Often times, reenactors take joy and pride in recreating themselves to fit their character and place in the Civil War. I am no exception, and after research, geneology, and some thinking on who I want to represent, I decided to go with a immigrant from south Wales, from a coal mining family, who immigrated in the early 1850's. The name was fun to come up with, and I decided to go with Robert Tribbet. Robert is the name of my G-Grandfather who died in WWII, and Tribbet is the family name that hailed from Ireland and Wales. The rest of my 'story' I made up using historical facts and events, and then added in my own theatrical flair. I am even learning how to properly do a South Wales accent, to add to my other accents (Irish and South Philly). But, I'll let Robert tell you his own story:
"My name is Robert Tribbet and I was born in the port city of Newport, in South Wales. I am the fourth of five children, and I come from a coal mining family. My mother died in childbirth with James, my youngest brother, and he perished soon after. My father was killed in a mine collapse a few years ago in one of the mines in the hills above Newport.
By the time that my parents had passed, my older siblings had moved out of the house and had employment at different places around Newport, but could not afford to take me in. So, using the insurance money from father's death, along with the money from selling all of the furniture and the house, I bought a ticket on a ship leaving to America from Liverpool, England. I bid farewell to my siblings, and boarded the ship to the new world.
I arrived in New York in the spring of 1852, and started working for shipping companies, hiring out my strength to move crates and barrels to the trading ships that were plying the oceans of the world. Often I would see the tall clipper ships sailing off into the ocean, some for China, some for Brazil, and some for the west coast and San Francisco. After three years of working on the docks in New York, labor started dying down and slowing, due to new immigrants coming in and causing a scarcity of jobs. I had saved up enough money to buy me a passage to San Francisco, and soon took that voyage to find yet another new life in the west, which was rumored to be filled with land, opportunity, adventure, and gold.
Almost as soon as I stepped off of the boat, I was told that there simply was no more gold to be found like there was back in '49, and I was soon back to the hard drudgery of manual labor for minimum wages. As in New York, these jobs soon were taken from me, this time by Chinese immigrants who were coming into the city in droves. I tried to work in the saloons, gambling halls, and even tried my hand at iron working, but to no avail. I decided to head north to Oregon, to try my hand at farming in the fertile Willamette Valley. Arriving in fall of 1856, it was too late in the year to plant or even build a house that would last, so I stayed at a boarding house in Champoeg, a river town on the Willamette river, north of Salem.
As spring came, I went to the west side of the valley, along the south fork of the Yamhill river, near the Grand Ronde Indian reservation. Once again, my luck failed me, and I was again reduced to poverty and took up cutting wood to earn my meals. I wandered at will, looking for day to day jobs, and on occasion begging. I finally wandered into Fort Yamhill, and asked if there was any work I could do for the soldiers keeping watch on the reservation.
While they didn't have any work I could do for them, I fell into conversation with some of the soldiers at the fort, and they told me about how they were well fed, well clothed, and stayed under a tight roof every night, and were paid thirteen dollars a month. They were members of the 4th United States Infantry Regiment, regulars, who had been in the army for most of their adult lives. Some had been in the late war with Mexico, and most had seen action against hostile indians in one place or another.
Having no better options, and being strong as a bull, I inquired into enlisting with them. I was told that "D" company, at Fort Yamhill, was at a full roster and did not need any more soldiers, but that either "F" or "G" companies, to the south at Fort Hoskins, would perhaps be in need of extra hands. After hiking down to Fort Hoskins, I made the same inquiries and after some paperwork, took the oath of allegiance to the Union and became a soldier in "G" company, 4th United States Infantry.
There is not much to tell about Fort life, it was a mixture of boredom, drill, sentry duty, and infrequent mail runs to Dallas. In early 1861, we learned that South Carolina had seceded from the Union, in protest of Abraham Lincoln's election to the presidency. Soon after South Carolina, Mississippi, Florida, Alabama, Georgia, Louisiana, and Texas all seceded, and later in the spring, Virginia, Tennessee, Arkansas, and North Carolina joined them, creating what was called the Confederate States of America.
Finally, on April 12th, 1861, the first violent blow was struck in Charleston harbor, at Fort Sumpter. Refusing to surrender to rebel forces, Major Anderson suffered a severe bombardment with the men of Fort Sumpter, and ultimately had to capitulate. After hearing this news, we in the regiment received orders to march south to California to help quell secession riots in San Bernardino, and then catch a ship to the east coast. We sailed to Panama, marched across part of it and then rode trains to the east coast of the isthmus, and caught another ship bound for Washington D.C.
Arriving too late to take part in the summer campaign, we have since settled in to our winter quarters and started drilling as a regiment along with our brigade, so we are thoroughly immersed in the laws and tactics of warfare once again.
Now, we are preparing for the spring offensive under General McClellan, where we will try and take Richmond once again. Lord only knows what will happen."
So, thats my 'story' as I have it thus far. Lame? Probably. Historically accurate? As close as I can get it. Well, it all improves with time.
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