April 16th, 1865.—We have seen no more of McCook’s men. It took a long, long time for the dusty column in blue to pass our place. The officers were very strict with the men and did not allow them to straggle nor did they let the men come inside the enclosure for any purpose; we were so afraid of them at first. Aunt Sue wants me to go to spend the night with her but I am not willing to leave the home folks just now.
This morning Father sent for all the men on the plantation to come up in the yard. They came and they seemed ill at ease and I wondered what Father sent for them to do. Well, my curiosity has been gratified. When they had filed into the back yard and stood silently around, Father said: “My people, I have sent for you to tell you that you are my people no longer; the fortunes of war have taken you out of my hands—you are free men now.
“It is no longer your duty to work for me and it is no longer my duty to feed and clothe you but I shall continue to do this until suitable arrangements can be made. I hope each of you will stay on at his accustomed work and I can assure you that my feelings toward you have known no change and will not unless you give me cause. We are no longer master and slave but we can still be friends.”
Father’s face was pale and his. voice almost gave out once but he got through it splendidly and the negroes seemed much impressed. Some of the men cried, some spoke regretfully, Uncle Ben came and stood near by, then others crowded around and found their tongues. Only two looked surly and had nothing to say, Luke and Tup. They went off muttering to themselves, a habit so many have. Mother says she is not going to say anything to them, she will let events shape themselves.
Tonight Lulu came as usual to see me safe in bed and when she had said “goodnight,” she came back and, leaning over me, she said, “I’m always goin’ to love my child,” then she was gone. It makes me feel queer; life has changed.
