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Mayfield (Kentucky, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
gans are there, and Mary Day, and the Gairdners from Augusta, besides a host of what one might call transients, if father was keeping a hotel-friends, acquaintances, and strangers whom the tide of war has stranded in little Washington. Mrs. Gairdner's husband was an officer in the English army at Waterloo, and a schoolmate of Lord Byron, and her sons are brave Confederates--which is better than anything else. Mary Day had typhoid fever in Augusta. She is too weak to make the journey from Mayfield to Macon, and all non-combatants have been ordered to leave Augusta, so mother invited her to Haywood. Oh, that dear old home! I know it is sweeter than ever now, with all those delightful people gathered there. One good thing the war has done among many evils; it has brought us into contact with so many pleasant people we should never have known otherwise. I know it must be charming to have all those nice army officers around, and I do want to go back, but it is so nice here, too, tha
cted to go back home. If father don't write for us to come soon, I think we will go to Chunnenuggee by way of Eufaula and the Chattahoochee, and if Thomas's raiders catch us over in Alabama, father will wish he had let us come home. After dinner I took Mecca over to the Praise House to hear the negroes sing. I wish I was an artist so that I could draw a picture of the scene. Alfred, one of the chief singers, is a gigantic creature, more like an ape than a man. I have seen pictures of African savages in books of travel that were just like him. His hands and feet are so huge that it looks as if their weight would crush the heads of the little piccaninnies when he pats them; yet, with all this strength, they say he is a great coward, and one of the most docile negroes on the plantation. The women, when they get excited with the singing, shut their eyes and rock themselves back and forth, clapping their hands, and in the intervals, when not moved by the sperrit, occupy themselves
St. Paul (Minnesota, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
p were running across the road, on their way to swell the flood in Flint River. Sister sent a negro before us on a mule to see if the water-courses were passable. We had several bad scares, but reached town in safety a little after dark. Jan. 22. The rains returned with double fury in the night and continued all day. If the stars in their courses fought against Sisera, it looks as if the heavens were doing as much for us against Kilpatrick and his raiders. There was no service at St. Paul's, so Mrs. Sims kept Metta and me in the line of duty by reading aloud High Church books to us. They were very dull, so I didn't hurt myself listening. After dinner we read the Church service and sang hymns until relieved by a call from our old friend, Capt. Hobbs. Jan. 24, Tuesday Mr. and Mrs. Welsh spent the evening with us. Jim Chiles came last night and sat until the chickens crowed for day. Although I like Jimmy and enjoy his budget of news, I would enjoy his visits more if he
Albany (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
olling so frequently mentioned, was Dr. Bolling A. Pope, a stepson of my mother's youngest sister, Mrs. Alexander Pope, of Washington, Ga., the Aunt Cornelia spoken of in a later chapter. He was in Berlin when the war began, where he had spent several years preparing himself as a specialist in diseases of the eye and ear, but returned when hostilities began, and was assigned to duty as a surgeon. The Tallassee Plantation to which reference is made, was an estate owned by my father near Albany, Ga., where the family were in the habit of spending the winters, until he sold it and transferred his principal planting interests to the Yazoo Delta in Mississippi. Mt. Enon was a little log church where services were held by a refugee Baptist minister, and, being the only place of worship in the neighborhood, was attended by people of all denominations. The different homes and families mentioned were those of well-known planters in that section, or of refugee friends who had temporarily t
Waterloo, Seneca County, New York (New York, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
wish I was musician enough to write down the melodies; they are worth preserving. Feb. 13, Monday Letters from home. Our house is full of company, as it always is, only more so. All the Morgans are there, and Mary Day, and the Gairdners from Augusta, besides a host of what one might call transients, if father was keeping a hotel-friends, acquaintances, and strangers whom the tide of war has stranded in little Washington. Mrs. Gairdner's husband was an officer in the English army at Waterloo, and a schoolmate of Lord Byron, and her sons are brave Confederates--which is better than anything else. Mary Day had typhoid fever in Augusta. She is too weak to make the journey from Mayfield to Macon, and all non-combatants have been ordered to leave Augusta, so mother invited her to Haywood. Oh, that dear old home! I know it is sweeter than ever now, with all those delightful people gathered there. One good thing the war has done among many evils; it has brought us into contact w
Charleston (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
eir 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 to stay in the parlor if they coand now that father wants me to stay, I am wild to go. I have written him that he had better order me back home, for then I would not care so much about going. Now that the Yanks have passed by Augusta and are making their way to Columbia and Charleston, I hope they will give Georgia a rest. Feb. 23, Thursday The picnic was stupid. It must be that I am getting tired of seeing the same faces so often. Albert Bacon and Jim Chiles came home with us, and we enjoyed the evening. Capt. Rus
Anderson, South Carolina (South Carolina, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
he wretches should come into my presence. I would rather face them anywhere than here in South-West Georgia, for the horrors of the stockade have so enraged them that they will have no mercy on this country, though they have brought it all on themselves, the cruel monsters, by refusing to exchange prisoners. But it is horrible, and a blot on the fair name of our Confederacy. Mr. Robert Bacon says he has accurate information that on the first of December, 1864, there were 13,010 graves at Anderson. It is a dreadful record. I shuddered as I passed the place on the cars, with its tall gibbet full of horrible suggestiveness before the gate, and its seething mass of humanity inside, like a swarm of blue flies crawling over a grave. It is said that the prisoners have organized their own code of laws among themselves, and have established courts of justice before which they try offenders, and that they sometimes condemn one of their number to death. It is horrible to think of, but what
Florida (Florida, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
er father was an artist of note, and she showed us some beautiful pictures painted by him. After dinner we enjoyed some Florida oranges sent by Clinton Spenser, and they tasted very good, in the absence of West India fruits. Jan. 25, Wednesday wanted to make an early start. Gen. Jones has recently been appointed commandant of the Department of South Georgia and Florida, with headquarters at Tallahassee. It was nearly eleven o'clock before they got off. Mr. Robert Bacon says he met them turned out to be Wallace Brumby. He says that he left Washington two weeks ago, and is water-bound here, on his way to Florida, where some of his men are straggling about, if they haven't been swallowed up by the freshets that have disorganized evication between here and Washington is so interrupted that I don't suppose they have heard yet of the reported raid into Florida, and all our writing back and forth is at cross purposes. The latest news is that the Yankees have whipped our forces a
Cuthbert (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
ressed it: Go where you please, when you please, do what you please and call on Mr. Farley or Mr. Butler for all the money you need. That is the way I like to be treated. I think now we will go to Chunnennuggee by way of Eufaula and the Chattahoochee. The river trip would be pleasant, and Jenny and Julia Toombs are with their aunt in Eufaula, who has invited us to meet them there. However, our movements are so uncertain that I don't like to make engagements. We will stop a few days in Cuthbert with the Joyners, anyway. March 21, Tuesday. Albany Pouring down rain again, but the carriage had to go to Albany anyway, to meet sister, and Mecca was hurried home by news of the death of her aunt, so I rode in to the station with her. The roads are horrible-covered with water most of the way, and the mischief with these piney woods ponds is that you never know what minute the bottom is going to drop out and let you down with it to the Lord only knows where. The carriage was so mu
Thomasville (Georgia, United States) (search for this): chapter 3
the water-courses so high that I am afraid the stage won't be able to pass between Albany and Thomasville, and we sha'n't get our mail. There is always something the matter to keep us from getting never knows what to believe. At any rate, I shall not run till I hear that the enemy are at Thomasville. March 13, Monday Mett, Mecca, and I took a long drive to look at some new muslin dres 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 there, and heading for Andersonville. We answer with a made — up story that he and Wallace had both gone to help fight the raiders at Thomasville. They must have thought us fools indeed, to believe that the enemy could come all the way from Tallahassee or Savannah to Thomasville, without our hearing a word of it till they got there, but we pretended to swallow it all, and got sister to write back that Metta and I were packing our tru
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