Well, it was four months ago since I did this, but I thought you guys might be interested in a report I wrote about the event:
Quote:
'If a man wants to know what it is to have every bone in his body ache with fatigue, every muscle sore and exhausted, and his whole body ready to sink to the ground, let him diet on a common soldier's fare till he has only the strength that imparts, and then let him shoulder his knapsack, haversack, gun and equipments, and make one of our forced marches, and I will warrant him to be satisfied that the duties of war are stern and severe, whether we march or face the enemy on the field of battle'
Private Wilbur Fisk, 2nd Vermont, June 1864I thought that 13.1 miles would be easy. I've done hikes that were longer than that, and on far more difficult terrain than a smooth tarmac racetrack. What, I thought, would it matter that I wouldn't be wearing my trusted outdoor kit and comfortable hiking boots, but instead have on layers of heavy wool, Victorian style boots, and carrying just under 10lb's worth of 1853 pattern Enfield musket? It turned out to be one of the toughest challenges I've done.
We arrived at Silverstone in good time and after getting our packs and accoutrements (belts, cartridge and cap boxes, the canteen and the haversack) on we set off to the ‘paddock’ area where all the 10,000 or so runners and their supporters were to wait until the start of the half-marathon. One side was full of stalls advertising fitness stuff, group warm-up sessions, and suchlike, whilst the other contained healthier fare such as burger vans.
We spent around an hour hanging around near the ‘two hours or longer’ gate, occasionally posing for photographs from bemused passers-by. We seemed to attract some attention and we even received a mention on the track’s public address system with the people manning it playing ‘When Two Tribes Go to War’ in our honour (I tried not to visibly cringe). A woman asked me why we ‘had a civil war theme’. My unhelpful response was that we were a troop of American Civil War re-enactors.
Eventually the time came for us to wander over to the lane leading to Silverstone’s famous starting grids. We were to be right at the back, and after ten thousand or so runners had disappeared we proudly set off in formation. We kept step for the first mile or so, with the drums and fife playing loudly. We must have looked impressive. For most of the time we were in formation but not required to keep step (this is called 'route step') though occasionally we would reform and march a little way to get the group back together. We spent the entire half-marathon around 700 yards behind a man dressed as a giraffe: we never caught up with him.
We set off neatly in formationAlthough the team had got together for a training event in late January, in the run-up to the event I undertook a couple of long hikes in full kit (without the musket and bayonet, for tedious reasons). I’m glad I did so as I realised that I had to adjust the straps on the accoutrements and it was good get a feel for how the brogans and uniform feels over a long distance. More importantly, I also tried different ways of packing the knapsack to ensure it was comfortable on my shoulders: the secret, I found, was to move the blanket to the large pocket closest to the back, as that provided extra padding.
For the record, I was carrying the issue blanket, my rubber poncho, spare shirts, drawers, socks (given to me by an officer at event in Kentucky, who decided that there was no wool in England and presented them to me during a full inspection), a deck of cards, a period handbook for the US volunteer, and a copy of Harper’s Weekly . I now appreciate why the men would ditch the packs at the first opportunity and take only what they could carry. I thought I had got my kit down to the essentials, but most of the stuff probably could have been chucked. I haven’t weighed it, but it felt like the usual size pack I would take on a normal hike, although it lacked the comfort of modern designs.
I had plenty of rations in my haversack, but they tended to drop to the bottom and it became a bit of a faff to reach them. I kept slugging from the canteen and was glad for the water and energy drinks thrust into our hands at various points on the route. The only thing that was bothering me throughout the trek, other than the unavoidable sensation of blisters, was that I didn't really know what to do with the musket. I tried slinging it or going to the various positions, even port arms, but never really settled down with one except when required to. It wasn't too heavy but just a bit awkward.
Around 10 miles in we had to be corralled back into lineThe charity had provided us with a serving Army PT sergeant to accompany us along the way. We were all really impressed by his fitness: at some points during the march he was not only carrying a full bergen but one or two people’s muskets and kit. He would also tend to blisters and generally could be seen running up and down our line ensuring that everyone was well. When he got bored of us he would shift his attention to any runners who happened to be nearby. I don’t know what they made of him, but we certainly couldn’t have done it without his encouragement.
From time to time he would have us going at the double-quick or making short shuffle-like movements (called the Brecon shuffle) to get the leg muscles working again. As the miles went by, these short bursts became more and more painful to do but they seemed to do the trick. I think he appreciated our cursing him. He told us that he always tells his recruits that ‘love or hate’ him, they will always remember him. We certainly will.
Around the nine mile mark, when most of us were hurting and feeling miserable, the PT sergeant suggested we start singing, so I started yelling out the ‘Battle Cry of Freedom’ and everyone joined in, at least for the chorus. Encouraged, we also went through ‘Marching through Georgia’ , ‘Goober Peas’ (with everyone yelling the name of their unit in the third verse), and several other songs.
As the finish line approached we hastily formed a somewhat flaky line of battle and proudly crossed the finish 3 hours 37 minutes after we set off. Relieved that it was finally over, we put on our medals, posed for photographs, relaxed, and built ourselves up for a slow mile long trek back to the car park.
But we were able to form a rough line of battle to cross the line Has this 13.1 mile march improved my understanding of the life of a Union infantryman? Frankly, no. A crisp English spring day is not the baking Southern summer, and we were marching on a full stomach, knowing that we would not be thrown into battle at the end of it. Moreover, we were on hard tarmac and not a small muddy trail. Having said that, however, I now appreciate why knapsacks were emptied out and then disposed of, and why men would drop out, take a break, and then dash to rejoin their company. I’d read about that in books, but now I realise why: a rest or a change of pace helps alleviate the pain on the legs. I just kept on going and felt awful at the end; other members of the team took short breaks and looked happier as a result.
It’s the toughest thing I’ve done for a few years. It was not, as I had imagined it would be, just a decent-length hike in different clothes to my usual hiking kit. We kept up a fair pace, we were, for the most part, roughly in line, the various straps for my packs and accoutrements chafed like hell, and most of us were wearing stiff brogans which weren’t really suited to tarmac. The soles of my new pair are looking pretty worn already. We were all physically exhausted afterwards, all our feet were steaming from blisters, and even with a decent meal and generous tab at the bar it was an effort to stay awake. But we succeeded in completing the half-marathon, and we’ve raised around £6,800 for the Army Benevolent Fund. All of us in the team are justly proud of what we’ve accomplished. Many thanks to the BeeXers who supported us!
The team.---
Our plan next year is to go to a multi-period event and take part in every battle, fighting our way through history (with the clock running on San Dimas time!). More details next year.
http://www.amarchforcharity.net/
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