Selma—Government Armories—Talks among the Negroes.
From Montgomery I went down the River to Selma, Alabama.
Colonel McGee, of Illinois, commanding the post there, had cut down a
small oak which interfered with his hanging out the large garrison flag
in front of his headquarters. The inhabitants complained bitterly about
the sacrifice of the oak. “I tell you, gentlemen,” responded the
Colonel, “not only trees but many brave men have been cut down that that
flag may float!” Silenced, but not convinced, they took their revenge in
mutterings; and the fair ladies of the place walked out into the sandy
street to avoid passing under the Yankee colors. The public journals and
the politicians thought it a great outrage that their representatives
should not be immediately admitted to Congress, on the presentation of
their certificates!
Selma is the center of the rich cotton-growing belt of Alabama, and the
lands there are probably unequaled by any to the eastward, and by only
the Mississippi and Red River lands on the west. But this temper of the
inhabitants caused Northern investors some anxiety. The better classes
were, undoubtedly, anxious that Northern capital and skill should be
thrown into cotton cultivation; and were ready to welcome every
respectable Northerner who came among them. But the baser sort also
abounded. With no pecuniary or political interests to risk, and still
full of the feeling that made the Selma ladies walk out of their way to
avoid Colonel McGee’s flag, there was reason to apprehend petty
outbreaks of malignity against Yankee incomers, which had to be taken
into account in any calculations about the openings there for Northern
enterprise.
All agree that the negroes would do more for the Yankees than for
anybody else. The disposition of respectable Rebels was equally
encouraging. They had been fairly whipped in fight; they frankly
acknowledged it, and desired, above all things, to go to work and repair
their shattered fortunes. Capital and enterprise they wanted among them,
and would gladly receive from any quarter. But officers shook their
heads if asked whether, when military protection was removed,
Northerners would be secure from annoyance from the more vicious
classes.
Lands were not so freely advertised for sale as about Montgomery, but
there was the same disposition either to sell or rent. A treasury agent
mentioned to a few friends his purpose to go into the land agency
business. In a day or two he had twelve plantations put into his hands,
to be sold at fixed prices, ranging from seven to fourteen dollars per
acre. Before the war these lands were valued at from fifty to a hundred
dollars. A few miles out from Selma was a large plantation, three
thousand two hundred acres in extent, one thousand eight hundred acres
cleared land, of the kind they call cane-brake, or prairie, the very
best for cotton in Alabama. On this plantation were the entire stock and
equipment for its cultivation—sixty or seventy mules, two hundred head
of cattle, corn enough for next year’s feeding, large droves of hogs,
etc. The planter was anxiously seeking for a buyer for land, stock, and
everything, at sixty thousand dollars. Estimating the grain and live
stock at current rates, this would leave the land at a valuation of ten
dollars an acre. The run from the North was mainly for smaller
plantations than this, and the prices on them had advanced considerably.
Two months earlier the average price of all lands there was a third
less.
The productiveness of all these lands seemed to be systematically
overstated. Throughout the rich cotton-growing regions of Alabama,
planters always assured me that their prime lands would, with careful
cultivation, yield an average of a bale to the acre. But strict
inquiries as to results actually realized, failed to show an average of
more than two-thirds of a bale. Then it cost from three to ten dollars
per bale to get the crop down to New Orleans.
Northern men were pressing in rapidly. Many officers were in Selma in
November, arranging for pretty heavy operations; and soldiers who had
gone home, talked about returning to lease small plantations. General
McArthur, of Illinois, had leased five in Central Alabama. Generals
Charles and William R. Woods, of Ohio, were getting some; so were
Colonel Gere, of Iowa, and a number of others. Their plan was to rent at
three to five dollars an acre, one-third down and the remainder payable
1st January, 1867. Then they hire, at liberal salaries, competent
overseers for each plantation. In this mode of operating, everything, of
course, depends on skillful management. I should judge it a splendid
opening for careless men to lose money.
West of this region, on the Tombigbee, New Orleans capitalists began to
come in. A purchase of five thousand acres, in one tract, had just been
made by a New Orleans sugar-planter, in company with a former Tribune
correspondent. Another company, composed of New Orleans gentlemen,
proposed to run five or six plantations; and others were beginning
likewise to extend their operations in this direction.
But these were the speculations of moneyed men. The South had its
speculations to offer for small farmers as well as for capitalists. With
reasonable prudence and skill, they might hope to realize at least
double as much as could be expected from an investment of the same
amount of capital in farming at the North. Scores of plantations,
averaging from one to four hundred acres of arable lands, could be
bought or leased, at prices not generally exceeding fifteen dollars per
acre for purchase, or four dollars for lease. Purchases were made in
cash; leases were paid either quarterly or one-third down, and the rest
at the end of the year’s work.
A Northern farmer, himself working in the fields with his hands, could
probably make the crop on a hundred acres with six hired negroes,
depending upon subsequently hiring a few more to help pick it out. His
account, then, would stand somehow thus:
100 acres yield, say 60 bales of 500 pounds each, at 25c $7,500
Deduct hire of six negroes, at $15 per month $1,080
Deduct food for same, say half as much 540
Deduct food for six mules, say 400
Deduct incidentals, say 300
—— 2,320
———
$5,180
The farmer could afford, out of this, to pay four dollars per acre for
his lease, and still have a handsome year’s earnings left.
Selma bore rough marks of the Yankee General Wilson, who passed through
it on his raid, just before the capture of Mr. Davis. A third or more of
the city was in ruins, and the large machine shops and founderies of the
Confederacy were thoroughly destroyed. On a public corner, where a large
cotton warehouse had stood, was a broken safe, lying among the debris.
Some resident had taken the pains to label it, so that the Yankee
garrison might understand what it meant, “Always safe, except in case of
Wilson, U. S. A.” On another side was a different inscription: “Business
Cards! Wilson & Co., U. S. A., General Burglars and House and Safe
Openers. Orders respectfully solicited.” The third side bore the
following: “Insured safe from dangers of fire and dampness, Wilson and
his Thieves (_sic_) only excepted.”
Wilson’s work had been thoroughly done. The gun foundery and machine
shops which he had destroyed, were only to be compared to great
Government establishments like those at West Point or Fort Pitt. A
confused mass of bricks and mortar covered the ground, and from the
debris rose fourteen tall chimneys, the blackened monument of what had
been. About a hundred great guns were lying about in various stages of
manufacture. Wilson had carefully knocked off the trunnions. Among them
were the heaviest siege-guns, iron field ten-pounders, guns with wrought
iron muzzles screwed on, Brooks’ guns, and other varieties. One still
lay on the lathe, where the workmen had been turning it when Wilson and
his raiders came.
On the other side of the town were the ruins of an extensive manufactory
of small arms. Hundreds of musket barrels lay among the bricks and
mortar, besides shot-gun barrels innumerable, and great sheaves of
bayonets, fused together by the heat. But for the utter collapse of the
rebellion, at about the same time, this destruction of these shops would
have been justly considered the weightiest among the crowding calamities
of the rebellion.
An accomplished Northern mineralogist,[55] who went over the ruins with
me, pronounced the iron ore, which, had been used in making the great
guns, nearly equal to the Marquette ore from Lake Superior. He thought
it would average sixty-five to seventy-five per cent. of pure iron, and
possibly even higher. It had all been brought from the mines near
Talledega, where, also, a number of founderies for the Confederate
Government had been established. The war had found these people ignorant
of their mineral resources, without machinery, workmen, or materials. At
its close they had developed a mineral wealth which ages could not
exhaust, and had built up here, as I have said, a manufactory of guns,
great and small, with which only three or four in the United States
could be compared.
The burnt houses in the business part of the city were being rapidly
rebuilt. Negro carpenters and masons seemed to have exclusive control of
the work. An old negro, who worked as hod-carrier, explained that he was
paid a dollar a day. “By de time I pays ten dollars a month rent fo’ my
house, an’ fifteen cents a poun’ for beef or fresh po’k, or thirty cents
fo’ bacon, an’ den buys my clo’es, I doesn’t hab much leff. I’s done
tried it, an’ I knows brack man cant stan’ dat.” He had been “refugeed”
from Tuscumbia; now he could not get back. He had been doing his best to
save money enough, (forty dollars,[56]) but he couldn’t seem to get
ahead at all with it.
His people were all going to work well, he thought, on cotton
plantations where they were sure of good pay. Of course, they would work
better for the Yankees, ’cause dey freed ’em. There was no talk of
insurrection among them—had never heerd of sich a thing. What should
they rise for? There were no secret societies among them.
On the other hand, the people had many complaints of insubordination, so
great that they were in actual fear for the lives of their families!
Some of the newspapers thought “the scenes of bloodshed and massacre of
St. Domingo would be re-enacted in their midst, before the close of the
year.” “We speak advisedly,” continued one frightened editor, “we have
authentic information of the speeches and conversation of the blacks,
sufficient to convince us of their purpose. _They make no secret of
their movement._ Tell us not that we are alarmists. After due
investigation and reflection upon this matter, we have determined to
talk plainly, without fear or favor, and if our voice of warning is not
heeded, we, at least, will have the consoling reflection that we have
performed our duty.”
All this silly talk was, doubtless, utterly without foundation. Negroes
neglected to touch their hats to overseers or former masters whom they
disliked; and straightway it was announced that they were growing too
saucy for human endurance. They held meetings and sung songs about their
freedom, whereupon it was conjectured that they were plotting for a
rising against the whites. They refused to be beaten; and, behold, the
grossest insubordination was existing among the negroes.[57]
Near the ruins of the Selma armory was a village of huts, filled with
the lowest order of plantation negroes. One or two were riding about on
abandoned Government horses; more were idly watching them. They were
“’joying their freedom.” A little round furnace stood some distance from
the huts. At its mouth sat an old negro, far gone with fever and greatly
emaciated. His story was a simple one. He had been sent here, by his
master, from Northern Alabama, to work for the Government. Yankees had
come along, and his paper to go home (his transportation) done wuf
nothing no more. He begged a little, picked up a little, slept in the
furnace, and so got along. He might last through the winter, but it was
very doubtful. He was, apparently, sixty or seventy years old, and there
was not a soul, black or white, to care for him.
Most of the negroes congregated here had either been sent to work in the
Rebel shops, or had come since the end of the war to “’joy their
freedom.”
“You were just as free at home as here,” I said to one who had patched
up an abandoned tent, under which he lived.
“But I’s want to be free man, cum when I please, and nobody say nuffin
to me, nor order me roun’.”
“De Lo’d tole we to come heah,” another said. “De Lo’d him’ll take car’
ob us now.”
-----
Footnote 55:
Professor of Mineralogy and Geology in the University of Pennsylvania.
Footnote 56:
Negroes are required to travel in very bad cars, often in freight
cars, or on open platforms; but they are charged full first-class
fares. Now and then a negro objects, but is always silenced by a short
argument. “You’re free, aint you? Good as white folks, aint ye! Then
pay the same fare, and keep your mouth shut.”
Footnote 57:
Carl Shurz gave an instance in point:
One of our military commanders was recently visited by a doctor living
in one of the south-eastern counties of Georgia. The doctor looked
very much disturbed.
“General,” says he, “the negroes in my county are in a terrible state
of insubordination, and we may look for an outbreak every moment. I
come to implore your aid.”
The General, already accustomed to such alarming reports, takes the
matter with great coolness. “Doctor, I have heard of such things
before. Is not your imagination a little excited? What reason should
the negroes have to resort to violence?”
“General, you do not appreciate the dangers of the situation we are
placed in. Our lives are not safe. It is impossible to put up with the
demonstrations of insubordination on the part of the negroes. If they
do not cease, I shall have to remove my family into the city. If we
are not protected, we can not stay in the country. I would rather give
up my crop to the negroes than the lives of my wife and children.”
“Now, Doctor, please go into particulars, and tell me what has
happened.”
“Well, General, formerly the slaves were obliged to retire to their
cabins before nine o’clock in the evening. After that hour nobody was
permitted outside. Now, when their work is done, they roam about just
as they please, and when I tell them to go to their quarters, they do
not mind me. Negroes from neighboring plantations will sometimes come
to visit them, and they have a sort of meeting, and then they are
cutting up sometimes until ten or eleven. You see, General, this is
alarming, and you must acknowledge that we are not safe.”
“Well, Doctor, what are they doing when they have that sort of a
meeting? Tell me all you know.”
“Why, General, they are talking together, sometimes in whispers and
sometimes loudly. They are having their conspiracies, I suppose. And
then they are going on to sing and dance, and make a noise.”
“Ah, now, Doctor,” says the imperturbable General, “you see this is
their year of jubilee. They must celebrate their freedom in some way.
What harm is there in singing or dancing? Our Northern laborers sing
and dance when they please, and nobody thinks anything of it; we
rather enjoy it with them.”
“Yes, that, is all well enough, General; but these are negroes, who
ought to be subordinate, and when I tell them to go to their quarters,
and they don’t do it, we can’t put up with it.”
“By the way, Doctor, have you made a contract with the negroes on your
plantation?”
“Yes.”
“Do they work well?”
“Pretty well, so far. My crops are in pretty good condition.”
“Do they steal much?”
“They steal some, but not very much.”
“Well, then, Doctor, what have you to complain about?”
“O, General,” says the Doctor, dolefully, “you do not appreciate the
dangers of our situation.”
“Now, Doctor, to cut the matter short, has a single act of violence
been perpetrated in your neighborhood by a negro against a white man?”
“Yes, sir; and I will tell you of one that has happened right in my
family. I have a negro girl, eighteen years old, whom I raised. For
ten years she has been waiting upon my old mother-in-law, who lives
with me. A few days ago the old lady was dissatisfied about something,
and told the girl that she felt like giving her a whipping? Now, what
do you think? The negro girl actually informed my old mother-in-law
that she would not submit to a whipping, but would resist. My old
father-in-law then got mad, and threatened her; and she told him the
same thing. Now, this is an intolerable state of things.”