These things, however, tended to embitter him all the more against all those persons and events in any manner connected with his misfortunes. It was in such a mood and under such circumstances, that word was brought to Mr. Desmit in his private library, that "a nigger" wanted to see him. The servant did not know his name, what he wanted, or where he came from. She could only say that he had ridden there on a "right peart mule" and was a "right smart-looking boy." She was ordered to bring him in, and Nimbus stood before his master for the first time since he had been sent down the country to work on fortifications intended to prevent the realization of his race's long-delayed vision of freedom. He came with his hat in his hand, saying respectfully,
"How d'ye, Marse Desmit?"
"Is that you, Nimbus? Get right out of here! I don't want any such grand rascal nigger in my house."
"But, Marse Desrnit," began the colored man, greatly flurried by this rude greeting.
"I don't want any 'buts.' Damn you, I've had enough of all such cattle. What are you here for, anyhow? Why don't you go back to the Yankees that you ran away to? I suppose you want I should feed you, clothe you, support you, as I've been doing for your lazy wife and children ever since the surrender. I shan't do it a day longer—not a day! D'ye hear? Get off from my land before the sun goes down to-morrow or I'll have the overseer set his dogs on you."
"All right," said Nimbus coolly; "jes yer pay my wife what's due her and we'll leave ez soon ez yer please."
"Due her? You damned black rascal, do you stand there and tell me
I owe her anything?"
Strangely enough, the colored man did not quail. His army life had taught him to stand his ground, even against a white man, and he had not yet learned how necessary it was to unlearn the lesson of liberty and assume again the role of the slave. The white man was astounded. Here was a "sassy nigger" indeed! This was what freedom did for them!
"Her papers dat you gib her at de hirin', Marse Potem," said Nimbus, "says dat yer shall pay her fo' dollars a month an' rations. She's hed de rations all reg'lar, Marse Desrnit; dat's all right, but not a dollar ob de money."
"You lie, you black rascal!" said Desmit excitedly; "she's drawn every cent of it!"