Sketchy Accounts

I was recently came into possession of some old family documents- namely paternal grandfather's father's genealogical research he did in 1940, which just so happened to include the transcription of a Civil War era journal.  When I first discovered these items I was beside myself with wiggly glee; I am an obsessive journal-er, and the chance to delve into an ancestor's journal made me feel like a piece of that person's DNA was proudly expressing itself in my veins.

Which I suppose is still technically true, even tho', after several hours of untangling and re-organizing, I've come to realize that Matthew Owens was not a direct ancestor, but rather my great-grandfather's paternal uncle (died without issue, as far as I can tell).  Ah well.  Still, it was an interesting read, if only for the sheer glee of coming across the phrase, "...the Rebs skeedaddled..." (he was a Union volunteer), not to mention an amusing account of insults exchanged with an exceptionally drunken officer (because it seemed the thing to do?)  More sobering were his accounts of some of his comrades wounds- he visited the field hospital after a battle and remarked, "...it is not a place for the chicken-hearted..."  Matthew was killed in 1864, in the Second Battle of the Wilderness.

So what does all of this have to do with today's sketch?  Nothing whatsoever.

I could stand to brush up on my horse anatomy, I think.