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The Daily Dispatch: October 24, 1863., [Electronic resource], From
's army General Bragg
From General Bragg's army. heavy freshet at Chattanooga.--condition of the troops — appeal to the women of the Confederacy — the enemy's bridges Washed away — brilliant success of Gen. Wheeler--Eloquent address of President Davis, &c. [from our Own Correspondent.] In Front of Chattanooga,October 16th, 1863. The heavy rain adverted to in my last letter continued to pour down in torrents until last night. Chattanooga Valley, lying between Lookout Mountain and Missionary Ridge, is flooded with water. Our lines extend across this valley, which is drained by Chattanooga creek, now very much swollen, and, as you may imagine, the condition of the men, especially those in the trenches and on picket, is exceedingly uncomfortable. None of them have more, than one blanket, and nearly are without shelter of any kind. Long street's corps is somewhat better off, his men having provided themselves with Yankee flies, India-rubbers, &c., at Chancellorsville and other battle-fie<
The Daily Dispatch: October 24, 1863., [Electronic resource], Affairs at
The Daily Dispatch: October 24, 1863., [Electronic resource],
The President at the South. (search)
The President at the South. --President Davis arrived at Selma, Ala., on the 17th inst. The Selma (Ala.) Dispatch gives some notes of his trip: His personal suite consisted of Curtis Lee, son of Gen. Lee, and Col. Johnston, son of the lamented Albert Sidney Johnston. He was met at the steamer's wharf by Mayor Keith, of our city, and rode in a carriage with the former to the Gee House. Upon arriving there he was shown into the parlor, where he was visited and conversed with by a lar
A lady here, intent on seeing the President, awaited his arrival most anxiously at the depot, and, upon seeing him, rushed frantically to where he was, exclaiming in pathetic accents, "Oh, Mr. President, will you let the Yankees come to Selma?" "I assure you, my dear madam, they shall not," replied the dignified Mr. Davis, and there upon the overjoyed fair one smacked his lips.
No dainty "bus" it was, either, but a regular "sockdologer," that sounded like the report of a small pistol.