I repeated, “I want to see—­I mean I want to look at—­some people up the road.”

“Dem sojers went up the road des’ now, mahsa.”

“Do you think they will come back soon?”

“I dunno, mahsa; maybe dey will en’ maybe dey won’t.”

“Didn’t you come from up the road?”

“Mahsa, how come you ain’t got no gun?”

This threatened to be a home-thrust; but I managed to parry it; and to give him as good.

“Do Southern officers carry guns?”

“You Southern officer, mahsa?”

“Southern officers carry swords and pistols,” said I; “didn’t you know that, Nick?”

“Mahsa,” said Nick, very seriously.

“What is it, Nick?”

“Mahsa, fo’ God you ain’t no Southern officer.”

“What makes you think so, Nick?”

“Caze, of you was a Southern officer you wouldn’t be a-gwine on lak you is; you ‘ud des’ say, ’Nick, you dam black rascal, git back to dem breswucks on’ to dat pick en’ to dat spade dam quick, or I’ll have you strung up;’ dat’s w’at you’d say.”

Unless Nick was intentionally fooling me, he was not to be feared.  He was willing for me to believe that he had run away from the Confederates.

“But suppose I don’t care whether you get back or not; there are enough niggers working on the fortifications without you.  I’d like to give you a job of a different sort,” said I, temptingly.

“W’at dat job you talkin’ ’bout, mahsa?”

“I want you to obey my orders for one day,”

“W’at I hatto do, mahsa?”

“Go up the road with me,” said I.

Nick was silent; my demand did not please him; yet if he wanted to betray me to the rebels, now was his chance.  I interpreted his silence to mean that he wanted to go down the road, that is to say, that he wanted, to make his way to the Union army and to freedom.  I felt so sure of this that I should not have been surprised if he had suddenly set out running down the road; yet I supposed that he was still in doubt of my character and feared a pistol-shot from me.  He was silent so long that I fully made up my mind that I could trust him a little.

“Nick,” said I, “look at my clothes.  I am neither a Southern officer nor a Northern officer.  I know what you want:  you want to go to Fortress Monroe.  You shall not go unless you serve me first; if you serve me well, I will help you in return.  Go with me for one day, and I’ll make it worth your while.”

“W’at you want me to go wid you fer?  W’at I hatto do?”

“Guide me,” said I; “show me the way to the breastworks; show me how to see the breastworks and not be seen myself.”

“Den w’at you gwine do fer me?”

It amused me to see that Nick had dropped his “mahsa.”  Did he think it out of place, now that he knew I was not a Southern soldier?

“Nick, I will give you a dollar for your day’s work; then I will give you a note to a friend of mine, and the note will bring you another dollar and a chance to make more.”