Posts Tagged ‘crimean war’

The 2010 calendar is rapidly filling up.  I have over the past month or so been gathering dates for various lectures and author events.  The entire list will be posted on my web site soon, but it isn’t complete yet.

The year is filled with exciting events, including book signings, book fairs, talks at various collectors groups and Civil War Round Tables, a photography project at the Gettysburg National Park, a book tour in the United Kingdom (May 1 – 16), and taking part in the Gettysburg Festival (June 18-27).  In addition, Civil War Round Tables have asked that I present my most recent talk, “Relax Men, It’s Only the President! – Lincoln’s Approach to Personal Security,” on several dates in 2011.

Follow Me to Glory - The Crimean War

The Gettysburg Conspiracy - The American Civil War and Abraham Lincoln

Crimean Memories: Artefacts of the Crimean War

I’m looking forward to two full years of book promotion, rich with opportunities to talk to folks about the Crimean War, the American Civil War, Gettysburg, and Abraham Lincoln.  It appears the most difficult part will be finding the time to research and write the third novel in the Ian Carlyle Series, “The Ear Collector,” and work on publishing an extraordinary diary of a Crimean War Scots Fusilier Guards soldier – a project long overdue.

[This is a fictional tale by your humble servant, but based on a very real story.]

As Private Sean Gorman, Scots Fusilier Guards, leaned down and brushed the snow away from the mound, he saw two large eyes staring back at him from around a snowy, hairy face.  It was a tiny terrier, with a pug nose, not much bigger than a puppy, shivering in a pathetic bundle with sticks for legs popping out of the wet fur.  Now Sean recognized the cries for what they were, although he’d have sworn they were a baby.  He dropped to one knee, letting his musket fall in the snow.

“There, there, now me wee friend, who’d leave ya out here ta freeze like this?  Tak it easy wee one, you’ve a friend in me.”  He scooped up the small dog up in his arms, cradling it close for warmth. The dog seemed to know he was safe … looked up at Sean, then placed his head on the red coatee and feebly wagged his tail.

Sean was wrapped in thought, trying to figure something out.  ”That’s what I’ll call ya … ‘Sticks,’ fer yer legs are mere twigs, yer that fragile.”

“What’s all this, then!”  shouted the voice behind Sean, who turned quickly and saw with horror it was the Corporal of the Guard.  “Ye’ave left yer post Private Gorman.  Where’s yer damned weapon, Private Gorman?  Yer in deep trouble now, Private Gorman.”

Walking up to them out of the blizzard was a young officer, the Officer of the Day.

Sean was still holding the small dog, his weapon buried in the snow.  He was had, all right, well and truly.  Caught out and done in.  He turned to the corporal, stammered, “Corporal, I, I, I,” then turned toward the officer, said, “Well sir, I …”

“Have ye nothin’ ta say fer yerself, Gorman, nothin’ ta say,” bellowed the corporal.  Sean hung his head, but he refused to let go of the dog, who was just beginning to stop shivering.

“I’ll sort this out, sir,” the corporal said to the young officer.  “I’ll have this man relieved at once and on charges, quick as ya like.”

He turned back to Sean, “Now get rid of that damned mutt and pick up yer musket.”

The officer spoke for the first time.  “Yes, corporal, you do that. You have this man relieved at once, but he’ll be coming along with me.”  He said to Sean, “Pick up you’re weapon, lad, and come along.  Handle that poor dog with care as you go, he looks in need of some warmth.”

“But, sir,” the corporal said, in dismay, “this man left ‘is post!”

“Didn’t you hear the cries, corporal?  You might want to clean out those ears if you didn’t.  I heard them.  Was on my way out to investigate myself.”

“Yes, sir, but …”

“There are no but’s, corporal.  Understand me?  This could have been an attack on the castle gate.  What better time than Christmas eve.  Royal family could have been in grave danger.  The man did credit to the regiment.  I see it that it was the sentry’s duty to investigate.  You call for a relief to cover this post.  In the mean time, you cover it if you have to.”

“Aye, sir.”  The corporal was at attention now.  Sean, in amazement, retrieved his musket and hurried after the officer.

As the officer left he shouted over his shoulder, “Be thankful I don’t bring you on charges for not seeing a possible danger, corporal.”

The dog gave what sounded like a muted snuffing sound at the frustrated corporal, and snuggled closer in Sean’s arms.  The young officer was smiling.

[Part III in the continuing adventures of “Sticks” will be along tomorrow.]

Follow Me to Glory - First in the Ian Carlyle Series

The title of the first book in the Ian Carlyle Series is “Follow Me to Glory.”  The Crimean War, during which the bulk of the story takes place, was an absolute disaster. There had not been a major war in Europe for 40 years, since Wellington fought Napoleon. In 1854, the British were ill prepared to fight such a large-scale war. Too many of the lessons learned against Napoleon had been forgotten, and Wellington was no longer around. The butcher’s bill for this forgetfulness was paid in soldiers’ lives.

I chose the title because Ian Carlyle’s dream is to follow in his soldier-father’s footsteps and lead men in battle. For Ian Carlyle, as he comes of age, this means to lead men to “glory.”

In that earlier time, and I fear too often today, those who first go to war, and those at home who cheer them on, have this sense that “glory” is out there, a prize to be had if your brave enough, or lucky enough.  The reality falls way below this naïve expectation.  Warriors know that better than anyone.  They know that sometimes you have to fight, but there isn’t a damned thing about it that you can call “glory.”

Ian manages to navigate through some rather horrendous challenges as he grows to manhood. He overcomes these hurdles and evolves into such a warrior and leader, but the story is more about his coming to terms with what glory isn’t, then what it is.  Most folks who have been in harm’s way, the soldiers who have to fight the dirty, ugly wars, will explain that truth. In the end, it boils down to kinship with your fellow soldiers, an intense commitment to those in your charge, and plain, simple survival.

Last action of Ian Carlyle before Sevastopol in the Crimea, painting by Peter Culos