Headquarters Army Of Potomac
January 31, 1864
As I was riding the other day, I came on a rare bird, a real
old family nigger; none of your lying, stealing, camp contrabands, but a real,
grey-headed, old-fashioned Virginian nigger. He seemed to be living in a little
log hut. His battered, white broad-brim, and coat of faded snuff-color, did
speak of days before the war, when Master lived in the big house, now burned
flat. “Good morning, Uncle!” said I, after the manner of our Southern brethren.
The ancient darky looked up in surprise, at this once familiar greeting, and
then, taking his hat off in a way that knocked Louis XIV entirely, he replied, “Good
mornin', saar! a beautiful mornin', saar!” I asked where Beverly Ford was, and
thanked him for his information. Whereupon I was favored with more of the Great
Monarch, and retired much impressed with him. His day is gone. More houses and
better houses will be built in Culpeper country, and a few years will leave no
trace of the war, but the decaying head-board, here and there, of some poor
chap, and the bits of shell that the farmers will sometimes pick up. But
Master, who lived in the big house, is shot, long ago — he and his regime both.
SOURCE: George R. Agassiz, Editor, Meade’s
Headquarters, 1863-1865: Letters of Colonel Theodore Lyman from the Wilderness
to Appomattox, p. 67-8
No comments:
Post a Comment