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.”
08 November, 2019
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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