First Corporal Alex Beecham could hear the distant clatter of gunfire and malicious howls, but could not see the droves of enemy soldiers that were slowly lurking under the veil of an early morning fog.
Beecham had spent months drilling with the motley brigade of soldiers, and now, the countless hours of preparation and tedious training were about to be tested.
The entire brigade was fully aware that a wall of attackers would come swarming out of the darkness at any moment.
At 4:45 a.m., the calm was shattered by blaring flashes of gunfire from the dormant enemy within the thick blanket of fog. The brigade shouldered their weapons, gripping the cold steel of the rifle in white-knuckled anticipation while sweat began to trickle down their backs.
The ground suddenly shuddered as artillery units opened fire and the enemy materialized from under their cloaked entrenchment in a formidable wave of tumultuous fury.
The battle lines quickly disintegrated under the intense concentration of chaos.
Some reeled in agony, hopelessly clutching and scratching at the earth, while others simply fell limply to the ground and lay silent. The survivors hastily broke ranks and retreated back into the mist, where many had slept the night before and now only a fortunate few remained.
The remnants of battle lay strewn about the landscape like heaps of discarded carpet.
It was now 5:25 a.m., and the dead began to stir as the smoke began to dissipate. It was time for breakfast, and “getting yourself killed seems to work up quite an appetite”.
Cpl. Alex Beecham, a student majoring in history and anthropology at The University of Memphis, had just been killed in a bloodless rendition of the bloodiest two-days in American history -the Civil War battle of Chickamauga.
“We all share a love of the historical period, but we are bound by the common quest to preserve, educate, and better understand a four-year war that forever altered this nation,” said Beecham, a member of the modern day 52nd Tennessee infantry.
On Jan.1, 1862, the 760 original members of the 52nd Tennessee Confederate infantry unit assembled in West Tennessee. Largely comprised of men from Shelby County, the ill-equipped “rag tag” gang from the flat plains possessed a meager 100 double-barrel shotguns between them.
With little training and a gross shortage of firearms, the 52nd began a march that would lead them to a small wilderness church named after a Hebrew word meaning “place of peace.” They were going to Shiloh, and many of them would not return.
In the gray light of dawn on April 6, a mFirst Corporal Alex Beecham could hear the distant clatter of gunfire and malicious howls, but could not see the droves of enemy soldiers that were slowly lurking under the veil of an early morning fog.
Beecham had spent months drilling with the motley brigade of soldiers, and now, the countless hours of preparation and tedious training were about to be tested.
The entire brigade was fully aware that a wall of attackers would come swarming out of the darkness at any moment.
At 4:45 a.m., the calm was shattered by blaring flashes of gunfire from the dormant enemy within the thick blanket of fog. The brigade shouldered their weapons, gripping the cold steel of the rifle in white-knuckled anticipation while sweat began to trickle down their backs.
The ground suddenly shuddered as artillery units opened fire and the enemy materialized from under their cloaked entrenchment in a formidable wave of tumultuous fury.
The battle lines quickly disintegrated under the intense concentration of chaos.
Some reeled in agony, hopelessly clutching and scratching at the earth, while others simply fell limply to the ground and lay silent. The survivors hastily broke ranks and retreated back into the mist, where many had slept the night before and now only a fortunate few remained.
The remnants of battle lay strewn about the landscape like heaps of discarded carpet.
It was now 5:25 a.m., and the dead began to stir as the smoke began to dissipate. It was time for breakfast, and “getting yourself killed seems to work up quite an appetite”.
Cpl. Alex Beecham, a student majoring in history and anthropology at The University of Memphis, had just been killed in a bloodless rendition of the bloodiest two-days in American history -the Civil War battle of Chickamauga.
“We all share a love of the historical period, but we are bound by the common quest to preserve, educate, and better understand a four-year war that forever altered this nation,” said Beecham, a member of the modern day 52nd Tennessee infantry.
On Jan.1, 1862, the 760 original members of the 52nd Tennessee Confederate infantry unit assembled in West Tennessee. Largely comprised of men from Shelby County, the ill-equipped “rag tag” gang from the flat plains possessed a meager100 double-barrel shotguns between them.
With little training and a gross shortage of firearms, the 52nd began a march that would lead them to a small wilderness church named after a Hebrew word meaning “place of peace.” They were going to Shiloh, and many of them would not return.
In the gray light of dawn on April 6, a mere four months after the 52nd became active, the bulk of Tennessee’s fighting forces tragically collided with the much larger and well-equipped Northern foe.
“Those men walked into a cauldron of hell that day to protect this state and her people, and that alone should warrant a lifetime of gratitude and preservation of their memory,” said Lee Millar, a musician and captain with the 51st Tennessee infantry.
As the war entered its final stages in 1885, the vast cohort of men from Tennessee had fought gallantly, but suffered staggering losses as a result. Nearly 40% of the 100,000 men that fought in the “original” Civil War perished.
“It seems that many people have simply forgotten or don’t care about the sacrifices that were made so long ago, and our goal is to rekindle interest in memory of the Civil War,” said Jim Reed, a Collierville resident and commander of the 52nd.
While July 4 is historically celebrated as the day the United States declared it’s independence, it is also a day when thousands of re-enactors and spectators make the annual pilgrimage to a small field in Pennsylvania to commemorate the battle that threatened to tear a nation apart.
In the Battle of Gettsyburg, 51,000 men perished under a scorching July sun approximately 138 summers ago.
Adorned in the regal Union blue and the rough woolen rags of the Confederacy, re-enactors have long captivated audiences in recreating large scale battles, such as Gettysburg, offering a glimpse into the authentic realm of living history.
“When you walk along the same footsteps of your ancestors as they gallantly braved the ravaging experience of chaotic battle, then you become emotionally absorbed in moment when time seems to stand still,” said Marc Young, a computer technology adviser and Major Sergeant in the 7th Arkansas infantry.
Perhaps, though, the most intriguing element regarding re-enactors is their tremendous devotion to authentically recapture the flavor of the Civil War era.
“The re-enactments extend beyond the limitations of textbooks and movies, because it allows the past to come alive and you can actually feel the same things they did,” Beechum said.ere four months after the 52nd became active, the bulk of Tennessee’s fighting forces tragically collided with the much larger and well-equipped Northern foe.
“Those men walked into a cauldron of hell that day to protect this state and her people, and that alone should warrant a lifetime of gratitude and preservation of their memory,” said Lee Millar, a musician and captain with the 51st Tennessee infantry.
As the war entered its final stages in 1885, the vast cohort of men from Tennessee had fought gallantly, but suffered staggering losses as a result. Nearly 40% of the 100,000 men that fought in the “original” Civil War perished.
“It seems that many people have simply forgotten or don’t care about the sacrifices that were made so long ago, and our goal is to rekindle interest in memory of the Civil War,” said Jim Reed, a Collierville resident and commander of the 52nd.
While July 4 is historically celebrated as the day the United States declared it’s independence, it is also a day when thousands of re-enacters and spectators make the annual pilgrimage to a small field in Pennsylvania to commemorate the battle that threatened to tear a nation apart.
In the Battle of Gettsyburg, 51,000 men perished under a scorching July sun approximately138 summers ago.
Adorned in the regal Union blue and the rough woolen rags of the Confederacy, re-enacters have long captivated audiences in recreating large scale battles, such as Gettysburg, offering a glimpse into the authentic realm of living history.
“When you walk along the same footsteps of your ancestors as they gallantly braved the ravaging experience of chaotic battle, then you become emotionally absorbed in moment when time seems to stand still,” said Marc Young, a computer technology adviser and Major Sergeant in the 7th Arkansas infantry.
Perhaps, though, the most intriguing element regarding re-enactors is their tremendous devotion to authentically recapture the flavor of the Civil War era.
“The re-enactments extend beyond the limitations of textbooks and movies, because it allows the past to come alive and you can actually feel the same things they did,” Beechum said.
