on, how cold is memory, that I ever cease,
for a day of my life, to see before me the picture of that astounding
scene!

Yet at the time we were perforce a little impatient of all this piety,
protestation, and hand-pressing; for the vital thing was to ascertain
what force had been stationed at the bluff, and whether it was yet
withdrawn. The slaves, on the other hand, were too much absorbed in
their prospective freedom to aid us in taking any further steps to
secure it. Captain Trowbridge, who had by this time landed at a
different point, got quite into despair over the seeming deafness of the
people to all questions. "How many soldiers are there on the bluff?" he
asked of the first-comer.

"Mas'r," said the man, stuttering terribly, "I c-c-c--"

"Tell me how many soldiers there are!" roared Trowbridge, in his mighty
voice, and all but shaking the poor old thing, in his thirst for
information.

"O mas'r," recommenced in terror the incapacitated witness, "I
c-c-car-penter!" holding up eagerly a little stump of a hatchet, his
sole treasure, as if his profession ought to excuse him from all
military opinions.

I wish that it were possible to present all this scene from the point of
view of the slaves themselves. It can be most nearly done, perhaps, by
quoting the description given of a similar scene on the Combahee River,
by a very aged man, who had been brought down on the previous raid,
already mentioned. I wrote it down in my tent, long after, while the old
man recited the tale, with much gesticulation, at the door; and it is
by far the best glimpse I have ever had, through a negro's eyes, at
these wonderful birthdays of freedom.

"De people was all a hoein', mas'r," said the old man. "Dey was a hoein'
in de rice-field, when de gunboats come. Den ebry man drap dem hoe, and
leff de rice. De mas'r he stand and call, 'Run to de wood for hide!
Yankee come, sell you to Cuba! run for hide!' Ebry man he run, and, my
God! run all toder way!

"Mas'r stand in de wood, peep, peep, faid for truss [afraid to trust].
He say, 'Run to de wood!' and ebry man run by him, straight to de boat.

"De brack sojer so presumptious, dey come right ashore, hold up dere
head, Fus' ting I know, dere was a barn, ten tousand bushel rough rice,
all in a blaze, den mas'r's great house, all cracklin' up de roof.
Didn't I keer for see 'em blaze? Lor, mas'r, didn't care notin' at all,
_I was gwine to de boat_."

Dore's Don Quixote could not su