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Marsh (search for this): chapter 8
ance to hit the wretches a few good hard raps over the head that they would not take from a Southerner. July 29, Saturday I invited Emma Reed and Miss Ann Simpson to tea, and a terrible thunder storm came up that kept them here all night. Marsh went to a children's party in the afternoon, and came home sick. Garnett spent the day at a barbecue, with the usual result, so between them and the thunder, which always frightens me out of my wits, I was not in a very lively mood. I spent thee cavalcade passed our street gate, speculating as to what new calamity was about to befall us. But when father came in a little later and told us the real object of their visit, we clapped our hands and shouted for joy. Cora danced a pirouette, Marsh turned a series of somersaults the whole length of the piazza, and father himself laughed with a right good will. Henry came home in the midst of it all and told us that when he first heard the news down town, he went into the back room of Burwe
Thompson (search for this): chapter 8
at hand to tell me good-by. Poor little creature, I wonder how long it will be before her little shiny black face will be pinched and ashy from want! If it hadn't been for the presence of all those strangers, I should have broken down and cried outright. Father took some silver change out of his purse and placed it in the child's hand, and I saw a tear trickle down his cheek as he did so. Dick has hired himself out to do stable work, and has taken his family to live in a house out at Thompson's, that den of iniquity. I am distressed about Cinthy, exposed to such temptations, for they say it is disgraceful the way those Yankee soldiers carry on with the negro women. The history of Emily and her family is pathetically typical of the fate of so many of their class. They multiplied like rats, and have dragged out a precarious existence, saved from utter submergence through the charity of the young girl whose sympathies were always so active in their behalf-Emily having been he
Harper (search for this): chapter 8
tunates! history will yet do you justice. Your monuments are raised in the hearts of a people whose love is stronger than fate, and they will see that your memory does not perish. Let the enemy triumph; they will only disgrace themselves in the eyes of all decent people. They are so blind that they boast of their own shame. They make pictures of the ruin of our cities and exult in their work. They picture the destitution of Southern homes and gloat over the desolation they have made. Harper's goes so far as to publish a picture of Kilpatrick's foragers in South-West Georgia, displaying the plate and jewels they have stolen from our homes! Out of their own mouths they are condemned, and they are so base they do not even know that they are publishing their own shame. Aug. 22, Tuesday Charity and Mammy both sick, and Emily preparing to leave. I don't think the poor darkey wants to go, but mother never liked to have her about the house, and father can't afford to keep such
Birnam Wood (search for this): chapter 8
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 Minnie. Nine of us went out Thursday morning and came back this afternoon. We left Washington immediately after breakfast, and reached Woodstock just in time for din
Yanks (search for this): chapter 8
uesday Gen. Wild's negro bodyguard left this morning, and it is said we are to be rid of the tyrant himself to-morrow. Col. Drayton is reported as saying that he would not like to be in Wild's place when he gets back to Augusta, and bitterly censures his conduct. There seems to be some sense of decency left among the Yankee army officers, even yet. This Col. Drayton is evidently a gentleman. Bless his heart, I feel as if I should really like to shake hands with him. Our town is full of Yanks, and new ones coming in every day. The last to arrive is a staff officer There is obviously some error here as to the official title of the person referred. from the War Department. Something of importance must be on foot, but of course we, who are most nearly concerned, know not what. We see the splendidly-equipped officers dashing about the streets, and think bitterly of the days when our own ragged rebels were there instead, but we never have time to think long before the storm burs
Taz Anderson (search for this): chapter 8
ly a trick of some darkey he has offended, trying to cunjur him. Negroes are given to such modes of vengeance, and one could easily have gotten some Yankee, or other low person, to write the address for him. Willie says it is in the cramped hand of an illiterate person, such as people of this sort might be expected to write. Aug. 7, Monday Dr. Hardesty left for Baltimore and we sent off a big mail to be posted by him thereletters to the Elzeys and other friends. Garnett brought Taz Anderson and Dr. McMillan home to dinner. It seemed just like the quiet antebellum days, before Washington had become such a thoroughfare, and our house a sort of headquarters for the officers of two Confederate armies. It was almost as if the last four years had been blotted out, and all of us transported back for a day, to the time when Garnett was a rising young lawyer just beginning his career, and used to fill the house with his clients and friends. A sense of grinding oppression, a deep h
Robert E. Lee (search for this): chapter 8
they tell about us, while we have our mouths closed and padlocked. The world will not hear our story, and we must figure just as our enemies choose to paint us. The pictures in Harper's Weekly and Frank Leslie's tell 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 execution of the so-called conspirators in Lincoln's assassination. Nothing is sacred from their disgusting love of the sensational. Even poor Harold's sisters, in their last interview with him, are pictured for the public delectation, in Frank Leslie's. Andersonville, one would
Dionysius (search for this): chapter 8
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 confiscated u
Jesus Christ (search for this): chapter 8
ineapple rum and toast. The negro sisters adore him, but they are too poor to feast him, except on what they can pilfer, and Southern cupboards are, as a rule, too empty just now to furnish fat pickings. The poor dupes say they believe he is Jesus Christ-anyhow, he has done more for them than Jesus Christ ever did. They don't know what horrid blasphemy they are talking, and so are not to be held responsible. My feeling for them is one of unmixed pity. Take it all in all, they have behaved Jesus Christ ever did. They don't know what horrid blasphemy they are talking, and so are not to be held responsible. My feeling for them is one of unmixed pity. Take it all in all, they have behaved remarkably well, considering the circumstances. The apostles of freedom are doing their best to make them insolent and discontented, and after awhile, I suppose, they will succeed in making them thoroughly unmanageable, but come what will, I don't think I can ever cherish any very hard feelings towards the poor, ignorant blacks. They are like grown up children turned adrift in the world. The negro is something like the Irishman in his blundering good nature, his impulsiveness and improvidence
Stowe (search for this): chapter 8
he 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 such a case as this come under the eyes of the Yankees just at this time, for they will believe everything the negroes say and put the very worst construction on it. Brutal crimes happen in all countries now and then, especially in times of disorder and upheaval such as the South is undergoing, but the North, fed on Mrs. Stowe's lurid pictures, likes to believe that such things are habitual among us, and this horrible occurrence will confirm them in their opinion. Another unfortunate affair took place the other night, in Lincoln County. The negroes were holding a secret meeting, which was suspected of boding no good to the whites, so a party of young men went out to break it up. One of the boys, to frighten them, shot off his gun and accidentally killed a woman. He didn't mean to hurt anybody, but the Yank
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