Story of a Contraband

THE hero, and indeed the author, of this little story (since I took it down almost word for word from his own lips) is a huge, jet-black, powerful negro, whose trials and sorrows have never damped the courage or soured the sweetness of a singularly brave and kindly nature. I first saw him in the soft twilight of a lovely summer evening, working most energetically in a friend’s garden, and was instantly attracted by the fact that he was not only willingly and cheerily working after hours, but was doing so with immense energy and rapidity. He replied to all his master’s entreaties to stop work and go home with the assurance that he was “ interested in dese yer raspberries; goin’ to rain to-morrow, and dey won’t be nice fur de mist’s jam if dey’s wet.”

Finally he emerged, carrying a big basket, a tin pan, a hoe, and a rake, all in one hand, in a peculiarly dexterous manner. For Joe McEntyre had but one arm, and with this, as I soon discovered, accomplished much more than most men with two. He was a great favorite with his employers, and equally so with his fellow - servants, while his skill, cleverness, and willingness made him factotum in general. In the rosy dawn, the first sounds that greeted our ears all that summer long were the mellow tones of Joe’s naturally deep bass voice, subdued to softest accents of persuasion, as he coaxed a refractory cow to let down her milk. It was not his business to milk this particular cow, but it became his habit, because she invariably kicked over stool, milking-pail, and milker, if any one else attempted to handle her. This is only one instance out of many, of his happy gift of managing animals. The kindly paternal way in which he used to coax, and pet, and feed the young calves and colts would have filled an orphan child’s heart with longing; indeed, the dominant instinct of the man’s nature led him to delight in making all creatures happy, and I remember well the odd sight he presented one morning, shambling across a field, with colts, calves, and cows all following him in affectionate and uncomfortable proximity, while he expostulated with them: “ Now, honeys, ye done come fur enuff; yer knows I’s got to go home to my dinner, and I earn’ take all on yer along. Lemme go now, and I ’ll bring all on ye some salt when I come back.”

The story which follows I took down at different times, as I followed Joe about the garden, for he never paused in his labor for an instant. It will be seen that his diction is peculiar, the ordinary negro phraseology being diversified. by some high-flown expressions which he has picked up at various times, while occasionally a singularly happy and picturesque phrase will find its way into his speech. At first his recollections were given in rather a fragmentary form, but at my earnest request he devoted a Sunday afternoon to my notebook, and appeared in resplendent attire, arrayed in stillly starched nankeen pantaloons and a showy shirt, his shoes —he wears sixteens — brilliantly polished, a handsome coat much too small, and a large white hat surmounting all, while four gorgeous breastpins shone radiant upon different parts of his person. One blazed in his cravat, a second adorned his shirt-front, a third the bottom of his waistcoat, while the fourth gleamed like an order upon his empty sleeve. I give his story as nearly as possible in his own words, though unfortunately I cannot claim to have preserved, in anything like its native freshness, the racy charm of his narrative, to which indeed his tones and gestures added not a little.

Yes, mist’, I was bohn in Guinea, and de fust t’ing I ’member is woods, woods, woods, stretchin’ away like de ocean dar now. We was happy enuff in dem days. Not as I ’member so much, neither. I was eight years old, ’s nigh as I can guess, when I was took, me and my br udder Alfred, and my fader and mudder. Dey was two sisters too, but dey got away, and I suppose is livin’ dar now. Well, beside de woods, dar was de ocean dar, jus’ like it is yere, only dar was dar, so it seems to me, brighter-colored pebbles on de sho’.

We was mighty fond of goin’ down to de sho’, all on us, young and old, to bathe, but we young ones ’joyed ourselves de best. We went dar day arter day, like young lambs, to play. My mind sometimes goes wanderin’ over dem days, so you must ’scuse me, mist’, if I don’t bring my ’collections togedder as smooth as beads on a string. Well, ’bout our bein’ took. Dar was a colored man darj don' know nuffin ’bout how be came, only know he was dar, and spoke our language like he was one of us, which was likely he had been, though now he was paid by pirates, which of course we didn’t know. He was roun’ dar a long time, tellin’ stories to de chil’en, and talkin’ eberlastin’ wid de grown-up folks, till he got mos’ of de leadin’ Africans under his belief (Guinea, you know, mist’, is in Africay; so that’s why dey call my nation people Africans) dat he had a ship full of red blankets and red caps and beads and sich. ’Pears like de fus’ t’ing cl’ar like a picture to my mind is a fullerin' on, a lot of us, chil’en, parents, old folks, and all, fro de woods, follerin’ on, I say, jess like birds a charmer. By and by we see de sea shinin’, and dar shore enuff was de ship, white sails spread, and goin’ softly up and down on de waves, like she was dancin’ or courtesyin’. Den dis yer man turns ’roun’, and he makes a speech. He seen dey was a lot of old folks along, for dey was covetuous of de beads an’ caps an’ red stuffs, as well as de rest; an’ he tuck mighty good keer to let dem old folks know he hadn’t nuffin fur dem.

Finally we got aboard de ship, and we was tuck down to a place dat was all lit off wid lookin’-glasses and colored lights and beads and red and yellow stuffs bangin’ ’roun’. A gorgerer place I never saw. We all got in dar, and den he tole us to stand up close, and den when we was all fixed de t’ings would be give out to us. So he got us till we was all settin’ by, expectin’ of great treasures, an’ all dis time he was edgin’ hisself to de do’. All of a sudden like a streak of lightnin’ he jumped out, an’ de do’ was shut on us. De ole uns of us saw den how ’t was, an’ of all de jumpin’ an’ boltin’ an’ hollerin’ an’ roarin’ dar ever was in dis world, you bet dar was nuffin like what was on dat ar boat. Some of dem big, double-j’inted African men struck de ship like dey’d break it iu two. ’Twa’n’t no use, we couldn’t git out, and ’fore many minutes was over we felt de ship movin’ over de water. I’ve heerd since, she hung about de sho’, skirtin’ ’roun’ Africay a good while, ’fraid of anodder ship huntin’ of her, and that it was about two months ’fore we got compass right, and off for de United States. Ef de ship had been caught, dey’d have fastened us all togedder wid big hall chain handcuffs an’ pitched us overhoard. ’T was a bad time, anyhow; we was packed so close we couldn’t hardly breathe, and de food, beef an’ sich, was forked in to us fro’ de rails. Dar was fightin’ den, you bet. Ef it had n’t ha’ been fur my big, double-j’inted br udder Alfred, we’d ha’ died, fader an’ mudder and me. He fit de others and saved enuff to keep us alive. Dey was a good many deaths, more ’n half; a good many more ’n half, I guess; but at las’ de ship sailed inter New Orleans. Ilundora was her name. I heern afterwards she was burnt on do high seas, ’stroyed fur de business she was in, carr’in’ niggers.

De fust t’ing arter we came to land dere came down a lot of strappin’ big nigger-drivers, all dressed out in white coats and pants and hats, and carr’in’ mighty big whips. And dey came and looked at us fro’ de rails; we hadn’t never been let out; ’cause de sailors was ’fraid of us. By dis time we was too weak to fight much, but we was that vicious that it would n’t have been safe for any of ’em to come amongst us widout bein’ mighty keerful. Arter a time dey got us out on deck. We was all naked and barefoot, in course, all on us. De nigger-drivers brought out, fust t’ing, plenty of hominy and coarse Indian meal and milk. Dey put it in a big trought on deck, an’ we helped ourselves. When we was all full, den come de tug of war, ’cause dey brought along shirts and shoes and pants and hats, and begun to put ’em on us. Well, of all de rippin’ an’ tearin’, when dem ar clo’es got on, you bet, mist’, you never seen nuftin to beat it. Dern ar clo’es went lickety-split; hats and shirts and pants, dey was all ripped and teared. ’Pears like de feelin’ ob de clo’es jus’ drove us crazy. We was all sold in one lot, — me, an’ my brudder Alfred, an’ my fader and mudder. Dey all died in slavery too, ’ceptin’ me. Dey had to treat Alf like a beast, he was that desprit and strong, and some of de others ’peared like their hearts was busted in ’em. When we got to de plantation, orders was give to de nigger-driver to teach us how to hoe, ’ceptin’ me. I was too little, an’ was let run along of de odder pickaninnies. Dey put a clean shirt on me fust, t’ing, and I tore mine inter strings. ’Peared like I could n’t b’ar clo’es nohow. Den dey put on anodder shirt, and dat I durst n’t take off. Dat shirt tormented me so, I was off my feed nigh two days, and den I went for ’t like a tiger.

De fust work I ever done was scrapin cotton. I broke down over dat, an’ den I was set to tote water. I used to car’ it on my head. I had to go down to de ribber to git it, and mos’ allers used ter git in an’ have a good royal bathe. I used ter stay in a good while, till I’d see de nigger-driver huntin’ of me with a whip. He did tan me mis’able one time, an’ arter dat I was n’t a good water toter no more. I was mighty lazy and mischievious in dem days, and de judge,— Judge Annesley was our boss, — he tole Essex ter timber me well, so’s ter teach me ter behave. I fit Essex when he done it, and de judge larfed ter see me pitch into him. Finally I ran away, and stayed in the hay till I got starved out, and arter dat I had a real nice time, ’cause de judge he would n’t let me be tanned so hard ag’in. Judge Annesley was a real kind man, good to all his hands. Dere wa’ n’t no runnin’ away when he was to home, but the gardeen,¹ he was a cross man. When I ’d been growed up a few years, de judge was tuck sick; he was sick a good long time and finally he tuck to his bed. I was ’roun’ about him a good deal, and de day ’fore he died he had me in ter lift him, and he shuck hands with me. “ Good-by, Joe,” says he; “you’ve been a good, faithful boy, Joe,” he says. He died next day, and arter the death of him my days begau ter git kind of ashy.

Arter he’d been buried ’bout a week, madam had us all, field hands and all, up to de house; the new overseer she’d engaged, he was dar too, stan’in’ ’longside of her chair and lookin’ mighty fierce. Soon as we was all dar, madam spoke up. “ Now, boys and girls,” says she, “do you know what you are?” she says. “ You ’re jus’ de laziest, good-for-nuffinest set of hands in Louisiana. Now I’m goin’ ter make workin’ niggers of you,” says she. “I’ve got a overseer now as ’ll manage things, and I ’m agoin’ to make money by my cotton; and if ye don’t work your stent you’ll get the stick.” With that she made us all stan’ up in a row ’fore de oberseer, and den she give her orders fust, and arter dat she sung out in a angry voice, “ Will you all obey? ”

Den de oberseer spoke up, and says he, “ Now, Mrs. Annesley,” says he, “ I'm de man to fulfill yer orders. I '11 keep ’em all up ter time, but I don’t want no questionin’ nor interferin’ ’bout de way I deal wid ’em. I hope you ’ll agree to dis, madam,” says he.

Well, she didn’t like it, but she said she’d agree to it, and a little while arter dat she went off summerin’ and left all her keys in de keepin’ ob a favorite nigger - driver named Caleb. She tole Caleb not to let on to anybody, ’specially de oberseer, that he had ’em, and Caleb was a mighty faithful hand, and he did n’t; but de oberseer suspicioned it, and Caleb he allers tole him no; course he did, ’cause de mist’ tole him not to let on.

Howsomdever, spite ob de oberseer’s suspicionings, eberyt'ing went along tol’able smooth till de mist’ came home.

I was dar, up roun’ de house, when she arrove, an’ Mass’ Matthews, de oberseer, he was dar too. De mist’ asked him ef eberyt’ing was goin’ on well, and de hands all well and behavin’ theirselves, and he says yes, eberyt’ing was goin’ along fust - rate. Well, dis yer pleased de mist’, and she gin Mr. Matthews quite a flatteration on his management; but right on top of it she sung out loud, “ Joe, take de pony, an’ go down to de south plantation and ask Caleb to send me my keys.” Mass’ Matthews gave mist’ de blackest look I ever did see, but he did n’t say nuflin, only walked away quick. He didn’t say nuffin to Caleb, neither, but from dat day nuflin dat poor nigger done was right. He’d give him orders mortal man could n’t fill, an’ den he’d be down on him ’cause he did n’t do de stent ob four men. Ye see, mist’, dat ar key was in his mind all de time, an’ dis yer faultfindin’ about pickin’ cotton and sich was ter drown de t’oughts ob it out ob our minds. But we ’membered of it all de time. Arter mist’ had been home most a week, de oberseer came down ter de cotton - field whar Caleb and me was workin’. “ Ye damned, lazy, good-fornothin’ nigger,” says he to Caleb, as soon as be came close up to us, “ ye have n’t done yer stent, I see. I ’ll teach ye ter disobey my orders. I ’ll give ye some ile ter limber yer j’ints, ye lazy dog.” Wid dat he called up four ob de biggest and savagest ob de nigger-drivers, and made ’em drive four stakes into de groun’, an’ strip Caleb, an’ lay him down, an’ tie him to de stakes. He stood close by, hisself, an’ made ’em put on de lashes. I won’t tell yer no more ’bout, dat, mist’. Only he was jus’ cut to pieces. Why didn’t we tell mist’ ? Lord! we would n’t dar’. Ef she ’d ha’ found it out, she’d ha’ stopped it mighty quick, but we didn’t none of us dar’ to run off an’ tell her, and de whippin’ place was more ’n two miles from de house. Ef we’d ha’ started to run, he’d ha’ killed us. Lord! jus’ as easy as you’d kill a fly. When Caleb was tuck up he was ’most gone. De oberseer was frightened, den. Dey carr’d him home and put sweet ile and cotton on him, and de oberseer went fur de doctor. De nex’ day mist’ hearn he was sick, and came ter see him, and brought him wine and medicine and sich, but she nebber suspicioned nuffin. He was all covered up close in bed. De oberseer he 'd threatened de doctor ter shoot him dead, ef he did n’t say dat pneumony was what was de matter of Caleb, so de doctor did say so, and mist’ nebber know no better. Ye see it wasn’t ’lotted fur mist’ ter stop it, nor punish it, and it was ’lotted fur Caleb ter die; and he did die four days arter he was flogged.

Ed Matthews was de oberseer’s name; he had it all his own way arter dat, but ’peared like his heart was broke fur what he done. He nebber whipped no one no more, nor gib an order. ’Peared like he couldn’t care about nuffin. We soon found dat out, and done what we pleased. Arter a while he tole mist’ he must go; he wouldn’t even wait till she got some one else.

Bob Barrett was de next man in charge; he did n’t flog so much, but he fed de slaves so poor dat de wind could have blowed ’em over. Two pounds of meat a week, and a pint of meal a day, husks and all, and de work powerful heavy, too. When he was pushed for time he’d keep de hands on workin’ day and night; and de meat was give raw, and no fire ’mos’ of de time to cook it. Many would mix pone and put it down to de fire to bake, and den be kept so hard to work dat when dey came back, dey’d find de pone all burned up; I have, many a time. Dar was hard times down dar. Often when night come, arter I' d had nuffin to eat all day, I’d be too tired, spite of de hunger in my stomach, to go up to de house and get a piece from de mist’s table.

Bob Barrett was de man dat threatened to lick me. I’d got on pretty well all along, and never had a thrashing since I grew up; and I was a powerful hand to work, so I kept along, and he got no chance to lick me; but he was hard on me, pilin’ up my stent a little more ebery day, ’cause he knowed I could n’t b’ar de shame of de stick, and dat I ’d work de nails off my fingers fust. Dem days is gone, but my flesh was wore away like an old hoe den, and ’pears like I ache in all my bones when I ’member of ’em. When Bob Barrett had been on de plantation about six months, I had a bad turn of cholera morbel. I should ha’ died ob it, ef it hadn’t been for Luce, madam’s maid. I laid down under de trees near de house, ’most ready to gib in, but Luce seen me, and she mixed a powerful dose ob camphire and hot water, and worked and worked till she got it down me. In a day or two I was back in de field ag’in, but ’peared like my bones was limber, and I couldn’t do my stent nohow. Mass’ Bob Barrett he came up to me in de cotton-field as mad as fire. " Now you Joe,” he says, “don’t you show me none of yer shamming sick tricks; you pick your stent to-day or you git a licking to-night, as sure’s my name’s Bob Barrett.” Den he rode off.

Well, I tried hard fur an hour, but I could n’t pick my stent nohow. So den I made up my mind to put for de swamp, an’ nebber pick no more. I knowed he’d flog me, and I couldn’t stan’ it; I ’d nebber tuck a licking, and ’peared like it would break my heart. So I give out I was mighty sick in my insides, and den I crep’ under de fence, an’ laid dar, like I was ’mos’ dead. Arter a while, when I seed dey was n’t ’memberin’ of me, I crep’ away little by little till I got out ob sight, and den I put fur de swamp. I was allers a mighty good hand to run, and swim too, and ’fore dey stopped work, or suspicioned ob me, I was fur enuff away. I knew de swamp well, an’ jus’ how to ’scape from de hounds; I heern ’em arter me, soon arter sundown, but my trail was

lost in de water, and dey could n’t kitch me. I stood it pretty well dat night, and de nex’ day, till it seemed like I’d go mad with hunger. De second night I went up de swamp two miles or more beyond our plantation, and den I hid in de woods; I couldn’t find nuffin to eat dar, so I clum up a tree to take a look ’roun’ de country, an’ sure ’nuff I seen some of Mass’ Blackmore’s plantation hands (de plantation ’longside of ours was Mass’ Blackmore’s) makin’ a fire, and workin’ ’roun’. By’mby dey fixed some pone and some meat, an’ put ’em down ’fore de fire ter cook. You bet I was down dat ar tree quicker ’n lightnin’, as soon as dey went back to work. I grabbed all dere victuals an’ back to de swamp again. Tell you, dat supper tasted fust-rate, and I had enuff ter last me two or free days. De dogs was out arter me ag’in dat night, and I had ter take to de water. Dem nights was mighty hard. I had ter keep out in de ribber on an ole tree-trunk, and de alligators was n’t nice company. I made a kind of a harpoosh of a long stick, and stuck a knife into de end of it, to keep ’em off wid. It was hard work, though I was a mighty smart hand at hittin’ alligators. When de daylight came I got along better, Ef I could git stones, I used ter hit ’em with a stone right in de snout; dat’s de best way ter kill ’em. But Lord! dey was too thick ’roun’ dar fur me. A fellow’s arms ud git wore out in a few hours, a-keepin’ on em off. Day-times I lay down under de young undergrowths, poplars and willows and sich. De tussock was soft enuff; easy runnin’ on it fur me, ’cause I was bar’footed; it was chock full of snakes, but I never minded of ’em. I was more ’fraid ob a white man’s face dan all de reptileses in de swamp. As soon as I’d eat up all I stole, I begun ter contrive and watch how I could creep out ob de swamp to steal suffin. I was most starved ’fore I got anudder chance. I had a little tobacker in my pocket, and I chawed dat, and when dat give out I found an ole dried-up grape-vine, and I lived on dried bunches of grapes fur two days.

All dis time dey was a-huntin’ of me. I' d hear de dogs hayin’ ebery night, and I worked my way forder and furder up de swamp. Two nights arter I fust found de grape-vine, dey was nearer to me dan dey eber was before, and I tuck to de water, and swum a long stretch, I was ’mos’ wore out when I lighted on a ole boat what was left, and I clum inter dat, and stayed awhile. I ’ll nebber forgit de way de muskeet’s fit me dat night. It was worse ’n de alligators, and ’fore daybreak I swum ag’in a long stretch till I come to a little island in de ribber. It had a kind of a sandy beach, and I kivered myself all up with sand up ter my neck. I got a real good sleep den, nobody ter ’sturb me, and good pertection from de muskeet’s. It was ’mos’ sundown ’fore I woke up, ravin’ hungry. “ O Lord!” I says, out loud, “ where will I get suffin ter eat dis day? ” I jus’ lifted up my eyes den, and I see right hangin’ down ober me some sycamore buds. I was under a sycamoretree dat was chock full of buds. Dey was sweet and good too, and I lived on water and dem buds till I stripped dat ar tree bar’ ’s de palm of my hand. Den I tuck ter bangin’ roun’ on de edge ob de plantations ag’in, ter see ef I could find suffin to eat, and I had mighty good luck; dar was a fine sheep, one of ole mist’s sheep, strayed away from de plantation. I knowed de look ob him, and felt like I could sing fur joy when I knocked him on de head. I got back to de swamp ag’in with him mighty quick, and I did n’t wait fur fire, de fust meal I made off dat ar sheep. I jus’ fill’ myself full as I could stick, and den I laid down ’longside of my sheep. De nex’ day I set to work to skin him reg’lar, and I was workin’ away when I heerd a kind of a soft step, and twigs cracklin’. Lord! dar was a painter a-lookin’ at me, all ready fur ter spring on me. My ha’r riz on my head, and my feelin’s change', but I frew down de sheep and tuck a step away, and he did n’t come arter me, and I felt some ’lief. Den I tuck anudder step away and I felt ’liefer. By dat time de painter had hold ob de sheep, and I made tracks fur de woods. I knowed he would n’t put arter me till he’d eat up my sheep, and den I run my bestest. I tell you I was glad of a good bellyful dat time. I could n’t have stood de rovin’ and hidin’ dat week ef I’d begun on an empty belly. I got away from de painter easy enuff de fust day, but he was nosin’ arter me fur free days and nights, and I oneasy and runnin’ and hidin’ as hard as I could. De end ob it was I had a good nine-mile stretch away from him. I run and run till by’mby I come all of a sudden plump on a hut in de swamp, whar some colored. people lived. I knowed dey was livin’ in de swamp somewhar, but I had n’t nebber found ’em afore. Dey was eatin’ supper when I bu’st in on ’em, and frightened ’em ’mos’ todeff, ’cause dese yere niggers what hides in swamps is always thinkin’ de white folks and dogs is arter ’em. I fell on de flo’ as soon as de do’ was shut. “I’m a friend,” says I (for I was ’fraid dey’d kill me), “ I ’m a friend, but I’m runnin’ from a painter. Look out!” says I, “he’s close by.” He was so, shore ’nuff, and a man shot him fro’ de window wid his rifle.

I laid nine days in dat nigger hut. Dey had plenty to eat, and ’peared like I could n’t eat and sleep enuff. Dey was a few runaway niggers dar, what was united togedder in a kind of a band, and dey wanted fur me ter unite wid ’em, but I would n’t, and den dey wouldn’t gib me nuffin more t’ eat. I watched my chance, and one night when dey was all asleep I run away. De nex’ evenin’ I wentured out towards Mr. Erskine’s plantation, ’cause I knowed his niggers was n’t watched bery close, and I thought I’d get a chance fur ter get suffin t’ eat. ’Peared like I must run any risk, I was so mortal hungry. I got as fur as de gin-house, and den I crep’ up and hid among de piles ob cotton, and ’fore I’d been dar long I heard some one a-creepin’, creepin’ up. I made ready ter fight fur my life, and den de step come creepin’ along, and I saw ’t was anodder runaway nigger. Gransome was his name. He kivered hisself up close wid de cotton, and ’peared like he was waitin’ fur suffin; and shore 'nuff, 'fore long a woman come in mighty softly.

“ ’Sh-h, ’sh-h ! ” says she. “ Puss, puss, puss! ”

“ Miaw; I ’m here,” says he.

“ Dar,” says she, givin’ him a lot of victuals, “dar’senuff ter last you two or free days. Keep still, and don’ you stay ’roun’ yere long, 'cause massa 'll be home to-morrow.”

“All right,” says he, and he crep’ back under de cotton and fell to like a good un. Tell you, de water come in my mouff ter hear him crackin’ and crunchin’.

“ Hem! Gransome! ” says I in a whisper.

“Who’s dar? ” says he.

“ ’Sh-h, ’sh-h! a friend,” says I “ Joe McEntyre. Fur de Lord’s sake gib me suffin ter eat,” says I. “ Ef yer don’t, I ’ll hab ter take it, and I’m stronger ’n you.”

“ Ye kin hab some,” says he, and I eat till I was satisfied. I had a good sleep dat night, and when I woke up Gransome was gone. I put fur de swamp ag’in ’fore daybreak, and de nex’ night I slep’ in anodder gin-house, furder up de bay. Dar wa’ n’t no one dar, and I mixed some pone from some corn meal I found, and set it down to de fire to bake. I knowed no one wouldn’t be back dat night. By’mby I went up a tree so’s to look ’roun’ de country. Dar wa ’n’t no one in sight, but when I come down ag’in to git my bread, I was scented by an old dog. He come up and scented me, and gib me a terrible fright, so I tuck a run and tuck to de ribber, but all was quiet, and ’fore midnight I come slippin’ back ter git my bread. De fire was out, so ’t was n’t burned, and I had a good meal off it.

De nex’ day I come ’mos’ to de edge ob de plantation, and laid down under some willows to watch till I’d git a chance to git suffin to eat. I laid low all day; ’peared like I could ’mos’ spread my body even wid de ground, but I got no morsel to eat dat day. De nex’, as I was hangin’ ’roun’, I smelt dried beef, plain as could be. Lord! when you’re wanderin’ and starvin’ like dat, 'pears like you can smell like a hound. Well, de ’traction ob de beef drawed my nose to it straight as could be; I found it was in a gin-house, whar de men was workin’ all night. I waited and watched till dey was all asleep, and den I made tracks wid de beef. I made a good meal off it, but arter dat I had a terrible hard time ag’in. De dogs was out arter me ag’in, and I was runnin’ night and day. I was a year and a half in de swamp, and I ’member de fust few weeks de best of all. I had n’t no thought left ’ceptin’ to hide and fight. I made dat my reverent idea. I was shot at, fust and last, eight times, and I got ter feel more like a wild beast nor a man. I did n’t know nuffin ’bout de war, nor de Norf, nor nuffin. But I’ll nebber forgit de fust United States soldier I seen. It was de end ob my trubbles. It was de last day I was hidin’, and I was out huntin’ fur suffin ter eat. I did n’t know whar I was, not at all, but I knowed I was many a long day’s journey away from de ole plantation. I 'd been makin’ a long march, huntin’ food, and I was most wore out, when I come on an open place in de woods whar some men in red and blue clo’es was runnin’ across a field and gain’ fro’ some manœuvres.

I was watchin’ of ’em like one ’stracted, when dey caught sight ob me, and I put for’t, ’cause I hadn’t no belief in no one.

“ Hallo ! stop! stop! ” dey says, runnin’ arter me. “We’re friends! stop! stop! ”

But I put for’t all de more. I was dat desprit and strong I felt like I could run a hundred miles, and de soldiers dey come arter me lickety-split.

By’mby I felt my strength gibin’ out, and I jus’ laid down and shammed dead. ’Peared like my head sunk and my heart bu’sted, and I didn’t know nuffin more till I come to myself and found I was lyin’ on de ground, de soldiers all ’roun’ me, and one on ’em pourin’ water down my throat. “ Don’t be afraid,” dey says, “ we ’re friends ob de slaves.” Arter dat, soon’s I was able ter walk, dey tuck me back ter camp, and de fus’ t’ing I noticed was a big kettle, and pork and beans and corn and tomat’s all bilin’ in it togedder. I was dat starved dat I was goin’ fur dat ar kettle de fus’ t’ing, but de Zouave what tuck me, he held on to me. " Hold hard, ole feller,” he says. “ I must take you to de cap’n first, and den yer can eat as much as yer want.”

De cap’n was mighty kind to me; he gin me some elo’es, and tole me to go to de brook and wash myself, and put ’em on, and den I could eat till I was satisfy. Golly! I set down by dat ar kettle, and I eat till I couldn’t eat no more, and den I went ter sleep huggin’ of it. De soldiers all came ’round and larfed at me. Lord! dat was my best time! I would n’t do nuffin but eat and sleep de fust two days, and den I got so filled up I could n’t hardly creep. I was sick arter dat, and put into de hospital, and when I got well I ’listed. Tell you, missy, dat ar was a proud day when my name went up to de president. I was mustered into Company C, United States Colored Rangers. I tuck to soldierin’ as natural as a duck to water, and dey was mighty good times arter all I’d come fro’. My captain was a good, kind man; he writ fur me a good many times to try and find what ’come ob my wife and four children what I left behind me on de ole plantation, but could n’t nebber hear nuffin about ’em. When we went inter battle I fit like a tiger, and liked it arter de fust few minutes. I lost my arm in de battle ob Savannah. I was a long time in hospital arter dat, and was moved a good many times. Fust I was moved to Beaufort, Souf Ca’lina, and den when I got better I was brought up Norf and put in hospital on David’s Island. I was a good while gittin’ well, and when I was discharged Dr. Wetmore gin me a good recommend fur a gardener, and got me a nice place. I’m doin’ well now. I bought dis yere little house, and paid for’t, and what with garden work, and sellin’ vegetables and eggs and sich, I git on mighty well. Only dis spring de fowls has tuck ter eatin’ dere eggs, and I made a heavy loss by dat.

Yes, I’m married. When I found I could n't yere nuffin about my fust wife, ’peared like I ough’ ter git married. So I got engaged to two colored ladies, one in Washington and one yere. Dis one was raised in Philadelphy. I was kind o’ connected with both of ’em in my mind, and I did n’t ’cide which I ’d take till de night ’fore I was married. Den I ’cided I liked dis one de best, so I tuck her. I nebber heern nuffin more ’bout de one in Washington arter I writ her I was married.

Mrs. Launt Thompson.