The students generally made their own
fires and blacked their own boots and drew their own water.
But there was a family of negroes named Lewis who performed
those services for such boys as desired, at a compensation
of $5 or $6 a term. The patriarch of this race was a very
interesting old character. He was said to be one hundred
years old. He was undoubtedly very near it. One morning,
just as we were coming out of the morning prayers, shortly
after six o'clock, old Mr. Lewis drove by with a horse which
he was said to have bought for $5, and a wagon of about the
same value. He had a load of all sorts of vegetables which
he had raised in his little garden near where the Arsenal
stood and was carrying into Boston to market. One of his
old wheels broke and the wagon came down, spilling the old
fellow himself and his load of vegetables. He lay there flat
on his back, unable to get up, surrounded by turnips and
squashes and onions and potatoes, etc. As he lay with his
black face and his white, grizzled poll, he was a most ludicrous
spectacle. One of us asked him: "Why, Mr.
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