{"id":23,"date":"2021-06-16T14:21:12","date_gmt":"2021-06-16T18:21:12","guid":{"rendered":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.ryerson.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/?post_type=chapter&p=23"},"modified":"2022-02-01T11:23:34","modified_gmt":"2022-02-01T16:23:34","slug":"the-deliverance","status":"publish","type":"chapter","link":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/chapter\/the-deliverance\/","title":{"raw":"The Deliverance","rendered":"The Deliverance"},"content":{"raw":"Master only left old Mistus\r\nOne bright and handsome boy;\r\nBut she fairly doted on him,\r\nHe was her pride and joy.\r\n\r\nWe all liked Mister Thomas,\r\nHe was so kind at heart;\r\nAnd when the young folkes got in scrapes,\r\nHe always took their part.\r\n\r\nHe kept right on that very way\r\nTill he got big and tall,\r\nAnd old Mistus used to chide him,\r\nAnd say he'd spile us all.\r\n\r\nBut somehow the farm did prosper\r\nWhen he took things in hand;\r\nAnd though all the servants liked him,\r\nHe made them understand.\r\n\r\nOne evening Mister Thomas said,\r\n\"Just bring my easy shoes:\r\nI am going to sit by mother,\r\nAnd read her up the news.\"\r\n\r\nSoon I heard him tell old Mistus\r\n\"We're bound to have a fight;\r\nBut we'll whip the Yankees, mother,\r\nWe'll whip them sure as night!\"\r\n\r\nThen I saw old Mistus tremble;\r\nShe gasped and held her breath;\r\nAnd she looked on Mister Thomas\r\nWith a face as pale as death.\r\n\r\n\"They are firing on Fort Sumpter;\r\nOh! I wish that I was there!\u2014\r\nWhy, dear mother! what's the matter?\r\nYou're the picture of despair.\"\r\n\r\n\"I was thinking, dearest Thomas,\r\n'Twould break my very heart\r\nIf a fierce and dreadful battle\r\nShould tear our lives apart.\"\r\n\r\n\"None but cowards, dearest mother,\r\nWould skulk unto the rear,\r\nWhen the tyrant's hand is shaking\r\nAll the heart is holding dear.\"\r\n\r\nI felt sorry for old Mistus;\r\nShe got too full to speak;\r\nBut I saw the great big tear-drops\r\nA running down her cheek.\r\n\r\nMister Thomas too was troubled\r\nWith choosing on that night,\r\nBetwixt staying with his mother\r\nAnd joining in the fight.\r\n\r\nSoon down into the village came\r\nA call for volunteers;\r\nMistus gave up Mister Thomas,\r\nWith many sighs and tears.\r\n\r\nHis uniform was real handsome;\r\nHe looked so brave and strong;\r\nBut somehow I couldn't help thinking\r\nHis fighting must be wrong.\r\n\r\nThough the house was very lonesome,\r\nI thought 'twould all come right,\r\nFor I felt somehow or other\r\nWe was mixed up in that fight.\r\n\r\nAnd I said to Uncle Jacob,\r\n\"Now old Mistus feels the sting,\r\nFor this parting with your children\r\nIs a mighty dreadful thing.\"\r\n\r\n\"Never mind,\" said Uncle Jacob,\r\n\"Just wait and watch and pray,\r\nFor I feel right sure and certain,\r\nSlavery's bound to pass away;\r\n\r\n\"Because I asked the Spirit,\r\nIf God is good and just,\r\nHow it happened that the masters\r\nDid grind us to the dust.\r\n\r\n\"And something reasoned right inside,\r\nSuch should not always be;\r\nAnd you could not beat it out my head,\r\nThe Spirit spoke to me.\"\r\n\r\nAnd his dear old eyes would brighten,\r\nAnd his lips put on a smile,\r\nSaying, \"Pick up faith and courage,\r\nAnd just wait a little while.\"\r\n\r\nMistus prayed up in the parlor,\r\nThat the Secesh all might win;\r\nWe were praying in the cabins,\r\nWanting freedom to begin.\r\n\r\nMister Thomas wrote to Mistus,\r\nTelling 'bout the Bull's Run fight,\r\nThat his troops had whipped the Yankees\r\nAnd put them all to flight.\r\n\r\nMistus' eyes did fairly glisten;\r\nShe laughed and praised the South,\r\nBut I thought some day she'd laugh\r\nOn tother side her mouth.\r\n\r\nI used to watch old Mistus' face,\r\nAnd when it looked quite long\r\nI would say to Cousin Milly,\r\nThe battle's going wrong;\r\n\r\nNot for us, but for the Rebels.\u2014\r\nMy heart 'would fairly skip,\r\nWhen Uncle Jacob used to say,\r\n\"The North is bound to whip.\"\r\n\r\nAnd let the fight go as it would\u2014\r\nLet North or South prevail\u2014\r\nHe always kept his courage up,\r\nAnd never let it fail.\r\n\r\nAnd he often used to tell us,\r\n\"Children, don't forget to pray;\r\nFor the darkest time of morning\r\nIs just 'fore the break of day.\"\r\n\r\nWell, one morning bright and early\r\nWe heard the fife and drum,\r\nAnd the booming of the cannon\u2014\r\nThe Yankee troops had come.\r\n\r\nWhen the word ran through the village,\r\nThe colored folks are free\u2014\r\nIn the kitchens and the cabins\r\nWe held a jubilee.\r\n\r\nWhen they told us Mister Lincoln\r\nSaid that slavery was dead,\r\nWe just poured our prayers and blessings\r\nUpon his precious head.\r\n\r\nWe just laughed, and danced, and shouted,\r\nAnd prayed, and sang, and cried,\r\nAnd we thought dear Uncle Jacob\r\nWould fairly crack his side.\r\n\r\nBut when old Mistus heard it,\r\nShe groaned and hardly spoke;\r\nWhen she had to lose her servants,\r\nHer heart was almost broke.\r\n\r\n'Twas a sight to see our people\r\nGoing out, the troops to meet,\r\nAlmost dancing to the music,\r\nAnd marching down the street.\r\n\r\nAfter years of pain and parting,\r\nOur chains was broke in two,\r\nAnd we was so mighty happy,\r\nWe didn't know what to do.\r\n\r\nBut we soon got used to freedom,\r\nThough the way at first was rough;\r\nBut we weathered through the tempest,\r\nFor slavery made us tough.\r\n\r\nBut we had one awful sorrow,\r\nIt almost turned my head,\r\nWhen a mean and wicked cretur\r\nShot Mister Lincoln dead.\r\n\r\n'Twas a dreadful solemn morning,\r\nI just staggered on my feet;\r\nAnd the women they were crying\r\nAnd screaming in the street.\r\n\r\nBut if many prayers and blessings\r\nCould bear him to the throne,\r\nI should think when Mister Lincoln died,\r\nThat heaven just got its own.\r\n\r\nThen we had another President,\u2014\r\nWhat do you call his name?\r\nWell, if the colored folks forget him\r\nThey wouldn't be much to blame.\r\n\r\nWe thought he'd be the Moses\r\nOf all the colored race;\r\nBut when the Rebels pressed us hard\r\nHe never showed his face.\r\n\r\nBut something must have happened him,\r\nRight curi's I'll be bound,\r\n'Cause I heard 'em talking 'bout a circle\r\nThat he was swinging round.\r\n\r\nBut everything will pass away\u2014\r\nHe went like time and tide\u2014\r\nAnd when the next election came\r\nThey let poor Andy slide.\r\n\r\nBut now we have a President,\r\nAnd if I was a man\r\nI'd vote for him for breaking up\r\nThe wicked Ku-Klux Klan.\r\n\r\nAnd if any man should ask me\r\nIf I would sell my vote,\r\nI'd tell him I was not the one\r\nTo change and turn my coat;\r\n\r\nIf freedom seem'd a little rough\r\nI'd weather through the gale;\r\nAnd as to buying up my vote,\r\nI hadn't it for sale.\r\n\r\nI do not think I'd ever be\r\nAs slack as Jonas Handy;\r\nBecause I heard he sold his vote\r\nFor just three sticks of candy.\r\n\r\nBut when John Thomas Reeder brought\r\nHis wife some flour and meat,\r\nAnd told her he had sold his vote\r\nFor something good to eat,\r\n\r\nYou ought to seen Aunt Kitty raise,\r\nAnd heard her blaze away;\r\nShe gave the meat and flour a toss,\r\nAnd said they should not stay.\r\n\r\nAnd I should think he felt quite cheap\r\nFor voting the wrong side;\r\nAnd when Aunt Kitty scolded him,\r\nHe just stood up and cried.\r\n\r\nBut the worst fooled man I ever saw,\r\nWas when poor David Rand\r\nSold out for flour and sugar;\r\nThe sugar was mixed with sand.\r\n\r\nI'll tell you how the thing got out;\r\nHis wife had company,\r\nAnd she thought the sand was sugar,\r\nAnd served it up for tea.\r\n\r\nWhen David sipped and sipped the tea,\r\nSomehow it didn't taste right;\r\nI guess when he found he was sipping sand,\r\nHe was made enough to fight.\r\n\r\nThe sugar looked so nice and white\u2014\r\nIt was spread some inches deep\u2014\r\nBut underneath was a lot of sand;\r\nSuch sugar is mighty cheap.\r\n\r\nYou'd laughed to seen Lucinda Grange\r\nUpon her husband's track;\r\nWhen he sold his vote for rations\r\nShe made him take 'em back.\r\n\r\nDay after day did Milly Green\r\nJust follow after Joe,\r\nAnd told him if he voted wrong\r\nTo take his rags and go.\r\n\r\nI think that Curnel Johnson said\r\nHis side had won the day,\r\nHad not we women radicals\r\nJust got right in the way.\r\n\r\nAnd yet I would not have you think\r\nThat all our men are shabby;\r\nBut 'tis said in every flock of sheep\r\nThere will be one that's scabby.\r\n\r\nI've heard, before election came\r\nThey tried to buy John Slade;\r\nBut he gave them all to understand\r\nThat he wasn't in that trade.\r\n\r\nAnd we've got lots of other men\r\nWho rally round the cause,\r\nAnd go for holding up the hands\r\nThat gave us equal laws\r\n\r\nWho know their freedom cost too much\r\nOf blood and pain and treasure,\r\nFor them to fool away their votes\r\nFor profit or for pleasure.","rendered":"

Master only left old Mistus
\nOne bright and handsome boy;
\nBut she fairly doted on him,
\nHe was her pride and joy.<\/p>\n

We all liked Mister Thomas,
\nHe was so kind at heart;
\nAnd when the young folkes got in scrapes,
\nHe always took their part.<\/p>\n

He kept right on that very way
\nTill he got big and tall,
\nAnd old Mistus used to chide him,
\nAnd say he’d spile us all.<\/p>\n

But somehow the farm did prosper
\nWhen he took things in hand;
\nAnd though all the servants liked him,
\nHe made them understand.<\/p>\n

One evening Mister Thomas said,
\n“Just bring my easy shoes:
\nI am going to sit by mother,
\nAnd read her up the news.”<\/p>\n

Soon I heard him tell old Mistus
\n“We’re bound to have a fight;
\nBut we’ll whip the Yankees, mother,
\nWe’ll whip them sure as night!”<\/p>\n

Then I saw old Mistus tremble;
\nShe gasped and held her breath;
\nAnd she looked on Mister Thomas
\nWith a face as pale as death.<\/p>\n

“They are firing on Fort Sumpter;
\nOh! I wish that I was there!\u2014
\nWhy, dear mother! what’s the matter?
\nYou’re the picture of despair.”<\/p>\n

“I was thinking, dearest Thomas,
\n‘Twould break my very heart
\nIf a fierce and dreadful battle
\nShould tear our lives apart.”<\/p>\n

“None but cowards, dearest mother,
\nWould skulk unto the rear,
\nWhen the tyrant’s hand is shaking
\nAll the heart is holding dear.”<\/p>\n

I felt sorry for old Mistus;
\nShe got too full to speak;
\nBut I saw the great big tear-drops
\nA running down her cheek.<\/p>\n

Mister Thomas too was troubled
\nWith choosing on that night,
\nBetwixt staying with his mother
\nAnd joining in the fight.<\/p>\n

Soon down into the village came
\nA call for volunteers;
\nMistus gave up Mister Thomas,
\nWith many sighs and tears.<\/p>\n

His uniform was real handsome;
\nHe looked so brave and strong;
\nBut somehow I couldn’t help thinking
\nHis fighting must be wrong.<\/p>\n

Though the house was very lonesome,
\nI thought ‘twould all come right,
\nFor I felt somehow or other
\nWe was mixed up in that fight.<\/p>\n

And I said to Uncle Jacob,
\n“Now old Mistus feels the sting,
\nFor this parting with your children
\nIs a mighty dreadful thing.”<\/p>\n

“Never mind,” said Uncle Jacob,
\n“Just wait and watch and pray,
\nFor I feel right sure and certain,
\nSlavery’s bound to pass away;<\/p>\n

“Because I asked the Spirit,
\nIf God is good and just,
\nHow it happened that the masters
\nDid grind us to the dust.<\/p>\n

“And something reasoned right inside,
\nSuch should not always be;
\nAnd you could not beat it out my head,
\nThe Spirit spoke to me.”<\/p>\n

And his dear old eyes would brighten,
\nAnd his lips put on a smile,
\nSaying, “Pick up faith and courage,
\nAnd just wait a little while.”<\/p>\n

Mistus prayed up in the parlor,
\nThat the Secesh all might win;
\nWe were praying in the cabins,
\nWanting freedom to begin.<\/p>\n

Mister Thomas wrote to Mistus,
\nTelling ’bout the Bull’s Run fight,
\nThat his troops had whipped the Yankees
\nAnd put them all to flight.<\/p>\n

Mistus’ eyes did fairly glisten;
\nShe laughed and praised the South,
\nBut I thought some day she’d laugh
\nOn tother side her mouth.<\/p>\n

I used to watch old Mistus’ face,
\nAnd when it looked quite long
\nI would say to Cousin Milly,
\nThe battle’s going wrong;<\/p>\n

Not for us, but for the Rebels.\u2014
\nMy heart ‘would fairly skip,
\nWhen Uncle Jacob used to say,
\n“The North is bound to whip.”<\/p>\n

And let the fight go as it would\u2014
\nLet North or South prevail\u2014
\nHe always kept his courage up,
\nAnd never let it fail.<\/p>\n

And he often used to tell us,
\n“Children, don’t forget to pray;
\nFor the darkest time of morning
\nIs just ‘fore the break of day.”<\/p>\n

Well, one morning bright and early
\nWe heard the fife and drum,
\nAnd the booming of the cannon\u2014
\nThe Yankee troops had come.<\/p>\n

When the word ran through the village,
\nThe colored folks are free\u2014
\nIn the kitchens and the cabins
\nWe held a jubilee.<\/p>\n

When they told us Mister Lincoln
\nSaid that slavery was dead,
\nWe just poured our prayers and blessings
\nUpon his precious head.<\/p>\n

We just laughed, and danced, and shouted,
\nAnd prayed, and sang, and cried,
\nAnd we thought dear Uncle Jacob
\nWould fairly crack his side.<\/p>\n

But when old Mistus heard it,
\nShe groaned and hardly spoke;
\nWhen she had to lose her servants,
\nHer heart was almost broke.<\/p>\n

‘Twas a sight to see our people
\nGoing out, the troops to meet,
\nAlmost dancing to the music,
\nAnd marching down the street.<\/p>\n

After years of pain and parting,
\nOur chains was broke in two,
\nAnd we was so mighty happy,
\nWe didn’t know what to do.<\/p>\n

But we soon got used to freedom,
\nThough the way at first was rough;
\nBut we weathered through the tempest,
\nFor slavery made us tough.<\/p>\n

But we had one awful sorrow,
\nIt almost turned my head,
\nWhen a mean and wicked cretur
\nShot Mister Lincoln dead.<\/p>\n

‘Twas a dreadful solemn morning,
\nI just staggered on my feet;
\nAnd the women they were crying
\nAnd screaming in the street.<\/p>\n

But if many prayers and blessings
\nCould bear him to the throne,
\nI should think when Mister Lincoln died,
\nThat heaven just got its own.<\/p>\n

Then we had another President,\u2014
\nWhat do you call his name?
\nWell, if the colored folks forget him
\nThey wouldn’t be much to blame.<\/p>\n

We thought he’d be the Moses
\nOf all the colored race;
\nBut when the Rebels pressed us hard
\nHe never showed his face.<\/p>\n

But something must have happened him,
\nRight curi’s I’ll be bound,
\n‘Cause I heard ’em talking ’bout a circle
\nThat he was swinging round.<\/p>\n

But everything will pass away\u2014
\nHe went like time and tide\u2014
\nAnd when the next election came
\nThey let poor Andy slide.<\/p>\n

But now we have a President,
\nAnd if I was a man
\nI’d vote for him for breaking up
\nThe wicked Ku-Klux Klan.<\/p>\n

And if any man should ask me
\nIf I would sell my vote,
\nI’d tell him I was not the one
\nTo change and turn my coat;<\/p>\n

If freedom seem’d a little rough
\nI’d weather through the gale;
\nAnd as to buying up my vote,
\nI hadn’t it for sale.<\/p>\n

I do not think I’d ever be
\nAs slack as Jonas Handy;
\nBecause I heard he sold his vote
\nFor just three sticks of candy.<\/p>\n

But when John Thomas Reeder brought
\nHis wife some flour and meat,
\nAnd told her he had sold his vote
\nFor something good to eat,<\/p>\n

You ought to seen Aunt Kitty raise,
\nAnd heard her blaze away;
\nShe gave the meat and flour a toss,
\nAnd said they should not stay.<\/p>\n

And I should think he felt quite cheap
\nFor voting the wrong side;
\nAnd when Aunt Kitty scolded him,
\nHe just stood up and cried.<\/p>\n

But the worst fooled man I ever saw,
\nWas when poor David Rand
\nSold out for flour and sugar;
\nThe sugar was mixed with sand.<\/p>\n

I’ll tell you how the thing got out;
\nHis wife had company,
\nAnd she thought the sand was sugar,
\nAnd served it up for tea.<\/p>\n

When David sipped and sipped the tea,
\nSomehow it didn’t taste right;
\nI guess when he found he was sipping sand,
\nHe was made enough to fight.<\/p>\n

The sugar looked so nice and white\u2014
\nIt was spread some inches deep\u2014
\nBut underneath was a lot of sand;
\nSuch sugar is mighty cheap.<\/p>\n

You’d laughed to seen Lucinda Grange
\nUpon her husband’s track;
\nWhen he sold his vote for rations
\nShe made him take ’em back.<\/p>\n

Day after day did Milly Green
\nJust follow after Joe,
\nAnd told him if he voted wrong
\nTo take his rags and go.<\/p>\n

I think that Curnel Johnson said
\nHis side had won the day,
\nHad not we women radicals
\nJust got right in the way.<\/p>\n

And yet I would not have you think
\nThat all our men are shabby;
\nBut ’tis said in every flock of sheep
\nThere will be one that’s scabby.<\/p>\n

I’ve heard, before election came
\nThey tried to buy John Slade;
\nBut he gave them all to understand
\nThat he wasn’t in that trade.<\/p>\n

And we’ve got lots of other men
\nWho rally round the cause,
\nAnd go for holding up the hands
\nThat gave us equal laws<\/p>\n

Who know their freedom cost too much
\nOf blood and pain and treasure,
\nFor them to fool away their votes
\nFor profit or for pleasure.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":299,"menu_order":2,"template":"","meta":{"pb_show_title":"on","pb_short_title":"","pb_subtitle":"","pb_authors":[],"pb_section_license":""},"chapter-type":[48],"contributor":[],"license":[],"class_list":["post-23","chapter","type-chapter","status-publish","hentry","chapter-type-numberless"],"part":3,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/chapter"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/299"}],"version-history":[{"count":3,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":66,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23\/revisions\/66"}],"part":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/parts\/3"}],"metadata":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapters\/23\/metadata\/"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=23"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"chapter-type","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/pressbooks\/v2\/chapter-type?post=23"},{"taxonomy":"contributor","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/contributor?post=23"},{"taxonomy":"license","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/pressbooks.library.torontomu.ca\/sketchesofsouthernlife\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/license?post=23"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}