The Serjeant gave me then my uniform, which was but a shirt of coarse cloth, emblazoned upon the breast with the words, Liberty to Slaves, to be worn with my own breeches. The stitching of the motto was none of the finest, being accomplished by women attached to the Regiment who did not know letters; but still it was with awe that I received it, thanking him with bows and courtesies.

He received these marks of gratitude with distaste, cutting short my thanks to order me out of the room.

I have spent the afternoon in getting matters settled; being presented to the others of my mess, awaiting judgments upon my situation by sundry officers, and seeking out the Assistant to the Quartermaster to obtain my blanket, rucksack, and such other accoutrements as we are required to purchase on account.

In the warehouse, on the street before it, in the nearby square where the Regiment paraded — as I make my way through these places, I see everywhere Negroes in uniform — and on each breast, that triumphant and defiant motto, Liberty to Slaves.

I cannot suppress my rejoicing, and grin full on at these soldiers; who some, regard me in puzzlement; others, in scorn at my excitement; and yet several have returned my idiot jackanapes smile, as if to say, “I know, my friend. . . . I know.”

As a free man, I am dressed far more meanly than I was as a slave, when I wore silks and lawn; and yet, there could be no finer raiment than such a shirt as this, though the smock be coarse as hum-hum.

I supped with my mess. Despite their welcome, I could not bring myself to speak much at our meal, so sensible am I of my youth and inexperience, so anxious am I for their approbation.

Two others of my age, called Will and John, were today enlisted, having just arrived in the morning through the swamps. Two days ago they fled their master, having heard news of Lord Dunmore’s proclamation, and have spent the last two nights in flight across plantations.

But four hours ago, they were fugitives, creeping in bushes, hearts apound, danger surrounding; and now, they sit giddy with escape, surrounded only by companions, drunken on the airiness of flight, recounting mishaps.

“We got apart,” said John. “There was dogs, and we got apart.”

“We has a sign,” said Will.

“A sign — we has this sign — if we get apart.”

“Wild turkey call. Our sign. Wild turkey.”

“So John gets apart during the dogs.”

“No, Will gets apart.”

“I say: John gets apart, and he hide in the bushes.”

“And Will crawls —”

“I hear the wild turkey.”

“He crawls.”

“I crawls to the turkey.”

“He make the call back. He whispers me, ‘John! John!’”

“And ain’t no answer.”

“He make the call again. Then, ‘John!’ He say, ‘John!’”

“Ain’t no answer, ’cause it was a wild turkey.”

“In the bush.”

“A actual wild turkey.”

“And Will’s there, whisper and whisper, turkey and turkey, and the turkey come out, and I’m laughing behind him.”

“He laughs! On the ground! I ain’t laughing, though.”— But laugh they both did, now in safety. They waved their fingers before the embers of our fire.

Sensible that I should speak and join the frolic, I opined that I should like to hear their especial call, having never heard human imitate that animal’s cry.

John nodded, put his hand to his mouth, and made a fierce noise, at which much of the mess was astonished.

“Sweet Lord,” said Will. “Ain’t no turkey.”

“That’s my turkey.”

“Never no turkey. You got a harbor seal there.”

“Harbor seal!” said John, and threw his arm around his companion in danger, and they laughed so hard that the tears ran down their faces.

And all the company laughed with them; for most were drunk; and we who were sober — we still wore shirts on which it said, Liberty to Slaves.