Thursday, March 27, 2014
Wednesday, February 26, 2014
I had the pleasure of becoming my ancestor Private Hiram Terman as he talks with President Abraham Lincoln. I played Hiram as he would have appeared in the 1880's as a Civil War veteran. It was fun. See https://www.dropbox.com/sc/hu8k0wc53txuynz/T94msezOSh for video of the event staged in Avon Park, Florida. Chet Damron was Abraham Lincoln.
Monday, December 23, 2013
I am writing the later chapters of Hiram's Hope and have needed an historical account detailing the experiences of Andersonville survivors leaving the prison in late March 1865 on their way to Vicksburg for parole and freedom. I found some first hand accounts (such as the very good account by Chester Berry and a diary by Smith) and a useful book entitled TRANSPORT TO DISASTER by James W. Elliott (published in 1962). Written by a descendent of an Andersonville survivor, the book provides a very readable account of the ordeals of prisoners from Cahaba and Andersonville as they make their way by rail and steamboat across Georgia, Alabama, and Mississippi, eventually winding up in Vicksburg only to board the ill-fated Sultana that exploded north of Memphis killing most of those aboard. These are challenging chapters to write as I try to imagine the sights, sounds, thoughts, and conversations that occurred.
Friday, November 29, 2013
|Illustration from 12 Years a Slave by Solomon Northup (published 1853) |
I went to see the movie "12 Years A Slave" in hopes of learning more about slavery from the perspective of a slave. I may incorporate a former slave as a charaacter in the sequel to Hiram's Honor. I was so taken by the story that I looked up the original book published in 1853. I read the first person account with images from the movie in my mind. For the most part the movie follows the book. The written account has much more detail and is thus more valuable to understanding the author and thus building a character for my story. I was amazed at how Solomon Northup, an educated free black man kidnapped into slavery, was able to experience the trials of being a slave and yet retain hope for returning to freedom. The injustice of the story overwhelms you but in the end you rejoice with Northup as he rejoins his family after 12 years in the most brutal of circumstances.
Tuesday, October 29, 2013
In my search for ideas on how Private Hiraqm Terman might have dealt with his Civil War battle and prisoner of war experiences, I read Caroline Janney's new book REMEMBERING THE CIVIL WAR. I found the book to be well researched and written in a way that held my attention. The theme of the book centers on the difference between reunion and reconciliation and explores the perspectives of Union and Confederaate men and women. As I write the sequel to Hiram's Honor, I hope that the things I learned in this fine book will show up in the story.
Thursday, October 24, 2013
|I came across a book entitled MAN'S SEARCH FOR MEANING by Holocaust survivor and psychologist Victor Frankl. In this fascinating book (it has sold over 10 million copies) Frankl describes how he was able to survive the test of the German concentration camps by looking on his suffering as an opportunity to find his identity and give meaning to his life. I read his emotional but reasonable descriptions hoping to find some ideas on how to write about how my ancestor might have coped with being an Andersonville survivor. We will see what comes out when I write about Private Terman after Andersonville.|
Thursday, August 22, 2013
A flash of light, his body spinning in the darkness, a glimpse of the rainy night sky followed by the stinging slap of the water’s surface and the numbing grip of coldness.
Oh, Lord, I am in the water, sinking! I can’t breathe—must get to the surface! Isaiah stretched his neck, his stunned arms and legs slow to move in the icy cold waters of the Mississippi River. His lungs screamed for air, demanding his legs to kick. A thumping, crackling sound permeated the swirling cold darkness as Isaiah moved to the surface. He coughed as if he were expelling his insides; water ejected out from his nose and ears. He gasped the cold night air as if it were life itself. He sank again, rising, spitting, and wiping the muddy water from his eyes.
Off in the distance the Sultana, the over-crowded paddle wheeled steamer loaded with Union prisoners from Andersonville and Cahaba and other Southern Civil War prisons, blazed like a fireball in the darkness. The waves of the cold Mississippi River, swollen by torrential rains and a massive snowmelt upstream, stretched endlessly into the distance, its brushy, tree-lined shorelines covered by the highest water levels in a decade.Consciousness flowed fully back into Isaiah’s mind. He looked around and realized that he had been blown off the boat by an explosion.
The officer’s coffin on which he had been forced to sleep on the crowded deck was bobbing off to his right, its hinged lid opened by the impact with the water. The corpse’s head and arms draped over the side and the dead man’s embalmed face stared at him as if asking-- “Did we make it alright?”
As Isaiah watched, the coffin sank below the surface, dragging the officer, recently killed in a guerilla attack outside Vicksburg, to his final, if unplanned, watery grave. Air bubbles escaping from the coffin burst to the surface. They were his final benediction.
Isaiah wiped his throbbing eyes, trying to push the blurriness aside to focus on the disaster about two hundred feet away. The fire grew in size, its blazing light revealed people jumping off the sides, others screamed as the fire demanded they jump or burn. In the water around the dying boat, heads bobbed like hundreds of apples in a huge tub. Above the hissing and crackling of the flames, Isaiah could hear screams—cries from men, women, and yes, children. Oh God, what other glimpses of hell are you going to give me? First the war, then prison, and now this? No more, Lord, no more….Isaiah closed his eyes and began to sink. Calmness came over him as he said a final prayer. Images of home came into view. His angelic mother surrounded by a halo of light, went to the door, and opened it. Hiram Terman stood there, his skeletal thin frame holding the Bible Isaiah gave him before Hiram and his friends left the dying Isaiah at Andersonville. As Hiram handed the Bible to his mother, she turned, looked to her right. There stood Janie. Immediately the warm light departed and was replaced by the cold water of the Mississippi. His arm thrust to the surface. His hand felt the rough bark of a floating log.