_Jan. 2._ At sunset we all adjourned to the cotton-house, where the
tree was all ready to be lighted. It was a very pretty sight, and
after we had let the children in I sent word that the grown people
might come and see, if they liked. Then, before anything was cut down,
the children sang a number of the songs I have taught them, standing
in classes, the smallest in front, their little eager faces
irresistibly comic. The older people soon filled up the building,
making rather a crowd, and a less manageable one than the children
alone; but they were pleased at the sight, and when the noise became
overpowering, I could stop it for the time being by starting a song,
which the children would instantly catch up. Then I let the children
sing some of their own songs in genuine, shouting style, a sight too
funny in the little things, but sad and disagreeable to me in the
grown people, who make it a religious act. It is impossible to
describe it--the children move round in a circle, backwards, or
sideways, with their feet and arms keeping energetic time, and their
whole bodies undergoing most extraordinary contortions, while they
sing at the top of their voices the refrain to some song sung by an
outsider. We laughed till we almost cried over the little bits of
ones, but when the grown people wanted to "shout," I would not let
them, and the occasion closed by their "drawing" candy from C. as they
passed out. I daresay this sounds pleasant, and I know they all had a
good time; but if you could have looked in, you would have thought it
Bedlam let loose!
The "Georgia refugees" referred to in several of the
subsequent letters were hundreds of negroes who had followed
Sherman's army northward. "They are said," says C. P. W.,
"to be an excellent set of people, more intelligent than
most here, and eager for work. They will get distributed
onto the plantations before a great while."
_Jan. 6._ Miss Towne gave us quite an interesting account of the
Georgia refugees that have been sent to the Village. The hardships
they underwent to march with the army are fearful, and the children
often gave out and were left by their mothers exhausted and dying by
the roadside and in the fields. Some even put their children to death,
they were such a drag upon them, till our soldiers, becoming furious
at their barbarous cruelty, hung two women on the spot. In contrast to
such selfishness, she told us of one woman who had twelve small
children--she carried one and her husband another, and for fear she
should lose the others she tied them all together by the hands and
brought them all off safely, a march of hundreds of miles. The men
have all been put to work in the quartermaster's department or have
gone into the army, and the families are being distributed where they
can find places for them.