Dorence Atwater and The Death List

The story of Dorence Atwater and the price he paid for the truth

(Read carefully for a chance to win a signed copy of my 3 in 1 June release Sophie's Daughters Trilogy) In Andersonville, Ga, the most notorious Civil War prison of them all led to the deaths of 13,000 Yankee soldiers. There were terrible deprivations in prisons on both sides, but Andersonville became the best known. While doing research for my August release Over the Edge, book #3 of the Kincaid Brides Series, a quiet piece of history in Andersonville caught my attention. The story of Dorence Atwater and the price he paid for the truth. Dorence Atwater was among the first prisoners to be locked up in Andersonville and he was sick when he arrived at the prison and put in the prison hospital. While he was healing it was discovered that he was well educated (for a sixteen year old) and had beautiful handwriting. Dorence was put in charge of the Death List—a list of all the Yankee soldiers who died and where they were buried. Dorence was told to keep two lists. One for the Confederate Army and one to be sent North to the Union Army. Dorence feared that the south wouldn’t send the second list North, especially because of the horrors of Andersonville. So he began a third list and kept it hidden, knowing that he could be hanged for keeping this secret list. He remained in Andersonville for the duration of the war and even with the meager priviledges he received for working for the South, he was gravely ill. He wrote, “People are dying all around me. I can do nothing to save them, but I can let their families know exactly where they are buried--where to put flowers and pray.” He hid the list containing 13,000 names in his laundry bag and smuggled it out through the Confederate lines.

The Confederate army did send a list of all the dead soldiers to the north but there were thousands of names missing and much of the ink was smeared so badly the names were unreadable. Once home he handed the list to his father and immediately fell ill with diphtheria, typhoid and scurvy. Each of these diseases often kill, Dorence had all three. Within a month, Dorence, though thin and frail, was on the mend. He got a telegraph from Washington DC asking him to bring his Death List to them. On the train to the capitol word came that Abraham Lincoln had been shot. Only twenty years old, Dorence got a job as an intern in DC and his list was taken to be published. Except it never was. The men who’d taken the list refused to publish it or return it. Dorence stayed at his job hoping he’d have a chance to retrieve the Death List. Months went by and Dorence heard that Clara Barton was looking for the burial sites of all Civil War soldiers. She’d raised the funds to mark their graves but had no way to locate those graves. Dorence told Clara about the Death List and the two began a life long friendship. Dorence and Clara were receiving thousands of inquiries about loved ones who had not returned. With time the List became old news in Dorence’s office and nothing had yet been done about it; it was available to anyone who worked there. Dorence had only leased the List to the government and the lease was long expired. Dorence took the List since it was the only copy that wasn’t short thousands of names. Clara had already arranged the trip to Andersonville with Dorence for the purpose of putting markers on the graves. President Lincoln had approved this action before his death. Dorence took the Death List and traveled via boat with Barton, and forty-two headboard carvers. Upon discovering Dorence’s original List was missing from Washington, the government clique sent a messenger to Andersonville to bring it back. Dorence "accidentally" handed him the copy that the Confederates had kept so carefully—thousands of names missing, smudged, and generally unusable. The messenger never noticed. He went back to Washington carrying the Confederates’ useless list, while Dorence and Clara guarded the original with their lives. While the courier never noticed, the people who had sent him did. Upon return to Washington D.C., Dorence refused to tell where his List was. He’d hidden it at the house of Clara Barton. Dorence was given a choice to either tell them where the List was or be court martialed. When he refused to reveal it’s location he was put in ankle chains and marched through town to Old Capitol, a prison which housed the worst criminals. Atwater was placed under arrest and immediately taken to be court martialed. He was given twenty minutes, no defense, a dishonorable discharge and a life sentence. Clara Barton, knowing Dorence’s health was still fragile, knew he wouldn’t last even a month in prison. She consulted President Andrew Johnson who gave Dorence a full pardon and Johnson, impressed with Dorence’s will to stand up for what he believed was right, named him an Ambassador. He ultimately ended up in Tahiti and married a Tahitian princess. Dorence struggled with frail health for the rest of his life. During a trip back to America, while in San Francisco, he was caught in the Great San Francisco Earthquake of 1908. Dorence and his wife survived but the Death List did not. Dorence had kept his copy of the List with him at all times for the rest of his life. In the fire that resulted from the earthquake the official, carefully preserved List was burned. Dorence never regained his health enough to leave San Francisco, though he and his wife made plans to return to Tahiti several times. He died in San Francisco at age 65 in 1910.

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http://www.maryconnealy.com

Our generation has lost so many important talents and skills. Technology makes it easier for us, but in some ways, it takes away our independence. Maybe that’s one reason we love to read (and write!) historical romance. We can go back in time vicariously without having to live through all the hardships and trials of everyday life, experiencing only the top layer of what must have been difficult, by our standards, every moment.  Does anyone know how to cut up a chicken anymore? My mother did. I remember her getting out the wickedest looking knife I’d ever seen every Sunday and cutting up a chicken to fry. They had started to sell cut-up chickens in the store, but they were more expensive. Mom wouldn’t have dreamed of paying extra for that. By the time I began to cook for my family, I didn’t mind paying that extra money—I couldn’t bear to think of cutting a chicken up and then frying it.  It’s all relative. My mom, born in 1922, grew up in a time when the chickens had to be beheaded, then plucked, then cut up—so skipping those first two steps seemed like a luxury, I’m sure. I wouldn’t know how to begin to cut up a chicken. I never learned how.  Hog killing day was another festive occasion. Because my husband was raised on a farm, he and my mother had a lot of similar experiences to compare (this endeared him to her in later years.) Neighbors and family would gather early in the day. The hog would be butchered, and the rest of the day would be spent cutting and packing the meat. When my husband used to talk about the “wonderful sausage” his mother made, I was quite content to say, “Good for her. I’m glad you got to eat that when you were young.” (There’s no way I would ever make sausage.)  Medical issues? I was the world’s most nervous mother when I had my daughter. But being the youngest in the family, I had a world of experience to draw on. I also had a telephone and I knew how to use it! I called my mom or one of my sisters about the smallest thing. I can’t imagine living in one of the historical scenarios that, as writers, we create with those issues. The uncertainty of having a sick child and being unable to do anything to help cure him/her would have made me lose it. I know this happened so often and was just accepted as part of life, but to me, that would have been the very worst part of living in a historical time. I had a great aunt who lost all three of her children within one week to the flu. She lost her mind and had to be institutionalized off and on the rest of her life.   My mother was the eldest of eleven children. She often said with great pride that her mother had had eleven children and none of them had died in childhood. I didn’t realize, when I was younger, how important and odd that really was for those times. My father’s mother had five children, two of whom died as children, and two more that almost died, my father being one of them.  It was a case of my grandmother thinking he was with my granddad, and him thinking three-year-old Freddie was with her. By the time they realized he was missing, the worst had happened. He had wandered to the pond and fallen in. It was a cold early spring day. Granddad had planted the fields already, between the pond and the house. A little knit cap that belonged to little Freddie was the only evidence of where he’d gone. It was floating on top of the water. By some miracle, my granddad found him and pulled him up out of the water. He was not breathing. Granddad ran with him back to the house, jumping the rows of vegetables he’d planted. The doctor later told him that was probably what saved Dad’s life—a very crude form of CPR.  Could you have survived in the old west? What do you think would have been your greatest worry? What would you hate to give up the most from our modern way of life? I’m curious to know, what skills or talents to you think we have lost generationally over the last 100 years? I've written two time travel stories where the heroine found herself living in the old west, 1800s Indian Territory. They both faced issues that were daunting, simply because of the time period...would they stay if given a choice, or go back to their present-day living? Does love REALLY 'conquer all'?  In my time travel novel, TIME PLAINS DRIFTER, the heroine must go back in time, but in the sequel, I'm turning the tables. The hero of that book is going to go forward. Once he gets there, will he ever want to go BACK to his time?  I’m not sure I would have lived very long, or very pleasantly. I know one thing—my family would never have eaten sausage, unless they had breakfast at the neighbor's house. Here's the blurb and an excerpt from my time travel short story, MEANT TO BE, available in the 2011 Christmas Collection from Victory Tales Press. BLURB: Robin Mallory is facing another Christmas all alone when she decides to surprise her aunt and uncle several hours away. She becomes stranded near a desolate section of interstate. With a snowstorm on the way, Robin has no choice but to walk, looking for a house to provide shelter. Jake Devlin is shocked when the "spy" he jumps turns out to be a girl. She's dressed oddly, and talks like a Yank. Where did she come from, and what is he going to do with her? The set up: Jake, a Confederate soldier, has been seriously wounded by a Cheyenne arrow as he tries to protect Robin from the attack. His only hope is for her to be able to go back through the "portal" in the woods to her old truck, parked along the interstate, and get the medicine from another time that he so badly needs. With Cheyenne in the woods along with a platoon of Yankee soldiers, what chance will she have of survival? Can she even find the rift in time again...twice? EXCERPT: Robin turned her back on the pickup and started down the gravel road. Doubt assailed her. Was she crazy to go back to a time she didn’t belong in? But she did belong. She’d been…alive. More so in that time than here, in her own. And could she possibly hope for a future with Jake? It was too soon for commitments…but wasn’t she making the biggest one of all? Her steps slowed. If she took the medicine back to him, what guarantee was there that, should she want to come back to her time, she’d be able? She may be stuck in Indian Territory of 1864 with no way back, ever. She couldn’t let Jake die. How could she live with herself in either time if that happened? What if she was misreading his intentions? He seemed—interested—in her. Her heart shrank at the thought of another rejection. She wouldn’t be able to handle that. But…that fear might also be keeping her from letting herself fall in love with the kindest, most decent man she’d ever met—in any time. Trusting was so hard. Yet, he’d trusted her, hadn’t he, with much more to lose than she had. He could very well die if she didn’t take the antibiotics back to him. And…another thought, too awful to bear, rose up, refusing to be ignored. What if he died in spite of the antibiotics? She might be trapped in a time that wasn’t hers, without the man she’d fallen in love with. Oh, dear God. She stopped walking as the reality hit her full force. She was in love with Jake already. How could this have happened? The damn magical doorway through time had to have some other influence. There was no other explanation. But…it felt real. And if she lost Jake, the heartache would be very real, she already knew. She’d sworn, after her last romantic fiasco, that she wouldn’t jump into anything again. Yet, here she was, in love with Jake Devlin after only twenty-four hours. And worried sick. She began to run. What if she couldn’t get back through the portal? What if the medicine doesn’t work? What if Jake doesn’t love me? Her mind seized on the question, mocking her, taunting her, throwing it back to her again and again. He loves me, her heart answered, remembering the way he’d reached to pull the blanket over her, and the gentle touch of his hand on her cheek in the night when he thought she was asleep. Remember, her heart reminded her, as she thought of the way he’d put himself between her and their attackers. He would have died for her. He still might. She stopped running, trying to catch her breath. Her side hurt, and she noticed the sky seemed to be darkening more than normal, which probably meant they were in for more snow. Nothing else had changed, though. Panic gripped her. The road remained graveled and wide, never narrowing in the least as it had before. The trees weren’t nearly as thick as they had been a scant half-hour earlier when she’d come this way. With her heart pounding from fear as much as exertion, Robin looked behind her. She could still barely see the top of the rise that hid her truck. Maybe she hadn’t come quite far enough! She couldn’t remember. It had all been so gradual before. But now, everything looked the same, unchanged. She held her breath listening for the far-away sounds of the interstate traffic. She couldn’t hear anything, but maybe it was just because there weren’t many cars. It was Christmas Eve. Everyone would most likely be at their destinations by now, so late in the afternoon, the day before Christmas. “Oh, please,” she whispered, starting down the road again. “Please.” The wind whipped up, and the first flakes of snow began to fall. She was so close—so close to getting the medicine back to Jake—how could everything go so completely wrong? She fought back angry tears of frustration, her throat raw from the cold. It would never do for her to really get sick now—now that Jake was in such need of her medication. She lifted her chin determinedly. She was going to get it to him. Somehow, someway. And she prayed it would be strong enough to heal him. Christmas was a time for miracles. She needed one right now.  The 2011 Christmas Collection anthology containing MEANT TO BE, my novel TIME PLAINS DRIFTER,  and all my other work can be found here:  https://www.amazon.com/author/cherylpierson  or at Barnes and Noble.    

Writing books is a funny way to pass the time really. Sitting around, makin’ stuff up. Alone. So very, very alone!

Honestly if someone finds they just can’t write a book, even if they’d kind of LIKE to do it, just don’t feel bad. It’s not a very normal way to pass the time. So I want to share with you this little JAZZY moment in my writing life last week. And I deeply and profoundly suspect it’ll sound weird to a non-writer. So, about … two years ago, TWO YEARS! I was writing my book Out of Control and I have this accident in a cavern and one of three young boys is badly hurt, so badly hurt in fact that it brings an already very emotionally unhealthy set of parents to the breaking point. The three boys each blame themselves for the accident and ultimately for the end of their family. So follow the bouncing ball here. I’m trying to make that badly hurt little boy, with his awful burn scars, a crazy man as an adult. He has nightmares. He thinks wolves and fire talk to him. He heard the cavern (where he was injured) calling to him to come down where it’s quiet, where he can think, where he can be at peace. He’s not crazy all the time, you understand. Mostly Seth Kincaid functions pretty well. But he has his MOMENTS. So, to up the ante, I also had him fight in the Civil War and be imprisoned in Andersonville prison and be wounded, shot in the back. More scars for poor Seth. Emotional and physical scars. So I wanted him in prison for a while, this is all back story, NOT important. This is the kind of thing an author will read and read and read about and end up with one half of one sentence. In Out of Control, Book #1 in the series, starring big brother Rafe Kincaid, Andersonville is barely mentioned but I did a lot of reading, mainly with a goal of knowing when it opened and closed so poor confused Seth isn’t claiming to be in a prison camp that was closed before he got there. I spend about four hours reading…and I got the info I needed in the first three minutes. But I was interested. A bit more was talked about in In Too Deep, Ethan Kincaid’s story…which released last month.

Seth’s story, coming in August, Over the Edge, all that research into Andersonville is a bit more about it, but really, like I said, it’s not important. Much.

But then in my reading I hit this story about what went on in Andersonville that included talk of a group of bad guys called the Raiders and a group of good guys called the Regulators. In some twisted fashion I got a new series idea from that research. So how can my hours have been wasted, huh? Then last week, I’m working on book #2 of this new series, which we’re calling Trouble in Texas. (I wanted to call it The Regulators, but someone thought that sounded like a…ahem … let’s say … digestive aid. Or possibly like the guy who comes to fix your furnace) So we’re calling it Trouble in Texas and in book #1, Swept Away, I’ve alluded to some haunting TROUBLE in the past of a secondary character in book #1 who becomes the heroine of book #2. Even as I alluded to that TROUBLE I knew I had no idea what that trouble was. So then, I’m typing away on the troubled heroine's book, still wondering what that trouble might be and suddenly it HIT ME. This little passing sentence that I remember reading and wondering about two years ago sprang into the forefront of my brain. AND. I. HAD. IT. And it was PERFECT. A perfect thing to keep her and the hero apart. Her bad choice that drove her to a life she had to be rescued from and now her past might be catching up to her to ruin her chance at TRUE LOVE. And THAT is the wonderful, aha, yippee, eureka, moment writers love. Hang on tight, this is gonna be FUN. (At least for me!)

http://www.maryconnealy.com

Today, I’m blogging about my two most recent releases, JASON’S ANGEL and EVERY GIRL’S DREAM. In case these titles sound familiar to you, they are historical short stories that were both previously released in anthologies with Victory Tales Press. JASON’S ANGEL appeared last year in A HISTORICAL COLLECTION, and EVERY GIRL’S DREAM appeared in A WESTERN SAGA. I’m excited about both of these being released as “stand alone” stories, selling at only .99 each! And since this is “read an e-book” week…I’m giving away two copies of JASON’S ANGEL today! Please leave a comment along with your contact info and you will be entered—it’s that simple. Jason’s Angel takes on several issues with the society of that time. The story takes place just as the War Between the States is winding down. Jason McCain wears Union blue, but speaks with a Georgia accent. To make things even more difficult, he’s half Cherokee, half Scottish! When he’s wounded and winds up at a Confederate hospital, there’s only one thing kind-hearted Sabrina Patrick can do… Jason 's Angel by Cheryl Pierson Two wounded Union soldiers will die without proper treatment. Sabrina Patrick realizes they won't get it at the Confederate army hospital where she helps nurse wounded men. She does the unthinkable and takes them to her home. Jason McCain’s pain is eased by the feel of clean sheets, a soft bed, and a touch that surely must belong to an angel. But what reason could an angel have for bringing him and his brother here? EXCERPT FROM JASON'S ANGEL:   It was only a brief touch of their lips, Sabrina told herself, and should not have caused the waves of trembling heat to rush over her.  His lips were firm and strong.  And she kissed him back.   He’d reached up and gently pulled her to him.  As if he’d sensed her concern over Desi being in the room, he’d glanced to where she sat talking to Eli, once more engrossed in conversation, and when Sabrina had started to protest, he’d squeezed her shoulder in silent reassurance.  And she had kissed him back.    He’d been so gentle and—oh Lord, had Eli seen that kiss?  She had responded heartily to his brother.  She had not pushed Jason away or protested in the least.  She had welcomed it.  There was no doubt for either of them.  She had definitely kissed him back.  As she pulled away, she opened her lids to find him watching her.  His dark eyes smoldered with desire.  But it didn’t scare her.  It excited her.   Good Lord.  She stood quickly, her head spinning so that she almost missed her first step toward the door.  When had she last eaten?  That had to be the cause of her unsteadiness.  But why was her heart pounding so frantically?  It was only a kiss.  One kiss.   But she had kissed him back.  

EVERY GIRL’S DREAM

Do you believe in love at first sight?  Can it happen?  More importantly, can it last over the long haul of the ups and downs of a relationship? Throw in a few obstacles from the very first meeting of the hero/heroine, and the relationship becomes even more intriguing. In my novella, EVERY GIRL’S DREAM, that’s just what happens. Sheena McTavish, a young Irish girl, has been raped by the son of her father’s employer. Now, with a baby on the way, Sheena is given an unthinkable choice:  give her baby to the father’s wealthy family to raise, or travel to New Mexico Territory by stagecoach to live with her aunt and uncle until her child is born.  At that point, she will have to place it in a nearby orphanage. Desperate to buy some time and protect her baby from its father, she chooses to travel west.  Alone and afraid, she starts on the journey that will change her life forever.  Before Sheena’s stage leaves, she meets handsome Army scout Callen Chandler.  The attraction is there, even under difficult conditions. As the story progresses, Sheena must learn to trust again, and Cal begins to realize he doesn’t have to live the solitary existence he’s endured up to now.  Being half Comanche has left him with no place in either world—white or Indian.  When Sheena comes along, everything changes…for both of them. TO SET THE SCENE: Cal is a half-breed U.S. Army scout, who has just rescued Sheena, the heroine, from a Kiowa attack on the stagecoach she was in. They had met briefly the morning before, and as luck would have it, Cal comes upon the stage after the Kiowas have attacked and are getting ready to ride away with Sheena. He tells them he and Sheena are married and the Kiowas reluctantly let him take Sheena, but then…  Cal felt…something.  His back tingled as he waited for the stinging burn of a shale arrowhead.  He risked a glance backward, and saw the Kiowa leader’s stare heavy upon him. “Sheena, hold on tight.” “The baby—” “I know, sweetheart.  We won’t ride hard any longer’n we have to.   Lowell’s Ridge is only about four miles away.” A very long four miles. She nodded in understanding.  “I’m sorry, Callen.” “No call for that.” “You came for me.” He smiled at that.  There was a small amount of disbelief in her tone, overshadowed by a huge amount of wonder.  Who wouldn’t come for her? “You could be killed because of me,” she said softly, as if she had only just realized it.  She laid her hand over his, and in that moment, he wondered if dying for her would be worth the twenty-seven years he’d lived so far. His heart jumped at her touch, then steadied.  But as he risked another glance back, he saw exactly what he’d feared.  Two of the braves were mounting up, and they weren’t riding the opposite way.  “That still might happen,” he murmured. He leaned forward, trying to protect Sheena with his body as he slapped the reins against the horse’s side, urging him into a lope, then a full-out run. The Kiowas were close behind them.  There must have been dissension among them. The leader had seemed content to let him take Sheena and ride away.  One of the others must have disagreed with that decision. Cal reached to pull his revolver from his holster. They were strangely quiet, he thought.  The first bullet cracked from behind them, and Cal reflexively bent lower.  The bullet whined past his ear like an angry bee. Sheena gasped.  He fired off a shot and got lucky.  One of the warriors screamed in agony and fell from his saddle.  But the other rode low, hanging onto the side of his mount. And he kept right on coming. The next bullet sang over Cal’s head.  He concentrated on eating up the miles to Lowell’s Ridge.  Riding double was slowing them down considerably.  Sheena’s body was tense beneath the shelter of his own.  Fragile, but strong.  Delicate, but determined.  His hand splayed over her stomach, holding her close, cradling her from the jarring of their wild ride. A whoop from behind them accompanied the crack of a rifle, and this time, the Kiowa warrior’s bullet found its mark.  A bolt of fire seared through Cal’s right shoulder, and for a minute, the pain was so strong he almost sawed back on the reins. But at his harsh curse, Sheena glanced up at him, her hand instantly clamping tightly over his. The reins were still wrapped in his fingers, but Sheena kept her hand on his, reminding him to let the horse have his head and continue their flight for freedom. “Hang on, Cal!” The pain was so breathtaking he could do nothing but nod his understanding. “Dammit!” she cursed.  That almost made him smile, but the agony in his shoulder surged up and stole his breath again as the horse’s hooves pounded the ground below. The road was not much more than a trail, and where it narrowed, branches reached out to scrape and snarl in hair and clothing, scratching their faces as they blindly rode toward safety. As they broke through the brambles and low limbs into the clearing on the other side of the wooded section of road, Cal glimpsed the steeple of the church, then in a moment, the rooftops of houses. He glanced behind him to see the Kiowa had stopped.  He was taking careful, deadly aim with the Winchester he held. “Christ,” Cal muttered.  “Keep down, Sheena.”              JASON’S ANGEL is available now at Amazon and other e-book retailers. http://www.amazon.com/Jasons-Angel-ebook/dp/B007H14KGU/  DON’T FORGET TO LEAVE YOU CONTACT INFO ALONG WITH A COMMENT TO BE ENTERED TO WIN JASON’S ANGEL!  EVERY GIRL’S DREAM WILL BE AVAILABLE BY THE END OF THE WEEK, AS WELL! If you enjoy anthologies, you might be interested in these:

Many thanks to Karen Witemeyer for inviting me to be a guest blogger today to spread the word about my newest novel for Revell, Where Wildflowers Bloom. Wildflowers is the first in the Sisters at Heart series and is set in Missouri shortly after the end of the War Between the States. When I worked up the proposal for this series, I had my characters and their occupations set in my mind. I planned that one of the characters, Rosemary Saxon, would be a nurse during the war, and then would follow the same occupation afterward.  Well, surprise, surprise. When I began to research nurses in the Civil War, I learned that very few of them were women, and the ones who were female were generally older and/or widows. For a young unmarried woman to touch men’s bodies, even to tend to wounds, was considered vulgar. Throughout the war, male nurses outnumbered female nurses 4 to 1. The general public believed women would only be a nuisance and get in the way of the doctors. Where female nurses were allowed, they were required to be plain-looking women. Their dresses were to be brown or black, no bows, no curls, no jewelry, and no hoop-skirts. The last prohibition made sense, since the hospital aisles were narrow.  So, where did this leave Rosemary, who was to be a continuing character in the series? Using my artistic license, she’s attractive, not plain, but I did make her “old.” She’s twenty-seven. J In addition to her God-given gift of mercy, she’s also determined to the point of being headstrong. She needs to be to stand up to the prejudice she encounters. In Where Wildflowers Bloom, Rosemary is the best friend of the story’s protagonist, Faith Lindberg. Oh, and did I mention Rosemary has a brother, Curt? How many of us remember having girlfriends with handsome brothers? I’ll just say that through Rosemary, Faith and Curt end up spending quite a bit of time together. So, like Rosemary, have any of you taken a job in what is considered a man’s field? Did you encounter prejudice? On a more romantic note, did any of you ever fall in love with the brother of your best friend? How did it work out?  I hope you’ll look for Where Wildflowers Bloom at your local bookstore, or through an online retailer. Please visit my website at www.annshorey.com for more information about Where Wildflowers Bloom, as well as my other books. Where Wildflowers Bloom How far will she go to follow her dreams?  The War Between the States stole a father and brother from Faith Lindberg—as well as Royal Baxter, the man she wanted to marry. With only her grandfather left, she dreams of leaving Noble Springs, Missouri, and traveling west to Oregon to start a new life, away from the memories that haunt her. But first she must convince her grandfather to sell the family's mercantile and leave a town their family has called home for generations. When Royal Baxter suddenly returns, Faith allows herself to hope that she and Royal will finally wed. But does he truly love her? Or will another man claim her heart?   Ann has graciously agreed to give away a copy of Where Wildflowers Bloom today, so be sure to leave a comment in order to be entered in the drawing!

When I heard the name "Griswold" while watching Hell on Wheels, I was instantly intrigued. It’s a familiar word in our household due to Chevy Chase, aka the hapless Clark Griswold

Years ago, when I saw the pull-down attic stairs that ensnare him in Christmas Vacation, I yammered so much and so often about a similar set-up here at home that I finally wore Hubby down, and he put one in for me.

To make a long story short, our attic stairs AND the whole attic space now crammed with my stuff are now simply called “The Griswold” by all our family and friends.

 But in real life, the Griswold is a rare, valuable Civil War-era .36 caliber percussion revolver. Make that, War of Northern Aggression-era .36 caliber percussion revolver.

Here’s how it happened.

In 1835, Connecticut-born Samuel Griswold purchased land near Macon, Georgia and established a small township he named Griswoldville. Along with soap and candle manufacturing and employee housing, post office and church, he built a cotton gin factory.

New Orleans gun maker Arvin Gunnison relocated to Griswoldville after the Yankees took his home town. At the request of the Confederate Ordnance Department, he and Samuel Griswold teamed up to supply as many guns as possible to the army. Instead of cotton gins, Griswold’s factory began its stint as the manufacturer of guns remarkably similar to the Colt Navy 1851. At first blush, the Griswold was easily mistaken for the Colt. But the Colt was assembled with far superior materials and technology that were not available in the blockaded and far less industrialized South. (It is said that only 20,000 factories of any kind were located in the South compared to 120,000 in the north.)

The grips of the Griswold-Gunnison gun (love the alliteration!) were one piece of walnut. While the Colt’s frame and trigger guard was forged from case-hardened steel, the Griswold’s was solid brass, and not for beauty’s sake. The South simply didn’t have enough graded steel to use. Furthermore, the cylinders on most Griswold-Gunnison revolvers were cast from iron left in a bare metal state without any chemical treatment to prevent rust. So they rusted.

 In fact, many Griswolds had brass with a pinkish tinge. Copper had to be added to brass to make it go farther. When brass was not available, the Griswold, or “G & G” was made from iron or iron alloys.

Although not as top-notch as the Colt, the G and G’s were a decent-quality weapon, particularly when one realizes the shortage of materials and machinery to reproduce them. In their three-year history, about 3,600 of the revolvers were made. It is believed that the approximately two dozen black workers at the Griswoldville factory were not treated as slaves but received the same wage and treatment as other workers.

 

The Griswold was priced to sell for $40 in an era when $35-40 was a good monthly salary. In comparison, the Colt sold for about $14.

The G and G enterprise ended on November 22, 1864, under the smokin’ guns of General Tecumseh Sherman on his “March to the Sea.” The week prior, his troops had captured Atlanta and begun their slash-and-burn across the state of Georgia. In Griswoldville, the men of the Third Cavalry Division under Brigadier-General Judson Kilpatrick burned the gun factory and all other factories to the ground.

The rarity of the Griswold has the few remaining guns priced at auction well into the seven figures! (Now, if only I could find something of value in my own Griswold….)

For more Griswold info:

http://www.vincelewis.net/griswold.html

http://www.gunclassics.com/griswold.html

Click on my latest book cover to purchase:

 

How much do I love SuperChannel? A friend mentioned that I would probably like a new series called Hell On Wheels. I checked it out (On Demand) and the husband and I watched the first episode and LOVED it.     It all starts with a Union Soldier in a confessional, seeking absolution for things he did during the war. In particular, what happened to a woman. When the confessional is over, both man and priest emerge, but it's not a priest at all. It's Cullen Bohannon - the woman's husband. And he's out to get every man that brutalized and then murdered his wife. It takes a cold dude to kill a man in a church and then walk out with his greatcoat flapping. His search takes him to Hell on Wheels - the travelling camp of the men building the Union Pacific railroad. As you can imagine, it's rough. A good portion of the workforce is freed slaves, and as we all know the term free was a formality more than anything else. He's hired as a supervisor to the crews, and strikes up an unlikely friendship with Elam Ferguson (played by Common). The whole thing is ruled by Thomas Durant, who's a bit greasy and not above manipulating senators and stocks to see that the railroad gets built. Durant's chief surveyor, Bell, is killed in an Indian attack but his wife, Lily, survives - and it's Bohannon who brings her back to camp. And all the while Bohannon is trying to find the last of the men responsible for the death of his wife. It's a great story, a fantastic setting, wonderful, complex characters (The Swede as Durant's "muscle" is deliciously creepy). Of course the cast isn't hard to look at either. My husband is rather partial to Lily Bell.  I, of course, adore Bohannon (played by Anson Mount). In fact, there may be a reclusive rancher in a story soon that bears a striking resemblance. And I'll admit it - best of all was the night Bohannon and Elam had to fight each OTHER. I looked at my husband and said, "I hope they fight with their shirts off." Yes, I'm just that shallow. The result? A bit of history, a bit of romance, a lot of action. Can anyone say "All aboard!"

  I have a character in Out of Control, book #1 of my Kincaid Bride’s series, the youngest brother Seth, who spent time in Andersonville Prison during the Civil War. So I’m just researching Andersonville to find for sure where it was and when it opened and closed. No sense having poor old Seth stuck in a prison that had been closed down for two years before he got captured, right? And this is all backstory. This is NOT important. We’re talking maybe two or three sentences in the whole book. But little details like this, for writers, become maddening and fascinating. All I needed was the where and when. I could’ve gotten that in two minutes on Wikipedia. So did I give it two minutes and get back to my manuscript? No-o-o-o-o-o-o! I ended up reading and reading and reading. It was horrible and engrossing. A real time sink for me, and yet I couldn’t tear myself away. I tell people that I hate research, but the REASON I hate it is because I get sucked in it, drawn deeper, lured down side trails, moving farther and farther from what I originally was hunting for. Such was Andersonville. And today I’m not even going to write about the prison, which could be ten posts on its own. The starvation, the brutality, awful. No, what I found was a group called Mosby’s Raiders. I think I’d heard this term before. Mosby’s Raiders. But I didn’t connect it to Andersonville. If anything I’d have put the group in a category with Quantrill’s Raiders in Kansas who wreaked havoc after the war. Further research reveals a video game called Mosby’s Raiders and a singing group, so that’s maybe why I’ve heard of it. [caption id="attachment_27759" align="alignright" width="240" caption="Mosby's Headstone"][/caption] Mosby’s Raiders was a group within the walls of Andersonville. They were thieves who attacked the other prisoners. Since everyone was starving it might be understandable that people would become savages in their fight for survival, but Mosby, who’s name was William “Mosby” Collins of the 144th New York was a thug. He led a group of up to 700 men armed with clubs, slingshots, brass knuckles and homemade knives. And he wasn't just surviving, he was getting rich. But this STILL isn’t what I want to talk about today. Within Andersonville a group of men emerged who called themselves the Regulators, and they are the focus of today’s post. The Regulators were given police-like power by the head of Andersonville. They led a force of men who rounded up over 200 of these raiders and brought them to trial. On July 11, 1864, six of the leading raiders were hanged, ending their control of the prison. So, six men are hanged, what of the other 194? And those are the ones they caught? There were rumors of up to 700 Raiders, remember? After the executions the regulators, led by Key (this is the only name I could find for the leader of the regulators), knowing how many men were left that were loyal to the raiders, were in constant danger of assassination if they remained inside. The head of Andersonville found a way to protect them. He got them assigned as nurses and ward-masters in the hospital, which separated them from the general populations. The accounts I read of the hanging were riveting. The prisoners loathed the men who were hanged. But it was also Yankee soldiers hanging other Yankee soldiers while the Confederate guards looked on. So much conflicting emotion was involved. So this was my inspiration for my next book series. These Regulators. And remember this is all well after the war is over. But what if?.........(Authors always use What If?) What if these men remained friends after the war? This would be a huge bond between them. These would be righteous men, men who would do what is right even when it was terribly hard. They would be used to having each other's backs. They would trust each other completely.

http://www.maryconnealy.com

During my research for a new project on the effects of the Civil War on the Panhandle of Texas,  I discovered something I already knew, but hadn’t thought about in ages … it didn’t! The War Between the States never came to the Texas Panhandle, although the last battle of the Civil War was fought in Texas down by Brownsville. Reconstruction didn’t touch the Panhandle either ... not until at least a decade later. The Panhandle was occupied by sheepmen with their short-lived, peaceful culture along the Canadian River, buffalo hunters, the Comancheros, and the southern Plains Indians. Neither the sheepman nor the cattleman owned an acre of Panhandle property; but they were, in that vast land, the law unto themselves. The “Mother City of the Panhandle” Mobeetie was founded in 1875; followed by Tascosa in 1876, and Saints’ Roost later known as Clarendon in 1878. Amarillo didn’t surface until nearly a decade later in 1887 ... and, there was a very good reason why! Up until the end of the war, the southern Plains Indians remained essentially undisturbed, mainly because of the sectional controversy and the war itself. In the early 1870’s professional buffalo-hide hunters entered the Panhandle from western Kansas. Normal Indian resentment toward this incursion was heightened by their understanding that the Medicine Lodge Treaties of 1867 guaranteed them exclusive hunting grounds south of the Arkansas River. The renowned Comanche war chief and mentor between the Indians and the white nation,  Quanah Parker, probably would never have become a Comanche war chief if it had not been for the war.  He was only thirteen in 1860 when a concerted effort was launched to subdue the Plains Indians in Texas; however, the outbreak of the Civil War in 1861 gave the American Indians a thirteen year respite from determined military attack. Texas Governor Sam Houston, victorious in the 1858 Texas election on a platform of quieting the Indians on the frontier, launched an ambitious program for merciless pursuit of the incorrigible Native Americans by the whites.  By the end of 1860, a sizable number of men had been raised in Texas to fight the Indians: rangers, minute men, and federal troops. With such forces available, it looked like doom for the Indians who regularly depredated in the state. It was a combination of these three forces which attacked the Nokoni camp on the Pease River in 1860 and recaptured Cynthia Ann Parker, Quanah’s mother. But in 1861 the Civil War broke out, and the frontier was temporarily forgotten, the people of Texas continuing to pay in blood and plunder by Indians.  The planned subjugation of the Comanches and their friends was postponed until more than a decade later. In order to avoid the expenditures necessary for Indian wars, both North and South made overtures to the Indians.  The Comanches, on finding themselves sought after by both governments, accepted peace with one or the other, as it suited their convenience.  Peace with the Indians meant that troops could be withdrawn from the Texas frontier to be used on the Civil War battlefields. The “Comanches of the Prairies and Staked Plains” signed a treaty with the Confederacy in 1861, promising to prepare to support themselves (the Confederacy would supply them with cattle to start herds and furnish them with supplies and to live in peace and quietness. But as long as there were buffalo to chase and unprotected farms and ranches to raid, the Lords of the South Plains had no intention of holding themselves to such an agreement.  All nine of the Comanche bands except the Antelope band signed the treaty … probably the most representative gathering of Comanches ever assembled up to that time.  If he survived the 1860 Pease River recapture of Cynthia Ann, it is assumed that Nocona, chief of the Wanderers (Nokoni), attended the treaty-signing council and possibly brought along his young brave, Quanah, who was 14 at the time. The North failed to live up to its 1863 treaty with Comanches, Kiowas, and Apaches which promised $25,000 in presents and annuity goods to the Indians I they would stop terrorizing the plundering travelers on the Santa Fe road. These southern tribes, planning retaliation, made an alliance with the northern tribes (Cheyenne, Arapahoes, and Sioux).  In 1864 attacks on the frontier were heavier than ever, Indians capturing thousands of horses and selling them to the army through the Comancheros.  The route to Denver was under heavy attack by Indians.  Emigration was stopped and much of the country was depopulated. After the Civil War came to a close in 1865, the government fluctuated for almost a decade between a modified “get-tough” policy with the Indians and a Peace Policy, administered by Quakers, who believed that honesty and kindness could solve the problem.  Sporadic token military marches into the Panhandle area included Kit Carson’s 1864 First Battle of Adobe Walls and Col. Ranald S. Mackenzie’s 1871-72 Battle of Blanco Canyon and Battle of McClellan Creek. None of these brief campaigns really damaged the Plains Indians. Quanah Parker had almost free rein in the Llano until the the Red River War, 1874-75. It was only then that the determined attitude evidenced in 1860 was adopted once more … this time by the federal government.

Of interest, the Battle of Palmito Ranch, also known as the Battle of Palmito Hill and the Battle of Palmetto Ranch was fought on May 12–13, 1865, on the banks of the Rio Grande a little east of Brownsville, Texas.  Many historians, as well as the Official Record of the Civil War  consider the battle to be a post-Civil War encounter, with the Battle of Columbus in April being the last recognized battle of the War Between the States. I want to acknowledge Pauline Durrett Robertson, a life member of Panhandle Professional Writers, and her book Panhandle Pilgrimage, as the source for much of my information.  Pauline’s book is definitely my bible of the history of our region. “A Texas Christmas” hit the New York Times bestselling list the last two weeks, and the USA Today last week, thanks to our readers.  For one lucky commenter, I will send you an autographed copy of the anthology.

This is Minnie the "boss" of Books and Crannie Books in Terrell, Texas.  Minnie is a Hurricane Katrina rescue cat and knows her books!

Love time travel? Crazy about holiday reads?  Well, then, I’ve got some great short stories to tell you about, including my latest release, MEANT TO BE, that appears in a new Christmas anthology from VICTORY TALES PRESS. MEANT TO BE is a time travel set on the last Christmas of the Civil War, in 1864. A young single woman, Robin Mallory, from present day set out to pay a surprise holiday visit to her elderly relatives. When one of her tires blows out, she finds herself stranded on a lonely stretch of road with no one to call for help.  When a handsome ‘Confederate soldier’ tackles her in the early evening shadows, Robin is outraged and frightened. Jake Devlin is dressed from a time gone by, but what are re-enactors doing in these woods over the Christmas weekend? When the predicted winter storm moves in, Robin has no alternative but to take a chance and trust Jake. Jake’s presence is comforting, and Robin welcomes the sanctuary from the raw night that his camp offers. But something isn’t right. Once they arrive at the camp, she realizes she’s walked down a gravel road that’s taken her backward in time nearly 150 years. Jake is an officer of the Confederate Army, serving under Cherokee Chief, General Stand Watie. Unsure of Robin’s motives and who she is, the general puts her in Jake’s care. When they are separated from the rest of the unit, Jake is severely wounded. What will Robin do? Will she seize the only opportunity she may have to return to her own time? Or will she stay in 1864 with Jake and take a chance on a love that was MEANT TO BE? MEANT TO BE appears in the Victory Tales Press Sensual/Spicy 2011 Christmas Collection anthology, along with four other great stories by my fellow authors, Kit Prate, Stephanie Burkhart, Christine Schulze, and Sarah McNeal. I also want to tell you about some great stand-alone paranormal holiday short stories that are available for only .99 through WESTERN TRAIL BLAZER PUBLISHING. MEANT TO BE is not the only paranormal Civil War era holiday short story I’ve written. Another one, HOMECOMING, is a sweet love story that first appeared last year about this time in A Christmas Collection: Sweet through VICTORY TALES PRESS (VTP). It’s still available in the anthology, but now is also available in the .99 gallery at WESTERN TRAIL BLAZER as well. Though it’s a Civil War themed short story, it has a very different take and a surprise ending I hope you will enjoy. Homecoming by Cheryl Pierson A holiday skirmish sends Union officer, Jack Durham, on an unlikely mission to fulfill his promise of honor to a dying Confederate soldier—his enemy. In an odd twist of fate, a simple assurance to carry young Billy Anderson's meager belongings home to his family a few miles away becomes more than what it seems. As he nears his destination, the memories of the soldier's final moments mingle with his own thoughts of the losses he's suffered because of the War, including his fiancee, Sarah. Despite his suffering, can Jack remember what it means to be fully human before he arrives at the end of his journey? Will the miracle of Christmas be able to heal his heart in the face of what awaits him?   SCARLET RIBBONS is a story of lost love regained through a holiday miracle. The hero, Miguel Rivera, is a bordertown gunslinger who believes his heart can’t be touched. Christmas brings him a miracle he never expected; one that can’t be ignored.  SCARLET RIBBONS by Cheryl Pierson Miguel Rivera is known as El Diablo, The Devil. Men avoid meeting his eyes for fear of his gun. Upon returning to a town where he once knew a brief happiness, Miguel is persuaded by a street vendor to make a foolish holiday purchase; two scarlet ribbons. When Catalina, his former lover, allows him to take a room at her boarding house, Miguel soon discovers a secret. Realizing that he needs the scarlet ribbons after all, he is stunned to find them missing. Can a meeting with a mysterious priest and the miracle of the Scarlet Ribbons set Miguel on a new path?  A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES is a novella available through THE WILD ROSE PRESS. This story takes place in Indian Territory of the 1800’s. A widow takes in a wounded gunman and three children on Christmas Eve. The small gifts she gives them all reveal something even more precious for all of them on A NIGHT FOR MIRACLES. These are all great holiday short stories that will leave you wanting more. I f this isn’t enough paranormal reading for you, try my latest novel, TIME PLAINS DRIFTER, a WESTERN TRAIL BLAZER publication. Here’s the blurb for this time travel story of good vs. evil. Trapped in Indian Territory of 1895 by a quirk of nature, high school teacher Jenni Dalton must find a way to get her seven students back to 2010.  Handsome U.S. Marshal Rafe d’Angelico seems like the answer to her prayers; he is, after all, an angel.  In a race against time and evil, Rafe has one chance to save Jenni’s life and her soul from The Dark One—but can their love survive?   The 2011 Christmas Collection can be purchased here: http://www.amazon.com/2011-Christmas-Collection-Sensual-ebook/dp/B005Z8VOVG/ All my other novels, short stories and the anthologies I am a part of can be found here: http://www.amazon.com/-/e/B002JV8GUE   I write a mix of contemporary romantic suspense and historical western romance.  Please leave a comment and let us know the best paranormal western romance you've ever read. This is kind of an up-and-coming subgenre, and one I'd love to read more of.  I'll be giving away a copy of the brand new 2011 Christmas Collection to one lucky commenter! Please be sure to include an e-mail addy in your comment.  Here’s wishing you a very happy holiday season with lots of great reading ahead!