Just Judgment—General Prentiss in Close Confinement—Northern Peace
Men—Bear Story—In the Hospital—Old Aunt Susie—Sold Children—Without
Bread, and Satisfied—What our Fathers thought—An Untrammeled
Pulpit—Clay-eaters—Commissioners to Washington—Homeward Bound—An
Irate Southron—My Yellow Angel—Our Journey—An Accident—Jeff. Davis’
Coffin—Don’t Know Myself—Safe at Home—Conclusion.
Is it not passing strange that enlightened Americans can be thus so
barbarous? It is related of a certain English judge, that a criminal
was brought before him, whom, for certain offences, he sentenced to
seven years transportation. The prisoner’s friends immediately sent a
petition to the judge, stating that he was a well-informed man, and if
he had an opportunity, might yet be a useful member of society. The
judge forthwith, sent for the criminal, and thus addressed him:
“I understand, sir, that you are a man of knowledge, and well-informed,
and might be a useful member to society. But see what you have done
in the face of all your knowledge. Now, sir, I had intended to give
you only seven years; but because you know better, I shall double your
term and give you _fourteen years transportation, with hard labor_.”
That was a just judge, and before him should the South be tried for the
deeds she has committed during this war.
What renders the offence against the noble General Prentiss so much
more aggravating, is the fact, that he was thus treated after he had
been regularly exchanged. The man for whom he was exchanged, General
Price, had been set at liberty, and returned to his family.
What apology the Southerners could offer in this case I know not; but
I suppose they might treat the matter in the same light as they do the
wrongs inflicted upon the four millions of human beings whom they hold
in bondage. Their reply is, when spoken to of their cruelties to their
slaves:
“Oh, they’re only niggers!”
So, in regard to General Prentiss, they might say:
“Oh, he’s only a Yankee abolitionist!”
And shame mantles my brow as I say that there is a class of men in the
North, whom this answer would not only satisfy, but actually delight.
Thank God that this class is a harmless minority! What a sorry figure
they will cut after the war is over, and the rebels thrashed back into
the Union! They remind me of an anecdote I once heard, of a man named
John Williams. John was a poor, lazy coward himself, while his wife was
just the reverse. Moving to a mountainous region in Virginia, they got
a little cabin and lot of ground. One day Lucy, his wife, was working
in the garden, while John was nursing the baby. Suddenly an old, hungry
bear was seen coming down the mountain side, directly toward them. John
instantly dropped the child, ran to the cabin, climbed up the ladder
into the loft, and pulled the ladder up after him, thus leaving the
mother and baby to do the best they could. Lucy, seeing her chance of
escape thus cut off, did not wait to scold her cowardly husband, but
seizing an ax, went out to meet the bear. As soon as old Bruin came
within reach, the courageous mother struck him on the head again and
again.
John, as he witnessed this from the loft-window, cried out:
“Quit that, you Lucy; you’ll make him madder and madder!”
Lucy paid no attention to John, but continued chopping away at the bear
until she killed him. As the beast fell dead, John breathed somewhat
more freely, and called out:
“Lucy, is he dead?”
“Yes.”
“Are you sure he’s dead, Lucy?”
“Yes! of course he is.”
John came down, and going to where the dead bear lay, he looked first
at it, and then at his wife, ready, however, to start off on a run
should the brute give any signs of life. After thus contemplating
matters, he gave his collar a jerk, and exclaimed, proudly:
“Hurrah, Lucy, _we’ve_ killed a big bear! blamed if we ain’t!”
So it is with the peace-men of to-day. They cry now loudly for peace,
and whine about the unconstitutional arrest of a few tories. And when
it is over, and freedom triumphs, _their_ coward lips will boast of
victories won over the legions of secession. Such are the Vallandigham
traitors.
General Prentiss remained in close confinement until October 6th, and
during the time he had been absent from our party. I had been taken
with a severe illness, which obtained for me admission to a rear room
of the prison, which was dignified by the name of a hospital. Here I
enjoyed the privilege of drawing my allowance of corn-meal from the
commissary, and taking it, or sending it, under guard, out to some
one in the town, to have it cooked. I got a slave, called Aunt Susie,
belonging to a widow, to attend to mine, and she did it well. I was
forbidden to speak to her, however.
One day, Lieutenant Welsh came in with the report that Aunt Susie was
having great trouble. I suspected the reason, but kept silent. The next
day, feeling well enough, I obtained permission to take my own meal out
to get it cooked. As it happened, two black boys were on guard, and one
of these only accompanied me. He knew all about Aunt Susie’s sorrow,
and, as he walked along, he said:
“Don’t b’lieve Aunt Susie ’ill be able to do your cookin’, sah.”
“Why?” asked I.
“Kase she’s in heaps o’ trouble, sah. You see, de sheriff sold her
little boy an’ gal t’oder day, an’ she’s bin cryin’ eber since, as
though her heart ’ud break.”
“Do you think that sale was right?” said I.
“Well, now, I guess I doesn’t, sah!” was the quick reply.
“Well, then, why are you in the army that supports such doings?”
“Ah, sah, dey makes me shoulder my gun, an’ dey makes me fire, sah;
but dey can’t make me shoot low, so as to hit anybody. When I fire,
sah, I shoots ober, d’ye understand, sah? I fires, but nobody gits hurt
wid my ball, sah!”
“Well, why is it,” continued I, “that your masters mix you up with
white soldiers? Why don’t they put all you blacks into regiments by
yourselves?”
“Yah! yah! sah,” said the slave, “dey knows ’nuff better dan dat. Dey
knows we’d fight t’odder way, if we got togedder. Yes, sah!”
By this time we reached Aunt Susie’s cabin, where I found the poor
creature sitting an a stool, weeping bitterly. On her lap lay a little
boy two years old, while by her knee stood another of four years.
When I entered the cabin, she sprang to her feet in an excited manner;
but when she saw myself and guard, she became calmer.
“What is the matter, Aunt Susie?” I asked.
“Oh, sah,” she replied, amidst tears and sobs, “I darsen’t tell you,
sah, for it’ll break my poor old heart.”
“Oh, yes, come now, Susie, tell me. If I cannot help you, I can at
least feel sorry for you.”
“Oh, sah, but you are kind to feel sorry for a poor old slave like me.
Dey’re sold my two dear little children, and dey’ll take ’em away
to-morrow, and I knows I’ll neber see ’em no more ’till I sees ’em up
dar, sah—up dar, sah, whar none of us’ll be sold any more.”
As Aunt Susie made this reply, she turned her face heavenward, and
pointed up with her finger. In her agonized countenance, wet as it
was with her sorrowful tears, I read an appeal for the freedom of the
slave, stronger and more touching than all the volumes and speeches
that have ever been written or made upon the subject.
I could not stand it any longer, and bidding the poor old slave
good-bye, I turned away without my bread, for my heart was full. I no
longer wondered at the strength of the language used by Ireland’s great
orator, Daniel O’Connell, when he said:
“The Americans, in their conduct towards the slaves, are traitors
to the cause of human liberty, foul detractors of the democratic
principles which I have cherished throughout my political life. They
are blasphemers of that great and sacred name which they pretend to
honor. For in their solemn league and covenant, the Declaration of
Independence, they declare that all men have certain ‘inalienable
rights.’ These they defined to be life, liberty, and the pursuit of
happiness. To maintain these, they pledged themselves with all the
solemnity of an oath in the presence of Almighty God. The aid which
they invoked from heaven was awarded to them; but they have violated
their awfully solemn compact with the Deity, and set at naught every
principle which they profess to hold sacred, by keeping two and a
half millions of their fellow-men in bondage. In reprobation of that
disgraceful conduct, my humble voice is heard across the waves of
the wide Atlantic. Like the thunderstorm in its strength, it careers
against the breeze armed with the lightning of Christian truth. And let
them seek to repress it as they may; let them murder and assassinate
in the true spirit of Lynch law; the storm will rave louder and
louder around them till the claims of justice become too strong to be
withstood, and the black man will stand up too big for his chains. I
hope what I am about to say is not a profanation, but it seems as if
the curse of the Almighty has already overtaken them. For the first
time in their political history, disgraceful tumults and anarchy
have been witnessed in their cities. Blood has been shed without the
sanction of the law, and even Sir Robert Peel has been enabled to
taunt Americans with gross inconsistency and lawless proceedings. I
differ with Sir Robert Peel on many points. On one point, however, I
fully agree with him. Let the proud Americans learn that all parties
in this country unite in condemnation of their present conduct, and
let them also learn that the worst of all aristocracies is that which
prevails in America, an aristocracy which has been aptly denominated
that of the human skin. The most insufferable pride is that shown by
such an aristocracy. I will continue to hurl these taunts across the
Atlantic. They will ascend the Mississippi, they will descend the
Missouri, and be heard along the banks of the Ohio and Monongahela,
till the black man leaps delightedly to express his gratitude to those
who have effected his emancipation. And oh! but perhaps it is my pride
that dictates this hope, that some black O’Connell may rise among his
fellow-slaves, who will cry ‘agitate! agitate! agitate!’ till the two
millions and a half of his fellow-sufferers learn their strength,
learn that they _are_ two millions and a half! If there is one thing
more than another which can excite my hatred, it is the laws which the
Americans have framed to prevent the instruction of their slaves. To
teach a slave to read is made a capital offence! Shame! To be seen in
the company of a slave who can write, is visited with imprisonment!
Shame! And to teach the slave the principles of freedom is punishable
with death! It may be asked, Are these human laws? Are they not made by
the wolves of the forest? No, but they are made by a congregation of
two-legged wolves, American wolves, monsters in human shape, who boast
of their liberty and of their humanity, while they carry the hearts of
tigers within them. With regard to the attacks that have been made upon
my countrymen by such men, I rejoice at them. They prove to me that the
sufferings to which they have been subjected in the land of their birth
have not been lost upon them; but that their kindly affections have
been nurtured into strength, and that they have ranged themselves on
the side of the oppressed slave.”
Would to heaven that ministers of religion, as well as statesmen
would shake off their lip-fetters, and throughout the whole nation
proclaim, as with one voice, the liberty of Gospel love! As long as
the heralds of salvation are time-servers and caste-courters, there
will be Pharisaical hatred to God’s poor. The reader will peruse an
extract here from a sermon on _Christian Courage_ by Rev. Alexander
Clark, delivered in the mid-summer of 1862, some weeks before the
announcement of the Emancipation Proclamation. The words are timely and
truthful now as then:
“To the Christian citizen, who, in this nation, is greater than a ruler
in any other, I would say a word to-day. These are times of sorrow. Our
nation is terribly lacerated, and bleeding at every pore. Horrid civil
war hangs her black pall over our summer skies. The clouds have hovered
long, and still they gather. All the light we have are the vivid
lightnings that flash across our battle-fields, though every flash
reveals a flying foe, records the victory, and thrills it in electric
velocity throughout our loyal land. Then an impenetrable darkness
prevails. We cannot yet see the ‘cloud with the silver lining.’ We
cannot hail the day of universal peace. The thick shadows obscure our
vision. The groans we hear, and the tears we see, hinder our exulting.
Oh, the tears of this war—what a river of them, enough, with the added
tears of the suffering slaves for lo! these many years, to float the
cruel ship that first brought bondmen to our shores! The graves already
filled, and others filling every day, and every where, almost crush our
very hopes. In the midst of this darkness and storm, this carnage and
blood, we would fear for the result, were it not for the assurance
that we feel to nerve us right from the God of nations. _Be not afraid,
only believe._
“And what shall we believe? What shall be our faith? This—no more, and
no less—that this nation must first be pure, then peaceable. Amen.
Lord, help thou our unbelief! Purify us from all sin! Take away from
us all false trust, and all man-glorying! The Lord help us to accept
universal liberty for this nation—boldly, immediately, unconditionally,
that the sunlight of God’s favor may shine upon us once more and
for ever! May our rulers and generals, and all Christians, accept
the life-thought of freedom to all men as the talisman of triumph
henceforth! And may none in authority, may none in the churches or
closets, be unwilling to trust in the arm of the Lord. Oh, that the
entire people might cease trembling, and _believe_ and be bold for the
right!
“The same Power that spoke life to the daughter of Jairus, is able
to restore our lost prosperity—is able to return to us our national
renown. And He will, if we only believe. Our Republic is young in
years, as a child among the nations, but it will yet be raised to its
second life, which shall be more glorious than the first. The noise of
party politicians and mock mourners shall be hushed as insolence, and
the professional fault-finders who ridicule the workings of Providence,
shall be _turned out_; and independent of their viperous hisses over
a dead Republic, it even already pleaseth Almighty God to awake our
slumbering people to the liberty of truth. _His_ name, and not a
paltry, pitiful _party’s_, shall have the glory for a nation redeemed,
and a weary, toil-worn race emancipated!
‘He has sounded forth the trumpet that shall never call retreat;
He is sifting out the hearts of men before His judgment seat;
Oh, be swift my soul, to answer Him! be jubilant, my feet!
Our God is marching on.’
“And even to-day, while so many are afraid to trust God, afraid to
hope that all this commotion shall end gloriously, let us believe that
the same Power which conquered devils among the Gadarenes, healed most
desperate maladies in the region of His pilgrimage, and raised the cold
dead to life again, will give us the great victory. Brethren, give to
the winds your fears!
“A word in view of our national truth. Bless God! in our prosperous
North, that has been full and free; and it shall be as enduring as
the Plymouth Rock, where it first breasted the New World’s winter and
storm. That Truth is Christian liberty, unalloyed and untrammeled, the
Pilgrim fathers’ treasure; that is the citizen-children’s inheritance,
and it shall be perpetuated. The ‘Mayflower’ weathered the storms of
a December Atlantic. The blood she brought to America courses now in
so many veins, and the spirit life at Plymouth planted, is to-day so
thrilling all true Christian hearts, that this strife must end in
proclamation of a Gospel to the poor. These we have with us always. Let
the people—the _whole_ people, have the Truth—the _whole_ Truth—and
nothing but the Truth. If this include body and conscience-liberty,
_be not afraid of that_, and let the good news go forth to captive
ones. Truth is used to storms. It has battled and beaten before. Itself
bled on Calvary, grappled with Death, and conquered the monster on
the marble floor of the new sepulchre, and is to-day a risen Sun of
Righteousness, dawning upon the nations!
“The Pilgrim fires, kindled so long ago on the cold New England shores,
shall yet dart light and warmth to earth’s remotest bounds. America
must evangelize the world. But not yet. Not until all human fetters
shall have been melted, and all tyranny consumed at home. If it takes
fire to purify the people and burn out oppression, then blow, ye winds
of heaven, and fan the flames! Let our nation be the land of slaves and
sorrow no longer. Give us, O, thou Ruler of men, a home-land of freedom
and of Gospel light! Then our missionary efforts will be successful.
Then the day of vain mockery at our own pagan idols and wicked worship
of the world’s trinity, Gold-power-honor, will be for ever ended. Then
the true God shall be honored, when His human image is disenthralled,
when all hearts and voices publish the good news throughout the land;
then shall the high hallelujah melody,
‘Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea—
_Jehovah hath triumphed_—his people are free!’
ring a joy unspeakable to the benighted sons of heathendom abroad.
And the warbling melody, sweeter and richer far than the notes of a
bugle-band, shall fill and thrill the very desert airs of Africa. The
wild men of Ethiopia shall catch the sounding song, and leap as harts
on the mountains. The inhabitants of the far-off sea-islands shall hear
the sweet gospel pæan, and welcome a religion that sounds liberty to
the captive.
“What music! The first measures of the anthem have been performed in
plaintive preludes, outsighing for years, in tedious time, by the
weary bondmen of the cotton-fields. Now comes the bold, loud bass,
majestic as the march of the whirlwind, introducing the discord of
rattling muskets, and anon the rumbling thunder-roar of artillery and
the neighing of war-horses. And hark! for an alto, the striking and
flashing of swords, the cheers of the victors, the screams of the
wounded, and the groans of the dying! But still the sweet ringing
melody sounds on high in octaves of glory, like the trill of a freed
bird, and as exultant as the angels’ song over the Bethlehem hills
before the day-dawn; soon the chorus-bar shall be reached and crossed,
for the Omnipotent beats the time in downward and upward suns; then the
mournful minor strains shall cease, the hoarse bass shall be keyed anew
for very joy, and the heavenly soprano of peace, sung by angels and
sainted choirs above, shall blend with the glad voices of a freed and
shouting multitude in one rapturous burst of accord,
‘Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea—
_Jehovah hath triumphed_—his people are free!’
Who will be afraid, since God rules? _Only believe_, and all will be
well.
“Rather let us rejoice aloud and praise the Lord! For now a better
day is dawning upon our own dear native land. These sweet summer
mornings, with their blessed, balmy breezes, breathe and beam it. The
birds warble it. The rain patters it. The flowers nod it. The leaves
laugh it. The sun is rising that shall flash it in one blaze of glory
the rolling globe around! ‘Be not afraid—only believe.’ ‘Amen; so
let it be.’ The infamous slave trade, and the scarcely less infamous
institution of American slavery, _God is crushing out of this land
for ever_—thanks be to His name! Soon our poor shall have the gospel
preached to them. Soon shall eyes that have looked so long through
tears to a tyrant master’s frown, see their prison-bands severed
in pieces, to fall in tingling music at their feet. Soon shall the
illiterate slave be taught to read, in silent meditation, or aloud to
his children, the simple story of a Saviour’s love. Soon shall the
hearts that have sickened at the selling of kindred flesh for gold,
bound and beat to the welcome, ‘_Come_, come unto _me_, all ye that
labor and are heavy laden, and _I_ will give you rest.’
“The Almighty Deliverer is working now and, as in the days of his
incarnation, there are men now who desire in their hearts that God
would leave the country. They think Him unable to pay for the loss of
the herds. Men will not believe it; but the Almighty Deliverer works.
Glory to God! Underneath our cause are the Everlasting Arms; and side
by side with the heroic soldier, as he walks to war, the Lord is
marching on! Again and again let it ring—let Southern hills the echo
sound,
‘Sound the loud timbrel o’er Egypt’s dark sea—
_Jehovah hath triumphed_—HIS PEOPLE ARE FREE!’
“Be not afraid to come out, and speak out for freedom. Only believe
that the Lord will grant it. Already it comes—the victorious march
of the Almighty! The nation’s capital He has freed and blessed, and
foundationed on consecrated ground. The very flowers must yield a
richer fragrance there. The feathered choristers that hop among the
elms in the yards and gardens there, so early in the morning, must
strike higher, gladder notes of praise. _Now_ Washington _is_ safe. Let
the conquest circle the Republic until the waves of the Gulf and the
rippling Rio Grande shall lave the soil of liberty.”
Upon my return to prison I found that Aunt Susie’s troubles had been
heard of there. The little boy and girl played close by the fence
during two days, and then we lost them. They were gone to spend the
rest of their lives in chains and slavery, unless the Almighty arm
breaks every bond of every oppressor!
I am aware that those who would excuse the slave system, often attempt
to give conclusive weight to their arguments by asserting that our
forefathers were slaveholders. Let me give some facts to the contrary.
One day, the wife of Samuel Adams returning home from a visit, informed
her husband that a dear friend had made her a present of a female slave.
“My dear,” replied Mr. Adams, “she may come; but not as a slave, for a
slave cannot live in my house. If she comes, she must be free.”
She came, and took up her _free_ abode with the family of this great
champion of American liberty, and there she continued free until her
death.
General Kosciusko, by his will, placed in the hands of Mr. Jefferson a
sum exceeding twenty thousand dollars, to be laid out in the purchase
of young female slaves, who were to be both educated and emancipated.
The laws of Virginia prevented the will of Kosciusko from being carried
into effect—1820.
A tyrant power had captured nine hundred and twenty Sardinian slaves,
of whom General William Eaton thus makes mention:
“Many have died of grief, and others linger out a life less tolerable
than death. Alas! remorse seizes my whole soul when I reflect that this
is indeed but a copy of the very barbarity which my eyes have seen in
my own native country.”
“Dissipation, as well as power,” wrote the immortal John Randolph,
“hardens the heart; but avarice deadens it to every feeling but the
thirst for riches. Avarice alone could have produced the slave trade.
Avarice alone can, as it does, drive the infernal traffic, and the
wretched victims, like so many post-horses, are whipped to death in
a small coach. Ambition has its incentives in the pride, pomp, and
circumstance of glorious war; but where are the trophies of avarice?
The handcuffs, the manacles, and the blood-stained cowhide!”
But to return to my narrative. One morning, as I stood gazing at the
guards about our prison, I was forcibly struck with their appearance.
They were a new set of men, who had relieved our old guards, the latter
having been sent to Richmond. They were all tall and ungainly, and,
in speaking, always said “har,” “sar,” “whar,” and “dar.” Their most
favorite exclamations were, “tarnal Jesus,” and “I golly.”
As I was thus surveying these degraded creatures, I heard one of them
say:
“Tom, what do you always go to old Sanders’s mill for? Why don’t you go
to Mike Adams’s mill?”
“Why, you tarnal fool,” was the reply, “don’t you know there’s a good
deal better clay up at old Sanders’s than there is at Mike Adams’s?”
As we were at this time under the charge of one Captain Collins,
who was more indulgent than any of our previous keepers, we were
allowed to converse with the guards. I resolved to settle this matter
of clay-eating. So I asked one of the fellows to whom I have just
referred, what his comrade wanted with the clay that he got at the mill.
“Why, tarnal J——s,” retorted the repulsive brute, “and don’t you know
nothin’? He wanted it to eat, I golly!”
Reader, it would be impossible to describe the personal appearance of
these wretched clay-eaters, except by the remark an Ohio lady made upon
seeing them in all their glory, in Georgia. Said she, “_they do not
look like fresh dead men, but men who have been dead some time_.”
Of all the negro-haters in the world, the clay-eater is the most
bitter, the cause of which is nothing more than jealousy and a degraded
moral system.
While in this prison, we were permitted occasionally to receive our
dinners from outside; but even this privilege was stopped every few
days, so that it was always altogether uncertain.
Commissioners having been sent to Washington, in relation to the matter
of exchanges by cartel, they returned, and brought with them to General
Prentiss several hundred dollars, which the General divided among the
officers. Our mess, consisting of three, received _one_ dollar, which,
of course, with prices as high as they were in Dixie at that time, was
almost useless. Sometimes we complained of our bad fare, and asked for
wheat-bread. Wheat-bread seemed to be a standing joke in rebeldom, or
rather one of the institutions that were long since forgotten.
“Wheat-bread indeed!” laughed our keepers, “why poor flour is
sixty-nine dollars per barrel!”
On the 7th of October, we left Madison, Georgia, as we hoped, for our
homes. Arriving at Augusta, we remained a short time, not being allowed
to leave the cars. During our stay, however, we managed to learn from
the negroes that there were but few white men in the place.
The loquacity of the darkies gave the guards much trouble; that is,
those who were not Unionists themselves, and of the latter class there
were many. Captain Collins, whom I have mentioned just before, still
had us in his charge, of which we were very glad.
The whites, as well as the negroes, crowded about our cars, and among
other questions, we were asked:
“Well, whar did they dun get you? What do you uns tink you uns’ll dun
down here? We uns have dun been waiting for you uns.”
From this place to Columbia, South Carolina, we were received much in
the same manner by all the inhabitants. Thence we took the Charleston
railroad to Branchville, from which place, starting due east, we struck
the Wilmington road at Kingsville. At Columbia, we were placed for
safe-keeping in the State Prison, while arrangements were being made in
regard to the cartel. As it was supposed that we would soon be within
our own lines, more liberty than usual was allowed us, of which I took
advantage by requesting to be allowed to go about the town under guard.
My wish was granted.
As I was walking along, I overheard two men talking of a young lady
and two gentlemen who had just been put into cells. There was an
apple-stand near by, and I stopped, with the apparent intention of
purchasing some of the shriveled fruit, but really to listen to the
conversation going on between the men.
“I’ve no doubt,” said one, “that they’re Yankees.”
“Well,” said the other, “the lady was put in for hiding and feeding a
conscript.”
“Yes,” savagely rejoined the first, “and if that’s so, she ought to
have been hung, and not put into prison.”
Upon returning to prison, I, in company with my tried friend, Captain
Studman, went up stairs, where we both saw the lady and gentlemen in
question. She had no hope whatever of escaping execution, and her pale,
finely-formed face, though sorrowful, was determined in its expression.
Her companions shared her imprisonment, because they had defended her,
and to defend such an one was death or imprisonment.
When the appointed time for our departure arrived, we were soon ready.
While standing in the street, drawn up in a rank, there was near us an
old man, who, whenever he had an opportunity, would grossly insult
us. The sun was broiling hot, and my temper, not being much cooler, I
felt inclined to admonish this old rebel a little. But, not wishing to
offend Captain Collins, who had treated me so well, I refrained, and
listened for some time to the hoary-headed coward in silence.
A line of female negroes as long as our own, stood close to us watching
us, and commented upon our appearance. While thus engaged, a little dog
made his way through them, and commenced barking at, and playing with
one of our number, a captain from Missouri.
The captain patted the little animal, and said, in half-joking tones:
“Well, puppy, I’ve got one friend in South Carolina, anyhow.”
At this, the old man rushed up to the prisoner, and exclaimed:
“What are you talking about? Them things’ll hang you before you leave
this place!”
“Whom do you think he’s talking to, sir?” I asked, in stern tones.
“He’s talking to them niggers, and he shall hang for it, before he
leaves the place.”
Just then, one of our number said sarcastically:
“Ah, now, my dear old gentleman, you are altogether mistaken. He’s not
talking to your _children_, but your dog!”
This enraged him beyond measure, and he wanted to fight, and demolish
the “whole crowd of d——d Yankees at once, and on the spot.”
Captain Collins, at length, thinking that he had amused himself long
enough, quietly took hold of him, and passed him over to the guards,
who, however, were unable to appease him, until they jagged a sharp
bayonet into that delicate portion of his corporeal organization,
where, doubtless, his feelings and his brains were _seated_.
We were soon after on our way to the capital of North Carolina. On our
journey thither, we stopped at Salisbury, where many a Yankee head was
thrust out at the car-windows in hopes of attracting the attention of
some of the kind-hearted negroes. My unshorn beard and straggling hair,
charmed a pretty yellow maiden to such an extent that she drew near and
said:
“Are you a Yankee, sah?”
“Yes,” replied I, determined to profit by the opportunity, “and I’m a
very hungry Yankee!”
“God bless you, sah! I’ll go an’ git you a possum leg dis minnit.”
With these words, she flew away, but soon returned, bringing a good
sized limb of “a possum.” I must admit, even at the risk of angering a
certain lady, that the yellow angel who thus relieved my hunger, did
look very beautiful in my eyes at the time. And as though she read my
thoughts, she asked coyly:
“When am you uns coming here for we uns?”
At this moment, a surly, vigilant guard relieved me from the
embarrassment which this question produced, and the girl, catching
a glimpse of him, “dispersed,” without even so much as bidding me
farewell.
From this slave girl’s question, I was more than ever convinced that
the slaves possessed more knowledge of their own rights, situation,
and strength, than is generally supposed. I should not be surprised to
see them some day rise in one solid phalanx, sweep their masters from
existence, and cut their way to freedom! And who could pity the latter?
No one. We should be compelled to say just what Mary did to her bashful
suitor.
One evening, as the lovers were standing on the verandah, Willie,
after immense mental effort, asked his betrothed if he might kiss
her. He had never been guilty of the offence before. Mary, delighted
that Willie was at last becoming sensible, gave immediate approval.
Willie accomplished the kiss, and fainted on the instant. Mary stepped
back, and wishing to exonerate herself from any charges which might be
brought against her, as to doing him injury, exclaimed loudly:
“You did it yourself! you did it yourself!”
As we traveled to Mason, near the State line, between Virginia and
North Carolina, we came to a stream across which was a trestle bridge.
Upon reaching the bridge, a rebel soldier who had been standing on the
platform of the car, and who was intoxicated, lost his balance and
fell through the trestle-work, a distance of full thirty feet. He was
seen to fall only by Captain Crawford and myself. He was not missed,
however, until we had nearly reached Petersburg, Virginia, where it was
discovered when they were about to change guards. This was many miles
away from the bridge, and we informed Captain Collins of the accident
the moment he came in.
At Petersburg, we fell in with a rebel captain who was one of those
fellows who can suit all crowds. He was much animated on the result of
the Northern elections, and said that we would now most likely have
peace. I asked him why.
“Why,” replied he, “look how you are voting over there.”
I did not say much, for nothing that could have been said would have
done the rebel captain any good, and might perhaps have brought harm to
me.
We were obliged to cross the city to reach the Richmond depot, and on
our way we passed by a large factory building, in which were confined a
large number both of blacks and whites, the negroes for endeavoring to
get away, and the whites for their Union sentiments.
During our march to the depot, we were surrounded by a strong guard
of cavalry. Oh, how galling it was to me think that I, a native born
Virginian, was thus driven through the streets of the principal city of
the Old Dominion, without a shoe on my foot, scarcely rags enough to
satisfy decency, and soaked by a cold, heavy rain!
At night, we were shut up in an old building that had been used
for storing tobacco and molasses. As there were a large number of
prisoners here, awaiting exchange, every one was obliged to shift for
a resting-place as well as he could. Of course all the best spots
were appropriated before our arrival, and we were forced to take up
our quarters in the back part of the building. A few of the blankets
captured by the rebels at Harper’s Ferry were distributed among us; but
I, unfortunately, did not get one. So, suffering much from the cold, I
laid down in the dirt and molasses, which formed a sort of soft cement
of an inch or two in depth. Completely wearied out, however, I soon
fell asleep, and dreamed of the happy home in Ohio to which I was going.
The next morning I was roughly aroused by two men who stood on either
side of me with barrel-staves.
“What are you doing?” exclaimed I, as the two men began prying me up
from the floor.
They did not notice my question, but like sailors weighing anchor,
wrenched again at me, exclaiming:
“We’ll fetch him clear this poke! heave ho! yo! ho!”
I had positively stuck so fast to the floor, that it was only after the
most strenuous exertions I succeeded in getting loose, even with the
aid of my two rough helpers.
Our descriptive list did not come until ten o’clock; but when it did,
we were not long in signing it, after which we were taken to Aiken’s
Landing, some fourteen miles south-east of Richmond. Though a cold rain
was still falling at intervals, I did not complain, for I was going
home,—thank God! home!
Oh, how overflowing was my heart with joy at the prospect! Every drop
of rain that pattered on my shivering form, fell upon me like the
summer shower falls upon the parched and thirsty grass. I did not
complain that I had to march the whole fourteen miles through the
cold, mud, and snow, in my bare feet, for I knew that this was my last
hardship.
Our guard were not at all rigorous in our marching, and therefore, I
often had an opportunity to converse with the teamsters. One of them
remarked to me:
“Did you know dere wuz a coffin laid on Massa Jeff Davis’s door step
t’odder night?”
“No,” answered I; “what do you think that was done for?”
“I dunno, I ’spect some ob de Union men done it to let him know dey
would kill him if he didn’t mind. He’s had his house guarded ebber
since wid two hundred men.”
“Well, uncle, what do you black folks think about this war?”
“Why, God bless you, sah! we been looking for Massa McClellan wid
all our eyes. And if he’d jes come leetle closer, dar’s a darky here
what’ud a leff dis State quick!”
At this instant I chanced to raise my eyes, and there, in the distance,
I beheld the glorious old Stars and Stripes floating proudly and
beautifully upon the breeze.
“There she is! God bless her stars!” burst from two hundred and sixty
throats in one breath of relief. The very clouds seemed to break
asunder and let the glorious sun down upon our enfranchised souls. We
wept, and laughed, and shook hands, and bounded with delight, until
some time after we were taken aboard the Federal transport, which had
been sent up the James river for us. We were soon tossing on the ocean,
and in due time arrived without accident at Washington.
My first act upon landing and reaching Willard’s Hotel, was to secure
the services of a photographer, who took myself and comrade with the
chain about our necks, and in our rebel rags, exactly as is represented
in the engraving. The next important operation was to clean myself,
trim my beard and hair, and make myself fit to go into decent society.
This was by no means a small undertaking; but by dint of scrub-brushes,
soaps of incredible strength, and exercise of muscle to an indefinite
extent, I at last succeeded in accomplishing my objects. As I left the
bath-room, I noticed at the other end of the hall, a tall strange
gentleman, who, for all I did not recognize him, seemed familiar to
me. However, I walked toward him, and he did the same, coming toward
me. When I got sufficiently near to address him, I bowed and extended
my hand. He did exactly the same. I thought he was behaving very
strangely, and with rather a grim smile I drew back and raised myself
to my full height. He did exactly the same, and I suddenly discovered
that I had been the victim of a huge mirror, and that I had, all the
while, been mistaking myself for a clever, gentlemanly-looking old
friend of mine. I merely relate this circumstance to prove to the
reader, that a man who is unfortunate enough to spend six months in
Dixie, is scarcely able to recognize himself upon his return home.
Home! home! that word still sounds with strange music in my ears. Its
mention brings before my mind the little cottage in Ohio, with its
happy yet anxious faces turned up the road, along which papa must come
after being away so many months. Home! ah, that is but another name
for the dear being, who, while I lay wounded and languishing in the
loathsome jails of a merciless enemy, cared for the sweet babes of the
captive, who taught their little lips to add a prayer for papa to their
vesper offerings at the mercy-seat, and who, weary with many months of
watching, never ceased to treasure in her heart’s holiest recesses him
who pens this tribute.
* * * * * *
Transcriber’s note:
A small number of obvious typographical errors have been corrected.
Except for these corrections the spelling and punctuation of the book
have not been changed.