Rose O’Neal Greenhow‘s father was murdered at random by an unknown assailant. That’s enough of a story for most lives, but there’s more. This pretty little lady became a famous Confederate spy credited by Jeff Davis for the win at the First Battle of Bull Run.
Before the war she married well and moved to Washington, DC becoming instantly popular with the political crowd. Unfortunately her husband was killed in an accident, after which Rose determined to support the South in any way she could. Four of her eight children actually made it out of toddler-hood with their lives. The youngest is pictured above visiting her mother in prison after being caught as a spy.
After getting out Rose ran the blockade, sailing to Europe in search of support for the Confederate cause. The British blockade runner carrying her back to the states ran aground after being pursued by a Union gunboat. Rose, afraid of getting caught, jumped into a rowboat, but a wave capsized it and she drowned, weighed down by $2000 worth of gold for the Confederate cause sewn into her underclothes and hung around her neck.
“I think it will suggest to more than one man that if women could vote they would vote on the side of morality, even if they did vote and speak rather frantically and furiously; and it will also suggest that when the women once made up their minds that it was not good to have the all-powerful ‘primaries’ in the hands of loafers, thieves, and pernicious little politicians, they would not sit indolently at home, as their husbands and brothers do now, but would hoist their praying banners, take the field in force, pray the assembled political scum back to the holes and slums where they belong, and set some candidates fit for human beings to vote for.
“I dearly want the women to be raised to the political altitude of the negro, the imported savage, and the pardoned thief, and allowed to vote. It is our last chance, I think. The women will be voting before long; and then if a B. F. Butler can still continue to lord it in Congress; if the highest offices in the land can still continue to be occupied by perjurers and robbers; if another Congress, like the forty-second, consisting of fifteen honest men and two hundred and ninety-six of the other kind, can once more be created, it will at least be time, I fear, to give over trying to save the country by human means, and appeal to Providence. Both the great parties have failed. I wish we might have a woman’s party now, and see how that would work. I feel persuaded that, in extending the suffrage to women, this country could lose nothing, and might gain a great deal. For thirty centuries history has been iterating and reiterating that, in a moral fight, woman is simply dauntless; and we all know, even with our eyes shut upon Congress and our voters, that, from the day that Adam ate of the apple and told on Eve, down to the present day, man, in a moral fight, has pretty uniformly shown himself to be an arrant coward.” Mark Twain
postcard images courtesy of all- that’s- interesting tumblr.com
Frigid temps, cool skirts and warm hearts. Happiness begins with a good hair day and a smile. How’s about we go sledding later, boys . . .
There I am in the hat. My mother sewed a string into it so I wouldn’t lose it at the beach. You know those weird crushes you have on older cousins? The one’s even at age four you know are somehow a little off? Between my mother and her sister they managed to produce a bunch of kids–too many to properly watch at the beach. Stevie was that lanky tan kid with almost black eyes and a generous grin–aged 7. He dodged waves and I followed–aged 3. I remember that loud beach sound of the waves and gulls and the too bright sun sparking on the water. A wave dragged me under and no one noticed. I think I remember just floating under the surface and the slight drag that pulled me along.
A man was swimming out too far and the lifeguards blew their whistles, but just before heading in he noticed the hat and at the last second grabbed it to find a toddler beneath it. I remember being held upside down by my ankles as the man carried me around asking if anyone wanted to claim me.
I’ve always liked hats and random strangers acting as heroes.