By Joel Thurtell
It is amazing the kind of things you run across in the journalism trade. Couple days ago, a guy stopped by the joelontheroad.com offices and showed us an old, tattered shoe box. Out of the box, he drew some yellowed parchment with neat cursive script. The writing was so immaculate, I knew it had to be old — nobody in these modern times writes a concise hand like that. The guy said it was the memoir of a soldier in the Union army who served under Grant. The soldier’s perspective gives us quite a different account of how the Civil War was conducted. We, the editorial staff of joelontheroad.com, believe that publication of this discovery will set Civil War historiography on its ear. Since the document might conceivably be genuine, we decided to begin publishing it in occasional installments at times when there is no big news to break and nobody will suffer from reading some boring history.
Here, then, is one soldier’s account of service with General Grant:
General Grant was worried. You could see it in the way he chewed on his cigar. He was chewing aft to fore on the spit-bedraggled stump. That was a sure sign he was worried. When he chewed a cigar stump from fore to aft, meaning he worked it into his mouth, over his tongue starting with the section closest to the burning tip, you knew things were going well.
But this time he was chawing the stogie the other way, and we knew trouble was a-brewin’.
I was a sentry doing picket duty, so I had a clear view of General Grant where he sat on a three-legged camp stool in front of his headquarters tent at Savannah, Tennessee. General Grant turned his head and spoke to me around the stump of his cigar, which he propelled, with his tongue, to the side of his mouth.
“Where’s Lew?” he said.
By “Lew,” General Grant meant General Lew Wallace. Lew had not been heard from for some time, and General Grant could not think what was keeping him.
“He’s late for breakfast,” General Grant said. “He was gonna show me some new chapters.”
For the life of us, we could not figure out why Lew was late. He was always eager to show General Grant chapters he’d written for his book, “Ben-Hur.”
“What the devil’s keepin’ Lew?” General Grant said.
All of a sudden, a ring chime sounded. It was coming from General Grant’s MacBook Pro.
General Grant had his MacBook Pro sitting on some planks he’d laid across a couple sawhorses. Now, he shifted the laptop to his knees, opened the lid and clicked on gmail.
He read the latest message: “Ulys, you have notifications pending.”
“Who’s it from?” I asked.
I may be a mere sentry, but I can’t help myself when it comes to e-mail. I’ve gotta know what’s bein’ said.
General Grant had the common touch an didn’t mind talking to a mere sentry.
“It’s from General Sherman,” said General Grant. “He wants to be ‘friends’.”
“Well?” I said. “Do you want to be ‘friends’ with him?”
“Dunno,” said General Grant.
“He’s a crazy kinda guy,” I said.
“I know,” said General Grant. “They say he’s a real looney.”
“Well,” I said boldly,”They say you’re drunk.”
“Look at me,” said General Grant. “Do I look drunk to you?”
“No,” I said. “You look like you’ve slobbered on your cigar so much that you’ve put it out.”
General Grant took his cigar out, realized that I was right and that it was no longer lit.
“Oh well,” he said. “It’s not the way it smokes that counts. It’s the way it looks. Where is that guy Brady with the photo machine? This would be a good time to take a picture of me in repose.”
“What about General Sherman?” I said. “Are you gonna be ‘friends’ with him?”
“Remains to be seen,” said General Grant. “Where’s Lew?”
Just then, there was another chime from General Grant’s laptop.
“Doggonit!” said General Grant. “Lew has got himself lost on the other side of the Tennessee River. He and all his division are stuck in some swamp.”
“This is bad,” I said. “Lew’s gonna be late for the Battle of Shiloh.”
“Well,” said General Grant. “That’s no big deal. But I wanted to read more of Ben-Hur.”
Just then, there was another chime from General Grant’s MacBook Pro. It was from General Sherman, again.
“Boy, he sure wants to be ‘friends’,” said General Grant. “Well, let’s see how he does at the Battle of Shiloh.”
Now, lots of generals and even some colonels came over to General Grant’s tent. “Somethin’s happenin’ up at Shiloh,” they said.
“I know, I know,” said General Grant. “Sherman wants to be my buddy. I’m thinkin’ about it.”
“Well,” said one of the colonels, “I just got a cell phone image of some johnnie rebs havin’ breakfast in Sherman’s tent.”
“Why’s Sherman eatin’ with the enemy when he wants to be friends with me?” wondered General Grant. “Breakfast sure sounds good. Can’t count on Lew Wallace. Get me my crutch.”
General Grant had hurt himself when a horse fell on him the other day, and he had to walk with a crutch. Now, he hobbled to his feet and looked at the generals and colonels standing around there.
“Don’t just stand around there,” General Grant said. “Somebody book me a steamboat. I’m goin’ up the Tennessee River to Shiloh and see what Sherman’s havin’ for breakfast.”
I ventured a question: “So you’re gonna be ‘friends’ with Sherman?”
“Could be yes, could be no,” said General Grant. “Depends what kinda bacon he’s got.”
Will General Grant accept General Sherman’s Facebook request to be his ‘friend’? We may find out in the next gripping installment of “How Social Networking Won the Civil War.” Or maybe not.
