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The Daily Dispatch: February 11, 1864., [Electronic resource], An ill wind that blows nobody good. (search)
An ill wind that blows nobody good. --A correspondent of the Savannah Nar. writes from Sullivan's Island, Tuesday, Feb. as follows: There is on bid saying, and a very true one, "that it is an ill wind that blown no one any good," which was very truthfully illustrated this morning. Reverie had just beat and we answered roll call, when the sentiment out that there was a vessel ashore on the beach opposite Fort Moultrie. Away went the boys; and such a race as then ensued beat John Gilpin's time altogether — for visions of good things generally cheered us on. The vessel was soon reached, and, after washing out in the water a short dirtiness, we boarded in fine style She proved to be a blockade rasser bound from Nassau to Charleston, with an associated cargo. The officers and crew having deserted her during the night we, of course, deemed her public property and went in after our share of the plunder. It was truly a laughable sight to see us in and around her. Among our s
The Daily Dispatch: February 11, 1864., [Electronic resource], A London night — how the lower Classes of English Society suffer. (search)
others, who seemed to want even spirit enough to beg, follow her loud and less sensitive example, and gather in a doubtful and less puzzled circle around the stranger; and then when he can get the Irishwoman to be quiet, he may hear, in dull, impassive tones, where the helpless creatures come from and what they have been doing. It is always the same story: "No work for three months." "It has been a dull time for trade." some "have had no work since summer." Another "hopes for work in February." One woman, a single woman, has only "had a few weeks' work all the spring and summer" She has no home and no friends in London, and she answers all questions with a sort of numbered apathy which is almost more painful to listen to than sharp suffering. If they are asked what they will do, they shrug themselves and say they suppose they must sleep on the stones; they can get a lodging in St. Giles for three pence. That half hopeless is the only approach they make to beg. It is night, and