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Zelda freak
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This is a journal entry I wrote from the point of view of someone who was in the Battle of Shiloh. The person talking is fictional, and I have not edited it yet, but are the events and stuff accurate? Here it is:
The Journal of James Gartoro
The Battle of Shiloh
April 5, 1862
The frigid night air pierced through my worn wool coat like so many knives thrust into a piece of meat. Trying to sleep on the cold ground with nothing but an old coat for covering, was becoming harder and harder with each night. I pray that this cruel war will end by June and I can go home to my beloved wife Sarah, and my lovely daughter Clara. I set off with an uplifted heart at first. But now, I see that war is not all fun and games. This isn’t a poker game at William McPherson’s house; this is human lives being sacrificed for an argument. Why can’t the North just forfeit the Southern land to those who were born here? What right have they to our land? They should leave us alone! Even if they did
win this war, we wouldn’t be satisfied with them and we will always be rebelling against their tyranny. Anyway, General Johnston says that we will launch an attack on the Union soldiers tomorrow. Hopefully, tomorrow will be the end of the war.
April 6, 1862
Burning hot sweat clung to my face while the very warmth of my blood was seemingly stolen away. How is it possible for such temperatures to meet? A permanent frown that has been etched into my face, grows ever deeper as we approached the camp where the Yanks were stationed. They knew nothing of our coming. I hoped the element of surprise would aid us in our victory so I could go home. When we fired upon them, they were completely unprepared and confused. We pushed them back towards the river, taking many lives as often as we could. We thought we had them, but then they managed to counteract our charges. After that, we went back to our camps, to fight again the next day.
April 7, 1862
The second day of this battle, it looke
promising for us. But then, General Johnson was killed. I was very near him when the bullet struck through him. He died a slow, painful death while his army was thrown into mass confusion. Following General Johnson’s death, the Union army gained control over us with more and more reinforcements arriving to fight us. Suddenly, my leg shot with a burning fire that is indescribable. I looked down to see that my leg had a bullet buried deep within my mutilated flesh. The blood splattered over first my trousers, then my hand as I groped the wound in immense pain and agony. I stumbled to the ground and blacked out. Later, I was awakened to find myself in the medical tent. My wound was still blaring open, shouting to the world about my newfound disability. Seeing me awake, a doctor came over to me and gave me the most dreadful news, my leg was to be amputated from the knee down. The color drained from my face. Being the only way to live, I decided to go through with the operation. I won’t go
The Journal of James Gartoro
The Battle of Shiloh
April 5, 1862
The frigid night air pierced through my worn wool coat like so many knives thrust into a piece of meat. Trying to sleep on the cold ground with nothing but an old coat for covering, was becoming harder and harder with each night. I pray that this cruel war will end by June and I can go home to my beloved wife Sarah, and my lovely daughter Clara. I set off with an uplifted heart at first. But now, I see that war is not all fun and games. This isn’t a poker game at William McPherson’s house; this is human lives being sacrificed for an argument. Why can’t the North just forfeit the Southern land to those who were born here? What right have they to our land? They should leave us alone! Even if they did
win this war, we wouldn’t be satisfied with them and we will always be rebelling against their tyranny. Anyway, General Johnston says that we will launch an attack on the Union soldiers tomorrow. Hopefully, tomorrow will be the end of the war.
April 6, 1862
Burning hot sweat clung to my face while the very warmth of my blood was seemingly stolen away. How is it possible for such temperatures to meet? A permanent frown that has been etched into my face, grows ever deeper as we approached the camp where the Yanks were stationed. They knew nothing of our coming. I hoped the element of surprise would aid us in our victory so I could go home. When we fired upon them, they were completely unprepared and confused. We pushed them back towards the river, taking many lives as often as we could. We thought we had them, but then they managed to counteract our charges. After that, we went back to our camps, to fight again the next day.
April 7, 1862
The second day of this battle, it looke
promising for us. But then, General Johnson was killed. I was very near him when the bullet struck through him. He died a slow, painful death while his army was thrown into mass confusion. Following General Johnson’s death, the Union army gained control over us with more and more reinforcements arriving to fight us. Suddenly, my leg shot with a burning fire that is indescribable. I looked down to see that my leg had a bullet buried deep within my mutilated flesh. The blood splattered over first my trousers, then my hand as I groped the wound in immense pain and agony. I stumbled to the ground and blacked out. Later, I was awakened to find myself in the medical tent. My wound was still blaring open, shouting to the world about my newfound disability. Seeing me awake, a doctor came over to me and gave me the most dreadful news, my leg was to be amputated from the knee down. The color drained from my face. Being the only way to live, I decided to go through with the operation. I won’t go