rs
are employed to do the work about camp, and we find them very
useful,--and they serve us with a zeal which is born of their
long-baffled love of liberty. The officers of the regular army here have
little sympathy with this practical Abolitionism; but it is very
different with the volunteers and the rank and file of the army at
large. The men do not talk much about it; it is not likely that they
think very profoundly upon the social and legal questions involved; they
are Abolitionists by the inexorable logic of their situation. However
ignorant or thoughtless they may be, they know that they are here at the
peril of their lives, facing a stern, vigilant, and relentless foe. To
subdue this foe, to cripple and destroy him, is not only their duty, but
the purpose to which the instinct of self-preservation concentrates all
their energies. Is it to be supposed that men who, like the soldiers of
the Guard, last week pursued Rebellion into the very valley and shadow
of death, will be solicitous to protect the system which incited their
enemies to that fearful struggle, and hurried their comrades to early
graves? What laws or proclamations can control men stimulated by such
memories? The stern decrees of fact prescribe the conditions upon which
this war must be waged. An attempt to give back the negroes who ask our
protection would demoralize the army; an order to assist in such
rendition would be resented as an insult. Fortunately, no such attempt
will be made. So long as General Fremont is in command of this
department, no person, white or black, will be taken out of our lines
into slavery. The flag we follow will be in truth what the nation has
proudly called it, a symbol of freedom to all.

The other day a farmer of the neighborhood came into our quarters,
seeking a runaway slave. It happened that the fugitive had been employed
as a servant by Colonel Owen Lovejoy. Some one told the man to apply to
the Colonel, and he entered the tent of that officer and said,--

"Colonel, I am told you have got my boy Ben, who has run away from me."

"Your boy?" exclaimed the Colonel; "I do not know that I have any boy of
yours."

"Yes, there he is," insisted the master, pointing to a negro who was
approaching. "I want you to deliver him to me: you have no right to him;
he is my slave."

"Your slave?" shouted Colonel Lovejoy, springing to his feet. "That man
is my servant. By his own consent he is in my service, and I pay him for
h