The National tribune. [volume] (Washington, D.C.) 1877-1917, 1904-05-26
Black Bob and His Son P'Simmons.

ledulng the pack mules III our HldTcHeS
over the mountains, grooming the officers
horses. toting wood and water in camp.
cooking the scanty rations of coffee ana
bacon that were rationed out to us from
the supply train occasionally, and when
the rebel cavalry under Wheeler and For
rest raided in our rear anu 1eu theif
hungry troopers on our supplies. leaving
the highways blockaded with dead mules
and burned wagons, Bob and P'Simmons
had 10 hustle for roasting-ears and black
berries 10 feed the field and staff, and
stray shoat and Il few chickens now and
then. To relieve the monotony, made the
corners of our hearts leak great streams OF
gratitude to the foragers
Headquarters mess always claimed that
Black Bob was prize ngger.' to use
common. everyday army slang; but when
he gave roast pig for dinner he was re-
waried with the title BLACK Prince
Some housekeeper away back in Middle
Tennessee. where we adopted Bob, had
contributed TO our outfit bake kettle, that
held. when full. at least half bushel, and
it was a field day in our lives when it con-
tanned nice fat Shoat' and sweet pota-
toes.
Fearing lest some of the mess have for
gotten how it was done, | will give you the
recipe. First be sure the shoat is dead;
then put him in the kettle, set the kettle
on a heap of hot Goals. and put more hot
Goals about the sides and on top, and when
the meat is nearly done fill all the vacant
spaces inside with sweet potatoes, then
more hot Goals. and blow the dinner call.
Then when the Colonel and his hungry
staff collect about with their tin plates and
goid-band appetites, lift the cover and
season the banquet with a pint, more or
less. of mountain dew, and if that is not
handy. commissary whisky will do. turned
evenly over the pig. He is in Paradise.
har will, itaS
for roast pig and no dyspepsia anywhere
about the camp. Oh, Black Bob, prince
of cooks where art thou now? Outside.
you We're but an angular. bony specimen
of the colored American. Inside. you were
a man fresh from nature, believer in
hearts. a color lover. and in rank a Ma Or-
General-when it came to roast pig.
And P'simmons. his son and lieutenant
about camp. was a half-grown youth with
a complexion like an Oyerripe plum; his
eyes. like young turnips. rolled and laughed
at every one who passed; and when he
laughed his mouth disclosed a row of
worries that looked like the keyboard of an
old-time melodeOn.
The songs with which he charmed the
soldiers ears were refrains from the for
ests and the ripping brooks of the noun
tainside
He was that loose-jointed that he sham
bled along the road to the time of the
music Of the frying-pans and coffee-pots
that tangled on the pack mules load in
musical misery Put P'simmOns carried
In his legs the traditions of Africa and the
tinkling pots and pans. Changing in time
and motion to the pace of the mules was
music TO the feet that hung on the ends
of his legs and that were as long in the
heel as the toes. The whistling of Il
''chune' set his entire body in motion, and
when the band played his soul did not
g x-<NI 90
ture existence, for he had no borrowed
ideas of Heaven.
We had marched and skirmished and
fought for days and months. and finally
found ourselves at Bridgeport, Ala, with
only the Tennessee River between us and
the enemy. and for the first time that Sum
mer tie officers tents came up from the
rear and camp was made in the woods
but a short distance from the river.
First. there were the little pup tents Of
the enlisted men. then the line officers and
back Of them the field and staff. and still
further back in the woods the corral where
the pack mules. wagons. teamsters and
darkies of which there was n large num-
Der belonging TO each regiment.
Our good Chaplain, after two years
struggle. had divided the regiment into
two classes, the cured and the ncurable
He then entered into a new field. blowing
deep: missionary TO the contrabands
Prayer meetings. with discOurses upon the
Emancipation Proclamation, was the text
every night. when it did not rain" all
leading itp in a short time 10 more trou-
BILE and ''cuss words" than could be
washed out Of camp by June freshet.
In very short time the contrabands
were taught the meaning of the Proclama-
ton. and that there was provision in the
Constitution for the colored race" which
caused every coon of them to strike for
wages. Ten dollars per month. There
was not $40 in loyal money in the Army Of
the Cumberland that Summer: consequent
ly it was just as easy TO pay $40 as 10
cents. We worried about nothing but
bread and meat. So we filled the tents
with hay and straw, and for the first time
In months, took off our clothes and boots
when we turned in for the night lulled to
sleep by the music of the corral. In the
first light Of the morning. when sleep is so
deep and refreshing. the entire camp was
aroused by agoniZing cries for help from
the quarters of the contrabands. Walls Of
anguish echoed through the woods i'm the
quiet. peaceful air. as though murder most
foul was being done. The soldiers leaped
from their tents AT first alarm. each man
grasping his trusiy musket and cartridge
box. to repel invasion. thinking of nothing
else in the way of clothing or equipments.
Directed by the cries they charged in I'M
dress uniform TO the rescue. The Colonel
was one OF the first out of his tent: car
rying trousers in one hand and saber in
the other. he joined the excited throng
as they came rushing by. scarcely man
OF them having more than a cotton shirt
on. In those days of high priced cotton
army shirts were worn very short In the
first light of day charged the gallant 300.
Saw mortal man ever such battle array
a veritable shirt-tail brigade? And what
was the matter? The Colonel. as one of
the first to reach the scene of disturbance.
found Black Bob holding P'simmons BY
the neck with one hand and thing his
bare legs with a halter strap IN the other
Blood was running down the plume olored
flesh. and howls Of agony echoed through
the woods rs blow after blow was dealt in
rapid succession. The old man was so
deeply interested in the job in hand. that
he did not notice the commotion he had
created. until the Colonel caught him by
the shoulder and hurled him TO one side
What are yOn whipping my boy for, you
black villain?' shouted the Colonel. "I'll
break your neck, you black rascal. I'll
have you shot. Yes, you, I'll have
you hung and cut up and fried, blast your
black hide" Old Bob pulled himself away
from the Colonel and shouted back at him
Amt dis yer P'simmons my boy? Amt I
dis boys fadder? An if Ise his fad,ler. an
free niggah, amt I got right to stran