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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865 7 3 Browse Search
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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 3 (search)
ed that we should stay to dinner, and her attempt to have it served early was so unsuccessful that Capt. Rust and I got to the station just in time to see the train moving off without us. Flora had another engagement, that caused her to decline Mrs. Pope's invitation, so she made the train, but the captain and I had nothing for it but to spend the night in Americus and kill the time as best we could. I was repaid for the annoyance of getting left by the favorable report Cousin Bolling gave of ricus with his bride, Flora went to town to put the house in order for them, and asked Aunt Lizzie to cook dinner for the newly married pair. What you talkin‘ ‘bout, chile? was the answer. I wouldn't cook fur Jesus Christ to-day, let alone Dr. Pope. Poor, down-trodden creature! what a text for Mrs. Stowe! She has relented since then, however, and Cousin Bessie says often sends her presents of delicious rolls and light bread. She took me into favor at once, told me all about her rheuma
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 5 (search)
rtant military post in our poor, doomed Confederacy. The naval and medical departments have been moved here --what there is left of them. Soon all this will give place to Yankee barracks, and our dear old Confederate gray will be seen no more. The men are all talking about going to Mexico and Brazil; if all emigrate who say they are going to, we shall have a nation made up of women, negroes, and Yankees. I joined a party after dinner in a walk out to the general camping ground in Cousin Will Pope's woods. The Irvin Artillery are coming in rapidly; I suppose they will all be here by the end of the week-or what is left of them-but their return is even sadder and amid bitterer tears than their departure, for now we weep as they that have no hope. Everybody is cast down and humiliated, and we are all waiting in suspense to know what our cruel masters will do with us. Think of a vulgar plebeian like Andy Johnson, and that odious Yankee crew at Washington, lording it over Southern
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 7 (search)
to do with themselves, they are sure of finding a welcome here, and I am only too glad to do all in my power to entertain the dear, brave fellows. Henry came home to supper with his first greenback, which he exhibited with great glee. It is both a pleasure and a profit, he said as he held up his dollar bill in triumph. I earned it by pulling a Yankee's tooth, and I don't know which I enjoyed most, hurting the Yankee, or getting the money. Capt. Cooley has established a camp in Cousin Will Pope's grove, and the white tents would look very picturesque there under the trees, if we didn't know they belonged to the Yankees. Our house is between their camp and the square, so that they are passing our street gate at all hours. We cannot walk in any direction without meeting them. They have established a negro brothel, or rather a colony of them, on the green right in front of our street gate and between Cousin Mary Cooper's and Mrs. Margaret Jones's homes. Whenever Mett and I wa
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 8 (search)
t out from their pulpits. Mr. Tupper refused, but the other two complied. No private property could be obtained for the accommodation of the apostle and his followers — not that anybody objected to the harmless farce of remarrying the negroes, but nobody wanted their grounds polluted by the spoutings of such a creature. His very presence in a town where his first footfall would once have been his death warrant, is a sufficient disgrace. After fruitless efforts to secure father's, Cousin Will Pope's, and Mr. Barnett's groves, he had to take the negro cemetery for the scene of his performances. Accordingly, about 3 o'clock in the afternoon, the candidates for double matrimonial honors went trooping out to their cemetery on the Tan Yard Branch to be married over again. If there is anything in omens, never were nuptials more inauspicious. The ceremonies were interrupted by a thunder storm that drenched the composite bridal party and all the spectators — the shepherd taking care