As I have already mentioned, I made
during the winter and spring several visits to the front. At one time
my husband, a member of Fenner's Louisiana Battery, was with his
command in winter quarters at Kingston, whither I went to pay a visit
and to inquire after the needs of the "boys." My little son (who had
by this time joined me at Newnan) accompanied me. Kingston was at this
time a bleak, dismal-looking place. I stopped at a large, barn-like
hotel, from the gallery of which, while sitting with visitors from
camp, I witnessed an arrival of Georgia militia, whose disembarkation
from a train in front of the hotel was met by a noisy demonstration.
They were a strange-looking set of men, but had "store clothes," warm
wraps, sometimes tall hats, in all cases _good ones_. This, with the
air of superiority they affected, was enough to provoke the fun-loving
propensities of the ragged, rough-looking veterans who had collected
to watch for the arrival of the train. As the shaking, rickety cars
passed out of sight, these raw troops walked up to the hotel and there
strode up and down, assuming supreme indifference to the storm of
raillery which assailed them.
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