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ng on each side to give help in case of accident. Sister and I thought at first of getting Gen. Dahlgren to send us across in his pleasure boat, but soon gave up the idea and concluded to stay at tldier friends good-by, and drove away to the Mallarys', where we spent a pleasant day and night. Gen. and Mrs. Dahlgren called after dinner and said that we ought to have stopped with them. Mrs. DahMrs. Dahlgren called after dinner and said that we ought to have stopped with them. Mrs. Dahlgren is a beautiful woman, and only twentytwo years old, while her husband is over sixty. He is a pompous old fellow and entertained us by telling how his influence made Gen. Joseph E. Johnston comMrs. Dahlgren is a beautiful woman, and only twentytwo years old, while her husband is over sixty. He is a pompous old fellow and entertained us by telling how his influence made Gen. Joseph E. Johnston commander-in-chief of the Army of Tennessee; how Hood lost Atlanta by not following his (Dahlgren's) advice; how he was the real inventor of the Dahlgren gun, which is generally attributed to his brotheDahlgren's) advice; how he was the real inventor of the Dahlgren gun, which is generally attributed to his brother, the Yankee admiral-and so on. March 23, Thursday We left the Mallarys' soon after breakfast and were successful in crossing the creek. It seems hard to believe that this stream, which is gi
ust were there to meet us with conveyances for Gopher Hill. It is worth the journey from Pine Bluff to Gopher Hill just to travel over the road between there and Wooten's. It runs nearly all the way through swamps alive with the beauty and fragrance of spring. We passed through Starkesville and crossed Muckolee Creek at the vern killed; on one plantation all the poultry was drowned, and two calves blown away and never came down again! So much for marvels. But the whole country between Wooten's and Gopher Hill is really flooded. One bridge that we crossed was entirely under water and seemed ready to give way and go down stream at any moment. Jimmy cae and wrote letters all the morning. Capt. Rust gave me a pretty tucking-comb which he had carved himself, out of maple wood. We had an early dinner and reached Wooten's at least half an hour before the train was due. At the depot in Albany, Albert Bacon, Joe Godfrey, Mr. Baldwin, and Gen. Graves were waiting for us. We drove by
rt Bacon, and saw everybody. It was pleasant to meet old friends, but I could not help thinking of poor Annie Chiles's grave at the church door. One missing in a quiet country neighborhood like this makes a great gap. This was the Sunday for Dr. Hillyer to preach to the negroes and administer the communion to them. They kept awake and looked very much edified while the singing was going on, but most of them slept through the sermon. The women were decked out in all their Sunday finery and la pair of modern white kid gloves on! It would be as bad as me for a peri. Mett and Miss Lou are our beauties, and if they fail us, the whole thing falls through. Feb. 5, Sunday Went to church at Mt. Enon, and did my best to listen to Dr. Hillyer, but there were so many troops passing along the road that I could keep neither my thoughts nor my eyes from wandering. Jim Chiles came home to dinner with us. He always has so much news to tell that he is as good as the county paper, and muc
Lily Legriel (search for this): chapter 3
uld be as bad as me for a peri. Mett and Miss Lou are our beauties, and if they fail us, the whole thing falls through. Feb. 5, Sunday Went to church at Mt. Enon, and did my best to listen to Dr. Hillyer, but there were so many troops passing along the road that I could keep neither my thoughts nor my eyes from wandering. Jim Chiles came home to dinner with us. He always has so much news to tell that he is as good as the county paper, and much more reliable. I have a letter from Lily Legriel A school friend of the writer. asking me to make her a visit before I go home. She is refugeeing in Macon, and I think I will stop a few days as I pass through. Feb. 9, Thursday We are in Albany-Mett, Mrs. Meals, and I-on our way to Americus, where I am going to consult Cousin Bolling Pope about my eyes. They have been troubling me ever since I had measles. We had hardly got our hats off when Jim Chiles came panting up the steps. He had seen the carriage pass through town
Jimmy Callaway (search for this): chapter 3
ion about her that attracts everybody. All the men that come near her go wild over her, and I don't wonder. If I could write a novel, I would make her the heroine. She seems to stand on a higher plane than we common mortals, without intending or knowing it. Her simplicity and straightforwardness are her greatest charm. Feb. 26, Sunday Flora and the captain have returned to Gopher Hill, whither Metta, Mecca, and I are invited to follow on Friday, when sister goes up to Macon. Jimmy Callaway and his father have just come from Washington with such glowing accounts of the excitement and gayety there that I am distracted 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 pictur
ar it way in the night, too far off to catch the words. I 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
danger was over before he knew of its existence, but communication was so slow and uncertain in those days that a long correspondence at cross purposes ensued before his mind was set at rest. It may seem strange to the modern reader that in the midst of such tremendous happenings we could find it in our hearts to go about the common business of life; to laugh and dance and be merry in spite of the crumbling of the social fabric about us. But so it has always been; so it was in the days of Noe, and so, we are told, will it be in the end of the world. Youth will have its innings, and never was social life in the old South more full of charm than when tottering to its fall. Southwest Georgia, being the richest agricultural section of the State, and remote from the scene of military operations, was a favorite resort at that time for refugees from all parts of the seceded States, and the society of every little country town was as cosmopolitan as that of our largest cities had been b
ere always three or four around talking to me. Mett says it counts a great deal more to have one very devoted at a time, but that keeps the others away, and I think it is much nicer to have a crowd around you all the time. One man grows tiresome unless you expect to marry him, and I am never going to marry anybody. Marriage is incompatible with the career I have marked out for myself, but I want to have all the fun I can before I am too old. . . . Among others I met my old acquaintance, Mr. Draper, who was one of the attendants at Henry's wedding. He says I have changed a great deal, and look just like Mett did then. I suppose I may take this as a double-barreled compliment, as Metta is the beauty of the family and she was then only fifteen, while I am now twenty-four! Oh, how time does fly, and how fast we grow old! But there is one comfort when a woman doesn't depend upon looks; she lasts longer. Capt. Hobbs has got his valentine, and everybody is laughing about it. They w
ed the box that had held the flowers, filled with dead rats dressed up in capes and mob caps like little old women. Then Albert 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 pretended to believe it, and sister wrote back as if in great alarm, inquiring further particulars. Albert got his father to 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 trunks and would leave for Albany immediately, so as to take the first train for Macon; and to give color to the story, she sent word for Tommy, who wa
Habersham Adams (search for this): chapter 3
erested 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 sympathies, but his Yankee manners and lingo sorter riles me, as the darkies say, in spite of reason and common sense. He talked religion all the way to Smithville, and parted with some pretty sentiment about the sunbeam I had thrown across his path. I don't enjoy th
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