Waterman, he
informed me, his wife, also a black, being the cook. An elderly
creature of the utmost gravity of bearing, he brought to his
professional duties a finish, a dignity, a manner in short that I have
scarce known excelled among our own serving people. And a creature he
was of the most eventful past, as he informed me at our first
encounter. As a slave he had commanded an immensely high price, some
twenty thousand dollars, as the American money is called, and two
prominent slaveholders had once fought a duel to the death over his
possession. Not many, he assured me, had been so eagerly sought after,
they being for the most part held cheaper--"common black trash," he
put it.
Early tiring of the life of slavery, he had fled to the wilds and for
some years led a desperate band of outlaws whose crimes soon put a
price upon his head. He spoke frankly and with considerable regret of
these lawless years. At the outbreak of the American war, however,
with a reward of fifty thousand dollars offered for his body, he had
boldly surrendered to their Secretary of State for War, receiving a
full pardon for his crimes on condition that he assist in directing
the military operations against the slaveholding aristocracy.
Invaluable he had been in this service, I gathered, two generals,
named respectively Grant and Sherman, having repeatedly assured him
that but for his aid they would more than once in sheer despair have
laid down their swords.
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