_Negro Wit and Humor.--The Faithful Sentinel.--The Sentinel’s
Respect for the United-States Uniform.--The “Nail-kag.”--The Poetical
Drummerboy.--Contrabands on Sherman’s March.--Negro Poetry on
Freedom.--The Soldier’s Speech.--Contraband capturing his Old Master._
With all the horrors of the Rebellion, there were occasions when these
trying scenes were relieved by some amusing incident. Especially was
this true with regard to the colored people. Thus when Adjutant-Gen.
Thomas first announced the new policy in Mississippi, and they began
enlisting freedmen, one was put on guard at night, at Lake Providence,
and was instructed not to allow any one to pass without the countersign.
He was, however, told not to fire upon a person until he had called out,
“One, two, three.” The negro seemed not to understand it, and asked to
have the instructions repeated. “You are to walk from here to that tree,
and back,” continued the white sergeant, “and, if you see or hear any
one, call out, ‘Who comes there? Give the countersign. One, two, three.’
And, if you receive no reply, shoot.”--“Yes, massa,” said Sam. “I got it
dis time, and no mistake.” After an hour or more on duty, Sam thought he
heard the tramp of feet, and began a sharp lookout. Presently bringing
his gun to his shoulder, and taking sight, he called out in quick
succession, “Who comes dar? Give de countersign. One, two, three!” And
“bang” went the gun. Fortunately, the negro’s aim was not as reliable as
was his determination to do his whole duty; and the only damage done was
a bullet-hole through the Intruder’s hat. When admonished by the officer
for not waiting for the man’s answer, the negro said, “Why, massa, I was
afraid dat ef I didn’t shoot quick, he’d run.”
A colored sentinel was marching on his beat in the streets of Norfolk,
Va., when a white man, passing by, shouldered him insolently off the
sidewalk, quite into the street. The soldier, on recovering himself,
called out,--
“White man, halt!”
The white man, Southerner like, went straight on. The sentinel brought
his musket to a ready, cocked it, and hailed again,--
“White man, halt, or I’ll fire!”
The white man, hearing _shoot_ in the tone, halted, and faced about.
“White man,” continued the sentry peremptorily, “come here!”
He did so.
“White man,” said, the soldier again, “me no care one cent’ bout this
particklar Cuffee; but white man bound to respeck this uniform (striking
his breast). White man, move on!”
A Virginia rebel, who has issued a book giving his experience as a
prisoner in the hands of the Federals at Point Lookout and Elmira, tells
the following story:--
“The boys are laughing at the summons which S., one of my
fellow-Petersburgers, got to-day from a negro sentinel. S. had on when
captured, and I suppose still possesses, a tall beaver of the antique
pattern considered inseparable from extreme respectability in the last
decade and for many a year before. While wandering around the enclosure,
seeking, I suspect, ‘what he might devour,’ he accidentally stepped
beyond the ‘dead line,’ and was suddenly arrested by a summons from
the nearest negro on the parapet, who seemed to be in doubt whether so
well-dressed a man could be a ‘reb,’ and therefore whether he should be
shot at once.
“White man, you b’long in dar?”
“Yes.”
“Well, ain’t you got no better sense dan to cross dat line?”
“I did not notice the line.”
“Well, you had better notice it, and dat quick, or I’ll blow half dat
_nail-kag_ off!”
The following doggerel was composed by a drummer-boy, aged thirteen,
who had been a slave, and was without education. He sung it to the One
Hundred and Seventh Regiment United-States colored troops, to which he
was attached:--
“Captain Fiddler’s come to town
With his abolition triggers:
He swears he’s one of Lincoln’s men,
‘Enlisting all the niggers.’
You’ll see the citizens on the street
Whispering in rotation:
What do they seem to talk about?
Lincoln’s proclamation.
Some get sick, and some will die,
Be buried in rotation:
What was the death of such a man?
Lincoln’s proclamation.
You’ll see the rebels on the street,
Their noses like a bee gum;
I don’t care what in thunder they say,
I’m fighting for my freedom!
Richmond is a mighty place,
And Grant’s as sound as a dollar;
And every time he throws a shell,
Jeff begins to holler.
My old massa’s come to town,
Cutting a Southern figure:
What’s the matter with the man?
Lincoln’s got his niggers.
Some folks say this ‘almighty fuss
Is getting worse and bigger;
Some folks say ‘it’s worse and worse,’
Because I am ‘a nigger.’
We’ll get our colored regiments strung
Out in a line of battle:
I’ll bet my money agin the South
The rebels will skedaddle.”
In his march, Gen. Sherman was followed by large numbers of contrabands.
They were always the first to welcome our troops. On entering
Fayetteville, the general was met by slaves, old and young; and a man of
many years exclaimed,--
“Tank de Almighty God, Mr. Sherman has come at last! We knew it, we
prayed for de day, and de Lord Jesus heard our prayers. Mr. Sherman has
come wid his company.”
One fat old woman said to him, while shaking him by the hand, which he
always gladly gives to those poor people, “I prayed dis long time for
yer, and de blessing ob de Lord is on yer. But yesterday afternoon, when
yer stopped trowing de shells into de town, and de soldiers run away
from de hill ober dar, I thout dat Gen. Burygar had driven you away,
for dey said so; but here yer am dun gone. Bress de Lord, yer will hab a
place in heaben: yer will go dar sure.”
Several officers of the army, among them Gen. Slocum, were gathered
round, interested in the scene. The general asked them:--
“Well, men, what can I do for you? Where are you from?”
“We’s jus come from Cheraw. Massa took us with him to carry mules and
horses away from youins.”
“You thought we would get them. Did you wish us to get the mules?”
“Oh, yes, massa! dat’s what I wanted. We knowed youins cumin’, and I
wanted you to hav dem mules; but no use: dey heard dat youins on de
road, and nuthin’ would stop dem. Why, as we cum along, de cavalry run
away from the Yanks as if they fright to deth. Dey jumped into de river,
and some of dem lost dere hosses. Dey frightened at the very name ob
Sherman.”
Some one at this point said, “That is Gen. Serman who is talking to
you.”
“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.”
The poor negroes were filled with gratitude and hope by these kind
words, uttered in the kindest manner, and they went away with thanks and
blessings on their lips.
During the skirmishing, one of our men who, by the way, was a forager,
was slightly wounded. The most serious accident of the day occurred to a
negro woman, who was in a house where the rebels had taken cover. When
I saw this woman, who would not have been selected as a type of
South-Carolina female beauty, the blood was streaming over her neck and
bosom from a wound in the lobe of her ear, which the bullet had just
clipped and passed on.
“What was it that struck you, aunty?” I asked her.
“Lor bress me, massa, I dun know, I jus fell right down.”
“Didn’t you feel any thing, nor hear any sound?”
“Yes, now I ‘member, I heerd a s-z-z-z-z-z, and den I jus knock down. I
drap on de groun’. I’se so glad I not dead, for if I died den de bad man
would git me, cos I dance lately a heap.”
A contraband’s poetical version of the President’s Emancipation
Proclamation.
“I’se gwine to tell ye, Sambo,
What I heard in town to-day,--
I listened at the cap’n’s tent:
I’ll tell ye what he say.
He say dat Massa Linkum,
Way yonder Norf, ye see,--
Him write it in de Yankee book,
‘De nigger gwine for free.’
And now, ye see, I tell ye
What Massa Linkum done:
De seeesh can’t get way from dat
No more’n dey dodge a gun.
It’s jes’ as sure as preachin’,
I tell ye, Sambo, true,--
De nigger’s trouble ober now,
No more dem lash for you.
I ‘speeted dat would happen:
I had a sense, ye see,
Of something big been gwine to come
To make de people free.
I t’ought de flamin’ angel
Been gwine for blow de trump;
But Massa Linkum write de word
Dat make de rebel jump.
So now we’ll pick de cotton,
So now we’ll broke de corn:
De nigger’s body am his own
De bery day he born.
He grind de grits in safety,
He eat de yams in peace;
De Lord, him bring de jubilee,
De Lord, him set de feas’.
So now, I tell ye, Sambo,
Ye’re born a man to-day:
Nobody gwine for con trad ie’
What Massa Linkum say.
Him gwine for free de nigger:
De Lord, him gib de word;
And Massa Linkum write’em down,
O Sambo! praise de Lord!”
When the teachers were introduced into Jackson, Miss., soon after the
Union forces occupied the place, they found some very ignorant material
to work upon. One old woman, while attending the Sabbath school, being
asked who made her, replied, “I don’t know, ‘zacly, sir. I heard once who
it was; but I done forgot de gent-mun’s name.” The teacher thought that
the Lord’s name had been rather a stranger in that neighborhood. During
the siege of Port Hudson, a new schoolhouse was erected for the black
soldiers who had been enlisted in that vicinity; and, when it was
opened, the following speech was made by a colored soldier, called
Sergt. Spencer:--
“I has been a-thinkin’ I was old man; for, on de plantation, I was put
down wid de old hands, and I quinsicontly feeled myself dat I was a old
man. But since I has come here to de Yankees, and been made a soldier
for de Unite States, an’ got dese beautiful clothes on, I feels like
one young man; and I doesn’t call myself a old man nebber no more. An’ I
feels dis ebenin’ dat, if de rebs came down here to dis old Fort Hudson,
dat I could jus fight um as brave as any man what is in the Sebenth
Regiment. Sometimes I has mighty feelins in dis ole heart of mine, when
I considers how dese ere ossifers come all de way from de North to fight
in de cause what we is fighten fur. How many ossifers has died, and how
many white soldiers has died, in dis great and glorious war what we
is in! And now I feels dat, fore I would turn coward away from dese
ossifers, I feels dat I could drink my own blood, and be pierced through
wid five thousand bullets. I feels sometimes as doe I ought to tank
Massa Linkern for dis blessin’ what we has; but again I comes to de
solemn conclusion dat I ought to tank de Lord, Massa Linkern, and all
dese ossifers.’Fore I would be a slave ‘gain, I would fight till de last
drop of blood was gone. I has ‘cluded to fight for my liberty, and for
dis eddication what we is now to receive in dis beautiful new house what
we has. Aldo I hasn’t got any eddication nor no book-learnin’, I has
rose up dis blessed ebenin’ to do my best afore dis congregation. Dat’s
all what I has to say now; but, at some future occasion, I may say more
dan I has to say now, and edify you all when I has more preparation.
Dat’s all what I has to say. Amen.”
After the fall of Port Hudson, Sergt. Spencer was sent with his company
into the interior; and, while in a skirmish, he captured his old master,
who was marched off by the chattel to headquarters, distant about six
miles. The master, not liking the long walk and his heavy gun, began
upbraiding his slave for capturing him, and, complaining of his
misfortune, stopped, laid down his gun, seated himself on an old log,
lighted his pipe, and said he could walk no farther.
However, old Spencer soon told the prisoner a different tale. Waiting
a reasonable time for resting, the sergeant said, “Come, boss, you’s
smoked enough dar: come, I is in a hurry. I can’t wait no longer.” The
rebel still remonstrated with his slave, reminding him of what he once
was, and the possibility of his being again in his power. But these
admonitions made little or no impression on the sergeant, who resumed,
“Come, boss, come: dis is no time to tell ‘bout what you’s been or what
you’s gwine to be. Jes git right up and come long, or I’ll stick dis
bayonet in you.”--“Well, Spencer,” said the master, “you carry my
gun.”--“No, boss; you muss tote your own gun. I is bin toting you an’
all your chilen des forty years, and now de times is changed. Come, now,
git up an move on, or I’ll stick you wid dis bayonet” (at the same
time drawing the bayonet from its scabbard). “Massa reb” shouldered his
unloaded shooter, and reluctantly continued his journey.