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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 3 (search)
the distance. The volumes of red-hot smoke that went up were of every hue, according to the materials burning and the light reflected on them. Some were lurid yellow, orange, red, some a beautiful violet, others lilac, pink, purple or gray, while the very fat lightwood sent up columns of jet-black. The figures of the negroes, as they flitted about piling up brush heaps and watching the fire on the outskirts of the clearing, reminded me of old-fashioned pictures of the lower regions. April 1, Saturday There was fooling and counter fooling between Pine Bluff and Gum Pond all day. Jim Chiles and Albert Bacon began it by sending us a beautiful bouquet over which they had sprinkled snuff. We returned the box that had held the flowers, filled with dead rats dressed up in capes and mob caps like little old women. Then Albert tried to frighten us by sending a panicky note saying a dispatch had just been received from Thomasville that the Yankees were devastating the country round
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 4 (search)
ttled their crutches together, and one big fellow standing near me threw up his battered old war hat, and cried out: Bully for you! Give us some more! and then I added: Here's death to the men who wear Federal blue, They are cowardly, cruel, perfidious, untrue, etc. But after all, it looks as if the wretches are going to bring death, or slavery that is worse than death, to us. We may sing and try to put on a brave face, but alas! who can tell what the end of it all is to be? April 1, Tuesday I slept all the morning and was only wakened in the afternoon by Mary Joyner pulling at my feet and telling me to get up for dinner. I like Mary. Her manner is abrupt, but she is generosity itself. Her devotion to the sick and wounded soldiers is beautiful. Often she will go without her dinner and always denies herself any special delicacy that happens to be on the table, in order to take it to one of the hospitals. Almost every mail brings her grateful letters from the sol
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 7 (search)
ed me a beautiful collection of seaweeds, and some interesting cartes de visite, among them one of his father, the great Confederate admiral. He showed me a page in his photograph book, which he said he was saving for my picture, and I told him he should have it when I get to be a celebrated female. He gave me two of his father's letters-one of them about the fitting up of his first ship, the Sumter. June 15, Thursday This has been a day of jokesas crazy almost as if it were the First of April. It all began by Capt. Hudson trying to get even with me for fooling him about those colored cigarette papers the other night, and laughing at him for his misunderstanding of some complimentary remarks that Mary Day had made about Sidney Lanier. After we had each told everything we could think of to raise a laugh against the other, he put on a serious face, and began to hint, in a very mysterious way, that he thought this house was a dangerous place. There are ghosts in it, he said,