We reach Atlanta the next day about two o’clock, and take up our abode at Markham House, which is conveniently situated opposite the railway station. This is an extremely comfortable and homelike hotel, without any pretence to luxurious entertainment or upholstered grandeur; but we find there a capital table liberally served.
We are, however, somewhat dismayed on going to perform our customary ablutions when we find our ewer filled with something strongly resembling pea-soup. We demand water, and learn that this obnoxious liquid is all the water we are likely to get for ablutionary purposes. The table is supplied with something drinkable of a less soupy description, though far removed from the “bright waters of the sparkling fountain;” but for a few days we must perforce be content, and take our mud bath with what appetite we may.
There is nothing picturesque or attractive in either of the Atlanta hotels; ours, we are told, is considered second rate, but there is really little difference between them. Both are situated in crowded thoroughfares, and both are within a stone’s throw of the railway station, and are simple structures with no architecture to speak of. The city is built in a rambling labyrinthine fashion, as though it had grown up in a wild way of its own, straggling along here and there, without any set plan or design beyond the convenience of the day. It has pushed itself out in all directions, here pranking itself out in glowing gardens and garlands of green, there rising up in huge brick buildings seven stories high, massed together in blocks, or stretched in long rows, lifting their stony heads high in the air, looking down threateningly and frowningly as though they meant some day to topple over into the narrow street below. It has grown large and strong, and no longer runs in leading-strings, but asserts itself as one of the most important cities of the South.
The resources of the surrounding country are developing day by day, being especially rich in the production of cotton of the finest kind, quite equal to that grown on the famous Sea-islands of Carolina. All the varied wealth of the country for hundreds of miles round pours into Atlanta, which in turn distributes it to all parts of the world. This conglomeration of bricks and mortar is not attractive in itself, but is most interesting in its early history, its gradual growth and marvellous development; all within the city limits is full of the stir and bustle of commonplace life, its surroundings are simply lovely and most romantic.
A short car drive through the up-and-down stony streets, a ramble through a winding lane, and we are in the midst of a beautiful wild wood flaming with scarlet honeysuckle, creeping up, twining round, and seeming to strangle the great strong trees in its close embrace, drooping its bright blooms like a canopy above our heads; they are lovely to the eye, but, like so many beautiful things, are poisonous and scentless. We wander for hours, but do not get to the end of the crimson woods. Every man, woman, or child we meet—black, white, or brown—have their hands full of the gorgeous rose-red flowers of this Southern honeysuckle, so far richer than its northern sister. Some are carrying them home in baskets for domestic decoration, others make them into wreaths, or wear them on their hats or on their breasts.
No matter in what direction you turn on leaving the labyrinths of bricks and mortar, you are at once plunged into a wealth of lovely scenery, fringed on one side with the blazing woods; on one side it is skirted by richly-timbered, well-cultivated lands, jewelled with wild flowers of every hue and colour. Then we come upon a tangle of forest scenery or thickets varying from a few to thousands of acres. These consist of a dense growth of live and water oaks, dog wood, hickory, and pine, hung with garlands of moss, or close clinging draperies of purple blooms, birds are peeping and twittering in and out, butterflies and insects humming, and a whole colony of frogs croaking joyously throughout this luxuriant wilderness. We should not be much surprised to find a fairy city hidden away in this labyrinthine mass of leaves and timbers; who knows but when the evening shadows fall, and a thousand tiny twinkling lights flash hither and thither, we think the fireflies are abroad, when in reality it is the elfin army of lamplighters illuminating their fairy city with wandering stars.
In these sweet solitudes the morning passes quickly, and in the afternoon we go to the cemetery, which is about three miles from the town, to witness the decoration of the soldiers’ graves—for it is Memorial Day—the one day set apart in every year now and for all time for people to come to do honour to the dead who fell in the lost cause; nay, for the dead who fell on either side. Streams of people crowd the highways and byways, all flowing in one direction, and all mass together at the wide-open gates of the cemetery. The ground is kept by sundry mutilated remnants of the war; some with one arm, some with one leg, but none have the right complement of limbs, while some are mere mutilated crippled specimens of humanity, with bent bodies and limbs twisted out of their natural form. We wonder how they have had courage to crawl so far towards the end of their days, and to bear themselves cheerfully too. But the great God who “tempers the wind to the shorn lamb” has not forgotten them. He sends them an invisible support and comforter we know not of; He lays His blessed hand upon their heart-strings and makes a music in their lives, grander and sweeter than is the blare of victorious trumpets to the conqueror’s ear. They live their lives out in this city of the dead, and through the sunny days or evening shadows, sleeping or waking, are always there surrounded by their silent brotherhood, who wait for them in the great beyond. They lie here under the green sod with upturned faces and hands crossed upon their breasts. “After life’s fitful fever they sleep well.”
We arrive an hour before the ceremonial commences, and walk about the pretty grave-garden and read the names upon the monuments, and listen to anecdotes of those who rest below. The old soldiers seem to love to talk of their dead comrades, to fight their battles over again. They tell us how this one, “such a fine, handsome young fellow,” rode always into battle whistling a merry tune as he dashed into the thick of it; and how this one with the spirit of the ancient Puritans uplifted his voice to the glory of God as he brandished his sword and rushed to the front.
Presently a slow solemn strain of music with the roll of the muffled drum reaches our ears. It comes nearer and nearer. There is a trampling of feet, “the tramp of thousands sounding like the tread of one,” and the committee, escorted by a detachment of soldiers with their arms reversed and followed by a multitude of people, make their way across the hilly ground, and through the winding pathways till they reach a wide grassy slope, where, railed in and reached by a flight of marble steps, there stands a huge plain shaft of granite, with the inscription in large gold letters, “To our Confederate Dead,” engraved thereon. A platform is raised in front of this, which is now occupied by some score or two of ladies, all dressed in deep mourning, each carrying a basket of flowers, which may be replenished from the miniature mountain of violets and pale wild roses which are heaped upon the ground. Lying around, spreading in all directions, are myriad nameless graves. Some have a white headstone a foot high, some have wooden crosses, some have but the green turf to cover them. Here Federals and Confederates lie side by side, no enmity between them now. The treaty of eternal peace has been signed by the sovereign lord, Death; all are now gathered together and are marching through the silent land, under the banner of their great Captain, Christ.
There was a slight stir and a few elderly gray-headed men, accompanied by a minister of the church, ascended the platform. A hush fell upon the multitude, and all listen reverently and bareheaded while an earnest simple prayer is offered up.