"Well, now, you just look h'y'ere! If they do come, d'ye know what _I_'m gwine to do! If I'm too feeble to walk or ride a hoss, I'll crawl on my knees to the banks of the Potomac, and"---- "What, with those new Northern-made pantaloons on?" "D'interrupt me, Sir. I'll crawl on my knees to the bank of the Potomac and defend Old Virginny to the last gasp. She's my sister, Sir! So'll all the negroes fight for her. Talk about our not trusting 'em! Here's Jim. He's got all the money I have in the world; takes care of me when I'm sick; comes after me, to the Gem when I'm--a little not myself, you know; sees me home; puts me to bed, and never leaves me. Faithful as a hound, by Heavens! Why, I'd trust him with my life in a minute, Sir! Yes, Sir, and----Oh, yes! we'll just arm our niggers, and put 'em in the front ranks to make 'em shoot their brothers, Sir!" I said, "Ah?" and the General went out to take a drink, leaving Jim and myself alone together at the table. The remaining five minutes, before I finished my tea, Jim seemed very restless. Just as I rose to go, he said to me,-- "Mossa, could you hab de great kin'ness to come out to de quarters to see Peter?" (his eldest boy,)--"he done catch bery bad col', Sah." I was physician in ordinary to the servants in that hotel. In every distress they called on me. I told Jim that I would gladly accompany him. When we got to a considerable distance from the main houses, Jim stopped under an immense magnolia, and, drawing me into its shade, said, after a sweeping glance in all directions,-- "Oh, Mossa! _is_ dat true, dat dem dere Abolitionists is a-comin' down here to save us,--to redeem us, Mossa? Is dey a-comin' to take pity on us, Mossa, an' take dis people out of hell? Oh, _is_ dey, _is_ dey, Mossa?" I told Jim that they were very weak and few in number just now; but that in a few years there would be nobody but them at the North, and then they'd come down a hundred thousand strong. (I said _one_ hundred thousand, the modern army not yet having been dreamed of.) I told him to bide the Lord's time. He cast a fainting glance over to that window in the negro quarters, dark now, where his little Sally used to ply her skilful needle. Then he tossed his hands wildly into the air, and cried out,-- "_Lord's_ time! Oh, _is_ der any Lord?" I clasped him by the hand and said,-- "_Yes_, my poor, broken-hearted--_brother_!" That word fell on his ear for the first time from a white man's lips, and the stupefaction of it was a countercheck to his grief. He became perfectly calm, and clasped me by the hands gently, like a child. "Mossa, you mean dat? To _me_, Mossa? Dear Mossa, den I _will_ try for to bide de Lord's time! But," (here his face grew black in the growing moonlight, with a deeper blackness than complexion,)--"but, if de Mossas only _do_ put de guns into our han's, _oh, dey'll find out which side we'll turn 'em on!_"