"'Not unless you pay for them. And work is not plenty, Kate, for the cities are crowded with negroes who were discontented here. Suppose you cannot get work, you will have no cabin, no food, no clothes.'"
"Did you convince her?" I asked.
"No. She said to me, 'Guess you's mistaken 'bout dat ar, Mars' Cap'n. Dey mus' gib deir niggas a cabin an' a bite, you know; and dey makes piles[page 244] o' money. And sho' now, Mars' Cap'n, all de free folks is rich—dey mus' be. Nobody's po' dat's free.'
"You see," he added earnestly, "they did not know what freedom meant. It was a gorgeous vision of doing as they pleased, unlimited riches and idleness. They could work or not: whether they starved or not, they had not taken into consideration. Freedom came upon them too suddenly, and they had no idea of personal responsibility."
"But," I said, "they could form families, be free to keep their children."
To my surprise, Captain S—— began to laugh. "Of all the ludicrous scenes I remember," he said, "none were funnier than those occasioned by the new ideas of matrimony. I remember one pretty pouting mulatto about eighteen who came with a tall, powerful negro to the office for a marriage license. They were married in the church, and some few words were spoken of the solemnity of the bond between them. In about two weeks the bride burst into my office one morning, followed by her husband. 'Mars' Cap'n,' she said, 'can't I go home ef I choose?'
"'Certainly,' I said.
"'Dar, you nigga!' she said. 'I's gwine home dis bery day.'
"'But, Mars' Cap'n,' said the man, 'the minister said she was to lib 'long o' me fur allers.'
"'Oh,' I said, 'she wants to leave you?'