"'Oh! I am a Union man,' I replied.
"'Den I is glad to see you. I'll jes' call Ham. He runned away when he seed you. He's feared; yes, he's dat. He isn't gwine wid de "Sesh" any mo'.'
"'Well, aunty, have you a Union officer in your cabin, sick?'
"'Well, now, massa, I'se jes' got to know who you is afore I 'fess on dat case.'
"'Well, aunty, I am Daniel Lyon, sometimes called "Uncle Daniel."'
"'Afore God, is dat you, Massa Lyon? Jes' get off yo' hoss an' wait rite heah; I be back in a bit.'
"She hobbled in, evidently to speak to the Colonel. I waited quietly until she returned. Just then the others came in sight, and I sent the boy to halt them. Aunty came out so excited that she could hardly speak.
"'Sho' as you is born'd, dat Massa Tom knows you; but, sah, he's powerful weak, an' you must exclose who yo' is to him in a most delicacious manner, or you'll incite him. He's 'fraid, sah, dat you is a exposter.'
"'O, no, aunty, I am his uncle and benefactor.'
"'Yo'is what?'
"'His uncle,'
"'No, but de oder t'ing what you is?'
"'His benefactor.'
"'Glory to God! Is you? May de Laud shine his light in dis pore house, an' brush away de fears ob dis misfortunate famly.'
"Then she called Ham.
"'Oh, yo' Ham, come heah.'
"I entered the cabin and beheld Col. Anderson, as pale as death, lying on a poor, broken-down bed. I knelt by his side upon the floor and wept aloud. The Colonel could only whisper. Extending his hand, while the great tears were rolling down his face, he asked:
"'Is my wife with you? How is my child?'
"He was greatly excited and very weak. I arose from his bedside and told him who were coming, and begged him to be calm. Aunty brought some cloths and laid on his breast, saying to him:
"'Now, Massa Tom, you mus' be still. Don' be like I tole you. You mussent get 'cited now--nuffln of the kine. Jes' see de folks like yo'
allers done. Dey's come a mighty long ways to fine yo'. Wish dey stay away 'til I cure yo'; but spose it's all rite. De good Laud he done knowed de bes'. Maybe de "Sesh" come take him some day afore long, so de Laud he knows what he wants. Bress de good Laud.'
"'I went out to meet the others. Mary at once asked me what the matter was. I spoke as gently as I could, and said:
"'Mary, Tom is still alive.'
"She instantly leaped from her horse and made for the cabin, and in an instant was at the bedside of her husband, covering his face with kisses and tears. Tom was too weak to more than whisper 'my dear wife,' and weep in silence. Old Ham had come in, and stood in one corner of the room looking on the scene with his hands locked together over his head.
He was heard to say over and over in a low tone: "'De Lord bress dese chilien.' "Aunt Martha took hold of Mary, saying: "'Deah Misses, yo'
jes' stop dat cryin'. You ought to be 'joiced dat Massa Tom be libbin.
You ought ter seed him when de "Sesh" fotched him heah. I tell you dat was de time what fotched me down, I done got rite on my old knees an'
axed de good Laud to spar dis good Massa Tom. I knowed him the berry minute I laid my eyes on him. Many's de time I make his bed and cook his dinnah. I tell you all about dat. Why, dem "Sesh," when dey fetch Massa Tom heah in de old wagon, dey des frowed him out like he been a hog, and tole Ham an' me dat we mus' dig a hole and put him in; dat we be killed if we don't. I done went and looked at him, an' tole Ham dat he wasn't dead; dat he was wa'm an' bredin. So Ham an' me jes' carried him into dis house, an' got blankets and kivers, and wash him wid wa'm water, and took keer on him; setted up all de time, one or bofe on us, and kep' him good an' wa'm, an yo' see he's done gittin' well. De good Laud heah our prayers, an' he whisper to pore ole Marfa dat he gwine to fetch him out for some good he gwine to do for us pore people. Bress de Laud; he is good to us. I tell yo', de man what said to dig a hole fo' him is a bad man; his name is Whitthorne. I 'member de name kase I knowed de Whitthornes in Jackson, Miss., when I libbed there. Yes, dat so.'
"At this Mary broke down again. She felt sure that this was some of her people. Aunty continued:
"'Ole Massa Gawge (George), that we b'longed to, move upheah six year ago, on dis place, from Jackson. He libbed up dar on the hill in dat white house dat yo' see up dar, dat am locked up an' no one is in it.
Dey got lot ob t'ings in dar. When de Union whip de Sesh at Dolins-burg, and de Sesh come dis way, gwine home or some-whar, den Massa Gawge an'
all de famly dey go, too, an' take all de niggers 'cepin' me an' Ham.
Dey say we's too ole, an' dey done lef us to take keer ob de place; dey leabe de smoke-house so we kin git in an' git sumpin to eat. Well, dey is plenty in dar, an' we lib all right, and, bress de Laud, dat save Massa Tom's life. De good Laud fix it dat way, sho' as yo' born. He take tkeer ob de good folks.'
"Old Ham, who had been silent, broke out:
"'Yes, dat's so, massa, dat's so. De Laud do do dis. He done told me up at de smoke-house to take all dat we wanted, an' dat when Massa Tom done get well, dat we mus go wid him 'way from heah an' lib with Massa Tom; dat de Sesh kill us when dey find out we done cure him up. Yes, sah, de Laud say dat to me, sho.'
"I said to him: 'Ham, are you sure the Lord said that; did you not dream it, or was it not Aunt Martha that said it?'
"'No, massa, no; de Laud told me, sho! I know 'twas he. De words come right down frough de smokehouse when I was gittin' meal to make de gruel for Massa Tom. O, no, massa; Martha was down heah. I told Martha when I come back.'
"'Well, Ham, what did Martha say?'
"'She say dat we must 'bey de Lord; dat he was mo' our massa den Massa George; don't we b'longs to de Laud mo' dan to Massa George. Den I say dat's well, Martha; you know, and if you b'lieve in dat we go. An' we is gwine wid Massa, sho.'
"'If you should go, Ham, they would accuse us of stealing you, and have us arrested for it.'
"'Well, I doesn't know 'bout dat. I knows we can steal our ownself away, an' go to de place whar Massa Tom lib; I knows dat. We's gwine; dat's done fix; we's gwine.'
"The Colonel had been listening, and smiled to find that these two good old people loved him so, and he nodded his head to Ham, which caused him to laugh immoderately.
"'It's done fix,' said Ham, and he left the cabin.
"I said: 'Aunty, have you any children?'
"'Laud bless yo' good soul, we has six chilien some whar; don't know whar. Massa George he sole our chilien 'way from us soon as dey was six year old. I never see any ob dem since den; neber heard anything 'bout dem. He sole 'em 'way down on de Gulf some whar; neber would tell us.
Dey done forgot us, or whar we lib, long go; dey so young when dey taken 'way, O, dey do dat way, so de ole folks not fine 'em. I tell you, Massa Lyon, 'tis purty hard on ole folks, to lose de chilien dat way. If dey die an' de Laud take dem 'way, dat's all rite; de Laud know he own business; but when dey sole 'way, dat hard. You see, dese people dey got chilien, but dey tink we no keer for our'n. Dat is whar dey don't know.
We does keer jes as much as de white folks, but we can't help ourself, dats all. I tell you dat's bad. O, I cry myself nearly to deff 'bout my chilien; but all do no good; dey done gone; I neber see dem any mo'. If I was to, dey would not know me, an' me not know dem; so no good now to cry any mo'; dey be all dead, maybe--hope dey am--den dey work for de Laud and Master all de time, and not be worked all de time fo' de people for nuffin' an' doin' no good. Yes, I hope dey is all done dead. Wish I knowed dey was, den I'd be feelin' good. You see, me an' Ham talked dis all ober. We neber see our chilien no mo' no matter whar we is; so we am gwine where we will be counted wid de people an' not wid de cattle. Yes, sah; dat's what we's got in our heads; dar's no use tryin' to put it out; it in dar, an' dar it stay. We's gwine, sho'.'
"'Well, well, aunty, all right; I will see that you go. I will take the consequences. I will not see as good an old couple as you are held like cattle if I can help it.'
"The old woman shouted 'glory,' and hobbled out of the cabin, I presume, to tell Ham what I had said.
"By this time the Colonel had recovered somewhat from his excitement, and quietly and in a low voice told us how he came to be there. He said that when he was wounded on the works of Dolinsburg and left for dead, that some one came along and stanched the flow of blood by binding some cloth around the wound saturated with something--his wound was through the right breast, touching slightly the right lung--that in the afternoon, when a portion of the rebel army passed over the ground that he occupied, Col. Whitthorne, his wife's brother, discovered him and had him placed in one of his ambulances, bringing him away; had no knowledge as to what his intention was--whether to take him to some place of safety--some hospital, or let him die and bury him where his remains could afterwards be found by his family; that up to within a few days he had no idea where he was; that these old colored people had kept his whereabouts a profound secret, except among a few of their race whom they could trust; that when he found a force was stationed at Dolinsburg, he got them to send there and give the information, so that he might make some arrangement about getting away, for fear of recapture by the enemy, and they had sent the boy that we met. He was anxious to get away, and thought that he could bear being moved in some easy conveyance to Dolinsburg in two or three days' travel. We consulted together, and Capt. Day sent a messenger back with a letter to Col.
Harden, asking him to send an ambulance and a surgeon the next day, we remaining with the Colonel until their coming. There was plenty of fodder at the plantation barns, and the men took care of the horses.
Aunty prepared a sufficient quantity of wholesome food for ourselves. We passed the night without much sleep, the Captain and I using our chairs for beds, as there was not sufficient accommodation for us all; Mrs.
Anderson slept on the bed by her husband, and the men found comfortable quarters in the stables. We enjoyed ourselves, however, hearing Aunt Martha and Ham tell us how they had taken care of the Colonel; how they had bathed and dressed his wound once each day with warm water and poultices of white-oak ooze and slippery-elm bark; how they stopped the bleeding with soot from the wooden chimney; how they dosed him occasionally, when his wound seemed painful, with good whiskey that Ham got up at the house on the hill (he had managed to force an entrance somehow); and how every day they asked the Lord to heal his wound and make him well, so he would take them away from their long suffering and unhappy life. The story of the old woman was most interesting as well as very amusing. The next morning we had bread, coffee and chicken, which was relished by all, I assure you. The Colonel was fed on gruel and a piece of chicken. Aunty, who had him entirely under her control, would not allow him to eat anything else. After breakfast was over I asked Aunty how she came to know Col. Anderson, and she in her way told me the story of her having been hired out once by her master to Col. Anderson's family before the Colonel was married, and she said:
"'Laud bressyou, chile, I know Massa Tom soon I put my eyes onto him.
Yes, sah. I neber let on, doe. He didn't know nuffin when they frowed him out heah like a pig. No, sah. He was mos' dead, sho'. Dat's one time he mos' done gone to glory, sho'. But he all right now; he come out. An'
when he do, oh, great Laud, don't I jes' want him to go for dem "Sesh."
Yes, I tell you, I do. Dar is no mistake on dat pint.'
"The day passed. The Colonel improved and conversed considerably with his wife. We left them together all we could to enjoy their reunion.