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Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 73 (search)
loody battle, Was wounded often, many a day; He did not wish to be a soldier, He only wanted to be free-- They only loaded him with irons, Or lashed him to a tree. Before him once, in line of battle, He saw our fine young master Jim, Then dropped poor Phil his Yankee musket, He could not, would not, fire on him; For they had played, been raised together, Young master Jim had cried for Phil-- The Yankees gave the onward order, But my poor boy stood still. And then his more than cruel masters, White men, with hearts and deeds all black, Struck him down with gun and sabre, And left him dying on their track. O missus! my old heart is broken, My lot all grief and pain has been; For little Judy, too, is ruined, In their dark camps of sin. O Massa William! see me kneeling, O Missus! say one word for me! You'll let me stay? Oh! thank you massa; Now I'm happy! now I'm free! I've seen enough of Yankee freedom, I've had enough of Yankee love! As they have treated the poor negro, Be't done t
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 99 (search)
it; but, you see, there's been so much talk lately, we got to thinkina about it. Our master told us he'd give us all a boss apiece and a new suit oa doze if we'd stay with him, and I thought I'd stay; but, you see, the others left mor'n a week ago, and it was kind oa lonesome like, and I cut out too. Do you think it was right to leave your master, who always treated you kindly, with no help? Well, boss, it does look like a----trick; but then, you know, we must look out for number one. White folks does it, and nigger will too. We's done got in the crop, and the women and children must take it off. Besides, nigger's been at the bottom of this fuss from the start, an' it's nothina more'n right for nigger to have a hand in the fightina. Suppose you get killed? A grape shot would make an ugly hole in that hide of yours. Well, I've thought oa that; I'll have to run the chances. But if I stay at home, a tree might fall on me. My shining colored friend smiled audibly at this
Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Poetry and Incidents., Volume 8. (ed. Frank Moore), chapter 158 (search)
ontraband genius: old Shady. Oh! ya, ya! darkies, laugh with me; For de white folks say old Shady's free! Don't you see dat de jubilee Is comina, comina! Hail, mighty day! chorus. Den away, den away, for I can't stay any longer; Hurrah, hurrah! for I am going home. [Repeat. Massa got scared, and so did his lady! Dis chile broke for ole Uncle Aby! Open de gates out! here's ole Shady, Comina, comina! Hail, mighty day! Den away, den away, etc. Good-by, Massa Jeff! good-by, Misses Stevens! Scuse dis nigger for taking his leavins; ‘Spec, pretty soon, you'll see Uncle Abram's Comina, comina! Hail, mighty day! Den away, den away, etc. Good-by, hard work, and never any pay-- I'm goina up North, where the white folks stay; White wheat-bread and a dollar a day. Comina, comina! Hail, mighty day! Den away, den away, etc. I've got a wife, and she's got a baby, Way up North in Lower Canady-- Won't dey shout when dey see ole Shady Comina, comina! Hail, mighty day! Den away, den away, etc