CHAPTER III. RALPH'S FIRST BATTLE.
T Washington all sorts of rumors were plenty. It was generally known, however, that General Beauregard was making for Bull Run, where the stream presented a natural barrier. General McDowell left Washington with a force, whose accompaniments of civilians, following the marching columns on foot, reporters, congressmen and idle sight-seers in carriages, was a motley and curious sight. Everyone declared this to be the battle which was to close out the rebellion, and all were jubilant at the prospect.
On the army pressed under the brave McDowell, who was planning to execute a flank movement upon the Confederates' left. A two hours' engagement routed the Rebels, who fled before the Union charge.
The victory seemed to the Federal troops an easy one, but Generals Johnston and Beauregard took the field in person, and, planting their artillery in a piece of woods, they held the open plateau across which the Federals were advancing, wholly at their mercy. General McDowell could see nothing of this, owing to the shape of the ground, only by mounting to the top of the Henry House, where they took their stand, and where the attack was resumed in the afternoon.
The men on both sides were raw troops; they had not become the machines that after fighting made them. This was to most of them their first encounter, and as shot and shell flew rapidly by them, as the Union men advanced over the open ground upon the enemy, who were concealed within the woods, only to be picked off, one by one, by the Confederate sharpshooters, who took the gunners at their batteries, they became disheartened.
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The fight in the forenoon had exhausted them, and they were unprepared for the work still to be done.
The battle was fierce; men were falling like hail, in all the agonies of death. Here a drummer boy was lying face downward, his stiff hand clutching the stick whose strokes would never wake the echoes again. There an officer, his uniform dyed with blood, lay prostrate on the ground, his horse half across his stiffening body, while at every turn the wounded were huddled together, in the positions in which they fell.
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Ralph's heart turned sick, as he saw the brave fellows who manned the batteries tumbling over each other, many of them shot through the heart, as the Confederates, tempted by their success, stole nearer to the guns.
Captain Griffin, who made the sad mistake of thinking the troops were his own men coming to his aid, permitted the nearer approach of the Confederates. He discovered his error when a volley of musketry took nearly every gunner and stretched Lieutenant Ramsay low in death, as the rebels rushed in and seized the guns.
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The fighting went pluckily on; both sides were in deadly earnest. The batteries seemed to be the coveted prize, and they were taken and retaken, first by one army, and then the other.
Worn and harassed, in the confusion that ensued, regiments and companies became mixed, and thousands of men lost track of their companies and wandered about, not knowing where they belonged.
In the dense smoke that covered the battle ground, Ralph became lost, and, making a short turn, found a clump of trees with a thick growth of underbrush. He heard voices, and threw himself flat upon the ground, determined not to be taken prisoner.
“Wonder what General Beauregard's next move will be?” The tones were low and even.
“Well, Lieutenant, we cannot know at present, but it is certain we have taught the Yanks a lesson this day. They'll never forget Johnston's brigade. They were so sure of whipping us. It was a hot battle, and three or four times I thought we had lost. Those fellows fight well, but they're no match for the South. What's the matter over there? See, our men are retreating. Don't they know we've won the day?”
It was true. So many times had the victory changed hands, that it was hard to tell who had won finally and it looked as if the Confederate line was breaking.
Jeff Davis' heart sank as he came up from Manassas and found that hundreds of Confederates, under the impulse of fear, were fleeing to the rear. He kept on, only to find that the Northern army was in full retreat, and the battle of Bull Run was a bitter defeat for the Federals.
Ralph lay there in ambush, pale with dread. He feared capture more than death. He rose quickly as the two officers galloped away, to stay their men, and looked upon the scene. Lines of men in blue and gray stretched away in the distance, while the noise of the guns, the neighing of wounded, horses, the huzzas of the victors, drowning the groans of the wounded, made him faint with horror, and his cheeks grew white as he saw men lying on their backs, their glassy eyes staring up to the sky, their faces ghastly and white, and peaceful, or else distorted with pain. Here a wounded soldier would half raise himself on one arm, and beg for water, while others, bleeding and dying, lay uncomplainingly, their eyes fixed on the blue sky, which nevermore would greet their waking vision.
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In the dim light he saw all this, and knew not where to go. The terrible sights and hideous silence which succeeded the noise of conflict sickened him, and Ralph, the brave soldier boy, actually fainted.
“What's this? Why, it's Ralph! Is he killed?”
The tones sounded, to the boy's benumbed senses, far away, as a heavily bearded man knelt down and placed his hand upon his heart. He saw it was Bill, and the flush of mortification mounted to his brow, as he tried to rise.
“I was weak—dizzy—and I—”
“I know all about it!” good-humoredly laughed Bill Elliott, for he it was. “This is your first appearance, and you had a sort of a stage fright.”
Ralph bit his lips with vexation.
“Oh, that's nothing. You'll make a better showing next time. You'll live to be a brigadier-general. But I was kinder rattled myself when I saw you so still. I didn't know but some fellow had tuk good aim at you!”
“I'm not hurt in the least, Bill.”
“Well, boy, come on. We've been whipped bad, and are most unpleasantly nigh those fellows with the guns over thar, and as I'm pretty tall, they might choose me for a mark, just to keep their hands in.”
The Federal army, broken and defeated, straggled back to Washington, footsore, dirty and hungry. No battle during the war was fought with more desperation, and bravery was shown by both sides—the Union and the Confederate.
And though the defeat of General McDowell's forces was a blow to the pride of the North, it carried a valuable lesson; that the South would not be persuaded back to its old allegiance.
To the boys of this generation slavery is almost a myth. But when the Civil War broke out the blacks were held in bondage to masters who had acquired them by purchase or inheritance, and thus they represented property or wealth.
The South bitterly resented any interference with an institution which many of them honestly regarded as divine. In the North opinion was divided, some believing slavery to be wrong, but that it would gradually die out. All classes were unwilling that it should be extended into new territory.
This difference of opinion led to the conflict which caused brave men to take up arms and arrayed brother against brother, in defense of what each believed to be just and fair.
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CHAPTER IV. RALPH DOES PICKET DUTY.
LD Bill was a little fearful, spite of Ralph's protestations, lest his boy, as he dubbed him, was going to show the white feather, after all, and so he kept him well under his eye.
“I don't want the tarnal little rascal skipping, for it 'ud go hard with him to be caught. They'd shoot him sure.”
But he didn't know the true mettle of the boy. He was no coward, if he did turn sick at the scenes of his first battle, and he was a lad of honor, and would have died before he would leave his post.
So he felt a little down-hearted when orders came for a detail from Company K to turn out for picket duty. The men themselves felt rather blue at this news, for they were worn out and disheartened by their late tussle, but they didn't expect their wishes would be considered in the matter. Ralph's eyes gleamed with joy, for he longed for adventure.
“Bill, I believe you think I am cowardly. You'll change your mind soon, I know.”
That individual grimly responded: “Picket duty is a very cheerful way of passing one's time, but I guess you'll do.”
The picket line was twelve miles distant, and as the men got into line, the air and the excitement infused courage into Ralph's breast. They had been ordered out to relieve a regiment which had seen some hard work, and who were anxious to get into shelter.
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The newcomers were told what spots needed the most watching, and as soon as they were stationed at their posts and received the necessary instructions, they settled down to the importance of the duty assigned them.
The woods lay behind them, and each picket sought their friendly shelter, well aware that any “change of base” on their part would be an invitation to the enemy to pick them off.
Memories of home filled Ralph's breast. The night was dark and starless. A strong wind blew at intervals, now howling dismally through the trees, and then shifting its course, rushing down the bank, as if it would rend the earth and the tall grass in its anger.
“I wonder if mother thinks of her soldier boy,” he pondered.
When does a mother ever cease to think of and pray for her children?
The night wore on. Perfect quiet reigned, and Ralph began to consider picket duty not half so risky as Old Bill called it, after all. But as he kept his eyes on the opposite bank, where the “Johnnies” were, he fancied he saw a small dark object creeping through the grass down to the river, where it seemed to be looking up and down its shore. His heart beat fiercely. What was it? he asked himself. Was it a man or some animal hiding in the grass? If it were a reb, he would be shot dead, at the least move on his part—that he well knew.
I am afraid you will not think my boy was much of a hero, but the truth is, he was very much in love with life, as all young people should be, and, though willing to do his whole duty, he could not help feeling a trifle nervous about his surroundings, so he stooped quickly down behind a tall bush that appeared to be growing there just for his benefit.
The object on which his gaze was fixed seemed so small that he almost laughed aloud at his own fears.
“Why, it's only a dog that's strayed into camp,” he said.
“Wonder if they fatten him on hard tack.”
His gaze was riveted upon the dark mass, and his surprise nearly found vent in a low whistle, which he speedily checked, as he saw a man or a boy steal noiselessly along the bank, till he came to a place where the grass was tangled and thick, and stooping down he pulled a wide board from its hiding-place, and picking up a long piece of wood which lay there, he stepped on the plank and commenced to paddle across the stream.
Ralph lay in the grass behind the bush, breathlessly watching the approaching figure. Suddenly a dog began to bark on the opposite shore, and the man on the plank gave utterance to a low, angry exclamation. The dog stopped barking, and the stranger came slowly on, till his novel craft touched the shore within five feet of Ralph.
He saw to his amazement that it was a boy, even younger than himself, it seemed in the dim light, and he waited breathlessly till he came closer, and was halted by Ralph's gun, which he brought sharply against the other's breast, while his own was on fire with excitement, as he cried aloud—“Halt—you are my prisoner!”
For a moment these two boys faced each other; then the stranger threw his head proudly back, and, with a gesture of impatience, replied:
“I will not be made a prisoner—I am merely going about my own business.”
“And that business is to spy upon our lines!” Ralph said hotly.
“Take me to your superior officer. I can soon convince him that I am doing no harm,” answered the boy.
A stir ran through the picket lines, as the news was passed on that a rebel spy had been captured, and soon the lad, whose proud carriage and haughty face involuntarily commanded attention, was at headquarters, where to all questioning he remained dumb, after telling an apparently truthful story that he was crossing the river to visit an old uncle, and knew nothing of the movements of either army.
“This 'old uncle' is one I fancy we'd better try to unearth,” said Colonel Tuttle. “His acquaintance would be worth cultivating.”
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The boy would give no further account of himself. His frank, boyish face and manly bearing impressed the officer of the day favorably, and he muttered to himself—“Wonder if he is a spy. If all the Johnnies are as brave and resolute as this youth we'll have to work hard to conquer them.”
An opinion which he found cause to verify often.
CHAPTER V. RALPH AT HEADQUARTERS.
OU'RE in luck, my boy,” and Bill Elliott's face showed genuine pleasure as he shook hands with Ralph. “You are to show yourself at headquarters and receive your reward, as the good boys in story books always do.”
An orderly came up to Ralph, and said:—“You are wanted at headquarters.”
Ralph proceeded to the officers' tent. For the first time he stood in the presence of his commanding officers, and as he saluted respectfully, a tall, kindly-faced man looked at him with some surprise.
“How old are you?” was the abrupt query, as the officer looked in the beardless face of the boy.
“Nearly eighteen, sir.”
“Have you seen any service yet?”
“I was at Bull Run.”
The fine face clouded with sadness. “That was hard and tedious fighting. You brought in a prisoner last night, whom we have strong reasons to believe is a rebel spy. You have shown two qualities befitting a soldier—pluck and forgetfulness of self. Your captain commends you to me, and I have thought proper to make you a corporal.”
Ralph's heart beat loud and fast. What had he done to deserve this honor?
“Your warrant will be handed to you, and you are expected to attend strictly to all its requirements.”
To a general or a colonel the promotion would not seem very exalted; but to this boy, who could not realize why he had been selected, it was as if he had suddenly been lifted into the seventh heaven To be sure, it only meant two stripes on his jacket sleeve, and a trifle of authority, but it also meant encouragement and notice from his superiors, He could not answer, but, bowing low, he left the tent.
“A board of inquiry must be appointed at once, and we'll see what this lad whom Corporal Gregory brought in is doing within our lines.”
The boy was marched before them, but he parried all their questions, and maintained a resolute and fearless mien.
“I have told you the truth,” he said proudly.
“I was going to make a visit when I was seized. You see I have no weapons.”
“Spies do not always carry arms. Papers are more to their taste. You say you came to see an uncle. Where does he live? Why did you visit him at night?”
“I knew that the enemy lay near us, and I didn't want to be taken prisoner.”
“Where is this uncle?”
“He lives back of the bluff, on the right hand side of the road.”
“We'll invite him into our camp, and see if he'll own the relationship.”
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The boy's face flushed with wounded pride, as he answered scornfully:
“We call our old servants uncle and aunt. He is an old colored man, and lives on this side of the river—one of our old slaves, whom my father freed.”
“We'll send you to the guard-house until more is known about you,” was the stern retort.
The boy was removed to the guard-house. To Ralph he was an object of much interest. His sympathies went out to him and he longed to say something comforting.
And so when his turn to act as corporal of the guard, with the abrupt frankness of youth, he blurted out:
“What were you doing over here the other night?”
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“I have given an account of myself to your superiors.”
“Don't be so lofty. I don't mean to be inquisitive, but I thought you might like to know that I am awful sorry I brought you into this trouble.”
The boys face softened.
“I don't know as you could do anything else under the circumstances. I suppose, in fact, I know, I'd have done just as you did. Perhaps worse,” he muttered. “I might have shot you.”
“Then you don't hold any grudge against me?”
“Well, I can't pretend that I'm grateful to you for my detention in this hole, but I can't blame you, either.”
“Were you really going to see the old slave you told the colonel about?”
An indescribable expression flitted across the boy's features. “I said so once. My word is usually taken, where I am known. Why do you ask?”
“Oh, from curiosity, I suppose. You look too young to be very dangerous.”
“I'm as old as you are. You look too young to be carrying arms against your countrymen.”
“Oh, I'm going to help put down this rebellion.”
“A hard job you've selected. It is not a rebellion; it's an uprising against meddlesome Yankee interference.”
Ralph's eyes flashed fire. “You don't mean to say that you justify the South, do you?”
“I not only justify it, but am proud to belong to a people who can never be subdued. Your people are trying to force us to give up our rights, but we won't be driven. We have thousands of men in the field, who do not know how to fear. And when their places are vacant, more are waiting to fill them. We despise the North, and want to be a separate people.”
“You despise a government that has always protected you in all your rights. You have no cause for wishing to be disunited. How dare you talk so to me?”
“'Dare?' Am I not your equal? Why should I not speak when I am insulted?”
“Don't talk treason to me again, then.”
“I am a prisoner,” the boy said, sadly, “innocent of any crime, surrounded by foes and powerless. Were it not so you would not give me a defiance.”
Ralph's conscience smote him. It did appear as if the odds were on his side, and with the quick generosity of youth he said—
“I am sorry for you. We will not quarrel.”
Not to be outdone in generosity, the other replied—“I believe you; but we had better not talk about it any more, for we can never agree, and we are both hot-headed. You see affairs in a different light from what I do, that is all.”
The next day the youth was rigidly examined. He gave his name as Charles Arlington, stated that he was merely crossing the river to look after the old slave; that he had chosen the night-time as he heard the Union pickets were thrown out, and he did not think, with his knowledge of the stream, that he would be captured in the darkness. Meantime, the soldiers had been searching, and had found an old half imbecile negro in a little cabin half a mile back from the river, whom they brought into camp, shaking with fear.
“Old man,” one of the soldiers said, “do you know this boy?”
“Yas, honey. I knows him well. I'se old Marsa Thomas' boy. I bin on his old plantation since he was a baby. His mud-der was one of de——”
“Say, we don't care who his mother was. What do you know about the boy standing there?”
“Yas, yas, I knows lots. Why, he was de littlest pickaninny of de hull lot, and his father he say to me, 'Jim'—I was young and strong den—'Jim, dis yere boy's gwine to be your young mastah some day, if he ebber grows big enuff. And I tole him de sweetest posies were always small, like de vi'lets and lilies ob de valley, and—”
“You black rascal, we don't want a dissertation on flowers. Tell us about the young man standing there.”
“Yas, marsa, but you tole me to tell you all 'bout him, and doan't I hab to begin at the beginning?”
“Well, go on,” the Colonel interposed.
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“Dat ar chile dere was de idle of Massa Thomas' heart. My old woman, Easter, who's dun been dead dese free years, nussed him. And when she died she cried mo' for leabing him alone in dis cold world dan she did fer me. You see de boy's mudder was put under de roses when he was only a few days in de world, and Easter she lubbed him mo' fer dat. Oh, de old times kaint come back no mo'. Marsa Thomas is in de war wid Gineral Johnston, and 'fore he went he say to me—'Jim, you'se been a faiful old servant, and I gibs you yo freedom.' 'I doan't want it, Marsa,' I say. 'Let me lib and die wid you,' 'Yo neber shall want,' he kep' on, 'go lib in de little cabin toder side ob de ribber. You know he owns bof sides ob dis yere big plantation. 'Go lib dar, and de chilluns will look arter you.' An' bress dere hearts, dey all does care for po' old Jim. But I fell sick wid some sort ob a feber, and de rest ob 'em got a little scared like, all but dis yere chile. He neber left me till I done got well and able to hoe my leetle truck patch. And now he's tuk a prisoner, fer being kind to de po' ole man, who won't lib many years longer, to git him into trubble.”
The old man's withered features shone with a light that was beautiful; his utterance was choked, and the tears rolled down his black cheeks as his simple eloquence found its way to the hearts of those who heard him.
“Sergeant, release the boy and let him go home. And while we stay here, see that the old man is not molested.”
“Praise de Lawd! Bress you for yore kindness.”
The boy bowed courteously to the Colonel, and with a look of gratitude he passed out of the officer's tent, with the old man hobbling after him. As he approached Ralph he said, “Goodbye. We may meet again.”
It was not all danger and dread with the boys in the army. Weeks passed swiftly, and fun reigned in camp. The gypsy life held charms for them such as no indoor employment could offer. The men were hardy and strong, and with light hearts talked of the battles yet in store for them. And when jests were exchanged, often after having come from a scene of carnage, it would be hard to believe that these same men were ready to respond at any moment if summoned by the long roll of the drum into action.
In the early part of the war many little conveniences were provided for the rank and file, among them being tents for shelter, which did not keep out the cold, however, and many a man died from disease who would have lived to fight, had he been properly housed. The second winter, however, many huts were put up, rough enough, but better calculated to withstand the cold than canvas.
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Each company had a “cook tent” and a cook, generally selected from the men, the officers boasting a “cullered individual” who was always, according to his own account, a “perfeshunal.” The culinary department was ever a point of interest to the men, whose appetites were never so dainty that they failed to enjoy their daily rations. No soldier, no matter from what part of the North he came, ever turned up his nose at the beans, which were cooked in holes dug in the earth, and filled with hot embers, in which the iron pot containing them was buried and kept there all night.
To Bill Elliott fell the task of ministering to the hungry ones of his company, and many were the compliments he received.
“You can broil a chicken as good as any French cook,” a man would coaxingly declare.
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“Not a boughten one,” Bill replied; “somehow those kind of chickens the sutler has on hand don't have the genooine flavor.”
The hint was always taken, and alas, for the poor farmer who had a nice hen-roost, or a young porker in the sty. They had no regard for property rights, and though they were not supposed to forage, except under orders, yet the temptation was too strong to be resisted.
At such times the cackling of the fowls, whose quiet was disturbed, the melodious grunting of the pigs, who often led them a hard chase, and the laughter and shouting of the pursuing soldiers, made a scene of wild merriment never forgotten.
But Ralph could not see the funny side of these depredations. To him it was a clear wrong to take what did not belong to them. He never would join them in these expeditions, a course which exposed him to much ridicule for his “pious notions,” but which had no effect upon him.
Often their zeal in this direction brought its own punishment. On one of these forays a long-legged, awkward fellow, who could outrun the fastest chicken, chased an anxious hen into a thicket, where the grass was long and rank. As he peered round for his game he spied a dozen or so eggs shining in the sun. “Ah,” he said, “my lady hen is stealing a nest. Well, they look white and fresh, and I'll just confiscate them.” His pockets were full of sweet potatoes, he had a brace ot chickens slung over his shoulders, he had lost his handkerchief, if he ever owned one, and the problem was how to hold possession of the coveted prize.
“I know how I'll fix it. I'll put them in my cap. I can carry them all right.”
The eggs were tenderly deposited therein, and he started for camp. He heard the boys who were still engaged in the chase laughing boisterously, and saw Rob Douglass, one of the new recruits, with a rope tied to one of the hind legs of a monstrous pig, who was jerking him right and left, in quite an unmilitary fashion. Now he was nearly on the animal's back, and next he was measuring his length on the ground, but he never once released the rope, while the shouts and cheers of the boys who were watching the contest made Rob more determined than ever to land his prize at the cook's tent.
Zach Smith joined in the merriment and began to chaff Rob, whose face was grimy with perspiration, while his dust-covered clothes looked as though a good brushing and a few stitches would improve them materially.
Seeing Zach he called to him to help haul in the “critter.” The latter started toward him, but Mrs. Piggie was of the same mind, for she turned quickly and ran between his legs. Zach lost his balance and fell, and as he instinctively shot out his hands to save his eggs his head struck them squarely, while the liquid streaming down his face and neck sent forth such an odor that the men, who had inhaled many strange ones since leaving home, voted unanimously that that particular one “beat anything on record.”
Zach made his way back to his tent, followed by the jibes of his comrades, as he bade Rob, in very strong language, to settle the pig as best he could while he attended to disinfecting himself.
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CHAPTER VI. ANOTHER BATTLE.
OYS,” said Lieutenant Graves, “we have our orders to turn out and show what we are made of. You know General McClellan has command of the Army of Virginia, and he thinks we've been rusting here long enough; so we're to help General Stone in drawing out the enemy. They've so far kept in hiding, and we've got to force them out into a square and open fight.”
“The General thinks we're spoiling for a battle, doesn't he?”
“I suppose so. Anyway, we are to cross the Potomac at Conrad's Ferry and wake 'em up. General McCall has his hands full watching the river crossings, and we must help him do it.” This was good news to most of the men, who had grown tired of inaction. The long summer had worn away, and Ralph had often slipped away from camp and run into the negro cabins near by, where he was sure of a nice piece of hoe cake, baked on the hearth. The garrulous darkeys liked to see Ralph coming, and many a question they put to him which he could scarcely answer, so little did he know of the true state of affairs.
There are few idle moments in camp, for the duties of the soldier are too numerous to afford him that leisure which permits of homesickness. He has letters to write home, old ones to read; then, too, his spare time is occupied in looking for something to eat which his knapsack doesn't hold—not because his rations are scanty, or he is hungry, but he grows tired of the regular diet. He is always doing duty, police or fatigue, and the perpetual drilling, all keep him busy.
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Mending clothes became quite an art among the soldiers, and the manner in which some of them darned their stockings would reflect credit upon many a housewife who has the reputation of being an ex pert seamstress.
Wash day in camp was as important an occasion as it is at home, and preparations were made with as much regard to convenience as the surroundings would permit.
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Ralph was very fond of running into old “Aunt Judah's” cabin, for her “pones” were especially toothsome. The old negress was not handsome—her black skin was shriveled and seamed with age; she was nearly blind, but she was an admirable cook.
“Massa,” she said to Ralph one day, when she had filled his knapsack with smoking hot pone and luscious sweet potatoes, whose pulp was as golden as the sunflower's petals,—“I'se been pondering in my own min' and I kaint see what you all is fighting 'bout. Clar to goodness I kaint.”
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“We are fighting to make the Southerners come back into the Union.”
“De Union? What you mean by dat?”
“The Union—the States. There are thirty-five States, and how many slabes does he own?”
“None at all. We don't have slaves up North.”
“Don't hab slabes? Who totes your water and picks de cotton and hoes de fields?”
“We don't grow any cotton, and all our work is done by people whom we hire and pay money to.”
The old slave's eyes opened wide with curiosity.
“And when dey gets sassy, does de oberseer whip 'em?” Ralph laughed heartily as he thought of the suit for assault and battery whipping a servant up North would bring about. Here was an old colored woman as ignorant of her relationship to the great tide of humanity as a child. Born in the West in a little village where no negroes were to be found, he had seldom met one.
The old woman seemed to be talking to herself.
“It pears to me dey must be dissbedient and sassy sumtimes. All niggers are. Wonder how dey makes dem mind. When dey runs across a right smart uppish cullered pusson how do dey settle wid him? Did you say, massa, dey neber whip dem?”
“No, auntie, they never do.”
Aunt Judah shook her head doubtingly. “Massa.”
“The one man governs the whole of them. Your old masters didn't like the man who was chosen, and so they said they wouldn't stay in the Union to be governed by him.”
“Is dat man a big man? Does he b'long to a good family?”
I was plain to her the difference between servants North and South? To him slavery was a mere name. He knew nothing of its blighting understand how dreary and hopeless the life of a “chattel” broke out suddenly, “dey flogs dem down here; dey has to, sumtimes. I neber was struck a blow. I was a house servant, but my man worked on de plantation. 'Diamond Joe,' dey called him; he was lashed ebery now and den, and I tink it made him ugly. He was a likely boy. Wy, massa used to 'clar if he wan't so stubbon, jess like one of our plantation mules, he wouldn't take de price of two boys for him, for he could hoe and pick mo' cotton dan any 'mount of boys. His skin was as shiny as de satin in Missus' dress, and dark, and he was tall like de poplar trees, and strong and big. Joe lubbed me in dose days.”