-a feeble flute stirs somewhere in some
tent, not an officer's,--a drum throbs far away in another,--wild
kildeer-plover flit and wail above us, like the haunting souls of dead
slavemasters,--and from a neighboring cook-fire comes the monotonous
sound of that strange festival, half powwow, half prayer-meeting, which
they know only as a "shout." These fires are usually inclosed in a
little booth, made neatly of palm-leaves and covered in at top, a
regular native African hut, in short, such as is pictured in books, and
such as I once got up from dried palm-leaves, for a fair, at home. This
hut is now crammed with men, singing at the top of their voices, in one
of their quaint, monotonous, endless, negro-Methodist chants, with
obscure syllables recurring constantly, and slight variations
interwoven, all accompanied with a regular drumming of the feet and
clapping of the hands, like castanets. Then the excitement spreads:
inside and outside the inclosure men begin to quiver and dance, others
join, a circle forms, winding monotonously round some one in the centre;
some "heel and toe" tumultuously, others merely tremble and stagger on,
others stoop and rise, others whirl, others caper sideways, all keep
steadily circling like dervishes; spectators applaud special strokes of
skill; my approach only enlivens the scene; the circle enlarges, louder
grows the singing, rousing shouts of encouragement come in, half
bacchanalian, half devout, "Wake 'em, brudder!" "Stan' up to 'em,
brudder!"--and still the ceaseless drumming and clapping, in perfect
cadence, goes steadily on. Suddenly there comes a sort of _snap_, and
the spell breaks, amid general sighing and laughter. And this not rarely
and occasionally, but night after night,--while in other parts of the
camp the soberest prayers and exhortations are proceeding sedately.

A simple and lovable people, whose graces seem to come by nature, and
whose vices by training. Some of the best superintendents confirm the
early tales of innocence, and Dr. Zachos told me last night that on his
plantation, a sequestered one, "they had absolutely no vices." Nor have
these men of mine yet shown any worth mentioning; since I took command I
have heard of no man intoxicated, and there has been but one small
quarrel. I suppose that scarcely a white regiment in the army shows so
little swearing. Take the "Progressive Friends" and put them in red
trousers, and I verily believe they would fill a guard-hou