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Georgia (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
black tide of destruction that had swept over Georgia turned its course northward from Savannah to charm than when tottering to its fall. Southwest Georgia, being the richest agricultural section d rather face them anywhere than here in South-West Georgia, for the horrors of the stockade have so to leave so much as a blade of grass in South-West Georgia, and Dr. Janes told sister that he (Sherpare neither man, woman nor child in all South-West Georgia. It is only a question of time, I suppoonversation, that he was from our own part of Georgia, and knew a number of good old Wilkes County letters brought permission to remain in South-West Georgia as long as we please, the panic about Ki appointed commandant of the Department of South Georgia and Florida, with headquarters at Tallahaspaying his family a visit before leaving South-West Georgia. I wish I could go, for he lives near fwhere blood will tell, for he has the best of Georgia in his veins, or to go back further, the best[2 more...]
Marietta (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
t again before its shores are desecrated by Yankee feet. I wish sister would hurry home, on account of the servants. We can't take control over them, and they won't do anything except just what they please. As soon as she had gone, Mr. Ballou, the overseer, took himself off and only returned late this evening. Harriet, Mrs. Green Butler's maid, is the most trifling of the lot, but I can stand anything from her because she refused to go off with the Yankees when Mrs. Butler had her in Marietta last summer. Her mother went, and tried to persuade Harriet to go, too, but she said: I loves Miss Julia a heap better'n I do you, and remained faithful. Sister keeps her here because Mrs. Butler is a refugee and without a home herself. Jan. 16, Monday Sister has come back, bringing dear little Mrs. Sims with her. Metta and I are to spend next week in Albany with Mrs. Sims, if we are not all water-bound in the meantime, at Pine Bluff. The floods are subsiding up the country, but
Prairie Pond (Florida, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
exploration showed to come from a fine subterranean waterfall. March 6, Monday After breakfast, we all piled into a big plantation wagon and went to see Prairie Pond, a great sheet of water covering over 200 acres. It has formed there since Col. Maxwell bought the Gopher Hill plantation. He says that when he first came here there was not a patch of standing water as big as his hand on all the acres now covered by Prairie Pond, and the great skeletons of dead forest trees still standing in the outer edges of the lake show that the encroachment of the water is still going on. Some years after he came to Gopher Hill, he says, a blue spring on the other side of the plantation, that formed the outlet of an underground stream, became choked up from some cause, so the waters had no escape, and Prairie Pond began to form and has been slowly increasing ever since. Near the lake we came to two remarkable lime sinks. They are both very deep, and as round as drinking cups. One of t
Andersonville, Ga. (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
ity of Columbia. At the same time the great tragedy of Andersonville was going on under our eyes; and farther off, in Old Viving for its object the destruction of the Stockade at Andersonville, and release of the prisoners to wreak their vengeance ents in these pages, nor to revive the dark memories of Andersonville, but a few words concerning it are necessary to a clear is unnecessary to point out. Whether the conditions at Andersonville might have been ameliorated by the personal efforts of the railroads, these men were marched back overland to Andersonville, and the planters who lived along the road had hampers isoners. At one time there were over 35,000 of them at Andersonville alonea number exceeding Lee's entire force at the closeand the quartering of such large bodies of prisoners at Andersonville and Millen, necessitated the presence of a large numberre devastating the country round there, and heading for Andersonville. We pretended to believe it, and sister wrote back as
Chunnenuggee (Alabama, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
est. Feb. 23, Thursday The picnic was stupid. It must be that I am getting tired of seeing the same faces so often. Albert Bacon and Jim Chiles came home with us, and we enjoyed the evening. Capt. Rust is a dear old fellow, and Miss Connor and Maj. Camp added a little variety. Capt. Rust and Mr. Bacon proposed a ride across country for the morning, but there is not a riding habit in the family, nor a piece of cloth big enough to make one. I ruined mine in those fox hunts at Chunnenuggee Ridge last fall. Flora is a famous horsewoman, and I know she must be a good rider, for her every movement is grace itself. She is one of those people that gains upon you on acquaintance. She is so out of the commonplace. There is something stately and a little cold about her that reminds me of a beautiful lily, and yet there is a fascination about her that attracts everybody. All the men that come near her go wild over her, and I don't wonder. If I could write a novel, I would make he
Florence, S. C. (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
tta was the belle, par excellence, but Miss Pyncheon and I were not very far behind, and I think I was ahead of them all in my dress. Miss Pyncheon wore a white puffed tarleton, with pearls and white flowers. The dress, though beautiful, was not becoming because the one fault of her fine, aristocratic face is want of color. A little rouge and sepia would improve her greatly, if a nice girl could make up her mind to use them. Mett wore white suisse with festoon flounces, over my old blue Florence silk skirt, the flounces, like charity, covering a multitude of faults. She was a long way the prettiest one in the room, though her hair is too short to be done up stylishly. But my dress was a masterpiece [sic!] though patched up, like everybody else's, out of old finery that would have been cast off years ago, but for the blockade. I wore a white barred organdy with a black lace flounce round the bottom that completely hid the rents made at dances in Montgomery last winter, and a wid
Appomattox (Virginia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
3, 1865) explanatory note.-During the period embraced in this chapter the great black tide of destruction that had swept over Georgia turned its course northward from Savannah to break a few weeks later (Feb. 17) in a cataract of blood and fire on the city of Columbia. At the same time the great tragedy of Andersonville was going on under our eyes; and farther off, in Old Virginia, Lee and his immortals were struggling in the toils of the net that was drawing them on to the tragedy of Appomattox. To put forward a trivial narrative of everyday life at a time when mighty events like these were taking place would seem little less than an impertinence, did we not know that it is the ripple mark left on the sand that shows where the tide came in, and the simple undergrowth of the forest gives a character to the landscape without which the most carefully-drawn picture would be incomplete. On the other hand, the mighty drama that was being enacted around us reflected itself in the m
Macon (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
he fun. . . . Brother Troup has come down from Macon on a short furlough, bringing with him a Maj. day Brother Troup and Maj. Higgins left for Macon, and sister drove to Albany with them. She exup says he can send us across the country from Macon in a government wagon, with Mr. Forline for an Father Hamilton, a Roman Catholic priest from Macon, who has been working like a good Samaritan invisit before I go home. She is refugeeing in Macon, and I think I will stop a few days as I pass too weak to make the journey from Mayfield to Macon, and all non-combatants have been ordered to lst. Sister is going to visit Brother Troup in Macon at the same time, and a large party from Albaned to follow on Friday, when sister goes up to Macon. Jimmy Callaway and his father have just comen the old stage coach that used to run between Macon and Albany. The swamps were overflowed then aimmediately, so as to take the first train for Macon; and to give color to the story, she sent word
Mississippi (Mississippi, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
Albany, Ga., where the family were in the habit of spending the winters, until he sold it and transferred his principal planting interests to the Yazoo Delta in Mississippi. Mt. Enon was a little log church where services were held by a refugee Baptist minister, and, being the only place of worship in the neighborhood, was attendet I had to stay shut up in my room and miss all the fun. . . . Brother Troup has come down from Macon on a short furlough, bringing with him a Maj. Higgins from Mississippi, who is much nicer than his name. He is a cousin of Dr. Richardson. The rest of the family were out visiting all the morning, leaving me with Mrs. Meals, who could not tell how I hate Yankees. They thwart all my plans, murder my friends, and make my life miserable. Jan. 13th, Friday Col. Blake, a refugee from Mississippi, and his sister-in-law, Miss Connor, dined with us. While the gentlemen lingered over their wine after dinner, we ladies sat in the parlor making cigarettes for
Coney Lake (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
him and trying to keep temptation out of his way. He stole the bottle out of his bedroom the first chance he could find, but not until the poor fellow had got more of it than was good for him. The weather cleared up after dinner and we went to Coney Lake, where the boat is-Flora and I on horseback, the rest in buggies and carriages. It is a beautiful place. Great avenues of cypress extend into the shallow waters near the shore, where we could float about in shady canals and gather the curiousurselves respectable when Mr. Baldwin and Mr. Spenser, having tired of their wild-goose chase, came back to the house. Mecca and I got into the double buggy with them and started out to hunt up the rest of the party. After dinner, we went to Coney Lake again. I went in the buggy with Joe Godfrey. He and Mr. Baldwin each invited me to take a row. I didn't go with Mr. Baldwin. March 8, Wednesday I went up to Americus yesterday, with Flora and Capt. Rust, to see Cousin Boiling about my
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