An hour’s walk through the contraband camp was amusing and instructive. Here were specimens of all grades of the negro character, from the genuine pious, cheerful trusting christian, to the saucy, lazy, degraded creature, which generations of slavery has made almost on a level with the beasts of the field. But all of them kind-hearted, merry-tempered, and quick to feel and accept the least token of kindness.
Their cheerfulness is proverbial; old women, with wool white with age, bent over the wash-tub, grinned and gossiped in the most cheerful manner—girls romped with their dusky sweethearts, and mothers tossed their babies with that tender pride and mother-love which beautifies the blackest and homeliest face.
All were happy, because they were free—and there seemed to be no room for anything like gloom or despondency in their hearts. Men, women, and children sang, whistled and laughed together—and whether their songs were of heaven, or of hoe-cakes, they were equally inspiring.
I found a young lady there, from the North, who had come to Washington with the intention of nursing the sick soldiers, but her sympathies being divided between sick America and down-trodden Africa, she decided to teach the contrabands instead. She seemed delighted with her employment, and the little black faces were beaming with joy as they gathered around her to receive instruction.
One colored man stood listening to the questions which were being asked and answered, and looked as if he would like to give in his testimony. I turned to him, and asked: “How is it with you? do you think you can take care of yourself, now that you have no master to look after you?” “Gosh a-mighty, guess I can! Ben taking car’ of self and massa too for dis fifteen year. Guess I can take car’ of dis nig all alone now.”
While at one of the hospitals in Alexandria, the head steward told me the following touching incident, which occurred in that hospital. Said he:
“A young man had been placed under our care, who had a severe wound in the thigh. The ball passed completely through, and amputation was necessary. The limb was cut up close to the body, the arteries taken up, and he seemed to be doing well. Subsequently, one of the small arteries sloughed off; an incision was made, and it was taken up. ‘It is well it was not the main artery,’ said the surgeon, as he performed the operation. ‘He might have bled to death before it could have been taken up.’ But the patient, (Charley, as we always spoke of him), got on finely for a time, and was a favorite with us all.
“I was passing through the ward one night, about midnight, when suddenly, as I was passing Charley’s bed, he spoke to me: ‘H——, my leg is bleeding again.’ I threw back the bedclothes, and the blood spirted in the air. The main artery had sloughed off.
“Fortunately, I knew just what to do; and in an instant I had pressed my thumb on the place, and stopped the bleeding. It was so close to the body that there was barely room for my thumb, but I succeeded in keeping it there, and arousing one of the convalescents, sent him for the surgeon, who came in on a run.
“‘I am so thankful,’ said he, as he saw me, ‘that you were up, and knew what to do, for otherwise he must have bled to death before I could have got here.’