"Why!" exclaimed the old Friend,--"do my eyes deceive me?" Then getting
up, and taking the man by the arm, he seated him in his own place: "Thou
art less able to stand than I."
Tears rushed to his eyes as he said, "Thank you, sir! you are too kind."
Evidently he was weak, and as evidently unaccustomed to find any one
"too kind."
"Thee has on the army blue; has thee been fighting any?"
"Yes, sir!" he answered, promptly.
"I didn't know black men were in the army; yet thee has lost a leg.
Where did that go?"
"At Newbern, sir."
"At Newbern,--ah! long ago? and how did it happen?"
"Fourteenth of March, sir. There was a land fight, and the gunboats
came up to the rescue. Some of us black men were upon board a little
schooner that carried one gun. 'Twasn't a great deal we could do with
that, but we did the best we could; and got well peppered in return.
This is what it did for me,"--looking down at the stump.
"I guess thee is sorry now that thee didn't keep out of it, isn't thee?"
"No, sir; no indeed, sir. If I had five hundred legs and fifty lives,
I'd be glad to give them all in such a war as this."
Here somebody got out; the old Friend sat down; and the coal-heaver,
roused by the stir, lifted himself from his drunken sleep, and, looking
round, saw who was beside him.
A vile oath, an angry stare from his bloodshot eyes.
"Ye ----, what are ye doin' here? out wid ye, quick!"
"What's the matter?" queried the conductor, who was collecting
somebody's fare.
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