Sumter S. C. Nov. 8, 1868

Dear Fuller

Election is over and we still live. Such a quiet election was never known in "Slavery times"--no whiskey was allowed, and there was no drunken man to be seen and "nary row"--much to the disappointment of the Rebel prophets. Except at the po0lls the streets were as quiet as on any other day, and at night-fall everyone had gone home. This may not seem strange in orderly New England, but it is strange here, and even our enemies acknowledge it. Four colored men, only, voted the Democratic ticket.

I heard an incident the other day, which seemed to me interesting. A freedman went to his owner and said "Now massa. you always gave me good advice when I asked for it, and I want you to now. What ticket shall I vote?" The master replied, "John, I'll think of it, and tell you." A few days after, he called the man and said to him, "John, I have been thinking of what you asked me the other day; I have made it a subject of prayer, and this is what I have to say. I wish you would not vote at all, but if you must vote I cannot conscientiously advise you to vote any but the Radical ticket." That was Gen. Preston, one of the Confederate officers and now a leading Democrat. I wish they were all as high-minded and honorable. They might well call themselves the "best friends" of the freedmen.

You say the outrages here are the result of the war spirit. Not so. No war--the bloodiest and most savage ever raised such a spirit. Do you not know that soldiers are the last people who will kill men in cold blood? No true soldier was ever an assassin. It is wholly the spirit of slavery, which crushed the spirit of humanity from the master's heart. What do you think of a woman tying up a man with her delicate hands and whipping him till the blood ran down his back? Such things have been here in Sumter among the "upper refined classes." Such is the effect of slavery. What do you think of a man--a gentleman--inducing a freedman to show him the way through a swamp and, getting behind him on some pretext discharging a well-loaded musket at his head, with not the shadow of an excuse for the horrid deed? That was done here last week. Is that a soldier-like proceeding? Oh, every day shows me more and more the devilish character of slavery.

Love to Mrs. Fisk.

Yours

Jennie.