May 27.
We are being greatly washed in the rainy season. Fortunately our tents are all raised eighteen inches from the ground and pitched on solid floors of faced pine logs. It is not easy to procure boards here and these logs do just as well. The men cover the floor with pine needles and sleep after the same fashion that I do. The camp has a most picturesque look. Each row of tents has its long piazza roof of pine boughs under which the men sit more contentedly than would be possible for Yankees.
I am getting excessively proud of the physical condition of our regiment. Since we came out here we have enlisted nearly a hundred good, able-bodied men, and discharged about thirty from the service. General Hunter has just issued very good sanitary orders for encampments during the summer. We had anticipated the more important of them.
Yesterday Reb and I found shelter from a great rain, where I saw only an old, gray-headed woman whose name was Rose. I found that she and her old husband and sister were benevolently left for the Yankees, while the younger members were saved from us by the master. The old woman did not murmur at her fate, and when I said: "You must have found it easier to live in slavery with your children and grandchildren than living alone in freedom" she replied: "Yes, Marse, but we lub de freedom better dan dat, an' we rudder lib here all alone dan be in slavery. Dey can no mo' sell we." I never hear that word sell pronounced by these people without a thrill of horror.
I don't remember whether I have written about the wonderful persistency of these people when once fully determined to accomplish a thing. You all know what they have gone through to gain freedom, and can easily imagine some of them capable of equal pertinacity for less worthy objects. I have noticed that when one of them fully makes up his mind to get discharged from the service on the ground of disability, there are but two ways to act in the matter. If there be real ground for his complaint, give him papers at once, but if not, pile his falsehoods upon him so crushingly that he at once feels there is no possible hope of deceiving you. Such cases are rare, but they occur; and some of our best soldiers today are men who were put into the guardhouse for trying to deceive me. I only wonder that with the accursed teaching of their masters they do not oftener attempt this thing. If, under such circumstances, I am more severe with them than another would be, I never doubt the Lord will bear in mind that my heart is intent on full justice for them. I find my hatred of slop philanthropy deepened by living with these intensely human children. While I reverence them more and more, I am more and more convinced that Robert Sutton and Prince Rivers were in the right when they said at Alberti's Mills: "That man don't know what is good for him. You know that freedom is better dan slavery for him and you ought to force him to go away wid us." The most intelligent men in our regiment urge the policy of conscription on the same ground, and that it will give them a "chance to get sense." I said to Uncle York, just now, when he came into my den to see that the fire "keep blazin"; "Uncle, if you had not a wife in secesh I might want you to go home with me when the war is over." Then he told me that he had been twice back to Darien for his wife, once on a gun-boat and once at the imminent risk of losing his life, but that she each time had refused to come away, and that he would like to remain forever with me. She is a second wife and much younger than he. The last time he went for her he brought off several fugitives. He closed his narrative as follows: "So I got some sheepskin to muffle de oar, an de moon was berry shine an when at las' we done got by de danger, I whoop, an de master ob de gun boat Paul Jones say 'Come on,' an den I make de rowers raise a sing."
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