigade event.
Date: 24-25 July, 1999
Place: Gettysburg, PA
Event: Meade’s HQ Staff and Journey of the Wounded
Info: Again this year we will use the new format and employ more of our people in this popular event for the NPS.
Enlisted Uniform: Late war sack coats, kersey trousers, clean weapons, leathers, full canteen, and forage caps. If you plan to sleep on the battlefield, bring dog tents.
Directions: U.S. 15 to Gettysburg, take the Tanneytown Road exit to the Leister House which is located just below the Visitors’ Center, near the Cyclorama, and across from the “tower”.

Scheduled as: Primary Brigade event
Date: August 28-29
Place: Near Winchester,
Event: 3rd Winchester (NR)
Info: For information about this event check this site:3rd Winchester.
Uniform: Late war sack coats, kersey trousers, clean weapons, leathers, full canteen, forage caps, and dog tents.
Directions: To come later from the event organizers. Check the Web sites for the latest changes, or contact your section NCO.

Bugle Call

Jonah of the Month
This month’s Jonah’s are spread over two events and there is a list.
Wilderness event:

This event’s Jonah goes to Mr. Allen Thompson for injuring the unlucky Cpl. McConnell in the ankle by throwing a rather sizable rock on it. Extra points are accrued for committing the Jonah at the very inception of the event when the tents were just going up.

Honorable mention is given to First Sgt. Hanson for deftly tossing his cigar into his coffee as opposed to the firepit.

Battle of Monocacy:
Multiple Jonahs are awarded at this event. The forerunner is the incomparable Pvt. Bruce Spahr. His elegant use of gravity in dropping roasting fowl into the fire was at once classic and poetic, dare we say legendary. He not only did it once but provided an encore. The sight of Bruce grinning as he brushed the ashes off the bird warmed our hearts and brought smiles to all that attended his performance. Not to be outdone Ryan, Son of Spahr, managed to lose his bugle mouthpiece which inspired his Father to find someone with a metal detector to sweep the camp. This was not a Jonah until it forced a wist tournament to move from its very comfy locale.
Special mention is given to Baker (Mongo’s canine) for knocking over Tank’s coffee and running across the wist tournament several times with his big dopey paws. Even though he is just a dog, no one is exempt from the infamous jonah award.

Sykes’ Shirts
The winning slogan for the Sykes, Regulars polo shirt is: (drum roll)

"Regulars by God"

Order forms will be in next months Regular and on the Sykes’ Website. The shirt's logo will be on the left breast and the shirt will be of fine quality. So order some for your friends and family. Show your pride in your unit.

Report From the Field

The Wilderness
“Where’s Tank? Where’s Frank?
Mooney? What about Flexi?
What about Flexi........”
The mantra of the weekend is above and was repeated often as the lads were having so grand a weekend that the only possible negative was the absence of our dear comrades and any other Regular that was unable to attend. And maybe the rainy Sunday ......and the six mile march to a lousy battle on Friday night. Other than that it was a stellar weekend.
Some Regulars arrived on Thursday to build our home afield on a beautiful wooded hillside. The brother units of the NR were our neighbors and the canopy of trees was our roof. Abundant provisions were supplied at the event as it seems the coordinators have learned a thing or two from past debacles. The lads set about building their forts that would be their home for 3 days and other than a slight incline on the hill, the site could not have been more desirable. The McGrane Christian Commission was at the bottom of the hillside with lemonade to aid in the refreshment of the thirsty. Wood was nearby and water was piped in and readily available. Hay was also in abundance. The most wonderful aspect was the fine temperatures that pervaded the weekend. Mid-seventies made wearing of the wool very comfortable indeed. Thursday evening was witness to the first Jonah of the weekend. Details can be found in the Jonah Award section under Bugle Call. The Jonahs were raring to get at it.
Friday morning dawned fair to a lazy morning with only the threat of a battalion drill that never materialized. The commissary was put into full swing by Cpl. Wassel and without the aid of his culinary comrade, Tank, he struggled, but made his way through. He did so only with the help of his friends and began a weekend of cooking that, from all reports was exceptional. (Even Pete Brooks paid a complement) Friday’s breakfast entailed oatmeal, reportedly with raisins. The cook decided that the lads were getting spoiled so he decided to withhold the raisins. There was much crying. He wasn’t too harsh though. He did give them sugar for their oatmeal. The big babies.
After breakfast the lads felt that the Captain’s quarters were a little drab and so in true bored soldier fashion they landscaped the front of his tent. Arranging a rock garden path and planting a straw lawn the boys soon had a suitable veranda from which the Captain could survey his little kingdom. It even had shrubbery. Returning from one of his many meetings a warm smile spread across his face. With a manly sentimental tear in his eye, he reverently placed his lounge chair out on his new lawn and parking his keester therein, pronounced, “It is good to be the King.” See photo of Lord Rivera being worshipped by his lowly minion.
Then it was time for chores.
The brass shining, the gun cleaning, the camp policing was all carried out with nary a whimper. When the chores were finished the lads did what all men love to do. Shop. There was found in Sutler’s row, a woman selling shirts of various colors and designs. The price was $20.00 and word spread. By the end of the weekend most of the boys could be found in a brand new shirt. First Sgt. Hanson succeeded once again in purchasing the ugliest of them all. The woman was named affectionately ‘The Shirt Lady’.
Once the afternoon arrived the boys assembled for battle and began a dusty road that would lead to the battle of the Wilderness. We were joined by members of the 8th Ohio. The boys of Ohio were a welcome addition to our band. During most of day Friday the last of the stragglers meandered into camp and the Regular roster grew to roughly 20 rifles and with the 8th Ohio we made a fine company . We found out that we had our favorite wing commander in front of us for the the weekend. This commander was none other than the indomitable Johnny Goode. We knew we’d have a good fight by the end of the event. So we started off with a spring in our step and battle fury in our hearts. That didn’t last very long.
We marched. We ate dirt. Some of us literally. Eric S. managed a headlong face first header right into the dust. It was a thing of beauty. (see photo) And then we marched some more. Then marched and kept marching. We marched to the middle of the woods where we couldn’t see the enemy. Then we crashed through the woods till we came up in the rear of..............our own men. Then we marched some more and found a battle raging and if we got up on our toes we could see some of the enemy. Then we crashed our way to a flank and the enemy retreated. Then we ate some more dirt. Then, we marched to a clearing and took naps. Then we marched back to camp. Our feet were sore. We figured 6 miles in heavy marching order. Battle fury turned to “My feet hurt!.”

Once back to camp the company mess provided a dinner of pork chops and rice with beans and broccoli. There was great rejoicing. The First Sgt. suggested we make rice pudding or rice cakes out out of the left over rice. We suggested it be used for mortar for the breastworks because by this time it had transmogrified into......... something else.
Friday evening settled to dusk and the lads pulled the various and sundry bottles from their hiding places and with a fine cigar enjoyed a footsore evening of comradery and jocularity. Some singing was done, but before long the tell tale signs of a long march began to tell. The company of Regulars burrowed into their nests and were soon fast asleep. The order for the morning was for a 4:00 reveille so our sojourn to the land of Morpheus was indeed a short one.
Dawn arrived.
But we beat it by about an hour and stumbled down to roll call. We then managed to somehow hang the coffee on the fire and awaited its glorious effects. Of course with everyone watching the stupid pot the damn thing took forever to boil. It eventually did and the lads threw their gear on their backs and stumbled down the hill. No small task in the dark. Sleepy soldiers + brogans + darkness + obstacles + 45 degree incline = PAIN!
The lads formed up and soon we found that we were color company to the 96th PA’s color guard. Our mission: to attack the bloody angle of the Muleshoe. In this particularly brave action, Col. Emory Upton volunteered to spearhead and offensive to break the entrenched Rebel line. With him was the 96th PA. They were to breech a double set of trenches and hold until supports arrived to exploit the break and crumble the Confederate’s defense. No support arrived. The Confederates reinforced and the Yanks were forced to fight their way out with great loss. Upton escaped and based on his courageous command was promoted to the rank of General.
As the men before, we stormed the earthen breastworks and captured the first then continued on and captured the second but were soon turned back. Comrades lay wounded all around as we retreated to the first bank. We rallied and attacked again. Back and forth the battle raged for little over 20 minutes until, as we lay wounded on the ground, we opened our eyes to see a sunrise few are permitted to see. The sun shone red and warm on our faces through the thick fog of battle smoke. The guns stilled and we looked all around us so that we could remember that this may have been the last sight that a soldier of that war may have seen. It was a terrible yet beautiful sight. We marched back to camp.
The day was gorgeous. We broke bread, eggs and bacon for breakfast and ate well. Then we did dishes which is always an exciting chore. Then we either went sutlering or we took naps. There were a lot of naps. These naps took place in the mighty forts that men can build with a little canvas, a little twine and trees and a minimal amount of coordination. The charms of a bivouac camp cannot be denied. Nostalgic memories of childhood return as we build shelter against the elements and share them with our best friends.
Where’s TANK! Where’s FRANK!
MOONEY? What about Flexi?
What about Flexi???????
The afternoon battle on Saturday constituted the attack on Laurel Hill by the brave men of the Union. This was the opening of the Spotsylvania battle where Lee and Grant raced south to gain the advantage. The Yanks were scripted to lose this engagement. It didn’t work out that way. The National Regiment advanced in two wings one behind the other. As we engaged, the Confederates gave way and took great number of hits. We were dumbfounded. We didn’t know what to do with this uncharacteristic behavior. So we did the only thing manly men could do. We attacked, flanked and came very close to rolling them up. The scene was magnificent. Lines of blue and grey hammering at each other mercilessly. Banners flying in the smoke filled breeze. It is true that it is good that war is so terrible lest we grow too fond of it. Then we marched back to camp.

The night’s menu consisted again of pig. This time in the shape of a 15 lb. ham. Assorted vegetable matter was thrown into the mix for color and the lads feasted at yet another Regular Gluttony Fest. After so much exertion during the day they probably would have eaten a boiled brogan without much complaint. It tastes like chicken. Special thanks to Eric S., Bruce S. and Steve C. for being indispensable in the company mess. We welcomed an old friend from across the pond, Mr. Phillip Wright to break bread with us as he did fight in our ranks. It was good to have old friends to visit with once again.
Jason’s Rebecca also ventured to our camp with family in tow. Rebecca was in the hospital for some delicate surgery and is now making rapid progress. It was good to see her in the fresh air and out and about. The Regulars fancy themselves brave men but this lass has us all beat. Here’s to a speedy recovery and to a Regular who is assisting in that process. Huzzah!
While we waited for our evening meal, assorted bottle ran round and the merriment continued into the evening. We visited our neighbors and songs were sung and silly hats were counted in abundance.
Mr. Adam Leonard, one of our fine buglers was seen sporting his new chapeuex. This was Adam’s first sight of the elephant and I believe it left an impression that will last a long time.
Again, special mention for our company musicians Mr. Leonard and Mr. Spahr for their bugling and Mr. Logan McGrane for his fine drumming. The buglers were kept hopping with duty assignments to the NR staff. Well done lads. Mention is also handed to Mr. Fred Grogan, company shutterbug, for capturing the weekend on film. Look for Mr. Grogan’s pics on the Wilderness page. Special mention is also given to the hearty steed that supported Major Mongo all day Saturday. That’s one animal that earned his oats.
The evening wound to a weary close and the lads found their bunks. During the night a sound was heard. It sounded like frying bacon. Not quite. It began to rain. And it continued raining. Special thanks goes to Cpl. Jason McConnell and L.Cpl. Allen Thompson for running about stowing gear that had been left in the open. You saved us a lot of rust boys.
The morning was misty but after breakfast the Regulars had an appointment to keep. A company photograph had been commissioned and the lads strolled over to sutler’s row after a breakfast of eggs and ham.
Our photographer and good friend, Bob Szabo was soon put to mixing his chemical concoction for the wetplate process and the Regulars were soon arranged in a pleasing casual pose underneath a large tree. Two shots were taken and from all indications it will be another classic photograph of Regulars in their natural state. The state of rest whenever possible.

We ambled back to camp all the while looking at the sky thinking; ‘Is this going to get us out of dress parade?” It did indeed do that, and then some. As we thought. “ this is enough, you got us out of dress parade, you can stop now.” It basically ignored us and rained harder. We all eventually gravitated towards our hovels and reveled in our tent making abilities.......or we sought out someone who did. Remember that tent design should always have the h2o element in mind during conception and construction. The faint hearted started packing their gear and marched it back to the parking lot. Those manly enough to stay and get a little damp were rewarded with the attack at Cold Harbor.
We assembled in the drizzle with all hands at secure arms. We could hear our rifles squeaking as they rusted. The march to the breastworks were filled with witty and pithy comments on the current state of humidity. Our brogans became thicker and thicker with mud. Once at the earthworks the boys embraced the spirit of boyhood and jumped in the mud. We rolled in the mud. And we got good and dirty. We also found out just how hard Virginia clay likes to hold on to wool. It was immense fun. We attacked the rebs and paid them for the previous day’s victory and we died in droves. This reporter was wounded in front of the works and tried to reach a wounded comrade and was summarily shot again. When the smoked cleared and the dead rose, taps was swelling on the air. Heads uncovered the boys in blue and grey paid tribute to the actual men who died by rows in that futile attack. We marched back to camp.
After a great game of demolition derby in the muddy parking lot, the remaining Regulars packed their muddy gear and started their journeys homeward

The Wilderness was an excellent event. Sometimes events can look an awful lot like previous ones, but when we all pitch in we find that it’s hanging out with one another that’s the prize. Each event has it’s own stories and comedic moments. And when there are lads absent they are indeed missed because they should be there sharing the fun with us. This goes for all the Regulars out there so when you ‘need’ to escape the routines of the real world you know where you will always be welcomed. In the ranks where you belong.
So........as the last drops of rain soaked the wool, the strains of ‘Where’s Tank, Where’s Frank, Mooney?, What about Flexi?.....what about flexi,’ could still be heard echoing on the red clay of the Virginia hills.

An Observational and Meteorological Report
Report on the 136th Gettysburg Battle Reenactment
Submitted by a British officers who’s duty is to
‘look around a bit’.
The 136th Gettysburg weekend was almost as hot as the weekend we spent at Malvern Hill a few years ago. If you remember, we never did escape the heat that weekend, nor did the participants this past weekend. It was hot enough to fry eggs, and some actually did.
Sergeant Major Hall and Captain Hutchison, of the Royal Marines, and Major R. Fitzhugh-D'Arlyn of the Royal Welsh Fusiliers, attended as British Observers. We soon discovered how warm it can be here in the Colonies.
We observed the Federals in their engagements with their enemy, and noticed that one particular Federal commander, whose identity shall remain a secret, continually placed his troops in harms way by masking the Federal artillery, thus keeping it from supporting the Federal troops. When the commander finally moved, he coaxed the enemy, who seemed as equally inept at reading the situation as he, into the same area and finally, when the artillery fired, they got everyone; Federal and Confederate. I assume that God is busy now sorting them out.
The camp site was the same area that the Rebels occupied last year at the 135th. One battle on Friday, two on Saturday, and one on Sunday seemed to drain the life's blood (and perspiration) from everyone. Plenty of water, and not that many participants so the event was not the usual run all over the place event, although as hot as it was, the inept Federal commander did drill his troops on both days.
There were plenty of sutlers, although many were upset at the apparent ill treatment by the event organizers that some are said to have received, and the low number of purchasers.
I cannot speak for the combatants, but three of Her Majesty's subjects were very happy to leave the area for cooler surroundings...

Submitted by
Major Fitzhugh-D'Arlyn
(of Her Majesty’s Secret Service)

A Delightful Little Weekend
Battle of Monocacy
July 10, 11.
The 4th US put this little event on our schedule in January as a secondary event and as it turned out we are glad they did.
The event was held near the Monocacy Battlefield near Frederick, MD. The record of this battle is an interesting one and in summary it was a portion of the 6th Corp and some home guard that was given the responsibility of slowing down Jubal Early’s 2nd Corp on it’s way to threaten Washington in 1864. They did their job.
Our job was to try to recreate what it looked like including the burning of the bridge over the Monocacy. The US Christian Commission and a handful of Regulars arrived on Friday night, coming in on a night that boasted temperatures in the high nineties. If you didn’t have AC it was like driving in a blast furnace with all windows open.
Larry McGrane chose a beautiful site set back in the woods and the boys set up their tents along a grassy road. Another great bivouac site. We socialized a bit and then hit the sack and prayed for better weather. Our prayers were answered.
The next morning dawned cloudy and Cpl. Wassel set up the company mess. Coffee was soon smelled along the street. Other Regulars arrived in dribs and drabs over the morning and fine breakfast of eggs and bacon was theirs if they arrived early enough. Captain Rivera breveted Tank Nickle to the First Sgt. slot and the business of the company was soon well in hand. As we commenced our chores a liquid substance started falling from the skies. We soon remembered what rain was and some did an exultant dance in celebration. Others let it splash on their faces and soak into their pores. This was one day we did not care if it poured. The land needed the rain.
The roster was around 9 to 12 Regulars at any given time with soldiers exiting and entering the event. We brigaded with other NR units that were in attendance, the 116th PA and the 3rd MD, and made a fine company of around 21 rifles. We want to take this opportunity to thank these boys of the NR for joining us because once we hit the drill field we found out that we were going to have a great weekend. Our maneuvering and drill was impeccable both days. Our wheels were flawless, the ‘by company into line’ were great and the ‘on the right by files into line’ even worked themselves out well. When we marched in a company front our alignment was excellent. We also want to commend the work of First Sgt. Nickle for running such a tight company and thank the veterans in the ranks that know how to do it right. This is how it should be done. Cpl. Wassel took the 2nd Sgt. post and on Sunday Mongo Kohls was First Corporal.
After the brass was shined and the rifles cleaned, Captain Rivera took the clan out for some company drill. It was fun in the rain. We didn’t even care that our rifles were getting wet.
After a brief break we did battalion drill. The drill went well after we did a brief ceremony for Disabled Veterans. We went back to camp, but not for long.
The lads shoved a quick lunch down and were soon back in their gear and on the company line. We moved out and passed in review of the audience and presented arms. Again our maneuvering was in fine shape. We were then placed on the right flank and were told to hold our position in a small outbuilding. It is always good to have cover. Rifles were stuck through slots in walls and we were at the ready. A company of dismounted cavalry was deployed as skirmishers and the rebs sent out skirmishers in kind. The skirmishers started taking casualties and fell back on their lines. The rebel line advanced and the firing began. Yanks were taking hits left and right after the usual time of invincibility. Usually about 10 to 20 rounds before anyone starts dropping. The rebs have a 50 to 100 round quota I believe if they even fall at all.
The lines see-sawed back and forth and the artillery was booming. An out building on the right flank was soon ablaze and the wounded could feel the heat. The Yanks were decimated and blue littered the field but the rebs didn’t advance. Heaven knows why. Two rebs took their own initiative and took a suicide run at our line. We dispatched them for being silly then we formed up and marched back to camp.
We relaxed awhile and visited the Christian. Com. while Logan McGrane, the industrious lad that he is, single handedly policed the whole camp. If anyone is in need of an example of a good Regular, watch this little kid. He’ll put us all to shame.
It wasn’t too long before the company mess was put into gear and Cpl. Wassel started on the entree for the evening; roast chicken with a vegetable rice dish. The fire was stoked and the lads on kitchen detail were soon into the cooking sherry. Thanks goes out to all the Regulars that helped in the mess. Also to Julie McGrane for contributing colorful vegetables for the rice mash.
As dinner was boiling on the fire, the boys were called to dress parade. The dress parade went swiftly from all reports, (as there were some parts of it missing). As the Captain stated in his report, the only company left on the line to await their officer was our company. They marched back to camp.
Another hour passed as the chicken was roasting on the grill. Mr.B.Spahr was helping turn the chicken. As was inevitable, he dropped a breast into the fire. Then he dropped it again. A jonah of the first order. He washed it off in a bucket of water and threw it back on the fire none the worst for wear. There are not words to describe our love of Pvt. Putz because if he wasn’t there we wouldn’t be nearly as entertained. He is also one of the greatest contributors to the unit and he also gave us his son Ryan, who is his carbon copy. We are indeed blessed.
Soon dinner was being shoveled onto plates and the Regulars dined with ferocity. From all reports the meal passed muster and then some and bloated Regulars soon dotted the camp. With the help of Joe Vilar, we are thinking of providing a line of field desserts for future events. Just let the Co. mess know if you’re getting TOO spoiled. One of these days we’re going to put Mongo in charge of the mess and he’s going to bring his delectable salt pork and hard tack. Just for a change.
After digestion and other sundry bodily processes, the lads decided to go shopping. We all grabbed our purses and our check books and off we went to see what we could find. There were a few good shops and the shirt lady from the Wilderness was in attendance. We picked up a few odds and ends and strolled back to camp. We sat and chatted the evening away until some rebs started infiltrating our perimeter. We had some energy left so we gave it back to them. American males love to shoot guns.
After the shopping spree Bruce S. went on a mission. Fetch Mongo. Later that night the old white Ford pick up was seen careening down the road and there they were. Mongo, Putz, Baker (the dog) and the little brown jug. The evening passed with much socializing and a cold front was soon upon us. It made one of the most beautiful sleeping nights on the field.
The morning dawned one of the coolest and clearest mornings in history. Gorgeous. All that was needed was the smell of coffee.....and then....there it was. Followed by the sound and smell of bacon and a hearty plate of eggs, peppers and onions. Life is good.
A dress parade was all there was on the schedule to vex our morning, so the lads began, what else?, a wist tournament. The game was in full gear when an interruption evolved that included........you guessed it......Bruce and Ryan. Ryan had lost the mouthpiece to his bugle, so, Bruce procured the services of a gentleman with a metal detector. Sweeping the ground for mines this gent finally came to where we were playing cards. Tank’s not one to be moved easily once he’s absorbed in a game. So after much grousing and abuse we moved our game. The mouthpiece was not found. A few suggestions were put forth where to put the mouthpiece so it wouldn’t be lost again, but they’re not really printable.
Before we knew it, it was time once again to assemble the company for battle. We marched into the bright clear day and after a short wait, made our way to the ‘Monocacy Bridge’. The bridge traversed no water but it was a clever reproduction none the less. I’m sure the audience never guessed. The company was marched to the right of the line once more and we were to be stranded as a rear guard as the rest of the brigade escaped across the bridge, setting fire to it as they went. We were to hold to the last minute and then escape via the river route. We ran across the river like it was even there.
First Sgt. Nickle handled us expertly as we held the position from behind cover. Attrition was taking it’s toll and soon the company was reduced to half a dozen rifles.
An interesting scene took place in the rear of line. Eric Schlegel had taken a grievous hit and was writhing in pain. Delegate Larry McGrane was on hand to help the wounded soldiers and he spied the unfortunate private. Grabbing his canteen, Larry proceeded to give Eric satiation for his thirst. He made sure that he had enough water and then he gave him some more just to be sure. Still not satisfied that the dying man’s thirst had been satisfied, he dumped the rest of his canteen on Eric’s head so that if he didn’t die from his wound he was on his way to being drowned on dry land. It seems that Larry had been the victim of one of Eric’s wayward shots that rang too close to his ear at the Wilderness. Payback can take the form of terroristic charity when done creatively.
Once the rebs advanced, we took our little company and waded the river to rejoin the rest of the brigade. Taps were blown and we......marched back to camp. Everyone pitched in and soon the McGranes tents were packed away and where once an army camped there was nothing left at all. As is our way, some of us found a tavern to eat and drink and reminisce and prolong the weekend that we entitled ‘A Delightful Little Weekend’.
So say all of us.

Written by the Editor

Check the Bugle Call for a complete listing of the flurry of Jonah activity.

Identify that Regular
The following biography was submitted by Mr. Paul Hooper. We thank you for playing our game. Your prize: A fun filled weekend in the swamps of Virginia fighting the battle of Seven Pines in the dead of summer.

NATHANIEL LYON; born 1818, died 1861, from Conn., USMA, 1841 (11th in a class of 52) Served in the Seminole War on frontier duty. Mexican War (1 brevet, 1 wound). Also served in Bleeding Kansas and various Indian fights.
Serving as a Captain in the 2nd US Infantry at the St. Louis Arsenal in early 1861. He and F.P. Blair Jr. collaborated to safeguard Union property and interests from the sizable disloyal element in the state. Together they worked out and executed the strategy that saved the weapons in the arsenal, and captured the rebel force that was assembling at nearby Camp Jackson under Gen. D.M. Frost.
Together the succeeded in eliminating Lyons pro-southern superior Gen. W.S.Harney. Lyon was appointed Brigadier General of MO. Volunteers on May 12, 1861 and became B.G. of USV five days later. He undertook operations in southwest MO that ended with his death at Wilson’s Creek, August 10, 1861.
Mary Whitney Phelps, wife of Brig. Gen. Lyons, turned their Springfield MO. home into a hospital after the battle of Wilson’s Creek. She took care of the body of her soldier husband. For this purpose she was given $20,000 by Congress. With the money she established a home in Springfield for orphans of both Union and Confederate soldiers. Mrs. Phelps was born in Portland, Maine.

Respectfully Submitted
Paul W. Hooper
2nd US Inf.

Remember When.......
I remember one time, we were returning from California in '53 on our way to Leavenworth in Kansas. That was during my fourth enlistment, if I remember correctly. After we had landed in New York, we rode the train for several days to the camp at Carlisle, Pennsylvania, where we rested for a few days before our trip down the Ohio River. While there, I and a certain Irish corporal, O'Bannion, were walking across the parade ground one day.
Now, O'Bannion was one of those always in trouble because of his temper. He had been promoted and demoted several times; had broken his jaw, nose, collarbone, shoulder, and both his fists in various fights; and had spent several months of each year of his entire service time in the stockade for fighting. But, to give the man credit, lately, he had been making great strides in attempting to control his temper. Well, this day, we chanced upon a soldier from another Regiment also walking across the parade ground, so we all fell into step and proceeded together. It turns out he was one of those frequent "acquisitions" to our Army from the British Army in Canada, and was complaining up a storm.
Through his ramblings, we gathered that he was originally from Portsmouth, England, where the lower classes of the city had become mostly Irish, as had many large cities of the world at that time. He let us know in no uncertain terms that he didn't like the Irish - he didn't know why - he just did, and that was that. As a child, it had been drilled into him that the Irish were dirty, lazy, disease-ridden, and uncivilized.
As I awaited the coming storm that I knew was about to break from O'Bannion, I glanced at him. His face was red and his fists were clenched, but he was saying nothing.
The Englishman continued that he had thought of a way to get away from the Irish. He said that he knew the Irish would not intentionally seek positions in which hard work and danger were an integral part, so he joined the British Navy. It didn't take him long to find that a large portion of the "'tween-decks" Navy was Irish who had been pressed into service and were not too happy about it. After several years, he "managed" to get away from there and joined the Army. Much to his surprise, a large portion of the rank and file, even in the older "English" Regiments, also contained a great number of Irish, again, mostly drafted and unpleasant to be around. By this time, O'Bannion's teeth were grinding, his fists were alternately clenching and unclenching, and his heels were digging into the ground with each step, but he was still saying nothing.
The Englishman related how happy he was when he found out his Regiment was coming to Canada, but, much to his chagrin, he found that place to be full of Irish also, and, worse yet, Frenchmen! He had heard that, in the Americas, the great numbers of Irish who had come over during the famine mostly congregated within the larger cities on the east coast, or had traveled to California during the Gold Rush. With that piece of knowledge, he figured that he might give the American Army a try, so he crossed the border one dark night and enlisted at Buffalo Barracks. Well, he soon discovered that the American Army had more Irish in it than all the others put together. Just as O'Bannion began sputtering, the Englishman made the mistake of asking if we knew of any place he could go that the Irish hadn't corrupted yet.
Well, there it was; O'Bannion stopped short, his face red as a beet, foam drooling down his chin, eyes bugged out, shoulders hunched, and fists clenched. After a bit of stuttering and spitting, he hollered, "Well, maybe you can just try going to H#!! - By the saints there'll be no Irish there!"
At that, he turned on his heel and marched double-quick back across the parade ground, sputtering and fuming, his forage cap bouncing with every step, and steam coming from the top of his head - looking and sounding every bit like some great railway locomotive.

By 1st Sgt. Steve Hanson
2nd US Inf.
Sykes’ Regulars