This applies only to the field-hands; the house servants were treacherous and wholly unreliable.

Very many of our men who managed to get away from the prisons were recaptured through their betrayal by house servants, but none were retaken where a field hand could prevent it.
We were much interested in watching the negro work.

They wove in a great deal of their peculiar, wild, mournful music, whenever the character of the labor permitted.

They seemed to sing the music for the music's sake alone, and were as heedless of the fitness of the accompanying words, as the composer of a modern opera is of his libretto.

One middle aged man, with a powerful, mellow baritone, like the round, full notes of a French horn, played by a virtuoso, was the musical leader of the party.
He never seemed to bother himself about air, notes or words, but improvised all as he went along, and he sang as the spirit moved him.
He would suddenly break out with-- "Oh, he's gone up dah, nevah to come back agin," At this every darkey within hearing would roll out, in admirable consonance with the pitch, air and time started by the leader-- "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" Then would ring out from the leader as from the throbbing lips of a silver trumpet, "Lord bress him soul; I done hope he is happy now!" And the antiphonal two hundred would chant back "O-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o!" And so on for hours.