but it is very different with the volunteers and the rank and file of the army at large.  The men do not talk much about it; it is not likely that they think very profoundly upon the social and legal questions involved; they are Abolitionists by the inexorable logic of their situation.  However ignorant or thoughtless they may be, they know that they are here at the peril of their lives, facing a stern, vigilant, and relentless foe.  To subdue this foe, to cripple and destroy him, is not only their duty, but the purpose to which the instinct of self-preservation concentrates all their energies.  Is it to be supposed that men who, like the soldiers of the Guard, last week pursued Rebellion into the very valley and shadow of death, will be solicitous to protect the system which incited their enemies to that fearful struggle, and hurried their comrades to early graves?  What laws or proclamations can control men stimulated by such memories?  The stern decrees of fact prescribe the conditions upon which this war must be waged.  An attempt to give back the negroes who ask our protection would demoralize the army; an order to assist in such rendition would be resented as an insult.  Fortunately, no such attempt will be made.  So long as General Fremont is in command of this department, no person, white or black, will be taken out of our lines into slavery.  The flag we follow will be in truth what the nation has proudly called it, a symbol of freedom to all.

The other day a farmer of the neighborhood came into our quarters, seeking a runaway slave.  It happened that the fugitive had been employed as a servant by Colonel Owen Lovejoy.  Some one told the man to apply to the Colonel, and he entered the tent of that officer and said,—­

“Colonel, I am told you have got my boy Ben, who has run away from me.”

“Your boy?” exclaimed the Colonel; “I do not know that I have any boy of yours.”

“Yes, there he is,” insisted the master, pointing to a negro who was approaching.  “I want you to deliver him to me:  you have no right to him; he is my slave.”

“Your slave?” shouted Colonel Lovejoy, springing to his feet.  “That man is my servant.  By his own consent he is in my service, and I pay him for his labor, which it is his right to sell and mine to buy.  Do you dare come here and claim the person of my servant?  He is entitled to my protection, and shall have it.  I advise you to leave this camp forthwith.”

The farmer was astounded at the cool way in which the Colonel turned the tables upon him, and set his claim to the negro, by reason of having hired him, above the one which he had as the negro’s master.  He left hastily, and we afterwards learned that his brother and two sons were in the Rebel army.