"I reckon so. Master is a terrible war-man, a Confederate officer, and would kill me if he were to find it out. But I kept a sick Yankee captain here last summer for five days, and then he went on. Go to the barn and hide, and I will see you when I come to fodder the horses."
We found the barn, groped our way up into a hay-loft, under the eaves, and buried ourselves in the straw.
Every Black Face a Friendly Face.
V. Thursday, December 22.
The biting wind whistled and shrieked between the logs of the barn, and, cover ourselves as we would, it was too cold for sleep. The negro—an intelligent young man—spent several hours with us, asking questions about the North, brought us ample supplies of food, and a bottle of apple-brandy purloined from his master's private stores.
At dark he took us into his quarters, only separated by a narrow lane from the planter's house, and we were warmed and fed. A dozen of the blacks—including little boys and girls of ten and twelve years—visited us there. Among them was a peculiarly intelligent mulatto woman of twenty-five, comely, and neatly dressed. The poor girl interrogated us for an hour very earnestly about the progress of the War, its probable results, and the feeling and purposes of the North touching the slaves. Using language with rare propriety, she impressed me as one who would willingly give up life for her unfortunate race. With culture and opportunity, she would have been an intellectual and social power in any circle. She was the wife of a slave; but her companions told us that she had been compelled to become the mistress of her master. She spoke of him with intense loathing.
By this time we had learned that every black face was a friendly face. So far as fidelity was concerned, we felt just as safe among the negroes as if in our Northern homes. Male or female, old or young, intelligent or simple, we were fully assured they would never betray us.
Touching Fidelity of the Slaves.
Some one has said that it needs three generations to make a gentleman. Heaven only knows how many generations are required to make a freeman! But we have been accustomed to consider this perfect trustworthiness, this complete loyalty to friends, a distinctively Saxon trait. The very rare degree to which the negroes have manifested it, is an augury of brightest hope and promise for their future. It is a faint indication of what they may one day become, with Justice, Time, and Opportunity.