#john graves

[frenchcurious]

Hurley Haywood (Ecurie Escargot - Porsche 911 Carrera RSR #911 560 9112) vainqueur avec John Graves & Dave Helmick des 24 Heures de Daytona 1977. - source Carros e Pilotos.

[overlordbravery]

Sometimes I just like dramatic lighting and shapes

[uwmspeccoll]

A John DePol Feathursday

This week we present signed, wood-engraved proofs of birds by the legendary American wood engraver John DePol, created for a 1991 letterpress edition of Texas author John Graves’s Self-Portrait, with Birds; Some Semi-Ornithological Recollections, printed by W. Thomas Taylor in Dallas at Chama Press in a limited edition of 330 copies. These prints appear as chapter heads in the book and present birds in their landscapes, rather than as ornithological renderings, in order to reflect the author’s view of birds as part of the natural environment.

There are a Bobwhite, some kind of passerine, an eared owl (maybe a Long-eared or a Screech), a Mallard, a Turkey, gulls, and some raptors. The book is not so much about the author as about the people who occupy a special place in his memory, all of them who in one way or another were associated with birds and contributed to the writer’s knowledge of them. Unfortunately, we do not hold the book (yet), just the prospectus and this suite of prints donated by our good friend Jerry Buff.

View more posts with wood engravings by John DePol.

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View more posts with wood engravings!

[acrossthewavesoftime]

What naval battles of the American revolution do you think are most pivotal? Which are most interesting to you personally?

Thanks for your question, and a good one it is indeed, which is why I needed some time to think about it, being unable to pick just one- but now I have. :-)

I think the most obvious answer would be the Battle of the Chesapeake (6 September 1781), simply because it was decisive as the French managed to prevent the British fleet commanded by Rear Admiral Thomas Graves (yes, another Graves- among the officers serving under him were his half-brother by his father's former secret second family and a nephew of his cousin- you've got to keep the business in the family, after all) from delivering reinforcements to Yorktown.

Much has been said about the undoubtedly very important Battle of the Chesapeake and other more well-known actions; but if I had to pick, and keeping in mind your questions, I would go for the Battle of Chelsea Creek (27–28 May 1775).

It aligns very well with my interests, and I think it marks the point where the nascent war, previously a pesky rebellion, turned personal for Graves, and may have prompted him to greater severity in future actions (think e.g. of the Burning of Falmouth).

I've seen you asked @benjhawkins the same question, whose reply was the Battle of Machias (11–12 June 1775), which I found surprising, as the fate of HMS Diana was a similar one to that of HMS Margaretta, and both actions occured within two weeks of another.

The short version of events is that Samuel Graves, spotting a smoke column around 14:00 on the 27th, from hay obviously being burnt on one of the islands (Noddle's Island), immediately ordered marines to be landed to engage the Americans under the command of Colonel John Stark. The American detatchment on Noddle's Island decided on a defensive strategy and instead island-hopped to the main American force on Hog's Island, from where they drove a substantial number of livestock towards the mainland.

HMS Diana was one of the vessels ordered to pursue, and in a best-case scenario, intercept the cattle-thieving Americans. The Diana, commanded by Lieutenant Thomas Graves (c. 1747–1814; guess whose nephew he was) continued in her pursuit until dusk, when her commander decided the waters of Chelsea Creek were too shallow to continue on. In fact, Graves had run the ship so far up Chelsea Creek, that he soon realised he was stuck. Signalling his uncle's flagship, the latter sent boats from HMS Preston and Somerset to come to Diana's assistance in order to pull her free; to add to the misfortune at hand, the day had turned out very calm, which didn't exactly help, either.

Naturally, it didn't take the Americans long to realise HMS Diana was stuck- General Putnam and perhaps as many as 1,000 troops and two field-pieces are said to have been present on the banks, watching on. Putnam is said to have waded waist-high into the water, calling out to the crew of the Diana that they would receive quarter if they were to surrender, but the British, who were still hoping the boats would pull them free, fired their cannon on the enemy troops on shore.

However, their luck ran out about 22:00 when the boats had to abort their mission of pulling the Diana free under heavy enemy fire. Accounts differ somewhat regarding when the Americans managed to set the Diana on fire, but the schooner, which at some point had tipped to one side, had to be abandonned.

Some say that Thomas Graves and his crew were still on board when the fire broke out; in any case, the entire crew could be transferred into the tender Britannia, commanded by Thomas' brother John (1743–1811) who had come to Diana's rescue. The story goes that Thomas Graves sustained severe (facial) burns, and John Graves was burnt as well, trying to rescue his little brother. I think this may well be only a dramatic later invention though (as if having to save your brother from certain death isn't dramatic enough); Samuel Graves' official report exaggerates the numbers of American forces present by multiplying the actual estimate times two, and I suppose he would have brought any serious wounds sustained by his nephew(s) up as a mark of their personal bravery and officer-like conduct.

Thomas Graves was court-martialled for the loss of the sloop, but not found guilty, and his uncle wrote to the Admiralty in order to secure reimbursements for any personal possessions lost by his nephew and crew of the Diana.

To me, the Diana is so important because this is the first time Admiral Graves, so often accused of apathy and a desire to not do anything at all, was personally invested in any action- the war that was merely a little rebellion, had caught up with him personally. Close with his nephews, I suppose a combination of the Battle of Chelsea Creek and the Battle of Machias two weeks later prompted him to abandon his cautious approach for a more direct, forceful one, which ultimately led to the inhabitants of Falmouth losing their homes, and Graves his career.

Actions like Chelsea Creek and Machias also showed the Americans that the British Navy wasn't invincible, which I think must have had a distinct psychological impact on their their morale.

I am rambling on for far too long- I hope this answered your question. :-)

[vicekings]

June 13th, 1993: the Disappearance of John Edward Graves

Content Warnings: Alcohol Abuse, Child Abuse, Spousal Abuse, Violence, Attempted Strangulation, Murder.

Summary: On a stormy summer night, John Graves disappears.

Everyone in town knew that John Edward Graves was not a nice man. 

To call John mean would be an understatement. Everyone in town knew John was a cruel and vindictive drunkard with a hair-trigger temper, along with the strength to back that temper up. They saw his mountainous form lumber into town and instinctively stepped out of his way. People kept their heads down and their voices low. They were especially quiet when they found the courage to whisper out the rumours of how he treated his poor quiet wife. 

Everyone in town knew that John Graves was not a nice man, and no one knew it better than his poor quiet wife, Theodosia Walker. 

She’d fallen into the marriage when she was young and dumb and convinced that, even if the rumours about his rowdiness were true, she could most certainly fix him. After all, Theodosia could fix most anything she’d set her mind to fixing. She’d tend to him in the same way she tended to her pretty little garden: with care and love and plenty of singing. She’d read once that singing to plants was supposed to help them grow. She’d sung to her plants ever since. 

But singing to her husband, well, that had never really helped. As a result, Theodosia didn’t really sing much anymore. 

The simple truth of things was that there weren’t nothin’ in this world that could ever really fix a man like John Edward Graves, because he was the kind of fella that wasn’t willing to be fixed.

———

When John Graves went missing after the worst thunderstorm of the season, the other barflies assumed he’d never made it home. He’d been at Donovan’s Pub into the early hours of the night, only leaving when the owner forced him out. Any offer of a taxi ride made to him was thoroughly refused. John had climbed into his beat up old piece of shit of a truck and took off into the night, never once looking behind him. 

John’s truck was found on the side of the road the next morning. The sheriff had it towed on account of it obstructing traffic. Everyone assumed that John had gotten lost on his way home, what with how drunk he was when he left. He’d probably tried to take a short cut through the woods. He’d probably stumble his way out when he’d sobered up. 

After the mandatory 48 hours of waiting, Mrs Theodosia Walker-Graves went down to the station to file a missing person report. The sheriff bought his dogs out to the site where the truck had been found. From there, they followed the scent until it hit the brook that ran through the woods. The scent trail went cold in the water. The dogs couldn’t pick it up again after that. 

When the sheriff informed Mrs Theodosia that her husband had likely fallen into the brook in his drunken stupor, she tearfully accepted his condolences. They both knew well enough that the brook flowed down into the part of the woods where the bears made their dens. They’d be about as likely to find his body as they would a needle in a haystack. 

An empty casket was buried in a lonely plot at the old church, with the headstone bearing the words John Edward Graves, father & husband, 1955 - 1993. As far as the town knew, the storm and his own stupidity had gotten him. In some way, it really did. 

———

The truth of it was this:

That night, John’s truck had broken down on the road home, and he’d been forced to walk the rest of the way. He’d taken his shortcut through the woods, stumbled through the rushing brook, and made it safely to the other side. He’d come up to the house around 3 in the morning. He was drunk, angry, and soaking wet, and right when he stomped onto the front porch, the power went out. 

Dahlia’s screaming started immediately after. The girl, aged only 4, had been terrified of the dark for as long as she’d understood what the dark was. Her little nightlight died with the power, plunging her room into darkness. The following thunder boom woke her up. Fear seized upon her in an instant. 

She’d always screamed when the power went out, always cried and cried and cried until her mama came to calm her down. On that night, her daddy got there first. It was unfortunate for her that her daddy was who he was. 

John Edward Graves was not a man you could show weakness around. 

He had little Dolly by the collar of her nightshirt when Theodosia burst in, pulling her roaring husband off her wailing daughter. Even in the dark of the room, Theodosia could see the way the handprint burned red against her daughter’s pale cheek. She turned on John with all of the rage of a mama bear, and sharply demanded to know what the fuck he did to her girl. 

What John said in that moment was lost to history. It was remembered only in the mind of Theodosia, who still felt fury burn through her like a hot knife through butter when she thought back on it years later. Little Dolly was too young to truly understand what was going on, and her siblings were quite accustomed to blocking their father’s voice out, but Theodosia held on to every word. 

The ensuing fight travelled down the stairs and onto the porch. Most fights ended with John storming off to his truck to get drunk, leaving Theodosia crying silently out front. On that night, however, John was already drunk, and Theodosia was already crying, and the screaming only escalated. 

Theodosia was almost certain she was going to die. 

Somewhere between claps of thunder, John had gotten his hands around her throat. He’d shoved her hard against one of the porch’s oak posts. With each breath she tried to take, the pressure on her windpipe only increased. She struggled and kicked as hard as she could in a desperate attempt to break free. The lightning flashed, John’s grip tightened, and Theodosia was certain she was going to die. 

In the next clap of thunder, Theodosia found herself falling to her knees. Air rushed into her wheezing lungs, knocking her back. She struggled to adjust to her sudden drop. How in the hell had she gotten free?

The answer to her unspoken question came in the form of her son in her peripheral vision. His daddy’s shotgun was held tight in his shaking hands, aimed squarely at his daddy’s chest. John was clutching at his side and howling at her boy like a wounded beast. 

Every name in the book was thrown at the boy with a shotgun in his hands and fear in his eyes. Jack Douglas, JD, her little Dougey, had taken the gun from its mount above the fireplace and blasted his daddy off of his mama. That should have been it. 

That should have been it, but John was still moving. 

With one arm tight to his side, John lunged for JD. When his fist met JD’s face, Theodosia ran. Every instinct screamed for her to turn back and protect her boy. She ignored the urge, instead lunging for the wood chopping block. It was there that she found the hatchet. 

It was old, it was heavy, and it was wickedly sharp. The very hatchet that she’d brought with her from her family’s farm when the newlyweds first moved into their home now brought an end to that marital bliss. As John wrestled JD for the shotgun, Theodosia came up behind him and buried the hatchet in the back of his skull. 

The first strike brought John to his knees, but it did not kill him. The second, when Theodosia managed to wrench the hatchet from his skull and strike him with it again, also did not kill him. Whether or not the third killed him didn’t truly matter. It was far from the final blow. 

Strikes rained down on John’s body, as fast and hard as the pouring rain. Thirteen years of anger and pain rushed from Theodosia. Thirteen years of putting up with the drunk piece of shit she once thought she could fix. Thirteen fucking years, washed away in a stream of blood and rain. It seemed poetic, in retrospect, that JD stopped her on the thirteenth strike. 

“He’s dead, Mama.” JD whispered, coming to kneel next to her in the mud. 

Slowly, gently, he pulled the hatchet from her hands and set it aside. Slowly, gently, he pulled her into a hug. Theodosia buried her face against JD’s shoulder and cried the last of her tears. 

“We’ve gotta bury him.” JD murmured. 

Theodosia pulled away, wiping her eyes on the back of her fist and nodding. “Go make sure your sisters are okay, baby. I’ll handle him.” 

She could almost smile at that. How many times had she spoken that phrase in the last decade? 

“Dory’s got Dolly, they’ll be fine. I ain’t letting you do this alone.” JD replied, taking her hand and squeezing it in his. 

At 13 years old, JD had not yet grown into the strength he would someday come to know. It took a great deal of effort for him to drag the corpse of his father onto the wheelbarrow, and greater effort still to push it into the woods. His mother followed close behind him with two shovels in hand. When they found the best spot possible, she handed the second shovel to her boy and together they started digging. 

Theodosia couldn’t tell you how long they were out there for. Though both were exhausted, neither was willing to take any sort of break. They dug with the same fervour of the first miners in the mountains, pushing and pushing and pushing until the earth threatened to swallow them whole. 

When the grave was finally fully dug, they unceremoniously dumped the body into it. No prayers were said for John Edward. No real tears were shed. They simply started pushing the dirt back into the ground and buried the man who didn’t deserve any further amount of care with regards to his death. When the last mound was patted down, Theodosia dropped to her knees and pressed her palms against the earth.

“Dougey, baby, I need your help.” She murmured, though she didn’t need to. 

JD crouched beside her, placing his hand at the small of her back and letting his energy flow to her. Theodosia’s gifts reached out, drawing seeds to the freshly dug dirt. The grass rose up beneath her fingers, filling back in to match the rest around it. When she pulled away, it was as though the ground had not been disturbed at all. 

“It’s done.” JD whispered. 

“It’s done.” Theodosia echoed. 

By the time they walked home, the blood in the dirt had washed to the bottom of the gathering puddles. The only evidence of the gruesome scene from before was the bloody hatchet and abandoned shotgun, which they collected and brought into the house. The shotgun was returned to its mount above the fireplace, the hatchet was washed and brought back outside, and the exhaustion was finally allowed by the Walkers to set in. 

Before they could return to bed, Theodosia cracked open the pantry and retrieved what was once John Graves’ good whiskey. She poured two small glasses, sliding on across the table and keeping one for herself. 

“You sure, Mama?” JD asked hesitantly. 

Theodosia nodded. “You’re gonna want it, darlin’. It’ll help you go back to sleep. Besides, it ain’t like your daddy can call it his anymore.” 

She raised her glass, clinking it against his. The two didn’t toast to anything in particular. They drank it down quickly before setting the glasses aside and letting themselves breathe. 

“I’m proud of you, baby.” Theodosia whispered, letting her eyes fall shut. 

She felt JD’s hand come to rest over one of hers. “I couldn’t let him hurt you. Not anymore.” 

Theodosia smiled, in spite of everything that had gone down on that night. When she opened her eyes, JD was smiling back at her. 

“Let’s go make sure your sisters are okay.”

“Sure thing, Mama.” 

[classicbooks101]

Few people are willing to believe that a piece of country, hunted and fished and roamed over, felt and remembered, can be company enough.

Goodbye to a River, John Graves

[warpwoof]

John Graves

Sunshine and warm water seem to me to have full meaning only when they come after winter's bite; green is not so green if it doesn't follow the months of brown and gray. And the scheduled inevitable death of green carries its own exhilaration; in that change is the promise of all the rebirths to come, and the deaths, too. ... Without the year's changes, for me, there is little morality.

[far-cry-all-the-time]

Abbie learns who The Judge is.

Submitted by @lnyxraven ! Thank you sweetie for sharing this with us !

The day started pretty normally, waking up in prosperity to The Judge silently watching her. <<Morning weirdo.>> Yawned out a tries Abbie, of course as usual Judge just nodded his head and growled. As Abbie stretched he tired and sore body memories of John Graves, her brother flooded her mind. The time Johnny took Abbie fishing with Nick, Skyler, and a couple other Highschool buddies came to her prominently, Abbie smiled at the memory she was the one that set the Salmon record that day to everyone's amazement. As she shook the memory from her mind and got dresses she could help but look at Judge again. She could have sworn...she might have recognized he's build from somewhere...<<No, that can't be...can it>> She presses that thought to the back of her mind along with her history with the highwaymen and memories of Rush. She finished dressing and headed down stairs to meet Kim for the morning briefing...

2 hours later...

Abbie and Judge were silently sneaking towards the newly reclaimed outpost code named: The pantry. Kim informed her that highwaymen had once again slaughtered and enslaved all the settlers at the outpost. She was seriously getting tired of the Highwaymen undoing all the hard work she did every other week. <<Judge, remind me to inform Kim we should put down land mines around the perimeter so these assholes can't retake this place as easily next time.>> Of course she knew she would get nothing but a grunt or growl from her silent partner, it was mostly for her benefit cause otherwise she would forget to mention it at down that night if she didn't. As the duo neared the outpost Abbie could have sworn she heard...Suddenly a monstrous grizzly burst from out of the brush not 3 feet away from her and roared a savage ear piercing cry. Abbie tried to turn and level her assault rifle to the bear but froze when she realized in the second it took to turn the bear was already on top of her ready to maul her with its massive claw. The bear swipes and Abbie closed her eyes expecting to feel the bears claw rip through her shirt and tear into her chest...but it never came instead what greeted her ears was the sound of Judge plunging a steel dagger into the bears glowing neck. It seemed to slow the bear down for all of 0.0002 seconds before it rounded on judge and began to maul him throwing him off its back and into a pine tree. Judge sat for a second stunned from the force of his back smashing into the tree before once again the bear was on top of him biting and clawing at him. He screamed with gurgled words as the bear tore into him mercilessly before Abbie finally snapped back to reality and screamed at the bear <<GET OFF HIM YOU SON OF A BITCH!>> The bear got off of Judge and stood on it hind legs and roared giving Abbie a clear shot of its glowing belly, without hesitation she pulled the trigger on her assault rifle and unloaded a full magazine into the bear roaring in unison as the bear gave it's death roar before falling backwards on top of Judge. <<Judge!>> Abbie screamed as she dropped he AK to the ground and rushed to the man who was now pinned under the bear. Judge groaned and choked on some blood as he struggles to get the dead monster off of him. Abbie pulled and tugged on the carcass as judge pushed the bear, together they rolled the bear over onto its side. Abbie rushed to Judge and started to dress his wounds as beat she could, when she stopped cold as she saw the knife that Judge was gripping in his hand. Its blade was small made of a fine steel something much better then the scraps she found around the outposts, it was clearly razor sharp as even though stabbing the bear multiple times in its tough hide it barely dulled. All that was typical of a prewar knife, but the thing that was unique to the dagger and had made Abbie pause was the handle, the handle was made of a deer antler one that had her brothers initials craved into it on it, JG. She looked back to the Judge his mask broken over this right eye and saw that unmistakable Sky Blue color. Stunned she stammered out the one word that was fighting so hard to get out << J-johnny...> The judge merely nodded and grunted in pain as the first words that he had ever spoken since the collapse came out as well as tears from Abbie's emerald green eyes poured out and she hugged the man she thought she would never see again spoke <<Hey Kiddo.>>