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Eliza Frances Andrews, The war-time journal of a Georgia girl, 1864-1865, chapter 8 (search)
over again. If there is anything in omens, never were nuptials more inauspicious. The ceremonies were interrupted by a thunder storm that drenched the composite bridal party and all the spectators — the shepherd taking care to shelter himself under a big umbrella that one of his worshipers held over him. Mammy, who tells me all the negro news, says that thirty-three couples were married. Among them was our Charity, who six years ago was lawfully married in the Methodist church here, to Mr. Waddy's Peter. I remember how father joked Peter, when he came to ask for Charity, about having him for a nigger-in-law, but now, Charity has taken to herself Hamp, one of father's plantation hands — a big, thick-lipped fellow, not half as respectable looking as Peter — but there is no accounting for taste. Several other marriages of the same double kind took place, which would bring the saintly doctor under the laws against bigamy, if anybody cared enough about the matter to prosecute him. I <