Author Robert G. Elliott imagines a lanky 18-year-old ancestor resting against a tree stump by a riverbank during spring, with "a crimson angry sun casting a brassy glow up on the waterfront."
Imagined historical details are the very best.
In his book, Elliott describes how [he imagines] "wisps of steam and smoke puffed from the vessel's tall funnel," as the iron monster floated safely through the "snapping and crackling of small arms fire" from Union gunners.It was a dark and stormy night. Suddenly a shot rang out. A bloodcurdling cry filled the night air as another history project fell dead, victim of that sadistic killer called "Literary Pretense."