"An African Morgan—a citizen whose name we shall not mention, although many readers know and will recognize the case—was surprised some days ago by the entrance of a good servant, who was supposed to be, if living at all, in Yankee hands at Knoxville. This servant went cheerfully, of course, or he would not have been sent, to wait on 'Young Massa,' who is under Brigadier-General Jenkins, in Longstreet's corps.

"In the retreat from Knoxville, he was accidentally wounded, and necessarily left behind.

"When taken to Knoxville, he was questioned by General Foster, well known for his connection as engineer with Fort Sumter, which has done more than he desired or expected for the defense of Charleston.

"Being asked his master's name, the man replied, when General Foster condescendingly said: 'Oh, yes; I knew him when I was at Sumter. You know that you are now free and have no master.' We need not report the further conversation, or the conduct of the servant. Suffice it to say he did not—like some of our gossiping friends in uniform—talk to everybody about his intention, but at the first promising opportunity he took French leave of Yankee friends and freedom in Knoxville, and not knowing then where to find or reach his 'Young Master,' he struck, according to his best information, for the 'Old Master' and the 'home place.'

"He was compelled to walk over one hundred and fifty miles, and in great part over the route travelled lately by General Morgan, and succeeded in reaching a railroad, which gave him a lift toward this city.

"We would have more such cases if opportunities could be found."

—Charleston, S. C, Courier, January 19, 1863.

This Kent was not of blood royal, as his name might indicate; he came of a dusky African brood, but his loyalty and faithfulness would have done credit to any race. How he got his name I do not know, but it was a relief to the ear after those his mother had chosen for his brothers—"Cully" and "Hackless." Whether the latter was intended for Hercules, neither Martha, their mother, nor any one else knew.

Kent was the flower of his flock as regarded his appearance, being tall and slender, with shiny black skin and unusually high features for a negro. He seemed to justify his mother's boast that she was "no low-blooded negro, but was of a good family in Africa." And she really had some foundation for this unusual pride among her race, for our grandmother, who died at a great age many years ago, was fond of telling among the incidents of her childhood, that once when a shipload of Africans was brought to her native city for sale, her husband went to purchase some for his plantation, and among several he brought back "Katura," Martha's ancestress. After the usual process of shutting them up until they could be induced to wear clothes, she, with the others, was sent up to the plantation. When they arrived there and began to mingle with the other negroes, one of those that had been bought some time before, at the sight of "Katura," rushed forward and prostrated herself at her feet with every mark of affection and respect. She could speak English and explained to the astonished onlookers that this was a princess in her country, who had been sold by her uncle to the slave-traders. It seemed a barbaric romance. Katura, however, took kindly to civilization, and soon settled herself in her new position with no undue repining. In time she was comforted by a partner, and brought into the world numerous progeny, who were noted for their integrity and fidelity unto the fifth generation, which brings us to that of Kent.

When the great war broke out, and all the men and youths were joining the army, our hearts were heavy, and we felt full of sad forebodings at Otranto, our country home, where parting and sorrow had never come. We were a large band of girls, with one young brother, the idol of our hearts, and the apple of our parents' eyes. Like everybody in those days, we were very patriotic, but when it dawned upon us that Harry must shoulder his rifle and go to Virginia we felt that love of country cost us dear. Harry completed his sixteenth year the April after the secession of South Carolina, and as there was no doubt that his college days were over, as he would not study, we were not surprised when the day after his birthday, he galloped up the avenue, dashed into the room where we were sitting, upsetting a chair, and exclaimed:

"How soon can you get me ready, girls? I joined the Hampton Legion this morning, and we are off to Virginia,—Hurrah!"

"Hush, Harry!" exclaimed our eldest sister; "pick up that chair; don't you see mother is faint?"

"No, it is past," murmured our mother, trying to smile, as we all turned to her. "God bless and keep you, my boy. I expected you to enlist; you could not do otherwise, and now," stifling a sigh, "I must think of your outfit, and you must take a servant too. I wonder which will be best."

"A private with a servant seems an anomaly," laughingly said Harry. "But I believe several of the boys have men, and anything to ease your mind, mother dear."

"Our minds must learn to do without ease, as well as our bodies, I fear, in the days that lie before us," she answered, stroking his curly head as he knelt by her chair; "but we must act, and not think now."

The days that followed were busy ones. The difficulty was not what was needed, but what could be carried. It was an exciting novelty to pack a knapsack, and its small capacity was a constant check to our zeal. Harry's constant reminder, "I will have to march with that on my back, nobody knows how far," brought a pang to our hearts. It was decided that he should take a "body-servant"—the old-fashioned Southern rendering of the French term "valet." After much deliberation and, I fear, heart burning among the servants, for in this, as in other instances, the post of danger was also that of honor, Kent was selected, much to his own and his mother's gratification.

The day appointed for the company to which Harry belonged to join the Legion in Virginia came all too soon. He shouldered his knapsack, and tore himself from us, followed by his colored attendant, with whom we all shook hands and whom we urged to "take care of Mas' Harry."

"Yes, Missus," he responded, looking preternaturally solemn.

Of course Harry left a great gap behind him, but we tried to excel each other in efforts at cheerfulness, and bright prognostications as to his future career as a soldier. We succeeded only tolerably in these laudable efforts, when Martha waddled in—she was our cook, and a decided character in her way. I believe, next to our mother, she thought herself of first importance among the feminine part of the household. She gave a keen glance at our mother, whom she idolized.

"Well, Missus," she said, dropping a little curtsy, "I come to see how you gettin' on. You all looks pretty blue, but I 'clare to gracious there's no 'casion to fret. Nuttin' gwine to hu't Mas' Harry w'en Kent gone to tak' care ov him. Missus, you dunno how smart dat boy is; an' I jus' tell him, 'Mas' Harry tinks he's a man and a soger, but you know he ain't nuttin' but a baby, an' a ma-baby at dat.' An' I jus' tell him he need not to come home if he let anyt'ing hu't Mas' Harry. So don't you fret, Missus."

"But how could Kent prevent Harry's being wounded or hurt, Martha?" I asked.

"Now, Miss Sallie, don't you go for to talk nonsense," responded the old woman. "An' your ma always says w'ere dere is a will dere is a way. Well, dat's what I tells Kent, an' I tells Affy, de gal he's courtin', it's no use for she to fret, fur 'less Kent brings Mas' Harry back safe, dere won't be no weddin' fur him."

"Oh," I said, "he is courting, is he? That is why he looked so serious when he left."

"It looks so, Missy. He tell me to look sharp at her, an' see if she notice anybody while he is gone. An' I will—an' let her know, too, if she do," she muttered as she left the room.

Harry saw much active service, was in many battles, and fortunately escaped with only one wound. He told us in his letters of Kent's faithful following, and attendance on long marches, and after a battle he always found him looking anxiously for him, with something to eat as nice as he could get. Indeed, he was a wonderful provider, but Harry was by no means sure that Kent could have made good his claim to many of the eatables he set before him, for his conscience was an elastic one as to the rights of property in food. So long as he got what he wanted for Harry, he stopped neither to buy, beg nor borrow, but helped himself. His kindness of heart, ready wit, and readiness to lend a helping hand to any one in need made him a general favorite in the company, where he was noted for the care he took of his young master.

The years of the war sped on, and brought privations and sorrows which each year seemed to intensify. Our home was no longer the bright place it used to be, for we had lost many friends, and self-denial was the order of the day. We were very busy, too, and that helped to keep us cheerful.

There were new accomplishments to acquire. We learned, and taught our maids, to card and spin the home-grown wool, and when that did not suffice for the extraordinary demand we had supernumerary wool mattresses ripped up; the ticking was considered to make handsome frocks for the servants, and the wool when dyed and woven made excellent homespun suits for ourselves, that were not to be despised for durability and warmth. There was quite a rivalry as to who could make the prettiest dyes for our dresses, but after a time black was most worn. Then we had our old light kid gloves to ink over carefully, so that we might not go barehanded to church. We thought those gloves a great success when we first dyed them, but when we came to wear them, the ink never seemed to dry, and would soak through, and dye our hands most uncomfortably. Our greatest achievement after all, I think, was the piles of socks we knitted by the lightwood blaze at night. Our old-fashioned butler always placed a candle—a tallow one, or still worse, a home-made myrtle wax one—upon the table, but we considered it an extravagance to light it unless there was something urgent to read. I am surprised now that we did not mind the heat of the blaze more in summer, but I do not remember our thinking of it. There was one great spasm of patriotism when every worsted curtain in the house was cut into soldiers' shirts. Some of these were of brilliant colors and patterns, and I cannot but think might have served as targets for bullets. We even undressed the piano and converted its cover into a blanket for a soldier. We were chagrined afterwards to hear from some of our friends who had done the same thing, that the latest advice from the field was that the soldiers found the garments, so improvised, very unsatisfactory, and begged the ladies not to sacrifice their belongings so recklessly.

There were no plum puddings or mince pies in those days, according to the accepted recipes, but we made Confederate fruit cake with dried peaches and apples instead of raisins and currants, with sorghum for sugar; and potato pones and puddings were very frequent, and both dishes had the merit of a little going a long way, especially after the supply of ginger gave out.

We never had any use for the potato, peas, ground-nut, or any sort of mock coffee, but we drank orange leaf, or sage tea in preference to any other home-made beverage. We managed to keep a little store of genuine tea for medicine, and when our mother pronounced any of us ill enough to need a little coddling, what a treat it was! The invalid never would consent to partake, unless it was a family tea party. What enjoyment those occasions gave!

In the latter part of '63, we were distressed to hear from Harry that he was ill in the hospital in Tennessee. He wrote: "I think we are falling back. Kent is ill with pneumonia, and the worst of it is that if we fall back I have no means of transportation for him; it will be hard to have to leave him."

Dire was the distress that letter brought us. We waited anxiously for further news. Harry brought it himself. He had been ill, and was sent home on furlough. He looked worn, and very unlike the bright boy who had left us.

"What of Kent?" we asked.

"I had to leave him," he said. "I could not help it. We were falling back rapidly. Many were left in the hospitals, and are now prisoners. It was only through my captain being such a friend of father's, and stirring himself to get me a place in an ambulance, that I was not left. I dragged myself to see the good fellow, although I could scarcely walk. He was very sick, and distressed to part with me. I told him the enemy would be in town that night, and he would be free. He said, 'Mas' Harry, that is nothing to me; if you don't see me home, you will know I am dead. Tell Missus, and Ma, and Affy so.'"

Martha was given the message, but our conscientious mother added: "But, Martha, if you do not see him you need not be sure he is not living; but you must not count too much on seeing him, for if he gets well he will doubtless be tempted to stay, and try a new experience."

The old woman twirled the corners of her apron, as she said sadly: "Missus, it is five generations since my fam'ly come from Africa, and Mausser's from France; we's been togedder since dat time, an' been fait'ful togedder; for once w'en times was hard wid Mausser, he mout hab sold us, but he didn't. He kep' us all togedder, an' you tink Kent such a fool as not to know dat, an' be happy 'mong strangers? He got to work w'erebber he is, an' nobody gwine to consider him like you all. No, ma'am, if he alive I'm lookin' for him, w'atever it seems like to you, ma'am." And she bobbed her curtsy and walked off, leaving her mistress feeling quite small.

Harry remained with us for some weeks. It was pleasant to see his enjoyment of home fare, even in its pruned condition. Everything seemed luxurious after the camp life; but he did not linger after he was well enough to return to the army. There still was no news of Kent. Harry refused to take another servant in his place, although urged to do so. "No," he said, "I could not find any one to fill Kent's place; and it is a demoralizing life. I do not know if even he could stand the restraints of civilization again."

Several months passed after Harry's departure, and we had given up any idea we might have had of hearing any more of Kent. Martha mourned him as dead, and induced her preacher to preach his funeral, she and Affy attending as chief mourners. Affy in a black cotton dress of Martha's which swallowed her up, and Martha with her very black face muffled in a square of black alpaca, from which, as she peered out, her teeth and eyeballs looked dazzlingly white.

One freezing night in December, as we were trying to summon resolution to leave the warm chimney corner and go to bed, we were startled by a rap at the door. Everything was startling in those days. Our father opened it, and the light fell on a tall figure clad in a United States uniform, surmounted by Kent's smiling countenance.

"Why, where do you come from?" we exclaimed.

"Well, I tole Mas' Harry if de Lord spare my life I'd come home, an' here I is, sir, and Missus, an' mighty proud," he added, as my mother extended her hand to him, and said:

"You are a faithful fellow. Your mother knew you better than I did."

We soon dismissed our returned wanderer to his rest. Martha's and Affy's delight may be imagined, and the speed with which they doffed their mourning was marvelous. The next morning we were anxious to have Kent's adventures, which he was pleased to narrate. His comfortable attire looked very spick and span beside the faded garments of those around, and his excellent shoes were a source of undisguised envy to his fellow-servants.

"Well, Miss Sallie," he said, when I remarked on his appearance, "I thought I'd better get myself the best I could while I was w'ere dey was plenty, as I could give ole Maussa one nigger less to clothe. You see, ma'am, w'en Mas' Harry an' our people lef', I felt pretty bad. That night, sure 'nuf, as Mas' Harry tole me, the Yankees came booming into town, an' it wasn't long befo' all our mens, who was in the hospitable, was took prisoners; but they seemed very kind to them. W'ile they was sick they give them everything. It was a cur'ous t'ing, w'en General Foster come through w'ere I was, he noticed me, and asked me w'at I was doin' there, an' I tole him how I had been wid my young Maussa, an' w'en I tole him w'ere I come from an' Mas' Harry's name, 'Oh,' say he, 'I know his father well. I was stationed at Fort Moultrie befo' de war, an' I have eaten many a good dinner at the old Colonel's.' I tole him, 'Yes, sir, Maussa had the bes' of everything, an' my ma was a splendid cook.' So then he say: 'If you come from them you knows your business, an' w'en you are well, I will take you into my service. You is free now, you know.' So they kep' me in the hospitable, an' give me nice things to make me well, an' w'en the hospitable discharged me, de General took me an' was rale kind. I had good greenback wages and plenty of everything, an' not much to do, an' rale coffee, as much as I wanted, too; but somehow I couldn't diskiver to be settled. I had been in de Soudern army so long, w'en they talked of beatin' it, it made me oneasy, an' w'en I studied on Mas' Harry back in de army wid nobody—for I know he wouldn't take nobody in my place—an' wid not 'nuf of even corn bread an' bacon, widout me to perwide," he added, with a grin, "I jest kep' studyin', but I never said nuttin', an' every day dey tole me how lucky I was to be free. I jes' made up my mind, an' I got the General to let me draw all de clo's I could, an' a overcoat an' shoes an' blankets on my wages, an' den I ask him for a month's wages in advance, an' he seem a little surprised, but he was very kind, an' he give it to me; so w'en I got everything I could, one night I waited on the General fust rate, w'en he was goin' to bed, an' fixed everything very nice, an' he said I was a rale good servant an' a treasure of a boy; but I jest took my things an' watched my chance, an' jest slipped off in the dark, an' dodged about until I got out of their lines an' into our'n. I had to walk a hundred miles befo' I got to our regiment. An', Mis', they jest gave me three cheers w'en I tole them how I come back; an' I took de liberty to bring a bottle of whiskey, an' I treated Mas' Harry's ole mess. Dey tole me he had jine another regiment. I had to walk a good piece more to de cyars; but one of our officers give me a letter to the conductors on de cyars, so I jest come through without payin' a cent. An' mighty glad I is to git home," he added, drawing a long sigh of relief.

"But did you not feel bad at robbing the kind officer who employed you?" I asked.

"Well, Missy," he answered, "seems like Mas' Harry has the bes' right to me, an' he was robbin' Mas' Harry ob me." And, turning to our mother, he said: "Please, ma'am, I would like a week at home to marry Affy, an' den can't I find Mas' Harry?"

It is needless to add that Kent's wedding was as festive as it could be made. It was a holiday on the plantation, and dancing was kept up to the sound of the rhythmic stick beating, from morning until night. The bride was proud, happy and dusky in white muslin; the groom a marvel in his attire, and with all the airs of a traveled man.

After the surrender Kent followed his young master home, and he and Affy settled on a pretty part of the plantation, declaring that they would live "faithful togedder" for the remainder of their lives.