The air was heavy
and calm over the grassy field in Decatur, Alabama, until the sounds of cannon blasts, Rebel yells and gunfire split the silence.
For almost an hour, men in blue and gray--some on horseback, many on foot--fought for their lives beneath the blazing hot
September sun. Almost as many of the men succumbed to the heat as to bullets and cannon-blasts; a heat made even more cruel
as it intensified a hundredfold beneath their heavy uniforms of wool and butternut clothing.
To the hundreds of spectators
sweating beneath their brightly colored umbrellas and wide-brimmed hats, watching this annual reenactment (called the September
Skirmish) from the safety of bleachers and lawn chairs, the War Between the States was suddenly very real and very thought-provoking.
As you watch the drama unfold
before your eyes, no matter which side of this war (which claimed more American lives than any war fought before or since)
gains your sympathy, you suddenly cannot help but realize the personal loss and the personal pain of the individuals who were
willing to truly give their all for what they believed was right. A trip through the camp of white canvas tents set up just
beyond the battlefield was a walk through a history book. If you could ignore the glimpses of bright-colored ice chests and
cans of bug spray, and of the partially hidden Port-A-Potties, you could almost believe that the gunfire was real, instead
of bulletless, and that many of these long-skirted women would be widows when night fell. Although the re-enactors try to
keep the campsites as authentic as possible, it was admittedly a bit disconcerting to stumble into a campsite whose fire was
surrounded by a string of military saddled horses, soldiers in full dress uniform and women in time-period dress... and find
them chatting with friends and family dressed in rock-idol-emblazoned t-shirts, halter tops and cutoff jeans as they sipped
an icy cold can of Coke.
But, the attention to detail
of the uniforms and clothing of the participants was proof of their dedication to their hobby. At a mock trial of a young
man accused of leaving his post during wartime to seek the delights of female flesh (specifically, a delightfully brash young
lady in a discreet calico dress that belied her profession), the defending attorney was dressed flamboyantly in silk and satins
(albeit with discreet patching on pertinent portions of his clothing) while the prosecuting attorney was dressed in somber
black.
From the feather in the
generals cap, to the boots of each man in the cavalry detail, to the buckles on the belts that held up their wool or butternut
pants, every item of their clothing matched exactly the actual photos taken during this period of time. (Granted, the underwear
worn by those involved remains a secret, except for that of the poor courtmartialed soldier who faced the firing squad, and
whose uniform was then stripped from his body and distributed to his comrades.) Several of the blue and gray uniforms even
covered female forms as well as male; this, too, was historically accurate, as well over 400 female soldiers are documented
as having fought incognito alongside men men who never guessed the secrets hidden beneath their comrades' uniforms.
These hardy re-enactors well deserved the round of applause from the spectators following their gallant
display of heroism. My own hat, a very sweaty baseball cap, was off to them, each and every one. This was my first reenactment
to observe, but it wont be my last. Who knows, maybe someday Ill be among those hardy few, braving the elements and enemy
bullets, willing to die (a mock death, at least) for our cause.
