Another Monday, another story.

Hello, people, and welcome once again to the Tim Perkins Southern Partisan Moment, brought to you in part by the folks at campusMCI (my Internet provider). As I type this, I'm hip deep in two minor papers that are due tomorrow, that I of course in my infinite wisdom put off to enjoy a sunny weekend. In case you're wondering, my sunburned skin that I previously mentioned has, over the course of the past week, gradually tightened, dried up, and fallen off in large flakes, leaving a trail of epidermal cells wherever I go. It's really rather revolting. I'll spare you the more disgusting details; suffice to say, I'm a Coppertone man from now on.

But you didn't log on to your computer this morning to hear me talk about my skin problems. You want to know some more about the War! And I, as always, will be more than happy to oblige. Our story today comes from the battle of Perryville, a small hamlet in central Kentucky where the Confederate Army of Tennessee and the Union Army of the Ohio managed to get into a frightful scrape. It was a confused and bloody battle with no small amount of incompetence by the leadership of both sides. Our story today is about Leonidas Polk, Episcopal bishop of Louisiana and Confederate General. At the time of this particular incident, the fighting has been going on for some time and the various troops have gotten hopelessly mixed; confusion reigns. General Polk, seeing what he thinks is a Confederate regiment mistakenly firing into its own troops, quickly rides over to confront the regiment's colonel and orders him to cease firing on what he is sure is a friendly brigade. Here, let's listen in...

"Polk rode at once to the colonel of the offending regiment. 'I asked him in angry tones what he meant by shooting his own friends,' said Polk and demanded he cease firing at once. The colonel responded that he was sure, in fact, 'damned certain,' that he was shooting at the enemy. Polk was equally sure that he was not. 'Cease firing, sir! What is your name, sir?' Polk demanded to know.

"The bishop was shocked to hear the man reply that he was colonel of an Indiana regiment; in turn, the Yankee colonel shot back, 'And pray, sir, who are you?'

Fortunately for Polk, he thought fast, his instincts were good, his gray clothing helped hide his identity in the deepening twilight -- and he was lucky. Later Polk described the incident:

'Well, I saw there was no hope but to brazen it out; my dark blouse and the increasing obscurity befriended me, so I approached quite close to him and shook my fist in his face, saying, "I'll soon show you who I am, sir! Cease firing, sir, at once!" Polk then turned and rode away, 'shouting in an authoritative manner to the Yankees to cease firing.' Continuing the account, Polk said that 'at the same time, I experienced a disagreeable sensation, like screwing up my back, and calculating how many bullets would be between my shoulders every moment. I was afraid to increase my pace until I got to a small copse [of trees], when I put the spurs in and galloped back to my men.'

"Once back on the Confederate side, Polk ordered Liddell's brigade to direct their fire at the Indiana regiment. 'When the smoke had cleared away,' said General Liddell, 'nothing was visible of the enemy but their wounded, dying, and dead.'"