For those who attended the battles of Spring Hill, Franklin, and Nashville (the 1864 Tennessee Campaign) the operative word was mud.

As members of the PLA set up their camps late Thursday for the battles that would last the weekend, rain began to fall. The unit, which was serving with the Deep South Battery under Lt. Roger Hanson, woke to a steady rain on Friday morning. Before long the entire cornÞeld in which we were camped was a sea of sloppy mud.

After several false starts, Friday's Battle of Spring Hill was canceled. The sutlers did a brisk business as soldiers braced the boot-sucking mud to see what was offered for sale.

An abortive attempt was made by PLA members and others in the battery to get a gun into position to support a "pick-up" skirmish that erupted between a line of Federal infantry and Confederate cavalry, but the battle was over before the gun could be driven into position, thus ending (at least for now) the PLA's Þrst foray into horse drawn artillery.

The best part of the day was sitting around the campÞre and partaking of some of Mosie Marlar's excellent chili and beans.

Saturday dawned colder and drier. Cpl. R. told the unit that he had volunteered for us to galvanize that day since we had been promised a good spot in front of the spectators. Those who remained in grey would be heard but not seen. Those who cared to, were kitted out in blue and went to the battleÞeld.

Rather than the promised position of prominence, our gun was placed on the far right of the Union line, and several of the crew started quoting Joshua Chamberlain from the movie Gettysburg (we were the end of the Union line).

We had been told that the battle would last two-and-one-half hours, but in actuality it was only a bit over thirty minutes and was very disorganized.

As usual, our nearly point-blank canister failed to drop any of the enemy as they advanced to meet the Federal line. In fact at one point we had enÞlade Þre on the backs of a line of Confederates who had chosen to ignore us in their haste to take the breast works.

The most serious casualty of the day was the lid to the ammunition box which sheared off at the hinges and nearly took out Pvt. H's foot in the process.

That evening was the Ball at Ripavilla. Although it was too dark and crowded to dance (and they also allowed horses onto the dance area, ed.), the music (provided by a Þfe and drum corps and Sexton's Cornet Band) was excellent.

Sunday was the Battle of Nashville. The battleÞeld was a rolling stretch of green hills and valleys on the grounds of Oaklawn, a stately plantation home. We set up on Shy's Hill, near the center of the Confederate line. From there we had a commanding view of the line and the ground across which the advancing Federals would have to come.

The Þrst hint of the battle was an exchange of riþe Þre between Federal and Confederate infantry in a gorge to the battery's left. The martial sound of a Þfe and drum, and the sight of a seemingly inÞnite line of Federals advancing on us was enough to send cannoneers to their posts. We Þred case shot and shell at the advancing troops, and at one point we were laying down counter-battery Þre against the Federal guns. When the order came to Þre at will, the crew Þred quickly and with precision until lack of ammunition caused us to cover the piece. Two guns fell back and the infantry began retreating behind and in front of the battery as the line fell apart under the advancing Union press in a very realistic scenario.

After a most satisfactory Sunday battle, PLA members rode the gun trailer back to camp, singing shanties and other ditties along the way. Then, reluctantly, it was time to re-enter the 20th century, break camp, and return to Þghting trafÞc instead of Þghting Yankees.