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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Army Life in a Black Regiment 3 3 Browse Search
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life 3 1 Browse Search
Sergeant Oats, Prison Life in Dixie: giving a short history of the inhuman and barbarous treatment of our soldiers by rebel authorities 1 1 Browse Search
Admiral David D. Porter, The Naval History of the Civil War. 1 1 Browse Search
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5. (ed. Frank Moore) 1 1 Browse Search
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen 1 1 Browse Search
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Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Army Life in a Black Regiment, Chapter 5: out on picket. (search)
s; the chatter and the laughter almost drowned the tramp of feet and the clatter of equipments. At cross-roads and plantation gates the colored people thronged to see us pass; every one found a friend and a greeting. How you do, aunty? Huddy (how d'ye), Budder Benjamin? How you find yourself dis mornin‘, Tittawisa (Sister Louisa)? Such salutations rang out to everybody, known or unknown. In return, venerable, kerchiefed matrons courtesied laboriously to every one, with an unfailing Bress de Lord, budder. Grave little boys, blacker than ink, shook hands with our laughing and utterly unmanageable drummers, who greeted them with this sure word of prophecy, Dem's de drummers for de nex‘ war Pretty mulatto girls ogled and coquetted, and made eyes, as Thackeray would say, at half the young fellows in the battalion. Meantime the singing was brisk along the whole column, and when I sometimes reined up to see them pass, the chant of each company, entering my ear, drove out from the ot
Thomas Wentworth Higginson, Army Life in a Black Regiment, Chapter 7: up the Edisto. (search)
p, urged by the accumulating procession behind, and would move on till irresistibly compelled by thankfulness to dip down for another invocation. Reaching us, every human being must grasp our hands, amid exclamations of Bress you, mas'r, and Bress de Lord, at the rate of four of the latter ascriptions to one of the former. Women brought children on their shoulders; small black boys carried on their backs little brothers equally inky, and, gravely depositing them, shook hands. Never had I sey on every side, with black heads emerging and black forms reclining in every stage of squalidness. Some seemed ill, or wounded, or asleep, others were chattering eagerly among themselves, singing, praying, or soliloquizing on joys to come. Bress de Lord, I heard one woman say, I spec‘ I get salt victual now,--notin‘ but fresh victual dese six months, but Ise get salt victual now, --thus reversing, under pressure of the salt-embargo, the usual anticipations of voyagers. Trowbridge told me
Sergeant Oats, Prison Life in Dixie: giving a short history of the inhuman and barbarous treatment of our soldiers by rebel authorities, Chapter 1: the raid. (search)
was in her midst. The next morning arose upon a blackened ruin. It was the track of war. A little before midnight our work was done, and we swept out of town toward the east. Just east of town we passed a plantation where two or three hundred negroes, of all ages and sexes, were sitting on the fence watching the red glare of the burning village. The light was bright enough to make everything distinct. As we rode by, one old aunty raised her hands toward heaven and cried aloud, Bress de Lord! De jubilee hab come! At about three o'clock A. M., we came upon a large park of army wagons; we were told that there were eight hundred of them. Hood had sent them back there to have them safe. We took the mules, burned the wagons, and turned the drivers loose. At about seven o'clock that morning we struck the Macon railroad near Lovejoy station, where we expected to form a junction with Stoneman, who had started around the other way. We treated this road like we did the o
Admiral David D. Porter, The Naval History of the Civil War., Chapter 54: capture of Richmond.--the destruction of the Confederate fleet in the James River, etc. (search)
bout a mile below the landing, the tug was permitted to go to the relief of a party in a small steamer who were caught under a bridge and held by the current, and the barge proceeded alone. The street along the river-front was deserted, and, although the Federal troops had been in possession of the city some hours, not a soldier was to be seen. At the landing was a small house, and behind it a dozen negroes were digging with spades. Their leader, an old man, sprang forward exclaiming: Bress de Lord, dere is de great Messiah! and he fell on his knees before the President, his comrades following his example. The President was much embarrassed. Don't kneel to me, he said, kneel to God only, and thank Him for the liberty you will hereafter enjoy. It was a minute or two before the officers could get the negroes to leave the President; but time was precious. The negroes joined hands and sang a hymn, to which the President listened respectfully. Four minutes had passed since the p
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 5. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 67 (search)
18. a Contra-band-ditty. Dar's a mighty famous Hunter in de ‘partment of de Souf-- And he gubberns all ob Dixie, as you know, And he talks to de darkies by de words of his mouf-- Sayina: Niggers, you's at liberty to go! You may lay down de shobel and de hoe-o-o! You may dance wid de fiddle an' de bow ; Dar is no more cotton for de contraband to pick, Dar is no more cotton for to mow! chorus — Den lay down, etc. Bress de Lord and Massa Hunter-we is berry glad to hear Dat he's gwine for to treat de darkies so; While dar's yams in de barn, or dar's corn in de ear, We'll nebber tote de shobel or de hoe! We'll trow down de shobel an' de hoe-o-o-- And we'll dance wid de fiddle an' de bow; Dar is no more cotton for de contraband to pick, An‘ dar's no more rice for to mow! chorus.--Den lay down, etc. --N. Y. Sunday T
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, XIV: return to Cambridge (search)
nt a long-delayed visit which he has described in the volume called Carlyle's Laugh. He wrote in his diary after her death:— To Amherst to the funeral of that rare and strange creature Emily Dickinson. .. . E. D.'s face a wondrous restoration of youth—she is 54 and looked 30, not a gray hair or wrinkle, and perfect peace on the beautiful brow. There was a little bunch of violets at the neck and one pink cypripedium; the sister, Vinnie, put in two heliotropes by her hand to take to Judge Lord [an old family friend]. I read a poem by Emily Bronte. How large a portion of the people who have most interested me have passed away. But the sad entries in his journal were infrequent and presently he recorded:— One of these days on which, as Emerson says, every hour brings book or starlight scroll. At breakfast got letters from England, one from W. Sharp about sonnets of mine for his book of American sonnets—another from——asking about my literary methods for his pupils.
Mary Thacher Higginson, Thomas Wentworth Higginson: the story of his life, XVI: the crowning years (search)
t and his cheeks looked as if he had puffed so much at the bugle that they were all round and swelled and he could not get them back again. When we went away from Baltimore to Gettysburg there was a great good-natured old woman, jet black, who bade us all good-bye at the station. She had a large round face and no teeth and a common towel, very clean, pinned round her head and under her chin; and when we came back there she was, all ready to receive us, and saying, Got back all safe? Bress de Lord! And when we got into our carriages again, a lot of little black boys and girls ran along beside us, shouting whenever the bugler played. After this visit he noted in the journal: Began anew on history with fresh interest for visiting localities. The summer of 1890 was spent in Dublin, New Hampshire, which became henceforth a permanent summer home. The little daughter wrote her aunt in Brattleboro:— Papa wishes you to know that the castle in the air has a place on earth. He h
James Parton, Horace Greeley, T. W. Higginson, J. S. C. Abbott, E. M. Hoppin, William Winter, Theodore Tilton, Fanny Fern, Grace Greenwood, Mrs. E. C. Stanton, Women of the age; being natives of the lives and deeds of the most prominent women of the present gentlemen, Harriet Beecher Stowe. (search)
assable passages and characters in Dred. Tiff, Aunt Milly, Nina Gordon, Jekyl, and Aunt Nesbit are personages that demonstrate Mrs. Stowe's matchless power in delineating and differentiating individual characters. Uncle Tij, so perfectly devoted to dese y'er chil'en, so noble and simple of heart, and yet so irresistibly droll in his manners; who wants to be ordered round 'fore folks, to maintain the family dignity; who, when his fire goes out immediately after it was kindled, exclaims, Bress de Lord, got all de wood left who sits by the bed of his dying mistress, with his big spectacles on his upturned nose, and a red handkerchief pinned about his shoulders, comforting the sick, darning a stocking, rocking the cradle, singing to himself, and talking to the baby, all at once,--is a character in which the earnestness of Uncle Tom and the jollity of Mark Tapley are blended. That scene at the bedside of his mistress, and his dialogue with Fanny, wherein revival preaching is so finely