“Tell me something about your master’s family,” I said, taking a chair near his own at the cabin door. “I have heard that Mr. Lansdale’s only son was killed during the war when he was hardly more than a child.”
“Dat so, suh,” the old man answered in a tender tone, as he sat down in his chair and leaned it back against the wall. “Dat was Marse Eddie. He wasn’t fifteen year old when he ’listed. It all come o’ him actually itchin’ ter be a soldier from his cradle up. Long ’fo’ de war was ever start up, when he wasn’t ten year old he had soldierin’ in his head, an’ nobody couldn’t stop ’im. His maw say he wouldn’t study his school books lessen dey tell ’bout wars an’ bloodshed. Away back den Marse Eddie’s soldierin’ was de chief talk ’mongst de slaves.
“He wasn’t fifteen year old when he ’listed.”
“He didn’t keer fur hosses, ur fishin’, ur huntin’ like other boys, but ef you des mention soldierin’ he would pick up his ears an’ open his eyes. He used to had his army, an’ what you reckon dat army was made out’n, suh? Nothin’, ’cept ten ur ’leven pickaninnies in deir shut-tails an’ bare laigs. But, suh, dey would march round dis plantation tell dey raidy to drap in deir tracks to please dat boy. An’ dey didn’t know no mo’ ’bout what a rail army was dan a blind kitten. But ’fore he got thoo wid um, Marse Eddie had um trained so dey will march straight in er breast-line, ur wheel round, double-quick step, an’ charge bayonets when he give de command des de same as reg’lar troups.
“Des as soon as he had his breakfust in de mawnin’ Marse Eddie ’ud tramp out’n de house wid his hat pinned up on one side an’ his pants stuck in his red-top boots an’ old Miss’ shawl flung acrost his shoulder to make ’im look like a general.
“He would al’ays find his army at de front do’ pushin’ an’ kickin’ one ’nother, all um tryin’ to be haid in de row. But when dey see ’im dey stand mighty quiet kase he done whacked deir laigs too often wid his stick sword. Den Marse Eddie ud stand on de veranda wid his maw ur Miss Grace long side o’ him while he call de roll. It uster sound mighty funny ’fo’ any of us know how it was gwine to end.
“James Lansdale! Heer! Thomas Lansdale! Heer! Abrum Lansdale! Heer! Tobe Lansdale! Heer! an’ so on dey all answered deir names. Old Marster listen to ’em one day while he was smokin’ on de veranda an’ low to ’im, he did—des jokin’: ’Son’, he say, smilin’ like he al’ays did, ’I do hope an’ pray you won’t have no diverses in battle, kase it would be too bad to had we-all’s kin-folks in Firginny read in de papers dat so many Lansdales is kilt in war. Seem like dey is a sight of um in yo’ army.’
“Young Marster didn’t say nothin’ but it sorter made ’im mad. He got raid in de face, an ordered de string o’ darkies to shoulder deir stick guns an’ march off todes de spring-house, whar he say he count on campin’ out an’ ’rangin’ ’bout buildin’ abridge cross de branch so dey kin git at de enemy prowlin’ round. Dat’s de way he carried on, an’ all de darkies in his crowd held deir haids so high dey wouldn’t speak to de niggers on de place j’inin’ we-all’s plantation, an’ dey got so triflin’ dat dey wasn’t fittin’ fur anything but fightin’ under Marse Eddie.
“Miss Grace cert’ney did keer mo fur her brother dan she did fur anything in de worl’, even de young mens dat come to see ’er. Anything Marse Eddie do is des right. She made ’im his newniform, an’ flags, an’ his raid sash, an’ gloried in ’im.