September 9, 1863.—Arrived at Newnan, Georgia, this morning about 8 o’clock.
We left Dalton yesterday morning, reaching Atlanta at 6 o’clock P. M. On our arrival we saw numbers of families around the depot, in tents and old cars—refugees, who had been driven from their homes by the enemy. Some of them had left home on the advance of our army, as wherever it is there is a scarcity of provisions.
We put up at the Atlanta Hotel. Dr. Young, whom the shells at Chattanooga had put under the necessity of changing his abode, and Major Proctor, spent the evening with us. Major P. was very low-spirited, as he thought his chance of getting to his home in Kentucky less than ever. General Bragg, as a rule, is not a favorite with Kentuckians, as they think he had no good reason for leaving Kentucky when he did; but he was little spoken about that evening.
Dr. Y.’s indignation was so great against the extortioners and speculators, that he had none left for any one else. He was bitter in the extreme, which it is not much to be wondered at, when we think of how he and others have given up homes, friends, and every thing dear to them for the cause, and find such Shylocks preying on the very heart-blood of our country; and it is enough to make even the “stones cry out.” Dr. Y. told us that our money was more depreciated in Atlanta than in any place in the Confederacy. He said that for himself, “if the Confederacy fell, he would think it an honor to sink with it and its money in his pocket, rather than to have made his thousands.
We found Atlanta full of the “gilt-lace gentry;” a sure sign, they say, “there will be a battle soon.” If General Bragg is a strict disciplinarian, why is it that nearly every place we go to is filled with officers; apparently in good health, and doing nothing?
We left our sick at different posts on the road.
Newnan seems to be a very nice little town; it is the capital of Coweta County, and is forty miles south-west of Atlanta, on the West Point road. We are at the Coweta Hotel, a very pleasant one, kept by Colonel Colyer of Tennessee, a member of congress. He has been driven from his home, and, for want of something better to do, has turned hotel-keeper. The fare is very good, but we had no wheat-bread for breakfast, and I am not southern enough to like corn-bread.
The first thing we were told on our arrival was, that the citizens did not like the idea of the hospitals coming here. This seems strange; it can not be that these people have no relatives in the army, as we know how nobly Georgia has come forward at every call for troops; and have we not heard of their bravery on every battle-field in Virginia?
Well, if they have relatives in the army, do they not expect they stand a chance of being sick or wounded, and that, unless hospitals are provided for them, these same relatives would be in a terrible state, and denounce the government and everybody connected with it?
I do not doubt but that they would be very much displeased if they were to hear that the people in some of the towns in Virginia, where most of the Georgia troops are, were opposed to having hospitals among them for the benefit of those troops. True, a hospital is not the most pleasant place in the world, where we have stern war, stripped of all its glory, and nothing but the sad realities presented—fell disease, with all its noxious vapors, and the poor, emaciated frames—men who went forth to the army, flushed with health and strength, but now, by wounds and disease, made nearly as helpless as infants. But what are we to do? Let the men suffer?
I sincerely trust that it is mere idle talk we have heard, and that the people here have not forgotten, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.”
The next thing we were told was, that there is great hostility shown to the refugees in this place. Can this really be the case? But if the former is true, then the latter may be. If the enemy are culpable, who have driven those people from their homes, and forced them to seek others among strangers, how much more so are those persons who are now living, surrounded with all the comforts of home. True, in a measure, all are suffering now; but sympathy costs nothing, and, as Burns says,
“A man may tak a neebor’s part,
Yut hao nao cash to spare him.”
If these people would only think of what may be their own fate; for if we are to judge from the signs of the times, the war is far from being over, and if for no other reason than that they may need the same kindness shown to themselves, they ought to show all they can to the strangers.
“Thou thinkst sweet, when friend with friend,
Beneath one roof in prayer may blend;
Then doth the stranger’s eye grow dim—
Far, far are those who prayed with him;
Thy hearth, thy home, thy vintage land;
The voices of thy kindred band;
O, midst them all, when blest thou art,
Deal gently with the stranger’s heart!”
Dr. Gamble and his surgeons have been out all day in search of hospital accommodations, and have succeeded in getting room for one thousand patients. They have taken nearly all the large buildings and stores. It astonishes me to see how cheerfully our men go to work again to fix up more hospitals.
I observed the people on the cars coming down, and that every body seemed to take their trials as a matter of course. Suffering has made them strong. It is said, the only grumblers we have are those who stay at home and have had no reason to feel the war.
