CHAPTER XXI.
LOYALTY OF THE NEGROES.
Startled by hounds. — An unpleasant predicament. — A Christian gentlewoman. — Appeal to Mrs. Colonel Taylor. — "She did all she could." — A meal fit for the gods. — Aunt Katy. — "Lor' bress ye, marsters!" — Uncle Zeb's prayer. — Hoe-cake and pinders. — Woodcraft versus astronomy. — Canine foes. — Characteristics of the slave. — Meeting escaped prisoners. — Danger. — Retreat and concealment.
It is the morning of November twenty-eighth, 1864. The sun has just risen above the eastern hills, and his slanting beams fall upon the goodly heritage of Colonel Alexander Taylor, "C. S. A." There are, as yet, none of the usual features here of a war-stricken country; everything around is rich and substantial. The residence is a stately mansion in the Elizabethan style, and the lady who, accompanied by two sweet children, walks the broad piazza, is evidently a refined gentlewoman. The colonel himself, like a gallant (but mistaken) knight, has "gone to the wars."
She marvels what makes "Rupert," a noble hound, that but a moment ago stretched himself at full length across the hallway, rise and bound over the lawn, barking loudly and fiercely as he runs. She calls him—at first gently, and then peremptorily, until the old hound with evident reluctance obeys the summons, and crouches at her feet. She then directs a negro, whose tokens of age and long service are as pronounced as those of his canine rival, to find out what there is in the clump of trees beyond the north hedge, to excite "Rupert's" anger. The venerable negro, with the deliberateness of his race, proceeds in the direction indicated, but is saved the necessity of much exertion, by the startling appearance of a young soldier in a motley uniform of gray and blue—his coat of one color—his nether garments of another! He advances boldly toward the house, and the lady scrutinizes the intruder. The result of her examination shows her visitor to be a slight, but sinewy young man, with a frank and honest expression, and seemingly not more than eighteen years of age. The motley stranger drew near, and bowing gracefully saluted her with, "Good-morning, madam."
The lady at once returned the salutation with a genial smile, that sent a thrill of pleasure and confidence to his heart. Without further ceremony he thereupon frankly and fearlessly informed Mrs. Taylor that he and his companion were escaped Union prisoners; that they were in a condition of starvation; and appealed respectfully but most urgently to her as a woman, for humanity's sake, to assist them in their sore need by giving them food. She at first hesitated, startled by such a request from such a source. Her husband, she said, was an officer in the Confederate service, and if it became known that she had assisted those whom his government counted enemies, it would possibly bring reproach upon him. Our young hero (for he it was) then addressed her somewhat after the fashion of the unfortunate Ulysses in his appeal to the goddess Calypso; recounted his misfortunes briefly, touched on the terrible fate that awaited him and his companion, should they be recaptured, and all doubtless in such moving terms that, like Desdemona, the lady must have thought, if she did not exclaim:
"'Twas pitiful—'twas wondrous pitiful!"
This is evident from the fact that she scarcely awaited the end of his story, before assuring him that "she would do all she could," following up that assurance in a few moments by offering the manly and polite youth before her an abundant supply of fresh and excellent food; which, she took the precaution of adding, was for himself and his comrade, fearing possibly, from Glazier's famished look, he might consume it all himself! She further assured her visitor that she would keep the secret of his having been there; while he, in return, protested that should the varying fortunes of war give him the opportunity of serving her husband, he would do so at the risk of his life. With his haversack amply replenished, an appetite like a wolf, faith in the goodness of God strengthened, and belief in the perfection of some, at least, of the fairest portion of creation greatly confirmed by this interview, he rejoined Lieutenant Lemon, and the comrades proceeded forthwith to their meal which was enjoyed with a zest known only to the starving. Before reclining himself under the glittering stars, Glazier made this entry in his diary: "Oh! ye who sleep on beds of down, in your curtained chambers, and rise at your leisure to feast upon the good things provided ... you never knew the luxury of a night of rest, nor the sweets of a meal seasoned by hunger, and the grateful remembrance that it was provided by woman's kindly heart, which, wherever it may beat, sooner or later responds to the tale of misfortune."
After a sleep so profound as to extend several hours beyond the time they had agreed upon as best adapted for the resumption of their journey, they found themselves much refreshed and strengthened, so much so that by sunrise they had reached a small stream known as Black Creek, one of the tributaries of the North Edisto River. Here, in crossing a bridge, they very opportunely encountered a colored laborer, who was on his way to work, and who cheerfully turned aside to guide them to a hut, where he assured them they could remain in safety throughout the day. The proprietor of this refuge for hunted wayfarers was a certain "Aunt Katy"—an aged negress, whose heart and hut, and such fare as her scanty larder contained, were always at the disposal of the distressed. Hearing that the strangers were Union soldiers who had escaped from Columbia, she approached them with the following salutation: "Gor A'mighty bress yer, marsters; dis is de yeah ob jubilee, shua, when de Yankees come to Aunt Katy's. Come in, marsters, come in!"
Accordingly they entered, and, by some occult process, the fact of their presence soon became known to the entire slave population of the neighborhood, who came flocking in throughout the day. Such an important occasion would have been incomplete without a prayer-meeting, Aunt Katy herself being a pillar of the Colored Methodist Church, and it was not long before the whole assemblage were on their knees, invoking every imaginable blessing upon the cause of the Union and its defenders, and every evil upon its opponents. Among other things Captain Glazier records, as a feature of this impromptu prayer-meeting, is the petition of a venerable prototype of "Uncle Tom," named Zebulon, "who appeared to be a ruling spirit in the party." This good man's enthusiasm burst forth as follows:
"Oh Lor' Gor A'mighty! We'se you-ah chillen as much as de white folks am, and we spec yo to heah us widout delay, Lor'; cause we all is in right smart ob a hurry. Dese yere gemmen has runned away from de Seceshers, and wants ter git back to de Norf! Dey has no time to wait! Ef it's 'cordin' to de des'nation of great heben to help 'em et'll be 'bout necessary for dat ar help to come right soon.