MISSION WORK IN NEW ORLEANS.
At New Orleans, where we arrived April 6, 1864, our home was a very
pleasant one. Beneath the windows of our room was a grove of fig-trees.
We had the kindest of friends.
We visited ten colored schools in the city, filled with eager learners.
One was taught by Mrs. Brice, who had in charge sixty scholars. She had
been teaching here three years, under much persecution, and stemmed the
torrent of opposition, sometimes in secret, before the war. Sister
Brice and her husband had been struggling in this city nearly five
years, through this bitter hate to the North, contending for Unionism
everywhere, through civil, religious, and political life. We called on
them, and spent two hours in eating oranges and listening to the
fanaticisms and wild conceptions of this misguided people and
terror-stricken multitude when the "Yankee" soldiers marched up the
streets from the gun-boats. Schools were dismissed; the children cried
as they ran home, telling those they met that the Yankees had come to
kill them and their mothers. But there were those who cried for joy at
the sight of the national flag. The starting tear manifested the deep
feeling of these friends as they attempted to relate the scene, but
said it was impossible, as it was beyond description. It seemed like an
oasis in a desert to meet such kindred spirits. We left them, with
their urgent request to make, another call before we left the city.
We were invited by the pastor to attend a love-feast meeting at
half-past six o'clock, P. M., where we met a large congregation. The
services were opened as usual.
Soon they were "breaking bread" with each other, shaking hands, and
singing. Many were weeping. Some broke to each other the bread,
exclaiming, "Praise God for this day of liberty to worship God!" One
old man said to one of the ministers, as he placed his hand on his
shoulder: "Bless God, my son, we don't have to keep watch at that
door," pointing to it, "to tell us the patrollers are coming to take us
to jail and fine us twenty-five dollars for prayin' and talkin' of the
love of Jesus. O no, we's FREE! Yes, thank God for freedom!" Clapping
his hands, his shouts of "Glory, glory, hallelujah!" were followed by
others, until "Glory, hallelujah to the Lamb forever!" was heard from
many voices. Men clasped the necks of their brethren, and shook hands
with the sisters, singing, weeping, shouting, jumping, and whirling.
Said one woman, as she clasped another, "O sister, don't you 'member
when da tuck us over in dat jail dat night, an' said da would whip us
if we didn't stop prayin'?" and then they both jumped and shouted,
throwing up their hands in wild excitement. A half-hour was spent in
these outbursts of long pent-up feelings; then they settled down into
comparative quiet, and the pastor exhorted them to be brief in their
remarks. Perhaps an hour was spent in the relation of experiences, and
the meeting closed with singing:
"The jubilee has come;
And we are free, we are free."
Then there was again the shaking of hands, and another half-hour was
spent in overflowing manifestations, as at the opening of their
meeting. This long-oppressed people realized their great change beyond
our conceptions.
At the Christian Commission rooms, No. 69 Carondelet Street, Dr. F. B.
Smith, agent, we met brother Merrifield, of Baton Rouge, and brother
Horton, who took us to visit a school of sixty pupils, taught by two
colored men, Baptist ministers. They had opened it before the
government or missionaries opened a school in this city for colored
children. We had visited and addressed a number of other schools among
these people of this city, one of which numbered over four hundred
scholars, in a confiscated college; but this in interest surpassed them
all. Here in an old slave-pen, where hundreds and thousands had been
cried off to the highest bidder, where the cries of parting mother and
child had been heard and unheeded, where the pleadings of husbands and
fathers were only answered by the lash, those many tears, sighs, and
groans were exchanged for intellectual culture and religious
instruction. Here were sundry Union flags waving and a large portrait
of Abraham Lincoln hung on the wall behind the desk. The scene was
inspiring.
After returning, two colored women, genteelly dressed, and quite
intelligent, called on us and gave us a thrilling history of the past.
They gave us some startling facts of the efforts made to return slaves,
who had come within our lines to their masters, by making friends of
our officers and soldiers. Men had enlisted from this State (Louisiana)
and Mississippi as Union soldiers from selfish motives. Their sole
object was to assist in getting their slaves back, by taking them out
of houses when employed by colored people, and from the street when
sent to market, and placing them in jail. After orders were passed to
give rations to the families of colored soldiers, one young girl, whose
name was Rhoda, was doing well until she was overtaken with chills. Her
brother gave her a paper certifying he was a soldier, and requested
rations for her, but she was arrested on the street, and lodged in
jail, where she remained three months, sick with chills and fever, and
without change of clothing, although her female friends made many
efforts to get food and clothing to her. At length a deliverer came,
who found three hundred miserable, vermin-eaten prisoners, and set them
_free_. A more grateful company was never found. Find fault who will
with Benjamin F. Butler, this was just the work he did; and many lives
were saved, and much suffering relieved, under his administration.
We dined with, a widow who had paid $1,800 for herself, and lived in
good style by boarding her friends, who paid her extra board-bills to
assist her. A Creole lady called to see us who could converse a little
in English. The Creoles in New Orleans generally spoke French. This
madam was a woman of wealth and position, and well pleased with the
freedom of the slave.
We heard of a project devised by many masters to massacre all the
blacks. One brought in three hogsheads marked sugar. A little slave
girl, hearing her master say at dinner-table, that he had one filled
with loaded pistols, another with dirks, and the third with
bowie-knives, went and told her mother. She was directed to be careful
and listen, while busy about the room, to all her master said, and
report to her. In this way she heard the plans that her master and his
friends designed to carry into execution, and informed her mother. The
plan was to paint a large company of their men black, who should assume
the attitude of fight; then all were to cry out "_Insurrection_!
INSURRECTION!" and fly to every negro man, woman, and child, and kill
them all off. The mother made an errand down-town with her little girl,
and called on General Butler, to whom they told all. A party of
officers and soldiers were dispatched at once, who visited that house,
demanded the keys, and searched the premises. There they found the
hogsheads, broke in the head of each, and found all as reported. The
master was banished from the city, his family sent outside the lines,
his property confiscated and his slaves set free. No wonder they
disliked General Butler, when he defeated their base designs.
The convention which met in the City Hall to frame a free constitution
for Louisiana created considerable excitement. Many slave-owners were
confident they would have all their slaves back again, or get pay for
them.
As there were no sanitary agents at Brazier City, and we learned of
much suffering there, we called at the Christian Commission Rooms to
make further inquiries, and found brother Diossy had just sent both an
agent and a teacher to that point. "But if you are hunting for
destitute places," he told us, "I wish you would go to Ship Island, in
the Gulf of Mexico, as there are soldiers and many prisoners there, and
they have no chaplain or agent to look after their sanitary condition"
While I was inclined to go, sister Backus thought, in view of the very
warm weather, and because we were so nearly worn out with several
months constant toiling, we had better turn our faces homeward. I knew
there was but little more than shadows left of us, yet I could not rid
myself of the impression that it would be right to go; but I told her I
would not draft her into service, or persuade her against her judgment.
I met at these rooms brother Merrifield and brother Horton, and the
chaplain of the Michigan 6th Infantry. By their request we attended a
soldiers' prayer-meeting. Near the close one soldier expressed his
gratitude for the privilege of listening to the voice of mothers in
counsels that reminded many of them of their own mothers far away. He
could say no more for a moment, being overcome with emotion. "You may
call me weak, and if this be weakness, then I am weak," he said.
Another requested prayer for his sick soldier brother, and for the
preservation of the Northern ladies who were laboring for them.
After this meeting I called at the office for transportation; but there
was no encouragement that I could get it for a number of days, "perhaps
two weeks," as General Banks had nearly all the boats up Red River, in
his fleet. But as I was passing the gulf office I called and found the
steamer _Clyde_ going out for Ship Island in four hours, and at once
secured transportation for us both. I returned to our boarding-house,
and reported what I had done, and told sister Backus if she was willing
to go the sea-breeze might do more to rest us than the labors would add
to our weariness. She consented to accompany me, and we provided
ourselves with half a bushel of reading matter at Christian Commission
Rooms, and secured the aid of a couple of soldiers to carry our books
to the street-car, from thence to a steam-car that landed us at the
_Clyde_. As there was no berth for us we obtained a couple of blankets,
but there being room for only one to lie down, we managed, by taking
turns, to get considerable sleep. On April 8th, at ten A. M., we landed
on Ship Island. It was of white sand, that resembled, at a distance, a
huge snow-bank. We found a little sprinkle of brown sand, upon which
grew a few scrubby trees and a species of cactus that spread out in
clusters as large as a dinner-plate. The island is eight miles in
length, and from one-fourth to three-fourths of a mile wide. The
captain told us he should not leave until four o'clock, P.M., and we
made use of our time accordingly. When we landed with our large
market-basket heaping full of Testaments and other reading matter, the
gunboat boys and prisoners gathered around us like hungry children.
Prisoners in irons came holding the iron ball in one arm, while the
other hand reached for a Testament, crying out, "Please give me a
Testament, I lost mine in battle;" "Please give me one, I lost mine in
a long march;" "Please give me something to read, I lost my Testament
in a rain-storm." Many hands were reached over the shoulders of others,
until thirty or forty hands at a time were extended. We soon exhausted
our basket-supply. We had a few in our satchels, but we reserved them
for the hospital and military prison. As we had disposed of the most of
our books in an hour, we spent an hour on the beach gathering sea
shells until noon, then took our rations, and spent the remainder of
our time in hospital-visiting, and in learning from the officers what
was needed to be sent on our return to New Orleans.
While engaged in other matters, we found our boat had left us, and was
steaming away perhaps a mile from us. Sister Backus was greatly
disappointed at being left, and gave way to despondency; but I assured
her it was all for the best, and that as the Lord had heretofore
provided for us, so he would provide for us now. We returned to the
tent of Mrs. Green, a tidy mulatto woman, where we had left our
satchels. As she met us and learned of our being left, and heard sister
Backus lament over "not having where to lay our heads," she quickly
replied: "Yes, you shall have a place for your heads. In that chest I
have plenty of bedding, and I'll dress up this bed for you two. My
husband can find a place with some of his comrades, and I'll make a bed
for myself on the floor till the boat comes back." "There, sister
Backus," I said, "the Lord is providing for us already." Tears filled
her eyes. She replied, "I will not doubt any more."
Mrs. Green had a nice dinner prepared in the best style; table-linen of
the finest damask, chinaware and solid silver spoons, pitcher, forks,
and plated table knives, etc. I inquired how this came about, as I had
not seen a table so richly set since coming into the army. Her reply
was, that both of their fathers were wealthy planters, who made them
free when they died. Her husband received by will twenty-five thousand
dollars, and she also received from her father's estate a fine brick
residence. They had it nicely furnished, and their property was valued
at fifty thousand dollars. Her husband was making in his business from
seventy-five to one hundred dollars a month, but he was so confident
that this war would result in the freedom of their race that he, with
others, enlisted in a colored regiment for seven dollars a month, under
the rebel government, with a secret understanding among themselves that
they would all go in with the Union army as soon as opportunity
presented. The opportunity was furnished on the taking of New Orleans
by Union troops. The regiment was officered by men of their own color,
but the indignities they received at the hands of Union commanders
caused their officers to resign their positions. One of the many was on
one occasion of an order by one of their captains for shoes and
blankets for his destitute men. It was not honored, and he went in
person to inform the commander how needy his men were. The reply was
that he need not expect negro regiments to be supplied the same as
white soldiers. This was thrown in their teeth by Confederates: "You
see what you get by going over to the Yankees. We never served you like
that," said a Confederate.
We found Mr. Green an intelligent and pleasant man. Just as our dinner
was ready, Captain James Noyce called to see us, and urged us to make
our home with his family during our stay on the island. We told him of
the kind offer of Mrs. Green. "I know," was his reply, "that Mrs. Green
has the nicest things of any one on this island, but my wife and I want
you with us." He said he should call for us in two hours, which he did;
and we felt that our lots were cast in a pleasant place. There were two
lieutenants boarding with them, both of whom, with the captain,
appeared like men of sterling principle.
While enjoying a very pleasant social visit with our new friends,
sister Backus espied the life of Orange Scott on their center table (a
goods-box with a newspaper spread). In surprise she exclaimed: "Sister
Haviland, here is the life of Orange Scott! Isn't this home-like? away
here in the Gulf of Mexico!"
"Do you know any thing of Orange Scott?" inquired our hostess.
"I guess we do. We know all about him," replied sister Backus.
"You are not Wesleyan Methodists, are you?"
"Indeed we are, both of us."
She almost flew at us, placing her hands on our shoulders. "I don't
wonder you seemed so much like relatives. Orange Scott is my father,
and Mr. Noyce and I are Wesleyans," and she laughed and cried at the
same time. The dear little homesick woman was overjoyed. She had been
on the island a long time with her husband, and in poor health, sick
and tired of army life, and longing for her Northern home. Yet she
would not consent to leave her husband so long as he could stay in one
place a sufficient time for her to be with him. But he was fearful it
was impairing her health. On her account, as well as our own, we were
thankful for the privilege of mingling with kindred spirits. The two
lieutenants who boarded with them brought in their new mattresses to
make a double bed for the captain and his wife, as they gave up their
own bed to us during our stay. This left the lieutenants to sleep on
the bare tent floor, with their blankets only. But we did not know of
this arrangement until the day we left.
April 9th was very windy. We could not go out for the drifting sand,
without being thickly veiled. I walked to the beach, near the soldiers'
burying-ground, and stood two hours watching the waves as they lashed
the bars of sand. Their briny spray bedewed the graves of soldiers, who
had fallen far away from their kindred and their loved ones, in their
Northern homes. I could not repress the tear of sympathy as these
reflections came to me, and I listened to the solemn moan of the ocean.
Yet here is the God of peace and love.
"He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm."
This evening we listened to Lieutenant Kingsley's thrilling description
of the cruel irons he filed off from a number of slaves, who were too
intelligent to be held without severe measures. He said these men made
soldiers who hesitated not to brave the greatest dangers. His
experience reminded us of the words of another:
"Beware the time when that chain shall break,
That galls the flesh and spirit;
When the yoke is thrown from the bended neck,
That is chafed too much to hear it
There's a God above, that looks with a frown,
To see how long you have trodden him down."
In distributing the remainder of our tracts and Testaments to prisoners
we met a number of very intelligent men, who appeared to be men of
Christian principles. I always made it a point to say nothing to a
prisoner of the particular crime that placed him in confinement, but
directed his thoughts to the Lord Jesus, the lover of sinners. As my
sympathies became deeply enlisted in behalf of many of the prisoners in
irons, I inquired of Captain Noyce, in whose charge they were, what
crimes these soldiers had committed, that they should be confined in
irons. "No crime," he answered.
"Then please tell me," I said, "why they are here?"
"For drunkenness, being late at roll-call, absence without leave, and
selling government property, mostly exchanging rations for groceries,
such as sugar and tea."
"Is this possible?" I exclaimed. "All these trivial offenses have been
settled in their own regiments wherever else I have been."
"So they have wherever I have been, until I came here. But you seem
almost to disbelieve my word. If you do, you can step into my office
and examine the record for yourself. You will find these men sentenced
from one year to thirty-eight for the offenses I have named."
"I have no reason to doubt your word, but I will thank you for the
privilege of examining that record. Who pronounced these sentences?"
"Judge Attocha."
"Who is Judge Attocha?"
"He was a rebel captain, but after New Orleans fell into our hands he
took the oath of allegiance, and General Banks promoted him by giving
him the position of judge advocate."
"That man is a rebel still," I said. "He is doing for the rebel cause
more than when at the head of his company, in the rebel ranks. You say
a few over 3,000 have passed through your hands here and on the Dry
Tortugas. We read in the paper, the day we left New Orleans, an order
from President Lincoln to draft men, and here are three whole regiments
laid upon the shelf. Are all these Union soldiers?"
"They are all Union soldiers. We had a Confederate here for murder,
sentenced for a year. He was here only three months, when he was
pardoned; and on your return to New Orleans you may see him walking the
streets as independent as yourself."
"This is a flagrant wrong in holding these 3,000 men. Why don't you
report Judge Attocha?"
"He outranks me, and should I presume to do it I would be put into a
dungeon myself, and probably die there without an investigation."
Sister Backus and I went into the office, and the captain brought us a
great roll, as large around as a man's hat. I unrolled a few feet, and
read the name, regiment, company, offense, and penalty of each man,
thus: For drunkenness, fifteen years hard labor with ball and chain,
and all wages forfeited, except three dollars a month; for selling
government property, eight years hard labor, with ball and chain, and
all wages forfeited except three dollars a month. Some prisoners were
sentenced to longer, others to shorter, terms; but upon all were
imposed the same forfeitures, and all were put in irons. One man from
near Battle Creek, Michigan, was sentenced for life. His offense was
simply "suspicious character." No other reason for his sentence was
given. I handed this fearful record to sister Backus, and we both read
with heavy hearts. Every free State was represented. What can we do, we
asked ourselves, for these poor men, some of whom are sick and dying
with scurvy? This was a query hard to answer. I retired to bed, but not
to sleep, wrestling in prayer to Him who hears the sighs of the
prisoner to lead me to a door that would open for the 3,000 men in
irons. The captain was a kind-hearted man, and told me that he had in
many cases put the irons on so loosely that they could relieve
themselves when out of his sight, but he charged them to be careful not
to allow him to see them off. On account of the injustice of their
sentences, he had favored them wherever he could do so, and keep his
own record clear.
The next day, April 10th, was Sunday. The morning was clear and
beautiful. Sister Backus said:
"You are sick, or very weary; for you groaned in your sleep so much
last night."
"I am not conscious of having groaned," I said; "but I did not sleep a
wink. I am distressed, and have spent the night in prayer for a guiding
hand to open a door of relief for these prisoners, and I must see them
before I leave this island. I am this morning bearing as heavy a heart
as at any period of this deadly strife."
"Try and dismiss this subject if possible," she returned, "as they have
appointed a meeting for us in the regiment, and I presume there will be
an opportunity for you to see the prisoners."
As best I could, I dismissed the all-absorbing theme; and according to
previous arrangement we met the regiment, with a few gun-boat soldiers
and the officers. We enjoyed a favored season, and found a liberty of
spirit our dear Redeemer only can give. After closing the services to
the peace of my own mind, and to the apparent satisfaction of the large
congregation, Captain James Noyce came to me and said:
"You are certainly too weary to visit the prisoners now."
"O no," was my reply, "if you will allow me that privilege."
"They are in very large barracks, and it is a very unpleasant place for
a lady to visit; but if it is your wish, these gun-boat officers wanted
me to ask you if you had any objections to their going."
"Not at all; all can go who wish."
Captain Noyce and wife took us to the barracks, where the prisoners
were arranged in rows, six men deep, on both sides and at the end,
leaving an aisle three feet in width between. In every berth there was
a man in a horizontal position; and all were in irons, either in
handcuffs with chain, or in a clog for the ankle, to which was attached
the chain and ball. What a scene! The click of the irons at the least
move greeted our ears. We walked midway of the long aisle, and looked
over the sad faces before us. Upon the necks of those who stood near
vermin were to be seen. Filthy and ragged were many of these poor boys.
Some had been there a year, without change of raiment. I could say
nothing of the injustice of their punishment; but I exhorted them to
come forth from this furnace of affliction with higher, nobler, and
holier aspirations than ever before, and to lift up their heads in hope
of better days, although the heavens might then seem as brass and the
earth as bars of iron. I spoke a few minutes, and as I closed my
remarks I turned to sister Backus, standing by, and asked her to say a
few words of encouragement, but she declined. She said that all she
could do was to weep with those who wept. I knelt to pour out the
overflowings of a full heart in prayer, and as I did so they all knelt
with me, amid the clank and clatter of irons that made it necessary to
wait a moment to be heard.
As we were leaving, two prisoners advanced a few steps toward us and
said, "In behalf of our fellow-prisoners, we return to you our thanks
for the kind words which you have spoken to us, and pray God to restore
you safe to your Northern homes." We bade them adieu, with many tears.
After leaving this place we visited other quarters equally large, with
similar experiences.
I had become very much interested in a number with whom I conversed,
who were very thankful for the Testaments we gave them. They gave
evidence of possessing an earnest trust in God and of enjoying the
cleansing power of the blood of his dear Son.
Accompanied by the captain and his wife, on Monday we visited the
light-house, and ascended the flight of steps of sixty-four feet. The
weather was clear and calm, and we had a fine view of the Gulf of
Mexico on one side and the grand expanse of the ocean on the other.
After dinner with the same party, accompanied by Lieutenant Kingsley,
we took a ten-oar row-boat and went to see the burial-ground of four
hundred deceased soldiers. The graves were all plainly marked with
head-boards. These soldiers were mostly from Maine and New York, with a
few from New Jersey, Wisconsin, and Michigan. This was another solemn
place for reflection. The soldiers' grave-yard on this island differs
somewhat from all others. Here their funeral dirge will never cease;
the requiem of the ocean's surge will ever sound as if saying, "Sleep
on undisturbed until the last trump shall wake the nations of the dead!"
We returned to our boat, and pursued our way to the extremity of the
island. Here the picket-guards were much pleased to see us. They had
been on the island about two years, ever since it was taken from the
Confederates. We gathered a basket of shells, and our men gathered a
quantity of crabs for breakfast. We were presented with some beautiful
shells by one of the pickets. We returned home, having had a ten miles'
ride. We passed the wreck of a ship burned many years ago, which gave
this island its name. We could clearly see its charred cabin twenty or
thirty feet below the surface. So clear was the water it did not seem
more than eight or ten feet deep over the white sand, upon which
beautiful shell-fish were crawling, as if to beautify the grand scene
so new to us.
In a long conversation with Lieutenant Kingsley concerning his
religious experience, he said he was not satisfied with his attainments
in the divine life, and very earnestly requested to be remembered at a
throne of grace. The moon rose full and clear on the sparkling face of
the deep, reminding us of David's sublime thoughts when he exclaims in
the eighth Psalm: "When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy
fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man,
that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest
him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast
crowned him with glory and honor."
After our return we enjoyed a season of prayer, in which Lieutenant
Kingsley was earnestly remembered, and he expressed himself greatly
encouraged. Leaving all those burdened souls with the Lord Jesus, who
cares for all that he has redeemed with his own precious blood, I
retired to rest.
The next day one of the prisoners came to inform me that their keeper
had granted them the privilege of asking me if I would take a petition
from them to General Weitzel, former commander of seventy of their
number. They had heard he was then in New Orleans, and they thought if
he could do any thing for their release he would, as he was a very kind
officer. I cordially assented to his request, of course, and he thanked
me with tears. In company with the captain and wife we visited the
gigantic fort that had been two years in building, but was not yet
completed. It was to cost two million dollars. The brick wall at the
base is six feet thick, and about two hundred and fifty men were
employed on it when we were there. It is constructed to mount forty
cannons.
At supper I received a request from Lieutenant Foster, who was sick, to
visit him. I found him in low spirits. He wished me to write a request
to his wife to come to him, which I did. I read to him some extracts
from an excellent little work, "The Soldier's Armor," and a chapter in
the best of all books, closing with prayer. Lieutenant Foster seemed a
devout Christian man, and expressed great satisfaction with this
interview. The captain smiled on my return, saving I had "better remain
with them and be their chaplain."
On April 13th we made a few calls, and two of the soldiers' wives came
for us to dine with them. I made a copy of the record of the soldier
prisoners, as a specimen of their alleged crimes, and the penalties
imposed upon them. One of the prisoners brought me their petition,
which reads as follows:
"SHIP ISLAND, April 12, 1864.
"MAJOR-GENERAL WEITZEL: _Sir_,--We whose names are affixed, prisoners
on Ship Island; respectfully beg our release, and that we be allowed to
return to our respective regiments. We are here for various military
offenses, and for nothing criminal. Nearly all of us have participated
in the engagements under your lead in this department, both on the
battle-field and on the long, wearisome marches we have been called to
undergo; and we have always followed cheerfully wherever you have led.
We naturally feel that you are the proper person to appeal to to give
us one more chance to redeem ourselves. And we solemnly assure you that
we never will, by any unsoldier-like act, give you any occasion to
regret any act of clemency that you may exercise toward us. Many of us
have families dependent on us for support, and are suffering for our
forfeited wages. Many of us are already suffering from that dread
scourge--the scurvy--which must increase to a fearful extent in this
tropical climate as the season advances and sweep, us away. And now
that the campaign is open and advancing, and men are needed, we hope we
may be permitted to return to the field, and by future faithfulness in
our country's cause be able to return to our homes with what all good
men so highly prize-_untarnished characters_. Should you exercise your
influence in our favor in procuring our release, rest assured you will
ever be remembered with gratitude."
This petition was signed by "Moses Fuller," sentenced to three years'
hard labor, with belt and chain, and forfeited wages, except three
dollars a month, charged with selling government property, to wit:
exchanging his surplus rations; but Judge Attocha would listen to no
witness in the case. Sixty-nine other names were appended to this
petition.
Our anxiously looked for steamer, the _Clyde_, came in view, but it was
too windy for it to land until noon. It brought about thirty prisoners,
who had come in with a flag of truce, mostly white refugees. One family
was from Mobile. The woman said the suffering from the war was not much
there, and all she knew any thing about had enough to eat and wear.
"But I reckon poor people suffer," she said, evidently wishing us to
understand she was not poor. She had two servants to wait on her and
five children. But her servants seemed to think they were free here,
and said they should leave her unless she paid them wages. There were a
number of slaves who came here for freedom. I called on Colonel
Grosvenor, the commandant of the post, who appeared like a kind-hearted
officer, and he approved of the petition. The next day, April 14th, we
took the _Clyde_ for New Orleans, after being a week on the island. On
our way to the boat a soldier came running to overtake us, with a
message from another soldier that he had that morning found peace in
believing. He would have come himself, only that he was on picket-guard
and could not leave; but he wanted us to know that our mission was not
in vain.
As Ship Island receded from view sister Backus, as well as myself, felt
thankful that our Heavenly Father had ordered all things well in regard
to our having been left "'way off in the Gulf of Mexico."
We reached our pleasant New Orleans home, at Elder Rogers's April 16th,
and were as kindly received as if we had been friends of many years'
standing. The next day, after a good night's rest, we made an effort to
find General Weitzel, but failed. At two P.M., we attended
prayer-meeting and had a rich season of communing with our Heavenly
Father. There were present two chaplains, one of whom had been at
various points in Arkansas, and he gave a thrilling account of some
engagements his regiment had had with the enemy. The other was just
from the dreadful fight at Alexandria, up the river. It is reported and
believed by thousands that the rebel general came to General Banks with
a flag of truce and informed him that, unless he withdrew his colored
troops, he should take no prisoners and give no quarter. Report said
further that they were withdrawn and were not permitted to advance on
the enemy, as they desired, and the consequence was an awful slaughter
of our Northern men. The colored troops complained of inactivity in the
field more than any thing else. We found along the whole length of the
river fortifications built, streets in cities cleaned, and the greater
part of manual labor performed by colored soldiers.
We renewed our efforts to find General Weitzel, visiting all the
offices of the army we could hear of. Some reported that he was up Red
River assisting General Banks, but at length, with thoroughly blistered
feet, I found him. I introduced myself, as usual, by handing him my
papers from Governor Blair and F. C. Beaman, member of Congress. After
looking them over, he asked:
"What can I do for you?"
"I hope you can do something," I said, "toward releasing three thousand
of our soldiers now confined on Ship Island and the Dry Tortugas,
seventy of whom have served under you; and here is a petition from
them."
He took it, and read the petition, and not more than a half-dozen names
perhaps, before he became too much excited to read further. "Mrs.
Haviland," he said, "these are as noble soldiers as I ever had serve
under me. I don't think Moses Fuller, or any of the others, is capable
of doing a wrong act. They are the most conscientious men I ever knew.
Judge Attocha has no right to give these sentences; he has no business
in this department of the work."
"Can't you do something for their release?" I asked.
"If I were in command I would tell you very quick; but General Banks is
the one you ought to see."
"I am aware of that; but he is beyond my reach up Red River. And they
told me they sent him a petition similar to this three months ago; but
they had heard nothing from it."
"I will do what I can toward getting up a committee to investigate and
report these facts."
"Do you think you can accomplish any thing in their favor?"
"I fear it is doubtful, but will do what I can."
This was but little relief to me; but what could I do further? I called
at the Christian Commission rooms, discouraged and weary, while sister
Backus returned to our quarters. These rooms I found well filled with
officers, among whom were generals of high rank, indicated by the
eagles and stars on their shoulders.
"Here comes Mrs. Haviland, from Ship Island. And how did you find
things there?" said brother Diossy.
"Sad enough," was my reply; and I handed him a copy of the petition
that I gave General Weitzel, with the extract of the record of fifteen
prisoners, detailing the offense and penalty of each. The officers
gathered around to see and hear.
"This is too bad," said one.
"Can't you do something for these soldiers?" I inquired.
"I wish I could; but I can't leave my post."
Said another, "It is a pity some one doesn't."
I turned to him with, "Can't you do something for their release?"
"It is the same with me," he answered; "I can not leave my post."
"Some one ought to see to their release. Can not you see to their
release?"
"I tell you, madam, it is hard to do much for each other."
"Gentlemen," I responded, "I have learned one thing thoroughly since
being with the army, and that is, it is almost impossible to get one
officer to touch another's red-tape. But position or no position, head
or no head, these flagrant wrongs ought to be plowed up beam deep. Here
comes an order from President Lincoln for drafting men, and Judge
Attocha has laid three thousand on the shelf, when all they ask is to
be permitted to return to their respective regiments. That man is
serving the rebel cause more effectually than when at the head of his
company in the rebel ranks, by decimating the Union army; and here you
have it in a tangible form. I am informed that Judge Attocha was a
rebel captain. He is a rebel still, and in the exercise of this
authority is banishing your soldiers for trivial military offenses, in
irons, with forfeited wages; for which their families are now
suffering."
The thought struck me, What will these officers think, to see a little
old woman talking to them like this? for I addressed them as I would a
group of ten-year-old boys. I had lost all reverence for
shoulder-straps, and cast a glance over my audience, when I saw a
number in tears. Surely there are hearts here that feel, I thought to
myself. I turned to brother Diossy, and said, "You can leave your
position, and get another to occupy your place here?"
"Yes, I could, if it would avail any thing; but it would be impossible
for me to accomplish what you have done on Ship Island."
"Why? The idea seems to me perfectly preposterous."
"I will tell you why. There is so much wire-pulling here in the army. I
would be suspected of trying to displace an officer for the position
for myself, or for a friend standing behind me. Consequently I could
not have examined the record as you did."
"That is true," rejoined a general. "I presume there is not one of us
that could have had access to those records that you had, for the
reason that Mr. Diossy has given. They know you have no such object in
view, but see you as a sort of soldiers' mother; and records, or any
sort of investigation, would be opened to you when it would be closed
to us."
I told them I had not viewed it from that stand-point.
One of the officers, a very large man, six feet and four inches tall, I
should judge, stepped up to me in officer-like style. "What do you
propose to do with facts you gathered on Ship Island?"
I looked up in his face, a little hesitating.
"I say, madam, what do you propose to do with these papers?"
"I can hardly answer intelligently," I replied; "but I will tell you
one thing I do propose to do, and that is, to take these facts from one
officer to another, over all the rounds of the ladder, until they reach
the highest official at Washington, but what justice shall be done to
those poor soldiers in irons."
He settled back, with softened tone. "Well, it ought to be done."
The commanding appearance and tone, with the changed mellow voice, of
that officer is still vividly remembered.
There were two chaplains in this company who said they would unite with
General Weitzel on the committee he proposed, and they could learn
within a week whether they could accomplish any thing in their behalf.
If favorable, Chaplain Conway said he would write me at Adrian, as we
were soon to return to our homes, and would write, as I requested, by
two boats in succession, as guerrillas were at that time frequently
interrupting boats. If no letter was received within two weeks I was to
accept it as granted that nothing could be done for them in that
department.
At 2 o'clock we attended prayer-meeting, where we met many soldiers and
two chaplains. I was called upon to give a sketch of our Ship Island
visit, and at the close a frail and spoke encouraging words to them, in
passing through this transition state. From them we went to the river
bank to see five hundred prisoners of war, captured up Red River. Many
of them were citizens of New Orleans.
On returning we went to a meeting of the colored people, where we found
Uncle Tom's spirit waiting confidently for the "better day a-coming." A
number of white soldiers present encouraged us with kind words. After
refreshments we attended another meeting, and listened to an
instructive sermon by a colored chaplain, of the Second "Corps
d'Afrique," as the colored regiments were called in that part of the
country. He was the first colored man who received an appointment from
the government.
At 4 P.M. we visited the colored Sabbath-school of seven hundred at the
Medical College. Chaplain Conway superintended. Colonel Hanks, General
Banks's wife, and a number of other visitors were present. Dr. John P.
Newman addressed the school, and gave a thrilling narrative of his
visit to the Holy Land, exhibiting the native scrip, sandals, girdle,
goat-skin bottle, a Palestine lantern, and sundry other curiosities.
After a few encouraging remarks by Col. Hanks, the superintendent
unexpectedly called upon me to address the school. After the session
closed I was introduced to Mrs. Banks, who wished me to write out the
sketch of the facts I had gathered on Ship Island for her to send to
her husband. This I did. She said that Judge Attocha promised General
Banks that he would do all in his power for the Union cause, and now in
this way he was paying him for his promotion.
After giving my statements to Mrs. Banks, and the petition to General
Weitzel, I felt that I could leave for home on the first boat going
North; yet we had but little hope of success in behalf of the 3,000
prisoners in this department. We took passage on the hospital transport
_Thomas_, bound for Cairo, with eighty wounded soldiers from the Red
River expedition, all discharged or furloughed for home. Medical
Inspector Stipp kindly gave us a state-room. We were grateful to our
Heavenly Father for the many kind friends we everywhere found, although
surrounded by bitter enemies. The boat did not design stopping until it
reached Baton Rouge; but I wanted to stop at Plaquemine to get the
little girl Matilda, previously mentioned, to take to her mother, who
had made her escape a few years before.
After breakfast, dressing wounds was the order of the day. I kept off
the flies during the process, as it was very difficult otherwise to
keep them away, the stench being so great. Poor boys! there were all
sorts of wounds among them,--saber-cuts and bullet-wounds in the head,
neck, shoulders, arms, hands, body, legs, and feet, of all shapes and
sizes. O what horrid mangling! Yet the same patience that so remarkably
characterized the Union soldier everywhere was seen here. It was hard
to restrain tears in their presence, but we gave vent to them when in
our state-room.
I was unexpectedly called for at Plaquemine, as I was informed that
Medical Inspector Stipp had ordered the _Thomas_ to stop for me. They
were already landing before they found me. I caught up my bonnet and
shawl and threw them on while hastening through the cabin. Sister
Backus ran with me to the plank, where we snatched a parting kiss. I
jumped ashore, sister Backus, surgeons, and a few others waving good-by
signals with their handkerchiefs. The _Thomas_ pushed out into the
channel, and the next moment found me without my official papers,
pocket-book, or portfolio; all were gone on to Baton Rouge with my
friend Letitia Backus. In my haste they had been forgotten. As I was
inquiring for the name of Eliza's sister of a colored picket, he
recognized me at once, being from Detroit. He said he had beard me
speak in the colored church in that city, and urged me to speak for
them the next evening in their confiscated Methodist Episcopal Church.
I consented, and found the two sisters, with little Matilda, almost
wild with delight.
I soon had the pleasure of introducing my Detroit acquaintance, who
called with a few other young men that knew me; and here, too, I was
surrounded by friends, but they expressed fears of my not securing
transportation to Baton Rouge, because their commander was cross and
was known to issue but few orders for transportation. But I went to his
office and told him what my business was in the army, and why I called
there; that, on leaving the floating hospital in haste, I forgot my
official papers, and consequently had nothing by which he could judge
whether my statement was correct or not. I, however, had presumed to
call on him to see if I could secure transportation for myself and that
little girl of twelve years.
"Well, I think your motherly face will take you to Baton Rouge," he
answered. "There is a regular packet running to that city, and I will
send a note by you to the captain that will secure your passage,
although it is not a government boat. The captain has received favors
from me, and will gladly make this return."
He handed me a paper that requested a state-room and board for us, for
which continued thankfulness filled my heart.
The friends of Eliza and of another escaped slave, Fleming, came in to
inquire after them, and to tell long stories of the efforts put forth
for their capture. But Bissel, Slaughter, and "Old Eaton," as they
called him, only had the opportunity of gratifying themselves in
threats.
The colored minister in the regiment took much pains in circulating
notice of the meeting, and the church was well filled. We enjoyed the
presence of the Lord Jesus in our midst. There were those there who had
felt the bitter pangs of family separations, with cruel treatment, who
wept for joy in speaking of the precious boon of freedom. Some of them
were fearful that it would last no longer than the war; but I assured
them, as officers and soldiers had done, that it was a fixed fact.
The packet _Bank_ came in at five o'clock, P. M., April 21st, when we
took leave of kind friends who accompanied us to the boat. After a
pleasant trip, we were received with joy on our safe arrival at Baton
Rouge. The next day we visited the Forty-eighth Illinois Regiment, and
distributed a quantity of reading matter. We also attended the funeral
of a deceased soldier, where the privilege was granted me of making
some remarks. I endeavored to enforce the solemn truth, "It is
appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment." I
exhorted those present to prepare to live in friendship with God, as
that alone would enable them to gain the victory over death.
On April 23d we visited the jail, in company with brother Merrifield,
and distributed Testaments and tracts, which were gladly received. Here
we met a rebel captain, who said he was a rebel of the strongest kind;
had been fighting to establish his government, and should do it again
if he lived to get to his regiment. I told him I had no hope in his
case, unless he would accept the truth contained in the Testament,
which I presented to him, and said that if he would read carefully and
prayerfully, and drink in its spirit and practice its teachings, he
would find a religion pure and undefiled.
"Madam," he answered, "if I thought reading that book carefully and
prayerfully, and accepting pure and undefiled religion, would lead me
to lay down arms in defense of the Confederate Government, I would
never read a word in it or take one thought of religion; no, not to
save my soul."
This he uttered with a change from a flushed to a blanched countenance.
We afterwards learned he was a captain of a guerrilla band, and had
been sentenced to be shot, but the sentence had been commuted. A Union
man who was a citizen here knew him, and said he ordered a Union man
out of his buggy, and shot him dead; then he bayoneted him through and
through, in the presence of his wife and child; then ordered them out,
took the horse and buggy, and left the distracted wife and child to
wait by the mangled body, until a passer by hastened to the city and
sent a hearse for the body. On the way to town for burial, the same
band of guerrillas captured the team and hearse, and left again the
distressed mother and child to get the mutilated body of the husband
and father taken to burial as best they could. "Such horrible deeds,"
said a Union man of this city, "will continue until government takes a
more decided policy."
On Sunday morning, April 24th, we attended the sunrise prayer-meeting
among the colored people, and more earnest prayers I never heard for
Union soldiers: never heard more earnest pleading for the triumph of
liberty. God was truly overshadowing his own. Before the rising of the
sun, there was a large congregation. At nine o'clock we were invited to
make some opening remarks in brother Tucker's Sabbath-school of three
hundred children. Then we were conducted to another Sabbath-school,
where we were invited to make a few closing remarks. At 11 o'clock we
attended a meeting led by Chaplain Berge. On returning to our
boarding-place, we were called upon by brother Merrifield, who
accompanied us into the fort to address the colored troops. Sister
Backus referred to the importance of making themselves intelligent, so
that when their rights were established as citizens, they would be
prepared to vote understandingly. This brought smiles from the
officers, and frowns from a few of the white soldiers. We also attended
a meeting conducted by the chaplain of the general hospital, who
preached a very appropriate sermon for officers as well as soldiers. He
warned against the truckling, time-serving, and cotton-speculating
manifestations in this war, and also the influence of Southern women in
sympathy with the rebellion.
This was the sixth religious service we attended during the day, in
four of which we had taken an active part. We retired to rest until the
6:30 o'clock meeting at the Methodist Episcopal Church, now turned over
to Chaplain Brakeman, who was called away the previous day. He had left
an urgent request for me to address the soldiers on Sabbath evening;
but I told the chaplain who brought the word we could make no further
engagements, as we were waiting hourly for a boat going up the river.
Before six, a steamer stopped, and we took passage for Natchez, as we
had business to see to concerning an orphan asylum. One of the
chaplains said if we could realize the good it was doing the soldiers,
we would visit them oftener; that there were more conversions during
the week after we left than in many months previously. An exhortation
from a mother reminded the soldiers of home and home influences.
We had a conversation with a colored captain, who had just resigned on
account of the constant indignities heaped upon the colored troops. He
was a man of wealth and intelligence, and gave us an account of a
review by General Sherman, after General Butler left. When General
Sherman came to him, he stopped to look at the bars on his shoulders,
and gruffly asked, "Are you a captain?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "O,
you are too black for a captain," said the general. At Fort Hudson,
when our troops were retreating under a galling fire, a colored
captain, with his men, at the risk of his life, ran to bring out
General Sherman, who was badly wounded, and would have died but for the
daring feat of the colored soldiers. The colored captain lost his life,
but General Sherman was rescued. Since then he has spoken highly of
colored soldiers, and of the brave captains that led them. My informant
said that after General Banks assumed command they hoped for better
treatment, but their hopes were vain. As the men in December and
January were in want of shoes and clothing, he told General Banks that
they were not in a suitable condition to work on the fortifications
where the detachment was ordered, but no attention was paid to him. He
inquired why his men could not be supplied the same as the white
soldiers. The reply he received was, "Don't you know you are niggers,
and must not expect the same treatment?" "From that moment," he said,
"I resolved to resign; but after waiting a little, and seeing no better
prospects, I did so, and shall not resume arms until we can be treated
as men."
In New Orleans two regiments of free colored men were raised in
forty-eight hours. They were officered by men of their color in grades
as high as major by General Butler, who said they were as good officers
as he held under him. We arrived in Natchez on the 26th, where we met
rejoicing friends. We found a number of the missionaries sick, among
them sister Burlingame.
The day following we spent chiefly in writing, and distributing
Testaments and tracts among soldiers. In the evening we attended a
protracted meeting, conducted by two sisters. They acquitted themselves
nobly, and had three conversions. They exhorted earnestly and prayed
fervently. They invited us to take part with them. One of the ministers
told me they had worked in this meeting until they were tired out, and
then gave it over to these mothers in the Church, whose labors the Lord
was blessing in the conversion of precious souls.
We made an effort to secure a house for an orphan asylum.
Rebel sympathizers were making trouble all along the line of our work.
They tried every plan that could be devised to drive the refugees back
to their old plantations. An infamous "health order" was issued,
compelling every colored person, not employed by responsible parties in
the city or suburbs, to go into the "corral," or colored camp. Many
were employed by colored citizens, who were doing all they could to
find work for them. But on the day this order took effect soldiers were
sent to hunt them out of all such places, as no colored party was
deemed responsible; and all who were not actual members of these
colored families were driven out at the point of Union bayonets.
They gathered two hundred and fifty, mostly women and children, and
drove them through the streets of Natchez on a chilly, rainy day, and
marched them into the camp of four thousand in condemned tents. One of
the colored citizens told me that she was paying her woman wages, and
allowing her to have her three children with her, but the soldiers
drove her out into the rain. Men and women tantalized them as they were
marching through the streets, saying: "That's the way the Yankees treat
you, is it? You'd better come back to us; we never treated you like
that." Many of the women went into camp crying. Said an old colored
man: "Never min', thar's a better day a comin'. 'Twould be strange if
Uncle Sam hadn't a few naughty boys." He was one of the group that was
driven in.
We heard, April 30th, that there was a skirmish near our lines the
evening before. A party of scouts had shot into the pickets, and they
retreated; but we did not learn whether any were killed. News came to
us of Calvin Fairbanks's release from the Kentucky penitentiary. We
trusted that the same Deliverer would open the prison-door for the
three thousand soldiers on the two islands in the Gulf.
At nine o'clock A. M., May 1st, we attended the organization of the
fifth colored Sabbath-school in the city. At eleven A. M. we went to
Wall Street Church, and listened to an interesting discourse by
Chaplain Trask, of the Fourth Illinois Regiment. At two P. M., at the
Colored Methodist Episcopal Church, we heard brother Burlingame. After
a short exhortation by brother Fitzhugh, twelve came forward for
prayer, and some were blessed with pardon. At six P. M. we attended a
soldiers' meeting at Wall Street Church, in which we took a part; also
a number of soldiers spoke and prayed. Between meetings I wrote a
letter for a colored man to his wife, who is still a slave in
Woodville, twenty miles distant.
I was sick with a chill and fever May 2d, and the nearest to being
homesick since I left Michigan. The next day I was better. Here I met
Joseph Warner, with whom I had been acquainted from his childhood. He
was a lessee at Waterproof. He had a large plantation, and two hundred
hands employed. He was twice taken by guerrillas. He told them they
could hang or shoot him, but they might rest assured that forty of
their men's lives would pay for his, and forty men stood ready to take
his place; and they let him go each time. A distressed mother came to
us to inquire for her two daughters, that her mistress had sent to
Texas to elude the effects of the Proclamation of Emancipation. She had
begged her mistress to allow them to remain in town, if she could not
have them with her. The mistress said, "No you shall never have your
girls with you again, not even to give you a drink of water if you are
dying." This was at the retaking of Baton Rouge, when the mistress
considered herself again in full power; but she was soon to suffer
herself. When that city was retaken by Union men, the only son of the
mistress was burned to death in the house at which he was boarding.
Upon this she fell into fits. Yet, Pharaoh-like, she persisted in
keeping the slave-girls in Texas.
A number of missionaries called on us, and urged me to remain with them
a few weeks longer; but for two reasons I had to decline: First, those
three thousand soldier prisoners were daily on my mind; and, second, my
poor health made it a duty to return home.
Skirmishing four miles off took place May 5th, and we could see the
blue smoke of battle. The shooting seemed near us. How little this
terrible war was realized in our own free State homes!
I met on the street a mulatto girl seventeen years old, weeping, and
inquired the cause of her grief. She said her owner, Mrs. Morehead, had
been beating her.
"Why do you remain with her?" I asked.
"She keeps my baby locked up," was her reply; "and she says if I leave
I shall never have him."
I told her that I could take her to the provost-marshal, who would give
her an order for her child. At this she cheered up, and went with me,
and received an order, in case she could not get it without. She said
she would go back and pack her few things in her old trunk, and then
watch her opportunity when the mistress was out to bring her baby to
the freedmen's store. After the child was secured I sent a soldier with
her, who brought her trunk, without letting any one in the hotel know
of her movements. Only a short time elapsed before we saw Mrs. Morehead
in front of the hotel, looking up and down the street for her Delphine,
who kept herself hid in the freedmen's store with her little Charlie,
about two years old. Just before the war Mr. Morehead had brought her
away from her mother in St. Louis, Missouri, and the height of her
ambition was to get back there. I secured transportation for herself
and child to Cairo, and paid her fare to St. Louis. But she was in
constant fear of her former owners.
Her history was a sad one. She was bought for their hotel fancy girl,
and the father of her child was her own master. The child resembled his
father so much that he was frequently taken by strangers to be the
child of the mistress. The mother was two-thirds white; and the Roman,
nose, straight hair, and white skin of the child would not give a
stranger the least idea that he had even the sixteenth part of African
blood in his veins.
As a boat was expected to arrive within an hour, we took leave of the
many kind friends, and repaired to the wharf-boat. Soon Mrs. Morehead
followed, and called for Delphine; but the trembling girl caught her
babe and hid.
But as her mistress repeated the calls, she at length came to me with
the child, asking, "What shall I do? I would rather throw myself and
baby into the river than go back to her." Said her mistress, "I tell
you, Del., I've got an officer to come and take you to jail for
stealing." I told Delphine she could rest assured that none of the
officers would trouble her, for they informed me they should not notice
her mistress's complaints, let them be what they would, as they had had
more trouble with that rebel family than a little ever since they
occupied the city. I told her to leave Charlie on the boat, and go out
on the levee and tell her mistress plainly that she was going to St.
Louis to her mother, and not be so excited. She did so, and Mrs.
Morehead kept her nearly an hour, trying to coax, hire, and frighten
her, but without avail. Delphine all this while was trembling with
fear. I believe if she had seen an officer coming with her mistress,
she would have thrown herself and child into the river. Mrs. Morehead
at length came upon the wharf-boat. When Delphine saw her coming she
snatched up her child, and ran to the rear of the boat, and the
mistress after her. Again she came to me with "What shall I do?" I
replied, "Sit down here by me and hold your child, and she will not
dare touch you." She trembled as if having an ague fit. Soon a her
mistress stood before us in a rage, and turned to me:
"You came into my kitchen with an order, and took her, when she was
doing better than you ever dare do."
"I never went into your kitchen," I said. "A soldier went with her for
her trunk. I understood an officer called on you and called for her
child, at her request, before she came to me."
"It's a lie. Delphine lied about me."
Said sister Backus, "I shouldn't think you would want such a person
about you, if that is true."
"Well, the child seems so near to me. I've always had the care of it."
She left us at length with a threat that she would bring the officers
to take her to jail for stealing.
The _Kennet_ came in at 11 o'clock A. M., May 6th, bound for St. Louis,
Missouri, and we went aboard. As we pushed out from shore, Delphine
clapped her hands. "Now I know Mistress Morehead can trouble me no
more; thank God, I've got my Charlie too! Nobody knows what I have gone
through since I've been in this city." We arrived in Vicksburg May 7th,
and took breakfast at the Soldiers' Home, where we met Ex-Governor
Harvey, a soldiers' friend. Here was a lady who had charge of the body
of her brother, killed up Red River, taking the remains back to Iowa.
After spending a little time in this large city of soldiers, whose
tents whitened the adjoining fields, we left. On the day this city fell
into Union hands, report said, there was an old man very confident of
the success of the Confederate government, and he said that God could
not let it fail; if he did, he would never believe there is a God.
When, the gun-boats came in, and he was told the city was taken, he
would not believe it, until he rose up from his chair and saw marching
columns of soldiers, with their bayonets glistening in the Fourth of
July sun. He immediately sank back in his chair in a faint, and soon
died.
May 8th was a sort of a war Sabbath. The night before our boat ran
aground, and it took three hours to get her off. Many of the passengers
dressed, and made ready to escape at the first possible chance, in case
she should become wrecked. We were told that at one time the water was
three feet deep in her hull. By making great effort the men succeeded
in pumping it out. She run slowly, being a very large boat. We had a
variety of passengers on board, officers of various ranks, soldiers,
missionaries, preachers, and a few secessionists. Major-general Hunter
remained with us two days.
Quite an excitement arose over the arrest of a smuggler of goods
through our lines. He was thought to be connected with the little
steamer _Baltic_. There was a major and a provost-marshal, from Baton
Rouge, who followed up the matter. When the prisoner was brought to the
rear of the boat, with his hands tied, it created much feeling among a
dozen colored people, until they heard the major ask him if he had
taken the oath of allegiance. He answered gruffly, "No, and I never
will."
This led the major to ask other questions concerning the trade of the
_Baltic_.
"I will tell you nothing about it, if I stand here till I die, and you
may go to--."
This brought the sympathy of the colored people, as well as of the rest
of us, down below zero. Said one colored man, "Let him stand there,
then, until he dies." But within an hour he consented to be sworn to
tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and the major examined him
in the presence of many witnesses, Major-general Hunter one of them.
On Monday I introduced myself to General Hunter, as usual, by my
letters.
"How long have you been in the army," he asked, "and how far?"
In reply to his queries I gave him a sketch of our work. I mentioned
General Tuttle's refusal to grant us transportation, the wrongs of the
colored soldiers, and the history of the three thousand prisoners on
Ship Island and Dry Tortugas, and stated the fact that some
missionaries and missionary teachers had advised me to say nothing of
these wrongs, however flagrant. I also called his attention to the
printed order placed in our hands, that we were not to report any
movements in the army, either verbally or by writing, and asked his
advice whether it was wiser to report or to keep silent.
"Mrs. Haviland," he replied, "I am glad you have been in the army so
long, and I am glad you went so far, and I will explain that order.
"You have observed movements of troops from one place to another just
on the eve of battle. These are the matters you are not to report; but
the wrongs you have met you may proclaim on your arrival at home from
the house-tops."
I thanked him for this advice, for it was to me a great relief. It
seemed to trouble him. After pacing the cabin to and fro a few minutes,
he came to me and said:
"Mrs. Haviland, we have had a good deal of sifting done in the army,
and more must be done yet. Did General Tuttle see those papers you gave
me?"
"He did," I answered.
"Copperheads have no business in the army in the exercise of such
authority as this. General Tuttle ran for governor on the Copperhead
ticket in Iowa last year. What right has a copperhead to be lifted up
here, where loyal men are needed? I have never seen the least cause to
abandon my first conclusion, that the only way to crush this rebellion
was to emancipate and arm the slaves; and if I could have been
permitted to carry out my plan of taking Kentucky into my field, as my
rank and position entitled me to do, I should have proclaimed freedom
to the slaves as fast as I reached them. The strength I could have
gathered from the slave population would soon have been two hundred
thousand men, and that number of stand of arms was all I asked. But the
vacillating policy of the government would not permit it. I saw clearly
that this was the only policy that would prove successful, and I
thought every body else must see it when I first proclaimed it in South
Carolina. It seemed there were others who took a different view, and my
order was superseded."
Said sister Backus, "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your
policy had to be adopted before the nation could succeed."
"O, yes," replied he reluctantly; "but it is with regret that I think
of the drafting of thousands, which might have been avoided just as
well as not. There was no necessity for the draft."
Sister Backus remarked, "As a nation, we must suffer defeats until it
reaches the right position, not only in arming colored men, but in
paying them just wages; for they make as good soldiers as white men."
A bystander said, "I don't know that they make as good soldiers as
white men, from the fact that they are not so intelligent. Here is
General Hunter, and I presume he will say the same thing"--turning to
him for an answer.
In a decided tone the general said, "I shall say no such thing. They
make the best of soldiers; for, first, they are kind and docile; and,
second, they are apt to learn. They learn military tactics very
readily, and ought to have the same wages as any other soldier. All
along this river I find one continued series of wrongs inflicted upon
the negro."
We told him of the infamous order by Dr. Kelley, sanctioned by General
Tuttle, and published under the specious guise of "Health Order," to
drive the slaves back to their masters. He shook his head in disgust.
"Why does the head of this serpent rise up at almost every point? When
it appeared in the department under my command I crushed it at once."
At the mouth of Red River three women came aboard, by permission of the
gunboat officers stationed there. Their object was to hire men, whom
they wanted to gather cane for working up into weaving reeds. One of
them reported to Dr. Long that she had been watching a couple of ladies
on our boat, and she believed them spies, for they seemed to have a
great deal of writing to do. Dr. Long happened to know enough about the
ladies reported as spies to allow sister Backus and myself to pass
unmolested. But these ladies were themselves suspected of being spies.
We reached the city of Memphis May 10th. Sister Backus had been quite
sick for three days, but was now a little better. We called at the
Christian Commission Rooms, and got a market-basket full of reading
matter for distribution.
The next day was quite cold and freezing. We stopped at Columbus a
short time. Here we secured a paper giving an account of the terrible
slaughter at Fredericksburg. Rumor had it that fifteen thousand were
killed and wounded; that Lee was driven back thirty miles; Grant and
Butler were said to be pushing on to Richmond, and were now within a
short day's march of the rebel capital. General Hunter was quite
sanguine in hope that Richmond would soon fall.
On May 13th we arrived at Cairo, and took leave of the friends whom our
few days' acquaintance had made dear. We reached home on the 18th, amid
the rejoicing of dear children and friends. It is no wonder the
soldiers we met were delighted to see a Northern face, for it reminded
them of their home associations. Intercession unceasing went up for the
three thousand soldier prisoners banished to the Gulf Islands. The mail
had brought nothing from New Orleans. By this I was to understand that
nothing could be done for them there. Congress was still in session,
and I immediately wrote a full account of their wrongs to congressman
Beaman, and urged the presentation of the case to the war department.
Without giving myself time to rest, I hastened to Detroit, to report
our work and give an account of the unjust sentences of those prisoners
at Ship Island and the Tortugas. While making my statements in Captain
E. B. Ward's office, he took them down to forward them to B. F. Wade,
chairman of the Committee on the Conduct of the War; but he said, "You
must go to Washington and report these facts to the committee in
person." I told him I had written the full details to my friend, F. C.
Beaman, member of Congress, and I thought he would do all that could be
done. He answered, "I shall send these items to B. F. Wade, and our
letters will make good entering wedges; but the living tongue will do
more than the pen." I told him I was ready to go or do any thing I
could for their release, but still hoped to hear from New Orleans. I
would wait a week longer and rest. Then, if I had means, I would go. He
said he would see to that, and I returned to my home.
Within a week I received a note from him, stating that he had just
received a letter from B. F. Wade, requesting me to come at once and
bring my extracts from the record I had examined on Ship Island. I was
soon on my way to Detroit, and at nine o'clock, A. M., on the following
day, I was in Captain Ward's office, ready to take the boat for
Cleveland on my way to Washington. I waited but a few minutes when the
captain came in with a letter, which he threw in my lap, saying, "There
is a letter for you to read." The first sentence was, "The exhibition
of these letters before Secretary Stanton has proved sufficient. Judge
Attocha was dismissed immediately, and a committee is to be appointed
to investigate and release those prisoners at once. There is therefore
no necessity for Mrs. Haviland's presence on that score. General Tuttle
is already relieved." On reading these glad words, I remarked that I
never had been a shouting Methodist, but I felt more like shouting over
these glad tidings than I ever had done in all my life. If I had not
been spoiled for singing by being raised a Quaker, I would have sung
the doxology.
I wrote an article for the Detroit _Tribune_ containing these facts,
and stating the prospects of the immediate release of the three
thousand prisoners on Ship Island and Dry Tortugas. I sent the paper to
Captain J. Noyce, and very soon received a reply that my letter, with
the _Tribune_, was the first intimation they had received of any thing
being done in their behalf. He said, "I sent the letter and paper to
the prisoners, and they eagerly read them in all their companies, until
I doubt whether a whole sentence can be found together." A few weeks
later I received another letter from Captain Noyce, in which he stated
that the committee was investigating, and that but one person in
seventy-five was found unworthy of being released at once; but that
very soon all would be restored to their regiments.