I now
became very anxious about the men in the trenches at Atlanta who were
lying day after day, always under fire. Suffering from insufficient
food, exposed to the scorching sun or equally pitiless rain, sometimes
actually knee-deep in water for days. The bombardment was heavy and
incessant, ceasing only for a while at sunset, when carts were hastily
loaded with musty meat and poor corn-bread, driven out to the
trenches, and the rations dumped there. Many of my friends were lying
in these trenches, among them my husband. In addition to other ills,
the defenders of Atlanta were in instant danger of death from shot or
shell. I could not bear it. The desire to see my husband once more,
and to carry some relief in the shape of provisions to himself and his
comrades could not be quelled. Many things stood in the way of its
accomplishment, for, upon giving a hint of my project to my friends at
Newnan, a storm of protest broke upon my devoted head. Not one bade me
God-speed, _everybody_ declared I was crazy. "A _woman_ to go to
Atlanta under such circumstances; how utterly absurd, how mad." So I
was obliged to resort to deception and subterfuge.
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