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THE COUNTRYMAN.
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TlfRtfWOLD, GA., FEBRUARY 7, 1865.
Letter to Gen. Sherman.
Turnwold (Near Eatonton) Ga.,
January 29tb, 1865.
Gen. Sherman :
I have been reading the confederate papers
thia (aunday) morning, and I see by them, that
you allow the niggers to do pretty much as
they please. • God only knows whether it is so.
Newspapers, and newspaper editors, as a gen
eral rule, are given to most outrageous lying,
and I doubt not you know it. This makes
against the report of the newspapers. But I
talked with some of your men, as they passed
here, and they told me they cared nothing about
the nigger, but were fighting for the “ ga-lori-
oua union,” and the “ stars and stripes,’’ only.
But I can tell you, they seemed awfully afraid
they would never get out of £his country, and
yet appeared to be afraid to express their fears,
also. But a word concerning your plans, and
your misgivings, would slip from their mouths,
occasionally, in spite of themselves. They did
their best, General, to be as reticent as you or
dered them to be, but it isn’t every yankee,
even, that can conceal his meaning by words.
Besides, you had many with you, whose rich
“ irish brogue,” and “ sweet german accent,”
as old granny hasty-plate-of-soup Scott would
say, would betray your plans, purposes, and
fears, in spite of themselves. (You see I begin
irish with a small i, and german with a small
o. That is to show the small respect I hold for
them. And in this I have no doubt you and I
both agree, if you would speak your honest
sentiments. Were you not a know-nothing,
once?—In the foregoing, I have iutimated why
1 commence Yankee with a small y. But in
this you may disagree with me. This is only
an honest difference of opinion, however, and
you know we may all differ iu opinion, under
the “ best government the world ever saw.”
You say I am under that government, and if
so, 1 claim its advantages, and privileges, as
well as its disabilities. And you know “ we
yankees’’ place a very high estimate upon
“ freedom of the press,” and “ freedom of
speech.”)
But to return. The newspapers say you al
low the niggers to do pretty much as they
please, and that your officers have Jsaid they
wished every nigger out of Savannah, and that
you would give all of them passes to return to
their homes, who desired to do so. Now if this
be true, I desire to speak to you concerning my
nigger boys, Tom, Jack, and George, who
went off with your troops, as they passed
through Putnam county. If they wish to come
back, please give them papers to retarn, and
thus very much oblige your humble servant.
Should they ever return to Turnwold, I have
no doubt they can make it satisfactorily to ap
pear, that they did not go off voluntarily, but
were absolutely forced off by your men. Thus
they can return to the positions of comfort they
occupied before leaving here—and those posi
tions were sinecures, I can assure you.
I had had Tom but a very short time, wheu
your men took him off, having just purchased
him of Col. R. A. Crawford, of Macon, as a No.
1 body servant, cook, and dining-room servant
to boot. When 1 paid the Colonel six thousand
dollars (confederate money—I mean so-called
confederate money, as I am addressing you) I
was assured by the colonel that “ Tom would
never go with the yankees, for he had had sev
eral opportunities, and refused.” I didn’t trouble
myself a great deal about this, and believed it
just about as little : for I am inclined to think
all niggers desire to try “ freedom ”—by which
they mean never to work.
Col. Crawford remarked to me, also, that
Tom was quite a gentlemanly nigger, and
sported more fine clothes than he (the colonel)
and myself, both put together. I found this to
be the case. 'For while my winter ward-robe
was confined to one suit of old worn-out grey,
home-made, I found Tom’s ward-robe was in
deed overflowing with hats, boots, and store
clothes of every variety. And what a gay Lo
thario Tom was, on Sundays, among the Ethio
pian Venuses, who are now disconsolate, on
account of his absence 1 What, General, put
Tom in the trenches ! My dear sir, that is not
his forte. To cook a good dinner, and eat it—
to flourish in the dining-room—to wear store
clothes—to steal the hearts of the African beau
ties—nh! sir, this is Tom’s avocation: and
now I fear, sir, “Old fellow’s occupation’s
gone !” Please give Tom a pass to come home,
and he shall be restored to his former dignity,
unabridged.
Now, I am altogether disinterested in all this,
and ask it only as a favor to Tom. Of course,
I don’t care a copper about it. It is true I miss
Tom a good deal from my kitchen, dining
room, smoke-house, pantry, and larder—miss
ing him chiefly in the diminished amount of
provender consumed. Tom never failed to dis
charge his duty conscientiously, and to the full
extent of his ability, when eating time came
rouud. And then he was a most excellent hand
to wait on the table. Since his absence, 1 have,
in my dining-room, Margaret (Tom’s sweet
heart) Patience, Mary, Julius, and Lethe. And
yet all of them, together, are not equal to Tom
—either in waiting on the table, or in eating.
I assure you it requires a great deal of Patience
to witness their performances, and were you,
here, you would sigh for Lethe’s fabled stream,
as you experienced the trouble I do.—Please
pass Tom through your lines, and put an end
to my trouble, and his.
Now, how shall I speak to you of George?
George, I have no doubt, is the sickest nigger
of his bargain that ever a mortal was. I rais
ed that boy, and I know him well. Have you
seen him? Suppose you have—then did you
ever see more beef-steak, on earth, in a dar
key’s lips, than George’s contain ? And then,
look on the inside of his feet, just below his
ankle, with a slight progression towards his
toes—did you ever see such a quantity of bow
els, or the appearance of the same, in a nigger’s
pedestals ? And did you ever see the hollow of
a nigger’s foot make a deeper hole iu the
ground, than the hollows of George’s feet do?
And his skin—is it not black until it is blue?
And his eyes—is not their convex white almost
as broad as you might imagine the convex of
the heavens to be, judging from the extent of
their spacious concave ? And oh I ye gods, his
nose 1 How shall I describe that? I cannot.
But if you see George, notice his nose. And
look at bis knees, too. George is knock-kneed. 1
George was the nigger foreman in my hat-
shop, and is very intelligent, considering his
looks. He is a great haud to trade in cakes,
and chestuuts, and can beat the world in the
poultry department. A few .years ago, I sup-
plied him some chickens, and some turkeys,
and agreed to pay him so much per head for
raising fresh supplies of them for me. George
had chickens, turkeys, and eggs, for his own
table, whenever he wanted them, and allowed
me a modicum of these productions, semi-occa-
sionally, not to say semi-annually. When ho
left here, the “ seed corn ” of the poultry de-
pariment had run down pretty low. Can’t yon
let him come back, and look after bis chickens?
The poor little tbiugs scratch, and scratch,
and cheap, and cheap, the live-long day, cry
ing for George : and no doubt George cries for
(hem, too, particularly when he gets huDgry i
for George’s heart is very tender, especially
when his maw his empty. You ought to have
seen him sing, pray, cry, and shout, when at
meeting. A camp-meeting of folks couldn’t
beat him. It he turns out to be as great a
pray-er for Lincoln, and his army, as he used
to be for Jeff, and his, then he will do, and you
can install him as chaplain-in-cbief, to your
army division, right away.
It is very cold, today, General, and baa been
for a week past. Indeed the month of January
has been full of rain, and cold. When Georg®
was at home, he had a nice warm bed to sleep
in, and a dry comfortable house. Don’t he wish
he occupied them now ? 1 guess he does.
When I owned him, he was very tender-heart
ed when put to the least inconvenience, and
was a very cold-natured being. The least ex
posure to the weather would make him cry
like a baby, particularly as he always com
plained of having the “ rheumatiz.” When he
left here, he had just gotten up out of a spell of
the measles. I have no doubt George has suf
fered much since he left me, and would like
very much to get back home. If so, please
pass him on, as I am put to some inconvenience
without him : and, of course, I know you have
my convenience very much at heart.
And if my boy Jack wishes to return, tell
him to come along, too. I believe him to be a
(colored) gentleman. Tell him I |had to get
other carpenters to finish the work he com
menced, and they made an awful botch of it.
I have seen nothing but trouble about the job
he undertook.
And, now, General, I intend to say a few
words to you about the way things are going
on here, since you left. I tell you, General,
our folks are not as much subdued as you think
they are. Why didn’t you leave a garrison,
up here, in old Putnam, to keep tbe folk*
straight. You“had ’em,” just to your notion.
but then you went and left them. Why didn’t
you appoint , or , two of our own citi
zens, to act in your place, while you were gone ?
Either of them would have served you faithful
ly. But how can you expect us to serve you
faithfully, when you treat us with so much ne
glect ? How can you expect us to remain
“ loyal,” when you leave no master for us to
serve ? There is an old adage—
“When the cat’s away,
The mice will play.”
The feline Sherman is gone, and the soriciue