Susan did not require too much encouragement to tell her lamentable tale, and Aunt Polly in return advised her to leave her place when her month was up, informing the family of her intention, that they might supply themselves.  This Susan promised to do, with a full heart, and Aunt Polly having accomplished her mission, set out on her return, first saying to Susan, however, “We’ll wait for you, you needn’t be afeard, and I’ll do your work ’till you come, ’taint much, for we puts out our washin.  And you need’nt be sceard when you see the sogers, they aint gwine to hurt you, though they do look so savage.”

Susan gave notice of her intention, and after a season of martyrdom set forward to find Captain Moore’s quarters.  She had no difficulty, for Polly was looking out for her, with her pipe in her mouth.  “Come in, child,” said she, “and warm yourself; how is your cough?  I stewed some molasses for you, ’gin you come.  We’ll go up and see Miss Emmy, presently; she ’spects you.”

Susan was duly introduced to Mrs. Moore who was at the time sitting in the captain’s lap with the baby in hers, and Neptune’s forepaws in the baby’s.  The captain’s temperance principles did not forbid him smoking a good cigar, and at the moment of Susan’s entrance, he was in the act of emitting stealthily a cloud of smoke into his wife’s face.  After letting the baby fall out of her lap, and taking two or three short breaths with strong symptoms of choking, Mrs. Moore with a husky voice and very red eyes, welcomed Susan, and introduced her to the baby and Neptune, then told Aunt Polly to show her where to put her clothes, and to make her comfortable in every respect.

Aunt Polly did so by baking her a hoe-cake, and broiling a herring, and drawing a cup of strong tea.  Susan went to bed scared with her new happiness, and dreamed she was in Georgia, in her old room, with the sick baby in her arms.

Susan’s friends, the Abolitionists, were highly indignant at the turn affairs had taken.  They had accordingly a new and fruitful subject of discussion at the sewing societies and quilting bees of the town.  In solemn conclave it was decided to vote army people down as utterly disagreeable.  One old maid suggested the propriety of their immediately getting up a petition for disbanding the army; but the motion was laid on the table in consideration of John Quincy Adams being dead and buried, and therefore not in a condition to present the petition.  Susan became quite cheerful, and gained twenty pounds in an incredibly short space of time, though strange rumors continued to float about the army.  It was stated at a meeting of the F.S.F.S.T.W.T.R. (Female Society for Setting the World to Rights) that “army folks were a low, dissipated set, for they put wine in their puddin sauce.”

I do not mean to say liberty is not, next to life, the greatest of God’s earthly gifts, and that men and women ought not to be happier free than slaves.  God forbid that I should so have read my Bible.  But such cases as Susan’s do occur, and far oftener than the raw-head and bloody-bones’ stories with which Mrs. Harriet Beecher Stowe has seen fit to embellish that interesting romance, Uncle Tom’s Cabin.