“God bress me! is you Mr. Sherman?”
“Yes: I am Mr. Sherman.”
“Dats him, su’ miff,” said one.
“Is dat de great Mr. Sherman that we’s heard ob so long?” said another.
“Why, dey so frightened at your berry name, dat dey run right away,” shouted a third.
“It is not me that they are afraid of,” said the general: “the name of another man would have the same effect with them if he had this army. It is these soldiers that they run away from.”
“Oh, no!” they all exclaimed. “It’s de name of Sherman, su’; and we hab wanted to see you so long while you trabbel all roun jis whar you like to go. Dey said dat dey wanted to git you a little furder on, and den dey whip all your soldiers; but, God bress me, you keep cumin’ and a cumin’ and dey allers git out.”
“Dey mighty ‘fraid ob you, sar; day say you kill de colored men, too,” said an old man, who had not heretofore taken part in the conversation.
With much earnestness, Gen. Sherman replied,—
“Old man, and all of you, understand me. I desire that bad men should fear me, and the enemies of the Government which we are all fighting for. Now we are your friends; you are now free.” (“Thank you, Massa Sherman,” was ejaculated by the group.) “You can go where you please; you can come with us, or go home to your children. Wherever you go, you are no longer slaves. You ought to be able to take care of yourselves.” (“We is; we will.”) “You must earn your freedom, then you will be entitled to it, sure; you have a right to be all that you can be, but you must be industrious, and earn the right to be men. If you go back to your families, and I tell you again you can go with us if you wish, you must do the best you can. When you get a chance, go to Beaufort or Charleston, where you will have a little farm to work for yourselves.”