DARKIES.
There are swarms of negroes here. They are of all sexes,
ages, sizes and conditions. They sit along the streets and fences, staring and
grinning at every thing they see, laughing and chattering together like so many
black-birds. They have very exaggerated notions of freedom, thinking it means
freedom from work and a license to do about as they please. There is no use
trying to get them to work, for if they can get their hoe-cake and bacon, it is
all they want, and they are contented and happy. When a party of them is wanted
to unload a vessel or do any job of work, the commissary or quartermaster
requests the colonel to send along the men. The colonel orders one of the
companies to go out and pick them up and report with them where they are
wanted. A patrol is detailed and put in charge of a non-commissioned officer
who starts out to pick up his party. On seeing a good, stout looking fellow,
the officer halts his squad, and calling the darky's attention, says, “Come
here, boy!” The unsuspecting darky comes grining along up and asks, “Wat 'er
want 'er me?” “Fall in here, I want you,” “Wat I don’ ’er want me?” “Well, I
want you to do something; fall in here,” “O, lor' a gorra, boss, i'se so busy
today i'se couldn't go nohow, i'se go tomorrer suah.” “Never mind that, fall in
here,” and the darky falls in, his eyes rolling around and his thick lips
sticking out, feeling about as mad as he well can, doubtless thinking that
freedom is no great thing after all.
In that way the whole party is picked up in a few minutes
and marched off to where they are wanted. They are set to work, and at night
will all promise to be on hand the next morning, “suah.” The next morning
perhaps a few of them will put in an appearance, but the most of them will keep
away, and another patrol will be sent out to pick up another lot. But I think,
after a little while, they will learn that freedom means something besides
idleness and they will feel a willingness to work. They have a curious custom
of carrying everything on their heads, toting they call it, and will tote large
or small bundles along the street or through a crowd as unconcernedly and
safely as though it were a basket slung on their arm. They will tote a brimming
pitcher or tumbler of water without spilling scarcely a drop. These darkies are
a curious institution.
SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the 25th Mass.
Volunteer Infantry, p. 51
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