"On Fame's eternal camping-ground
Their silent tents are spread,
And Glory guards, with solemn round,
The bivouac of the dead."
This is the contrast between Christian charity and barbaric hate,—not that all the people of the South were inhuman, or that men there are by nature more wicked than all others; but the barbarity was the legitimate outgrowth of slavery.
The armies of the South fought bravely and devotedly to establish a Confederacy with slavery for its corner-stone; but not their valor, sacrifice, and endurance, not Stonewall Jackson's religious enthusiasm or intrepidity, not Lee's military exploits, can avail to blot the horrors of Andersonville from the historic record. Their cause
"Hath the primal, eldest curse upon it,
A brother's murder."
CHAPTER XXV.
SCENES IN SAVANNAH.
Dec., 1864.
As I intended to spend some days in Savannah, I set out one afternoon in search of lodgings more commodious than those furnished at the Pulaski House, and I was directed to a house owned by a gentleman who, during the war, had resided in Paris,—a large brick mansion, fronting on one of the squares, elegantly finished and furnished. It had been taken care of, through the war, by two faithful negroes, Robert and his wife Aunt Nellie, both of them slaves.
I rang the bell, and was ushered into the basement by their daughter Ellen, also a slave. Robert was fifty-three years of age,—a tall, stout, coal-black, slow-spoken, reflective man. Aunt Nellie was a year or two younger. Her features were of the African type; her eyes large and lustrous. Her deportment was lady-like, her language refined. She wore a gingham dress, and a white turban.
Ellen, the daughter, had a fair countenance, regular features, of lighter hue than either father or mother. She appeared as much at ease as most young ladies who are accustomed to the amenities of society.
Aunt Nellie called me by name.