From the Camden Confederate, April 25, 1862
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85042595/1862-04-25/ed-1/seq-1/#
https://chroniclingamerica.loc.gov/lccn/sn85042595/1862-04-25/ed-1/seq-1/#
Rambling Anecdotes
- Thread starter 4V50 Gary
- Start date
Here's a letter from a Southerner who didn't want to join the army but was willing to raise a militia unit composed of like minded draft dodgers. While challenged as a speller, he writes with candor and his letter is best read aloud. Warning, put down what you are drinking or swallow the food you are chewing before reading it.
Satartia, Miss., Feby. 13th, 1863
Honl. Gov. Pettis
I want your honor to appint me to git a compiny horse troops. The infernil melisha offersers and Sheriff bother me to deth and if you will appint me to git a hoss compiny I can dodge the draft and then it aint worth while to git any hoss compiny and myself and neighors can git off.
They tell me you have got the Jefferson and Adams County and the Klaiburn and Amite boys off in this way by letting them voluntere in hoss compinies to git out of the cussed draft. Why not let all do it Governer. Pleese write me to Satartia soon and oblige
Your firnd
John T. Hodge
P.S.
I heer the hoss cumpinies break up the melish and then break down theirselves.
John J. Pettus Correspondence
Series 757, Box 944, Folder 1, Mississippi Department of Archives and History
Satartia, Miss., Feby. 13th, 1863
Honl. Gov. Pettis
I want your honor to appint me to git a compiny horse troops. The infernil melisha offersers and Sheriff bother me to deth and if you will appint me to git a hoss compiny I can dodge the draft and then it aint worth while to git any hoss compiny and myself and neighors can git off.
They tell me you have got the Jefferson and Adams County and the Klaiburn and Amite boys off in this way by letting them voluntere in hoss compinies to git out of the cussed draft. Why not let all do it Governer. Pleese write me to Satartia soon and oblige
Your firnd
John T. Hodge
P.S.
I heer the hoss cumpinies break up the melish and then break down theirselves.
John J. Pettus Correspondence
Series 757, Box 944, Folder 1, Mississippi Department of Archives and History
From Townshend's The Seventh Michigan Volunteer Infantry page 160-1.
The school of the soldier is a profitable one. They learn by their necessities to make the most of things. It was but this morning that I saw some men making glass tumblers, by cutting off the bottoms of bottles for that purpose. They were castaway whiskey bottles, I am sorry to say. It is done in this wise: a stout string is wound round the bottle at the proper distance from the vase, guided by a strap, and is then seesawed till the friction heats the glass under the string, when a little cold water will snap off a drinking cup of most pretentious appearance. You can imagine, however, that the labor is considerable.
The school of the soldier is a profitable one. They learn by their necessities to make the most of things. It was but this morning that I saw some men making glass tumblers, by cutting off the bottoms of bottles for that purpose. They were castaway whiskey bottles, I am sorry to say. It is done in this wise: a stout string is wound round the bottle at the proper distance from the vase, guided by a strap, and is then seesawed till the friction heats the glass under the string, when a little cold water will snap off a drinking cup of most pretentious appearance. You can imagine, however, that the labor is considerable.
Foraging and looting can be harmful to the forager/looter. From page 98 of Lawerence Hewitt's Port Hudson, Confederate Bastion on the Mississippi we have:
"Several Yankees entered Mrs. Ramsey Delatt's house and proceeded to eat all her food. When she came into the kitchen, threw up her hands, and cried, "Oh, my you have just eaten the poultice from my husband's sore leg," the soldiers quickly exited the building and "unswallowed!"
"Several Yankees entered Mrs. Ramsey Delatt's house and proceeded to eat all her food. When she came into the kitchen, threw up her hands, and cried, "Oh, my you have just eaten the poultice from my husband's sore leg," the soldiers quickly exited the building and "unswallowed!"
The colonel of an Alabama regiment was famous for having every thing done in a military style. Once while field officer of the day, and going his tour of inspection, he came on a sentinel from the Eleventh Mississippi regiment sitting flat down on his pants, with his gun taken entirely to pieces, when the following dialogue took place:
Colonel -- "Don't you know that a sentinel while on duty, should always keep on his feet?
Sentinel (without looking up) -- "That's the way we used to do when the war first began; but that's played out long ago."
Colonel (beginning to . doubt if the man was on duty), -- "Are you the sentinel here?"
Sentinel -- "Well, I'm a sort of a sentinel."
Colonel -- "Well, I'm a sort of officer of the day."
Sentinel -- "Well, if you hold on till I sort of git my gun together, I'll give you a sort of salute."
Colonel -- "Don't you know that a sentinel while on duty, should always keep on his feet?
Sentinel (without looking up) -- "That's the way we used to do when the war first began; but that's played out long ago."
Colonel (beginning to . doubt if the man was on duty), -- "Are you the sentinel here?"
Sentinel -- "Well, I'm a sort of a sentinel."
Colonel -- "Well, I'm a sort of officer of the day."
Sentinel -- "Well, if you hold on till I sort of git my gun together, I'll give you a sort of salute."
From John William DeForest' A Volunteer's Adventures. This (meaning the book, not this anecdote from it) is considered essential reading for those who study the Port Hudson Campaign in Louisiana.
"Our Negro attendants, who had come with us from New Orleans or the vicinity, seemed not to have the slightest scruple about robbing their country brethren. A large, elderly, reverend looking follower of my company, named Prince, valet to one of my corporals, executed the following swindle upon the enfranchised population of the 'the green Opelousas.' Mounted on a sore-backed mule, he pushed ahead of the column, entered the Negro cabins by the roadside and requested the inmates to hand over their Confederate money.
"'Tan't wuth nothing now," he explained, "and I'se the man that General Banks has sent ahead to take it up, and when he comes along he'll give you the greenbacks for it."
Thereupon the green Opelousans would pour their Confederate wealth into Prince's broad palms, simply enquiring how they should know General Banks when he appeared.
"Oh, you'll know him right easy," answered Prince. "He's a mighty good lookin' young man, and wears specs."
This was a sufficiently accurate description of Lieutenant Colonel Frank A. Peck, the handsome commandant of the Twelfth Connecticut. Accordingly, the lieutenant colonel was much puzzled by the number of Negroes who approached him on the march, knuckling their heads respectfully, and enquiring: "Massa, has you brought our money?"
Prince's rascality was exposed to me by George. Devourer of plundered chickens as I was, I felt indignant at such needless roguery and turned the venerable humbug out of camp with public approbrium. It must be understood that Confederate money was at this time worth thirty or forty cents on the dollar or, at least, could be secretly exchanged at that value among the secession brokers of New Orleans. Prince had collected a roll of it as large as my fist.
"Our Negro attendants, who had come with us from New Orleans or the vicinity, seemed not to have the slightest scruple about robbing their country brethren. A large, elderly, reverend looking follower of my company, named Prince, valet to one of my corporals, executed the following swindle upon the enfranchised population of the 'the green Opelousas.' Mounted on a sore-backed mule, he pushed ahead of the column, entered the Negro cabins by the roadside and requested the inmates to hand over their Confederate money.
"'Tan't wuth nothing now," he explained, "and I'se the man that General Banks has sent ahead to take it up, and when he comes along he'll give you the greenbacks for it."
Thereupon the green Opelousans would pour their Confederate wealth into Prince's broad palms, simply enquiring how they should know General Banks when he appeared.
"Oh, you'll know him right easy," answered Prince. "He's a mighty good lookin' young man, and wears specs."
This was a sufficiently accurate description of Lieutenant Colonel Frank A. Peck, the handsome commandant of the Twelfth Connecticut. Accordingly, the lieutenant colonel was much puzzled by the number of Negroes who approached him on the march, knuckling their heads respectfully, and enquiring: "Massa, has you brought our money?"
Prince's rascality was exposed to me by George. Devourer of plundered chickens as I was, I felt indignant at such needless roguery and turned the venerable humbug out of camp with public approbrium. It must be understood that Confederate money was at this time worth thirty or forty cents on the dollar or, at least, could be secretly exchanged at that value among the secession brokers of New Orleans. Prince had collected a roll of it as large as my fist.
Lee44ShooterCnB
New member
poppy
And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We’ll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
–Moina Michael (1869–1944)
And now the Torch and Poppy Red
We wear in honor of our dead.
Fear not that ye have died for naught;
We’ll teach the lesson that ye wrought
In Flanders Fields.
–Moina Michael (1869–1944)
Shamelessly copied from another forum, as made by another poster:
Captain LaGarde wrote his book "Gunshot Injuries" in 1916 that the projectiles of the American Civil War caused worse wounds than the front line weapons used in the second year of WW1. I did find this exact quote:
"The stopping power of the reduced caliber rifle bullet, thous' less than those of its predecessors, the .45 caliber Springfield, Martini Henry, old Mauser, or Gras, is still considered sufficient for all the purposes of civilized warfare".
"Civilized warfare" -- is that like "Marketing intelligence"?
Old No7
Captain LaGarde wrote his book "Gunshot Injuries" in 1916 that the projectiles of the American Civil War caused worse wounds than the front line weapons used in the second year of WW1. I did find this exact quote:
"The stopping power of the reduced caliber rifle bullet, thous' less than those of its predecessors, the .45 caliber Springfield, Martini Henry, old Mauser, or Gras, is still considered sufficient for all the purposes of civilized warfare".
"Civilized warfare" -- is that like "Marketing intelligence"?
Old No7
Monument to the Angel of Marye's Heights
The Kirkland Monument remembers a selfless Civil War hero who braved the battlefield to give water to his dying enemies.--->>> https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/monument-to-the-angel-of-marye-s-heights
The Kirkland Monument remembers a selfless Civil War hero who braved the battlefield to give water to his dying enemies.--->>> https://www.atlasobscura.com/places/monument-to-the-angel-of-marye-s-heights
Attachments
From Edward Young McMorrises' History of the First Regiment Alabama Volunteer Infantry, C. S. A. pages 118-9:
I now come to relate an unimportant but the most striking co-incident of my whole life. The last night of our stay a card party was given at Mrs. Little's, and it was largely attended, mostly by young girls and young men. We played the usual games until a late hour, when we hanged to "telling fortunes" with cards. The lass (about 15) with whom I had mostly played, after telling or foretelling when I would marry, the color of the eyes and hair of my wife-to-e, etc., asked me i I would like to have another furlough. I replied, "Yes, run these cards and tell me how long before I get another."
She dealt off the cards, and after consulting them declared I should get another furlough in a very short time. I replied that I didn't believe it, because I was returning from home on a furlough; that I was going then to "head off" Sherman in the Carolinas, and that an early furlough for me was absurd. "you have consulted the wrong cards," I said, "try that again with the cards." She did so, and at the conclusion threw up her hands and shouted: "Oh, it will be no time hardly before you have another furlough." She went through all this with the most affected sincerity and gravity. "Impossible," I said. "you are a failure, I know, as a fortune-teller. Run these cards again."
A third time she ran the cards in reference to my getting a furlough, the last time going into ecstacies of joy, and affirming with still more earnestness it would be almost no time before I received another furlough. The next morning Ardis and myself took leave of our kind friends, and set out on foot for Augusta. We had to pass down through the business part of the city, and here I met Lieut. Alex. Frier and Sert. Hector McLean of my company returning as a special detail to Alabama. Lieut. Frier had been sent back on a special service, and with authority and orders to detail two non-commissioned officers to assist him in his duties. He had already detailed one (MMcLean), he lacked another and promptly detailed me. This would give another furlough of ten days at home. It had not been fifteen hours since the young lady with a pack of cards had foretold this! Was there ever a more remarkable coincidence!
I now come to relate an unimportant but the most striking co-incident of my whole life. The last night of our stay a card party was given at Mrs. Little's, and it was largely attended, mostly by young girls and young men. We played the usual games until a late hour, when we hanged to "telling fortunes" with cards. The lass (about 15) with whom I had mostly played, after telling or foretelling when I would marry, the color of the eyes and hair of my wife-to-e, etc., asked me i I would like to have another furlough. I replied, "Yes, run these cards and tell me how long before I get another."
She dealt off the cards, and after consulting them declared I should get another furlough in a very short time. I replied that I didn't believe it, because I was returning from home on a furlough; that I was going then to "head off" Sherman in the Carolinas, and that an early furlough for me was absurd. "you have consulted the wrong cards," I said, "try that again with the cards." She did so, and at the conclusion threw up her hands and shouted: "Oh, it will be no time hardly before you have another furlough." She went through all this with the most affected sincerity and gravity. "Impossible," I said. "you are a failure, I know, as a fortune-teller. Run these cards again."
A third time she ran the cards in reference to my getting a furlough, the last time going into ecstacies of joy, and affirming with still more earnestness it would be almost no time before I received another furlough. The next morning Ardis and myself took leave of our kind friends, and set out on foot for Augusta. We had to pass down through the business part of the city, and here I met Lieut. Alex. Frier and Sert. Hector McLean of my company returning as a special detail to Alabama. Lieut. Frier had been sent back on a special service, and with authority and orders to detail two non-commissioned officers to assist him in his duties. He had already detailed one (MMcLean), he lacked another and promptly detailed me. This would give another furlough of ten days at home. It had not been fifteen hours since the young lady with a pack of cards had foretold this! Was there ever a more remarkable coincidence!
From pages 95-6 of the same book:
"While a Red River steamer was discharging its cargo of bacon at the landing, Private I. H. Johnson of the Perote Guards, was sitting upon the bluff overlooking the landing, an interesting spectator of the scene below. The mysterious movements of two Arkansas soldiers mixing with the boat hands at work especially excited his curiosity. He kept his eye on them. Sure enough the first opportunity that opened, when the backs of the boat hands were turned, they grabbed each a side of bacon and ran off. An idea struck Johnson. His camp was not a hundred yards away while that of the Arkansas men was half a mile distant with a skirt of forest intervening. Johnson rushed to his camp, quickly donned a sergeant's coat, picked up a file of men and dashed off around the skirt of woods in his 'flank movement.' He intercepted and arrested the Arkansans, started to camp with prisoners and spoils, but soon halted for a parley. Our pro-tem sergeant expressed deep sympathy to and for his prisoners, saying that he knew rations were short; that he thought it hard, under the circumstances, for the soldiers to be courtmartialed, and probably balled and chained for a month merely for trying to get something to eat; and then intimated that if he could do so with safety to himself he would turn them loose, but that he would be obliged to carry the bacon to camp and make his report. The Arkansans quickly accepted his proposition, and in less than half an hour 'our sergeant' came marching back to camp, each of his men with a side of bacon and cheered by the whole company. I can't say whether or not our 'sergeant' ever reported this haul to headquarters, but it has always been our private opinion that Lee's veterans never got any of that meat."
"While a Red River steamer was discharging its cargo of bacon at the landing, Private I. H. Johnson of the Perote Guards, was sitting upon the bluff overlooking the landing, an interesting spectator of the scene below. The mysterious movements of two Arkansas soldiers mixing with the boat hands at work especially excited his curiosity. He kept his eye on them. Sure enough the first opportunity that opened, when the backs of the boat hands were turned, they grabbed each a side of bacon and ran off. An idea struck Johnson. His camp was not a hundred yards away while that of the Arkansas men was half a mile distant with a skirt of forest intervening. Johnson rushed to his camp, quickly donned a sergeant's coat, picked up a file of men and dashed off around the skirt of woods in his 'flank movement.' He intercepted and arrested the Arkansans, started to camp with prisoners and spoils, but soon halted for a parley. Our pro-tem sergeant expressed deep sympathy to and for his prisoners, saying that he knew rations were short; that he thought it hard, under the circumstances, for the soldiers to be courtmartialed, and probably balled and chained for a month merely for trying to get something to eat; and then intimated that if he could do so with safety to himself he would turn them loose, but that he would be obliged to carry the bacon to camp and make his report. The Arkansans quickly accepted his proposition, and in less than half an hour 'our sergeant' came marching back to camp, each of his men with a side of bacon and cheered by the whole company. I can't say whether or not our 'sergeant' ever reported this haul to headquarters, but it has always been our private opinion that Lee's veterans never got any of that meat."
"War Chicken
There has been a lot written about General Robert E. Lee, from his unflawed character, his deep conviction and noble leader to him being a traitor.
There is no doubt that Lee has left an indelible mark on America.
While there are many tales to tell of General Lee’s life, one that provides a little chuckle is the story of his “pet” hen Nellie.
Nellie was a black hen that Lee acquired at Petersburg.
The story is relayed by his body servant, William Mack Lee, of how Nellie would daily lay an egg every morning and how fond the general was of Nellie.
But on July 3, 1863 William stated that, “we was all so hongry and I didn't have nuffin in ter cook, dat I was jes' plumb bumfuzzled” and
determined there wasn’t enough to feed all the generals on hand, so he went and cooked up Nellie.
The general was not pleased.
According to William, this was the first, and only time Lee scolded him.
Will said that,
"Marse Robert kep' on scoldin' me mout dat hen.
He never scolded 'bout naything else.
He tol' me I was a fool to kill de her whut lay de golden egg.
Hit made Marse Robert awful sad ter think of anything bein' killed, whedder der 'twas one of his soljers, or his little black hen." " --->>> https://owlcation.com/humanities/10-Little-Known-Facts-About-the-US-Civil-War
There has been a lot written about General Robert E. Lee, from his unflawed character, his deep conviction and noble leader to him being a traitor.
There is no doubt that Lee has left an indelible mark on America.
While there are many tales to tell of General Lee’s life, one that provides a little chuckle is the story of his “pet” hen Nellie.
Nellie was a black hen that Lee acquired at Petersburg.
The story is relayed by his body servant, William Mack Lee, of how Nellie would daily lay an egg every morning and how fond the general was of Nellie.
But on July 3, 1863 William stated that, “we was all so hongry and I didn't have nuffin in ter cook, dat I was jes' plumb bumfuzzled” and
determined there wasn’t enough to feed all the generals on hand, so he went and cooked up Nellie.
The general was not pleased.
According to William, this was the first, and only time Lee scolded him.
Will said that,
"Marse Robert kep' on scoldin' me mout dat hen.
He never scolded 'bout naything else.
He tol' me I was a fool to kill de her whut lay de golden egg.
Hit made Marse Robert awful sad ter think of anything bein' killed, whedder der 'twas one of his soljers, or his little black hen." " --->>> https://owlcation.com/humanities/10-Little-Known-Facts-About-the-US-Civil-War
"I was called up on the draft, and I went through the draft, and they lined us up in groups of twelve. The guy in front of me was a little, puny old guy and we went through. When we got to the end, they said to me, 'You didn't make it. You're not in the army.' And the guy in front of me, the puny little guy, made it and, right away. I knew what happened - they had gotten our papers confused. You know how they stack the papers....
"Well, I was so embarrassed because here I am in perfect physical health, and the puny little guy is in. So the next day I went down to 49 Whitehall Street, New York City, and said, 'I want to join.' I said, 'I really want the paratroopers.' And they said, 'Well, sit down in that hall there and the doctor will take care of you because you've got a special examination.'
"So I waited there for about two hours and finally I got up enough nerve to ask the sergeant, 'Hey, when is the doctor gonna come out?' He said, 'Oh, go knock on the door.' So I knocked on the door and here's a guy with a cigar in his mouth, his feet on the desk, and he says, 'What do you want?' And I said, 'Well, I'm supposed to get a special examination to join the paratroopers.' He says, 'Oh, that's fine. Jump up on the desk.' I jumped on the desk. He says, 'Jump off the desk.' I jumped off the desk. He says, 'Okay, You're ready!'
Told by Howard Melvin (Co. I, 505 Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Div) in Voices of D-Day, page 12.
"Well, I was so embarrassed because here I am in perfect physical health, and the puny little guy is in. So the next day I went down to 49 Whitehall Street, New York City, and said, 'I want to join.' I said, 'I really want the paratroopers.' And they said, 'Well, sit down in that hall there and the doctor will take care of you because you've got a special examination.'
"So I waited there for about two hours and finally I got up enough nerve to ask the sergeant, 'Hey, when is the doctor gonna come out?' He said, 'Oh, go knock on the door.' So I knocked on the door and here's a guy with a cigar in his mouth, his feet on the desk, and he says, 'What do you want?' And I said, 'Well, I'm supposed to get a special examination to join the paratroopers.' He says, 'Oh, that's fine. Jump up on the desk.' I jumped on the desk. He says, 'Jump off the desk.' I jumped off the desk. He says, 'Okay, You're ready!'
Told by Howard Melvin (Co. I, 505 Parachute Infantry Regiment, 82nd Airborne Div) in Voices of D-Day, page 12.
From Ray Lambert's Every Man A Hero
"Our roles as medics meant we were responsible for the general health and well-being of the troops. That turned us into inspectors -- of food and sanitation, and what back in the states would be called 'houses of ill repute.'
"Whorehouses would be a cruder but more accurate term.
"I went out on these inspections, escorted by the local gendarmes. Most of these places, which had apparently been functioning for quite a while had apparently been functioning for quite a while before our arrival, were located on a single street, while a handful of others sprinkled nearby. We'd inspect the houses themselves for cleanliness, then line up the girls and check them for sores and other telltale signs of disease. They all had, or were supposed to have, doctor's papers declaring that they were healthy. Without those, they wouldn't work.
"I remember designating one house off-limits, but otherwise every place we checked were in order.
"I also had to designate one home for officers, where enlisted men would be barred. That was easy. The officers got the house with the ugliest women."
Page 62.
"Our roles as medics meant we were responsible for the general health and well-being of the troops. That turned us into inspectors -- of food and sanitation, and what back in the states would be called 'houses of ill repute.'
"Whorehouses would be a cruder but more accurate term.
"I went out on these inspections, escorted by the local gendarmes. Most of these places, which had apparently been functioning for quite a while had apparently been functioning for quite a while before our arrival, were located on a single street, while a handful of others sprinkled nearby. We'd inspect the houses themselves for cleanliness, then line up the girls and check them for sores and other telltale signs of disease. They all had, or were supposed to have, doctor's papers declaring that they were healthy. Without those, they wouldn't work.
"I remember designating one house off-limits, but otherwise every place we checked were in order.
"I also had to designate one home for officers, where enlisted men would be barred. That was easy. The officers got the house with the ugliest women."
Page 62.
In May, 1942 while the German Sixth Army was approaching Stalingrad, they were supported by the Fourth Air Fleet commanded by Col. Gen. Wolfram von Richthofen. A cousin of the famous Red Baron, he had fought alongside of him in his squadron in WW I. Von Richthofen found himself under fire from army AA guns. Opps! Upon landing, von Richthofen sent a note that read, "While it is a delight to see the fighting spirits of the German troops against aircraft, may I ask that they direct their fighting spirit against the
Red Air Force?"
Red Air Force?"
I'm sure many here read the classic, With the Old Breed. Eugene Sledge (nicknamed Sledgehammer by his buddies) wrote a follow-up book, China Marine, which recounts the K/3/5's post-war occupation of China with the purpose of disarming the Japanese Kwangtung Army. Sledge's battalion was fortunate enough to draw duty in Peking and went along the route that the Marines took to relieve Peking during the Boxer Rebellion.
When Sledge earned enough points, he was finally rotated home and reunited with his family. His brother was a major in a tank battalion and had been injured three times. After a while, his father, who was a USMC LTC who treated marines in WW I for shell shock pulled Sledge aside and offered a bit of advice.
Sound like good advice even today.
When Sledge earned enough points, he was finally rotated home and reunited with his family. His brother was a major in a tank battalion and had been injured three times. After a while, his father, who was a USMC LTC who treated marines in WW I for shell shock pulled Sledge aside and offered a bit of advice.
(p129)
Sound like good advice even today.
Today I read of a muzzle loader used by an old man in World War II. His opponent is armed with a M-1 Garand in 30-06.
"Toward evening, another rear guard slowed our advance. As we moved along a narrow forest road in column of squads, the armor following behind, I heard single shot. By this time, I could identify almost any German weapon by its sound, but this one I'd never heard before.
"Our advance scout quickly captured another German, an old man dressed in hunting clothes who appeared to be in his late seventies. He stood in the middle of the road where he'd fire his single-shot muzzle loader at the point man, then surrendered meekly. We smashed the old man's weapon against a tree, and told him to go home."
Captain Charles Scheffel, Crack! and Thump: With a Combat Infantry Officer in World War II, (Camroc Press, Llano) 2007, p. 208.
"Toward evening, another rear guard slowed our advance. As we moved along a narrow forest road in column of squads, the armor following behind, I heard single shot. By this time, I could identify almost any German weapon by its sound, but this one I'd never heard before.
"Our advance scout quickly captured another German, an old man dressed in hunting clothes who appeared to be in his late seventies. He stood in the middle of the road where he'd fire his single-shot muzzle loader at the point man, then surrendered meekly. We smashed the old man's weapon against a tree, and told him to go home."
Captain Charles Scheffel, Crack! and Thump: With a Combat Infantry Officer in World War II, (Camroc Press, Llano) 2007, p. 208.