Previous First
[Continuing chapter 12; this is another long one, and will conclude next week]
Travis felt the hairs prickling on the back of his neck as he navigated his carriage among the ruts on River Road heading into the center of the city. There was almost nobody on the street, even though at half-past eight it ought to be crowded with people going to their offices or shops. It might as well be Sunday for all the people out this morning.
Reynolds, thought Travis as he watched a pair of men scuttling along the wooden sidewalk in the direction of the southern outskirts. When the coup Travis had anticipated had failed to happen yesterday, he’d allowed General Beauregard to persuade him that he’d been imagining things all along, and that the senator had in fact been involved in nothing more dangerous than more anti-abolitionist agitation.
Now Travis was worried again. Perhaps I should just confront Reynolds, he thought, and force the man into the open. Unless it’s already too late for that. Texas is a big place, but it’s still a small country. It would be awfully easy to overthrow this government if you set about it the right way. His throat tightened at the thought.
29 November, 2019
28 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 12.4
Previous First
[Continuing chapter 12]
The heavy outside gate banged open. “I demand to speak to whoever is responsible for this outrage!” General Beauregard, unlike most of his men, did not sleep in his clothing. The general was still clad in a night-shirt and dressing gown as Lieutenant Alexander and his men escorted him into the main hall. “Reynolds!” Beauregard snorted condescendingly. “Never in a million years would I have credited you with the courage to do something like this.” The general’s soft, French-inflected drawl echoed around the room, and Reynolds felt a stirring in the soldiers he thought he had persuaded to his side. Beauregard would have to be handled carefully.
“General,” he began. “I’m sorry to have to wake you in this way, but as you’ll soon see, circumstances left me no—”
“Senator Reynolds,” Beauregard said. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop ten degrees. “You are quite outside your authority here. You would do best to release me right away, or I swear it will go very badly for you.”
“Not half as badly as it’s going to go for you, you British-loving Canadian bastard!”
[Continuing chapter 12]
The heavy outside gate banged open. “I demand to speak to whoever is responsible for this outrage!” General Beauregard, unlike most of his men, did not sleep in his clothing. The general was still clad in a night-shirt and dressing gown as Lieutenant Alexander and his men escorted him into the main hall. “Reynolds!” Beauregard snorted condescendingly. “Never in a million years would I have credited you with the courage to do something like this.” The general’s soft, French-inflected drawl echoed around the room, and Reynolds felt a stirring in the soldiers he thought he had persuaded to his side. Beauregard would have to be handled carefully.
“General,” he began. “I’m sorry to have to wake you in this way, but as you’ll soon see, circumstances left me no—”
“Senator Reynolds,” Beauregard said. The temperature in the hall seemed to drop ten degrees. “You are quite outside your authority here. You would do best to release me right away, or I swear it will go very badly for you.”
“Not half as badly as it’s going to go for you, you British-loving Canadian bastard!”
27 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 12.3
Previous First
[Continuing chapter 12]
“Halt and identify yourselves.”
Reynolds tried to hide his disappointment on seeing the guard at the armory gate. Lieutenant Alexander was supposed to have placed himself at the gate this morning, to facilitate the patriots’ entry and give them an added appearance of authority once inside. Instead, this stolid-looking private—a recent immigrant from backward Prussia, to judge by his square, blond head and thick accent—blocked their way. He won’t even recognize me, Reynolds thought.
He pulled the scroll from his coat pocket, hoping the official appearance of the paper would help persuade the guard. “I am Senator Thomas Reynolds,” he announced. “These men”—he turned and gestured to encompass the politicians, bureaucrats and Rangers behind him—”are with me. We are here to speak with your officers about a matter of utmost urgency. This”—here he thrust the scroll at the guard, but not so close as to let him read it, assuming the man could read—“is an authorization to enter, signed by the president himself.” That the president who had signed was the president-to-be—Reynolds himself—he did not add.
[Continuing chapter 12]
“Halt and identify yourselves.”
Reynolds tried to hide his disappointment on seeing the guard at the armory gate. Lieutenant Alexander was supposed to have placed himself at the gate this morning, to facilitate the patriots’ entry and give them an added appearance of authority once inside. Instead, this stolid-looking private—a recent immigrant from backward Prussia, to judge by his square, blond head and thick accent—blocked their way. He won’t even recognize me, Reynolds thought.
He pulled the scroll from his coat pocket, hoping the official appearance of the paper would help persuade the guard. “I am Senator Thomas Reynolds,” he announced. “These men”—he turned and gestured to encompass the politicians, bureaucrats and Rangers behind him—”are with me. We are here to speak with your officers about a matter of utmost urgency. This”—here he thrust the scroll at the guard, but not so close as to let him read it, assuming the man could read—“is an authorization to enter, signed by the president himself.” That the president who had signed was the president-to-be—Reynolds himself—he did not add.
26 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 12.2
Previous First
[Continuing chapter 12]
Captain Cooper was waiting on the road to Washington when Reynolds steered his horse through the gate. “A good morning for a revolution,” Cooper said, scratching the back of his neck. Reynolds tried not to think about what might be living in Cooper’s hair to cause such itching.
It was still dark, and the stars hovered overhead in their silent thousands. To the east, though, the black of the sky was beginning to turn purple. Reynolds checked his watch, tilting the face to catch as much as possible of the moonlight. “We’re in plenty of time,” he said. “The others should be starting to show at the tavern in about half an hour.”
“If we get a move on, we’ll have time for a drink before they show,” Cooper said. He spurred his horse into motion.
All but one of the patriots arrived at the tavern by five-thirty, the appointed time. Langley, who was to lead a gang of men to seize the hotel housing the departments of the treasury and the interior, hadn’t shown himself by six o’clock, when the sky was mouse-gray with the approaching dawn and Reynolds could wait no longer. Langley was a coward and a fool, he decided, and would pay the price for his fear once the capital had been secured. “Captain Cooper,” he said, rising, “Mister Langley has apparently overslept. We’ll have to change our plans a little to accommodate him. Once we have the armory secure, I want you to send one of your Rangers to lead the men who are to take control of the treasury building. We’ll have to find a way to get word to those men that the plans are going ahead, with or without Langley.”
“You sure this is going to work, Reynolds?” That was Higgins, who’d already downed two rum punches in an attempt to bolster his obviously inadequate courage.
“Would I be here if I had any doubts?” Reynolds retorted. “You see to your responsibilities, hear, and we’ll be just fine.” He lifted his cup. “To our success,” he intoned, “and to a golden future for the Republic of Texas.” After they’d drunk the toast—with sadly varying degrees of enthusiasm, he noted—Reynolds deliberately placed his cup back on the heavy, crude table. “It’s time we were off,” he said. “Remember, we have to present a face of unanimity and authority at the armory. We must have those weapons and as many as possible of the men with us, and with us quickly, in order to effect a quick and bloodless assumption of power.”
“I’m all for quick,” Cooper drawled. “We’ll see about bloodless. Let’s get gone.”
The patriots were in a better frame of mind when they left the tavern, Reynolds reflected, than they’d been when they straggled in. The approaching daylight had something to do with that, he thought, as did the rum they’d consumed. But mostly, he decided, their enthusiasm had been restored because of the firm and decisive example he’d set. It was what a leader was supposed to do.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve
[Continuing chapter 12]
Captain Cooper was waiting on the road to Washington when Reynolds steered his horse through the gate. “A good morning for a revolution,” Cooper said, scratching the back of his neck. Reynolds tried not to think about what might be living in Cooper’s hair to cause such itching.
It was still dark, and the stars hovered overhead in their silent thousands. To the east, though, the black of the sky was beginning to turn purple. Reynolds checked his watch, tilting the face to catch as much as possible of the moonlight. “We’re in plenty of time,” he said. “The others should be starting to show at the tavern in about half an hour.”
“If we get a move on, we’ll have time for a drink before they show,” Cooper said. He spurred his horse into motion.
All but one of the patriots arrived at the tavern by five-thirty, the appointed time. Langley, who was to lead a gang of men to seize the hotel housing the departments of the treasury and the interior, hadn’t shown himself by six o’clock, when the sky was mouse-gray with the approaching dawn and Reynolds could wait no longer. Langley was a coward and a fool, he decided, and would pay the price for his fear once the capital had been secured. “Captain Cooper,” he said, rising, “Mister Langley has apparently overslept. We’ll have to change our plans a little to accommodate him. Once we have the armory secure, I want you to send one of your Rangers to lead the men who are to take control of the treasury building. We’ll have to find a way to get word to those men that the plans are going ahead, with or without Langley.”
“You sure this is going to work, Reynolds?” That was Higgins, who’d already downed two rum punches in an attempt to bolster his obviously inadequate courage.
“Would I be here if I had any doubts?” Reynolds retorted. “You see to your responsibilities, hear, and we’ll be just fine.” He lifted his cup. “To our success,” he intoned, “and to a golden future for the Republic of Texas.” After they’d drunk the toast—with sadly varying degrees of enthusiasm, he noted—Reynolds deliberately placed his cup back on the heavy, crude table. “It’s time we were off,” he said. “Remember, we have to present a face of unanimity and authority at the armory. We must have those weapons and as many as possible of the men with us, and with us quickly, in order to effect a quick and bloodless assumption of power.”
“I’m all for quick,” Cooper drawled. “We’ll see about bloodless. Let’s get gone.”
The patriots were in a better frame of mind when they left the tavern, Reynolds reflected, than they’d been when they straggled in. The approaching daylight had something to do with that, he thought, as did the rum they’d consumed. But mostly, he decided, their enthusiasm had been restored because of the firm and decisive example he’d set. It was what a leader was supposed to do.
Next Chapter One Chapter Two Chapter Three Chapter Four Chapter Five Chapter Six
Chapter Seven Chapter Eight Chapter Nine Chapter Ten Chapter Eleven Chapter Twelve
25 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 12.1
Previous First
“Mas’ Thomas? It’s time for risin’.” Reynolds heard not so much the words as an echo of them. I’m having a dream, he thought, and rolled over to escape from it.
“You said to wake you now, sir.” It was Jefferson, Reynolds realized. He wasn’t dreaming. What time is it? he wondered. The bedroom was still dark.
No—he wasn’t in his bedroom. And there was light, the dim yellow light of a candle somewhere behind him. He jerked into alertness, causing the bed’s wooden slats to creak in protest. Rolling onto his back, he saw the slave hovering over him, hands trembling just inches from where his shoulders had been. The boy had been struggling with the conflict between the need to rouse his master and the prohibition against touching him.
27 MAY 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
“Mas’ Thomas? It’s time for risin’.” Reynolds heard not so much the words as an echo of them. I’m having a dream, he thought, and rolled over to escape from it.
“You said to wake you now, sir.” It was Jefferson, Reynolds realized. He wasn’t dreaming. What time is it? he wondered. The bedroom was still dark.
No—he wasn’t in his bedroom. And there was light, the dim yellow light of a candle somewhere behind him. He jerked into alertness, causing the bed’s wooden slats to creak in protest. Rolling onto his back, he saw the slave hovering over him, hands trembling just inches from where his shoulders had been. The boy had been struggling with the conflict between the need to rouse his master and the prohibition against touching him.
22 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 11.5
Previous First
[Concluding chapter eleven]
The mantle clock was showing half past two when the last of the men left to return to their homes. Tomorrow they would treat as a normal business day, while surreptitiously gathering the small groups of trusted men each had enlisted to assist in the coup. Tuesday morning, they would strike.
[Concluding chapter eleven]
The mantle clock was showing half past two when the last of the men left to return to their homes. Tomorrow they would treat as a normal business day, while surreptitiously gathering the small groups of trusted men each had enlisted to assist in the coup. Tuesday morning, they would strike.
Me At Parties
This is almost literally every one of my friends. And me, of course. And especially Lorna.
21 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 11.4
Previous First
[Continuing chapter eleven]
“Another?” James Russell lifted the bottle. “This bourbon’s no’ a patch on a whisky from the Isle of Islay, but I admit I’ve grown a taste for it since coming here.”
“I shouldn’t,” Travis said. “But I think I will anyway. Since I can’t make sense of this sober, perhaps I can drunk.”
“Herodotus says that’s how the Persians used to do it,” Russell said. “Says they reconsidered sober any decision they made while drunk. And vice versa.” He poured bourbon into both glasses, and added a bit of water to his own. “Though it seems to me you’ve got the answer already, Mister Secretary. You’re just not prepared yet to admit it.”
[Continuing chapter eleven]
“Another?” James Russell lifted the bottle. “This bourbon’s no’ a patch on a whisky from the Isle of Islay, but I admit I’ve grown a taste for it since coming here.”
“I shouldn’t,” Travis said. “But I think I will anyway. Since I can’t make sense of this sober, perhaps I can drunk.”
“Herodotus says that’s how the Persians used to do it,” Russell said. “Says they reconsidered sober any decision they made while drunk. And vice versa.” He poured bourbon into both glasses, and added a bit of water to his own. “Though it seems to me you’ve got the answer already, Mister Secretary. You’re just not prepared yet to admit it.”
20 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 11.3
Previous First
[Continuing chapter eleven]
“How are you so sure that Travis knows?” Muddy water dripped from Peterson’s trouser-cuffs to the carpet; he drew a cheroot from his coat’s inside pocket and reached for the taper someone had left smoldering on the mantelpiece. Reynolds sighed; if everyone had been on time he would have only had to tell this story once. He’d long since given up asking new arrivals not to smoke; God only knew what Susan would say to him when the others had all gone.
“He’s noticed too much,” Reynolds said. “I warned everyone about discretion, didn’t I?”
[Continuing chapter eleven]
“How are you so sure that Travis knows?” Muddy water dripped from Peterson’s trouser-cuffs to the carpet; he drew a cheroot from his coat’s inside pocket and reached for the taper someone had left smoldering on the mantelpiece. Reynolds sighed; if everyone had been on time he would have only had to tell this story once. He’d long since given up asking new arrivals not to smoke; God only knew what Susan would say to him when the others had all gone.
“He’s noticed too much,” Reynolds said. “I warned everyone about discretion, didn’t I?”
19 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 11.2
Previous First
[Continuing chapter eleven]
At some point while he dallied with Maria Pena, it had begun to rain again. Travis glared at the iron-gray sky, willing the weather to improve; this is a new waistcoat, he thought angrily. Make the rain stop, God.
“You could always stay until the rain finishes, you know.”
Travis turned to face Maria. “I have work to do,” he said. “You know that.”
“Always there is work. Too much work is not good for you, my William.”
Travis winced involuntarily. I wish she would not call me that, he thought. I am nobody’s William but my own. “My work is important,” he said. That was a poor answer, perhaps, but it was all he had. “I really must go.”
[Continuing chapter eleven]
At some point while he dallied with Maria Pena, it had begun to rain again. Travis glared at the iron-gray sky, willing the weather to improve; this is a new waistcoat, he thought angrily. Make the rain stop, God.
“You could always stay until the rain finishes, you know.”
Travis turned to face Maria. “I have work to do,” he said. “You know that.”
“Always there is work. Too much work is not good for you, my William.”
Travis winced involuntarily. I wish she would not call me that, he thought. I am nobody’s William but my own. “My work is important,” he said. That was a poor answer, perhaps, but it was all he had. “I really must go.”
18 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 11.1
Previous First
Thomas Reynolds stood on the porch and brushed the rain from his shoulders. Running the soles of his boots across the scraper by the front door, he called to Jefferson, his body-servant. When the Negro boy appeared, Reynolds told him, “Take my boots off, and clean them right quick, you hear? I’ve company coming.”
“Yessir,” Jefferson said. “There’s already someone here. I put him in the parlor, like you told me.”
“Damn!” Reynolds dropped into a porch chair and presented his right foot to the boy. “I wanted a minute to get my thoughts together.” Normally, Texans wouldn’t be on time to their own funerals. Why was everybody in such a hurry to get this conspiracy under way? “Who is it?” he asked.
“Mister Travis, sir.”
Reynolds froze. “Secretary Travis?”
25 MAY 1851
WASHINGTON-ON-THE-BRAZOS, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
“Yessir,” Jefferson said. “There’s already someone here. I put him in the parlor, like you told me.”
“Damn!” Reynolds dropped into a porch chair and presented his right foot to the boy. “I wanted a minute to get my thoughts together.” Normally, Texans wouldn’t be on time to their own funerals. Why was everybody in such a hurry to get this conspiracy under way? “Who is it?” he asked.
“Mister Travis, sir.”
Reynolds froze. “Secretary Travis?”
16 November, 2019
The Best Way To Get There
 |
| Don't I wish VIA business class was like this. Dining car, Venice-Simplon Orient Express. (Simon Pielow, Wikimedia Commons.) |
My favourite way is one of the older ways: I like to take the train.
I think I owe my love of business class on VIA Rail to a couple of friends who took the train to Montreal a while back and described their trip in such glowing terms that I started looking for excuses to take the train anywhere that was more than a couple of hours away. Ottawa fit that bill perfectly.
What I love about taking the train is that it's much more comfortable than a plane, requires much less attention from me than driving, and there are things to look at while I'm sipping my tipple of choice.* The food isn't going to make anyone call up the Michelin Guide, but for my money it's better than anything you can get on a plane outside of first class. And if I want to write I can write (though writing longhand is a bit of a challenge given the way the cars move about as they progress) and if I want to read I can read.
And if I want to just look out the window there's scenery to watch that isn't clouds. In our recent train journeys we have seen foxes and bats and coyotes and the vastness that is Lake Ontario and the marvellous way leaves in this part of Canada can be silver and grey and green and orange, seemingly all at the same time.
Now I'm thinking about multi-day train journeys, in private compartments. Which reminds me of the guy I used to work with at CBC Radio, who would write scripts during cross-Canada rail journeys because confining himself to a train was the only way he could force himself to pay attention to his writing.
*Which is a Hadrian: a Caesar made with gin instead of vodka.
15 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 10.4
Previous First
[Concluding chapter ten]
Patton took stock. A knot of white-clad Texans had gathered in the near distance; Patton could hear the uncertainty in their voices as they murmured to one another. Some of the Texans who’d been part of Pickett’s gang were more definitive in their anger. No one, though, made a move toward the bodies.
“Damn,” Fontaine said. “God damn. I am sure getting tired of this.”
Wheat laughed, but the sound of it was more brittle, more sour, than Patton had yet heard from the man. “I’m starting to miss Cuba,” he said, mysteriously.
[Concluding chapter ten]
Patton took stock. A knot of white-clad Texans had gathered in the near distance; Patton could hear the uncertainty in their voices as they murmured to one another. Some of the Texans who’d been part of Pickett’s gang were more definitive in their anger. No one, though, made a move toward the bodies.
“Damn,” Fontaine said. “God damn. I am sure getting tired of this.”
Wheat laughed, but the sound of it was more brittle, more sour, than Patton had yet heard from the man. “I’m starting to miss Cuba,” he said, mysteriously.
14 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 10.3
Previous First
[Continuing chapter ten]
“Trained” turned out to be a rather generous word to describe the Texas Army. Over the remainder of the day Patton learned that with just a handful of exceptions the soldiers under Parsons’s command were recent immigrants to Texas who had joined the army because they couldn’t find work anywhere else and wouldn’t try to break ground for new farms. There were a lot of Germans and Irish—each time he heard a variant of the brogue, Patton wondered if Cleburne was well and where he’d got to—and even a handful of Italians who’d fled the Holy Roman Empire.
[Continuing chapter ten]
“Trained” turned out to be a rather generous word to describe the Texas Army. Over the remainder of the day Patton learned that with just a handful of exceptions the soldiers under Parsons’s command were recent immigrants to Texas who had joined the army because they couldn’t find work anywhere else and wouldn’t try to break ground for new farms. There were a lot of Germans and Irish—each time he heard a variant of the brogue, Patton wondered if Cleburne was well and where he’d got to—and even a handful of Italians who’d fled the Holy Roman Empire.
13 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 10.2
Previous First
[Continuing chapter ten]
As soon as he saw Colonel Walker, though, Patton knew that he’d raced back to the crossing needlessly. Walker was standing, beside his horse, on a small rise above the west bank of the Trinity, onto which his men continued to disembark in orderly fashion from the single small ferry. The colonel paid no notice to his men; he was engaged in spirited conversation with another man—a man, Patton saw, who wore the same white jacket and trousers of the marchers whose approach he’d sped back here to report.
[Continuing chapter ten]
As soon as he saw Colonel Walker, though, Patton knew that he’d raced back to the crossing needlessly. Walker was standing, beside his horse, on a small rise above the west bank of the Trinity, onto which his men continued to disembark in orderly fashion from the single small ferry. The colonel paid no notice to his men; he was engaged in spirited conversation with another man—a man, Patton saw, who wore the same white jacket and trousers of the marchers whose approach he’d sped back here to report.
12 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 10.1
Previous First
Patton was in the middle of the Trinity River, supervising the crossing of Captain Wheat’s company, when he saw the cloud of dust, to the north and on the west side of the river, that indicated the approach of a large number of creatures—men, horses, buffalo, he couldn’t yet tell. He knew that Colonel Walker was expecting Texans to join them in the next few days, before they reached Washington. But this could just as easily be a force sent by the government to resist them. He had to assume the worst, and urged the men to pull harder on the ropes connecting the primitive ferry to the opposing banks of the river.
21 MAY 1851
SPRING CROSSING, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
11 November, 2019
Practical Criticism: Making It Work For You
[Now I've got the video for that Doug and the Slugs song, "Making It Work," running through my head...]
A while back I wrote a piece about criticism, attempting to answer the question Is there still a place for this? (My answer was Yes, of course.) At that time I suggested I might have some more to say, and here it is. This is a suggestion for how you can make practical criticism work for you—which is, after all, the point of practical criticism.
I want to start by telling a story. I'll try to keep it short.
A while back I wrote a piece about criticism, attempting to answer the question Is there still a place for this? (My answer was Yes, of course.) At that time I suggested I might have some more to say, and here it is. This is a suggestion for how you can make practical criticism work for you—which is, after all, the point of practical criticism.
I want to start by telling a story. I'll try to keep it short.
Bonny Blue Flag 9.1
Previous First
[This is the only scene in chapter nine]
“Any thoughts about which way they went?” Captain Wheat looked at Patton with an attentiveness that made Patton suspect his answer would be scrutinized very carefully.
“I don’t even know that they’re together. They left several hours apart, and Cleburne gave me no reason to suspect that they’d planned anything.” Patton and Wheat rode along the edge of a rise just north and west of the camp. Wheat had insisted on coming up here, as though he thought it might be possible in Texas to see men riding several hours distant. He had taken the news of Merce’s—Mister Goodall’s—and Cleburne’s desertion with phlegmatic calm, even asking wryly why Patton had been left behind. It still seemed to Patton, though, that the news had disturbed the captain. “Should I have awakened you as soon as I heard? I’m sorry if I failed you, Captain Wheat. It’s just that I think that Cleburne’s discovered he’s got no more stomach for fighting, and I figured he’d be more of a hindrance to us in that state than he would a help. Besides,” he added, “the man saved my life in New Orleans. I think I owed him something.”
[This is the only scene in chapter nine]
20 MAY 1851
UPPER BOX CREEK, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
“I don’t even know that they’re together. They left several hours apart, and Cleburne gave me no reason to suspect that they’d planned anything.” Patton and Wheat rode along the edge of a rise just north and west of the camp. Wheat had insisted on coming up here, as though he thought it might be possible in Texas to see men riding several hours distant. He had taken the news of Merce’s—Mister Goodall’s—and Cleburne’s desertion with phlegmatic calm, even asking wryly why Patton had been left behind. It still seemed to Patton, though, that the news had disturbed the captain. “Should I have awakened you as soon as I heard? I’m sorry if I failed you, Captain Wheat. It’s just that I think that Cleburne’s discovered he’s got no more stomach for fighting, and I figured he’d be more of a hindrance to us in that state than he would a help. Besides,” he added, “the man saved my life in New Orleans. I think I owed him something.”
08 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 8.5
Previous First
[Concluding chapter eight]
“People aren’t as enthusiastic about war as they were last spring,” Stewart said, sipping his second whiskey and enjoying the feel of relaxation beginning to come over him. “But the mood is still good. The Federal blockade’s begun to bite, it’s true. But we know we can whip those people on the battlefield, and when we do the blockade won’t matter.”
“So what takes you to Texas, then, if you’re a soldier?” Coloneh gazed with deceptive serenity at Stewart, who found himself flushing.
“I had thought we weren’t going to talk about our reasons for going there,” Stewart said, levelly. “I am on special assignment from the War Department and the president”—a lie, that, but Governor Houston wasn’t going to know it—“and you’ll forgive me for saying nothing else on that score.”
“And how is Davy Crockett?” Coloneh’s face remained impassive, but there was a hint of forged metal in his gaze. “I always thought he had more imagination than to become a mere president. And especially to hold the tails of John Calhoun’s coat.”
[Concluding chapter eight]
“People aren’t as enthusiastic about war as they were last spring,” Stewart said, sipping his second whiskey and enjoying the feel of relaxation beginning to come over him. “But the mood is still good. The Federal blockade’s begun to bite, it’s true. But we know we can whip those people on the battlefield, and when we do the blockade won’t matter.”
“So what takes you to Texas, then, if you’re a soldier?” Coloneh gazed with deceptive serenity at Stewart, who found himself flushing.
“I had thought we weren’t going to talk about our reasons for going there,” Stewart said, levelly. “I am on special assignment from the War Department and the president”—a lie, that, but Governor Houston wasn’t going to know it—“and you’ll forgive me for saying nothing else on that score.”
“And how is Davy Crockett?” Coloneh’s face remained impassive, but there was a hint of forged metal in his gaze. “I always thought he had more imagination than to become a mere president. And especially to hold the tails of John Calhoun’s coat.”
07 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 8.4
Previous First
[Continuing chapter eight]
“Can you tell me why we’ve stopped so soon?” Charles Stewart asked the waiter who’d brought him his drink. “We’ve hardly left Memphis.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s supposed to be the briefest of delays. We’re picking up some diplomatic personages.”
Diplomats? To whom? “Canada is sending diplomats down the river?”
“Strictly speaking,” the waiter said, “I believe it is the Cherokee Nation that’s sending the diplomats. And they’re going down the river and then around the coast, sir, so you’ll probably be keeping them company if you’re still bent on going directly to Texas.”
Of course they’d be going to Texas. Things aren’t already messed up enough in that blasted place. He took a sip of his drink. “I hope they have a pleasant journey,” he told the waiter, who smiled and nodded as he turned to go.
[Continuing chapter eight]
HELENA, MISSOURI
CANADA
“Can you tell me why we’ve stopped so soon?” Charles Stewart asked the waiter who’d brought him his drink. “We’ve hardly left Memphis.”
“Sorry, sir. It’s supposed to be the briefest of delays. We’re picking up some diplomatic personages.”
Diplomats? To whom? “Canada is sending diplomats down the river?”
“Strictly speaking,” the waiter said, “I believe it is the Cherokee Nation that’s sending the diplomats. And they’re going down the river and then around the coast, sir, so you’ll probably be keeping them company if you’re still bent on going directly to Texas.”
Of course they’d be going to Texas. Things aren’t already messed up enough in that blasted place. He took a sip of his drink. “I hope they have a pleasant journey,” he told the waiter, who smiled and nodded as he turned to go.
06 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 8.3
Previous First
[Continuing chapter eight]
A sound woke him. After a second of puzzlement he recognized it: metal on metal. Someone was going through his things. Patton kept his breathing steady and deep, as though sleeping, and felt for a weapon under the blankets. He came up with a knife; rather than trying to find a revolver, he decided to settle for the blade, which at least would be quiet. Opening his eyes, he looked around. The fire no longer burned; though some of the embers still glowed, they weren’t enough to light the scene, and it took a moment for his eyes to accustom themselves to the almost total absence of light. Eventually, shapes coalesced and he could see the outlines of tents against the horizon. His own tent seemed to be shifting, and he realized that the intruder was in there.
He was on his feet and moving toward the tent when it occurred to him that anything of value was in his bags, which had been beside him or under his head as he slept. So instead of pulling back the flap, he simply stood beside the opening, and waited.
After a few moments, a familiar form emerged from the tent. “Cleburne,” Patton said. The Irishman started satisfyingly; Patton heard his sharp intake of breath. Turnabout, he thought, for what you did to me down at the creek.
[Continuing chapter eight]
A sound woke him. After a second of puzzlement he recognized it: metal on metal. Someone was going through his things. Patton kept his breathing steady and deep, as though sleeping, and felt for a weapon under the blankets. He came up with a knife; rather than trying to find a revolver, he decided to settle for the blade, which at least would be quiet. Opening his eyes, he looked around. The fire no longer burned; though some of the embers still glowed, they weren’t enough to light the scene, and it took a moment for his eyes to accustom themselves to the almost total absence of light. Eventually, shapes coalesced and he could see the outlines of tents against the horizon. His own tent seemed to be shifting, and he realized that the intruder was in there.
He was on his feet and moving toward the tent when it occurred to him that anything of value was in his bags, which had been beside him or under his head as he slept. So instead of pulling back the flap, he simply stood beside the opening, and waited.
After a few moments, a familiar form emerged from the tent. “Cleburne,” Patton said. The Irishman started satisfyingly; Patton heard his sharp intake of breath. Turnabout, he thought, for what you did to me down at the creek.
05 November, 2019
Astaire Therapy
 |
| Fred Astaire and Leroy Daniels in MGM's The Band Wagon (1953). Image ganked from IMDB and I'm claiming Fair Use. |
There are few instances of the Dismals, in my experience, that can resist the onslaught of a Fred Astaire dance routine. Sometimes all I need is a little something from The Gay Divorcee or Top Hat, but if things are looking especially grim I pull out the big guns: the opening ten minutes or so of my favourite musical film, bar none, The Band Wagon.
The first song, "By Myself," has always been a sentimental favourite, and I like having it kick off the movie (which is about a fictional Hollywood singing-dancing star bearing a strong resemblance to Astaire, trying to rebuild his career after flaming out in LA). But it's the second number in the film that never fails to cheer me up. (Which is what it's supposed to do, of course.)
The number takes place in a penny arcade that has taken over the space formerly devoted to a Broadway theatre. Fred's more than a little bummed out over what has happened to 42nd Street, but when he encounters a shoeshine man in the middle of the arcade he launches into a dance routine built around the song "Shine on Your Shoes" and the movie launches into the stratosphere of uplifting movie magic*.
What makes this number work so well is Astaire's dance partner. Leroy Daniels was in fact a shoeshine man in downtown LA who had made a name for himself by incorporating a lot of syncopation into his work. He was well enough known to have inspired a minor hit record a few years earlier, and when he was suggested to Astaire the latter, knowing a good thing when he heard about it, said let's do this.
I'm not going to say anything more about the routine, just urge you to watch it for yourself. There's a video embedded in an article about Leroy Daniels on the site Reel Rundown. Go there, and get happy.
*For me, anyway. As always, Your Mileage May Vary
Bonny Blue Flag 8.2
Previous First
[Continuing chapter eight]
Patton was trying to decide whether to follow his brother when a messenger hailed him: Colonel Walker wanted to see him. Responding to the order, Patton found Walker outside his ambulance, talking with Captain Wheat and another man whom he introduced as Captain Fontaine. They were drinking coffee as they talked, and a map was spread underneath an oil-lamp suspended from a hook on the vehicle. Patton wanted to look at the map but knew better. Instead, he saluted and stood, awaiting Walker’s pleasure.
“That is the sort of behavior I wish I saw more of in the ranks,” Walker said, acknowledging the salute. “We have enough soldiers with us; it’s a shame they’re mostly deserters and hate the very idea of discipline.”
[Continuing chapter eight]
Patton was trying to decide whether to follow his brother when a messenger hailed him: Colonel Walker wanted to see him. Responding to the order, Patton found Walker outside his ambulance, talking with Captain Wheat and another man whom he introduced as Captain Fontaine. They were drinking coffee as they talked, and a map was spread underneath an oil-lamp suspended from a hook on the vehicle. Patton wanted to look at the map but knew better. Instead, he saluted and stood, awaiting Walker’s pleasure.
“That is the sort of behavior I wish I saw more of in the ranks,” Walker said, acknowledging the salute. “We have enough soldiers with us; it’s a shame they’re mostly deserters and hate the very idea of discipline.”
04 November, 2019
A Great Equalizer?
I was trying to plot out a short story set in the world I've created for the French Intrigues novels (but set sixty or seventy years after A Poisoned Prayer) when I had one of those epiphanies that can totally derail one's creative process.
The story was to be set in Montreal and was inspired by a museum I toured during a (bitterly cold) visit a year ago. The inspiration was a display about the eighteenth-century treaty that ended some two hundred years of war between the First Nations of the St Lawrence basin, war that had drawn in the French and seriously disrupted life for all parties concerned.
It was when I was trying to figure out how magic might affect such a treaty when it suddenly occurred to me to wonder:
If there's magic in the world, is colonialism even possible?
The story was to be set in Montreal and was inspired by a museum I toured during a (bitterly cold) visit a year ago. The inspiration was a display about the eighteenth-century treaty that ended some two hundred years of war between the First Nations of the St Lawrence basin, war that had drawn in the French and seriously disrupted life for all parties concerned.
It was when I was trying to figure out how magic might affect such a treaty when it suddenly occurred to me to wonder:
If there's magic in the world, is colonialism even possible?
Bonny Blue Flag 8.1
Previous First
“This is my fourth time, you know,” Cleburne said. “Counting a sword cut I got in India.” He brushed a finger across the bandage on his upper arm, as though he could speed the healing by touch.
“You’ve been lucky, then,” Patton said.
“Thank God,” Cleburne said, and Patton nodded. They sat around their own fire, watching a pot struggle toward boiling. Cornmeal-and-water dough wrapped around sticks was browning along the near side of the fire—save for the lumps that had fallen off into the flames. Patton preferred to make cornbread in a pan, but he’d been given none.
No one had come by to inquire after Cleburne, though he was apparently the only man hurt in the afternoon’s encounter. In fact, the other men of what had been Pickett’s company didn’t even seem to be aware of their presence in camp. Patton had earlier heard several of them talking about the fight as though they were the only ones who’d taken part in it. They were outsiders, Patton knew. But surely the fight they’d shared should have gone a long way toward making the two of them welcome. Or perhaps it was true that these men preferred their friendship to the arrested and disgraced Pickett to their sense of honor.
19 MAY 1851
UPPER BOX CREEK, REPUBLIC OF TEXAS
“You’ve been lucky, then,” Patton said.
“Thank God,” Cleburne said, and Patton nodded. They sat around their own fire, watching a pot struggle toward boiling. Cornmeal-and-water dough wrapped around sticks was browning along the near side of the fire—save for the lumps that had fallen off into the flames. Patton preferred to make cornbread in a pan, but he’d been given none.
No one had come by to inquire after Cleburne, though he was apparently the only man hurt in the afternoon’s encounter. In fact, the other men of what had been Pickett’s company didn’t even seem to be aware of their presence in camp. Patton had earlier heard several of them talking about the fight as though they were the only ones who’d taken part in it. They were outsiders, Patton knew. But surely the fight they’d shared should have gone a long way toward making the two of them welcome. Or perhaps it was true that these men preferred their friendship to the arrested and disgraced Pickett to their sense of honor.
01 November, 2019
Bonny Blue Flag 7.10
Previous First
[Concluding (finally!) chapter seven]
At the second gunshot, Patton ran back and grabbed the reins for his horse. Cleburne, he decided, was going to have to look after himself for a spell. Do I shoot him? Patton asked himself as he slid his rifle into its sling. If I have to. He mounted, feeling sick to his stomach. He was still in firm enough possession of himself, though, to be able to wonder whether this was a normal reaction to the conclusion of a battle, or whether it was revulsion at what Pickett and the handful of men who had run were now doing.
Then he realized: My first battle. I’ve just been in my first battle.
It didn’t feel as wonderful as he had always thought it would.
[Concluding (finally!) chapter seven]
At the second gunshot, Patton ran back and grabbed the reins for his horse. Cleburne, he decided, was going to have to look after himself for a spell. Do I shoot him? Patton asked himself as he slid his rifle into its sling. If I have to. He mounted, feeling sick to his stomach. He was still in firm enough possession of himself, though, to be able to wonder whether this was a normal reaction to the conclusion of a battle, or whether it was revulsion at what Pickett and the handful of men who had run were now doing.
Then he realized: My first battle. I’ve just been in my first battle.
It didn’t feel as wonderful as he had always thought it would.
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