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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 3 (search)
per and make arrangements for their accommodation. Mrs. Meals, Metta, and I hustled out of our rooms and doubled up with sister and the children. Everybody was stowed away somewhere, when, just before bedtime, two more aides, Capt. Warwick, of Richmond, and Capt. Frazer, of Charleston, rode up and were invited to come in, though the house was so crowded that sister had not even a pallet on the floor to offer them. All she could do was to give them some pillows and tell them they were welcome d a day or two longer. I had a good long talk with the two young captains before they left and they were just as nice as they could be. We found that we had a number of common friends, and Capt. Warwick knows quite well the Miss Lou Randolph in Richmond that Garnett writes so much about, and Rosalie Beirne, This lady my brother afterwards married. too. Just before bedtime we were startled by heavy steps and a loud knocking at the front door. Having no white man within three miles, not
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 4 (search)
we all had, and how beautiful home does look, with the green leaves on the trees and the Cherokee roses in full bloom, flinging their white festoons clear over the top of the big sycamore by the gate! Surely this old home of ours is the choicest spot of all the world. The first thing we did after seeing everybody and shaking hands all round with the negroes, was to take a good bath, and I had just finished dressing when Mrs. Elzey called, with Cousin Bolling's friend, Capt. Hudson, of Richmond. He was an attache of the American legation in Berlin while Cousin Bolling was there studying his profession, and they have both come back with the charming manners and small affectations that Americans generally acquire in Europe, especially if they have associated much with the aristocracy. People may laugh, but these polished manners do make men very nice and comfortable to be with. They are so adaptable, and always know just the right thing to say and do. Mrs. Elzey says the gene
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 5 (search)
ril 29, Saturday Visitors all day, in shoals and swarms. Capt. Irwin brought Judge Crump of Richmond, to stay at our house. He is an ugly old fellow, with a big nose, but perfectly delightful in eft of it, for the payment of Confederate soldiers. He has in charge, also, the assets of some Richmond banks, of which he is, or was, president, dum Troja fuit. He says that in Augusta he met twentyh ninety-five barrels of papers not worth a pin all put together, which they had brought out of Richmond, while things of real value were left a prey to the enemy. April 30, Sunday We were all able condition — no home, no money, and her husband a fugitive. She says she sold her plate in Richmond, and in the stampede from that place, the money, all but fifty dollars, was left behind. I am of money, they will be sure to ferret it out. They have already begun their reign of terror in Richmond, by arresting many of the prominent citizens. Judge Crump is in a state of distraction about h
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, V. In the dust and ashes of defeat (may 6-June 1, 1865). (search)
y expected. This makes us all feel very much relieved on sister's account. Capt. Goldthwaite, of Mobile, spent the night at our house. He comes direct from Richmond and brings welcome news from our friends there. The Elzeys spent the evening. May 24, Wednesday Capt. Abraham--the righteous Lot-and his garrison left toe in a wagon, by news of the robbery of the Richmond banks. Five hundred thousand dollars in specie had been secretly packed and shipped from this place back to Richmond, in wagons, but the train was waylaid by robbers and plundered between here and Abbeville, somewhere near the Savannah River. It is thought they mistook it for ge things are happening every day, nothing seems incredible. May 27, Saturday The Gordons and Paces are here on their way home from Virginia. Nora was in Richmond when it was evacuated, her nurse deserted and went off to the Yankees, and she had an awful time coming out. The general [John B. Gordon] dropped in to see us;
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 7 (search)
ging in the balance. We have to submit to everything put upon us, or humiliate ourselves still more by appealing . . . Three pages are missing here. This part of the Ms. is much torn and defaced. July 14, Friday Making calls all the morning with Mrs. Elzey, and came home to dinner very tired and hungry. The general and Mrs. Elzey are really going to leave on Monday with Capt. Hudson, if they can raise the money. Col. Coulter Cabel, an army friend of Garnett's, en route from Richmond to Augusta, is stopping with us. He was a dashing cavalry officer in the dear old rebel army, but does not look very dashy now, in the suit of seedy black resurrected from heaven knows where, to which the proscription of the gray and the exigencies of a Confederate pocketbook have reduced him. It is a droll thing to see the queer costumes our Confederate officers have brought to light out of old chests and lumber rooms, since they have had to lay aside their uniforms, but I like them better
Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 8 (search)
ay. It was a delightfully cool seat-so high and airy; I felt as if I were flying-and Willie did make the horses fly. We laughed and sang rebel songs, and the whole party were as jolly and as noisy as if we had been half-tight. We stopped at several country houses on the road to get water, or peaches and melons, and sometimes to have a chat with the people. On reaching home, I found that sister had arrived, with the children. There was a big mail, too, with letters from our friends in Richmond and Baltimore, and a quantity of Northern papers they sent us. I hate the Yankees more and more, every time I look at one of their horrid newspapers and read the lies they tell about us, while we have our mouths closed and padlocked. The world will not hear our story, and we must figure just as our enemies choose to paint us. The pictures in Harper's Weekly and Frank Leslie's tell more lies than Satan himself was ever the father of. I get in such a rage when I look at them that I sometimes