The soldier-like sentinel, pacing with loaded musket, and armed with
sharpest steel, cries out in hoarse accents, "All's well!" The bell
is summoning all negroes to their habitations: our guide, Bill,
informs the stranger that he must have a "pass" from a white man
before he can venture into the street. "Mas'r may write 'um," he
says, knowing that it matters but little from whom it comes, so long
as the writer be a white man. The pass is written; the negro
partakes of refreshment that has been prepared for him at the
stranger's request, and they are wending their way through the city.
They pass between rows of massive buildings, many of which have an
antique appearance, and bear strong signs of neglect; but their
unique style of architecture denotes the taste of the time in which
they were erected. Some are distinguished by heavy stone colonnades,
others by verandas of fret-work, with large gothic windows standing
in bold outline. Gloomy-looking guard-houses, from which numerous
armed men are issuing forth for the night's duty,--patrolling figures
with white cross belts, and armed with batons, standing at corners
of streets, or moving along with heavy tread on the uneven
side-walk,--give the city an air of military importance. The love of
freedom is dangerous in this democratic world; liberty is simply a
privilege. Again the stranger and his guide (the negro) emerge into
narrow lanes, and pass along between rows of small dwellings
inhabited by negroes; but at every turn they encounter mounted
soldiery, riding two abreast, heavily armed.
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