h rang out cheerily. The Northern folks
need not trouble their heads about him, he said. He was better off than
thousands of the poor whites in the free States, and wouldn't accept his
freedom if it was offered to him. His subsequent actions proved that he
meant every word he said; for when Marcy read the Emancipation
Proclamation to him and his fellow-servants two years later, and told
them that they were free to make their way into the Union lines if they
could, Morris refused to budge an inch. A few of the slaves had already
gone; a few more took Marcy at his word and slipped away by night with
their bundles on their shoulders, but those who could get back to the
plantation were very glad to come. Freedom wasn't such a beautiful thing
after all, because it did not bring the freedom from work that they had
looked for, and the Yankee soldiers were really harder task-masters than
the ones from whom they had been so anxious to escape.

During the ride homeward Marcy did not see a single thing to remind him
that there was a war impending--not a tent or Confederate flag or
soldier in uniform was in sight. Negroes sang as they went to their work
in the wide fields that stretched out on either side of the road, the
birds chirped, the air was soft and balmy, the wheels hummed a melodious
tune as they spun rapidly along the hard road, and all his surroundings
spoke of peace and plenty.

At last an abrupt turn brought him within sight of his home,--in every
respect a typical Southern home, with wide, cool halls, large and airy
rooms, broad piazzas, and spacious, well-kept grounds, in which fruits,
flowers, and grand old trees abounded. A few miles away, but in plain
view, were the sparkling waters of the sound, peaceful enough now, but
destined ere long to be plowed by the keels of hostile ships, and tossed
into wavelets by shrieking shot and shell. On the left, and about three
hundred yards in front of the house, was Seven Mile Creek; and the first
thing in it that caught Marcy's eye was his handsome schooner, the Fairy
Belle, riding safely at her moorings. Marcy would have found it hard to
find words with which to express his admiration for that little craft,
and the way she behaved in rough weather. With her aid, and with Julius
for a companion, he had explored every nook, corner, and inlet along the
dangerous and intricate coast of the sound for miles in both directions;
and they were as familiar to him as the road that led