Stalwart farmers along with their families make up most of this camp along the Santa Fe river. Nearby Poe Springs provides them and their gangly cavalry with fresh water. The cooking fires are set high yet the children run about and dodge about the tents and lean-to's set up by this self-titled "Alachua Homeguard". They would not be mistaken for a formidable, organized army yet their numbers include a couple grizzled old Mexican War veterans who have a smidgeon of discipline and a dollop of military knowledge. To be sure, it mightabin the welcome smell of cooking that drew me in, but everyone can recognize the wanderers need to get a good nights sleep now and then. Sleeping alone in the woods ain't what it used to be, what with bands of renegades and eager patrols roaming about, even in the most inhospitable places let alone the high dry ground where a traveller would chose to unroll his blankets for the night. And it don't hurt knowing there are bright-eyed lads out on picket through the night to make this wandering man sleep soundly. So I lay quietly, alone with my thoughts before surrendering to the sandmen.

In the darkness I pondered the sorry news I recently received. My home is no more. To be truthful the buildings still stand but my long travels throughout the land have taken their toll on Mrs. Mightabin and she has returned to her folk in the north and left word for me not to follow her. This war has overturned the earth in more ways than one. I remember the vows we spoke and I remember when the preacher said "What God has joined let no man put asunder". I reckon we never thought of what a war might do to it. The beaten plowshares have split and divided families, friends, and communities and may be the final ruin of this earth. How long must the common people suffer while the politicians take an unfair share for their own bulging coffers. Can it be that there hasn't been enough flowing blood spilt to quench the blaze of the fire breathing abolitionist? And yet see the fine dandy's parade about the square knowing that the North seeks nothing but total subjugation and the complete ruin of our fair lands. I try to remain impartial in my reporting, telling what I see with an even keel, but if it is true that the Confederacy just wants to be left alone in peace, why cannot we all live in freedom as two great nations upon this vast continent?

Next morning, in the hazy and dim morning light I see contented couples begin the morning chores together and the heart of Azzit Mightabin begins to hurt. I steel myself and rise - for only the darkness of night can hide such sad reflections. I try to find out what these people may know about the conflict but find myself giving more information of battlefields up north than I receive of battles here. They do emphatically inform me that they are bound and sworn to protect this part of Florida from blue-bellies rumored to be marching inland towards Gainesville. I am not so sure they will see any enemy - let alone be able to stand and fight against a organized army but I am willing to be, and have been, wrong.

What was wrong was - unannounced and fully unwelcome they (Federals) attacked. We had only received an incomplete absolution by the Reverend Roger (the finest German parson about these parts). We had yet barely finished singing 'Amazing Grace' when a smallish group of Federals, some with that devils' gun, the Henry, disturbed our peaceful Sabbath. Startled into temporarily abandoning our camps we receded into the trees where our brave Guard formed battle lines. Advancing on two fronts, one up against the Federal cavalry and the other facing those awful repeaters, they made slow, steady progress across a field. The field had a few scrubby tree's and made great cover for the Federal infantrymen and one of those new-fangled Gattalin guns. The Gattalin would've sure turned Reverend Roger into a "burial master" if it had not blown up - wounding the soldiers arming the infernal thing. On the other front - numerous gopher turtle holes that pocked the battlefield seemed to hamper the Union cavalry who eventually had to ride double - taking flight to escape our faithful defenders who gleefully gave chase.

A couple hours of blue-belly running yielded up the most delightful treasures - coffee, sugar, boot black, scarves, arms, and a few newspapers were brought back to camp to fill out our Sunday leisure. I must admit for a small-scale battle - the action here rivals some of the great campaigns that I have witnessed. I suffered another gentle evening spent with these good folk and families and then went on my way - back home to seek out what was left - to celebrate the Christmas season with friends - and then to seek out a new year, a new adventure, and maybe a new life.

Sincerely,
Azzit Mightabin

Brooksville 2008
-Azzit Mightabin-

Had I timed it right - it mightabin a glorius battle for my honor but azzit was - I left for a more welcome place - the battlefield.

In all my travels up till now I have not had calamity to assail my person. True enough I have, from time to time, suffered the same privations as the soldiers when I travel with them. Truthfully I have slept on the none-too-soft bed of Earth more often than I have felt the warm embrace of a straw filled mattress. But I have escaped every trial without wounds, hearty and hale - azzit is said.

Alas a new wound I now have. Without blood, to be sure, but an open wound nonetheless. I now share the fate of all those who have found their homes occupied. On my way home, as I told you before, I heard the rumors that my homestead had been abandoned by Mrs. Mightabin. Upon my arrival I found that my absence had em-brazened a local ne're-do-well with a name of Mr Randall and co., who, with his disrespectful ilk had moved in without asking. He had taken what was once mine and now calls it his own. My choices were to fight the lot of them or to accept fate, move on and live another day.

As I travelled towards the western side of Florida I was in awe of all the lonely folk who, like myself, had lost much. I felt the sadness and destitution of what this conflict has brought to us. Upon reaching a military camp I was not so alone now but I began to feel what I had not felt before. I felt the desperation of the boys as they fought - this time it was near Brooksville. I felt a terror and thrill run through me as two great armies crashed together on a large dry lake-bed. Now wet with the ebbing life of unfinished, young lives, the lake was alive again, alive with the twitching armies as they struggled to destroy each other. Both the soldiers in blue and the boys in butternut are Americans all to a man - but sorely divided by a chasm of idea's and the hot words of over-heated politicians.

Every stolid soldier there was intent on love. Love of his fellow men. Love for the ones he left at home. Love for the ones who fell around. Love for freedom and that right. Love of the awful bitter pill of blood-lust. My eyes have been opened by the Almighty and now I see the similarities clearly - between love and war.

The Union with their ever-present overwhelming numbers seemed to easily sweep the open lake-bed of our southern stalwarts. The remaining Confederates formed into a tight defensive position among the trees that overlooked the body strewn lake as blessed darkness fell and they escaped a certain destruction that day.

In my introspective mood I was sickened by the battle and for the first time in memory I stumbled away - unwilling to see a conclusion. What have we become? What had I become? Willing to lose everything for the thrill of battle? For miles I walked, each step an eternity. I feared the price of our ideals is too dear for us to pay. For many steps I struggled with these questions and a weight of depression.

Suddenly I found myself amidst the light of fires and lanterns. Surrounded, I noticed, by gaiety and music. My feet had walked themselves to a local Ball where the Confederate officers were plenty - matched in number by the swirls of music and colorful gowns that covered quite a few local ladies. I had seen many of these pretty faces before. I had talked with most of them over the years. Now I was struck with the realization that the sad long face I was wearing was utmostly out of place and the only of its kind here to be seen. There was no-one here who would share in my misery. As beaten as I felt, I gave in to the lively spirit and found solace in the frivolity of these beautiful people. I also noticed how much more lovely and appealing the young ladies appeared to me this time. Each one I saw in a new fresh light. As a couple hours passed so did the heavy mantle of sorrow that plagued my mood. Re-assured, I felt alive again. We are not doomed, we are not all full of evilness. We are humans - just doing what The Creator has allowed us to do.

With renewed spirit I left there - eager to rejoin the soldiers and with a new idea of what life is. Life is, I believe, dancing! And I determined to learn and become as proficient as I can.

Azzit mightabin - my newfound spirit must have passed to the Confederates that night - or maybe it was just the addition of heavy re-enforcements. I witnessed another sunrise - and another resounding defeat of the Yankee invaders that next day. I have concluded that I cannot hate the boys who fight, no matter what side they show courage for. I just wish they would go home, or like me, begin anew.

Sincerely,
Azzit M.