The Vermont watchman. [volume] (Montpelier, Vt.) 1883-1911, 1889-12-04

Perhaps no period of human history
has been more mis- Judged and less under
stood than the slaveholding era in the
South. Slavery as an institution can
not be defended-but its administration
was so nearly perfect among our fore
fathers as to challenge and hold our low
inc respect. 1t is doubtful if the world
has seen a pcasantrv SO happy and so
well-to-doa as the negro slaves in America.
The world was amazed at the fidelity
with which these slaves guarded, from
1861 to 1865, the homes and families of
the masters who were fighting with the
army that barred their way to freedom.
If . Uncle Toms Cabin" had pOr-
trayed the rule of slavery, rather than
the rarest exception, not all the armies
that went to the field could have stayed
the flood of rapine and arson and pill
lage that would have started with the
first gun of the civil war. Instead of
that, witness the miracle of the slave,
in loyalty to his master, closing the fet-
tiers upon his own limbs, maintaining
and defending the families of those who
fought against his freedom, and at
night, on the far-off battlefield, search
among the carnage for his young mas
ter, that he might lift the dying head
to his breast and bend to catch the last
words to the old folks at home, so
wrestling the meantime in agony and
love that he would lay down his life in
his masters stead. History has no
parallel to the faith kept by the negro
in the South during the war, Often
five hundred negroes to single white
man, and yet through these dusky
throngs the women and children walked
in safety and the unprotected homes
rested in peace. Unmarshaled, the
black battalions moved patiently to the
fields in the morning to feed the armies
their idleness would have starved and
at night gathered anXiOusly at the big
house to" hear the news from marster,"
though conscious that his victory made
their chains enduring. Everywhere
humble and kindly. The body-guard
of the helpless. The rough companion
of the little ones. The observant friend.
The silent sentry in his lowly cabin.
The shrewd counsellor. And, when the
dead came home, a mOurner at the open
grave. A thousand torches would have
disbanded every southern army, but
not one was lighted. When the master,
going to a war in which slavery was in
volved, said to his slave, Z" leave my
home and loved ones in your charge"
the tenderness between man and mas
ter stood disclosed. The northern man
dealing with casual servants, querulous,
sensitive and lodged in sphere they
resent, can hardly comprehend the
friendliness and sympathy that existed
between the master and the slave. He
can not understand how the negro stood
in slavery days, open-hearted and SYM
pathetic, full of gossip and comrade-
ship, the companion of the hunt, frolic
furrow and home, contented in the
kindly dependence that has been a
habit of his blood, and never lifting his
eyes beyond the narrow horizon that
shut him in with his neighbors and
friends. But this relation did exist in
the days of slavery. 1t was the rule of
that regime. 1t has survived war and
strife and political campaigns in which
the drum beat inspired and federal bay
onets fortified. 1t will never die until
the last STAKEHOLDER and slave has been
gathered to rest. 1t is the glory of our
past in the South. 1t is the answer to
abuse and SANDER. 1t is the hope of
ON future. Henry W. crazy, IN Neu
York Ledqer.