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ere standing looking down into the Crater, that awful pit of death, lined now with daisies and buttercups, and fragrant with the breath of spring.
Tall pines, whose lusty young roots had fed on the hearts of dead men, were waving softly overhead, and nature everywhere had covered up the scars of war with the mantle of smiling peace.
I paused, too, to watch them, and we all stood there awed into silence, till at last an old battle-scarred hero from one of the wiregrass counties way down in Georgia, suddenly raised his hands to heaven, and said in a voice that trembled with emotion: Thar's three hundred dead Yankees buried here under our feet.
I helped to put 'em thar, but so help me God, I hope the like ‘ll never be done in this country again.
Slavery's gone and the war's over now, thank God for both!
We are all brothers once more, and I can feel for them layin‘ down thar just the same as fur our own.
That is the sentiment of the new South and of the few of us who survive from
Brother Troup has been ordered to Gen. Wofford's command in North Georgia, and this separation adds to her feeling of loneliness, but shell sorts of wild rumors about the advance of the Yankees into South-West Georgia.
The excitement was intense all along the route.
At every l from Cuthbert, happened to hear him say that he was going to South-West Georgia to get his sisters, and told him that we were there.
Fromem look like us, not if you were to dress him up in a full suit of Georgia jeans.
I used to have some Christian feeling towards Yankees, butthing like political sympathy or personal intimacy between him and Georgia's strenuous war governor.
At the hotel we found all our travel seem disposed to make a martyr of herself, but I felt ashamed for Georgia hospitality.
Our other companions joined us at Mayfield, and the but he did what he thought was right — was almost the only man in Georgia who stood out openly for the Union.
We found the railroad betw