<h3><SPAN name="CHAPTER_XLI" id="CHAPTER_XLI">CHAPTER XLI.</SPAN></h3>
<div class="chapquot">
<div>
<p>I am not a Stephano, but a cramp.</p>
<p class="citation">Tempest.</p>
</div>
</div>
<div class="chapquot">
<div>
<p>Let every man shift for all the rest, and let no man<br/>
Take care for himself; for all is but fortune.</p>
<p class="citation">Ibid.</p>
</div>
</div>
<p>The barn contained no fodder except damp husks. Burrowing into
these, we wrapped our dripping coats about us, covered ourselves,
faces and all, and shivered through the day, so weary that we drowsed
a little, but too uncomfortable for any refreshing slumbers.</p>
<p>Rising at dark, with skins irritated by atoms of husk which
had penetrated our clothing, we combed out our matted hair and
beards—a very faint essay toward making our toilets. Hats,
gloves, handkerchiefs, and haversacks, were hopelessly lost in the
fodder. Hungry, cold, rheumatic, aching at every joint, we seemed to
have exhausted our slender endurance.</p>
<div class="sidenote">A Cabin of Friendly Negroes.</div>
<p>But a walk of ten minutes took us to a slave-cabin, where, as
usual, we found devoted friends. The old negro killed two chickens,
and then stood outside, to watch and warn us of the patrols, should
he hear the clattering hoofs of their approaching horses. His wife
and daughter cooked supper, while we stood before the blazing logs of
the wide-mouthed fireplace, to dry our steaming garments.</p>
<p>It was the first dwelling I had entered for nearly twenty months.
It was rude almost to squalor; but it looked more palatial than the
most elegant and luxurious saloon. There was a soft bed, with clean,
snowy
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_442" id="Page_442">[Pg 442]</SPAN></span>
sheets. How I envied those negroes, and longed to stretch my limbs
upon it and sleep for a month! There were chairs, a table, plates,
knives, and forks—the commonest comforts of life, which, like
sweet cold water, clean clothing, and pure air, we never appreciate
until once deprived of them.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Southerners Unacquainted with Tea.</div>
<p>We eagerly devoured the chickens and hot corn-bread, and drank
steaming cups of green tea, which our ebony hostess, unfamiliar
with the beverage that cheers, but not inebriates, prepared under
my directions. Before starting I had taken the precaution to fill a
pocket with tea, which I had been saving more than a year for that
purpose. In commercial parlance, tea was tea in the Confederacy.
The last pound we purchased, for daily use, cost us one hundred and
twenty-seven dollars in Rebel currency, and we were compelled to send
to Wilmington before we could obtain it even at that price.</p>
<p>It is an article little used by the Southerners, who are
inveterate coffee-drinkers. All along our route we found the
women, white and black, ignorant of the art of making tea without
instructions. Captain Wolfe assured us that his father once attended
a log-rolling in South Carolina, where, as a rare and costly luxury,
the host regaled the workers with tea at the close of their labors.
But, unacquainted with its use, they were only presented with the
boiled leaves to eat! After this novel banquet, one old lady thus
expressed the views of the rural assembly: "Well, I never tasted this
before. It is pleasant enough; but except for the name of it, I don't
consider tea a bit better than any other kind of greens!"</p>
<p>Experience on the great Plains and among the Rocky Mountains had
taught me the superiority of tea over all stronger stimulants in
severe, protracted hardships.
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_443" id="Page_443">[Pg 443]</SPAN></span>
Now it proved of inestimable service to us. After a two-hours' halt,
refreshed by food and dry clothing, we seemed to have a new lease of
life. Elastic and vigorous, we felt equal to almost any labor.</p>
<p>"May God bless you," said the old woman, bidding us adieu, while
earnest sympathy shone from her own and her daughter's eyes and
illumined their dark faces. To us they were "black, and comely too."
The husband led us to the railroad, and there parted from us.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Walking Twelve Miles for Nothing.</div>
<p>At midnight we were twenty-three miles from Salisbury, and three
from Statesville. We wished to avoid the latter village; and leaving
the railway, which ran due west, turned farther northward. In two
miles we expected to strike the Wilkesboro road, at Allison's Mill.
We followed the old negro's directions as well as possible, but soon
suspected that we must be off the route. It was bitterly cold, and
to avoid suffering we walked on and on with great rapidity. Before
daylight, at a large plantation, we wakened a slave, and learned
that, since leaving the railway, we had traveled twelve miles
circuitously and gained just one half-mile on the journey! There were
two Allison's Mills, and our black friend had directed us to the
wrong one.</p>
<p>"Can you conceal us here to-day?" we asked in a whisper of
the negro who gave us this information from his bed, in a little
cabin.</p>
<p>"I reckon so. Master is a terrible war-man, a Confederate officer,
and would kill me if he were to find it out. But I kept a sick Yankee
captain here last summer for five days, and then he went on. Go to
the barn and hide, and I will see you when I come to fodder the
horses."</p>
<p>We found the barn, groped our way up into a hay-loft, under the
eaves, and buried ourselves in the straw. </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_444" id="Page_444">[Pg 444]</SPAN></span></p>
<div class="sidenote">Every Black Face a Friendly Face.</div>
<p class="quotdate">V. <i>Thursday, December 22.</i></p>
<p>The biting wind whistled and shrieked between the logs of the
barn, and, cover ourselves as we would, it was too cold for sleep.
The negro—an intelligent young man—spent several hours
with us, asking questions about the North, brought us ample supplies
of food, and a bottle of apple-brandy purloined from his master's
private stores.</p>
<p>At dark he took us into his quarters, only separated by a narrow
lane from the planter's house, and we were warmed and fed. A dozen of
the blacks—including little boys and girls of ten and twelve
years—visited us there. Among them was a peculiarly intelligent
mulatto woman of twenty-five, comely, and neatly dressed. The poor
girl interrogated us for an hour very earnestly about the progress
of the War, its probable results, and the feeling and purposes of
the North touching the slaves. Using language with rare propriety,
she impressed me as one who would willingly give up life for her
unfortunate race. With culture and opportunity, she would have been
an intellectual and social power in any circle. She was the wife of
a slave; but her companions told us that she had been compelled to
become the mistress of her master. She spoke of him with intense
loathing.</p>
<p>By this time we had learned that every black face was a friendly
face. So far as fidelity was concerned, we felt just as safe among
the negroes as if in our Northern homes. Male or female, old or
young, intelligent or simple, we were fully assured they would never
betray us.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Touching Fidelity of the Slaves.</div>
<p>Some one has said that it needs three generations to make a
gentleman. Heaven only knows how many generations are required to
make a freeman! But we have
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_445" id="Page_445">[Pg 445]</SPAN></span>
been accustomed to consider this perfect trustworthiness, this
complete loyalty to friends, a distinctively Saxon trait. The very
rare degree to which the negroes have manifested it, is an augury
of brightest hope and promise for their future. It is a faint
indication of what they may one day become, with Justice, Time, and
Opportunity.</p>
<p>They were always ready to help anybody opposed to the Rebels.
Union refugees, Confederate deserters, escaped prisoners—all
received from them the same prompt and invariable kindness. But let a
Rebel soldier, on his way to the army, or returning from it, apply to
them, and he would find but cold kindness.</p>
<p>The moment they met us, they would do whatever we required upon
impulse and instinct. But afterward, when there was leisure for
conversation, they would question us with some anxiety. Few had ever
seen a Yankee before. They would repeat to us the bugbear stories of
their masters, about our whipping them to force them into the Union
army, and starving their wives and children. Professing utterly to
discredit these reports, they still desired a little reassurance.
We can never forget their upturned, eager eyes, and earnest faces.
Happily we could tell them that the Nation was rising to the great
principles of Freedom, Education, and an open Career for every human
being.</p>
<p>Starting at ten o'clock to-night, we had an arduous march over the
rough, frozen ground. Hard labor and loss of sleep began to tell upon
us. I think every member of the party had his mental balance more or
less shaken. Davis was haggard, with blood-shot eyes; "Junius" was
pallid, and threatened with typhoid fever; Wolfe, with a sprained
ankle, could barely limp; I was weak and short of breath, from the
pneumonic
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_446" id="Page_446">[Pg 446]</SPAN></span>
affection. Charley Thurston was our best foot, and we always put him
foremost. With his Confederate uniform and his ready invention, he
could play Rebel soldier admirably.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Pursued by a Home Guard.</div>
<p>Toward morning we were compelled to stop, build a fire in the
dense pine-forest, and rest for an hour. We were uncertain about the
roads, and just before daylight Charley stopped to make inquiries of
an old farmer. Then we went on, and, as the road was very secluded,
were talking with less discretion than usual, when a twig snapped
behind us. Instantly turning around, we saw the old man following
stealthily, listening to our conversation. We ordered him to halt;
but he ran away with wonderful agility for a septuagenarian.</p>
<p>The moment he was out of sight, we left the road, and ran, too,
in an opposite direction, fast as our tired limbs could carry us.
It would be a very nice point to determine which was the more
frightened, we or our late pursuer. We afterward learned that he
was an unrelenting Rebel and a zealous Home Guard. He was doubtless
endeavoring to follow us to our shelter, that he might bring out his
company, and capture us during the day.</p>
<p>Long after daylight we continued running, until we had put five
miles between ourselves and the road. The region was very open, and
it seemed morally certain that we would be discovered through the
barking dogs at some of the farm-houses. But about nine o'clock we
halted in a pine-grove, small but thick, and built a great fire of
rails, which, being very dry, emitted little smoke. There was danger
that the blaze would be discovered; but in our feeble condition we
could no longer endure the inclemency of the weather. </p>
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_447" id="Page_447">[Pg 447]</SPAN></span></p>
<p class="quotdate">VI. <i>Friday, December 23.</i></p>
<div class="sidenote">Help in the Last Extremity.</div>
<p>Hungry and fatigued, with our feet to the fire, we could sleep
an hour at a time upon the frozen ground before the cold awakened
us. When, after a waiting which seemed endless, the welcome darkness
came at last, it lifted a load from our hearts; we no longer listened
anxiously for the coming of the Guard.</p>
<p>Starting again, we toiled on with slow and painful steps. We
were entering a region where slaves were few, and we could find no
negroes. "Junius," in a high fever, was so weak that we were almost
compelled to carry him, and his voice was faint as the wail of an
infant. Again and again he begged us to go on, and leave him to rest
upon the ground. We had sore apprehensions that it might become
necessary to commit him to the first friends we found, and press
forward without him.</p>
<p>About eight o'clock Charley entered a little tavern to procure
provisions. He assumed his favorite character of a Rebel soldier,
on parole, going to his home in Wilkes County for the holidays. An
old man was spending the night there. While supper was cooking, he
gave to Charley a recognizing sign of the Sons of America. It was
instantly answered; and, stepping outside, they had an interview.</p>
<p>Then our new friend stealthily led his three mules from the
tavern stable, through the fields to the road, placed three of us
upon them, and guided us five miles, to the house of his brother,
another strong Union man. The brother warmed us, fed us, and "stayed
us with flagons" of apple-brandy; then brought out two of his mules,
and again we pressed forward. They cautioned us not to intrust the
secret of their assistance to any one, reminding us that it would be
a hanging matter for them.</p>
<div class="sidenote">Carried Fifteen Miles by Friends.</div>
<p>So, on this cold winter night, while we were so stiff
<span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_448" id="Page_448">[Pg 448]</SPAN></span>
and exhausted that we could barely keep our seats on the steeds
they had so thoughtfully furnished, these kind friends conducted us
fifteen miles, and left us in the Union settlement we were seeking,
fifty miles from Salisbury. </p>
<hr class="chap" />
<p><span class="pagenum"><SPAN name="Page_449" id="Page_449">[Pg 449]</SPAN></span></p>
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