After breakfast I got a novel, “The Monk Knight of St. John,” and read it about through. I got in one of the large wagons belonging to [wagonmaster] Burgess’ train, and with my feet plunged into a mass of blankets and my overcoat on, I spent the time very comfortably.
It was March 13, 1862 and it was snowing at Tijeras, a small village in New Mexico, but Sgt. Alfred B. Peticolas seems to have found a spot to rest and recuperate.  Born in Virginia in 1838, Peticolas was well-educated and worked for a time as a schoolmaster to finance his law studies. In 1859, he moved to Texas, where he opened a law office. In September 1861, Peticolas joined the Confederate army and was mustered into Company C, Fourth Regiment, Texas Mounted Volunteers, where he was promoted to Sergeant. In March 1862, he found himself in a late-winter storm as part of Brig. Gen. Henry H. Sibley’s ill-fated New Mexico campaign.
The Monk Knight of St. John was written by Canadian novelist John Richardson and first published in 1850. At a first glance, the book was a typical gothic novel set in 11th century Palestine during the crusades, featuring among others a lost manuscript, palace intrigues and a description of the Battle of Hattin. However, it soon becomes clear that more is going on, as Richardson weaves an intricate net of seduction and desire around his protagonists.
And indeed, the book produced a scandal when it was published, because it not only openly dealt with sexual love but also promoted sexual emancipation. Without taking a moral standpoint, Robertson treated homosexual relationships as well as adultery as legitimate expressions of love – something that went squarely against Victorian norms. The novel was not pornographic and, what may be difficult to understand today, had a religious message at its core: namely that carnal knowledge leads to an understanding of God.  Still, it is very open in its description of the various combinations of affairs and relationships between men and women as well as Christians and Moslems.
The novel is clearly written in the tradition of the enlightenment, with its attacks on social conventions and Christianity. This may have appealed to Peticolas, whom the editor of his diary characterises as a “freethinker”.  From what we can gleam, he seems not to have been appalled by the scandalous book but rather devoured it, spending a couple of enjoyable hours with it during a gruelsome campaign.
The Monk Knight of St. John is digitally available at archive.org. The small Canadian publisher Davus offers a print edition with a foreword by a leading scholar on Richardson.
 Alberts, Don E. (ed.): Rebels on the Rio Grande: the Civil War Journal of A.B. Peticolas. University of New Mexico Press: Albuquerque, New Mexico 1984, p. 69.
 For the background of this campaign, see Alberts, Don E.: The Battle of Glorieta. Union Victory in the West. Texas A&M University Press1998, p. 17f.
 Beasley, David A.: The Canadian Don Quixote: The Life and Works of Major John Richardson, Canada’s First Novelist. Davus Publishing: Simcoe, ON 2004, p. 251.
 Alberts (ed.): Rebels on the Rio Grande, p. 4.
The 45th New York, initially called the 5th German Rifles, entered service as part of Julius Stahel’s brigade of Louis Blenker’s division of the Army of the Potomac in October 1861. It was mainly composed of men from Austria and the German states. Its commander, Col. Georg von Amsberg, was an experienced military man, as he had been an officer in the Austrian army and, during the revolution of 1848, the Hungarian army. At the end of 1861, the regiment was stationed in the defenses of Washington. The men – there were about 900 present for service at the time – were still green when they went on picket duty in the area around Annandale .
After their victory at the Battle of Bull Run, the Confederates had cautiously followed the retreating Union army to the area around Washington. They established the so-called “Alexandria Line”, a thirty mile long perimeter to the West of the capital. The winter of 1861/62 found both armies eyeing each other, with numerous skirmishes erupting at different points of the line. On the Confederate side, the man responsible for cavalry patrols was Jeb Stuart, who had been promoted to brigadier general in September. An aggressive leader, he endorsed and encouraged his subordinates to harrass the Union pickets and make small-scale attacks and raids .
Such an attack hit Co. A of the 45th New York, which was picketing the area around Annandale, on December 2nd. One day earlier, one of the regiment’s lieutenants, a German-born baron named Marcel Wilhelm von Haxthausen, had deserted to the enemy, taking with him a horse belonging to the orderly of the 4th New York Cavalry. Maybe Haxthausen, who after the war would turn up as an editor of a German newspaper in Texas, had informed the Confederates of the pickets’ deployment and the weak points of the line. In any case, around 1 p.m. the pickets at Annandale spotted cavalry approaching. At first they thought it belonged to the 1st New York Cavalry, which was at that time patrolling the area .
The horsemen, however, belonged to the 6th Virginia Cavalry under Col. Charles W. Field. The 150-200 riders approached at a gallop and hit several picket posts at the same time. One detachment passed barricades erected on the Little River Turnpike about a mile beyond Padgett’s tavern, another one broke through at the unfinished railroad and a third dashed through the fields north of the turnpike.
The Rebel charge panicked the pickets, who fled into a nearby woodlot. There, they were rallied by Capt. Hermann Weller, after which they began to shoot at the enemy horsemen. Meanwhile, drummer Henry Feuerstein had, seemingly on his own initiative and with “commendable zeal”, beaten the long roll to alert his comrades.
The signal was heared by two companies of the 45th stationed at Cox’s farm, which, under the command of Capt. Adolphus Dobke, rushed to the site of the fight. They were joined by about 30 men from the 4th New York Cavalry under 1st Lt. William Parnell. After a short fight, the combined infantry and cavalry force drove the Rebel horsemen out of the Union lines. Passing the barricades again, the Confederates retreated in the direction of Centreville.
The fight had cost the 45th New York one killed. Twelve men were missing and presumed captured; however, eight of them seem to have returned by the next morning. According to Blenker’s report, the Confederates had lost two killed, which were found outside the lines, two prisoners and seven or eight wounded.
Col. Charles W. Field: Born in Kentucky in April 1828 to a wealthy family, he graduated from West Point in 1849 and entered the army, where he served with cavalry on the frontier. In 1856, he became an Assistant Instructor of Cavalry Tactics at West Point. When the Civil War broke out, he sided with the Confederacy and at first served as a cavalry instructor in Virginia. In November 1861, he became colonel of the 6th Virginia Cavalry. He quickly rose through the ranks and participated in many battles, finally surrendering as a division commander at Appomattox Court House. After the war, he mainly worked as an engineer .
Drummer Henry Feuerstein: The drummer is an example of the many men who served without leaving many traces in the public records. We know that he enlisted in September 1861 at New York and mustered in as a drummer. His age is given as 25 years. He didn’t stay long with the army, though: on March 1, 1862, he deserted at Hunter’s Chapel near Fairfax Court House, where Blenker’s division was stationed for winter quarters. There is a possibility that he is identical with the Henry Feuerstein who arrived in November 1852 at New York on the steamer Atlas. Hailing from Drulingen in the Alsace, at the time a largely German-speaking part of France, this man later ended up in Colorado, where he worked as a farmer and raised a family with three children .
1st Lt. William R. Parnell: Born 1836 in Ireland, Parnell joined the British army and participated in the famous Charge of the Light Brigade at the Battle of Balaclava during the Crimean War. He went to the USA in 1860 and, when the war broke out, joined the 4th New York Cavalry as 1st Lt. After the action at Annandale, he was promoted to Captain and continued to distinguish himself as an audacious fighter. He was heavily wounded and captured at the cavalry battle at Upperville on June 21, 1863, but managed to escape from the Confederate prison and rejoined the army. After the Civil War, he stayed in the army and participated in campaigns against Native American tribes, where he earned a Medal of Honor. He died in San Francisco in 1910 .
Why did it matter?
The winter of 1861/62 saw an “obstinate petite-guerre of picket fighting” in the no-mans-land west of the Potomac. Both the Union and the Confederate high command were unwilling to commit themselves to a real battle, but both kept up a low-level probing and show of aggression. This early in the war, the press covered even the small skirmishes and careers could be made or destroyed by the outcome of such actions .
For the men of the 45st New York, as for many others mustered in after Bull Run, it was their first taste of war. The constant skirmishing was dangerous and exhausting. Some, like Haxthausen and Feuerstein, discovered that soldiering was not for them. Others, like Parnell, found it exhilarating. Most adapted to their new lives and learned to work together and to rely on each other.
However, fault lines already began to show. Germans had a mixed reputation – they were rumored to be boisterous and to love beer too much – and there was prejudice against them among American born soldiers. The report by Brig. Gen. Newton, whose brigade provided pickets alongside those of the 45th New York, raised doubts about the courage of the “German pickets of Blenker’s division”. He claimed that the Germans ran without firing a shot and insinuated that their pickets were drunk . This, however, smacks of slander. There is no reason to doubt Blenker’s report, which is coherent in its details. Also, Newton obviously wanted to shift the blame for the embarrassing incident from his brigade, as the whole picket post of one of his regiments (the 31st New York) was found asleep and his own brigade also lost two men captured.
The unfinished railroad to the southwest of the map forms a shallow ravine. The gentle hill to the north of the turnpike does not form much of an obstacle, but blocks LOS. The barricades blocking the Little River Turnpike count as light cover and a minor obstacle.
The Union Primary Deployment Point is on the eastern edge of the table at Cox’s Farm, while the Union Secondary Deployment Point is placed on the Turnpike directly behind the barricades.
The Confederates have three deployment points: one on the turnpike, one on the unfinished railroad and one on the northerwestern edge of the board.
This is an encounter battle. To win, reduce the opponent’s Force Morale to 2 or less.
Pickets: Union Leader 1 and the Union skirmishers can only be deployed at the Secondary Deployment Point. No other units may be deployed there. If the Secondary Deployment Point is lost before all skirmishers are deployed, they are considered lost. Roll on the Bad Things Happen table for “Loss of Support Option”.
Reenforcements: At the start of the game, the Union player has only the Leader 1 card and the flags in the deck. After turn two, roll 1D6 for each of the other two Leaders. On a 4+, his card is added to the deck. Next turn, the target number is reduced to 3+, then to 2+ and, at the end of turn five, if any Leader is not yet in the deck, he will be added automatically.
Coordinated Strike: Before the game, the Confederate player must assign each of his Leaders to one Deployment Point. No other Leader may use this Deployment Point. The Confederate Cavalry must also enter the table mounted. It may do so at any gait.
 Halpin, William J. „A German Regiment in the Civil War: The 45th New York State Volunteer Infantry ‚5th German Rifles‘“. Military Images 21, Nr. 5 (2000): 20–23.
 Longacre, Edward G.: Lee’s Cavalrymen. A History of the Mounted Forces of the Army of Northern Virginia. Mechanicsburg, PA: Stackpole 2002, pp. 51-62.
 OR 5, pp. 451-455; National Republican, December 4, 1861; New York Times, December 29, 1861; The Union army. A History of Military Affairs in the Loyal States, 1861-65. Volume V. Cyclopedia of Battles. Madison, Wis.: Federal Publishing Company 1908, p. 32. See also Longacre: Lee’s Cavalrymen, p. 60. For Haxthausen, see the records on fold3.com. His career as a newspaper editor in Texas is briefly mentioned in a city of Houston report: https://www.houstontx.gov/planning/HistoricPres/landmarks/PLM_2120_Sabine_St.pdf
 Cooke, John E.: Wearing of the Gray. Being Personal Portraits, Scenes and Adventures of the War. New York: E.B. Treat & Co. 1867, p. 194.; Poland, Charles P. Jr.: The Glories of War. Small Battles and Early Heroes of 1861. Bloomington, IN: AuthorHouse 2006, pp. 89-116. Parnell’s courageous behaviour during the skirmish at Annandale was reported in the National Republican, as was his promotion to captain. See National Republican, December 9, 1861.
Where does authority come from? In a regular army, authority is bestowed upon officers and non-commissioned officers by their rank. The rank is conferred by appointment. There are usually clear rules and laws governing appointment and promotion. Disregarding or undermining the authority of officers, for example by insubordination, is punished severely.
However, the Union Army was, for the most part, not a regular army – it was a volunteer army. And volunteers had ideas about authority that, in many cases, were incompatible with army regulations.
Take, for example, the officers of the 2nd Rhode Island Volunteer Infantry. In February 1863, their well-regarded Colonel Nelson Viall resigned because of an ongoing conflict with the state’s governor. Viall had been the regiment’s lieutenant colonel and became colonel when the former colonel, Frank Wheaton, was promoted to Brigadier General. Now everyone expected the current lieutenant colonel, Nathan Goff, Jr., to be promoted to the vacant position. To the officers’ suprise, a men from outside the regiment arrived to take command: Col. Horatio Rogers, former commander of the 11th Rhode Island Volunteer Infantry.
The officers were angry and told Rogers that they were “opposed to having him come to us as Colonel”.  This could be construed as a clear case of insubordination – the officers did not accept the authority of Rogers, who had been promoted by the Governor of Rhode Island, as was his prerogative in his state’s volunteer regiment.
What did Rogers do? It may be surprising to learn that he did not invoke his authority as bestowed upon him by his rank and his lawful appointment. On the contrary: he called all the officers into his tent and told them that, if they did not want him, he would send Lt. Col. Goff back to the governor with a request that he be made colonel and that Rogers would return to his old regiment. Every officer of the 2nd Rhode Island signed the request.
Was this weak leadership? Did Rogers undermine his own authority by bowing to the whims of his subordinates and allowing each and every officer of the regiment to state in writing that he was not liked here?
Interestingly, the opposite was the case. The officers immediately seemed to have changed their opinion of Rogers:
Colonel Rogers is a splendid fellow, and we like him already. If Goff cannot be our Colonel I had rather have Rogers than any other outside man I know. His generous conduct towards Lt. Col. Goff has made him many friends among the officers already. Instead of making a great show of authority, he was very mild in his manners and it has had a good effect.
It is tempting to see Rogers’ “surprise” over the unpopularity of his promotion as play-acting and his request to the governor as a trick – as the regiment’s quarrel with the governor was well known, it is not unlikely that Rogers was informed about the situation before he joined the 2nd Rhode Island. Perhaps he also knew or suspected that the governor would not grant his request to promote Goff. Because this is what happened: The Governor declined the wish of the officers and Rogers stayed in command of the regiment. But the men now accepted him, especially after he showed conspicious bravery at the Battle of Salem Church two months later.
However, the important thing is why exactely this strategy worked so well for him. And the reason is that Rogers’ actions directly referred to the tradition of officer elections.
For the political ideology of the American citizen-soldier, electing military officers was a key concept.  As citizen-soldiers served temporarily and voluntarily, they wanted to base their submissison to authority on a democratic procedure. Elections, so the thinking went, would provide a mutual contract between officers and subordinates: it would keep tyrannical inclinations among the superiors in check while, at the same time, make sure the soldiers followed the officers as they themselves had voluntarily put them into their position of authority.
At the beginning of the war, most of the companies and regiments elected their officers. Soon drawbacks of this system became appearant: Often, not the most competent, but the most popular men were elected, and officers were reluctant to order their men to do unpleasant tasks so as not to lose their consent. From 1862 on, there was what Andrew Bledsoe has called an increasing “regularization” of the citizen army and its methods as well as its culture were brought closer into line with the regular army. However, the ideology of the citizen-soldier never completely vanished. Promotion by election became rarer, but some regiments kept the procedure until the end of the war.
While the 2nd Rhode Island Infantry did not hold a proper election in February 1863, it is clear that Col. Rogers signaled his intent to bow to the will of his subordinates as if the army was a democratic institution. No matter that this did not change the situation – it seems that the important thing was the show of intent. This, in the eyes of his subordinates, made him one of them, a citizen that served voluntarily in an army of equals and who denounced all tyrannical pretensions.
Of course, not all officers were as skilled as Col. Rogers in navigating the complicated social and cultural challenges of leading politically astute citizens to war. Civil War officers North and South used a variety of methods to assert authority, among them coercion, conspicious courage, a show of competence and personal bonds to their men. At the same time, subordinates used different ways to resist their superiors’ authority, such as arguments and complaints, petitions to army headquarters or civic authorities, refusal to work, violence and resignation (in the case of officers) or desertion (in the case of common soldiers).  In the citizen armies of the American Civil War, authority was always contested.
 Rhodes, Robert Hunt (ed.): All for the Union. The Civil War Diary and Letters of Elisha Hunt Rhodes. New York: Random House 1992, p. 91.
 Rhodes: All for the Union, p. 92.
 Bledsoe, Andrew S.: Citizen-Officers. The Union and Confederate Volunteer Junior Officer Corps in the American Civil War. Baton Rouge: Louisiana State University Press 2015, p. 13.
 For the Union army, the variety of struggles about authority has been masterfully analysed by Foote, Lorien: The Gentlemen and the Roughs. Manhood, Honor, and Violence in the Union Army. New York: New York University Press 2010.
This morning I sat down before a large camp fire after breakfast to read. I had Gibbon’s second volume of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire. I was reading the description of Constantinople. But I did not read to much profit. Around a general camp fire there are too many loafers, for industriously disposed people to accomplish much. I was interrupted and annoyed and finally had to give over my reading.
Levi Bird Duff was born on September 18, 1837 in Pennsylvania. He received a good education at the local college and worked as a lawyer before the war. In May 1861, he enlisted in the Pittsburgh Rifles, which would become Company A of the 9th Pennsylvania Reserves (38th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry). He quickly rose through the ranks and, by the time he wrote this letter, he was a major. In October 1863, he was in camp near Catlett’s Station. Duff was trying to read his Gibbon while the Army of the Potomac was maneuvering to catch Lee in Virginia. 
Not only the constant marching kept him from his book. Duff was also appalled by the “roughs”, as men from lower classes were called. He complained about their “tendancy to loaf, and talk nonsense and obscenity” and longed for a place where he could retreat and read quietly. Duff shows how class-conscious he was and how reading, for him, was not just a diversion. The act of reading had meaning in itself. It distinguished a gentleman, a man of good habits who uses his time to improve himself and his education, from the uncouth idlers. 
Edward Gibbon’s The History of the Decline and Fall of the Roman Empire appeared in six volumes between 1776 and 1789 and told the story of Rome from the Republic to the fall of Constantinople in 1453. Influenced by the philosophy of Voltaire, Gibbon wrote a secular history that put human agency at the centre. His was not a history of great men, but of multiple, flawed actors, many of them shortsighted and deluded. Gibbon also took sides: He celebrated the achievements of Roman civil society and lamented the rise of the Emperors. In his interpretation, the loss of civic virtues destroyed Rome and made it susceptible to barbarian invasions. His work caused misgivings among contemporaries because Gibbon was critical of Christianity. However, his books counts as a pioneering work for the discipline of history, as he was one of the first to extensively use footnotes. Those provided not only an erudite foundation for his deliberations, but also a space to discuss contemporary topics and make fun of 18th century Britain.
The part Duff read in October 1863, the description of Constantinople, is today considered to be one of his weakest achievements. For Gibbon, Byzantium was a degeneration, a step towards the decline of Roman civilization, without its people realising it: “A people elated by pride, or soured by discontent, are seldom qualified to form a just estimate of their actual situation.”  One wonders what Duff thought when he read those lines. Did they stir thoughts about his own time? We know that he had strong political opinions and was deeply committed to the fight against slavery. For him, the war against “the slaveholder’s rebellion”, as he called it, gave the United States a new purpose and forged it into a new nation. Did he associate the people of Constantinople with the people of the Confederacy, who could not yet see that their time was over?
Unfortunately, we do not know his thoughts on Gibbon. We also don’t know if he actually finished the book. We know that in April 1864, he felt his “old habits readily come back”, meaning that he returned to the study of the law.  Still trying to improve himself while the army was moving towards the carnage of the Wilderness, he swapped Gibbon’s history for more practical readings.
Gibbon is still considered a classic and therefore many editions are in print. Penguin offers an abridge paperback version as well as the full six volumes with editorial notes. A digital version is available on Project Gutenberg.
 Helmreich, Jonathan E. (ed.): To Petersburg with the Army of the Potomac. The Civil War letters of Levi Bird Duff, 105th Pennsylvania Volunteers. Jefferson, NC: McFarland & Co. 2009, p. 152.
 For the campaign, see Hunt, Jeffrey W.: Meade and Lee at Bristoe Station: The Problems of Command and Strategy after Gettysburg, from Brandy Station to the Buckland Races, August 1 to October 31, 1863. El Dorado Hills, CA: Savas Beatie 2019.
 For an excellent analysis of the role of class in the Union Army, see Foote, Lorien: The gentlemen and the roughs. Manhood, honor, and violence in the Union Army. New York: New York University Press 2010.
At the review to day I was thrown from my horse by foolishly attempting to read a newspaper, the rattling of which frightened him. I had the left side of my face skinned slightly & my knee bruised. I will be well again in a day or two.
Major Levi Bird Duff’s mishap shows how avidly many Civil War soldiers read. The literacy rate in mid-19th century Northern America was high: 90% for the Union and 70% for the free male population of the Confederacy.  Many soldiers had at least rudimentary schooling and most officers were quite well-eductated.
What did they read? Soldiers’ favorite reading material certainly were letters from home. Regular correspondence with wives, family and relatives played an important part in maintaining a link to the home front, expressing, forming and discussing political and ideological views and, most important of all, upholding morale. Union soldiers probably wrote more than a million letters per month and a well-organised postal system made it possible to receive as many from home. Soldiers treasured these letters and often kept them close by, reading and re-reading them whenever they felt lonely. 
Newspapers were also very popular. The Union army negotiated a franchise with a news agency which distributed newspapers to the army for a nickel per copy.  Pickets sometimes exchanged newspapers between the lines and studiously read and discussed the enemies’ reports. Some regiments even produced their own papers, using field presses or commandeered publishers’ presses.
Soldiers also devoured books. There was an astonishing variety of sources for books in the field: sutlers sold them, family members sent them and religious societies gave them away for free or circulated them through libraries. Some “foraged” for books and stole them from occupied houses.
Books were read for a variety of reasons. Some soldiers studied military theory and history to improve their leadership skills, others read religious tracts to find guidance and solace. Many read novels to whittle away the hours and, at least for a couple of hourse, escape the harsh world they inhabited. Reading for pleasure had been frowned upon before the war as it was seen as a waste of time, and some soldiers kept away from light reading material and preferred reading for self-improvement. But the monotony and boredom of camp life tended to make any book attractive, especially to soldiers who abhorred other, more raucious ways to spend the time, such as playing cards or drinking alcohol.
In their letters and diaries, soldiers sometimes mention the books they read. Some of those are well-known and still considered classics, while others are obscure today and no longer read. In a lose series of short blog articles, I want to shed some light on the books Civil War soldiers read. Each article will present a quote from a letter, diary or memoir, a portait of the reader and then a short characterisation of the book he read. This is in no means intended to give a representative sample of Civil War readings – my selection is based on my own eclectic reading and on whatever arouses my curiosity. But I hope it will offer an impression of the variety of Civil War readings.
 Helmreich, Jonathan E. (ed.): To Petersburg with the Army of the Potomac. The Civil War letters of Levi Bird Duff, 105th Pennsylvania Volunteers. Jefferson, N.C.: McFarland & Co. 2009, p. 120.
 Kaser, David: Books and Libraries in Camp and Battle. The Civil War Experience. Greenwood Press: Westport, Conneticut 1984, p. 3.
On the evening of 29 June 1863, the men from Brig. Gen. John Buford’s first and second brigades encamped on the eastern slopes of Jacks Mountain. They had travelled more than 35 miles from Middletown, Maryland, through Boonsboro and Monterey pass to within three of miles of Fairfield, Pennsylvania. Although the inhabitants of Maryland and Pennsylvania had so far been enthusiastic to see Union troops and had greeted and fed them when they passed towns and villages, the locals around Fairfield kept away from the troopers and seemed cowed.
The next morning, Buford’s regiments started out in the direction of Fairfield at about 3 a.m. The unusually foggy morning may have contributed to the mutual surprise as the Union advance guard, Company C of the 8th Illinois Volunteers, stumbled upon Confederate pickets from Maj. Gen. Heth’s division which were posted at the Peter Musselman farm along Tom’s Creek, two miles southwest of Fairfield. The pickets – men from Company B of the 52nd North Carolina under the command of Lt. William Kyle – fell back before the Union skirmishers. However, when men from the 42nd Mississippi reinforced them, the skirmish began to intensify .
Buford was at first tempted to escalate the fight. “I determined to feel [the enemy force] and drive it, if possible”, he wrote in his report . Angry with the locals, who had not told him of an enemy force nearby and therefore denied him the surprise, he pondered deploying his artillery to dislodge the Confederates. However, he feared that bringing on an engagement at this point “might disarrange the plans of the general commanding”. He therefore disengaged and drew back in the direction of Emmitsburg. The enemy did not pursue and soon both of his brigades followed the Emmitsburg road to Gettysburg. They left behind one stubborn trooper, Thomas Withrow, who had been knocked off his horse by a minie ball. Unharmed but furious, he took cover in a barn and fired at the rebels while his comrades retreated. When the Confederates searched the barn, he managed to hide and witnessed wounded being brought into the building. From this, he surmised that the Confederates had lost one man killed and three wounded during the fight. Withrow hid until the Confederates left and rejoined his regiment at Gettysburg .
Maj. John L. Beveridge: Born in 1824, he practiced law before the war. In September 1861, he joined the 8th Illinois Volunteer Cavalry and was immediately promoted to Major. He left the 8th Illinois in November 1863 to raise a new regiment, the 17th Illinois Volunteer Cavalry, where he served as a colonel. He mustered out of the army in 1866 as a Brevet Brigadier General. After the war, he went into politics, serving as republican Governor of Illinois from 1873 to 1877. In 1895, he moved to Hollywood, where he died 15 years later.
Sgt. Portus J. Kennedy: Born in 1836, he was a farmer before the war. In September 1861, he was mustered in the 8th Illinois cavalry as a Sergeant. He was later promoted several times and had reached the rank of Captain when he left the army in 1865. At first, he returned to farming, but then moved to Texas and for a time to Las Vegas, where he dealt in building materials. He died in 1893 in Texas, leaving behind a widow .
Col. Hugh R. Miller: Born in 1812, he practiced law before the war, was active in politics and owned a large estate. In 1860, he was involved in writing the Ordinance of Secession for Mississippi. He helped form the 2nd Mississippi Infantry in 1861 and served as captain of Co. G until the unit was reorganised one year later. In May 1862, he raised the 42nd Mississippi and was elected its colonel. Leading his regiment during Pickett’s charge on 3 July, he was mortally wounded and died two weeks later in a hospital in Gettysburg .
1st Lt. William E. Kyle: Born in Virginia in 1842, he enlisted as a private for six months in the 1st North Carolina Infantry in April 1861. After he was discharged, he mustered into the 52nd North Carolina as a 2nd Lt. in April 1862. He was promoted to 1st Lt. and stayed with the army until the end of the war, being present at the surrender at Appomatox .
Why did it matter?
On June 28, General Lee had set in motion his plan to concentrate his army near Cashtown. Heth’s division reached the place one day later. To protect his right flank and safeguard against an attack from Maryland, he posted two regiments and a section of artillery at Fairfield . General Buford’s division, meanwhile, was approaching from the south, screening the left flank of the Army of the Potomac and at the same time gathering information on the strength and movements of the Confederate army. The chance encounter at Fairfield, combined with the prudent and deft disengagement of his troops, gave Buford exactly this: he knew that two regiments of infantry without a cavalry screen could only mean that a much larger infantry force was nearby. Buford had found the Army of Northern Virginia and could accurately report its massing in the Cashtown and Fairfield area. One day later, he would have another opportunity to tangle with Heth’s division to the west of Gettysburg.
Tom’s Creek counts as a wide obstacle. The woods on the eastern banks of the creek north of the road block line of sight.
The Union Deployment Point is placed on the road 6″ from the western table edge, the Confederate Deployment Point is placed on the road 6″ from the eastern table edge.
The Union will achieved a victory by meeting both of the following requirements and then retreating off the western or southern table edge west of the creek with its Force Morale not below 3 and at least two groups intact. 1. having shot at at least four enemy units (if a formation is shot at, each group counts separately) and 2. having an officer successfully reconnoitre the enemy force. The Confederates will achieve a victory by denying the Union their objectives.
Reconnoitring the enemy force: A Union officer (not NCO) must be in LOS and within 35″ of the enemy deployment point to be able to reconnoitre it. An officer can spend one command initiative to roll 1D6. As soon as the sum amounts to 18, the enemy force is considered to be reconnoitred.
Fog & surprise: For the first two turns of the game, the Union may deploy only one group of cavalry under the command of Sgt. Kennedy, while the Confederates may only deploy their skirmishers under the command of 1st Lt. Kyle (leave the other Leader cards out of the deck). At the end of turn two, each player rolls a dice: if the result is 4+, he or she may deploy the rest of their units normally (add the rest of the Leader cards to the deck). If the result is lower, roll again at the end of the next turn, adding a +1. Repeat each time until you succeed. At the latest, all units may be deployed normally in turn six.
This scenario pits a small cavalry force against a numerically superior infantry force. The Union doesn’t have to win this fight, but it will have to disengage and fall back without taking too many losses.
 OR I:27, part I, p. 922 and p. 926; Hard, Abner: History of the Eighth cavalry regiment, Illinois volunteers, during the great rebellion. Aurora 1868, p. 255f.; Cheney, Newel: History of the Ninth Regiment, New York Volunteer Cavalry. War of 1861 to 1865. Poland Center, N.Y. 1901, p. 101f.; Clark, Waler (ed.): Histories of the Several Regiments and Batteries from North Carolina in the Great War 1861-1865. Goldsboro: Nash Brothers 1901, vol. III, p. 236; Martin, David G.: Gettyburg July 1. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press 2003, p. 40f.; Wittenberg, Eric J.: The Devil’s to pay: John Buford at Gettysburg: a history and tour guide. El Dorado Hills, CA: Savas Beatie, 2014, p. 42.
 OR I:27, part I, p. 926.
 Hard: History of the Eighth cavalry regiment, p. 255f.
To many Civil War aficinados, Brig. Gen. Alexander Schimmelfennig is mainly known for hiding in a woodshed (or pigsty, depending on who is telling the story) during the Battle of Gettysburg. However, Schimmelfennig was an accomplished soldier who acquired not only a good combat record during the Civil War, but who, as a young man, was also involved in the fighting during the German revolutions of 1848 and 1849.
So what did he really do back then and what was his first combat experience like? As secondary literature on his time in Europe is scarce and sometimes contains errors, I decided to go back to the sources and assemble a more detailed account of his deeds. This is, of course, far from the last word on Schimmelfennig’s past, but I hope it will provide a solid starting point for further research.
Organising a Revolutionary Army
Georg Alexander Ferdinand Schimmelpfennig von der Oye (he was later to drop several parts of his name, among them the letter “p” in his surname) was born on July 20, 1824 at Bromberg in West Prussia (today Bydgoszcz in Poland). He came from a military family, with several relatives serving in the Prussian army. In June 1842, he also joined the service in the 29th Infantry Regiment (3. Rheinisches, von Horn). He was soon promoted to cadet and, in October 1843, to second lieutenant. On March 26, 1847, he was transferred to the 16th Infantry Regiment (3. Westfälisches, Freiherr v. Sparr) . Prussian officer training was thorough and Schimmelpfennig seems to have been well versed in tactics as well as strategy – enough so that he could later give Carl Schurz a comprehensive course in military theory .
There is no indication that the young officer did, as is sometimes claimed, participate in the Schleswig-Holstein War. His regiment was stationed at Cologne and had acquired a somewhat bad reputation with the local population. In the summer of 1846 it was employed in violently quelling demonstrations occurring during the St. Martin’s Fair and in 1848 and 1849 it participated in suppressing local insurrections .
We can assume that Schimmelpfennig came into contact with political dissidents during his time in Cologne, if he had not formed political opinions before. At the time, Cologne was a hotbed of revolutionary activism, which was centered around the Neue Rheinische Zeitung, whose editor was Karl Marx. Unfortunately, I could not yet find out in what way Schimmelpfennig was involved in the events unfolding there. Ii is recorded, however, that he was dismissed from the Prussian army on October 7, 1848.
By the spring of 1849, he had found his way into the Palatinate, where the final chapter of the German revolution was to unfold. The background of what was to become known as the “Reichsverfassungskampagne” (campaign for the constitution of the Empire) is steeped in the somewhat naive hopes of democratic activists to secure a German Empire under a constitutional monarchy . Several German states had accepted a constitution that would unite the German principalities under one monarch. The crown was offered to king Frederick Wilhelm IV of Prussia, who however declined, as he believed in the absolute power of kings and was not willing to submit his power to a constitution. In several German states, citizens rose to demand the enforcement of the constitution by arms. When Grand Duke Leopold of Baden asked the Prussians for help, the revolutionaries in Baden and in the Palatinate began to raise an army to confront the Prussian intervention force.
Young Schimmelpfennig seems to have cut a dashing figure. A contemporary described him as a small, lean man with blonde hair and a curled mustache, “aggressive, combative, a little haughty, but genial”. We don’t know if the traits later ascribed to him, namely a “somewhat soured” personality with a certain distrust of superiors, already manifested themselves. In any case, he was well educated and knowledgeable in military affairs .
This was probably the reason he got a position as a military commissioner after the command of the revolutionary army was given to a temporary military commission on May 20th, 1849. Another ex-Prussian officer, Friedrich von Anneke, was its chairman. But already one day later, a new Commander-in-Chief arrived, the former polish cavalry officer Franciszek Sznajde. The old soldier, however, was far from energetic. According to Carl Schurz, who served as an adjutant of Anneke, “he preferred to wield knife and fork rather than the sword” and apart from vague and almost unintelligible instructions (he spoke German very badly) he seems not to have had much influence on the campaign. The real work was done by the commission, which continued to raise an army .
Commissioners were sent out to raise a battalion in every borough. The core of this “Volkswehr” (irregular volunteers) was made up of professional soldiers who had joined the insurgents. The rest were locals, mainly workers, artisans and some farmers. Those were joined by student delegations and a hotchpotch of veterans from other revolutionary struggles. Outfitting and organising the troops was difficult: Weapons were lacking, so many men were only equipped with scythes, and the volunteers did not like the drill regime employed by the ex-Prussian officers. General Sznajde later stated that the troops could not even conduct basic manoeuvres such as marching in column. The men were unruly and hard to control. Uniforms were lacking, so with their beards, colourful shirts, feathered hats and old pistols and dirks in their belts they looked more like bandits than soldiers .
Schimmelpfennig organised a corps of “Volkswehr” at Zweibrücken in Western Palatinate. Eventually, his force seems to have numbered about 1500 men and 5 guns. On the whole, after six weeks of labour, the commission managed to assemble an army of about 7000-8000 men who were joined by Badish regulars who almost entirely had gone over to the revolutionaries. All in all, around 20.000 men were ready to confront the Prussian army .
The Battle of Rinnthal
The Prussian intervention force, which numbered about 50.000 men, intended a three-pronged attack with three corps. The insurgents on the other hand struggled to formulate a coherent counter strategy. Their forces were dispersed and their leaders seem to have had no overall plan .
The campaign began when the Prussian First Corps invaded the Palatinate on June 12, 1849. Schimmelpfennig’s Corps was, at that time, positioned at Homburg. The Prussian vanguard swiftly moved against the town and a small detachment of skirmishers managed to drive Schimmelpfennig’s men out of their barricades without them offering resistance. The removal of the barricades, however, slowed the Prussian pursuit considerably, so the revolutionaries had enough time to fall back and rally at the village of Zweibrücken. The retreat seems to have been made in some disorder as the guns were temporarily lost, but could be recovered .
Schimmelpfennig’s plan was now to cover the mountain passes at Pirmasens and therefore hinder the Prussian advance on the city of Landau. On June 16, he arrived at the village of Rinnthal, where he took position. Early next morning, he ordered his men to barricade the entrances into Rinnthal. This place was a strategic choke point, as it lay on an important road leading along a narrow valley .
There, they were joined by the veteran corps of August Willich, another ex-Prussian officer who would later become a general in the Civil War. His men, many of whom had already seen combat in 1848, arrived at Rinnthal in the morning of June 17. The assembled force had about 1600 men, among them the battle-hardened veterans of Willich’s corps, but also many men who were only armed with scythes .
Approaching from the west against them along the road in the narrow valley was the 2nd division of the 1st Prussian Army Corps under Maj. Gen. Karl Emil von Webern. It consisted of 5 battalions of infantry, one company of Jäger (light infantry), two squadrons of Ulans, 8 guns and a detachment of sappers, altogether almost 4000 men . The Prussians conducted their attack methodically. As soon as they spotted the barricades, they sent the Jäger forward to provide covering fire for the sappers and some 30 farmers, who had been pressed into service and equipped with axes and shovels. Those were followed by a company of fusiliers and two small guns .
The valley west of Rinnthal was very narrow – about 65 yards – with a steep hillside to the South of the road and another, more gently sloped hill to the North. There was also a small creek with a stone bridge and a mill. This was where the barricades had been erected. According to the after action reports of the Prussian officers, the insurgents had also occupied the hills to both sides of the road and poured a lively fire into the approaching troops. This made it impossible for the Prussian artillery to deploy, so the guns were pulled back again. We can only assume that the sappers and farmers also fell back, as no further mention of them is made.
Apart from the continuous and effective fire from the barricades, the mill and the hills, the insurgents’ resistance seems to have been disorderly . Schimmelpfennig’s scythe men were placed on the road and were hard to keep in check when receiving fire from the Prussian Jäger, who were trying to pin the defenders of the barricades. Another detachment of Jäger climbed the Northern heights to dislodge the insurgents’ sharpshooters. Then the Prussian commander ordered the fusiliers to charge over the bridge and take the barricades. In this, they quickly succeeded, driving the defenders back into the village proper. Now another company of fusiliers was sent to outflank the insurgents by taking the very steep Southern heights. There was some fighting over this hill, in which Friedrich Engels, who served as an adjutant to Willich, was personally involved. But the insurgents, armed only with flintlock muskets, could not withstand the fire from the superior Prussian needle rifles and finally broke and fled from their position. As a consequence, the village became untenable. While Prussian soldiers advanced on the heights to the left and right, a general retreat began. The insurgents fell back to Sarnsthal in good order, but as they continued to receive fire from the Prussians, the men finally broke and a rout ensued. Fortunately, again the Prussians did not pursue and the revolutionaries rallied in the village of Albersweiler.
The fight had lasted about three-quarters of an hour. While the Prussians had only taken light casualties – nine wounded, two of them severely – the insurgents had sustained heavy losses, altogether about 60 men, with about 20 of them killed. Most of the casualties were taken during the retreat. Schimmelpfennig, who directed the fighting from his horse, was wounded in the knee early in the action. He had to be carried off in an ambulance and was unable to continue his command function. His ill-disciplined men were unwilling to accept Willich’s authority, so the corps partly dissolved during the army’s retreat .
The campaign continued for another month, with the insurgents pulling together their forces and making a desperate last stand at the river Murg. However, they never stood a chance against the numerically superior and much better equipped, trained and disciplined Prussian army. On July 11 and 12, the last remains of the revolutionary force crossed the border into Switzerland. Among them was Alexander Schimmelpfennig, for whom a long journey was beginning. It led him via Switzerland and England to the USA, where he found employment as a military engineer before joining the army as colonel of the 35th Pennsylvania Volunteers (later designated as the 74th Pennsylvania) in 1861.
Unfortunately, we have no testimony from Schimmelpfennig himself about the campaign and the fight at Rinnthal. The eyewitness Friedrich Engels judged his performance as rather bad. He states that Schimmelpfennig neglected to occupy the heights around Rinnthal, which led to the Prussians taking them without resistance. This, he argues, was one of the reasons why the battle was lost. However, Engels didn’t like Schimmelpfennig for political reasons and deemed all insurgent leaders as incompetent, with the sole exception of Willich . If we look at the official reports of Prussian officers, a different picture emerges. All Prussian sources agree that the insurgents already held the heights when the 2nd division’s vanguard arrived, that the placement of the barricades and the troops on the heights put the attacking Prussians in a killing zone and that this prevented them from deploying their artillery. If occupying the heights was indeed Schimmelpfennig’s responsibility, he had accomplished the task satisfactory. He also seems to have shown personal courage, as being wounded early on meant that he was in the thick of the fighting from the beginning.
We can only speculate what the whole episode meant for Schimmelpfennig personally. At the least, it probably taught him important lessons about handling citizen soldiers – something that would no doubt come in handy when he took command of the 35th Pennsylvania Volunteers in 1861. It also gave him experience in leadership and independent command. Finally, he probably gained confidence in himself – he now knew he could trust himself to behave courageously under fire. Schimmelpfennig’s experience in the revolution of 1849, therefore, provided a solid basis for his career in the American Civil War.
 Melchers, Johannes B.: Stammliste des Offizier-Korps des Infanterie-Regiments von Horn (3. Rheinisches) Nr. 29 1813-1901. Trier: Lintz 1901, p. 228. In the secondary literature and also in some sources Alexander Schimmelpfennig is sometimes confused with another man named Schimmelpfennig who joined the revolutionary movement, namely Reinhard Schimmelpfennig. Reinhard, who was a cousin of Alexander, participated in the April 1848 campaign in Baden as a subordinate of Georg Herwegh and was killed at the Battle of Dossenbach on April 27, 1848. See Corvin, Otto von: Ein Leben voller Abenteuer. Zweiter Band. Frankfurt am Main: Frankfurter Societäts-Druckerei 1924, p. 798. The only modern biography of Schimmelpfennig is Raphelson, Alfred C. „Alexander Schimmelfennig: A German-American Campaigner in the Civil War“. The Pennsylvania Magazine of History and Biography 87, Nr. 2 (1963): 156–81.
 Schurz, Carl: The Reminiscences of Carl Schurz. Volume one: 1829-1852. New York: The McClure Company 1907, p. 244. His high education is also stressed by Otto von Fritsch, who served on Schimmelfennig’s staff during the Civil War. See Butts, Joseph Tyler (ed.): A gallant captain of the civil war: being the record of the extraordinary adventures of Frederick Otto, baron von Fritsch. New York; London: F. T. Neely, 1902, p. 28.
 Geschichte des 3. westfälischen Infanterie-Regiments Nr. 16. Berlin: E. S. Mittler und Sohn 1880, p. 167. See also Büsch, Otto (ed.): Handbuch der preussischen Geschichte. Band II. Berlin, New York: Walter de Gruyter 1992, p. 227.
 For an overview of the convoluted political background, see Siemann, Wolfram: Die deutsche Revolution von 1848/49. Frankfurt a. Main: Suhrkamp 1985, pp. 204-218.
 Becker, M. J.: The Germans of 1849 in America. An Address delivered before The Monday Club of Columbus, Ohio, March 14, 1887. Mt. Vernon, OH: The Republican Printing House 1887, p. 27; Butts (ed.): A gallant captain of the civil war, p. 28.
 Staroste: Tagebuch über die Ereignisse in der Pfalz und Baden im Jahre 1849. Band I. Potsdam: Riegel’sche Buch- und Musikalienhandlung 1852, p. 21f.; Schurz: Reminiscences, p. 189. Friedrich Engels had a very similar impression of the Polish general, see Engels, Friedrich: “Die deutsche Reichsverfassungskampagne,” in Karl Marx & Friedrich Engels: Werke. Band 7. Berlin: Dietz 1960, pp. 109-197: 155.
 Engels: “Reichsverfassungskampagne”, p. 164; Schurz: Reminiscences, p. 187f.; Anklag-Akte, errichtet durch die K. General-Staatsprokuratur der Pfalz, nebst Urtheit der Anklagekammer des k. Appellationsgerichtes der Pfalz in Zweibrücken vom 29. Juni 1850, in der Untersuchung gegen Martin Reichard, entlassener Notär in Speyer, und 332 Consorten, wegen bewaffneter Rebellion gegen die bewaffnete Macht, Hoch- und Staatsverraths &c. Zweibrücken: G. Ritter 1850, p. 72.; Giesler-Anneke, Mathilde F.: “Memoiren einer Frau aus dem badisch-pfälzischen Feldzug,” in German American Annals 16(3/4) 1918, pp. 73-140: 95.
 Engels: “Reichsverfassungskampagne”, p. 156; Staroste: Tagebuch über die Ereignisse in der Pfalz und Baden, p. 174.
 For an overview of the campaign, see Helmert, Heinz & Usczeck, Hansjürgen: Bewaffnete Volkskämpfe in Europa 1848/1849. Berlin: Militärverlag der Deutschen Demokratischen Republik 1973, pp. 248-266.
 Staroste: Tagebuch über die Ereignisse in der Pfalz und Baden, p. 174f.; Operationen und Gefechts-Berichte aus dem Feldzuge in der Rhein-Pfalz und im Grossherzogthum Baden, im Jahre 1849. Beiheft zum Militair-Wochenblatt für Oktober, November und Dezember 1849. Berlin: Mittler & Sohn 1849, p. 17.
 Anklag-Akte, p. 238.
 The numbers do not really add up with the number mentioned before regarding the strength of Schimmelpfennig’s corps. We can only assume that Schimmelpfennig had lost parts of his force due to desertion and disorder after the skirmish at Homburg.
 Staroste: Tagebuch über die Ereignisse in der Pfalz und Baden im Jahre 1849. Band II. Potsdam: Riegel’sche Buch- und Musikalienhandlung 1853, p. 269.
 Staroste: Tagebuch, Band I, p. 192.
 The accounts we have from the insurgents’ side are either cursory (Becker, who was not personally present at the action) or a bit fanciful (Engels) and they contradict in some important points the Prussian records. My account mainly follows the Prussian officers’ reports as published in the supplements to the Militair-Wochenblatt and the book by Staroste. See Operationen und Gefechts-Berichte, pp. 18-19; Staroste: Tagebuch, pp.192-194; Der Feldzug gegen die badisch-pfälzische Insurrection im Jahre 1849. Darmstadt: L. Pabst 1850, p. 266; Engels: “Reichsverfassungskampagne”, pp. 169-171; Becker, Johann Ph. & Essellen, Christian: Geschichte der süddeutschen Mai-Revolution des Jahres 1849. Genf: G. Becker 1849, pp. 308-310.
 Becker: Germans of 1849, p. 28; Engels: “Reichsverfassungskampagne”, p. 171. We know that Schimmelpfennig was mounted because the ownership and fate of the horse, which had been requisitioned, was a topic of some interest in the criminal trial where Schimmelpfennig, together with many other insurgents, was sentenced to death in absentia. See Anklag-Akte, p. 115.
 Engels: “Reichsverfassungskampagne”, p. 170. Later, in the hothouse that was emigrant politics at London, Engels and Marx bitterly quarreled with the faction around Schimmelpfennig and Schurz.
In the winter of 1862/1863, John Mosby got Jeb Stuart’s permission to take a small cavalry command and harrass the Union troops in winter quarters in Loudoun County, Virginia. This started his career as one of the most notorious partisan rangers of the Civil War. Using speed and deception, Mosby time and again hit Federal outposts, causing some casualties, but first and foremost causing panic and distress among the Union command. Several times, cavalry detachment were sent to catch him, but despite an occasional minor success, they could not corner the swift Confederate horsemen.
On June 10, 1863, Mosby finally organised his band into an independant command as Company A, 43rd Battalion Partisan Rangers, with Mosby in the rank of a Major. Planning to conduct a raid into Maryland, he was joined by another partisan group, the Prince William County Rangers under Capt. William G. Brawner . Mosby had received intelligence that a detachment from the 6th Michigan Cavalry was encamped near Seneca Mills along the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal. He had originally planned to cross the Potomac at Rowser’s Ford at night and attack the Federals in the early dawn. As his scout got lost, the expedition did not get across the river before daybreak.
Still, his advance guard managed to capture a Federal patrol without drawing attention. When they tried to take a towboar going up the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal, they came upon another Federal patrol. Shots were exchanged, which alarmed the Michigan troops in their camp. As the retreating patrol had raised a small drawbridge over the canal, Mosby’s men were delayed and the Federals had time to saddle up. When Mosby’s men charged, they fled and retreated across Seneca Creek. While Mosby ordered his men to destroy the camp, some of them pursued the Michigan troopers, who had taken up a position on the far side of the river. Shooting from cover behind trees and brushes, their superior firepower stalled the Confederates’ attack, causing some to fall back until Mosby personally arrived. He rallied them and led them into a charge across the bridge. The Michiganders fell back again, but made another stand in a road cut. In the resulting melee, the Federals lost a flag before they finally broke and fled. In a running fight, Mosby’s men followed the Michiganders to within three miles of Poolesville .
Both sides had taken casualties. For Mosby, the loss of Capt. Brawner was especially troubling, as it was difficult to maintain command over the Prince William County Rangers without their leader. From a personal point of view, however, the raid was a success: After sending his report and the captured flag to JEB Stuart, Stuart forwarded it to Jefferson Davis with the note: “In consideration of his brilliant services, I hope the President will promote Major Mosby.” 
Capt. Charles W. Deane: Born in Vermont in 1837, he moved to Pentwater on Lake Michigan and worked there as a lawyer. In August 1862, he mustered into the 6th Michigan as Capt. of Company I. After participating in many battles with the famous Wolverine Brigade, he mustered out in January 1865. After the war, he seems to have returend to the law and for a time represented Oceana in the State Legislature. He died in 1914. 
Maj. John S. Mosby: Born in 1833, he worked as a lawyer before the war. He inlisted in the Confederate cavalry in 1861, fought in several battles and bcame a scout for Jeb Stuart. In July 1862, he was captured by Union cavalry but was soon exchanged. In January 1863, he began his operations as an independant partisan, a form of organisation that, according to the Partisan Ranger Act, allowed him to retain captured property. Derided as a “horse-thief” by the Union command, his daring raids were widely admired by the Confederates. After the war, Mosby entered politics and for a time served as consul to Hong Kong. He died in 1916. 
Capt. William G. Brawner: Born in 1832 in Prince William County, he seems to have been an influential person in his community. Working as an attorney before the war, he served as a delegate to the Virginia Secession Convention in 1861. In May 1862, he organised the Chinquapin Rangers, a partisan ranger troop in his home county. When the company was mustered in as the Prince William Partisan Rangers in September 1862, he was elected Captain. Participating in several raids and small-scale engagements, he died during the fight at Seneca Mills. 
Why did it matter?
At the time of the skirmish, the 6th Michigan was part of Major General Julius Stahel’s division, which, as part of the Corps defending Washington, had tried to catch Mosby for some time. Mosby knew of Lee’s plan to invade Pennsylvania and wanted to stir up trouble so as to pin Union troops around Washington: “it was my policy to keep up a state of alarm about the capital” . According to one author, the raid on the Union camp at Seneca Mills might even have been made directly upon Stuart’s request. Mosby’s objective would have been to scout fords to prepare for the advance of Stuart’s cavalry, which was to screen the infantry of Ewell and Longstreet. The timetable, however, was brought into disarray by the cavalry Battle of Brandy Station .
However that may have been, Mosby’s raid on the 6th Michigan’s camp indeed caused alarm in the Union command. Several units were dispatched to catch him, but none was successful. The raid cemented Mosby’s reputation among friends and foes alike as the swift and elusive “Gray Ghost”.
The most imposing landmark of the area was the Seneca aqueduct – or, more precisely, naviduct – which carried the water of the Seneca Creek over the Chesapeake and Ohio Canal and into the Potomac. There seems to have been two small bridges near the aqueduct and several mills along the Creek, which was an important source of water power.
In game terms, the canal as well as the creek count as impassable obstacles for all troops. However, as it forms the Southern border of the playing table, there is no real need to represent the canal on the tabletop. The trees and bushes along the banks of the creek block line of sight. The sunken road to the west of the creek should provide complete cover for men on horseback.
The Union Primary Deployment Point is located on the road at the western edge of the table, while the Union Secondary Deployment Point is at the camp. The Confederate Deployment Point is on the road at the eastern table edge.
This is an encounter battle. Each side has to reduce the enemy’s Force Morale to 0 while keeping its own at 3 or greater.
Camp: At least one Union group must deploy from the Union Secondary Deployment Point (camp). If this DP is taken by the enemy before a group is deployed from it, the Union automatically loses one group (so it may only deploy three groups from the Primary Deployment Point) and has to roll on the Bad Things Happen Table for Loss of Deployment Point.
Cavalry vs. skirmishers: Skirmishers (including dismounted cavalry) count as fighting without bayonets if attacked by mounted cavalry.
Union: 3 Leaders, 4 groups of the 6th Michigan Cavalry (Co. I), Support: Colour Party
Confederates: 4 Leaders, 4 groups of the 43rd Virginia Cavalry Battalion
Using Rebels and Patriots
Use Skirmishers with the unit upgrades Good Shooters and Mounted (=6 points) for the 6th Michigan and Shock Cavalry with the unit upgrade Veteran (=8 points) for the 43rd Virginia. One Union unit is deployed at the camp, the rest deploy at the site indicated as Union Primary Deployment Point.
The idea behind the scenario is a clash between two different tactical doctrines: The lightening strike of Mosby’s raiders, which relies on speed and the shock of a direct charge, versus the dismounted drill of the 6th Michigan, which relies on the firepower of repeating carbines (represented in the scenario as breech loading carbines, as those are powerful enough in Sharp Practice). The Confederate player will have to be fast and decisive, as it will be difficult to withstand the concerted fire of Union troopers in good positions.
My good friend and regular gaming partner Sigur has written a report of us playing this scenario which can be found on his blog Tabletop Stories.
 Petruzzi, David J. and Stanley, Steven A.: The Gettysburg Campaign in Numbers and Losses. El Dorado Hills: Savas Beattie 2012, p. 10-11.
 OR I: 27, part 2, p. 787-788; Scott, John: Partisan Life with Mosby. London: Sampson Low, Son, and Marston 1867, p. 99-101; Mosby, John S.: Mosby’s War Reminiscences and Stuart’s Cavalry Campaigns. Boston: Geo. A. Jones & Co. 1887, p. 157-161; Williamson, James J.: Mosby’s Rangers, a record of the operations of the Forty-third battalion of Virginia Cavalry from its organization to the surrender. New York: Ralph B. Kenyon 1896, p. 69-70.
 Wert, Jeffrey D.: Mosby’s Rangers. New York: Simon & Schuster 1990, p. 86; OR I: 27, part 2, p. 788.
 Pension records accessed via fold3.com; Hartwick, L. M. and Tuller, W. H.: Oceana county pioneers and business men of to-day, Pentwater: Pentwater News Steam Print 1890, p. 216.
 Wert, Jeffrey D.: Mosby’s Rangers. New York: Simon & Schuster 1990.
 Fortier, John B.: Story of a Regiment: The Campaigns and Personnel of the Fifteenth Virginia Cavalry, 1862-1865, M.A. thesis, College of William & Mary – Arts & Sciences 1968, p. 48 (available online)
 Mosby: Mosby’s War Reminiscences, p. 158.
 O’Neill, Robert F.: Chasing Jeb Stuart and John Mosby: The Union Cavalry in Northern Virginia from Second Manassas to Gettysburg, Jefferson: McFarland & Co. 2012, p. 211.
The 1st South Carolina Volunteer Infantry (Colored) was one of the first African-American regiments to be raised in the war. Its origins lay in an abandoned experiment by Major General David Hunter to arm escaped slaves in order to defend his exposed position on the Atlantic coast. The experiment failed, mainly because Hunter’s approach was extremly heavy-handed, but it formed to core of what was to become the 1st South Carolina Volunteer Infantry. A company of its soldiers already conducted small raids on November 1862, but the regiment was not mustered in before January 31, 1863. 
On January 1, 1863, a big ceremony was held at Port Royal, South Carolina, to celebrate the coming into effect of the Emancipation Proclamation. At this event, the regiment received its flag, which was handed over to Sgt. Prince Rivers and Cpl. Robert Sutton. The flag bore the words “To the First Regiment of South Carolina Volunteers. The Year of Jubilee Has Come.”
What does this phrase mean?
The expression goes back to a custom mentioned in the Bible. There, the “Year of Jubilee” refers to a season of festival occuring every fifty years, where debts were forgiven, wealth was redistributed and all servants of Hebrew origin obtained their freedom. Educator and writer Maria Richards described it in 1858 as a year of festivities, which was announced by a trumpet proclaiming “liberty to the bondsman, plenty to the impoverished, home to the exile.” 
In the growing abolitionist movement of the antebellum period, this biblical idea took on a meaning that was narrower but at the same time more concise. No longer referring to a general social reform, it referred to the freeing of slaves in the U.S. and the abolition of the institution of slavery. William Goodell, a radical abolitionist, published a newspaper called American Jubilee during the 1850s and abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison often signed his letters with phrases like “Yours to usher in the Jubilee”. 
When the Civil War broke out, many slaves interpreted the events in an almost millennial way, seeing the events as heralding a new age brought forth through an awful conflegration. The notion and concept of Jubilee again provided a way to frame their hopes and make sense of what was happening in religious terms. Black congregations were heard to fervently sing the old methodist hymn “Blow Ye the Trumpet, Blow”, which contained the verse: “The year of jubilee is come! Return, ye ransomed sinners, home.” Union cavalry officer Willard Glazier noted in October 1861 that many slaves come into the federal lines, entertaining “wild notions about a jubilee of liberty, for which they are praying and singing, and look upon us as their deliverers.” Elisha Hunt Rhodes of the 2nd Rhode Island Infantry described visiting “a jubilee meeting” held by African-Americans in May 1862. 
Northern composer and songwriter Henry C. Work, who had connections to the abolitionist movement, took up the term and further developed its meaning in his 1862 song “Kingdom Coming.” Using snippets of African-American speech he had heard, his song tells the story of a Union raid on the South Carolina coast from the perspective of the slaves. Intended as a humorous song, the lyrics exegerate the African-American accent and would probably be considered to be a kind of ‘blackface’ farce today. But the widely popular song also developed the idea of Jubilee in an significant way:
Say, darkies, hab you seen de massa, wid de muffstash on his face,
Go long de road some time dis mornin', like he gwine to leab de place?
He seen a smoke way up de ribber, whar de Linkum gunboats lay;
He took his hat, and lef' berry sudden, and I spec' he's run away!
De massa run, ha, ha! De darkey stay, ho, ho!
It mus' be now de kingdom coming, an' de year ob Jubilo!
In Work’s song, the day of Jubilee is initiated and enforced by the Union army. It is not an event happening through divine providence or political campaigning, but because the Union war machine with its steam gunboats is fighting and driving away the slave holders. However, it not only gives agency to the Union soldiers, but also to the slaves themselves, which are depicted as taking over the plantation and locking the overseer into the cellar.
African-Americans of course had not waited for the Union army, but had employed their own agency to usher in the year of Jubilee. They knew that escaping from their owners and coming into Union lines, as Glazier wittnessed, already meant taking their fate into their own hands. For many African-American men, joining the Union army was another step in this process.
It is altogether fitting, then, that the regimental flag of the 1st S. C., which was sewn by members of the congregation from the antislavery Church of the Pilgrims in New York, bore the inscription: “The Year of Jubilee Has Come.” African-American soldiers fighting under it were always reminded that they themselves, former slaves, finally had the authority as well as the military power to contribute to the fight for freedom from their chains.
 For the history of the regiment see Saucer, John: An We Ob Jubilee: The First South Carolina Volunteers. Arcadia Publishing 2019 and Ash, Stephen V.: Firebrand of Liberty. The Story of Two Black Regiments that Changed the Course of the Civil War. New York, London: W. W. Norton & Co. 2008.
 Richards, Maria Tolman: The Year of Jubilee: Or, Familiar Phases of Hebrew Life. New York: Sheldon, Blakeman & Co. 1858, p. 117.
 Coffey, John: Exodus and Liberation: Deliverance Politics from John Calvin to Martin Luther King. Oxford: Oxford University Press, p. 125.
 Glazier, Willard W.: Three Years in the Federal Cavalry. New York: Ferguson & Co. 1873, p. 40; Rhodes, Robert Hunt (ed.): All for the Union. The Civil War Diary and Letters of Elisha Hunt Rhodes. New York: Random House 1992, p. 57.
[We] marched to Gettysburg and when wee got thare wee formed A line of battle and soon the ball opned […]
The phrase “the ball opened” was much used and well understood by Civil War soldiers and civilians alike. It referred to the moment a battle began, or, more specific, to the moment the balls – meaning the projectiles – started to fly. It is mostly used in reference to the individual describing the action. In the quote above, the battle of Gettysburg had started hours before, but “the ball opned” for Private Coghill of the 23rd North Carolina Infantry when he and his comrades were hit by a volley from the men of Baxter’s brigade hinding behind a stone wall on Oak Ridge.
The expression can be found in countless letters, diaries and memoirs. “The ball is opened again and we are, from what I see, to have another hot day”, Maj. Joseph H. Chennoweth of the 31st Virginia wrote when he marched into battle in the Shenandoah Valley on June 9, 1862. “On our right the ball has opened and heavy cannonading is now (3 PM) going on and off,” wrote Union artillery officer John Cheney during the Chattanooga campaign of November 1863. And again at the battle of Gettysburg, a private of the 150th Pennsylvania even taunted the rebels by shouting: “Come boys, choose your partners! The ball is about to open! Don’t you hear the music?” 
But why did those soldiers compare a battle with a ball, a social event that is usually seen as festive and cheerful?
On a first, superficial level, calling a battle a “ball” is an euphemism. The soldier is playing “old hand”, he is signalling his knowledge of military jargon and, at the same time, presenting himself as distanced from the dangers and horrors of the battlefield. He shows that he can make light of the horrors of war and therefore remain in control of his emotions – a central part of Victorian manliness. 
But may there be a deeper meaning to this metaphor? To answer this question, it would be interesting to trace the origins of the comparison. And indeed there is a piece of text that may have been the source of the phrase: namely a letter by one of the most famous generals of the time, the victor of Waterloo, Arthur Wellesley, 1st Duke of Wellington. This letter was written on August 8, 1815, less than a month after the battle, in answer to a request by an unknown writer – some think it might have been the novelist Walter Scott.
It seems that the inquirer presented a plan to write about the battle the general had just fought. This is what Wellington answered:
I have received your letter of the 2d, regarding the battle of Waterloo. The object you propose to yourself is very difficult of attainment and, if really attained, is not a little invidious. The history of a battle, is not unlike the history of a ball. Some individuals may recollect all the little events of which the great result is the battle won or lost, but no individual can recollect the order in which, or the exact moment at which, they occurred, which makes all the difference as to their value or importance.
What did Wellington mean? By drawing the comparison to the swirling social dynamics of a ball, he stresses the impossibility of describing a battle in its entirety, of giving a complete picture of what happened at a specific moment in time. Like a ball, a battle is an overwhelming experience that consists of many tiny occurences which are difficult to bring into order once the event is over. Wellington, the man who commanded the allied armies at Waterloo, in a way acknowledged the impossibility of giving a complete account of that event.
Of course I don’t know if this quote really is the origin of the comparison between battle and ball as it was invoked during the Civil War. The letter containing the quote was printed in at least three books that were widely disseminated before the war: it appeared in Edward Cotton’s A Voice from Waterloo (first published in 1846), Macaulay’s History of England (1848) and Clark’s Battles of England and Tales of the Wars (1848). It was also published in periodicals, such as The Athenaeum (November 17, 1838) and The Monthly Review (1839). We also know that Civil War soldiers liked to read books on military history and strategy and that works about famous generals were especially popular. So there might well be a connection between Wellington’s letter and the widespread use of the phrase during the Civil War.
In this light, the comparison between ball and battle may be more than just an euphemism. It may hint towards the deeper truth, namely the difficulty, maybe even the impossibility of giving a complete account of the events that happened in a battle.
This is something to keep in mind when reading or writing about history.
 Cozzens, Peter: Shenandoah 1862. Stonewall Jackson’s Valley Campaign. Chapeh Hill, NC: University of North Carolina Press 2008, p. 488; Armstrong, Gordon (ed.): Illinois Artillery Officer’s Civil War: The Diary and Letters of John Cheney. College Station: virtualbookworm.com 2005, p. 195; Martin, David G.: Gettysburg, July 1. Cambridge, MA: Da Capo Press 2003, p. 175.
 Foote, Lorien: The Gentlemen and the Roughs. Violence, Honor and Manhood in the Union Army. New York: New York University Press 2010, p. 57.
 Cotton, Edward: A voice from Waterloo. A history of the battle, on the 18th June 1815. London: B. L. Green 1849, p. 225-226.
 Kaser, David: Books and libraries in camp and battle. The Civil War experience. Westport, Conn.: Greenwood Press 1984, p. 16f.