Middle Georgia, after Sherman passed through on his famous march to the
sea, was full of the direst confusion and despair, and there were many
sad sights to be seen. A wide strip of country with desolate plantations,
and here and there a lonely chimney standing sentinel over a pile of
blackened and smouldering ruins, bore melancholy testimony to the fact
that war is a very serious matter. All this is changed now, of course.
The section through which the grim commander pushed his way to the
sea smiles under the application of new and fresher energies. We have
discovered that war, horrible as it is, sometimes drags at its bloody
tumbril wheel certain fructifying and fertilizing forces. If this were
not so, the contest in which the South suffered the humiliation of
defeat, and more, would have been a very desperate affair indeed. The
troubles of that unhappy time—its doubts, its difficulties, and its swift
calamities—will never be known to posterity, for they have never been
adequately described.
It was during this awful period—that is to say, in January, 1866—that
Lawyer Terrell, of Macon, made the acquaintance of his friend Ananias.
In the midst of the desolation to be seen on every hand, this negro was
the forlornest spectacle of all. Lawyer Terrell overtook him on the
public highway between Macon and Rockville. The negro wore a ragged
blue army overcoat, a pair of patched and muddy blue breeches, and had
on the remnants of what was once a military cap. He was leading a lame
and broken-down horse through the mud, and was making his way toward
Rockville, at what appeared to be a slow and painful gait. Curiosity
impelled Lawyer Terrell to draw rein as he came up with the negro.
“Howdy, boss?” said the negro, taking off his tattered cap. Responding to
his salutation, the lawyer inquired his name. “I’m name’ Ananias, suh,”
he replied.
The name seemed to fit him exactly. A meaner-looking negro Lawyer
Terrell had never seen. There was not the shadow of a smile on his
face, and seriousness ill became him. He had what is called a hang-dog
look. A professional overseer in the old days would have regarded him
as a negro to be watched, and a speculator would have put him in chains
the moment he bought him. With a good deal of experience with negroes,
Lawyer Terrell had never seen one whose countenance and manner were more
repulsive.
“Well,” said the lawyer, still keeping along with him in the muddy road,
“Ananias is a good name.”
“Yasser,” he replied; “dat w’at mammy say. Mammy done dead now, but she
say dat dey wuz two Ananiases. Dey wuz ole Ananias en young Ananias. One
un um wuz de Liar, en de udder wuz de Poffit. Dat w’at mammy say. I’m
name’ atter de Poffit.”
Lawyer Terrell laughed, and continued his cross-examination.
“Where are you going?”
“Who? Me? I’m gwine back ter Marster, suh.”
“What is your master’s name?”
“Cunnel Benjamime Flewellen, suh.”
“Colonel Benjamin Flewellen; yes; I know the colonel well. What are you
going back there for?”
“Who? Me? Dat my home, suh. I bin brung up right dar, suh—right ’longside
er Marster en my young mistiss, suh.”
“Miss Ellen Flewellen,” said Lawyer Terrell, reflectively. At this remark
the negro showed a slight interest in the conversation; but his interest
did not improve his appearance.
“Yasser, dat her name, sho; but we-all call her Miss Nelly.”
“A very pretty name, Ananias,” remarked Lawyer Terrell.
“Lord! yasser.”
The negro looked up at this, but Lawyer Terrell had his eyes fixed on the
muddy road ahead of him. The lawyer was somewhat youngish himself, but
his face had a hard, firm expression common to those who are in the habit
of having their own way in the court-house and elsewhere.
“Where have you been, Ananias?” said the lawyer presently.
“Who? Me? I bin ’long wid Sherman army, suh.”
“Then you are quite a soldier by this time.”
“Lord! yasser! I bin wid um fum de time dey come in dese parts plum tell
dey got ter Sander’ville. You ain’t never is bin ter Sander’ville, is
you, boss?”
“Not to say right in the town, Ananias, but I’ve been by there a great
many times.” Lawyer Terrell humored the conversation, as was his habit.
“Well, suh,” said Ananias, “don’t you never go dar; special don’t you go
dar wid no army, kase hit’s de longes’ en de nasties’ road fum dar ter
yer w’en you er comin’ back, dat I ever is lay my two eyes on.”
“Why did you come back, Ananias?”
“Who? Me? Well, suh, w’en de army come ’long by home dar, look like
eve’ybody got der eye sot on me. Go whar I would, look alike all de folks
wuz a-watchin’ me. ’Bout time de army wuz a-pilin’ in on us, Marse Wash
Jones, w’ich I never is done ’im no harm dat I knows un, he went ter
Marster, he did, en he ’low dat ef dey don’t keep mighty close watch on
Ananias dey’d all be massycreed in deir beds. I know Marse Wash tol’
Marster dat, kaze Ma’y Ann, w’ich she wait on de table, she come right
outer de house en tol’ me so. Right den, suh, I ’gun ter feel sorter
skittish. Marster had done got me ter hide all de stock out in de swamp,
en I ’low ter myse’f, I did, dat I’d des go over dar en stay wid um.
I ain’t bin dar so mighty long, suh, w’en yer come de Yankees, en wid
um wuz George, de carriage driver, de nigger w’at Marster think mo’ uv
dan he do all de balance er his niggers. En now, den, dar wuz George
a-fetchin’ de Yankees right whar he know de stock wuz hid at.”
“George was a very handy negro to have around,” said Lawyer Terrell.
“Yasser. Marster thunk de worl’ en all er dat nigger, en dar he wuz
showin’ de Yankees whar de mules en hosses wuz hid at. Well, suh, soon
ez he see me, George he put out, en I staid dar wid de hosses. I try
ter git dem folks not ter kyar um off, I beg um en I plead wid um, but
dey des laugh at me, suh. I follered ’long atter um’, en dey driv dem
hosses en mules right by de house. Marster wuz standin’ out in de front
porch, en w’en he see de Yankees got de stock, en me ’long wid um, suh,
he des raise up his han’s—so—en drap um down by his side, en den he tuck
’n tu’n roun’ en go in de house. I run ter de do’, I did, but Marster
done fasten it, en den I run roun’ de back way, but de back do’ wuz done
fassen too. I know’d dey didn’t like me,” Ananias went on, picking his
way carefully through the mud, “en I wuz mos’ out ’n my head, kaze I
ain’t know w’at ter do. ’T ain’t wid niggers like it is wid white folks,
suh. White folks know w’at ter do, kaze dey in de habits er doin’ like
dey wanter, but niggers, suh—niggers, dey er diffunt. Dey dunner w’at ter
do.”
“Well, what did you do?” asked Lawyer Terrell.
“Who? Me? Well, suh, I des crope off ter my cabin, en I draw’d up a cheer
front er de fier, en stirred up de embers, en sot dar. I ain’ sot dar
long ’fo’ Marster come ter de do’. He open it, he did, en he come in. He
’low, ‘You in dar, Ananias?’ I say, ‘Yasser.’ Den he come in. He stood
dar, he did, en look at me. I ain’t raise my eyes, suh; I des look in
de embers. Bime-by he say, ‘Ain’t I allers treat you well, Ananias?’ I
’low, ‘Yasser.’ Den he say, ‘Ain’t I raise you up fum a little baby, w’en
you got no daddy?’ I ’low, ‘Yasser.’ He say, ‘How come you treat me dis
a-way, Ananias? W’at make you show dem Yankees whar my hosses en mules
is?’”
Ananias paused as he picked his way through the mud, leading his
broken-down horse.
“What did you tell him?” said Lawyer Terrell, somewhat curtly.
“Well, suh, I dunner w’at de name er God come ’cross me. I wuz dat full
up dat I can’t talk. I tried ter tell Marster des ’zactly how it wuz, but
look like I wuz all choke up. White folks kin talk right straight ’long,
but niggers is diffunt. Marster stood dar, he did, en look at me right
hard, en I know by de way he look dat his feelin’s wuz hurted, en dis
make me wuss. Eve’y time I try ter talk, suh, sumpin’ ne’r kotch me in de
neck, en ’fo’ I kin come ter myse’f, suh, Marster wuz done gone. I got up
en tried ter holler at ’im, but dat ketch wuz dar in my neck, suh, en mo’
special wuz it dar, suh, w’en I see dat he wuz gwine ’long wid his head
down; en dey mighty few folks, suh, dat ever is see my marster dat a-way.
He kyar his head high, suh, ef I do say it myse’f.”
“Why didn’t you follow after him and tell him about it?” inquired Lawyer
Terrell, drawing his lap-robe closer about his knee.
“Dat des zactly w’at I oughter done, suh; but right den en dar I ain’t
know w’at ter do. I know’d dat nigger like me ain’t got no business
foolin’ ’roun’ much, en dat wuz all I did know. I sot down, I did, en I
make up my min’ dat ef Marster got de idee dat I had his stock run’d off,
I better git out fum dar; en den I went ter work, suh, en I pack up w’at
little duds I got, en I put out wid de army. I march wid um, suh, plum
tell dey got ter Sander’ville, en dar I ax um w’at dey gwine pay me fer
gwine wid um. Well, suh, you mayn’t b’lieve me, but dem w’ite mens dey
des laugh at me. All dis time I bin runnin’ over in my min’ ’bout Marster
en Miss Nelly, en w’en I fin’ out dat dey wa’n’t no pay fer niggers gwine
wid de army I des up en say ter myse’f dat dat kind er business ain’t
gwine do fer me.”
“If they had paid you anything,” said Lawyer Terrell, “I suppose you
would have gone on with the army?”
“Who? Me? Dat I wouldn’t,” replied Ananias, emphatically—“dat I
wouldn’t. I’d ’a’ got my money, en I’d ’a’ come back home, kaze I boun’
you I wa’n’t a-gwine ter let Marster drap off and die widout knowin’ who
run’d dem stock off. No, suh. I wuz des ’bleege ter come back.”
“Ananias,” said Lawyer Terrell, “you are a good man.”
“Thanky, suh!—thanky, marster!” exclaimed Ananias, taking off his
weather-beaten cap. “You er de fus w’ite man dat ever tol’ me dat sence I
bin born’d inter de worl’. Thanky, suh!”
“Good-by,” said Lawyer Terrell, touching his horse lightly with the whip.
“Good-by, marster!” said Ananias, with unction. “Good-by, marster! en
thanky!”
Lawyer Terrell passed out of sight in the direction of Rockville. Ananias
went in the same direction, but he made his way over the road with a
lighter heart.