CHRISTIAN LABOR AND RESULTS.
It seemed refreshing to meet with sympathizing friends after toiling
for months among false brethren. It was a relief to enjoy a few days of
freedom from care. After asking a few friends to sign an article of
agreement to pay one dollar a year during five years for the orphan
asylum, and mailing a couple of letters to Levi Coffin and Rev. E. M.
Cravath, of Cincinnati, I took from the office a drop-letter from Mr.
Burton Kent, County Superintendent of the Poor, containing the
following notice:
"MRS. LAURA S. HAVILAND,--Many persons transported by you last year
have become a county charge, and it has become an intolerable burden to
the tax-payers. Any person bringing a child or indigent person into
this county without being legally indentured, shall be prosecuted to
the full extent of the law."
Within five minutes after reading the above notice I was on my way to
our County Poor-house, three miles from town. To my surprise I found
that no colored child had been there, and of the fifty-one inmates but
three were colored, and only one man (Mr. Morris Brown) who came with
me the previous Summer had been received. He was discharged in a short
time. A stay at the infirmary for two months and a half was a _burden_,
but was it "intolerable to the tax-payers" of our county?
I felt that I must search diligently to discover all the facts. I
called on Mr. Helms, who said there was widow with four or five
children that was sick a couple of weeks, and he had supplied her with
a load of wood and groceries. I asked for the cost, but as it was not
convenient for him to give the figures then, he said he would furnish
them the following Tuesday. Mr. Young had told him that he had buried a
family. I called to learn what family it was in his ward. He gave the
name of the man who died after a short illness, and to whom he had
taken a load of wood, a small sack of flour, and some other groceries.
I inquired if he had taken these things to them more than once. He said
he had not, as his wife was all there was to look after, and she took
care of herself after her husband's death. He gave me the
expenses--eight dollars and ninety-six cents. I called on Mr. Helms at
three appointed times, and failed to get his precise figures, but,
placing them at highest rates, from all I could gather it could not
have been more than thirty-five dollars. I wrote an article for the
Adrian _Times_, in which I stated the figures, and informed the
citizens and tax-payers of Lenawee County that this orphan asylum was
under the auspices of the American Missionary Association, which was
responsible for its support. I solicited some mathematician to give us
the fraction of a mill to each taxpayer as his share of this
"intolerable burden upon the tax-payers."
Our county superintendents of the poor, Burton Kent and Alice Warren,
the officials from whom I received the notice, were surprised to learn
that the American Missionary Association was the responsible party. But
all these threats sprang from prejudiced parties, and clearly indicated
the necessity of a few strokes of the reconstruction brush north of
Mason and Dixon's line, as well as south of it, to obliterate the
color-line. Friends here and there paid me a dollar on their pledge of
a dollar a year, and our colored friends in the city of Adrian--Sarah
Lewis, with her brothers and Mr. Wilson, managers of a
festival--realized thirty-two dollars and sixty-one cents, cash, and
fifty pounds of meat, beans, fruit and clothing, valued at fifty
dollars.
July the Fourth was a merry day for the forty little folks at the
asylum. At dark fire-crackers, torpedoes and sky-rockets flew in every
direction for an hour, when all were arranged in a semicircle and sang
"John Brown," "Red White and Blue," "Rally 'Round the Flag, Boys," and
a few temperance songs, in great glee. It was a happy group. We had a
few visitors, who left us the happier for seeing the children and
listening to their sweet voices in song.
I was often engaged in procuring good homes for these orphans. A few
homes were found that were not suitable, and the children were
withdrawn and placed in other homes.
On September 19th I met Mrs. Edgerton, the matron of our asylum, with
T. D. Allen, of Kalamazoo, agent under J. R. Shipherd, secretary of the
American Missionary Association, who were authorized to build a
school-room for the asylum. Heretofore the children's play-room had
been used for the school during the warm season. As the American
Missionary Association was doing a great work in the late slave States
in maintaining freedmen's schools, the officers concluded to solicit
aid, in the State of Michigan for the building of the much needed
school-room. They urged me to engage in this work, but I thought that I
had done my share, in giving the time I had to soliciting money for the
purchase of supplies. Besides Elizabeth L. Comstock had given one
thousand dollars in money, with which to enlarge the little farm to
thirty-five acres, buy a horse, and furnish the little folks with hats,
etc. Then I wanted to look for a home, as I was becoming rather weary
of singing the old song,
"No foot of land do I possess,
No cottage in this wilderness."
This had been my condition for nearly three years; but with all my
pleading, I failed to be released. As it was already cooler weather,
and Winter would soon overtake us, T. D. Allen said I had worked long
enough without reward, save that of blessing these little homeless
waifs, and now, if I would take hold of this enterprise, I should be
paid the same amount he was receiving.
At length I agreed to spend a week or two at least, and took from him
the bill of all the kinds of lumber needed, and left for Detroit. Judge
F. C. Beaman furnished me with a letter of introduction, indorsed by
Rev. Dr. George Duffield, of Detroit. I called, as he advised, on
Samuel Pitts, who subscribed one hundred dollars in lumber. I selected
out of my bill what was first called for to enable the carpenters
already engaged to commence their work. I then called on Mr. Cooper,
freight agent, to secure, if possible, free transportation to Adrian;
to him I gave my introductory letter. When he glanced at the heading,
without reading it, he gave it a toss on his table toward me, with a
look of disgust, saying, "I've seen that thing before, and I've nothing
to do with it."
"That is a mistake," said I; "that paper is from F. C. Beaman, and not
a week old."
"If I'm not _very much_ mistaken I've seen it before."
"Well, you are very much mistaken, for I brought it to this city with
me yesterday, and I have not been in your office until this minute. But
I am not soliciting money. I only called to see if I can secure free
transportation for one hundred dollars' worth of lumber to Adrian for
an orphan school-room, as forty little homeless waifs, under our care,
have no school-room, except a wood-house and play-room. The cold
weather will soon overtake us."
He listened patiently to my short speech, and said he had no authority
to grant such a favor; that I would have to write to C. H. Hatch, then
in Chicago.
"I know he would grant it," I said, "for he granted this quarter pass
on his road for my mission work," showing the pass.
He turned it over and spent double the time in examining it that he did
on my introductory letter, and said, slowly, "I think I will risk
sending this car-load," and wrote an order to his assistant to send it
forthwith to Adrian.
I thankfully returned to my duty of calling on the list of the
benevolently inclined wealthy persons whose names Dr. Duffield and J.
F. Conover had furnished. Rev. Dr. Hogarth, Mr. Raymond, the
book-merchant, and Rev. Dr. Duffield gave sufficient to pay the cartage
of the lumber to the depot. Soon it was on its way. I dined at Moses
Sutton's, who gave $5, and his sister Annie $1. Mr. Brooks gave me $25
in lumber. Mr. Bronson gave five thousand shingles; another gave $2.50
in shingles.
After a few days at home I returned, October 25th, to Detroit, and
toiled, like the fishermen, nearly all day, and caught nothing. Weary,
and almost discouraged, I was about to retire to my resting-place at
Augustus Leggett's, when one gave $5, another $2. The following day I
called on C. Merrill, who gave $5; another gave $5; Mr. R. C. Renuick
gave $10; Mr. Whitney gave $5. Weariness coaxed me to another sweet
resting-place, the home of my dear friends J. F. and Hannah Conover. I
called on a few persons whose names had been given me by Mr. Palmer,
from whom I received $17; and from a few others I received $15. John
Bagley gave $10; another gave $5; Rev. J. A. Baughman, $5; and Mr.
King, his son-in-law, $5. I also called on Governor Crapo, who gave $5.
Others gave $5, $2, and $1, until I had forty dollars more to aid in
constructing our school-room.
We secured sufficient means to build our school-room. In all, with the
favors granted by the Michigan Southern and Lake Shore Railroad, we
received about four hundred dollars.
Through the kindness of my friend, L. Tabor, Esq., who purchased a
house and small lot for me, I again had a place for my children to
occupy, which I could call my home; for which I praised the Lord, from
whom all blessings flow.
As our orphan asylum was now in a good condition, Mrs. Edgerton, the
matron, said the secretaries of the three divisions of the Missionary
Association, Chicago, Cincinnati, and New York, met and voted her one
hundred dollars a month, with which to carry forward this asylum. She
deemed this an ample supply, with what had been raised on the place.
She said it was then on a more substantial basis than it had been
during the year she had had it in charge.
Through General O. O. Howard I learned that mission work was much
needed in Charleston, South Carolina, and received from him
transportation to that city by way of Washington, District of Columbia.
My health being now restored, on January 29, 1869, I left my sweet home
and loved ones at three o'clock P. M., and spent the night in Toledo,
with my old friends, William Merritt and wife. I attended with them the
prayer-meeting in the new colored church. I arrived at Pittsburg with
but little detention. Passing through the mountains, we found the snow
deeper than when I left Michigan. At seven A. M. we passed the wreck of
three cars which had run off the embankment and were still burning.
Among the killed taken from the wreck was a woman partially burnt. I
did not learn the number of killed and injured. Among these dead and
dying I should probably have been had I not spent the night in Toledo,
as this was the train, I would have been on had I remained on the one I
left. O, how sad to look upon this smoldering wreck, from which I had
so narrowly escaped! This was the third accident of this kind which I
had thus providentially missed in my travels by river and rail of three
thousand miles. Many are the dangers, seen and unseen, through which I
have passed, and the remembrance of this disaster calls forth a renewed
song of deliverance and praise for the Guiding Hand that preserves
through the vicissitudes of this ever-changing life.
I arrived in Washington early in the morning, and took breakfast with
my friend Dr. Glenan. Here I found my brother, Harvey Smith, and his
son, who were teaching freedmen's schools, and with them I spent the
Sabbath, In the evening I attended the Colored Methodist Episcopal
Church, and was invited to address the large meeting. I spoke half an
hour, and told the history of Uncle Philip, and how, amidst the
persecutions and sorrows to which his slave-life subjected him, he had
kept his hand in the hand of his Savior all these ninety-seven years.
While speaking of his being whipped until he fainted, a few wept aloud,
and after meeting a number came to tell me of their being whipped for
praying. One woman was whipped until she fainted, and one man was kept
in the stocks all night after being whipped, and came near dying. His
master told him he "would whip the praying devil out of him," using the
same words that Uncle Philip's master used to him.
The surgeon-in-chief, Dr. Reynolds, wished me to remain in Washington
another day, and thought General Howard would permit me to stay there
for a time, to engage in sanitary work. I had an interview with the
general, who thought I was most needed in Washington, during the Winter
season at least. He gave me authority to visit the free soup-houses,
and investigate the sanitary work generally. After reading my
commission, I told him I had a request to make, and that was that the
authority with which I was vested, might be kept secret. To investigate
to the best advantage was my object. I was also appointed to examine,
as far as practicable, the condition of applicants for charity, and the
manner in which the charity was applied. My office was furnished, and
board was allowed me at the head-quarters of the freedmen's hospital in
Campbell Camp.
On February eth I called at Josephine Griffin's relief office before 10
o'clock A. M. Between sixty and seventy persons called on her, mostly
for work. I followed a number of the applicants for soup-tickets to
their homes. In visiting twenty families during the day, I found a
number of persona in squalid wretchedness. One man was very sick with a
high fever, and unconscious. He had received no help, because unable to
make personal application, and he had no family to intercede for him.
His bed was a pile of rags in the corner on the floor. I called for the
Bureau physician and saw that he had suitable bed-clothing and food.
The physician said he must have died within two or three days in that
condition. Among the applicants for relief was an Irishwoman, who had a
brick house she was renting, except the back room, which she occupied,
and had another nearly finished. She and her family for whom she was
begging soup, lived in good style.
The fourth day of my investigations revealed great deficiency in
properly looking after applicants for aid. The greatest sufferers were
often too diffident to ask for help. The soup-houses were generally
well managed. I called as one whom curiosity had drawn into the motley
crowd, and was treated to a taste of fine soup, even at the "Savage
Soup-house," where I saw two caldrons of soup. The one from which I was
served might well tempt the palate of an epicure, but the other looked
too forbidding for a human stomach. I soon found the good soup was
being given to the white applicants, who were first served, while the
colored people, standing in the yard, were waiting their time.
Policeman Ross told a shivering colored man to go inside and put his
pail on the farther block for soup.
"I shall be sent out," he replied.
"I tell you to go in," said the policeman; "I'll see to that."
He obeyed the order, only to receive curses: "You know better than to
come yet; another thing you know, this soup is for white folks, the
other is for niggers."
At this, Policeman Roes canoe in: "I have seen," said he, "fish made of
one and flesh of another long enough. Here are women and children
standing out on the ice and snow, waiting all this afternoon for you to
serve the white people first. Another thing I'd like to know, why is
this difference in the soup? That black stuff is hardly fit for pigs to
eat, Mr. Savage, and you know it."
"Our citizens furnish material for this soup," replied he, "and our
citizens shall have it."
"Doesn't General Howard furnish a hundred pounds of beef and two
hundred loaves of bread each day? and on Saturday it is double. Another
thing I'd like to know--are these not our citizens?" pointing toward
the yard full of colored people.
"There are ten thousand too many of 'em, and it's none of your
business; I shall do as I please."
"I will let you know; I shall make it my business to report you to
General Howard."
Mr. Savage poured out a horrid volley of oaths at him, adding that all
his reporting would make no difference with him. One Irish woman
received three loaves of bread, four quarts of soup, and a large piece
of meat. After nearly all, both white and colored, were served, the
lieutenant policeman left, but Mr. Ross remained until the end of the
disbursing. I was tempted to cheer the policeman for his bravery, but
thought silence the better part of valor.
When Aunt Chloe's "cl'arin' up time" was come, I took my departure. I
saw the policeman standing near the gate, and said in low tone, as I
passed out, "I thank you for your words."
"Stop; do you live here?" he said.
"Temporarily."
"Go slowly till I get my club, so I can catch up. I want to see you."
He soon overtook me, and inquired whether I was one of the visiting
committee. I told him that I was authorized by General Howard to
inspect the soup-houses. He asked whether I was going to report Savage
"I am on my way," I said, "to the general's office for that purpose."
"I will give you my name and number," he replied, "and will run to see
the lieutenant of police, who will give his name and number for
reference also; I'll overtake you by the time you reach Pennsylvania
Avenue" And off he ran. As I wished to inspect the poor soup more
thoroughly, I called at a cabin, the home of the poor man that the
policeman compelled to go in and demand the good soup. I found his
quart of excuse for soup, on the stove to cook the half raw bits of
turnips and potatoes. I tasted of what the policeman said was hardly
fit for pigs, and fully agreed with his assertion, for the man said it
made them sick to eat it without cooking it over. This man had been
sick with pneumonia, and his mother very sick with it at this time I
hurried to the nearest grocery, where I bought crackers, sugar, rice,
bread, tea, and mustard for a plaster to put on her side. The man had
received only a slice of bread with his quart of soup, for the seven
reported in his family, four of whom were sick.
When I reached the avenue, I met the policeman who had nearly run
himself out of breath. He was delayed in hunting for the lieutenant,
who sent word that he would call on the general to confirm my report if
necessary, and gave his name and number. The result of the report was,
that a notice was sent at once to Mr. Savage that there must be no
difference in giving to the poor, either in quality or quantity at his
soup-house, and that the difference mad between white and colored, as
reported to him, could not continue. In reply, Mr. Savage denied having
made any difference in his soup-house, and charged the reporter with
being an arrant liar, and he also made the same statement in the _Daily
Chronicle_.
I wrote a confirmation of my report, using his own words in connection
with the remarks of policeman Ross, and took it to Dr. Reyburn,
Burgeon-in-chief in the sanitary work. The doctor approved my
statement, and wrote a few lines of preface himself. As I used Mr.
Boss's name, I called on him, who also approved, and referred to the
lieutenant of police, who was present; and both sanctioned my report.
This was published in the _Chronicle_.
At this Savage raved, and swore he would arrest me for defamation.
Neither did the policeman whose name I used as reference go unscathed.
The chief of the police force requested Mr. Ross to see me and learn by
what authority I was acting, as there seemed to be none indicated in my
article in the _Chronicle_. Mr. Ross said the chief of police did not
doubt my authority, but would like to know, if I had no objection. I
presented my paper, with a request that the matter should be held as
confidential, as I did not wish to make it public.
After reading the paper he said: "I think you are authorized to inspect
the work of the whole of us; I see in this the whole field is included.
Would you object to my taking this to the chief of police, if I bring
it back within, an hour or two? We may in some cases render you
assistance."
I had no objection, and he took it. I found their assistance in a few
cases very important, as well as convenient. But with all the Savage
threats, nothing was done, and not even a reference was made to the
subject in either of the papers. Surgeon Reyburn told me, as he was
passing a corner where a group of secessionists were discussing the
subject quite freely, that one man said, "Why don't Savage do something
about that soup-house affair, and not be a numb-head, and let that
woman wind him around her finger like that?" Another said, "If I'd lied
once over that old soup-house, I'd lie again, before I'd hold still and
take all that" He changed his soup-house policy for a little while; but
the complaints among secession friends and white customers caused him
soon afterward to backslide.
Mr. Carpenter, treasurer of the Provident Aid Society, wrote a letter
to George Savage that he thought might improve him. But Surgeon Reyburn
sent for me, and requested me to prepare for running the Fourth Ward
soup-house, as he had heard they were going to discharge George Savage.
I called on Mr. Shepherd, the proper authority to discharge him. He
said that in a week or two all the soup-houses would close for the
season, and, as Savage had received letters that he thought he would
improve by, he would release me from the task of running the
soup-house. I therefore continued visiting and relieving the sick and
suffering.
I met in my rounds Dr. Cook, who said there was a child frozen to death
in Kendal Green Barracks, nearly two miles away. Neither the doctor nor
myself knew who had charge there. I went, and found a child of ten
months old that had chilled to death. The mother said hers was the
fourth child in that row of cabins that had died; and that none of them
were allowed more than two four-foot sticks of fire-wood for
twenty-four hours. I called at the other cabins, and found them without
fire, and all told the same story of lack of wood and no coal. There
was neither bedding nor clothing enough among them all to make a single
family comfortable. The mother of the dead child had been to see the
superintendent of the poor of the city to get a coffin. With shoes but
little better than none, she had waded through melting snow until her
dress was wet four inches, at least, around the bottom. I inquired who
the superintendent of this camp and barracks was, and they said, Major
Thompson. I went to his head-quarters, but found that he and his family
had gone to the Capital to learn how President Johnson's impeachment
trial was likely to end. I repaired to General C. H. Howard's office,
and reported the condition of these families. He sent me back in his
ambulance, with fifty loaves of bread, a coffin for the dead child, and
two quilts and a few blankets for the destitute, with instructions to
give the bread, except one loaf to each of the four families I had
visited, to Major Townsend, a man that I had met in the Sabbath-school
he superintended. He was surprised to find those families under his
care in such a condition. The general furthermore requested me to make
a thorough investigation of Kendal Green Barracks and camp.
The following day I visited forty families, and found twelve sick, and
not sufficiently supplied. I listened to many sad stories by a white
man, who had been one of Major Townsend's police guards while he had
charge of Campbell Camp, before I went to Washington. I was informed
that the major had charged his two police guards to bring the woman
that was interfering with his camp to his office till he returned, if
she should come again in his absence. Although they were quite cross,
they did not take me to the major's head-quarters, as I told them I was
calling by request. The major had no more idea of who the intruder was
than I knew who the superintendent was until I made my report to the
general, when he informed me that it was not Thompson, but Major
Townsend, to whom I had been introduced in a colored Sabbath-school.
But as he knew by the supplies which I took to the families that they
came from head-quarters, he called on General Howard, and from him
learned who the inspector was, and he told the general he would aid me
in calling on the poor who needed aid. While he spent most of the day
in calling at my office and going to see the general, I was visiting
the barracks.
For sundry misdemeanors while in office the major was relieved, and
another appointed in his stead. Though I did not think he was the right
man for the place, yet I felt sorry for his excellent family. His wife
and two young lady daughters I had called on, and was much pleased with
their self-sacrificing Christian spirit.
There was much excitement in Washington during a portion of May, on
account of the impeachment and trial of President Johnson. At length,
on the 16th of the month, the news spread that he was acquitted of the
high charges made against him by the House of Representatives, and that
his power was left uncurtailed. But he had turned his back upon our
brave soldiers, who bled and died to save the nation's life, and made
no serious effort to put an end to the Kuklux outrages in the Southern
States. For this reason many demanded that he be removed from his
office. With them his acquittal foreboded ill; but we hoped for the
best.
Uncle Dodson, aged sixty-five years, a plantation preacher and a
resident of Campbell Camp, caused great excitement when he found his
long-lost wife and she found her long-lost husband. Twenty years before
the husband and wife were torn apart by the unrelenting slave-master.
Weeping and begging to be sold together, while kneeling at the master's
feet, they were only answered by a kick and the lash. Now they met
again. In the front yard the wife came running to him crying out, "O
Ben Dodson, is dis you? I am your own Betty." And she clasped him
closely. "Glory! glory! hallalujah! Dis is my Betty, shuah," he said,
pushing her away to look at her face. "I foun' you at las'. I's hunted
an' hunted till I track you up here. I's boun' to hunt till I fin' you
if you's alive." And they both wept tears of joy. "Ah, Betty, we cried
harder'n dis when da sole us apart down dar in Egyp'." And another,
outburst of joy followed. They were soon happily living together in
their own little cabin.
The old man had some queer Scripture quotations. One he recited in
meeting twice before I had an opportunity of correcting him, and that
was, "Adam called his wife's name Eve because she was the mother of all
evil." As Uncle Dodson often wished me to read a chapter in their
chapel meetings "an 'splain it to us," I took occasion to read the
third chapter of Genesis, and when I read,
"Because she was the mother of all living," he called out "ebil, ebil,
sistah Hab'lin." Uncle Dodson was learning to read, and could read easy
words in the first reader. I placed the Bible before him and pointed to
the word "living." "Dat is so in dis place," he acknowledged, "but it's
some place in de Bible." "Father Dodson," I said, "I have read every
word in this Bible a number of times, and there is no such sentence
between the two lids that Adam called his wife's name Eve because she
was the mother of all evil," and a smile ran through the entire
congregation. I added that it was not a wonder that these poor people
should misquote Scripture, as a few years ago many of them were not
allowed to learn to read. At this three of that company testified to
being punished severely for learning their letters of a little white
boy. I told them it was a greater wonder that they had passed through
such privations and retained as much intelligence as they possessed. "O
yes, well do I 'member when I was punish' too," said another, "for
tryin' to learn to read." Turning to a young exhorter sitting by him,
Uncle Dodson said, "Brodder Davis, I've labored in de Gospel mor'n
forty years wid de white ministers and wid de black ministers, an' I
neber foun' one so deep in de Scriptur' as sistah Hablin." We continued
our exercises with good satisfaction.
Another of Father Dodson's comforting passages was, "Blessed is the
corpse that the rain falls on." If the departed one had left no other
evidence of being, prepared for the great change, then a rain on the
day of the funeral was sufficient. I found this was quite generally
accepted as a sure evidence with many of them.
As I was passing through the hospital yard a number of the
convalescents were in a group discussing the subject of charity,
thinking that some one had been too harshly judged. Said one man, "Paul
said faith, hope, and charity. An' de greates' of 'em all was char'ty.
An' I knows what a bigger man nor Paul said, better man too."
"An' who dat, an' what he say?" rejoined another. "He say, 'Judge not
an' ye shan't be judged.'" "An' who said dat?" "'T was George
Washington."
On inquiry I found his parents lived many years in the vicinity of
Mount Vernon, and probably the colored people heard George Washington
repeat that text, and it was handed down among them as an original
saying of the Father of his Country, in their minds a greater and
better man than Paul.
While engaged in my work, as the weather became very warm, I often
rested an hour or two in the capitol to listen to the many witnesses
who testified to the awful condition of our soldiers at Andersonville
Prison, under Henry Wirtz. At the statement made concerning his
stabbing and shooting the soldiers for leaning against the "dead line,"
the guilty man, Wirtz, shook as he arose from the sofa upon which he
was reclining, and swore "that was a lie;" but General Auger, the
president of the court, told him that he had nothing to say, and bade
him sit down, which he did with cursing in great excitement. I
some-times spent two or three hours in listening to the tale of the
heartless cruelties that unprincipled wretch had committed. One woman,
whose son died in that prison, was listening one afternoon. She stood
in the corridor, and as he passed with his guards for the ambulance,
which was to bear him back to the prison, she followed with her best
weapon, a large umbrella. This she nimbly used, thrusting the pointed
end into his side or back, or wherever she could hit him, saying, "You
rascal, you villain, you murderer, you murdered my son in
Andersonville." Her thrusts were in such quick succession that he
begged the guards to protect him; but they did not interfere with the
bereaved woman until they got the prisoner into the ambulance.
While I did not feel like following her example because of his
murdering my cousin, yet I told General Auger that it was well for
Henry Wirtz that his case was not tried by mothers and sisters of the
thousands who had suffered and died under his cruelties. Said the
general, "I do not know but it would be the best thing for him if
mothers and sisters were his judges." But if they were the ones to give
the decision, _justice_ and _mercy_ would never kiss each other over
him. I never was an advocate of capital punishment, but I must
acknowledge I did feel at times, while listening to Henry Wirtz's
trial, that I would like to see that tiger in human form take a _hemp
swing._ But when at last he received his sentence and swore he "always
thought the American Eagle was a d--- buzzard," I had no desire to
mingle with the multitude to witness the execution, though he well
deserved the execration of all.
On May 14th I received a note from Mrs. Edgerton, stating that a
peremptory order from Rev. J. R. Shipherd, secretary of the American
Missionary Association at Chicago, had been received, to close the
asylum immediately. From her note I learned that this was the day for
the auction sale of the asylum personal property. I was confident that
forty or fifty little folks could not at once be properly situated in
compliance with such an order, and wrote J. R. Shipherd a proposition,
reminding him of his verbal pledge and proposed terms on which we could
reopen the asylum for all for whom no suitable homes might be found. I
also wrote an appeal to Rev. Geo. Whipple, of the New York Division,
and sent with it a copy of the proposition I had made to J. R.
Shipherd. I received in reply a request to remit to that division the
reply I should receive from J. R. Shipherd, or a copy, by the first
mail, for they thought my proposition would be accepted. I wrote them
they should have whatever reply I might receive from J. R. Shipherd,
but I did not look for any word whatever from him. In the mean time I
received a letter from Adrian informing me that four of the little
children were already in the county poor-house, and that others would
soon be taken there, that four of the younger ones were left in the
streets of Adrian to find their own homes among colored people, and
that four were left with a poor colored family who were promised pay
for keeping them until other homes could be found. Four more were also
left with a white family in Palmyra, with the promise of pay until
other arrangements were made. One little girl of ten years was left
with a woman of ill-fame and of drinking habits, and the little girl
had been seen drunk.
I wrote to Rev. E. M. Cravath, secretary of the Middle Division, at
Cincinnati, and to Levi Coffin, and learned in reply that eight of the
little children were found one morning sitting on the stone steps of
the office of the American Missionary Association, with a note in the
hand of the oldest, aged ten or eleven years, the purport of which was,
"These children were sent by you to the asylum near Adrian, Michigan.
It has closed. You must take care of them." They said that Mrs.
Edgerton brought them from the asylum, and sent them here in the
express wagon. The office being locked, the driver left them on the
steps at 6 o'clock A. M. As they had eaten nothing during the night,
Levi Coffin furnished them with food, while Rev. E. M. Cravath went to
the colored orphan asylum of the city, and made arrangements by paying
the board of managers one hundred dollars for their admittance. The
letter from Levi Coffin contained the following queries: "What ails
Michigan, that she can not care for thirty or forty of these poor
little homeless orphans, when we have had a few thousands to look after
in this great thoroughfare? Where is the Christianity and philanthropy
of your great State, to send these children back to us, who took them
from those crowded camps, where there was so much suffering and dying,
for the purpose of their being properly trained, and fitted for
usefulness, amid humane surroundings?" They soon found the whys and
wherefores in my letter and appeal to allow the asylum to be reopened.
After writing a number of letters to the New York Division, containing
a full account of the condition of the children, and sending them a
copy of the letter from Adrian, I inquired whether as a Christian body
they could allow these children over whom they had assumed control, and
for whom they were responsible, to be turned out into the streets, to
be lodged in the county poor-house, and to be left in the house of
ill-fame, and appealed to them as Christian men to make some suitable
arrangements for them. Their reply was: "We can not afford to allow
this condition of those children. We have not received a communication
in this office that has produced the deep feeling that your last letter
has. We have telegraphed Mr. Shipherd to dispose of nothing more
connected with that asylum. How long would it be before it could he
reopened, should we replace it in the hands of its friend?" I answered,
"It shall be re-opened as soon as I receive official authority from
your association to do it, and I will resign my position in this work."
In reply to this, the Rev. Mr. Smith, a member of the New York
Division, came to Washington and authorized me to secure a part of the
asylum building, and reopen it for the children that were in improper
houses. I secured a pass by way of Cincinnati, in accordance with the
request of Levi Coffin and Rev. E. M. Cravath, of the Middle Division.
They had secured good homes for two of the children. I took the others
home.
The secretaries and a few other members of the three divisions met in
Oberlin to consider further concerning the asylum that had been so
unwisely closed. At the close of this consultation I received a letter
from Mr. Whipple, of New York, in which he stated that there was much
sympathy expressed for me in behalf of the asylum by all except Mr.
Shipherd, who said he had done nothing of which I or any one else had
any right to complain. He was ordered to return twenty-three boxes and
packages of asylum goods to me, as I was acting under their orders in
reopening the home; and they sent me fifty dollars for supplies. I
gathered in between twenty-five and thirty children that had previously
belonged to the home, and bought back what furniture I could that had
been sold at a great sacrifice. The corporation appointed me general
superintendent of the asylum, and engaged me to devote my whole time to
it.
Although to provide means to carry it on was no small task, yet the
burden to me seemed light compared with its importance. It had cost
great anxiety and effort to accomplish what we had already done. I
secured a horse, repaired the buggy, and employed our soldier, Charlie
Taft, whose health was much impaired from service in the army. He
offered to spend the Winter with us, and render what assistance he
could, for his board. Just now our prospects were brighter than at any
period since Raisin Institute was converted into a home for harmless
little people, to train for useful citizens, instead of tramps, or
inmates of prisons.
But, alas! we were doomed to a heavy draft upon our faith. After a very
busy day of measuring, cutting, and fitting garments for the little
ones, I went in haste to place a bundle of patches in the box in the
hall room. It was now dark twilight, and I mistook the cellar door for
that of the hall. Passing through, I fell headlong seven feet against
the corner of a hard-wood beam. I received many bruises, and the
concussion fractured both the inner and outer layers of the left
temporal bone, and severed the temporal artery. I was taken up
insensible, and it was supposed that life was extinct; but in a few
moments signs of life appeared, and a physician was immediately sent
for. Great consternation prevailed among the children, and much
sympathy was expressed, as well as many prayers offered by them in my
behalf.
Brother Smart, pastor of the Methodist Episcopal Church in Adrian, was
then holding a series of meetings; and being told of the accident at
the evening meeting, he said: "Elder Jacokes informs me that sister
Haviland is supposed to be in a dying state from a dangerous fall in
the orphan asylum this evening. I propose to pursue my subject no
further, but to turn this meeting into a season of prayer for her
restoration, if in accordance with the Lord's will; if not, that her
mantle may fall upon another, to carry forward that enterprise. The
Lord can hear and answer here as readily as by her bedside." He then
led in fervent supplication, followed by a few others. Said a friend
present: "The announcement fell upon us like an electric shock, and I
never heard brother Smart, or those who followed, pray with such power.
Then brother Bird arose and said, 'I feel confident that we shall have
an answer to our prayers, that sister Haviland will be restored or
another take her place.'"
My dear sister in Christ, Elizabeth L. Comstock, was at that time
laboring in the Master's vineyard in Chicago. Hearing of the accident
by means of the telegram sent to my daughter residing in that city, she
mentioned it at the Moody noon prayer-meeting, and requested prayer for
my restoration, if it were the Lord's will. I was made the subject of
prayer also at Pittsford Wesleyan Methodist protracted meeting.
A letter came from Rev. E. M. Cravath, of Cincinnati, addressed to me.
In answer, my daughter, L. J. Brownell, wrote that "mother is
unconscious from a dangerous fall, and we (her children) are earnestly
praying for her restoration. If our Heavenly Father sees meet to grant
our petition, you will receive a reply from her when practicable." The
immediate reply was: "You may rest assured our All-wise Father will
restore your mother if he has further work for her to do. You may also
be assured that her friends in this city are uniting in prayer with her
children for her recovery."
I was so nearly conscious at one time that I heard some one say, "She
will never speak again." The thought struck me forcibly that I was
going to get well, and yet I had no sense of being ill. But I reflected
that my children must be very sad at the thought of giving me up, and I
would try to say, "I am going to get well." With all the effort I could
command I could not utter a syllable. Then I tried to see if my
children were present; but I seemed to be in a pure, soft, white cloud,
such as we sometimes see floating in the ethereal blue, where I could
discover no countenance of those moving around my bed. Consequently I
gave over the effort, and was again lost to all consciousness until
three days and nights had passed. Then the first returning
consciousness was the passing away of that beautiful white cloud, and I
recognized my three daughters standing before me. One of them said,
"Mother looks as if she knew us." Why, yes, I thought, they are my
daughters; but what are their names? and what is my name? Then I
surveyed the room. The papered wall, maps, pictures, and furniture all
looked familiar; but where am I? Am I in some large city, or in a
country place? I am advanced in years; and what have I done in all my
life? But I could recall nothing.
While in this mental soliloquy, it came to me what my name was, and
that this was the orphan asylum.
"Do you know me, mother?" said my daughter Jane.
It was a matter of reflection before I could utter the word "yes," and
then a study to give her name. At length I pronounced it. Another
daughter made the same query, and I had the answer, "yes," ready, but
it seemed a hard study again to recollect the name Mira. The same
effort brought to my lips the name of Esther when she addressed me.
"Don't have the least anxiety or care," she said, "about this orphan
asylum, for the friends have brought gram, flour, meal, meat, and
groceries in abundance." O what a relief these words brought! Surely
the Lord is the Father of the fatherless.
After studying for words I said, "What is the matter?" for I felt that
my head was very sore, and my face swollen. When told that I had fallen
down cellar and was badly hurt, I was surprised, for I could recall
nothing of the fall. After calling to mind the various residences of my
daughters, and words to inquire how they knew of the accident, I was
told that my son-in-law telegraphed them. At length I reached the
conclusion that I became stunned by the bruise on my head, and fell
asleep and slept my senses all away, and that was the reason I did not
know any thing. I thought, must I learn to read again? Shall I ever
know any thing? How sad it will be not to know how to read or do any
thing; but I will leave all in the hands of the dear Savior. They gave
me medicine that I knew I had taken. Did I not take this an hour ago?
"O no, mother, not since yesterday." What day of the week is to-day?
"Monday." Then to-morrow will be Tuesday. "Yes." I have got so far, I
will remember that, thought I. Again another dose of medicine was
given. Did I take this yesterday? "You took this two hours ago." It is
certain that I do not know any thing. How sad it will be when I get
well of this hurt (as I had no doubt but I should) and not know any
thing. But, then, the second thought of leaving it with the Lord was a
resting-place. But consciousness was gradually restored. The next day
my son Daniel came; but he did not dare to approach the front door,
fearing that a tie of crepe on the knob would be the first to tell him
the sad story of his mother's departure He was met at the back door by
his three sisters, one of whom informed him of a faint hope of my
recovery, as there was evidence of returning consciousness.
A day later the fourth daughter, Anna H. Camburo, arrived. I was thus
permitted to meet all my children save one, whose infant son had died
the day after the news reached him of my fall. But as the children
daily informed their brother Joseph of increasing hope of my recovery,
he, of my six children, was the only absent one. Through their tender
care and the blessing of God, in answer to many earnest prayers, I was
spared to toil on a few years longer. To him alone be all the praise!
My Savior never seemed nearer.
It was January, 15, 1869, when I fully realized that consciousness was
restored. I renewed my entire consecration to the service of my Lord
and Master. All was peace and quiet within. The inmates of the asylum,
between twenty-five and thirty, were so quiet that it seemed as if no
more than my own children were moving around me. During the second
week, through my dear friend Elizabeth L. Comstock, seventy-five
dollars was sent to us from friends in Chicago. A few days later thirty
dollars came from the same city. The fourth week after the fall I was
removed to my home in the city of Adrian, accompanied by my five
children, three of whom then returned to their homes. In four months I
had so far recovered as to be able to do moderate asylum work, and in
one year I solicited and received one thousand dollars for the asylum,
aside from the means sent during my inability to labor. This kept the
asylum in supplies, we hardly knew how, only as it came from the Father
of the fatherless. Within ten days after my arrival at home I received
three checks of fifty dollars each from the Cincinnati Branch of the
American Missionary Association, from the Friends' Sabbath-school, in
Syracuse, New York, and from John Stanton, Washington, D.C.
In all this severe trial I had no regrets in making this scheme another
specialty in my life-work. I visited nine county poor-houses, learning
the number of children in each, and noting their condition, with the
view of reporting to our next Legislature. In three of the county
houses were girls, half idiotic, who had become mothers. In one there
were twenty children of school-age, sent to school four hours each day.
As I followed the matron through the dormitory and other parts of the
house, I saw by the filthy appearance of the sheets and pillows, as
well as a want of order generally, a great need of system. As I was
about to leave I remarked to the matron, "You have many unpleasant
tasks to perform here."
"La me, I guess we do," she said.
"You have plenty of vermin to deal with, I suppose?"
"Indeed we do. You can scrape up quarts of 'em."
I added her testimony to my report. Then, after visiting many of the
infirmaries on April 6th, I attended meetings of our county supervisors
and superintendent of the poor. I reported our work, and presented an
order for dues for the previous month. Having arranged my monthly
report, I presented it to the monthly meeting of our asylum association.
I retired weary, and awoke to see Dr. Pearsall about to leave my room.
He was giving directions to my two anxious daughters. To my surprise my
son-in-law remarked, "Mother is so much better, I will return home."
Here was a mystery I was unable to solve, and I insisted on knowing why
the doctor was there, now nearly 2 o'clock in the morning. I was
informed that I had suffered an attack of apoplexy. I was not the least
startled, but told them if I had had a fit of that character, I was
liable to go at any time, and I wished to say a few things and then I
would sleep: If I should be taken away in an unconscious state for them
not to have the least uneasiness about me, as my way was clear. I
wished my children to live nearer the Savior, and meet their mother in
a fairer clime than this, and I requested them to tell my dear absent
children the same. I then directed how my little effects should be
divided among my six children, and rested well in sleep until the usual
hour of waking, and was able to dress in the afternoon.
Within ten days I rode to the asylum, made arrangements to rent the
land of the asylum farm for the coming season, and wrote to brother G.
A. Olmstead to take my place in looking after its interests for a few
months, as my physicians told me it was unsafe for me to continue
mental labor, and I must rest at least six months. This was another
heavy drawback upon our faith and work, as we had designed to circulate
our petition during the remainder of the year, so as to have it ready
to present to the next Legislature. Rev. G. A. Olmstead undertook the
work of soliciting, and kept the asylum comfortably supplied until his
health failed. Then a devoted and self-sacrificing sister, Catharine
Taylor, took the field, while I spent six months visiting my children.
The severest prescription I ever took from physician, was to _think of
nothing._ But I succeeded admirably, and spent much time in drawing
bits of clippings and rags of diverse colors through canvas, making
domestic rugs for each of my children. I called upon various
physicians, who gave it as their opinion that I could safely accomplish
one-fourth of my former work, but I did not even reach that amount of
labor. In a little over a month's work, with a petition to the
Legislature in my pocket, and at the home of Anson Barkus and wife, I
was taken with another midnight fit, and was much longer unconscious
than before, but I returned home the following afternoon, accompanied
by brother Backus. Twenty-five miles ride on the car and a mile in the
hack did not improve the strange pressure in my head. Within a week I
had five terrible spasms, lasting at times from five to twenty minutes;
during consciousness I was not able to speak a word. When I appeared
more comfortable, and my head more natural, greater hopes of my
recovery were entertained by my physician and children.
I thought these fits were faintings; for I felt as if I had waked out
of sleep each time. But the purple fingernails on the last day led me
to suppose that I would die in one of these faints. Between the fits I
most earnestly prayed that, if it was the Lord's will, I might be
restored to work for him a little longer; but, if otherwise, I would
praise him still for taking me over the beautiful river. O what a
mistake to call it a dark, deep river, when it is only a bright,
rippling stream, just across which all is peace and joy for evermore!
This was the constant breathing of my soul all day; and it vividly
flashed upon my mind that fifteen years were added to Hezekiah's life
in answer to prayer. This prayer, followed by these words, ran through
my mind during all that happy day. Can death, that is called the last
enemy, look pleasant? It did look pleasant to me. Praise filled my soul.
That day will never be forgotten as long as memory and reason endure.
In the evening I slept three minutes, they said, by the watch, and when
I awoke I could talk as easily as ever. From that day I improved in
health. These spasms were caused by the pressure of blood in reopening
the temporal artery, or forcing its way through a new channel. I again
received the tenderest of nursing on the part of my four daughters, and
praise is due only to him who is the prayer-hearing God. With the
fervent prayers of that memorable day come the words of the poet:
"'Tis a glorious boon to die,
A favor that can't be prized too high,"
because of an abundant entrance to be administered to us into the
glorious mansions prepared by our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ.