I drove to Chapel Hill from Mom’s house in Greenville. The heat was punishing, despite the newly repaired air conditioning in my nine year old car. But I made it in good time, checked into my hotel room and was pleasantly surprised by the decor. Bold modern colors and lighting fixtures, computer desk and chair, nice cotton sheets, mini-fridge and microwave neatly stowed in their own cabinetry and not merely stacked one on top of the other like you find in most highway hotels. I was pleased, and hardly noticed that there was no coffee maker. Nothing is perfect, and Starbucks just down the road.
Just as I was getting in to Chapel Hill, my cell phone ran out of power, and when I got into my room, the first thing I wanted to do was to charge it up. I discovered that I had left the charger at my mother’s house. Arghh. The process by which I discovered this was basically tearing apart all my luggage across the king sized bed, but first I had to get all four pieces to the hotel room, on the third floor, and all this while holding onto the dog’s leash. She cries when I leave her in a hotel room or pretty much anywhere else: she has separation anxiety. Thank god there was an elevator. It was a nasty sweaty business nonetheless. Then there was a lot of phone calling, to my mother, to Ann. This was all complicated by the hotel’s phone system, which thwarted Ann’s and Mom’s attempts to reach me directly. It was a mess, but I got it all sorted out in due course. I had planned to get to Ann’s by six, but somehow I didn’t manage to get cooled down and cleaned up and on my way until almost seven thirty. I was annoyed with myself for not remembering that I would need a hostess gift until I had left Greenville and was on my way to Chapel Hill, but near my hotel, I had passed a Home Depot and remembered that they often have very pretty potted orchids in decorative planters, so I flew in there(still holding the dog’s leash) only to come out with a plant arrangement in a painted bucket. Good enough. Can’t show up empty handed for dinner. The directions from mapquest indicated that it would only take seven minutes to get to Ann’s house from my hotel, and I suppose that would have been accurate had I executed any single step of the those directions correctly, but in an apparent fit of uncharacteristic navigational disorientation, I made every possible wrong turn I could make, and finally rang the doorbell at eight fifteen, apologizing profusely for my lateness. I was warmly and graciously greeted by Ramsey, Ann’s husband.
Ramsey makes custom cabinetry, really high end stuff. Or rather I should say, he has a company that produces such items by his design.If Donald Trump or Oprah Winfrey were going to design an office with built-ins and custom pieces, they might go to Ramsey. The house is a stunning showcase of his work. Every square foot of their home shows their warmth and love of beauty and attention to detail, as well as their mastery of function, down to the special stand for their cellphone chargers. Tray ceilings and recessed lighting and earth tones and stainless steel and oriental carpets and painted furniture and lots of plants. Family heirlooms blended with more contemporary pieces made by Ramsey: the dining room table which could easily fit twelve people and it's matching buffet which holds all the china and linens, their bed which is a brilliant combination of art deco and prairie style, with it’s suggestion of a sleigh bed and it’s inlaid wood curves. These are very thoughtful and deliberate people and it’s abundantly reflected in the atmosphere with which they have surrounded themselves. I felt comfortable immediately.
Ann has the look of Sarsfield, the square jaw that her brother and her father had...I don’t have that jaw, I don’t think. I do, however, have the green blue grey eyes that Ann and her kids have. This is remarkable to me because I have always wondered where my particular color came from...my mother’s eyes are much more intensely blue, no green or grey. To date that square-jawed, blue eyed look has been called the “Hill” look, but I’m not sure that this association is accurate, I think it may actually be the “Clark” look. Terrance was described as square jawed, and his service record states his eyes were blue. Ann’s face is symmetrical in a way that reminds me of a Federal style house. She doesn’t wear makeup or color her hair, which has turned gently from ash blonde to silver, and her skin glows with a dusting of light bronze from playing tennis....the effect is soft and natural and authentic. She doesn’t wear much jewelry at all, little pearl studs in her ears and the slimmest gold wedding band....like the one I wore when I was first married. She is the absolute opposite of ostentation. She’s thin as a rail. She seems very much at ease with the signs of aging on her body and face; she knows her legs are still quite good at the age of sixty-six and wears her short tennis skirts with quiet confidence. I think she wears sexy underwear...her bra seemed to match the lime green of her skirt and her Crocs and was just barely discernible beneath her white shirt. I wonder if she wears thongs. If any woman her age could carry it off, she could. Physically she reminds me of Janas. I told her she has arms like a guitarist....like a rock chick. She says when her son, Will, died, she got very thin. She says it as though it’s somehow remote from where she is now, as if she’s improved, but it’s really hard to imagine her any thinner. Her husband seems to have taken on the task of mandating her nutritional intake, and admonishes her to take another tuna steak and not to forget her yogurt...she is diabetic as was her brother Bunky, but she, unlike him, keeps herself to an informed and strict regimen of foods that undoubtedly contain the effects of her condition and will in all likelihood prolong her life rather than abbreviate it.
Our chat meanders from topic to topic as I try to be as animated and charming as I can be, and I don’t do too badly, I think. I told Ramsey one of my favorite (good) Joe Fox stories, about the time Joe and Ron and Dave were sitting around the kitchen table in Center Moriches discussing what we would like to do with the kitchen, and I offered to buy them all lunch with my paycheck to thank them for the work they would be doing for us for free. Being men, they sent me to three different places, and by the time I returned home, Ron was standing on my antique farmhouse pedestal table with a sawz-all in his hands, and having already demolished the kitchen ceiling, he was now cutting a hole in the roof. Joe cheerfully announced that they had decided to put in a skylight. I looked around at the piles of sheetrock and the insulation falling into a sink full of dirty dishes from breakfast and dust settling over the bowl of fruit on the counter and said rather grimly “You guys know it’s snowing, right?” Ramsey enjoyed the story, complete with exaggerated Long Island construction guy accents.
Ann talks about her son Bear a lot. They seem to have an especially close relationship. He has been in Mexico for the past month or so, studying Spanish intensively in preparation for teaching science there this fall, and in lieu of astronomical cell phone bills, they corresponded by e-mail; writing each other long and thoughtful letters on such topics as the nature of courage. I thought this to be remarkable. Ann explains that Bear is very gregarious, yet periodically solitary, content to occupy himself with his reading and his music. “He’s just like Daddy,” she says in her high soft southern voice “Daddy could pick up his guitar, lean back in his director’s chair with his feet on the counter and play any song, and he never had formal lessons.” On this night Bear is returning to Chapel Hill from Mexico and his flight into Houston has been delayed. Ann is supposed to pick him up at the airport; his car is parked in her driveway. It is feared he will miss his connecting flight, and his arrival will be later than is considered acceptable for Ann to be out driving. The entire family of five surviving sons (she lost her eldest, Will, last September) call to weigh in on the matter...the phone rings and rings and rings. One of the boys asks if they can all have dinner at their mother’s the following night, and then go over to listen to music on the lawn at the Carolina Inn together, which provokes further negotiations until someone suggests that they eat at a restaurant where one of the brothers is manager so their Mom doesn’t have to cook, and just like that, a family outing is planned to say goodbye to Bear, who will be leaving the day after that to drive up to the family cabin in Maine for six weeks before returning to Mexico(the rest of the family will join him there one by one until they are all assembled for their two weeks customary summer family vacation)...Bear’s large circle of friends will also come to the Inn for the music. I think about my own family and the fact is that we can’t get more than three of us together at any one time without a huge row ensuing. Ann invites me to be included for dinner and music to meet “the brothers” as she calls them, for which I am grateful, but I demur. The thought of it is overwhelming to me...it gives me a slightly panicky feeling. Coming to meet Ann and Ramsey was the limit for me...despite my big mouth and my forthright manner, I am actually pretty shy of meeting new people. I blunder through but I never really know what to say, and I am very self conscious about how I look, and whether my manner is too brusque, or my voice is too loud, and so forth. I am not one of those people whom everyone likes, in fact, some people seem to take an instant dislike. No matter, it is what it is, but I guess I’d rather meet the Band of Brothers in a more intimate setting than the Carolina Inn. Besides, by this time, I really am ready to go home.
...more later....
Monday, June 30, 2008
Friday, June 20, 2008
Manning SC
Franklin was very cool. I was glad to be there and see all that I had been reading about for real. Carnton and the Carter house were really well run and well preserved and beautiful. You do however, have to use your imagination...modern, ugly Franklin has grown up around the Carter House....when telling the story of the battle and how fierce the fighting was at the cotton gin, the tour guide points through the trees and says," right about a 100 yards west of the Pizza Hut" which will tend to dampen the spell.
The house, the smokehouse, the plantation office, the summer kitchen, all riddled with bullets which have been left for posterity's sake, circle around you, the hill behind the house rolls away from you, and down..
The most interesting scene was down in the basement and the history teacher/tour guide who showed us around painted a very vivid picture. In the room above, the family parlor, the surgeons took over by the fireplace near the window and began their bloody work...mostly amputations....the limbs were thrown from a convenient open window into a pile that reached up to the sill(about six feet) , modern day forensics testing with the uv light shows a bloody palmprint where the surgeon must have layed his hand on the mantel as he turned to face the fire. It got down into the twenties that night. blood soaked through the carpet, and ran between the floorboards and dripped into the cellar below where the family was gathered for shelter during the battle. There were twelve children in the basement that night.
Perhaps it's best to write what I know of the Battle. Franklin, in November of 1864 had been occupied for a little over two years. By that time a lot of people had figured out how to get along with the Yankees. This undoubtedly provoked suspicion from those who had not. As I understand it...General Hood of the Army of Tennessee who had lost both an arm and a leg over the course of the three previous years, let his temper get the better of his judgement and marched north to Franklin, thinking to press on and retake Nashville which is 18 miles away further up the pike. Because the Union had had two years to dig in around Franklin, the battle took place just south of town, basically on the Carter farm.
On the morning of November 30th 1864, Union General Cox commandeered the Carter house as his HQ, and as a field hospital. The owner of the house, Fountain Branch Carter, was patriarch of a large clan most of whom seem to have been living under the same roof. There were, as I stated earlier, twelve children. Carter’s eldest son Moscow was there, under a sort of house arrest having been captured earlier in the war, and was to stay at his family home in occupied Franklin until he could be traded to a Union prisoner of equal rank. Several of the kids were his, but I think he was widowed. There were several daughters, and I think a daughter in law, and their kids presumably. Carter’s wife Mary was there, and a couple of black servants. Carter had already freed his slaves in 1859...he was pretty extraordinary. He asked General Cox whether he should remove his family from the house for their safety, and as the guide at Carter house told us, Cox said that if the family left the house he could not guarantee their safety, but if they stayed, he would protect them as well as the house and its contents, so the Carters stayed. The dining room was used, first as a command post and then as the battle began, a field hospital.
The battle started just before sundown on an unseasonably warm last day of November, the kind of day commonly referred to as “Indian Summer”. It was said that soldiers threw off jackets and coats in the heat of battle which was unfortunate for them because the temperature later dropped into the twenties as the night grew deeper. The fighting lasted about five hours; it was one of very few Civil War battles engaged in the dark.
My great great great grandfather was with Wagner’s Division. The historian at Carter house told me that TC’s unit, the 79th Il Inf. were in a particularly dangerous position. They were overrun by the Rebel charge and when they tried to retreat to the main Union line they were as likely to be killed by friendly fire as hostile. The Union line broke and the fighting raged all around the Carter House. The Confederate forces gained control of Franklin when later that night, under cover of darkness, the Union army fell back to Nashville. The casualties were astronomical in numbers...in 5 hours the Confederacy had something like six thousand plus casualties...which was above twenty five percent of their forces there.
The fighting stopped about midnite and the Union army slipped away north. When the sun came up around seven, people started to come out of their hiding places. The scene must have looked like some kind of holocaust....there were bodies six deep all over the yard, in some places soldiers had died in such dense concentrations in places like the cotton gin, that some were found standing upright, supported by the bodies of their comrades. Houses all over town were being used as field hospitals, the bloody work had begun within minutes of the battle and the work continued all through the night and into the next day without relief. There were also dead cavalry horses all over the place, and Union breastworks built with sharpened pikes in a long line....some of the breastworks were turned into temporary graves for the Union soldiers.
FB Carter took all the families foodstuffs and buried them in a big hole he’d dug in the cellar. Over the hole he placed planks, and then dirt,and then a table. He knew that if either army had a chance they’d appropriate the food for the army, and his own family would starve.
The house, the smokehouse, the plantation office, the summer kitchen, all riddled with bullets which have been left for posterity's sake, circle around you, the hill behind the house rolls away from you, and down..
The most interesting scene was down in the basement and the history teacher/tour guide who showed us around painted a very vivid picture. In the room above, the family parlor, the surgeons took over by the fireplace near the window and began their bloody work...mostly amputations....the limbs were thrown from a convenient open window into a pile that reached up to the sill(about six feet) , modern day forensics testing with the uv light shows a bloody palmprint where the surgeon must have layed his hand on the mantel as he turned to face the fire. It got down into the twenties that night. blood soaked through the carpet, and ran between the floorboards and dripped into the cellar below where the family was gathered for shelter during the battle. There were twelve children in the basement that night.
Perhaps it's best to write what I know of the Battle. Franklin, in November of 1864 had been occupied for a little over two years. By that time a lot of people had figured out how to get along with the Yankees. This undoubtedly provoked suspicion from those who had not. As I understand it...General Hood of the Army of Tennessee who had lost both an arm and a leg over the course of the three previous years, let his temper get the better of his judgement and marched north to Franklin, thinking to press on and retake Nashville which is 18 miles away further up the pike. Because the Union had had two years to dig in around Franklin, the battle took place just south of town, basically on the Carter farm.
On the morning of November 30th 1864, Union General Cox commandeered the Carter house as his HQ, and as a field hospital. The owner of the house, Fountain Branch Carter, was patriarch of a large clan most of whom seem to have been living under the same roof. There were, as I stated earlier, twelve children. Carter’s eldest son Moscow was there, under a sort of house arrest having been captured earlier in the war, and was to stay at his family home in occupied Franklin until he could be traded to a Union prisoner of equal rank. Several of the kids were his, but I think he was widowed. There were several daughters, and I think a daughter in law, and their kids presumably. Carter’s wife Mary was there, and a couple of black servants. Carter had already freed his slaves in 1859...he was pretty extraordinary. He asked General Cox whether he should remove his family from the house for their safety, and as the guide at Carter house told us, Cox said that if the family left the house he could not guarantee their safety, but if they stayed, he would protect them as well as the house and its contents, so the Carters stayed. The dining room was used, first as a command post and then as the battle began, a field hospital.
The battle started just before sundown on an unseasonably warm last day of November, the kind of day commonly referred to as “Indian Summer”. It was said that soldiers threw off jackets and coats in the heat of battle which was unfortunate for them because the temperature later dropped into the twenties as the night grew deeper. The fighting lasted about five hours; it was one of very few Civil War battles engaged in the dark.
My great great great grandfather was with Wagner’s Division. The historian at Carter house told me that TC’s unit, the 79th Il Inf. were in a particularly dangerous position. They were overrun by the Rebel charge and when they tried to retreat to the main Union line they were as likely to be killed by friendly fire as hostile. The Union line broke and the fighting raged all around the Carter House. The Confederate forces gained control of Franklin when later that night, under cover of darkness, the Union army fell back to Nashville. The casualties were astronomical in numbers...in 5 hours the Confederacy had something like six thousand plus casualties...which was above twenty five percent of their forces there.
The fighting stopped about midnite and the Union army slipped away north. When the sun came up around seven, people started to come out of their hiding places. The scene must have looked like some kind of holocaust....there were bodies six deep all over the yard, in some places soldiers had died in such dense concentrations in places like the cotton gin, that some were found standing upright, supported by the bodies of their comrades. Houses all over town were being used as field hospitals, the bloody work had begun within minutes of the battle and the work continued all through the night and into the next day without relief. There were also dead cavalry horses all over the place, and Union breastworks built with sharpened pikes in a long line....some of the breastworks were turned into temporary graves for the Union soldiers.
FB Carter took all the families foodstuffs and buried them in a big hole he’d dug in the cellar. Over the hole he placed planks, and then dirt,and then a table. He knew that if either army had a chance they’d appropriate the food for the army, and his own family would starve.
Thursday, June 12, 2008
Franklin Tennessee 2008
I made to Franklin after nine long hot hours in the car. It turns out the air conditioning in my car does not work which I didn't realize because I rarely turn it on due to the current price of gas, and I didn't want to delay my departure another day so I just sucked it up and got on the road, me and the dog and something like eight pieces of luggage and various necessaries: crate, dog bed, computer, suitcase, cosmetic bag, research files and books and back issues of The National Review, a sewing project to do with my sister when I get to South Carolina (I have been promising for several years to teach her how to sew) plus of course, dog food and can opener and collapsible dog dishes, and I'm sure if I thought long enough about it I could come up with at least a half dozen more items just to make it sound even more impressive. The dog was very good all day and didn't create any kind of fuss along the way. I think the heat probably took it out of her too...she's passed out on the floor. It was a long drive...we started out at ten this morning in Chicago and made it to Franklin Tennessee, which is about twenty miles south of Nashville and we made pretty good time despite the heat. I chose ten am as a start time because we successfully missed all the rush hour traffic and just breezed out of Chicago. I always like to stop at this particular Shell Station in Merrillville once I get across the border into Indiana...it's got THE CLEANEST GAS STATION BATHROOM IN AMERICA; several times there's been a vase of fresh cut flowers on the back of the tank. Got some bottled water for the dog and got to try out these nifty collapsible and disposable dog bowls I picked up at Petsmart, and pressed on. Stopped at a rest area another hour along and a very nice guy watched Luna while I went to use the restroom, altho I came back and he was feeding her bits of cold cuts and cheese....which only concerned me because I don't feed her on road trips because she acts a little car sick....panting and all...but she seemed no worse for the treats. This was two stops in tow hours and I started to feel like we'd never make any progress if I didn't buckle down...so it was a bad combination...I didn't want to stop a lot to pee, but Lord it was hot...my Vitamin water was hot, after a few hours. I usually stop at fast food places along the way....today I did not have ANY fast food at all....I brought a tuna sandwich(I actually brought three from all of the tuna salad I made yesterday, but I threw two away because of the heat) and it was too hot to be hungry anyway. So to recap, it was hot as hell, I couldn't talk on the phone because the bluetooth picks up all the wind, and I had to have windows down...I couldn't drink a lot, nor could I really eat much, I didn't even feel like playing music. I just drove and drove. The miles between Indianapolis and Louisville, I swear I don't know how I did it....I was practically hallucinating and I kept asking myself "Why am I doing this?" Finally just after I got through Louisville I had the genius idea to have a cup of ice, so I went into a Speedway and bought the biggest size Big Gulp....32oz. filled with ice and for the next 150 miles I took ice cube after ice cube and rubbed them over my face and the back of my neck and I let ice melt on top of my head, and between my boobs. It was fabulous. I got lucky too, because I started to go up into the hill country on the way to Nashville and the temperature dropped just a little. And then in Nashville it started to POUR.....torrential rain....highway....high speeds....tail end of rush hour and only twenty miles from my destination....finally I staggered into the lobby of my hotel and mumbled something about waking up in Chicago and driving all this way to go to the Carter House and the desk clerk asked me if I was a teacher or something and I said no I am writing an historical novel, and my great grandfather was at the Battle of Franklin, and the guy nodded like he was impressed and said that a LOT of people do come down her to go to Carnton and the Carter House, and also Natchez Trace. I'm not hiking trails on Natchez Trace in this heat....maybe some other time if there's a need to come back here.Now I'm cool and comfy and had a great dinner and the computer is running on empty so I'm done for tonite....more later.
Monday, April 21, 2008
a little more
Upon returning to Tom’s side, Harry could see that his friend had already made the acquaintance of several of the other passengers
“Harry, here is Sheamais Fisher, and his his goodwife. They have been kind enough to share a little space here with us, and the missus has offered to cook for us as needed.”
Harry bowed slightly to the smaller man “A pleasure to know you Master Fisher,” he said, and turning to the man’s wife he nodded “Ma’am.”
“I understand you are a physician, Dr. Clarke,”
Harry cast Tom a dark look. He had planned to travel as just another passenger, but now the news would spread throughout the company like wildfire.
“Aye Master Fisher, I was trained as such, but I have yet to begin the practice.” he demurred.
“Well, that will be remedied soon enough, I should think, Doctor.” Fisher observed, a toss of his chin gesturing to the scores of women and children occupying the crowded hold. “My mother travels with us an’ I am that concerned for her health.”
“I wonder that you allowed her to accompany you at all then, sir.” Harry replied.
“Aye, well them as were my thoughts, but my mother is a rare determined woman, and no amount of argument would keep her from her grandchildren.”
The grandchildren in question, numbering six in all, came in all shapes and sizes, ranging in age from eight to two, having arrived in quick succession as befits a good Catholic family, and were now occupied in fussing over the youngest of their number, playing peek-a-boo to make the baby laugh. The younger Mrs Fisher stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband and had a broad fair face and rosy cheeks, and from all appearances a sunny disposition, while her mother-in-law the elder Missus Fisher was less robust looking, taking on the look of forged steel, with a temperament to match.
“Harry, here is Sheamais Fisher, and his his goodwife. They have been kind enough to share a little space here with us, and the missus has offered to cook for us as needed.”
Harry bowed slightly to the smaller man “A pleasure to know you Master Fisher,” he said, and turning to the man’s wife he nodded “Ma’am.”
“I understand you are a physician, Dr. Clarke,”
Harry cast Tom a dark look. He had planned to travel as just another passenger, but now the news would spread throughout the company like wildfire.
“Aye Master Fisher, I was trained as such, but I have yet to begin the practice.” he demurred.
“Well, that will be remedied soon enough, I should think, Doctor.” Fisher observed, a toss of his chin gesturing to the scores of women and children occupying the crowded hold. “My mother travels with us an’ I am that concerned for her health.”
“I wonder that you allowed her to accompany you at all then, sir.” Harry replied.
“Aye, well them as were my thoughts, but my mother is a rare determined woman, and no amount of argument would keep her from her grandchildren.”
The grandchildren in question, numbering six in all, came in all shapes and sizes, ranging in age from eight to two, having arrived in quick succession as befits a good Catholic family, and were now occupied in fussing over the youngest of their number, playing peek-a-boo to make the baby laugh. The younger Mrs Fisher stood shoulder to shoulder with her husband and had a broad fair face and rosy cheeks, and from all appearances a sunny disposition, while her mother-in-law the elder Missus Fisher was less robust looking, taking on the look of forged steel, with a temperament to match.
Saturday, April 19, 2008
Independence Day
Bruce Springsteen- Independence Day
Well, Papa go to bed now, it’s getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now.
I’ll be leaving in the morning from St Marys Gate
we wouldn’t change this thing even if we could somehow.
There’s a darkness in this house that’s got the best of us
There’s a darkness in this town that’s got us too.
But they can’t touch me now, and you can’t touch me now
They ain’t gonna do to me what I watched them do to you.
Now I don’t know what it always was with us, we chose the words, and yeah, we drew the lines
There was just no way the house could hold the two of us, I guess that we were just too much of the same kind
Say goodbye it’s Independence Day, Papa, I know the things you wanted that you could not say.
But won’t you just say goodbye it’s Independence Day, I swear I never meant to take those things away.
Well, Papa go to bed now, it’s getting late
Nothing we can say is gonna change anything now.
I’ll be leaving in the morning from St Marys Gate
we wouldn’t change this thing even if we could somehow.
There’s a darkness in this house that’s got the best of us
There’s a darkness in this town that’s got us too.
But they can’t touch me now, and you can’t touch me now
They ain’t gonna do to me what I watched them do to you.
Now I don’t know what it always was with us, we chose the words, and yeah, we drew the lines
There was just no way the house could hold the two of us, I guess that we were just too much of the same kind
Say goodbye it’s Independence Day, Papa, I know the things you wanted that you could not say.
But won’t you just say goodbye it’s Independence Day, I swear I never meant to take those things away.
Saturday, April 12, 2008
par 3,4,5...
The day was bright and cold and a strong salty breeze blew from the east as they turned away from their native shore. Crisp white sails billowed out against a clear azure sky, and spirits were high amongst the company of passengers. The shouts of the crew as they set to their work rang out above the excited hum of the men, women and children assembled on deck. The air was buzzing with motherly admonitions and the chatter of children, punctuated with the occasional wail of a baby, and the deep rolling tones of Irishmen.
There were a few familiar faces among the passengers. Harry espied an acquaintance from his high school days in Newry; one Patrick Drummond, standing beside a pretty young woman he took to be Patrick’s wife. Each held a small child, raised up to the rail to see the last of Ireland as the ship moved further and further away from the verdant horizon. Finally the coastline faded from view and all fell to the business of settling in their belongings, and securing their space in the crowded hold belowdecks.
In the communal living quarters the company segregated, dividing itself along traditional ethnic lines. From the Irish Catholics came the broad rolling consonants of their native Gaelic, from the Protestant tenants the clipped syllables of the King’s English as positions were negotiated, but thus far there was none of the traditional element of discord in evidence, as all were newly acquainted and exhilarated by their common purpose. The Protestant gentry were ensconced in private cabins, and thus were removed from the general population, and Harry had a fleeting pang of regret at having declined such private accommodations, which were expensive but not beyond his means. He left it to Tom to make them a space to stow their packs and hang their hammocks among the scores of folks doing the same and went below to the cargo hold to secure his trunk. He had been well outfitted for his new life in the colonies, and was possessed of a number of good shirts and breeches, as well as three good coats. In his pack were only such items as he would need for the voyage, the rest were in his trunk, along with his books and tonsorial(?)items...he had no intention of shaving whilst on board the Belfast. He welcomed the respite from the daily ablutions required of the son of the manor and physician at study. The cargo hold was filled from floor to ceiling with barrels and crates containing all that most passengers owned in the world. Abundant provisions had been made for the journey; Harry was cheered at the sight of cask upon cask of good Irish whiskey, supplied by the Clarkes at a fair price, standing stacked alongside barrels of potatoes and onions and salted beef. The ship’s cook was reputed to be more than adequate to his task according to the Captain, who was a friend of Harry’s father.
There were a few familiar faces among the passengers. Harry espied an acquaintance from his high school days in Newry; one Patrick Drummond, standing beside a pretty young woman he took to be Patrick’s wife. Each held a small child, raised up to the rail to see the last of Ireland as the ship moved further and further away from the verdant horizon. Finally the coastline faded from view and all fell to the business of settling in their belongings, and securing their space in the crowded hold belowdecks.
In the communal living quarters the company segregated, dividing itself along traditional ethnic lines. From the Irish Catholics came the broad rolling consonants of their native Gaelic, from the Protestant tenants the clipped syllables of the King’s English as positions were negotiated, but thus far there was none of the traditional element of discord in evidence, as all were newly acquainted and exhilarated by their common purpose. The Protestant gentry were ensconced in private cabins, and thus were removed from the general population, and Harry had a fleeting pang of regret at having declined such private accommodations, which were expensive but not beyond his means. He left it to Tom to make them a space to stow their packs and hang their hammocks among the scores of folks doing the same and went below to the cargo hold to secure his trunk. He had been well outfitted for his new life in the colonies, and was possessed of a number of good shirts and breeches, as well as three good coats. In his pack were only such items as he would need for the voyage, the rest were in his trunk, along with his books and tonsorial(?)items...he had no intention of shaving whilst on board the Belfast. He welcomed the respite from the daily ablutions required of the son of the manor and physician at study. The cargo hold was filled from floor to ceiling with barrels and crates containing all that most passengers owned in the world. Abundant provisions had been made for the journey; Harry was cheered at the sight of cask upon cask of good Irish whiskey, supplied by the Clarkes at a fair price, standing stacked alongside barrels of potatoes and onions and salted beef. The ship’s cook was reputed to be more than adequate to his task according to the Captain, who was a friend of Harry’s father.
Monday, April 7, 2008
and...
The men stood on the deck beneath a full moon. The sea was calm and a warm breeze blew from the south. Below decks the hum of prayer and keening was barely audible...around the deck small groups of men gathered, to smoke or merely bide the time.
Harry regarded his friend’s face, strong and placid in the moonlight. It was not a handsome face, but lean and angular with deep set brown eyes and a mop of coal black curls, prematurely shot through with flecks of grey.
“I expect wee Tansy will have foaled by now” Harry remarked.
“Aye”, Tom replied with a smile flickering across his mouth. “I wonder if it was a colt or a filly. Whatever it is, I am sure it will be a prizewinner, and this the third foal she’s thrown. Her Brownie is a bonny wee filly.”
“Aye”,Harry murmured. “I will be sure to inquire when I write to Father.”
The men fell silent as they gazed out at the sea, one fair head, one dark. So they had stood for a long while, lost in their own thoughts, when a silvery fin, gleaming in the moonlight, cut the water for a moment and then disappeared. Their eyes met briefly, and they beheld each other’s alarm for a long pause but not a word was spoken. Within a few minutes, the fin appeared again, slicing silently through the inky surface of the ocean. As they stood they counted three times the fin broke the water and disappeared, obviously now circling the boat.
“Perhaps you had better hold on to this, ye heathen” Tom said with a grin, slipping his olivewood rosary into Harry’s palm. “I’m reasonably sure my soul is still safe within the terms of my last confession, an’ I have had nary a chance of committing a sin on this leaky old tub.”
Harry looked down at the item in his hand. “This was your mother’s.” The beads were smooth and gleamed with the power of too many Hail Mary’s to be counted.
“Aye” said Tom. “She would want your soul to stand a chance in hell as much as I do.”
Harry chuckled. “Aye, she would. She always worried about my potential for everlasting damnation, every time she caught us out sampling the casks.”
“Well before then” replied Tom with a quiet snort.
The sound of a splash drew their attention once again to the water below them. A porpoise leapt out of the ocean and seemed to hang suspended before following its arc back into the watery depths.
“Was that....?” whispered Harry, more to himself than to Tom.
“Aye.”
Harry regarded his friend’s face, strong and placid in the moonlight. It was not a handsome face, but lean and angular with deep set brown eyes and a mop of coal black curls, prematurely shot through with flecks of grey.
“I expect wee Tansy will have foaled by now” Harry remarked.
“Aye”, Tom replied with a smile flickering across his mouth. “I wonder if it was a colt or a filly. Whatever it is, I am sure it will be a prizewinner, and this the third foal she’s thrown. Her Brownie is a bonny wee filly.”
“Aye”,Harry murmured. “I will be sure to inquire when I write to Father.”
The men fell silent as they gazed out at the sea, one fair head, one dark. So they had stood for a long while, lost in their own thoughts, when a silvery fin, gleaming in the moonlight, cut the water for a moment and then disappeared. Their eyes met briefly, and they beheld each other’s alarm for a long pause but not a word was spoken. Within a few minutes, the fin appeared again, slicing silently through the inky surface of the ocean. As they stood they counted three times the fin broke the water and disappeared, obviously now circling the boat.
“Perhaps you had better hold on to this, ye heathen” Tom said with a grin, slipping his olivewood rosary into Harry’s palm. “I’m reasonably sure my soul is still safe within the terms of my last confession, an’ I have had nary a chance of committing a sin on this leaky old tub.”
Harry looked down at the item in his hand. “This was your mother’s.” The beads were smooth and gleamed with the power of too many Hail Mary’s to be counted.
“Aye” said Tom. “She would want your soul to stand a chance in hell as much as I do.”
Harry chuckled. “Aye, she would. She always worried about my potential for everlasting damnation, every time she caught us out sampling the casks.”
“Well before then” replied Tom with a quiet snort.
The sound of a splash drew their attention once again to the water below them. A porpoise leapt out of the ocean and seemed to hang suspended before following its arc back into the watery depths.
“Was that....?” whispered Harry, more to himself than to Tom.
“Aye.”
Monday, March 31, 2008
Paragraph 2
While Harry was at the study of medicine, Tom being the second son,and not bound as his older brother was, to step into their father’s role as farm manager, was apprenticed to a blacksmith and cooper, by the design of old Lawrence Clark. Tom was by this time already an experienced farmer and stockman, as was Harry. Both boys had learned the art of whiskey at Grandfather Sheridan’s knee, set to stirring the mash for as far back as either could remember. It was decided that producing the barrels for aging the new whiskey on the farm would be of good benefit, as well as the many mundane tasks for a lad proficient with iron and fire, and loathe was old Clarke to release Tom when he announced his intention to accompany Harry to the Colonies, but so he did with grim yet resigned countenance. And so the year 1771 found the boyhood companions grown to honorable and accomplished manhood, and reunited as the Belfast set sail for Philadelphia.
Wednesday, March 26, 2008
The First Paragraph
Henry Clarke and James Sheridan stood on the deck of the good ship Belfast on May Day of 1771, watching the coast of Ireland recede over the horizon. Henry was four and twenty years of age, and James two years his senior. At six foot tall, Henry, or Harry as he was called at home, was considered a stout and brawny man, which appearance belied his bookish nature, for his love of reading had set him down a path of education upon which few of his peers had tread. While Jamie was by no means unschooled, he preferred to work with his hands, and his six foot three inch frame gave him the advantage over Harry in all things physical or athletic. Harry and Jamie had been raised together on a prosperous farm in the region of northeastern Ireland known as Ulster Plantation. Their fathers had grown up together, as had their fathers before them, within the rarified intimacy of master and servant, each devoted to the other and largely oblivious to the rigorous constraints of their respective social status, or in the case of the Sheridans, the lack thereof. Each generation of Clarkes and Sheridans had worked the Clarke lands side by side, sharing in privations and abundance alike. Harry and Jamie had grown up constant companions to each other in all things: play, chores, and school. Each well knew the value of hard physical labor, but Harry had determined from a young age to attend school as often as the seasonal demands of farm life had allowed. It was Harry's love of learning which separated them. While Jamie remained behind, Harry was sent to high school in the nearby city of Newry, at the age of fifteen where he remained until he completed the course of study, at age nineteen. Then his father put him to the study of medicine, which course was completed by the time he reached his present age.
Tuesday, March 25, 2008
Taylor's Sketchbook
“This sketchbook compiled by James E. Taylor, New York artist in 1898. He came to Paris for a vacation and to visit relatives. He became interested in the history of the area and after interviewing numerous residents made these sketches and wrote the stories accompanying them.”
“Incomplete would have been my contemplation of this Walhalla of the Warrior had I neglected the Sepulture of the Clarks three generations of whom there lay in everlasting sleep. Near the cemetery gate on four sides of a polished granite block 9 feet high engraved in intaglio is a long list of departed Clarks…awaiting Gabriel’s trump in the surrounding plot.
The inscription on the north face is most interesting- It is a record of the founder of the Family in America, Henry Clark, describing him as a native of Armagh County, Ireland who migrated to the colonies in the Reign of George III-prior to the Revolutionary War- and of his locating near Wheeling with the advance guard of Civilization, where through his boldness and sagacity he became a power in advancing the Settlements and thwarting the aggressive savages as Cornstalk, Little Turtle and other tribal chiefs found to their cost, and who died at the Wheeling Creek stockade after it’s unsuccessful investment in 1774 by the Savages, headed by the white renegade Simon Girty, ... was named Fort Henry in compliment to the bold Armagh boy-Henry Clark-though some aver that it was so christened in honor of Patrick Henry. What American has not read of its noble defense by Sheppard and the vital part Elizabeth Zane played in preventing the garrison massacre:
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