Jason > Books: dead-or-injured-dog-warning‎ (90)

Rather than being rendered irrelevant by the current events that coincided with its writing, The Dogcatcher actively engaged in real-time conversation with those sociopolitical happenings.

Maybe that was the right call and maybe it wasn’t.  Time will tell.  All I know is this:  If the novel had insisted on existing in an apolitical or ahistorical reality, it would’ve just been a “creature feature” about a monster on the loose.  And maybe that alone would’ve been enough to entertain readers, but it wouldn’t have been sufficient to sustain my interest writing it for the two-plus years it took to bring to fruition.  To be sure, I wanted it to be fun—a spiritual successor to the kinds of horror/comedies that had directly inspired me as a young adult—but I also insisted it reflect the prosocial values I’ve promoted on this blog the past many years.

Being pinched with hunger, I one day strolled to a place where sometime before some cattle had been slaughtered. Here I had the good luck (or rather bad luck, as it turned out in the end) to find an ox’s milt [spleen], which had escaped the hogs and dogs. With this prize I steered off to my tent, threw it upon the fire and broiled it, and then sat down to eat it without either bread or salt. I had not had it long in my stomach before it began to make strong remonstrances and to manifest a great inclination to be set at liberty again. I was very willing to listen to its requests, and with eyes overflowing with tears at parting with what I had thought to be a friend, I gave it a discharge. But the very thoughts of it would for some time after almost make me think that I had another milt in my stomach.

The men were now exasperated beyond endurance; they could not stand it any longer; they saw no other alternative but to starve to death, or break up the army, give all up, and go home. This was a hard matter for the soldiers to think upon. They were truly patriotic; they loved their country, and they had already suffered everything short of death in its cause; and now, after such extreme hardships to give up all was too much, but to starve to death was too much also. What was to be done? Here was the army starved and naked, and there their country sitting still and expecting the army to do notable things while fainting from sheer starvation.

Almost every one has heard of the soldiers of the Revolution being tracked by the blood of their feet on the frozen ground. This is literally true; and the thousandth part of their sufferings has not, nor ever will be told... I think the country... showed but little modesty at the time alluded to, for she appeared to think her soldiers had no private parts; for on our march from the Valley Forge, through the Jerseys, and at the boasted Battle of Monmouth, a fourth part of the troops had not a scrip of anything but their ragged shirt flaps to cover their nakedness, and were obliged to remain so long after.

...a 32-pound cannon in the fort, but had not a single shot for it. The British also had one in their battery upon the Hospital Point, which, as I said before, raked the fort, or rather it was so fixed as to rake the parade in front of the barracks, the only place we could pass up and down the fort. The artillery officers offered a gill of rum for each shot fired from that piece, which the soldiers would procure. I have seen from 20 to 50 men standing on the parade waiting with impatience the coming of the shot, which would often be seized before its motion had fully ceased and conveyed off to our gun to be sent back again to its former owners. When the lucky fellow who had caught it had swallowed his rum, he would return to wait for another, exulting that he had been more lucky or more dexterous than his fellows.

...ordered us to desist and remain where we were, and be sure not to straggle a foot from the spot while they were absent from us. In a few minutes after their departure, there came a man alone to us having on a surtout [long overcoat], as we conjectured (it being exceeding dark), and inquired for the engineers. We now began to be a little jealous for our safety, being alone and without arms, and within 40 rods of the British trenches. The stranger inquired what troops we were, talked familiarly with us a few minutes, when being informed which way the officers had gone, he went off in the same direction, after strictly charging us, in case we should be taken prisoners, not to discover [reveal] to the enemy what troops we were. We were obliged to him for his kind advice, but we considered ourselves as standing in no great need of it; for we knew as well as he did that Sappers and Miners were allowed no quarters, at least are entitled to none by the laws of warfare, and of course should take care, if taken and the enemy did not find us out, not to betray our own secret. In a short time the engineers returned and the afore-mentioned stranger with them. They discoursed together some time when, by the officers often calling him “Your Excellency,” we discovered that it was General Washington. Had we dared, we might have cautioned him for exposing himself too carelessly to danger at such a time, and doubtless he would have taken it in good part if we had. But nothing ill happened to either him or ourselves.

Leprosy.
All my skin is falling off of me.
I'm not half the man I used to be.
Oh, how did I get Leprosy.

In April 1885, when Grant had written a bit more than half the narrative... he suffered a hemorrhage that appeared to leave him at death's door. But by an act of will, and with the help of cocaine for the pain, he recovered and returned to work... (This section was) written during periods of intense suffering and sleepless nights... The narrative bogs down in details; digressions and repetition creep into the text... Grant's narrative (faltered) in these chapters.

As Grant's health temporarily improved in the late spring of 1885, so did the terse vigor of his prose... Grant once again had the threads of his narrative under control as he brought the story to its climax.

My son accompanied me throughout the campaign and the siege, and caused no anxiety either to me or to his mother, who was at home. He looked out for himself and was in every battle of the campaign. His age, then not quite thirteen, enabled him to take in all he saw, and to retain a recollection of it that would not be possible in more mature years.

The people at the South became so frantic at this time at the successful invasion of Georgia that they... even liberated the State convicts under promise from them that they would serve in the army. I have but little doubt that the worst acts that were attributed to Sherman's army were committed by these convicts, and by other Southern people who ought to have been under sentence -- such people as could be found in every community, North and South -- who took advantage of their country being invaded to commit crime. They were in but little danger of detection, or of arrest even if detected.

I was accompanied by my staff and other officers, some of whom seemed to have a great desire to go inside the Confederate lines. They finally asked permission of Lee to do so for the purpose of seeing some of their old army friends, and the permission was granted. They went over, had a very pleasant time with their old friends, and brought some of them back with them when they returned.

When Lee and I separated he went back to his lines and I returned to the house of Mr. McLean. Here the officers of both armies came in great numbers, and seemed to enjoy the meeting as much as though they had been friends separated for a long time while fighting battles under the same flag. For the time being it looked very much as if all thought of the war had escaped their minds. After an hour pleasantly passed in this way I set out on horseback, accompanied by my staff and a small escort, for Burkesville Junction.