“Well, yes, Robert, I think you are more than half right.  You ought to know my dear, old mother who lives in Maine.  We have had colored company at our house, and I never saw her show the least difference between her colored and white guests.  She is a Quaker preacher, and don’t believe in war, but when the rest of the young men went to the front, I wanted to go also.  So I thought it all over, and there seemed to be no way out of slavery except through the war.  I had been taught to hate war and detest slavery.  Now the time had come when I could not help the war, but I could strike a blow for freedom.  So I told my mother I was going to the front, that I expected to be killed, but I went to free the slave.  It went hard with her.  But I thought that I ought to come, and I believe my mother’s prayers are following me.”

“Captain,” said Robert, rising, “I am glad that I have heard your story.  I think that some of these Northern soldiers do two things—­hate slavery and hate niggers.”

“I am afraid that is so with some of them.  They would rather be whipped by Rebels than conquer with negroes.  Oh, I heard a soldier,” said Captain Sybil, “say, when the colored men were being enlisted, that he would break his sword and resign.  But he didn’t do either.  After Colonel Shaw led his charge at Fort Wagner, and died in the conflict, he got bravely over his prejudices.  The conduct of the colored troops there and elsewhere has done much to turn public opinion in their favor.  I suppose any white soldier would rather have his black substitute receive the bullets than himself.”

CHAPTER VII.

TOM ANDERSON’S DEATH.

“Where is Tom?” asked Captain Sybil; “I have not seen him for several hours.”

“He’s gone down the sound with some of the soldiers,” replied Robert.  “They wanted Tom to row them.”

“I am afraid those boys will get into trouble, and the Rebs will pick them off,” responded Sybil.

“O, I hope not,” answered Robert.

“I hope not, too; but those boys are too venturesome.”

“Tom knows the lay of the land better than any of us,” said Robert.  “He is the most wide-awake and gamiest man I know.  I reckon when the war is over Tom will be a preacher.  Did you ever hear him pray?”

“No; is he good at that?”

“First-rate,” continued Robert.  “It would do you good to hear him.  He don’t allow any cursing and swearing when he’s around.  And what he says is law and gospel with the boys.  But he’s so good-natured; and they can’t get mad at him.”

“Yes, Robert, there is not a man in our regiment I would sooner trust than Tom.  Last night, when he brought in that wounded scout, he couldn’t have been more tender if he had been a woman.  How gratefully the poor fellow looked in Tom’s face as he laid him down so carefully and staunched the blood which had been spurting out of him.  Tom seemed to know it was an artery which had been cut, and he did just the right thing to stop the bleeding.  He knew there wasn’t a moment to be lost.  He wasn’t going to wait for the doctor.  I have often heard that colored people are ungrateful, but I don’t think Tom’s worst enemy would say that about him.”