nk
_de Lord_ mean for say _de Yankees_."

XXXIV. WE'LL SOON BE FREE.

"We'll soon be free,
We'll soon be free,
We'll soon be free,
When de Lord will call us home.
My brudder, how long,
My brudder, how long,
My brudder, how long,
'Fore we done sufferin' here?
It won't be long _(Thrice.)_
'Fore de Lord will call us home.
We'll walk de miry road _(Thrice.)_
Where pleasure never dies.
We'll walk de golden street _(Thrice.)_
Where pleasure never dies.
My brudder, how long _(Thrice.)_
'Fore we done sufferin' here?
We'll soon be free _(Thrice.)_
When Jesus sets me free.
We'll fight for liberty _(Thrice.)_
When de Lord will call us home."

The suspicion in this case was unfounded, but they had another song to
which the Rebellion had actually given rise. This was composed by nobody
knew whom,--though it was the most recent, doubtless, of all these
"spirituals,"--and had been sung in secret to avoid detection. It is
certainly plaintive enough. The peck of corn and pint of salt were
slavery's rations.

XXXV. MANY THOUSAND GO.

"No more peck o' corn for me,
No more, no more,--
No more peck o' corn for me,
Many tousand go.

"No more driver's lash for me, _(Twice.)_
No more, &c.

"No more pint o' salt for me, _(Twice_.)
No more, &c.

"No more hundred lash for me, _(Twice_.)
No more, &c.

"No more mistress' call for me,
No more, no more,--
No more mistress' call for me,
Many tousand go."

Even of this last composition, however, we have only the approximate
date and know nothing of the mode of composition. Allan Ramsay says
of the Scotch songs, that, no matter who made them, they were soon
attributed to the minister of the parish whence they sprang. And I
always wondered, about these, whether they had always a conscious and
definite origin in some leading mind, or whether they grew by gradual
accretion, in an almost unconscious way. On this point I could get no
information, though I asked many questions, until at last, one day
when I was being rowed across from Beaufort to Ladies' Island, I found
myself, with delight, on the actual trail of a song. One of the oarsmen,
a brisk young fellow, not a soldier, on being asked for his theory of
the matter, dropped out a coy confession. "Some good sperituals," he
said, "are start jess out o' curiosity. I been a-raise a sing, myself,
once."

My dream was fulfilled, an