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John Moore (search for this): chapter 8
eard of, for the negroes generally had good manners till the Yankees corrupted them by their evil communications. It is sad to think how things are changing. In another generation or two, this beautiful country of ours will have lost its distinctive civilization and become no better than a nation of Yankee shopkeepers. July 28, Friday One continued stream of notes and messengers and visitors all day long. I hardly had time to eat my breakfast. I spent most of the morning nursing John Moore's family, who are all sick with the measles. We had a dance at Mrs. Margaret Jones's in the evening, and I don't think I ever enjoyed anything more in my life. I nearly danced my feet off, in spite of the hot weather. Between dances, I enjoyed a long tete-a-tete with my old Montgomery friend, Dr. Calhoun, who looks so much like Henry. He is a Cousin of Corrie and Gene, who are visiting the Robertsons. He came over from Carolina yesterday, and called to see me as soon as he got her
Steadman (search for this): chapter 8
patched garment to hide. Father fears that our rejoicing over the downfall of Wild is vain. He says that such a wily rascal would hardly commit himself as he has done, without good authority. He may have orders from a higher power than Gen. Steadman, of which that officer is ignorant, and if this be the case, he may not remain long under arrest. Those people at Washington are capable of anything, and if he should be turned loose upon us again, his desire for vengeance will make him worse than ever, and then, woe to the Toombses and Chenaults, whose complaints to Gen. Steadman caused his arrest. While we were at supper there was heard a noise precisely like the firing of a cannon, but a rumbling sound that followed immediately after, convinced us it was only a peal of thunder. After we got up from the table, Henry took me aside and told me that it really was the old cannon, which some young harebrains among the boys had determined to fire off for joy at Alva's arrest. Th
Ben Bowdre (search for this): chapter 8
ry to say in telling the truth, as little unpalatable as possible to a Northern public. What a humiliation! But it gave me the satisfaction of hitting a few hard knocks that I could not have ventured in any other way. I could say: We have been guilty of so and so, where it would not do to say: You have been guilty. The article here alluded to was published a few weeks later in the New York World, under the heading: A romance of robbery. Aug. 11, Friday A charming dance at Mrs. Ben Bowdre's. Jim Bryan and Mr. Berry went with Mett and me. Garnett took Mary. She had her head dressed with a huge pile of evergreens that made her look like Birnam Wood coming to Dunsinane. She never did have any taste in arranging her hair. Aug. 18, Friday Just returned from a visit to Woodstock, where I had a perfectly charming time. Ella Daniel wrote for Minnie Evans to bring out a party of us to spend a few days at her house, and fortunately left the selection of the guests to Min
Nish (search for this): chapter 8
got here, but I was out. It was really a pleasure to see him again. Gen. Wild has left off his murder cases for the present, and turned his attention to more lucrative business — that everlasting bank robbery. Some ten thousand dollars have been recovered from negroes in whose hands it was found, and about a dozen of the most respectable citizens of the county are imprisoned in the courthouse under accusation of being implicated. Among them is the wife of our old camp-meeting friend, Mr. Nish (Dionysius) Chenault, who entertained Mrs. Davis and her party at his house out on the Danburg road as she was on her way here from Abbeville. She (Mrs. Chenault) has a little young baby with her, and they have imprisoned Mr. Chenault's sister, too, and Sallie, his oldest daughter. The accusation against them was that they had shared in the plunder of a box of jewels that the women of the South had contributed for building a Confederate gunboat, and their own personal ornaments were con
Jefferson Davis (search for this): chapter 8
ound, and about a dozen of the most respectable citizens of the county are imprisoned in the courthouse under accusation of being implicated. Among them is the wife of our old camp-meeting friend, Mr. Nish (Dionysius) Chenault, who entertained Mrs. Davis and her party at his house out on the Danburg road as she was on her way here from Abbeville. She (Mrs. Chenault) has a little young baby with her, and they have imprisoned Mr. Chenault's sister, too, and Sallie, his oldest daughter. The ac more lies than Satan himself was ever the father of. I get in such a rage when I look at them that I sometimes take off my slipper and beat the senseless paper with it. No words can express the wrath of a Southerner on beholding pictures of President Davis in woman's dress; and Lee, that star of light before which even Washington's glory pales, crouching on his knees before a beetle-browed image of Columbia, suing for pardon! And these in the same sheet with disgusting representations of the
Rhodes (search for this): chapter 8
time, and his men are the ones that acted so badly in the case of Mr. Rhodes, near Greensborough. One of Mr. Rhodes's freedmen lurked in the Mr. Rhodes's freedmen lurked in the woods around his plantation, committing such depredations that finally he appealed to the garrison at Greensborough for protection. The commaugh for trial. With the assistance of some neighboring planters, Mr. Rhodes succeeded in making the arrest, late one evening. He kept the cy of negroes marched to the village and informed the officer that Mr. Rhodes and his friends were making ready to kill their prisoner at midniission, they fired two shots into the house, one of which killed Mrs. Rhodes's brother. They left her alone with the dead man, on a plantaties united in swearing that the Rhodes party had fired upon them. Mr. Rhodes was carried to Augusta, and on the point of being hanged, when a here Miss Columbia's passion for her black paramour balked them. Mr. Rhodes's life was saved, but his property was confiscated — when did a Y
Tom Daniel (search for this): chapter 8
led about the house till dinnertime, after which we started back home, though Ella and her brother did their best to keep us another day, but we thought it would be an imposition, as there were so many of us, though their hospitality was equal to anything, and they entertained us delightfully. The dinners, especially, were charming-none of the awkwardness and constraint one so often finds where people have come together to make a business of enjoying themselves. Ed Morgan and his cousin, Tom Daniel, joined us at Woodstock and helped on the fun. The Daniels are as thick as peas there,--and as nice. But pleasant as it all was, the best part of our trip was the journey home. Willie Robertson put Buck, our driver, on his horse, and he and I mounted the box and drove home that way. 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 be
Huling (search for this): chapter 8
ppearance was not bad at all — that is, he would be a very good-looking man in any other dress than that odious Yankee blue. He is very anxious to visit some of the girls in Washington, I hear, but says that he knows he would not be received. He saw the Robertson girls pass his quarters one day, and said to some men standing near: Oh, I wish I wasn't a Yankee! Our friends left soon after dinner. Mrs. Jordan wanted Mett and me to go home with her and attend a big country dance at old Mrs. Huling's. We would like to go, but have no driver, and could not leave our work at home — to say nothing of the state of our wardrobes. I had no time to rest after dinner, being obliged to take a long walk on business and having neither carriage-driver nor errand-boy. I was so tired at night that I went to bed as soon as I had eaten my supper. Aug. 25, Friday The Ficklens sent us some books of fashion brought by Mr. Boyce from New York. The styles are very pretty, but too expensive fo
Nish Chenault (search for this): chapter 8
our old camp-meeting friend, Mr. Nish (Dionysius) Chenault, who entertained Mrs. Davis and her party at his has she was on her way here from Abbeville. She (Mrs. Chenault) has a little young baby with her, and they have imprisoned Mr. Chenault's sister, too, and Sallie, his oldest daughter. The accusation against them was thpermit them to leave the courthouse. He tied up Mr. Chenault by the thumbs and kept him hanging for an hour, h I do have to soften it down. Father is one of Mr. Chenault's counsel, and can tell me all about that part oy to their home, and tortured all the men till Mr. Nish Chenault fainted three times under the operation. Then he shut up the two ladies, Mrs. Chenault and Sallie, in a room, to be searched by a negro woman, with a Yankeeatches and family jewelry, and $150 in gold that Mr. Chenault had saved through the war. I have this from Mrs.ave now been released by Col. Drayton, except Mrs. Nish Chenault, who is detained on a charge of assault and b
Toby (search for this): chapter 8
. The younger of the two accused men is only twenty years old, and his poor old father hangs around the courtroom, putting his head in every time the door is opened, trying to catch something of what is going on. He is less privileged than our dog Toby, who follows father to the courthouse every day, and walks about the room as if it belonged to him, smelling at the Yankees, and pricking up his ears as if to ask what business they had there. Father says he would not, for millions, have had suc good-by, Emily could not speak at all, and Cinthy cried as if her heart would break. I felt very much like crying myself — it was so pitiful. Poor little Sumter, who has been fed every day of his life from father's own hand, as regularly as old Toby from mine, was laughing in great glee, little dreaming what is in store for him, I fear. Little Charlotte, too, the baby, who always came to me for a lump of sugar or a bit of cake whenever she saw me in the kitchen, sat crowing in her mother's a
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