Posts Tagged ‘Gettysburg’

Robbie on his throne in Big A-- Truck, with Rosemary keeping him still for the camera

Last minute packing and prep for our trip south.  Leaving Gettysburg at double-oh- dark thirty tomorrow morning. Robbie, our Shetland Sheep Dog, full name Robert Burns Hutchison, knows he’s going and is excited.  He travels amazingly well.  We’ve made the back seat area of the Big A– Truck his castle.

It’s built up to allow him to be on the same level as Rosemary and me, and he can come up front to sit or stand between us whenever he wants –  to make certain we’re safe … and of course to ensure he doesn’t miss anything. Mostly, though, he comes up front to guard us against all those evil people who might dare to venture inadvertently within ten yards of the truck. The rest of the time he merely curls up on his “throne” in the rear area, where he can look out the windows, enjoy the sights and smells, and munch contentedly on the odd treat.

He loves going to hotels, and they love him.  He actually prances across the lobby – the center of attention, a dog star with his entourage, nodding to his fans as he passes. In the motel room he immediately finds a place, then lets us know with his body language and his eyes that it is, in fact, his place.  No luggage must be set down there under pain of bark or stern look.  He may occasionally growl in a low voice if ‘evil doers’ (read hotel staff or guests) pass the room too close, but no constant barking … unless they’re impertinent or intrusive enough to come to our door.  Then he’s up, on guard, and might let out one sharp, piercing bark of warning to the impudent outsiders that his charges are being protected by the ever vigilant Robbie Security, Inc.

When he wants to go out, he barks once, softly, but insistently. There’s no mistaking his meaning, and he won’t repeat it.  His searing gaze says it all.  He who must be obeyed wants to be taken for a walk – immediately!

He prides himself on remembering exactly which room is ours.  Upon our return from our walkabout, he pulls me to it, stops in front of the door, sits abruptly, looks up, and tells me with his eyes, “Yes, Dad, this is the room.  Now lets go in.”

Now I know that every one of you who have a dog have similar tales to tell, but allow me this indulgence … Robbie is awesome!

In case I forget in my travels, folks, have a wonderful holiday season, and the very best year yet.

Robbie in a festive mood at Christmas

House in first real snowfall of 2009

This is the first real snow in Gettysburg, Pennsylvania, in 2009, and just before Christmas.  It is so clean, so beautiful.  makes you think of crackling log fires, snuggling warm.

Watching the snow twirl lazily down is mesmerizing, alluring, bewitching, exquisite.  Robbie, my Shelty, absolutely loves it … romping about, tossing it in the air, actually lying in it as though it was a soft white blanket. This is always my first impression.  I almost hate to walk through the first snowfall because my footprints will mar its tranquility.

Inevitably, the darker side appears, in spite of our good thoughts –  slippery streets, accidents, freezing – biting – numbing cold, airports locked in, stores out of food and a snow mound away.  As the wonderland abates, I am reminded of a studies of the Crimean War for my novel, Follow Me to Glory. The winter of 1854, and a British army totally unprepared for winter. I described it this way:

No matter how many times he’d been warned, Ian was ill prepared for what he saw when he cleared the connecting trench and moved into the much wider main trench, which formed a “T” with the zigzag leading up to it.

The men were lounging about along the trench, one man up on the fire step every eight to ten yards, his mate resting below.  Many of these soldiers had fought next to him at Inkerman, but as he passed among them, he hardly recognized anyone, either by name or that they were members of the elite Scots Fusilier Guards.

Ian’s frock coat was a bit shabby after months of service, and certainly his cloak was a wreck.  The only new item he wore was a field service cap given him by Nigel Kingscote upon his arrival back from hospital.  However, his worn and threadbare garments were nothing compared to these guardsmen.

Due to the scarcity of water, they were authorized to grow beards, and they were growing thick, long and ungroomed.  Their once bright scarlet coatees were faded and torn, with visible patches of every kind.  Some cut their high collars off for more freedom.  Many cut the swallowtails off to make patches of at least a similar colour for the upper coat.  It mattered little, because the coats had faded, turning many an odd brown-purple colour.

Trousers were patched, mud-caked and badly frayed at the bottoms, some with open holes worn through the knees.  Ankle boots were in tatters, wrapped in bits of cloth, or strips torn from haversacks, tied with rope just to hold them together.  Their wool stockings were either in bits showing above the boots or none-existent.

There were still a few bearskin caps visible.  One odd-looking bearskin had been cut open and pulled down well over the ears.  The men wore a variety of other homemade headgear, some from pieces of blanket, they ranged from turbans to haversacks pulled down.  Others had hand-knit wool caps or stockings over their heads, cutting a hole for their faces.  There were forage caps and field service caps, and a very few sealskin caps worn by the newer draft recruits.

Among some of the new recruits he also saw sealskin coats, but most of the company wore their shabby greatcoats over their tunics, wrapped in as many blankets as they possessed.  A few had lost their greatcoats and wore only blankets with holes cut in the top for their heads or wrapped round their necks and tucked into belts.  The seriously unlucky ones had lost both their blankets and greatcoats.  These were merely standing along the trench, shivering in their discoloured coatees around meagre fires glowing from holes dug into the trench side.  There was barely enough wood in the trenches to keep the tiny fires alive.

They even found a useful purpose for discarded news journals sent from home or bought or stolen locally, but not as fuel for the fires, as Ian might have suspected.  They stuffed the paper as a layer of insulation down their trousers, inside their coats.

For gloves, they wore mittens made from woollen stockings, or wrapped blanket wool around their hands, tied with string.  A resourceful few, the company quartermaster having no doubt overlooked them, even cut open the top of their bearskin caps and were using them as muffs to warm their hands.

Ian’s initial impression was that they were drugged or drunk.  They looked filthy, vermin-ridden, and were staring into empty space, leaning against the trench walls, weaving slightly, or sitting in the filth at the bottom, not caring.  Their scraggly beards were surrounded by long hair poking unceremoniously out of whatever head covering they wore.

Ian was struck by their stone-like, stoicism.  They weren’t joking or grumbling.  There was none of the expected soldierly banter as he passed through the trench.

Ian’s nostrils cringed at the putrid stench of filth and decay.  He saw, with sadness, their sunken hollow eyes, the grey pallor of their skin, chapped and cut lips.  Their blank stares reminded him of Peter’s look after the incident at Eton.  There was no light in their eyes.  The deplorable conditions were sapping them of their energy, their dignity, their pride. They looked like stooped old men, twice – three times their age.

There was only one item of equipment that was spotless and bright.  Ian had seen it with Goodlake’s lads, and he saw it again now.  In the hands of each soldier was his Minie´ rifle musket, clean, ready and fit for killing.  Ian credited this, without asking, to the vigilance of MacGregor.  No matter how hard the system beats men like these down, they will still rise up fighting given the right incentive, Ian thought.

Punch Magazine summed it up in one cartoon:

Crimean War Cartoon - Appeared in Punch Magazine

Other Ranks, 47th Regt, prepared for the tenches before Sevastopol

Other Ranks, 68th Regt, winter clothing

A bit more about the entire “book launch” weekend, which in Gettysburg was the “Remembrance Day” weekend.  There was so much in those few short days.  For instance, I met Richard Dreyfuss, who now has a copy of my new release, The Gettysburg Conspiracy. I told Richard one of my absolute favorite movies is What about Bob, and, of course, The Goodbye Girl.  He was very gracious and witty, which was not unexpected.

I had numerous book signings during the various Remembrance Day festivities.  I even had a book signing with Jeff Shaara, who also has a new book out about World War Two, entitled No Less Than Victory.  I’ve known Jeff since we had lunch a few years ago, and he gave me sage advice about writing historical fiction with characters who have foreign accents.  He is most generous with his celebrity and his advice has stood the test of time.

Today I am beginning the long-term promotional process for the new release, The Gettysburg Conspiracy, and am looking forward to it.

In case Ian’s fans are concerned, I’ve started researching and writing the third in the Ian Carlyle Series.  The outline and a few chapters are completed.  I can only tell you this one puts Ian on the trail of some very bad people in Saskatchewan and Alberta, Canada, in the 1870’s and 80’s.  The working title is The Ear Collector: A Western about the North-West Territories.

The process of writing fiction, especially historical fiction, is amazing, and I love it.  When I thought about the goals of this journal, one of the primary objectives was to discuss and create a dialogue about ‘the historical fiction writing experience.’  I’d be interested in your views.

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Will Hutchison

I have so much to talk about right now. In the last several months I’ve published two books, my first non-fiction history and photography book, ‘Crimean Memories: Artefacts of the Crimean War,’ and the sequel to my first historical fiction novel. My first novel was ‘Follow Me to Glory,’ about a young Scottish nobleman coming of age as a man and an officer in the Crimean War. The sequel, ‘The Gettysburg Conspiracy,’ takes this same officer, Ian Carlyle, into the American Civil War as a British observer, who then becomes involved against his will in a plot to assassinate Abraham Lincoln. I won’t bore you with details, but if you want to know more I invite you to visit my web site at www.willhutchison.com.

The book launch for The Gettysburg Conspiracy was on the evening of 20 November 2009, at the Majestic Theater in Gettysburg. It was part of Americas’ Arts “Hear, See, Now Event,” and was called “Cocktails, Conversation, and Conspiracy.” It was sold out, and I believe the folks attending had a grand time – I know I did.

Crimean Memories

Follow Me to Glory - 1st in the Ian Carlyle Series

The Gettysburg Conspiracy - 2nd in the Ian Carlyle Series