Ray Mathews

January 19, 2010

Bryan "Keith" Foor

April 25, 1963 - July 19, 2013

The 2nd U.S. Cavalry Co. A mourns the passing of our beloved friend, Ray Mathews. Ray was a teacher and a mentor on many matters in life, but especially on how to conduct oneself. The Dragoons of the 2nd U.S. Cavalry mourn his passing, but we rejoice in the memory of his life.

Photo of Ray by Robert London

Trooper ~ Bugler ~ President ~ Friend 



Lorandi was laid to rest on February 20, 2019, at 39 years old. He was my first re-enacting horse. Another piece of my heart has crossed the Rainbow Bridge. ~ Trooper Amos

Yankee Memorial Photo.jpg


It is with sadness that I report that L'il Mike's trusted mount Yankee moved on to greener pastures Monday evening, February 15, 2016 at 10:45 pm. We had retired Yankee from reenacting two summers ago after Trevilian Station. We praise God for the pleasure of owning this rock solid cavalry and family friendly Tennessee Walker, and for his faithfulness to Michaela, his owner Mary, and to the 2nd US Cavalry Co. A. He was 26 years old. His former owners were Troopers Al and Joshua Underwood. ~ Tpr Tom Helsel


Root Beer

On 11 October 2015 we lost a rock solid member of 2nd U.S. Cavalry Co. A. Root Beer has gone to Fiddler's Green. Rooty served in the Company longer than most. He was the War Horse of Sgt. Ray Mathews, Trooper Dan Detwiler, and most recently Trooper David Miller. His root beer colored mustache made us chuckle and his one blind eye never held him back. Would that all horses were as calm, level headed, brave and tolerant as he. Goodbye my teacher and friend. He was 28. ~ Tpr Dave Miller

Photo by Dave Miller

Dumb Heroes
Written near Ypres, 1916

There's a D.S.O. for the Colonel, 
A Military Cross for the Sub, 
A Medal or two when we all get through, 
And a bottle of wine with our grub. 

There's a stripe of gold for the wounded, 
A rest by the bright sea-shore, 
And a service is read when we bury our dead, 
Then our country has one hero more. 

But what of our poor dumb heroes, 
That are sent without choice to the fight, 
That strain at the load on the shell-swept road 
As they take up the rations at night? 

They are shelling on Hell Fire corner, 
their shrapnel fast burst o'er the square, 
And the bullets drum as the transports come 
With the food for the soldiers there. 

The halt till the shelling is over, 
The rush through the line of fire, 
The glaring light in the dead of night, 
And the terrible sights in the rear: 

It's the daily work of the horses, 
And they answer the spur and rein, 
With quickened breath 'mid the toll of death 
In the mud and the holes and the rain. 

There's a fresh-healed wound on the chestnut, 
The black mare's neck has a mark, 
The brown mules now mute, most keep the same gait, 
As the one killed last night in the dark. 

But they walk with the spirit of heroes. 
They dare not for medals or cross, 
But for duty alone, into perils unknown 
They go, never counting their loss. 

There's a swift, painless death for the hopeless, 
With a grave in a shell-hole or field, 
There's a hospital base for the casualty case, 
And a vet. for those easily healed : 

But there's never a shadow of glory, 
A cheer or a speech in their praise, 
As patient and true they carry us through 
With the limbers on shot-riven ways. 

So here's to dumb heroes of Britain 
Who serve her as nobly and true 
As the best of her sons, 'mid the roar of the guns, 
And the best of her boys on the blue. 

They are shell-shocked, they're bruised, and they're broken, 
They are wounded and torn as they fall, 
But they're true and they're brave to the very grave, 
And they're heroes one and all.

by T.A. Grilling