Uncle George supervises all the business of the plantation, as he has
done for thirty or forty years. He collects all rents, markets the crops
and receives the payments, makes purchases, pays bills, and keeps peace
between the tenants--nor could any human being be more honorable or
possess a finer, sweeter dignity. As for devotion, when the little girls
who were away returned after all the years as grown women, every ribbon,
every pin in that house was where it had been left, and the place was no
less neat than if the "white folks" had constantly remained there.
Before Georgia went dry it was customary for negroes of the rougher sort
to get drunk in town every Saturday night. Drunken negroes would
consequently be passing by, all night, on their way to their homes,
yelling and (after the manner of their kind when intoxicated) shooting
their revolvers in the air. Every Saturday night, when the ladies were
at home, Uncle George would quietly take his gun and place himself on
the porch, remaining there until the last of the obstreperous wayfarers
had passed.
Uncle Abe and Uncle Wiley are two other worthy and venerable men who
live in cabins on the place. Both were there when Sherman's army passed
upon its devastating way, and both were carried off, as were thousands
upon thousands of other negroes out of that wide belt across the State
of Georgia, which was overrun in the course of the March to the Sea.
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