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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 3 (search)
of the different size of the rolls, the top one being the largest. It was very stylish. I wish my hair was long enough to dress that way, for I am getting very tired of frizzes; they are so much trouble, and always will come out in wet weather. We were so much interested that we stayed at Cousin Bolling's too long and had to run nearly all the way back to the depot in order to catch our train. On the cars I met the very last man I would have expected to see in this part of the world --my Boston friend, Mr. Adams. He said he was on his way to take charge of a Presbyterian church in Eufaula, Ala. He had on a broadcloth coat and a stovepipe hat, which are so unlike anything worn by our Confederate men that I felt uncomfortably conspicuous while he was with me. I am almost ashamed, nowadays, to be seen with any man not in uniform, though Mr. Adams, being a Northern man and a minister, could not, of course, be expected to go into the army. I believe he is sincere in his Southern sympa
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 8 (search)
en excruciating. His son and brother were tied up, too, the latter with his hands behind him, and he was suffered to hang till they were stretched above his head, and he fainted from the pain. And all this on the lying accusation of a negro! They even hung up a negro man, Tom, because he would not swear to a pack of lies inculpating his master. And the Yankees pretend to be a civilized people! And these precious missionaries of the gospel of abolitionism have come out from philanthropic Boston to enlighten us benighted Southerners on our duty to the negroes, while they take a sterling old Wilkes county planter and treat him worse than we would do a runaway negro! Such diabolical proceedings have not been heard of since the days of King James and his thumbscrews. Father has suggested that I might make some money by writing an account of this robbery business for some sensational Northern newspaper, and I mean to try it. I don't suppose any of them would publish the real truth,