Welcome to 5th Minnesota Unit Folklore pages!
What the heck is this all about?
These pages are designed to help introduce new members (and us old ones that forget) to the group history and folklore of the unit! Any Sociological-Anthropologist you meet (it COULD happen) on the street will tell you that the best way to become a part of any group is to have a shared knowledge of group experience and legend. These pages will suffice to serve to help all of us to revel in our group experience, and fill in new people when we start laughing about or discussing something that happened before you joined up. Enjoy, and watch for new additions for the up-coming year!
1. The Holy Mucket
(NOT THE HOLY MUCKET, just shown for reference. Want to waste 11 Seconds? Click the image above!)
Some years ago, when the good Daniel Dills was a new lad and not yet the "Lion In Blue" we know and love today; he approached the Lieutenant one cloudy day to make use of his mucket, in which he planned to boil some coffee. Now, the Lt.'s mucket was just some cheap tin contraption (but seemed sturdy enough for use to the naked eye), but Dills cared for it as a mother would her dearest child. He filled it with water, ground the coffee, and set it over the fire to boil. Ah, but alas! Recall readers that the mucket was cheap, and so it was that the heat from the fire began to affect the solder and rivets in most unfortunate ways. So it was that presently, Dills heard a tiny "pop!", and a moment later a sharp "tink!". Then "pop-tink-pop!". The rivets were ejecting left and right from their positions, when suddenly "CRASH!". The bottom and side handle let go suddenly, all the liquid within the mucket rained down and completely extinguished the fire below with a loud "HISS!". Imagine, poor Dills, staring mouth agape at the billowing cloud of steam and ash, clearing slowly to reveal the impotent remains of the mucket hanging before him. The slight scent of coffee in the air, mingled with the burned smell of a fire extinguished suddenly. Coming to his feet, Dills went to report this tragedy to the Lieutenant-bits of the shattered mucket in tow.
Afterwards, the mucket was deemed "Holy" and a relic of the unit. Sadly, much like the Holy Grail it was likened too, the Holy Mucket seems to have vanished from earthly sight. It remains a potent mystery and symbol to this very day.
2. The Legend of our October Camp
We had thought that an encampment in early October would be fine; but alas as night came on and the sky cleared to reveal the huge white moon alone in the heavens, the temperature fell to just below 30*-and it WASN'T FINE. Sergeant O'Malley awoke with a start, shaking and teeth chattering like mad. Staggering out of the open ended dog tent, he made his way to the remains of the fire in a desperate attempt to warm up. Only coals left there, nestled in their deep pit. With a sense that he described as "get warm or die", O'Malley lay down over the fire pit with his blanket spread over all. Warmth! Beautiful heat! But soon, the smoke got to be too much, and so the good Sergeant rose up with the blanket spread out behind him. At about this moment, another soldier (sources argue the identity-some say it was Dills while others the firebrand Anders) looked out from his tent. Suddenly, a shadow rose up from the ground-grey in the bright moonlight-whilst a cloud of billowing smoke erupted about it! With a start, the soldier yelped and dove back into their tent, scared by the shivering O'Malley.
3. The Agony of Lost Coffee
It was very early, and as usual we had not slept. Sergeant O'Malley and Corporal Stephenson sat working feverishly on preparing coffee. Ahh coffee! The gift of benevolent Gods to grateful mortals. The lifeblood of soldiers, and temple of the sleep deprived. But I digress, suffice to say-any infantryman of the Civil War (perhaps ANY war) knows, coffee is LIFE. All went well, the Corporals mucket was removed from the fire and the Sergeant was preparing to take up the pot to pour into the two expectant tin cups. Perhaps Fate stirred in the Corporal then, for he spake, "Becareful not to burn yourself there and tip it.".
Of course, that is exactly what the Sergeant did. Opening the lid, steam escaped from the boiling elixir within, catching his hand mid-reach. Reacting instinctively, the Sergeant jerked his hand away over-tipping the mucket as it sat perched in the grass. There was a gasp, and a hiss as the hot liquid soaked into the dirt. A whiff of perfection taunted the men as the coffee was devoured by the greedy earth. Corporal Stephenson clearly, for a moment, was tempted to try to suck the coffee straight from the dirt-one could see his conflict played out upon his face. He resisted though, and such was born the Agony of Lost Coffee.
4. The First Elephant and Abe Lincoln
In 2006, the 5th Minnesota attended the Civil War event in Pipestone, Minnesota. This was the first large scale battle our unit had experienced all together, as a group. Understandably, we were a little nervous about how we would perform in "combat", but trusted in the regular drill we had suffered to carry us through. We knew it would be interesting from the start when the 1st Sergeant positioned us in camp at the foot of a small hill in a depression in the field. Within 5 hours of arrival. it began to rain. Just as night fell, it ceased and the air grew cold. Few of us slept much, if at all. There we were, the lot of us sitting together discussing how the day would proceed. We sat for awhile, watching the faintness of the Rebel camp in the hollows below us. The temptation was strong to sneak over and capture an officer, and though plans were discussed we decided to behave for now. About 4:30 AM, Sgt. O'Malley decided to to give the orders to "couter up"-prepare to go into the field-and Corporal Stephenson issued 60 rounds per man. We removed our cartridge tins to make as much room as possible-our ammunition boxes were stuffed. An hour later, when a Captain assigned to us from the 33rd Wisconsin called us together with word of Rebel skirmishers being seen in the field to our west; we were ready. This Captain was surprised to find us fully ready to march out, especially as at this point hardly anyone else about was awake.
We set out into the open field, only 9 of us (plus the Captain) shoulder to shoulder. The 2nd Minnesota, brigaded with us for the event, were left sleeping in their tents. When we got into the field we deployed as skirmishers in the upper meadow; with a short cliff face of exposed rock to our right flank. We could hear the light musketry of skirmisher contact to our left, beyond the scrub and trees. The 33rd Wisconsin (the only other unit awake at this point) was engaged with them, but because of the terrain we had no idea by whom or by how many.
"Here they come boys-load!" said the captain.
A slight mist had begun to fall, and at our feet the ground-saturated by the rainfall the evening before-was a rich brown mud. A moment more, and the forward skirmishers (33rd WISC) came marching back past us towards the camp.
"We're all out," said their officer to ours, "We need to reissue-they are there alright, on the left flank."
"We need to hold 'em boys, until the regiment comes up." spoke the Captain as a group of Rebels crept into view on our left. They moved into the near center of the field, and as they did we were ordered to fire by company. We traded two volleys before a second unit of Rebels, appearing like victims of mismatched dressing in a dark room for the variety of uniforms, emerged from the thicket some 100 feet ahead and on the right. We noted more of the Rebels trying to find a way closer through the trees so as to flank our right-but thank Providence for the rising edifice of stone and height of our position. Our right flank, buttoned up against the stone outcropping falling to the basin of the field below, was fully guarded and secure. All the same, we took heavy fire from two corners and the situation was dire.
"At this man here!", shouted the Captain, "left file, left oblique!". The same was done for the right file but obliquing to the opposite quarter. We then refused the line, but each half engaging the flanks. The Captain let us go, and now we were firing at will.
A light rain now fell on us, hissing in drops upon our barrels. Each man would thump the butt of their musket into the mud at our feet to help seat the charge (since we could not ram paper), resulting in a uniform smudge on our shoulders when we fired. It didn't take long before we were muddy and wet to a man.
The enemy continued to try to advance, but every time they tried we were putting out so much fire they couldn't move. It became clear to us how frustrated the Rebels were becoming by the snatches of commentary we began to hear over the crack of our muskets. "Wait until they reload, and then...blasted buggers never stop firing!"
As we had reached the point of being half way through our ammunition, the 2nd Minnesota finally joined the end of our line. By this time we were holding a group on either flank AND and new bunch that had taken up a center position. We alone, the 9 of us 5th Minnesota boys, had held off the Rebel skirmishers. We had held them-three groups-by ourselves.
As we finally began to reach the end of our ammunition and were forced to pass cartridges from man to man, the full regiment began to come up to our right in the basin. The battle whipped up into wild fury now, with the reinforcements working to flank the Rebels in the thickets below to our right. Those engaging us broke and retreated, having never pushed us from our rock and mud patch. Tired; excited; muddy and damp; faces smeared from our lips down with the oily black of powder-we reformed and started back towards camp. We quickly found that we had to be cautious so as not to touch the barrels of our muskets, as they had grown incredibly hot during the battle. As the conflict shifted from our engagement to the contest between the massed companies in the basin below us; we were redeployed to guard the left flank. Corporal Dills remarked that he had seriously burned one of his hands on his musket barrel during the fighting, and had not realized it until things settled down. We would hear later on how impressive a sight our holding the left flank had been-and how aggravating to our foes. The 5th Minnesota had made a names for themselves.
Later that day-drying out but still damp-with our muskets splotched with stars of orange surface rust from the rain and humidity; faces now a dull grey tint from the remains of the powder; mud splattered and dirty-we were drawn up for inspection. We figured everyone would look as tough as we did, but apparently no one else had enjoyed rolling in the mud as much as we had. As we lined up in our battalions, news spread that it wouldn't simply be the major looking us over, but the President Himself! We had never been inspected by the "Great Emancipator" before (most had never even seen him), and so it was with a little concern that we noted more than ever how pristine and polished everyone around us looked. No mud, no rust-they hadn't spent the early hours fighting in slop and rain! Over the heads of the soldiers, we watched the Presidents tall hat grow ever closer. At last, gritting our teeth-He was there. The Major and the adjutant scowled.
We braced ourselves for what "Father Abe" might say. "The 5th Minnesota, Mr. President." growled the Major. There was a pause. Then, in a deep voice and with a smirk, the President replied; "The 5th Minnesota....well, it's apparent which of these units knows how to fight.". And with that he moved down the line, leaving us feeling that our mud splattered-rusty-powder stained-selves looked the best damn unit in formation. God bless Uncle Abe.
This page is under construction.
Please check back.
What the heck is this all about?
These pages are designed to help introduce new members (and us old ones that forget) to the group history and folklore of the unit! Any Sociological-Anthropologist you meet (it COULD happen) on the street will tell you that the best way to become a part of any group is to have a shared knowledge of group experience and legend. These pages will suffice to serve to help all of us to revel in our group experience, and fill in new people when we start laughing about or discussing something that happened before you joined up. Enjoy, and watch for new additions for the up-coming year!
1. The Holy Mucket
(NOT THE HOLY MUCKET, just shown for reference. Want to waste 11 Seconds? Click the image above!)
Some years ago, when the good Daniel Dills was a new lad and not yet the "Lion In Blue" we know and love today; he approached the Lieutenant one cloudy day to make use of his mucket, in which he planned to boil some coffee. Now, the Lt.'s mucket was just some cheap tin contraption (but seemed sturdy enough for use to the naked eye), but Dills cared for it as a mother would her dearest child. He filled it with water, ground the coffee, and set it over the fire to boil. Ah, but alas! Recall readers that the mucket was cheap, and so it was that the heat from the fire began to affect the solder and rivets in most unfortunate ways. So it was that presently, Dills heard a tiny "pop!", and a moment later a sharp "tink!". Then "pop-tink-pop!". The rivets were ejecting left and right from their positions, when suddenly "CRASH!". The bottom and side handle let go suddenly, all the liquid within the mucket rained down and completely extinguished the fire below with a loud "HISS!". Imagine, poor Dills, staring mouth agape at the billowing cloud of steam and ash, clearing slowly to reveal the impotent remains of the mucket hanging before him. The slight scent of coffee in the air, mingled with the burned smell of a fire extinguished suddenly. Coming to his feet, Dills went to report this tragedy to the Lieutenant-bits of the shattered mucket in tow.
Afterwards, the mucket was deemed "Holy" and a relic of the unit. Sadly, much like the Holy Grail it was likened too, the Holy Mucket seems to have vanished from earthly sight. It remains a potent mystery and symbol to this very day.
2. The Legend of our October Camp
We had thought that an encampment in early October would be fine; but alas as night came on and the sky cleared to reveal the huge white moon alone in the heavens, the temperature fell to just below 30*-and it WASN'T FINE. Sergeant O'Malley awoke with a start, shaking and teeth chattering like mad. Staggering out of the open ended dog tent, he made his way to the remains of the fire in a desperate attempt to warm up. Only coals left there, nestled in their deep pit. With a sense that he described as "get warm or die", O'Malley lay down over the fire pit with his blanket spread over all. Warmth! Beautiful heat! But soon, the smoke got to be too much, and so the good Sergeant rose up with the blanket spread out behind him. At about this moment, another soldier (sources argue the identity-some say it was Dills while others the firebrand Anders) looked out from his tent. Suddenly, a shadow rose up from the ground-grey in the bright moonlight-whilst a cloud of billowing smoke erupted about it! With a start, the soldier yelped and dove back into their tent, scared by the shivering O'Malley.
3. The Agony of Lost Coffee
It was very early, and as usual we had not slept. Sergeant O'Malley and Corporal Stephenson sat working feverishly on preparing coffee. Ahh coffee! The gift of benevolent Gods to grateful mortals. The lifeblood of soldiers, and temple of the sleep deprived. But I digress, suffice to say-any infantryman of the Civil War (perhaps ANY war) knows, coffee is LIFE. All went well, the Corporals mucket was removed from the fire and the Sergeant was preparing to take up the pot to pour into the two expectant tin cups. Perhaps Fate stirred in the Corporal then, for he spake, "Becareful not to burn yourself there and tip it.".
Of course, that is exactly what the Sergeant did. Opening the lid, steam escaped from the boiling elixir within, catching his hand mid-reach. Reacting instinctively, the Sergeant jerked his hand away over-tipping the mucket as it sat perched in the grass. There was a gasp, and a hiss as the hot liquid soaked into the dirt. A whiff of perfection taunted the men as the coffee was devoured by the greedy earth. Corporal Stephenson clearly, for a moment, was tempted to try to suck the coffee straight from the dirt-one could see his conflict played out upon his face. He resisted though, and such was born the Agony of Lost Coffee.
4. The First Elephant and Abe Lincoln
In 2006, the 5th Minnesota attended the Civil War event in Pipestone, Minnesota. This was the first large scale battle our unit had experienced all together, as a group. Understandably, we were a little nervous about how we would perform in "combat", but trusted in the regular drill we had suffered to carry us through. We knew it would be interesting from the start when the 1st Sergeant positioned us in camp at the foot of a small hill in a depression in the field. Within 5 hours of arrival. it began to rain. Just as night fell, it ceased and the air grew cold. Few of us slept much, if at all. There we were, the lot of us sitting together discussing how the day would proceed. We sat for awhile, watching the faintness of the Rebel camp in the hollows below us. The temptation was strong to sneak over and capture an officer, and though plans were discussed we decided to behave for now. About 4:30 AM, Sgt. O'Malley decided to to give the orders to "couter up"-prepare to go into the field-and Corporal Stephenson issued 60 rounds per man. We removed our cartridge tins to make as much room as possible-our ammunition boxes were stuffed. An hour later, when a Captain assigned to us from the 33rd Wisconsin called us together with word of Rebel skirmishers being seen in the field to our west; we were ready. This Captain was surprised to find us fully ready to march out, especially as at this point hardly anyone else about was awake.
We set out into the open field, only 9 of us (plus the Captain) shoulder to shoulder. The 2nd Minnesota, brigaded with us for the event, were left sleeping in their tents. When we got into the field we deployed as skirmishers in the upper meadow; with a short cliff face of exposed rock to our right flank. We could hear the light musketry of skirmisher contact to our left, beyond the scrub and trees. The 33rd Wisconsin (the only other unit awake at this point) was engaged with them, but because of the terrain we had no idea by whom or by how many.
"Here they come boys-load!" said the captain.
A slight mist had begun to fall, and at our feet the ground-saturated by the rainfall the evening before-was a rich brown mud. A moment more, and the forward skirmishers (33rd WISC) came marching back past us towards the camp.
"We're all out," said their officer to ours, "We need to reissue-they are there alright, on the left flank."
"We need to hold 'em boys, until the regiment comes up." spoke the Captain as a group of Rebels crept into view on our left. They moved into the near center of the field, and as they did we were ordered to fire by company. We traded two volleys before a second unit of Rebels, appearing like victims of mismatched dressing in a dark room for the variety of uniforms, emerged from the thicket some 100 feet ahead and on the right. We noted more of the Rebels trying to find a way closer through the trees so as to flank our right-but thank Providence for the rising edifice of stone and height of our position. Our right flank, buttoned up against the stone outcropping falling to the basin of the field below, was fully guarded and secure. All the same, we took heavy fire from two corners and the situation was dire.
"At this man here!", shouted the Captain, "left file, left oblique!". The same was done for the right file but obliquing to the opposite quarter. We then refused the line, but each half engaging the flanks. The Captain let us go, and now we were firing at will.
A light rain now fell on us, hissing in drops upon our barrels. Each man would thump the butt of their musket into the mud at our feet to help seat the charge (since we could not ram paper), resulting in a uniform smudge on our shoulders when we fired. It didn't take long before we were muddy and wet to a man.
The enemy continued to try to advance, but every time they tried we were putting out so much fire they couldn't move. It became clear to us how frustrated the Rebels were becoming by the snatches of commentary we began to hear over the crack of our muskets. "Wait until they reload, and then...blasted buggers never stop firing!"
As we had reached the point of being half way through our ammunition, the 2nd Minnesota finally joined the end of our line. By this time we were holding a group on either flank AND and new bunch that had taken up a center position. We alone, the 9 of us 5th Minnesota boys, had held off the Rebel skirmishers. We had held them-three groups-by ourselves.
As we finally began to reach the end of our ammunition and were forced to pass cartridges from man to man, the full regiment began to come up to our right in the basin. The battle whipped up into wild fury now, with the reinforcements working to flank the Rebels in the thickets below to our right. Those engaging us broke and retreated, having never pushed us from our rock and mud patch. Tired; excited; muddy and damp; faces smeared from our lips down with the oily black of powder-we reformed and started back towards camp. We quickly found that we had to be cautious so as not to touch the barrels of our muskets, as they had grown incredibly hot during the battle. As the conflict shifted from our engagement to the contest between the massed companies in the basin below us; we were redeployed to guard the left flank. Corporal Dills remarked that he had seriously burned one of his hands on his musket barrel during the fighting, and had not realized it until things settled down. We would hear later on how impressive a sight our holding the left flank had been-and how aggravating to our foes. The 5th Minnesota had made a names for themselves.
Later that day-drying out but still damp-with our muskets splotched with stars of orange surface rust from the rain and humidity; faces now a dull grey tint from the remains of the powder; mud splattered and dirty-we were drawn up for inspection. We figured everyone would look as tough as we did, but apparently no one else had enjoyed rolling in the mud as much as we had. As we lined up in our battalions, news spread that it wouldn't simply be the major looking us over, but the President Himself! We had never been inspected by the "Great Emancipator" before (most had never even seen him), and so it was with a little concern that we noted more than ever how pristine and polished everyone around us looked. No mud, no rust-they hadn't spent the early hours fighting in slop and rain! Over the heads of the soldiers, we watched the Presidents tall hat grow ever closer. At last, gritting our teeth-He was there. The Major and the adjutant scowled.
We braced ourselves for what "Father Abe" might say. "The 5th Minnesota, Mr. President." growled the Major. There was a pause. Then, in a deep voice and with a smirk, the President replied; "The 5th Minnesota....well, it's apparent which of these units knows how to fight.". And with that he moved down the line, leaving us feeling that our mud splattered-rusty-powder stained-selves looked the best damn unit in formation. God bless Uncle Abe.
This page is under construction.
Please check back.
bravenet.com