There was a clamor throughout the South for his removal, and the

appointment of a general who would take the offensive. Jeff Davis

disliked Johnston on personal grounds, and appointed Hood his

successor. That officer hurled his troops against Sherman's

breastworks, and suffered a damaging defeat. Sherman in turn made a

flank movement, and compelled Hood to evacuate Atlanta, which Sherman

occupied on the 2d of September. Jeff Davis hastened West. He

conceived the idea of forcing Sherman to retreat from Atlanta to

Nashville, by invading Tennessee. As Hood's army had been driven from

Chattanooga to Dalton, losing all its strong positions, this plan is

one of the most remarkable in military history. It is hardly within

the sphere of sober criticism, but appropriately belongs to the comic

page. "Your feet shall again press the soil of Tennessee, within

thirty days," said Davis to the soldiers. "The invader shall be driven

from your territory. The retreat of Sherman from Atlanta shall be like

Napoleon's from Moscow."

Sherman had already contemplated a movement to Savannah, and had

opened correspondence with Grant.

"Until we can repopulate Georgia it is useless to occupy it; but

the utter destruction of its roads, houses, and people will

cripple their military resources. By attempting to hold the roads

we will lose a thousand men monthly, and will gain no result. I

can make the march and make Georgia howl.... Hood may turn into

Tennessee and Kentucky, but I believe he will be forced to follow

me. Instead of being on the defensive, I would be on the

offensive. Instead of guessing at what he means, he would have to

guess at my plans. The difference in war is fully twenty-five per

cent. I can make Savannah, Charleston, or the mouth of the

Chattahoochee, and prefer to march through Georgia, smashing

things to the sea."

Grant authorized the movement. Hood was preparing to move north.

Sherman's right wing, commanded by Howard, was composed of Osterhaus's

Fifteenth Corps and the Seventeenth, under Blair; Slocum had his left

wing, containing the Fourteenth Corps under Jeff. C. Davis, and the

Twentieth with Williams.

The Twentieth was consolidated from the Eleventh and Twelfth Corps of

the Army of the Potomac, which had fought at Fredericksburg,

Chancellorsville, and Gettysburg.

Sherman sent his last despatch to Washington on the 11th of November.

On the 17th, the day on which Sherman left Atlanta, Hood crossed the

Tennessee River, to make the movement which was to compel Sherman to

evacuate Georgia!

Sherman's southward march was a surprise to the Rebels. They affected

joy, and predicted his destruction.

Said the Augusta _Constitutionalist_:--

"The hand of God is in it. The blow, if we can give it as it

should be given, may end the war. We urge our friends in the

track of the advance to remove forage and provisions, horses,

mules, and negroes, and stock, and burn the balance. Let the

invader find the desolation he would leave behind him staring him

in the face.... Cut trees across all roads in front of the enemy,

burn the bridges, remove everything possible in time, and, before

the enemy arrives, burn and destroy what cannot be

removed,--leave nothing on which he can subsist; and hide the

millstone and machinery of the mills.... The Russians destroyed

the grand army of Napoleon, of five hundred thousand men, by

destroying their country, by the fulness of fire applied to their

own cities, houses, and granaries. Let Georgians imitate their

unselfishness and love of country for a few weeks, and the army

of Sherman will have the fate of the army of Napoleon."[72]

[Footnote 72: Augusta _Constitutionalist_, November 22,

1864.]

Said the Savannah _News_:--

"We have only to arouse our whole arms-bearing people,--hover on

his front, his flanks, and rear,--remove from his reach or

destroy every thing that will subsist man or beast,--retard his

progress by every means in our power,--and, when the proper time

comes, fall upon him with the relentless vengeance of an insulted

and outraged people, and there need be no doubt of the

result."[73]

[Footnote 73: _News_, November 22, 1864.]

If it be true," said the _Examiner_ of Richmond, "that Sherman is now

attempting this prodigious design, we may safely predict that his

march will lead him to the Paradise of Fools, and that his magnificent

scheme will hereafter be reckoned

'With all the good deeds that never were done.'"

Almost without opposition Sherman reached the sea, and forced Hardee

to evacuate Savannah.

General Sherman is regarded by many people in the Southern States as

the Attila of the nineteenth century, because his path from Atlanta to

the Roanoke is a widespread scene of devastation. Yet he did only that

which the leaders of the Rebellion and the newspapers of the South

urged the people to do. They proposed to make the country a ruin in

self-defence. Sherman did it to shorten the war. He says:--

"We consumed the corn and fodder in the region of country for

thirty miles on either side of a line from Atlanta to Savannah;

also the sweet potatoes, hogs, sheep, and poultry, and carried

off more than ten thousand horses and mules. I estimate the

damage done to the State of Georgia as one hundred million

dollars; at least twenty million dollars of which enured to our

advantage, and the remainder was simple waste and

destruction."[74]

[Footnote 74: Sherman's Report.]

This is a frank avowal. It is the official utterance of the commander

who was instrumental in causing such wholesale destruction. To what

end? What was gained by it? Was such destruction warranted? What will

be the verdict of history? These are questions which force themselves

upon every thinking mind.

General Sherman's vindication of himself is found in his

correspondence with the Mayor of Atlanta and with General Hood

concerning the expulsion of the non-combatants from that city.

As he could not subsist his army and the citizens also, he ordered

that every person not connected with the army should leave the place.

The people of that town had done what they could to overthrow the

government of the United States. They had given great material aid to

the Rebellion. They hated the Union as bitterly as ever, but were

willing to be consumers of the food dispensed by a government which

they were not willing to recognize as holding rightful authority over

them. The Mayor set forth the suffering which would be entailed upon

women and children, the poor and sick, by the enforcement of the

order.

"You know the woe, the horror, and the suffering cannot be

described in words," said the Mayor. "Imagination can only

conceive of it, and we ask you to take these things into

consideration.... We solemnly petition you to reconsider this

order, or modify it, and suffer this unfortunate people to remain

at home and enjoy what little means they have."

The reply of General Sherman was clear and decisive.

"GENTLEMEN: I have your letter of the 11th, in the nature of a

petition to revoke my orders removing all the inhabitants from

Atlanta. I have read it carefully, and give full credit to your

statements of the distress that will be occasioned by it, and yet

shall not revoke my order, simply because my orders are not

designed to meet the humanities of the case, but to prepare for

the future struggles in which millions, yea, hundreds of millions

of good people outside of Atlanta, have a deep interest. We must

have peace, not only at Atlanta, but in all America. To secure

this we must stop the war that now desolates our once happy and

favored country. To stop the war, we must defeat the Rebel armies

that are arrayed against the laws and Constitution, which all

must respect and obey. To defeat the armies, we must prepare the

way to reach them in their recesses, provided with the arms and

instruments which enable us to accomplish our purpose.

"Now, I know the vindictive nature of our enemy, and that we may

have many years of military operations from this quarter, and

therefore deem it wise and prudent to prepare in time. The use of

Atlanta for warlike purposes is inconsistent with its character

as a home for families. There will be no manufactures, commerce,

or agriculture here for the maintenance of families, and sooner

or later want will compel the inhabitants to go....

"War is cruelty, and you cannot refine it; and those who brought

war on our country deserve all the curses and maledictions a

people can pour out. I know I had no hand in making this war, and

I know I will make more sacrifices to-day than any of you to

secure peace. But you cannot have peace and a division of our

country....

"You might as well appeal against the thunder-storm as against

these terrible hardships of war. They are inevitable, and the

only way the people of Atlanta can hope once more to live in

peace and quiet at home, is to stop this war, which can alone be

done by admitting that it began in error and is perpetuated in

pride. We don't want your negroes or your horses, or your houses

or your land, or anything you have; but we do want, and will

have, a just obedience to the laws of the United States. That we

will have, and if it involves the destruction of your

improvements, we cannot help it.

"You have heretofore read public sentiment in your newspapers,

that live by falsehood and excitement, and the quicker you seek

for truth in other quarters the better for you. I repeat, then,

that by the original compact of government, the United States had

certain rights in Georgia which have never been relinquished, and

never will be; that the South began the war by seizing forts,

arsenals, mints, custom-houses, etc., etc., long before Mr.

Lincoln was installed, and before the South had one jot or tittle

of provocation. I myself have seen, in Missouri, Kentucky,

Tennessee, and Mississippi, hundreds and thousands of women and

children fleeing from your armies and desperadoes, hungry and

with bleeding feet. In Memphis, Vicksburg, and Mississippi, we

fed thousands upon thousands of the families of Rebel soldiers

left on our hands, and whom we could not see starve. Now that war

comes home to you, you feel very differently, you deprecate its

horrors, but did not feel them when you sent car-loads of

soldiers and ammunition, and moulded shells and shot to carry war

into Kentucky and Tennessee, and desolate the homes of hundreds

and thousands of good people, who only asked to live in peace at

their old homes, and under the government of their inheritance.

But these comparisons are idle. I want peace, and believe it can

only be reached through Union and war; and I will ever conduct

war purely with a view to perfect an early success.

"But, my dear sirs, when that peace does come, you may call upon

me for anything. Then will I share with you the last cracker,

and watch with you to shield your home and families against

danger from every quarter. Now, you must go, and take with you

the old and feeble; feed and nurse them, and build for them in

more quiet places proper habitations to shield them against the

weather, until the mad passions of men cool down, and allow the

Union and peace once more to settle on your old homes at

Atlanta."

General Hood protested against the order. By a flag of truce he sent a

letter, saying:--

"Permit me to say, the unprecedented measure you propose

transcends in studied and iniquitous cruelty all acts ever before

brought to my attention in this dark history of the war. In the

name of God and humanity, I protest, believing you are expelling

from homes and firesides wives and children of a brave people."

To this Sherman answered on the same date:--

"You style the measures proposed, 'unprecedented,' and appeal to

the dark history of war for a parallel, as an act of 'studied and

iniquitous cruelty.' It is not unprecedented, for General

Johnston himself very wisely and properly removed the families

all the way from Dalton down, and I see no reason why Atlanta

should be excepted. Nor is it necessary to appeal to 'the dark

history of war,' when recent and modern examples are so handy.

You yourself burned dwelling-houses along your parapet; and I

have seen, to-day, fifty houses that you have rendered

uninhabitable because they stood in the way of your forts and

men. You defended Atlanta on a line so close to the town that

every cannon-shot and many musket-shots from our line of

investment, that overshot their mark, went into the habitations

of women and children. General Hardee did the same thing at

Jonesboro', and General Johnston did the same last summer at

Jackson, Mississippi.

"I have not accused you of heartless cruelty, but merely instance

these cases of very recent occurrence, and could go on and

enumerate hundreds of others, and challenge any fair man to judge

which of us has the heart of pity for the families of 'brave

people.' I say it is kindness to these families of Atlanta to

remove them at once from scenes that women and children should

not be exposed to; and the 'brave people' should scorn to commit

their wives and children to the rude barbarians who thus, as you

say, violate the rules of war as illustrated in the pages of its

'dark history.'

"In the name of common sense, I ask you not to 'appeal to a just

God' in such a sacrilegious manner,--you who in the midst of

peace and prosperity have plunged a nation into war, dark and

cruel war; who dared and badgered us into battle; insulted our

flag; seized our arsenals and forts that were left in the

honorable custody of a peaceful ordnance sergeant; seized and

made prisoners even the very first garrisons sent to protect your

people against negroes and Indians, long before any other act was

committed by the, to you, 'hateful Lincoln government,' tried to

force Missouri and Kentucky into rebellion, in spite of

themselves; falsified the vote of Louisiana; turned loose your

privateers to plunder unarmed ships; expelled Union families by

the thousands, burned their houses, and declared by acts of your

Congress the confiscation of all debts due Northern men for goods

had and received. Talk thus to the Marines, but not to me, who

have seen these things, and who will this day make as much

sacrifice for the peace and honor of the South as the best-born

Southerner among you. If we must be enemies, let us be men, and

fight it out as we propose to-day, and not deal in such

hypocritical appeals to God and humanity.

"God will judge us in due time, and he will pronounce whether it

will be humane to fight with a town full of women and the

families of 'a brave people' at our back, or to remove them in

time to places of safety among their own friends and people."

Notwithstanding the excesses which were committed by the foragers on

Sherman's march from Atlanta to the sea, his army maintained its

discipline. The soldiers while in and around Savannah were orderly and

quiet. No woman was insulted; there was no debauchery, no breaking

open of houses. Citizens could walk the streets and engage in business

without molestation. Life and property were respected. General Sherman

in his official report thus spoke of the conduct of his soldiers:--

"As to the rank and file, they seem so full of confidence in

themselves that I doubt if they want a compliment from me; but I

must do them the justice to say that, whether called on to fight,

to march, to wade streams, to make roads, clear out obstructions,

build bridges, make 'corduroy,' or tear up railroads, they have

done it with alacrity and a degree of cheerfulness unsurpassed. A

little loose in foraging, they 'did some things they ought not to

have done,' yet, on the whole, they have supplied the wants of

the army with as little violence as could be expected, and as

little loss as I calculated. Some of these foraging parties had

encounters with the enemy which would, in ordinary times, rank as

respectable battles.

"The behavior of our troops in Savannah has been so manly, so

quiet, so perfect, that I take it as the best evidence of

discipline and true courage. Never was a hostile city, filled

with women and children, occupied by a large army with less

disorder, or more system, order, and good government. The same

general and generous spirit of confidence and good feeling

pervades the army which it has ever afforded me especial pleasure

to report on former occasions."

Although Sherman's army was composed of four corps, the Fourteenth,

Fifteenth, Seventeenth, and Twentieth, he had another made up from all

of these, which, though unknown in the war office, was of much service

to him and of great damage to the enemy. It was known as the "Bummer"

Corps. The word is not to be found in either of the American

unabridged dictionaries, though it has become historic. Who made it,

or how it came into use, is not known. It may have been derived from

the word _bum-bailiff_, which is a corruption of bound-bailiff, a

subordinate civil officer appointed to serve writs and to make

executions, and bound with sureties for a faithful discharge of his

trust; or from _bum-boat_, a boat used for conveying provisions,

fruit, and supplies from shore to ship. From the two words we get the

full meaning of the term _Bummer_.

Sherman could not start from Atlanta with sufficient supplies of

bread, meat, and corn for his great march. He must live on the

country. Hence he marched in four parallel columns, near enough to aid

each other if attacked, yet far enough apart to mow a swath forty or

fifty miles in width.

The foraging party, numbering over five thousand, always on the alert,

ever in the advance, kept ahead of Kilpatrick with his cavalry.

"If I come to a town or village or plantation, and stop to obtain

forage, I find that the infernal bummers have been there," said

Kilpatrick.

Having authority to take provisions, the bummers were not tardy in

executing their trust. They went in squads, fought the Rebel

skirmishers, and defeated Wheeler's cavalry in several encounters. No

matter how rich a prize there might be of poultry in a farm-yard, the

appearance of a Rebel brought them into line for mutual defence.

Sometimes they came in with a dozen fresh horses loaded with

chickens, turkeys, and pigs. In one instance a squad, with live fowls

dangling at their saddles, was confronted by Rebel cavalry. They

formed in line, fired a volley, and started upon a charge. The

galloping of the horses, accompanied by the flapping of wings, the

cackling of hens, gobbling of turkeys, and squealing of pigs,

stampeded the horses of the enemy, and gave the bummers an easy

victory.

Farm wagons were confiscated and filled with provisions,--jars of

jelly, preserves, pickles, and honey, baskets of sweet potatoes and

legs of bacon. They often rode grandly in family carriages,

accompanied by crowds of grinning negroes, who had pointed out the

places where the planters had secreted provisions, and who watched for

Rebels while the bummer secured his plunder; and then, when the master

was out of sight, bid good by forever to the old plantation, and with

light hearts leaped the fences, on their way to freedom.

There were two classes of bummers,--the regular soldier of the corps,

who kept his comrades well supplied with good things, and the

irregular member, whose chief care was to provide for himself.

They were of great service, not only as foragers, but as flankers and

scouts, keeping Sherman well informed of the whereabouts of the

Rebels. Yet their lawlessness had a demoralizing tendency. Some were

tender-hearted, and took only what was needed to eat, while others

ransacked houses, ripped open feather-beds, smashed looking-glasses

and crockery, and tumbled tables and chairs about unceremoniously,

frightening women and children. But a bummer outraging a woman would

have been hung by his fellows on the nearest tree, or if not by them

he would have had short respite of life from the soldiers in the

ranks.

While in Savannah they had no occasion to ply their vocation, as

provisions were abundant. Noticing full-grown chickens picking up corn

in the streets, I expressed my surprise to an officer of the Twentieth

Corps.

"The fact is," he replied, "we have lived on chickens all the way from

Atlanta. We have had roast chicken, fried chicken, and stewed chicken,

till we are tired of it."

But when Sherman resumed his march through South Carolina, the

bummers were keener than ever. The whole army was eager to begin the

march. Each regiment, when it crossed the Savannah River, and set foot

in South Carolina, gave a cheer. They were in the hot-bed of

Secession.

"We'll make South Carolina howl!" they said.

I saw an unoccupied mansion, upon the floors of which were Brussels

and tapestry carpeting, and mirrors of French plate-glass adorned the

parlor. There was a library with well-filled shelves, and in the

drawing-room a costly rosewood piano,--all of which in an hour were

licked up by the flames.

Far away to the north, as far as the eye could reach, were pillars of

smoke, ascending from other plantations.

"We'll purify their Secession hate by fire," said one.

The soldiers evidently felt that they were commissioned to administer

justice in the premises, and commenced by firing the premises of the

South Carolinians. They were avengers, and their path through that

proud State was marked by fire and desolation. "South Carolina began

the Rebellion, and she shall suffer for it. If it had not been for her

there would have been no war. She is responsible for all the misery,

woe, and bloodshed." Such was the universal sentiment.

Although Sherman's troops carried the torch in one hand and the sword

in the other, and visited terrible retribution upon the Rebels, they

were quick to relieve the wants of the truly loyal. A few days before

reaching Savannah they came to a plantation owned by a man who through

all the war had remained faithful to the Union. He had been hunted

through the woods with bloodhounds by the Rebel conscript officers.

Hearing the Yankees had arrived, he came out from his hiding-place,

and joined the Twentieth Corps, with the intention of accompanying it

to Savannah. The soldiers made up for him a purse of one hundred and

thirty dollars. When it was presented he burst into tears. He could

only say, so great was his emotion, "Gentlemen, I most heartily thank

you. It is a kindness I never expected. I have been hunted through

swamps month after month. My wife and children have been half starved,

insulted, and abused, and all because we loved the old flag."

The stories which were told by those refugees, of Union men and

conscripts hunted by bloodhounds, of imprisonment and murder by

Rebels,--of the sufferings of the Union prisoners at Millen, Libby,

Salisbury, and Andersonville,--wrought the soldiers of Sherman's army

into a frenzy of wrath against South Carolina.

[Illustration: Mt. Vernon, Edward Everett, The Capitol, Savannah.]

CHAPTER XXIV.

CHRISTIANITY AND BARBARISM.

[Sidenote: Dec., 1864.]

When Sherman's army entered Savannah the people of that city were on

the verge of starvation. The Rebel authorities had not accumulated

sufficient supplies for a long defence. They were ignorant of the

intentions of Sherman when he left Atlanta, and were unable to see

through his plan till too late to put the place in condition to

withstand a siege. Breastworks were hastily thrown up on the west side

of the city. The eastern approaches were strongly protected by a

series of forts, turrets, and batteries built by slaves at the

beginning of the war, in which were heavy guns commanding the river

and the roads. No one had dreamed that the Yankees would come from the

west. When Sherman was fairly on his march there was consternation in

all the cities along the coast. Charleston expected him. Would he not

aim directly toward the cradle of Secession? The people of Mobile

believed that the fleet which was gathering in the Gulf was destined

to co-operate with the "ruthless invader" in an attack upon them. The

inhabitants of Brunswick expected to see him there. The citizens of

Savannah were equally alarmed. Proclamations and manifestoes were

issued. Governor Brown called upon the Georgians to rise in their

might; but their former might was weakness now. They had lost heart.

They saw that their cause was failing. Their armies, successful in the

beginning, had won no victory for many months. The appeals of the

Governor, the manifestoes of the Rebel generals, the calls of

municipal authorities, and the exhortations of Davis, awakened no

enthusiasm. The planters did not hasten to the rendezvous, nor respond

to the call to send provisions. The Rebel quartermasters and

commissaries were active in making forced levies, and the conscription

bureau was vigilant in bringing in reluctant recruits; but before

preparations for defending the city were completed Sherman was

thundering at the door.

When he saw the destitution, he made an appeal to the humanity of the

people of the North. Boston, New York, and Philadelphia were quick to

respond. In Boston thirty thousand dollars were contributed in four

days, a steamer chartered, loaded, and despatched on its errand of

mercy. The occasion being so unusual, I deemed it worth while to visit

Savannah, to be an eye-witness of the reception of the timely and

munificent gift.

The employment of the steamer Greyhound on such a mission added to the

interest. She was a captured blockade-runner, built at Greenock,

Scotland, in 1863, purposely to run the blockade. She made one trip

into Wilmington, and was seized while attempting to escape from that

port. In every timber, plank, rivet, and brace was England's hatred of

the North, support of the South, and cupidity for themselves; but now

she carried peace and good-will, not only to the people of Savannah,

but to men of every clime and lineage, race and nation. The Greyhound

speeding her way was a type and symbol of the American Republic,

freighted with the world's best hopes, and sailing proudly forward to

the future centuries.

Among the passengers on board at the time of her capture was Miss

Belle Boyd, of notoriety as a spy,--bold, venturesome, and dashing,

unscrupulous, bitter in her hatred of the Yankees, regardless of truth

or honor, if she could but serve the Rebels. She was of great service

to them in the Shenandoah. Being within the Union lines, she obtained

information which on several occasions enabled Jackson to make those

sudden dashes which gave him his early fame.

It was nearly dark on Saturday evening, January 14th, when the

Greyhound discharged her pilot off Boston Light. The weather was

thick, the wind southeast, but during the night it changed to the

northwest and blew a gale. The cold was intense. Sunday morning found

us in Holmes's Hole, covered with ice. At noon the gale abated, and we

ran swiftly across the Vineyard Sound, shaping our course for

Hatteras. Off Charleston we passed through the blockading fleet, which

was gayly decorated in honor of the taking of Fort Fisher. The Rebel

flag was floating defiantly over Sumter. On Thursday evening we

dropped anchor off Port Royal, where a half-day was lost in obtaining

permission from the custom-house to proceed to Savannah. The

obstructions in Savannah River made it necessary to enter Warsaw Sound

and go up Wilmington River. With a colored pilot,--the only one

obtainable, recommended by the Harbor-Master of Hilton Head,--the

Greyhound put to sea once more, ran down the coast, and on Sunday

morning entered the Sound. Our pilot professed to know all the crooks

and turns of the river, but suddenly we found ourselves fast on a

mud-bank. It was ebb-tide, and the incoming flood floated us again.

Then the engines refused to work, the pumps having become foul, and

the anchor was dropped just in season to save the steamer from

drifting broadside upon a sandbar. It was ten miles to Thunderbolt

Battery. The captain of a pilot-boat was kind enough to send Messrs.

Briggs and Baldwin, of the committee of the citizens of Boston in

charge of the supplies, Mr. Glidden, of the firm owning the Greyhound,

and the writer, up to that point. We landed, and stood where the

Rebels had made sad havoc of what was once a pleasant village. Some

Iowa soldiers, on seediest horses and sorriest mules, were riding

round on a frolic. Shiftless, long-haired, red-eyed men and women,

lounging about, dressed in coarsest homespun, stared at us. A score of

horses and mules were in sight, and here were collected old carts,

wagons, and carriages which Sherman's boys had brought from the

interior.

"We want to get a horse and wagon to take us to Savannah," said one of

the party to a little old man, standing at the door of a house.

"Wal, I reckon ye can take any one of these yere," he said, pointing

to the horses and mules. Such animals! Ringboned, spavined,

knock-kneed, wall-eyed, sore-backed,--mere hides and bones, some of

them too weak to stand, others unable to lie down on account of stiff

joints.

"How far is it to Savannah?" we asked of the residents of the village.

"Three miles," said one.

"Two miles and a half, I reckon," said a second.

"Three miles and three quarters," was the estimate of a third person.

A woman, dressed in a plaid petticoat, a snuff-colored linsey-woolsey

tunic, with a tawny countenance, black hair, and flashing black eyes,

smoking a pipe, said: "I'll tell yer how fur it be. Savannah be a

frying-pan and Thunderbolt be the handle, and I live on the eend on

it. It be four miles long, zactly."

Two colored soldiers rode up, both on one horse, with "55" on their

caps.

"What regiment do you belong to?"

"The Fifty-Fifth Massachusetts."

Their camp was a mile or so up river. A steamboat captain, who wished

to communicate with the quartermaster, came upstream in his boat and

kindly offered to take us to the Fifty-Fifth. It began to rain, and we

landed near a fine old mansion surrounded by live-oaks, their gnarled

branches draped with festoons of moss, where we thought to find

accommodations for the night; but no one answered our ringing. The

doors were open, the windows smashed in; marble mantels, of elaborate

workmanship, marred and defaced; the walls written over with doggerel.

There were bunks in the parlors, broken crockery, old boots,--_debris_

everywhere.

The committee took possession of the premises and made themselves at

home before a roaring fire, while the writer went out upon a

reconnoissance, bringing back the intelligence that the camp of the

Fifty-Fifth was a mile farther up the river. It was dark when we

reached the hospitable shanty of Lieutenant-Colonel Fox, who, in the

absence of Colonel Hartwell, was commanding the regiment, which had

been there but twenty-four hours. The soldiers had no tents.

One of the committee rode into Savannah, through a drenching rain, to

report to General Grover. The night came on thick and dark. The rain

was pouring in torrents. Colonel Fox, with great kindness, offered to

escort us to a house near by, where we could find shelter. We splashed

through the mud, holding on to each other's coat-tails, going over

boots in muddy water, tumbling over logs, losing our way, being

scratched by brambles, falling into ditches, bringing up against

trees, halting at length against a fence,--following which we reached

the house. The owner had fled, and the occupant had moved in because

it was a free country and the place was inviting. He had no bed for

us, but quickly kindled a fire in one of the chambers and spread some

quilts upon the floor. "I haven't much wood, but I reckon I can pick

up something that will make a fire," said he. Then came the pitch-pine

staves of a rice-cask; then a bedstead, a broken chair, a wooden

flowerpot!

The morning dawned bright and clear. General Grover sent out horses

for us, and so we reached the city after many vexatious delays and

rough experiences.

The people in Savannah generally were ready to live once more in the

Union. The fire of Secession had died out. There was not much

sourness,--less even than I saw at Memphis when that city fell into

our hands, less than was manifested in Louisville at the beginning of

the war.

At a meeting of the citizens resolutions expressive of gratitude for

the charity bestowed by Boston, New York, and Philadelphia were

passed, also of a desire for future fellowship and amity.

A store at the corner of Bay and Barnard Streets was taken for a

depot, the city canvassed, and a registry made of all who were in

want. I passed a morning among the people who came for food. The air

was keen. Ice had formed in the gutters, and some of the jolly young

negroes, who had provided themselves with old shoes and boots from the

camp-grounds of Sherman's soldiers, were enjoying the luxurious

pastime of a slide on the ice. The barefooted cuddled under the sunny

side of the buildings. There was a motely crowd. Hundreds of both

sexes, all ages, sizes, complexions, and costumes; gray-haired old men

of Anglo-Saxon blood, with bags, bottles, and baskets; colored

patriarchs, who had been in bondage many years, suddenly made freemen;

well-dressed women wearing crape for their husbands and sons who had

fallen while fighting against the old flag, stood patiently waiting

their turn to enter the building, where through the open doors they

could see barrels of flour, pork, beans, and piles of bacon, hogsheads

of sugar, molasses, and vinegar. There were women with tattered

dresses,--old silks and satins, years before in fashion, and laid

aside as useless, but which now had become valuable through

destitution.

There were women in linsey-woolsey, in negro and gunny cloth, in

garments made from meal-bags, and men in Confederate gray and

butternut brown; a boy with a crimson plush jacket, made from the

upholstering of a sofa; men in short jackets, and little boys in long

ones; the cast-off clothes of soldiers; the rags which had been picked

up in the streets, and exhumed from garrets; boots and shoes down at

the heel, open at the instep, and gaping at the toes; old bonnets of

every description, some with white and crimson feathers, and ribbons

once bright and flaunting; hats of every style worn by both sexes,

palm-leaf, felt, straw, old and battered and well ventilated. One

without a crown was worn by a man with red hair, suggestive of a

chimney on fire, and flaming out at the top! It was the ragman's

jubilee for charity.

One of the tickets issued by the city authorities, in the hand of a

woman waiting her turn at the counter, read thus:--

"CITY STORE.

MARY MORRELL.

12 lbs. Flour,

7 " Bacon,

2 " Salt,

2 qts. Vinegar."

Andersonville, Belle Isle, Libby Prison, Millen, and Salisbury will

forever stand in suggestive contrast to this City Store in Savannah,

furnished by the free-will offering of the loyal people of the North.

"At Libby," reads the report of the United States Sanitary Committee,

"a process of slow starvation was carried on. The corn-bread was of

the roughest and coarsest description. Portions of the cob and husk

were often found grated in with the meal. The crust was so thick and

hard that the prisoners called it 'iron clad.' To render the bread

eatable they grated it, and made mush of it; but the crust they could

not grate. Now and then, after long intervals, often of many weeks, a

little meat was given them, perhaps two or three mouthfuls. At a later

period they received a pint of black peas, with some vinegar, every

week; the peas were often full of worms, or maggots in a chrysalis

state, which, when they made soup, floated on the surface.... But the

most unaccountable and shameful act of all was yet to come. Shortly

after this general diminution of rations, in the month of January, the

boxes (sent by friends in the North to the prisoners), which before

had been regularly delivered, and in good order, were withheld. No

reason was given. Three hundred arrived every week, and were received

by Colonel Ould, Commissioner of Exchange; but instead of being

distributed, they were retained and piled up in warehouses near by, in

full sight of the tantalized and hungry captives."[75]

[Footnote 75: Report of the United States Sanitary

Commission.]

While these supplies were being distributed to the people of Savannah,

thirty thousand Union prisoners in the hands of the Rebels in

Southwestern Georgia were starving to death,--not from a scarcity of

food, but in accordance with a deliberately formed plan to render them

unfit for future service in the Union ranks by their inhuman

treatment, should they live to be exchanged.

What a page of darkness for the future historian!

On the other hand, the Rebel prisoners in the North received

invariably the same rations, in quality and quantity, given to the

Union soldiers in the field, with ample clothing, fuel, and shelter.

So unexceptional was their treatment, that since the war a Southern

writer, desirous of removing the load of infamy resting upon the

South, has advertised for statements of unkind treatment in Northern

prisons![76]

[Footnote 76: See the _Watchman_, New York.]

Of the treatment of Union soldiers in the Southern prisons the United

States Sanitary Commission says:--

"The prisoners were almost invariably robbed of everything

valuable in their possession; sometimes on the field, at the

instant of capture, sometimes by the prison authorities, in a

quasi-official way, with the promise of return when exchanged or

paroled, but which promise was never fulfilled. This robbery

amounted often to a stripping of the person of even necessary

clothing. Blankets and overcoats were almost always taken, and

sometimes other articles; in which case damaged ones were

returned in their stead. This preliminary over, the captives were

taken to prison."

At the trial of Wirz, the commandant of Andersonville, Dr. John C.

Bates, a surgeon of the Rebel service, testified as follows:--

"My attention was called to a patient in my ward who was only

fifteen or sixteen years of age. I took much interest in him,

owing to his youth. He would ask me to bring him a potato, bread,

or biscuit, which I did. I put them in my pocket. He had scurvy

and gangrene. I advised him not to cook the potato, but to eat it

raw. He became more and more emaciated, his sores gangrened, and

for want of food, and from lice, he died. I understood that it

was against orders to take anything in to the prisoners, and

hence I was shy in slipping food into my pockets. Others in the

ward came to their death from the same causes. When I went there,

there were two thousand or two thousand five hundred sick. I

judge twenty or twenty-five thousand persons were crowded

together. Some had made holes and burrows in the earth. Those

under the sheds were doing comparatively well. I saw but little

shelter, excepting what ingenuity had devised. I found them

suffering with scurvy, dropsy, diarrhoea, gangrene, pneumonia,

and other diseases. When prisoners died, they were laid in

wagons, head foremost, to be carried off. I don't know how they

were buried. The effluvia from the hospital was very offensive.

If by accident my hand was abraded, I would not go into the

hospital without putting a plaster over the affected part. If

persons whose systems were reduced by inanition should by chance

stump a toe or scratch the hand, the next report to me was

gangrene, so potent was the regular hospital gangrene. The

prisoners were more thickly confined in the stockade,--like ants

and bees. Dogs were kept to hunt down the prisoners who escaped.

Fifty per cent of those who died might have been saved had the

patients been properly cared for. The effect of the treatment of

the prisoners was, morally as well as physically, injurious.

There was much stealing among them. All lived each for himself. I

suppose this was superinduced by their starving condition. Seeing

the dying condition of some of them, I remarked to my student, 'I

can't resuscitate them; the weather is chilling; it is a matter

of impossibility.' I found persons lying dead sometimes among the

living. Thinking they merely slept, I went to wake them up and

found they had taken their everlasting sleep. This was in the

hospital. I judge it was about the same in the stockade. There

being no dead-house, I erected a tent for the purpose, but I soon

found that a blanket or quilt had been clipped off the canvas;

and as the material could not be readily supplied, the dead-house

was abandoned. I don't think any more dead-houses were erected.

The daily ration was less in September, October, November, and

December than it was from the 1st of January to the 20th of

March. The men had not over twenty ounces of food in the

twenty-four hours."

The prison at Andersonville was established in January, 1864, and was

used a little more than a year. It was in the form of a quadrangle,

1,295 feet long, 865 feet wide. A small stream, rising from

neighboring springs, flowed through the grounds. Within the enclosure,

seventeen feet from the stockade, the dead-line was established,

marked by small posts, to which a slight strip of board was nailed.

Upon the inner stockade were fifty-two sentry-boxes, in which the

guards stood with loaded muskets; while overlooking the enclosure were

several forts, with field artillery in position, to pour grape and

canister upon the perishing men at the first sign of insurrection.

Miss Clara Barton, the heroic and tender-hearted woman who, in the

employ of government, visited this charnel-house to identify the

graves of the victims, thus reports:--

"Under the most favorable circumstances and best possible

management the supply of water would have been insufficient for

half the number of persons who had to use it. The existing

arrangements must have aggravated the evil to the utmost extent.

The sole establishments for cooking and baking were placed on the

bank of the stream immediately above and between the two inner

lines of the pallisades. The grease and refuse from them were

found adhering to the banks at the time of our visit. The guards,

to the number of three thousand six hundred, were principally

encamped on the upper part of the stream, and when the heavy

rains washed down the hillsides covered with thirty thousand

human beings, and the outlet below failed to discharge the flood

which backed and filled the valley, the water must have become so

foul and loathsome that every statement I have seen of its

offensiveness must fall short of the reality; and yet within

rifle-shot of the prison flowed a stream, fifteen feet wide and

three feet deep, of pure, delicious water. Had the prison been

placed so as to include a section of 'Sweet Water Creek,' the

inmates might have drank and bathed to their hearts'

content."[77]

[Footnote 77: Miss Barton's Report.]

The prisoners had no shelter from the fierce sun of summer, the

pelting autumn rains, or the cold of winter, except a few tattered

tents. Thousands were destitute of blankets. For refuge they dug

burrows in the ground.

Miss Barton says:--

"The little caves are scooped out and arched in the form of

ovens, floored, ceiled, and strengthened, so far as the owners

had means, with sticks and pieces of board, and some of them are

provided with fireplaces and chimneys. It would seem that there

were cases, during the long rains, where the house would become

the grave of its owner by falling upon him in the night....

During thirteen long months they knew neither shelter nor

protection from the changeable skies above, nor the pitiless,

unfeeling earth beneath....

"Think of thirty thousand men penned by close stockade upon

twenty-six acres of ground, from which every tree and shrub had

been uprooted for fuel to cook their scanty food, huddled like

cattle, without shelter or blanket, half clad and hungry, with

the dewy night setting in after a day of autumn rain. The hilltop

would not hold them all, the valley was filled by the swollen

brook. Seventeen feet from the stockade ran the fatal dead-line,

beyond which no man might step and live. What did they do? I need

not ask where did they go, for on the face of the whole earth

there was no place but this for them. But where did they place

themselves? How did they live? Ay! how did they die?"

Twelve thousand nine hundred and ninety graves are numbered on the

neighboring hillside,--the starved and murdered of thirteen

months,--one thousand per month, thirty-three per day! Murdered by

Jeff Davis, Robert E. Lee, James Seddon, and John C. Breckenridge!

Murdered under official sanction, in accordance with premeditated

design. Davis, Lee, Seddon, and Breckenridge may not have issued

orders to starve the prisoners; but if cognizant of any inhumanity,

it was in the power of Davis to stop it, and of Lee, as

commander-in-chief of the army, as also of Sedden, and after him

Breckenridge, secretaries of war. A word from either of these

officials would have secured humane treatment.

General Lee is beloved by the Southern people for his amiability, his

gentleness and generosity, as well as his unselfish devotion to the

cause of Secession. But the historian will doubtless keep in mind that

to be amiable is to be worthy of esteem and confidence. Those who have

espoused the cause of the Union cannot discover much amiability in one

who remained in the service of the government as the confidant of the

commander-in-chief of the army of the United States till hostilities

were commenced, and then, three days after his resignation, accepted

the command of the Rebel forces in Virginia. Fort Sumter was fired

upon April 12, 1861. General Lee resigned his commission in the

service of the United States on the 19th, and on the 22d took command

of Rebel troops at Richmond. The State had not then seceded. The

ordinance of Secession was passed by the convention on the 17th of the

same month, to be submitted to popular vote for ratification on the

third Tuesday of May. Without waiting for the action of the people of

his State, General Lee issued his military orders and waged war

against the United States.

The future historian will not overlook the fact that General Lee, if

not issuing direct orders for the starvation of Union prisoners, made

no remonstrance against the barbarities of Andersonville, or of the

course taken to debauch the patriotism of the Union soldiers. It was

promised that whoever would acknowledge allegiance to the Confederacy,

or consent to make shoes or harness or clothing for the Rebels, should

have the privilege of going out from the stockade, and finding

comfortable quarters and plenty of food and clothing. Thus tempted,

some faltered, while others died rather than be released on such

terms, preferring, in their love for the flag, to be thrown like logs

into the dead-cart, and tumbled into the shallow trenches on the

hillside!

Among the prisoners was a lad who pined for his far-off Northern home.

Often his boyish heart went out lovingly to his father and mother and

fair-haired sister. How could he die in that prison! How close his

eyes on all the bright years of the future! How lie down in death in

that loathsome place, when, by taking the oath of allegiance to the

Southern Confederacy, he could obtain freedom? His comrades were

dying. Every day the dead-cart came and bore them away by scores and

hundreds. What a sight their stony eyes, sunken cheeks, and swaying

limbs! Around him was a crowd of living skeletons.

"Take the oath and you shall live," said the tempter. What a trial!

Life was sweet. All that a man hath will he give for his life. How

blessed if he could but hear once more the voice of his mother, or

grasp again a father's hand! What wonder that hunger, despair, and

death, and the example of some of his comrades, made him weakly

hesitate?

Too feeble to walk or to stand, he crawled away from the dying and

the dead, over the ground reeking with filth. He had almost reached

the gate beyond which were life and liberty. A comrade, stronger and

older, suspected his purpose. Through the long, weary months this

brave soldier had solaced his heart by taking at times from his bosom

a little flag,--the stars and stripes,--adoring it as the most sacred

of all earthly things. He held it before the boy. It was the flag he

loved. He had sworn to support it,--never to forsake it. He had stood

beneath it in the fierce conflict, quailing not when the death-storm

was thickest. Tears dimmed his eyes as he beheld it once more.

Tremblingly he grasped it with his skeleton fingers, kissed it, laid

it on his heart, and cried, "God help me! I can't turn my back upon

it. O comrade, I am dying; but I want you, if ever you get out of this

horrible place, to tell my mother that I stood by the old flag to the

last!"

And then, with the flag he loved lying on his heart, he closed his

eyes, and his soul passed on to receive that reward which awaits those

to whom duty is greater than life.

"On Fame's eternal camping-ground

Their silent tents are spread,

And Glory guards, with solemn round,

The bivouac of the dead."

This is the contrast between Christian charity and barbaric hate,--not

that all the people of the South were inhuman, or that men there are

by nature more wicked than all others; but the barbarity was the

legitimate outgrowth of slavery.

The armies of the South fought bravely and devotedly to establish a

Confederacy with slavery for its corner-stone; but not their valor,

sacrifice, and endurance, not Stonewall Jackson's religious enthusiasm

or intrepidity, not Lee's military exploits, can avail to blot the

horrors of Andersonville from the historic record. Their cause

"Hath the primal, eldest curse upon it,

A brother's murder."

CHAPTER XXV.

SCENES IN SAVANNAH.

[Sidenote: Dec., 1864.]

As I intended to spend some days in Savannah, I set out one afternoon

in search of lodgings more commodious than those furnished at the

Pulaski House, and I was directed to a house owned by a gentleman who,

during the war, had resided in Paris,--a large brick mansion, fronting

on one of the squares, elegantly finished and furnished. It had been

taken care of, through the war, by two faithful negroes, Robert and

his wife Aunt Nellie, both of them slaves.

I rang the bell, and was ushered into the basement by their daughter

Ellen, also a slave. Robert was fifty-three years of age,--a tall,

stout, coal-black, slow-spoken, reflective man. Aunt Nellie was a year

or two younger. Her features were of the African type; her eyes large

and lustrous. Her deportment was lady-like, her language refined. She

wore a gingham dress, and a white turban.

Ellen, the daughter, had a fair countenance, regular features, of

lighter hue than either father or mother. She appeared as much at ease

as most young ladies who are accustomed to the amenities of society.

Aunt Nellie called me by name.

"I saw you yesterday at church," she said.

She placed a chair for me before the fire, which burned cheerfully on

the hearth. There was a vase of amaranths on the mantel, and

lithographs on the walls. A clock ticked in one corner. There were

cushioned arm-chairs. The room was neat and tidy, and had an air of

cheerfulness. A little boy, four or five years old, was sitting by the

side of Aunt Nellie,--her grand-nephew. He looked up wonderingly at

the stranger, then gazed steadily into the fire with comical gravity.

"You are from Boston, I understand," said Aunt Nellie. "I never have

been to Boston, but I have been to New York several times with my

master."

"Did you have any desire to stay North?"

"No, sir, I can't say that I had. This was my home; my children and

friends, and my husband were all here."

"But did you not wish to be free?"

"That is a very different thing, sir. God only knows how I longed to

be free; but my master was very kind. They used to tell me in New York

that I could be free; but I couldn't make up my mind to leave master,

and my husband. Perhaps if I had been abused as some of my people

have, I should have thought differently about it."

"Well, you are free now. I suppose that you never expected to see such

a day as this!"

"I can't say that I expected to see it, but I knew it would come. I

have prayed for it. I didn't hardly think it would come in my time,

but I knew it must come, for God is just."

"Did you not sometimes despair?"

"Never! sir; never! But O, it has been a terrible mystery, to know why

the good Lord should so long afflict my people, and keep them in

bondage,--to be abused, and trampled down, without any rights of their

own,--with no ray of light in the future. Some of my folks said there

wasn't any God, for if there was he wouldn't let white folks do as

they have done for so many years; but I told them to wait,--and now

they see what they have got by waiting. I told them that we were all

of one blood,--white folks and black folks all come from one man and

one woman, and that there was only one Jesus for all. _I knew it,--I

knew it!_" She spoke as if it were an indisputable fact which had come

by intuition.

Here Aunt Nellie's sister and her husband came in.

"I hope to make your better acquaintance," she said, courtesying. It

is a common form of expression among the colored people of some parts

of the South. She was larger, taller, and stouter than Aunt Nellie,

younger in years, less refined,--a field hand,--one who had drunk

deeply of the terrible cup which slavery had held to her lips. She

wore a long gray dress of coarse cloth,--a frock with sleeves,

gathered round the neck with a string,--the cheapest possible

contrivance for a dress, her only garment, I judged.

"These are new times to you," I said.

"It is a dream, sir,--a dream! 'Pears like I don't know where I am.

When General Sherman come and said we were free, I didn't believe it,

and I wouldn't believe it till the minister (Rev. Mr. French) told us

that we were free. It don't seem as if I was free, sir." She looked

into the fire a moment, and sat as if in a dream, but roused herself

as I said,--

"Yes, you are free."

"But that don't give me back my children,--my children, that I brought

forth with pains such as white women have,--that have been torn from

my breast, and sold from me; and when I cried for them was tied up and

had my back cut to pieces!"

She stopped talking to me, raised her eyes as if looking into

heaven,--reached up her hands imploringly, and cried in agony,--

"O Lord Jesus, have mercy! How long, O Lord? Come, Jesus, and help me.

'Pears like I can't bear it, dear Lord. They is all taken from me,

Lord. 'Pears like as if my heart would break. O blessed Jesus, they

say that I am free, but where are my children!--my children!--my

children!"

Her hands fell,--tears rolled down her cheeks. She bowed her head, and

sat moaning, wailing, and sobbing.

"You wouldn't believe me," said Aunt Nellie, speaking to her. "You

said that there was no use in praying for deliverance; that it was no

use to trust God,--that he had forgotten us!"

She rose and approached her sister, evidently to call her mind from

the terrible reality of the past. "You used to come in here and go

worry, worry, worry all day and all night, and say it was no use; that

you might as well die; that you would be a great deal better off if

you were dead. You wouldn't believe me when I said that the Lord would

give deliverance. You wouldn't believe that the Lord was good; but

just see what he has done for you,--made you free. Aren't you willing

to trust him now?"

The sister made no reply, but sat wiping away her tears, and sighing

over the fate of her children.

"Did you not feel sometimes like rising against your masters?" I

asked of the husband.

"Well, sir, I did feel hard sometimes, and I reckon that if it hadn't

been for the grace which Jesus gave us we should have done so; but he

had compassion on us, and helped us to bear it. We knew that he would

hear us some time."

"Did you ever try to escape?"

"No, sir. I was once interested in colonization, and talked of going

to Africa,--of buying myself, and go there and be free. Rev. Mr.

Gurley came here and gave a lecture. He was the agent of the

Colonization Society, I reckon; but just then there was so much

excitement among the slaves about it, that our masters put a stop to

it."

"The good people of Boston are heaping coals of fire on the heads of

the slaveholders and Rebels," said Aunt Nellie.

"How so?" I asked.

"Why, as soon as General Sherman took possession of the city, you send

down ship-loads of provisions to them. They have fought you with all

their might, and you whip them, and then go to feeding them."

"I 'spect you intended that black and white folks should have them

alike," said her sister.

"Yes, that was the intention."

"Not a mouthful have I had. I am as poor as white folks. All my life I

have worked for them. I have given them houses and lands; they have

rode in their fine carriages, sat in their nice parlors, taken voyages

over the waters, and had money enough, which I and my people earned

for them. I have had my back cut up. I have been sent to jail because

I cried for my children, which were stolen from me. I have been

stripped of my clothing, exposed before men. My daughters have been

compelled to break God's commandment,--they couldn't help

themselves,--I couldn't help them; white men have done with us just as

they pleased. Now they turn me out of my poor old cabin, and say they

own it. O dear Jesus, help me!"

"Come, come, sister, don't take on; but you just give thanks for what

the Lord has done for you," said Aunt Nellie.

Her sister rose, stately as a queen, and said,--

"I thank you, sir, for your kind words to me to-night. I thank all the

good people in the North for what they have done for me and my

people. The good Lord be with you."

As she and her husband left the room, Aunt Nellie said,--

"Poor girl! she can't forget her children. She's cried for them day

and night."

Never till then had I felt the full force of Whittier's burning

lines:--

"A groan from Eutaw's haunted wood,--

A wail where Camden's martyrs fell,--

By every shrine of patriot blood,

From Moultrie's wall and Jasper's well!

"By storied hill and hallowed grot,

By mossy wood and marshy glen,

Whence rang of old the rifle-shot,

And hurrying shout of Marion's men,

The groan of breaking hearts is there,--

The falling lash, the fetter's clank!

_Slaves_, SLAVES are breathing in that air

Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank!

"What, ho! _our_ countrymen in chains!

The whip on WOMAN'S shrinking flesh!

Our soil yet reddening with the stains

Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh!

What! mothers from their children riven!

What! God's own image bought and sold!

Americans to market driven,

And bartered, as the brute, for gold!"

The night of the 28th of January was a fearful one in Savannah. The

inhabitants experienced all the terror of a bombardment combined with

the horror of a great conflagration. A fire broke out a little before

midnight in a long row of wooden buildings at the west end of the

city. The wind was fresh from the northwest, and the night exceedingly

cold. My rooms were in the Pulaski House. I was awakened by a sudden

explosion, which jarred the house, and heard the cry that the arsenal

was on fire.

There was another explosion,--then a volley of shells, and large

fragments came whirring through the air, striking the walls, or

falling with a heavy plunge into the street.

"There are three thousand shells in the building," said a soldier

running past, fleeing as if for his life.

"There are fifty tons of powder, which will go off presently," said

another, in breathless haste. Fifty tons of powder! Savannah would be

racked to its foundations! There would be a general crumbling of

walls. Men, women, and children were running,--crying, and in fear of

being crushed beneath the ruins of falling buildings.

It was the Rebel arsenal. I could not believe that the Rebels would

store fifty tons of powder in the city, and waited for the general

explosion. It did not come. Gradually I worked my way, under the

shelter of buildings, towards the fire. The fire-engines were

deserted, and the fire was having its own way, licking up the

buildings, one after another, remorselessly.

It was a gorgeous sight,--the flames leaping high in air, thrown up in

columns by the thirteen-inch shells, filling the air with burning

timbers, cinders, and myriads of sparks. The streets were filled with

fugitives. The hospitals were being cleared of sick and wounded, the

houses of furniture.

It was grand, but terrible. General Grover at once took measures to

arrest the progress of the flames, by tearing down buildings, and

bringing up several regiments, which, with the citizens and negroes,

succeeded in mastering the destroying element.

In the morning there was a wilderness of chimneys, and the streets

were strewn with furniture.

It was amusing to see with what good humor and _nonchalance_ the

colored people and the soldiers regarded the conflagration.

Two negro women passed me, carrying great bundles on their heads.

"I's clean burned out," said one.

"So is I"; and they both laughed as if it was very funny.

"Let 'em burn: who cares?" said one soldier. "They have fought us, and

now let 'em suffer."

"We have got to do guard duty, and it is a little more comfortable to

be quartered in a house than to sleep in a shelter-tent, so let us

save the place," said another; and the two went to work with a will to

subdue the flames.

* * * * *

General Sherman's Special Field Order No. 15, dated January 16, 1865,

permitted the freedmen to take possession of the abandoned lands. A

meeting--called by General Saxton, who had been appointed

Inspector--was held in the Second African Baptist Church, a large

building, which was crowded to its utmost capacity by the colored

people. It was the first meeting ever held in Savannah having in view

the exclusive interests of the colored people.

The organist was playing a voluntary when I entered the church. He was

a free colored man, a native of Charleston, having a bullet-shaped

head, bright, sparkling eyes, and a pleasant voice. He had lived in

Savannah nine years, and was a music-teacher,--giving instruction on

the violin, piano-forte, and organ, also vocal music, to persons of

his own race. He was in the habit of putting in clandestinely some of

the rudiments of the English language, although it was against the

peace and dignity of the State. He dared to open a school, and taught

in secret in the evening; but a policeman discovered that he was an

incendiary, and he was compelled to hide till the matter was

forgotten.

"When the voluntary was completed, the choir sung Rev. Mr. Smith's

American hymn,--

"My country, 'tis of thee,

Sweet land of liberty,

Of thee I sing."

Their country! Their liberty! The words were no longer meaningless.

By request of General Saxton, they also sang Bishop Heber's Missionary

hymn,--

"From Greenland's icy mountains,

From India's coral strand,

Where Afric's sunny fountains

Roll down their golden sand,

From many an ancient river,

From many a palmy plain,

They call us to deliver

Their land from error's chain."

General Saxton addressed them.

"I have come to tell you what the President of the United States has

done for you," said he.

"God bless Massa Linkum!" was the response of a thousand voices.

"You are all free."

"Glory to God! Hallelujah! Amen!" they shouted in tumultuous chorus.

[Illustration: Sherman's "bummers."]

He explained the cause of the war: how the Rebels fired upon the flag,

how they hated freedom, and wished to perpetuate slavery, which

produced the war, that, in turn, under God's providence, had made them

free men. They were free, but they must labor to live. Their relations

to their masters had all been changed. They could go where they

pleased, do what they pleased, provided they did that which was right;

but they had no claim upon their masters,--they must work for

themselves. All wealth came from the soil, and by cultivating the

ground they could obtain food, and thus increase their wealth. He read

and explained General Sherman's order, and told them of the

advancement which the freedmen had made at Beaufort. They had

comfortable homes, their children were attending school, and the men

and women had almost forgotten that they had been slaves. One man had

accumulated ten thousand dollars in four years; another was worth five

thousand. He advised them to go upon the islands and take possession

of the abandoned lands. He also advised the young and able-bodied to

enlist in the service of the United States. They were citizens, and

they must begin to do their part as citizens. They were free, but

there was still some fighting to be done to secure their liberty.

Rev. Mr. French also addressed them.

"Your freedom," said he, "is the gift of God. The President has

proclaimed it, and the brave men of General Sherman's army have

brought it to you."

"God bless General Sherman! Amen! That's so!" were the enthusiastic

responses. They clapped their hands and gave expression to their joy

in emphatic demonstrations. It was a strange sight,--a sea of turbaned

heads in the body of the house, occupied by the women, wearing

brightest colored handkerchiefs, or bonnets with flaming ribbons;

while above, in the galleries, were two sable clouds of faces. Every

window was filled by a joyous, enthusiastic crowd.

"You are to show your late masters that you can take care of

yourselves. If I were in your place I would go, if I had to live on

roots and water, and take possession of the islands," said Mr. French.

"Yes, sir, dat is what we will do. We're gwine."

"Show your old masters that you can work as hard to keep out of

slavery as they did to keep you in bondage. And you must have but one

wife, instead of two or three, as you used to do."

There was a great sensation at this point,--an outburst of laughter

echoing and re-echoing from floor to ceiling. I was utterly unable to

understand how the remark was received, but the sable audience

evidently looked upon it as a very funny affair. The negro race has a

quick and natural appreciation of anything bordering upon the

ridiculous. They boil over with uncontrollable merriment at a very

small matter.

"Treat your old masters with all respect; be generous and kind to

them. This is your day of rejoicing, and they are drinking their cup

of sorrow. Do them good,--help them. Break off bad habits,--be good

citizens, truthful and honest. Now, all of you who are ready to

scratch for a living,--who are resolved to make your own way in the

world,--hold up your hands."

Up went a thousand hands.

"You owe your liberty to the men of the North, to President Lincoln,

to the thousands who have died,--to Jesus Christ."

Deep and solemn was the Amen,--a spontaneous outburst of gratitude,

welling up from their sympathetic and affectionate natures.

A prayer was offered by Rev. Mr. Houston, of the Third African Baptist

Church. It was impassioned, fervent, and earnest, in which there were

thanksgiving, confession of sin, and a pleading for God's help. The

President, the Union army, the Federal government, were remembered. He

prayed also that God would bring the Rebels to see that they ought to

lay down their arms and be at peace.

Then in conclusion they sang the hymn,--

"Eternal are thy mercies, Lord,

Eternal truth attends thy word."

How gloriously the grand old choral of Luther rang! Old men

sang,--tottering upon the verge of the grave, their heads white, their

voices tremulous, their sight dim; women with scarred backs

sang,--who had toiled unrequited in the malarious rice-swamps, who had

prayed in dungeons and prisons, who had wept and moaned for their

stolen babes,--for their husbands, mangled and torn by bloodhounds.

But that was all of the past. The day of jubilee had dawned. They had

cried day and night, "O Lord, how long!" But now they had only

thanksgiving and praise.

After the meeting there was a general shaking of hands. "Bless de Lord

for dis yere day." "May de good Lord be wid you." "I never 'spected to

see dis yere day; but de praise belongs to de good Lord; he be wid

you, brudder."

Such were the congratulations. There were none of the white people of

Savannah present. Before the men of the West entered the city, such a

gathering, even for religious worship, would have been incendiary

unless attended by white men. But it was an inauguration of a new

era,--a beginning of the settlement of the question over which

philanthropists, politicians, and statesmen had puzzled their

philosophic brains: "What shall we do with them?"

Rev. Mr. Houston accompanied me to my room, and gave me a history of

his life. He was forty-one years old, had always been a slave, and

received his freedom at the hands of General Sherman. When a boy his

master hired him out to the Marine Hospital. Waiting upon the sailors,

he had an opportunity to hear a great deal about the world. They had

books and papers. He had a desire to learn to read, and they, not

having the black laws of Georgia before their eyes, taught him his

letters. Then obtaining a Bible, and other books, he read with great

zeal. He wanted to be a preacher, and after examination by the Baptist

Association, was ordained to preach by white men. He purchased his

time before the war, paying fifty dollars a month to his master, and

became a provision-dealer, yet preaching on Sundays. He leased the

lower story of a building fronting the market, where he sold his meat

and where he lived. Above him, up two flights, was the slave-mart of

Savannah. He used to go into the country, up the railroad to the

centre of the State, to purchase cattle, and became well acquainted

with the planters. He heard their discussions on current affairs, and

thus received information upon the politics of the country. He gave

an account of the state of affairs, of opinions held in the North and

in the South at the time when Fremont was a candidate for the

Presidency.

"We knew that he was our friend," said Mr. Houston, "and we wanted him

elected. We were very much disappointed at the result of that

election; but we kept hoping and praying that God would have mercy on

us as a race."

"Did your people understand the points at issue between the South and

the North, when the war begun?" I asked.

"Yes, sir, I think we did. When South Carolina fired on Sumter we

understood that the North was fighting for the Union. The flag had

been insulted, and we thought that you of the North would have spunk

enough to resent the insult. Those of us who could read the papers

knew that the points at issue really were between Freedom and

Slavery."

"What did you think when we were defeated at Manassas? Did you not

despair?"

"No, sir. I knew that the North would not give in for one defeat. Some

of our people were down-hearted, but I had faith in God, sir. I felt

that the war must go on till we were made free. Besides, we prayed,

sir! There have been a great many prayers, sir, offered up from

broken-hearted men and women,--from negro cabins, not in public,--for

the success of the North. They could not offer such supplications at

church; they were offered to a God who sees in secret, but who rewards

openly. We are receiving all we ever asked for. Bless his holy name."

"You have seen people sold in the market, I suppose?"

"O yes, sir, thousands of them. O, sir, it seems as if I now could

hear the groans and cries of mothers and fathers as they marched down

those stairs out into the street in gangs,--their chains rattling and

clanking on the stairs. It was hell, sir! The wailings of the damned

can never be more heart-rending, as they were driven out, crying, 'O

Lord! have mercy! O massa, don't! don't! O my poor children!'"

His eyes shone with a strange light. The muscles of his hands

tightened. He arose and walked the room, wiped the tears from his

eyes, but composing himself sat down, and said; "Iniquity was at its

height when the war began, and it continued till General Sherman

came. O, it was terrible! terrible! to be there in that room on the

lower floor, and see the hundreds taken out,--to see them nabbed in

the streets, or taken from their beds at dead of night by the sheriff,

and sold at once; for since the war began white men have been obliged

often to raise money suddenly, and slave property being especially

insecure, we were liable to be sold at any moment. Runaway slaves were

whipped unmercifully. Last summer I saw one receive five hundred

lashes out on the Gulf Railroad, because he couldn't give an account

of himself. The man who kept the slave-market left the city with a

large number of slaves just before Sherman came, taking them South;

but he is back in the city. He is a bitter old Rebel."

Mr. Houston and a party of freedmen had been to Skidaway Island to

take possession of lands under General Sherman's order, and commence a

colony.

They laid out a village, also farm lots of forty acres, set aside one

central lot for a church, another for a school-house; then placing

numbers in a hat, made the allotment. It was Plymouth Colony repeating

itself. They agreed that if any others came to join them they should

have equal privileges. So the Mayflower was blooming on the islands of

the South Atlantic!

"We shall build our cabins and organize our town government for the

maintenance of order," said Mr. Houston.

"I told you that I hired my time of my master," said he. "My master

hired my money, and when I asked him for it he refused to pay me; and

as I had no power before the law, I could not compel him, and have

lost it. I have about five hundred hides, which I would like to send

North. I want to purchase a portable saw-mill. We shall need

lumber,--must have it to build our houses and our church."

Such was his plan,--indicating a foresight which gave promise of a

prosperous future.

* * * * *

Passing by a church, I saw the sexton, with brush in hand, sweeping

the aisles. The edifice was a substantial, ancient structure, with a

mahogany pulpit of the old style, a broad aisle, chandelier pendent

from the arched roof, filagree and panel-work around the galleries.

Old and aristocratic families had sat in the cushioned pews,--men of

vast wealth, owning houses, lands, and slaves. A great organ loomed

high up in the gallery, its gilt pipes fronting the pulpit. Marriages

and funerals had been solemnized at the altar. For fifteen years,

Sunday after Sunday, this sexton had faithfully discharged his duties

at the church.

He was stout, thick-set, strong, with well-developed muscles and a

clear eye. He was gentlemanly in his deportment, and his voice was one

of the most musical I ever heard.

"Shall I take a look at the church?"

"Certainly, sir. Walk in."

His words were as if he had chanted them, so faultless the tone,

inflection, and cadence. His features were well formed, but anthracite

coal is not blacker than his complexion. I was interested in him at

once. He leaning upon his broom, and sitting in one of the pews, had a

free conversation upon the events of his life.

He was born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1829.

"My old master died," said he, "and I fell to his son, who went off to

college and got to spreeing it, lost all his property, and of course I

had to be sold. I brought twelve hundred dollars,--that was in

1849,--but another man offered the man who bought me a hundred and

fifty dollars bonus for his bargain, which was accepted, and I was

brought to Charleston. I have always been a slave."

"But you are a free man now; just as free as I am."

"Yes, sir, so General Sherman told me. I had a talk with him; and he

talked just as free with me as if I was his own brother. But I don't

feel it in my heart, sir, to go away and leave my old master, now that

he is poor, and calamity has come upon him."

"Has he always treated you well?"

"Yes, sir,--that is, he never scarred my back. Some masters are mighty

hard, sir. I don't blame some negroes for running away from their

masters now that they can, for they have been treated mighty bad, sir;

but my master has had great calamity come upon him, sir. When I was

brought here from Norfolk, master's son Bob, who is in Texas,--a

captain in the Southern army now,--saw me, and liked me, and I liked

him, and his father bought me for Bob, and Bob and I have been like

brothers to each other. I have no complaint to make. But master has

lost two sons in Virginia. One of them was killed in the first battle

of Manassas."

"I suppose you have heard many prayers here for Jeff Davis?"

"Yes, sir, and mighty fine sermons for the Southern army, sir; and

there have been solemn scenes in this church, sir. Six bodies, one

Sunday, after the first battle of Manassas, were here in this broad

aisle. I had the communion-table set out here, right in front of the

pulpit, and there they lay,--six of 'em. I couldn't help crying when I

saw 'em, for they were just like old friends to me. They used to

attend the Sunday school when they were boys, and used to cut up a

little wild, and it was my business to keep 'em straight. They

belonged to the Oglethorpe Light Infantry, and went with Colonel

Bartow. They went away gayly, and thought they were going to Richmond

to have a nice time. Their mothers and sisters told them to go and

fight the Yankees. They didn't expect to see them brought back dead, I

reckon. It was a sad day, sir."

"Then the women were as eager as the men for the war?"

"Yes, sir,--more. They were crazy about fighting the Yankees. I know

that some of the boys didn't want to fight against the flag, but the

women made 'em. The men had to wear Secession badges, as something to

show that they were for the South. If it hadn't been for the ladies, I

reckon we wouldn't have had the war."

"What do the women think now?"

"Well, sir, some of them are as bitter as ever they were against the

Yankees, but I reckon they don't care to say much; and then there are

others who see it ain't no use to try to hold out any longer. There

are lots of 'em who have lost their husbands and brothers and sons. I

reckon there are very few of the Light Infantry left. I know 'em all,

for I took care of their hall,--their armory,--and they made me hoist

the flag one day union down. That made me feel very bad, sir. I always

loved the flag, and I love it now better than ever. It makes me feel

bad to think that my boys fought against it (he meant the boys who

attended the Sunday school). But I reckon it is the Lord's doing, sir,

and that it will be a blessing to us in the end."

"Can you read and write?" I asked.

"A little, sir. I never had any one to show me, but I used to sit down

here in the pews and take up the hymn-book, and spell out the words,

and one day master Bob set me a copy in writing, and so I have learned

a little. I can read the newspapers, sir, and have kept track of the

war."

Upon the first battle of Manassas, the Peninsular campaigns, the

blowing up of the Merrimac, the battles of Antietam, Gettysburg,

Vicksburg, New Orleans, and Sherman's campaign, he was well informed.

He had a brother who was fighting for the Union.

"He is a brave fellow, and I know he won't show the white feather,"

said he.

We talked upon the prospects of the colored people now that they were

free.

"I reckon, sir," said he, "that a good many of 'em will be

disappointed. They don't know what freedom is. But they will find that

they have got to work, or else they won't get anything to eat. They

are poor, ignorant creatures; but I reckon, sir, that after a while,

when things get settled, they will learn how to take care of

themselves. But I think they are mighty foolish to clear out and leave

their old masters, when they can have good situations, and good pay,

and little to do. Then, sir, it is kind of ungrateful like, to go away

and leave their old masters when the day of calamity comes. I could

not do it, sir; besides, I reckon I will be better off to stay here

for the present, sir."

I informed him that I was from Massachusetts.

"I know something about Massachusetts, and I reckon it is a mighty

fine State, sir. I have heard you abused, and the people of Boston

also. Savannah people said hard things about you: that you were

abolitionists, and wanted the negroes to have equal privileges with

the white men. My father, when I was in Norfolk, undertook to get to

Massachusetts, but he was hunted down in the swamps and sold South,

away down to Alabama, and that is the last I have heard of him. I have

always liked Massachusetts. I reckon you are a liberal people up

there. I hear you have sent a ship-load of provisions to us poor

people."

I gave him information upon the subject, and spoke of Mr. Everett, who

made a speech at the meeting in Faneuil Hall.

"Mr. Everett! I reckon I heard him talk about General Washington once

here, five or six years ago. He was a mighty fine speaker, sir. The

house was crowded."

The sun was setting, and the sexton had other duties. As I left the

church, he said: "Come round, sir, some afternoon, and I will take you

up to the steeple, so that you can get a sight of the city, and may be

you play the organ. I love to hear music, sir."

How strangely this will read fifty years hence! The words

_slave_,--_master_,--_sold_,--_hunted down_, will make this present

time seem an impossibility to those who live after us. This sexton--a

slave--heard the minister preach of the loosing of the bonds of the

oppressed, and of doing unto others as they would be done by, yet he

found in his own experience such a Gospel a lie. His bonds were not

loosened; and the boys of the Sunday school, the petted sons of

Savannah, went out from their aristocratic homes to perpetuate that

lie. At last through war came deliverance; and yet there was so much

gentleness in the heart of this man, that in the day of calamity which

came to his master, when his sons one by one were killed in their

endeavors to sustain that lie; when his property disappeared like dew

before the morning sun; when his pride was humiliated; when his

daughters, who were expectants of immense fortunes, were compelled to

do menial service,--this servant, though a free man, could not find it

in his heart to leave them, and take the liberty he loved! It may have

been an exceptional case; but it shows an interesting feature of

Southern life. The words of this sexton of Savannah will adorn the

historic page. "I reckon, sir, that it is the Lord's doing, and that

it will be a blessing to us in the end."

Society in the South, and especially in Savannah, had undergone a

great change. The extremes of social life were very wide apart before

the war; they were no nearer the night before Sherman marched into the

city; but the morning after there was a convulsion, an upheaval, a

shaking up and a settling down of all the discordant elements. The

tread of that army of the West, as it moved in solid column through

the streets, was like a moral earthquake, overturning aristocratic

pride, privilege, and power.

Old houses, with foundations laid deep and strong in the centuries,

fortified by wealth, name, and influence, went down beneath the shock.

The general disruption of the former relations of master and slave,

and forced submission to the Union arms, produced a common level. A

reversal of the poles of the earth would hardly have produced a

greater physical convulsion than this sudden and unexpected change in

the social condition of the people of the city.

On the night before Sherman entered the place there were citizens who

could enumerate their wealth by millions; at sunrise the next morning

they were worth scarcely a dime. Their property had been in cotton,

negroes, houses, land, Confederate bonds and currency, railroad and

bank stocks. Government had seized their cotton; the negroes had

possession of their lands; their slaves had become freemen; their

houses were occupied by troops; Confederate bonds were waste paper;

their railroads were destroyed; their banks insolvent. They had not

only lost wealth, but they had lost their cause. And there were some

who were willing to confess that they had been fighting for a system

of iniquity.

One could not ask for more courteous treatment than I received during

my stay in Savannah. I am indebted to many ladies and gentlemen of

that city for kind invitations to pass an evening with them. There was

no concealment of opinion on either side, but with the utmost good

feeling full expression was given to our differing sentiments.

"We went into the war in good faith; we thought we were right; we

confidently expected to establish our independence; but we are

whipped, and have got to make the best of it," was the frank

acknowledgment of several gentlemen.

"I hate you of the North," said a young lady. It came squarely, and

the tone indicated a little irritation.

"I am very sorry for it. I can hardly think that you really hate us.

You don't hate me individually?"

"O no. You come here as a gentleman. I should indeed be rude and

unladylike to say that I hated you; but I mean the Yankees in general.

We never can live together in peace again. For one, I hope to leave

the country."

"If I were to reside here, you of course would treat me courteously so

long as I was a gentleman in my deportment?"

"Certainly; but you are an individual."

"But if two individuals can live peacefully, why not ten,--or a

hundred,--a thousand,--all?"

She hesitated a moment; and then, with flashing eyes and flushed

countenance, which added charms to her beauty, said, "Well, it is

hard--and you will not think any worse of me for saying it--to have

your friends killed, your servants all taken away, your lands

confiscated; and then know that you have failed,--that you have been

whipped. I wish that we had the power to whip you; but we haven't, and

must make the best of it. What we are to do I don't know. We have been

able to have everything that money could buy, and now we haven't a

dollar. I don't care anything about keeping the negroes in slavery;

but there is one feeling which we Southerners have that you cannot

enter into. My old mamma who nursed me is just like a mother to me;

but there is one thing that I never will submit to,--that the negro is

our equal. He belongs to an inferior race."

She laid down the argument in the palm of her hand with a great deal

of emphasis.

"Your energy, boldness, and candor are admirable. If under defeat and

disaster you sat down supinely and folded your hands, there would be

little hope of your rising again; but your determination to make the

best of it shows that you will adapt yourself readily to the new order

of things. There never will be complete equality in society. Political

and social equality are separate and distinct. Rowdies and ragamuffins

have natural rights: they may have a right to vote, they may be

citizens; but that does not necessarily entitle them to free entrance

into our homes."

The idea was evidently new to the young lady,--and not only to her,

but to all in the room. To them the abolition of slavery was the

breaking down of all social distinctions. So long as the negro was

compelled to enter the parlor as a servant, they could endure his

presence; but freedom implied the possibility, they imagined, of his

entrance as an equal, entitled to a place at their firesides and a

seat at their tables. The thought was intolerable.

The poor whites of the South are far below the colored people in

ability and force of character. They are a class from which there is

little to hope. Nothing rouses their ambition. Like the Indians, they

are content with food for to-day; to-morrow will take care of itself.

In the cities they swarm along the sides of buildings on sunny days,

and at night crawl into their miserable cabins with little more

aspiration than dogs that seek their kennels. Undoubtedly there is far

less suffering among the poor of the Southern cities than among the

poor of New York, where life is ever a struggle with want. The South

has a milder climate, nature requires less labor for production, and

the commercial centres are not overcrowded. The poor whites of the

South maintain no battle with starvation, but surrender resignedly to

poverty. They can exist without much labor, and are too indolent to

strive to rise to a higher level of existence. The war has taken their

best blood. Only shreds and dregs remain.

"What can be done for the poor whites?"

It is a momentous question for the consideration of philanthropists

and statesmen.

They are very ignorant. Their dialect is a mixture of English and

African, having words and phrases belonging to neither language;

though the _patois_ is not confined to this class, but is sometimes

heard in sumptuously furnished parlors.

"I suppose that you will not be sorry when the war is over," I

remarked to a lady in Savannah.

"No, sir. I reckon the Confederacy is done gone for," was the reply.

It is reported that a North Carolina colonel of cavalry was heard to

address his command thus,--"'Tention, battalion. Prepare to gen orto

yer critter. Git!"

The order to ride rapidly was, "Dust right smart!"

You hear young ladies say, _Paw_, for Pa, _Maw_, for Ma, and then,

curiously adding another vowel sound, they say _kear_ for car, _thear_

for there.

The poor whites of the country are called "poor white trash,"

"crackers," "clay-eaters," "sand-hillers," and "swamp angels," by the

educated whites. There is no homogeneity of white society. The

planters, as a rule, have quite as much respect for the negroes as

for the shiftless whites.

Yet these miserable wretches are exceedingly bitter against the North:

it is the bitterness of ignorance,--brutal, cruel, fiendish, produced

by caste, by the spirit of slavery. There is more hope, therefore, of

the blacks, in the future, than of this degraded class. The colored

people believe that the people of the North are their friends.

Freedom, food, schools, all were given by the Yankees; hence gratitude

and confidence on the part of the freedmen; hence, on the part of the

poor whites, hatred of the North and cruelty toward the negro.

Idleness, not occupation, has been, and is, their normal condition. It

is ingrained in their nature to despise work. Indolence is a virtue,

laziness no reproach. Thus slavery arrayed society against every law

of God, moral and physical.

The poor whites were in bondage as well as the blacks, and to all

appearance will remain so, while the natural buoyancy of the negro

makes him rise readily to new exigencies; with freedom he is at once

eager to obtain knowledge and acquire landed estates.

The colored people who had taken up lands on the islands under General

Sherman's order met for consultation in the Slave Market, at the

corner of St. Julian Street and Market Square. I passed up the two

flights of stairs down which thousands of slaves had been dragged,

chained in coffle, and entered a large hall. At the farther end was an

elevated platform about eight feet square,--the auctioneer's block.

The windows were grated with iron. In an anteroom at the right women

had been stripped and exposed to the gaze of brutal men. A colored man

was praying when I entered, giving thanks to God for the freedom of

his race, and asking for a blessing on their undertaking. After

prayers they broke out into singing. Lieutenant Ketchum of General

Saxton's staff, who had been placed in charge of the confiscated

lands, was present, to answer their questions.

"I would like to know what title we shall have to our lands, or to the

improvements we shall make?" was the plain question of a tall black

man.

"You will have the faith and honor of the United States," was the

reply.

Rev. Mr. French informed them that the government could not give them

deeds of the land, but that General Sherman had issued the order, and

without doubt President Lincoln would see it was carried out. "Can't

you trust the President who gave you your freedom?" he asked.

A stout man, with a yellow complexion, rose in the centre of the

house: "I have a house here in the city. I can get a good living here,

and I don't want to go to the islands unless I can be assured of a

title to the land; and I think that is the feeling of four fifths

present."

"That's so!" "Yes, brother!" was responded. There was evidently a

reluctance to becoming pioneers in such an enterprise,--to leaving the

city unless the guaranty were sure.

Another man rose. "My bredren, I want to raise cotton, and I'm gwine."

It was a short but effective speech. With keen, sharp intellect, he

had comprehended the great commercial question of the day. He knew

that it would pay to raise cotton on lands which had been held at

fabulous prices when the staple was worth but ten or fifteen cents. He

was going to improve the opportunity to raise cotton, even if he did

not become a holder of the estate.

"I'm gwine ye, brudder!" "So will I!" and there was a general shaking

of hands as if that were sealing a contract. Having determined to go,

they joined in singing "The Freedmen's Battle-Hymn," sung as a solo

and repeated in chorus:--

[Music: FREEDMEN'S BATTLE-HYMN.

I'll fight for Lib-er-ty, I'll fight for Lib-er-

ty, I'll fight--I'll fight for Lib-er-ty.

_Solo._--I'll fight for Liberty,

I'll fight for Liberty,

I'll fight--I'll fight for Liberty.

_Chorus._--In the New Jerusalem,

In the New Jerusalem,

In the New--the New Jerusalem.

I'm not afraid to die,

I'm not afraid to die,

I'm not--I'm not afraid to die.

_Chorus._--In the New, &c.

I shall meet my Saviour there,

I shall meet my Saviour there,

I shall meet--shall meet my Saviour there.

_Chorus._--In the New, &c.

I shall wear a starry crown,

I shall wear a starry crown,

I shall wear--I shall wear a starry crown.

_Chorus._--In the New, &c.]

The colored soldiers of Foster's army sang it at the battle of Honey

Hill, while preparing to go into the fight. How gloriously it sounded

now, sung by five hundred freedmen in the Savannah slave-mart, where

some of the singers had been sold in days gone by! It was worth a trip

from Boston to Savannah to hear it.

The next morning, in the same room, I saw a school of one hundred

colored children assembled, taught by colored teachers, who sat on the

auctioneer's platform, from which had risen voices of despair instead

of accents of love, brutal cursing instead of Christian teaching. I

listened to the recitations, and heard their songs of jubilee. The

slave-mart transformed to a school-house! Civilization and

Christianity had indeed begun their beneficent work.

[Illustration: Fort Sumter.]

CHAPTER XXVI.

SHERMAN IN SOUTH CAROLINA.

[Sidenote: Dec., 1864.]

General Sherman received, soon after his arrival in Savannah,

instructions from General Grant to hasten with his army to James

River. Transports were sent down for the shipment of the troops. Grant

desired to combine the two great armies, throw Sherman upon his own

left flank, and sever Lee's communications with the South, and also

prevent his escape. Through all the long months of summer, autumn, and

winter,--from June to February,--Grant had put forth his energies to

accomplish this object, but had not been able to cut the Danville

road, Lee's chief line of supply or retreat. The arrival of Sherman

upon the sea-coast made the plan feasible.

But that officer thought it better to march northward, driving the

enemy before him, and finish up the entire Rebel forces on the

Atlantic coast; besides, South Carolina deserved a retribution as

severe as that which had been meted out to Georgia. He also believed

that he could thus join Grant quite as soon as by the more circuitous

route by water. Grant assented to the proposition, and having full

confidence in the ability of his lieutenant, left him to co-operate in

the manner he thought most advisable.

The Rebels expected that Sherman would move upon Charleston, but such

was not his intention. He determined to make a movement which would

compel its evacuation, while at the same time he could drive the

forces of the Rebels in the interior of the State northward, and by

destroying all the railroads in his progress, and severing Lee from

the agricultural regions of the South, so cripple his resources as to

paralyze the Rebel army before Richmond, and bring the war to a speedy

close.

He wished to preserve his army entire, and accordingly a division of

the Nineteenth Corps, which had fought under Emory in the Southwest

and under Grover in the Shenandoah, having no enemy to pursue after

the annihilation of Early, was sent down to garrison Savannah, Grover

being made commandant of the post.

General Howard, commanding the right wing, took transports with the

Seventeenth Corps, Blair's, for Beaufort, whence he pushed into the

interior, striking the Charleston and Savannah Railroad at Pocatoligo,

and establishing there a depot of supplies. The Fifteenth Corps,

Logan's, followed, except Corse's division, which, being prevented by

freshets from marching direct to Pocatoligo, moved with the left wing,

commanded by Williams, joining the Twentieth Corps, and crossing the

Savannah marched to Hardeeville, on the Charleston Railroad, and

opened communication with Howard.

"Come with me," was the kind invitation of General Williams; "you will

see high old times, I reckon. My soldiers are crazy to get into South

Carolina." But believing that Sherman's movement would necessitate the

evacuation of Charleston, I preferred to enter that city at the hour

of her deepest humiliation.

Davis's corps, the Fourteenth, with Geary's division of the Twentieth,

crossed at Sister's Ferry, fifty miles above Savannah. This detour was

necessary on account of the flooding of the country by freshets. The

gunboat Pontiac was sent up to cover the crossing. When Slocum reached

the river at Sister's Ferry he found it three miles in width, and too

deep to ford, and was obliged to wait till the 7th of February before

he could cross. This movement deceived Hardee and Beauregard. The

presence of Howard at Pocatoligo looked like an advance upon

Charleston, while Slocum being at Sister's Ferry indicated an attack

upon Augusta. The Rebel commanders therefore undertook to hold a line

a hundred miles in length. D. H. Hill was hurried to Augusta, Hardee

took position at Branchville, while Beauregard remained at Charleston.

This scattering of the Rebel forces made Sherman's task comparatively

easy, as their combined army would hardly have been a match for

Sherman in a pitched battle on a fair field. His troops had entire

confidence in themselves and in their commander. Having fought their

way from Chattanooga to Atlanta, having marched to the sea and taken

Fort McAllister and Savannah, they believed there was no obstacle

which they could not overcome in marching or fighting.

Wilmington had been captured, and Sherman proposed to receive his next

supplies from the coast.

"I shall reach Goldsboro' about the 15th of March," said Sherman to

his chief quartermasters, who at once made preparations to forward

supplies from Morehead City in North Carolina.

Sherman held a conference with Admiral Dahlgren on the 22d of January,

and with General Foster, commanding the Department of the South. All

the troops in that quarter were to be employed in a movement against

Charleston. General Foster being in feeble health, Major-General

Gillmore, who had charge of the department during the summer, and who

had conducted the engineering operations against Wagner and Sumter,

again took command.

The march of the right wing, under Howard, commenced on the 1st of

February. Howard found obstructions on all the roads. The negroes from

the plantations had been impressed into the Rebel service to burn

bridges, fell trees, and open sluice-ways; but his Pioneer Corps was

so thoroughly organized that such obstacles did not greatly impede his

progress.

The Salkehatchie River runs southeast, and reaches the Atlantic midway

between Charleston and Savannah. Howard moved up its southern bank,

northwest, till he reached River's bridge, thirty-five miles above

Pocatoligo. It was a weary march, through swamps, mud, and

pine-barrens. River's bridge and Beaufort bridge were held by the

Rebels, who were strongly posted. Blair, with the Seventeenth Corps,

was ordered to carry the first, and Logan, with the Fifteenth, the

latter. Blair detailed Mower's and Corse's divisions for the work. The

troops saw before them a swamp three miles wide, overflowed, with soft

mire beneath, filled with gnarled roots of gigantic trees. It was

midwinter. The air was keen. They knew not the depth of the water. The

forest was gloomy. Above them waved the long gray tresses of moss.

There was nothing of pomp and circumstance to inspire them. It was an

undertaking full of hazard. They must shiver an hour in the water,

breast deep, before they could reach the enemy. But they hesitated not

an instant when the order was given to move. They stepped into the

water jocosely, as if upon a holiday excursion.

A Rebel brigade guarded the farther shore; flanking it, and reaching

the firm land below the bridge, the troops rushed recklessly forward,

and quickly drove the enemy from his strong position, losing but

seventeen killed and seventy wounded.

Thus by one dash the Rebel line of the Salkehatchie was broken, and

Hardee retired behind the Edisto to Branchville. The railroad from

Charleston to Augusta was reached the next day, and D. H. Hill at

Augusta, with one third of the Rebel force, was severed from Hardee

and Beauregard. For three days Howard's men were engaged in destroying

the railroad west of the Edisto,--waiting also for the left wing,

which had been detained by freshets.

Kilpatrick, meanwhile, had pushed well up towards Augusta, driving

Wheeler, burning and destroying property, and threatening Hill. The

Rebels everywhere were in a state of consternation. They could not

divine Sherman's intentions. The people of Charleston, who for four

years had heard the thunder of cannon day and night down the harbor,

and had come to the conclusion that it was impossible the city could

ever be taken, now thought Sherman was intending to knock for

admission at the back door. The people of Augusta saw that their fair

town was threatened. It had been an important place to the

Confederates through the war, contributing largely to help on the

Rebellion by its manufacturing industry. Citizens fled from Charleston

to Cheraw, Columbia, Winsboro', and other towns up the Santee and

Catawba, little thinking that they were jumping from the "frying-pan

into the fire."

Branchville is sixty-two miles northwest of Charleston, on the north

bank of the Edisto. Hardee expected to see Sherman at that place, and

made elaborate preparations to defend it, as it lay in the path to

Charleston. But Sherman, instead of turning southeast, kept his eye on

the north star, and moved on Orangeburg, thirteen miles north of

Branchville, where also the Rebels were prepared to make a stand; but

the Seventeenth Corps made one dash, and the enemy fled from a long

breastwork of cotton-bales. This was on the 12th of February.

Meanwhile General Hatch, with a portion of Gillmore's troops, was

threatening Charleston along the coast.

A division under General Potter, accompanied by a large number of

gunboats, went to Bull's Bay, north of Charleston, as if to approach

the city from that quarter. The monitors were inside the bar. There

were Union troops on Morris's Island, ready to move, while the

batteries kept up their fire, sending shells into the city. Thus from

every point except on the northern side Charleston was threatened.

It was not till Howard was well up towards Columbia that Hardee saw he

had been completely flanked, and that Sherman had no intention of

going to Charleston. The only force in front of Sherman was Wheeler's

and Wade Hampton's cavalry, with straggling bands of infantry.

Hampton's home was Columbia. He was rich, and had a palatial

residence. He was an aristocrat, in principle and action. He was

bitter in his hatred of the Union and the men of the North. He had

fought upon nearly all the battle-fields of Virginia, and doubtless,

in common with most of the people of his State, had not thought it

possible the war should reach his own door. But Sherman was there, and

being powerless to defend the capital of the State, he was reckless to

destroy.

Columbia had been a depot of supplies through the war. In view of its

occupation, Sherman gave written orders to Howard to spare all

dwellings, colleges, schools, churches, and private property, but to

destroy the arsenals and machinery for the manufacture of war

material.

Howard threw a bridge across the river three miles above the city, and

Stone's brigade of Wood's division of the Fifteenth Corps was sent

across. The Mayor came out in his carriage, and made a formal

surrender to Colonel Stone, who marched up the streets, where huge

piles of cotton were burning. Hampton, in anticipation of the giving

up of the city, had caused the cotton to be gathered, public as well

as private, that it might be burned. There were thousands of bales.

Negroes were employed to cut the ropes that bound them, and apply the

torch. As Stone marched in the last of Hampton's troops moved out.

The wind was high, and flakes of burning cotton were blown about the

streets, setting fire to the buildings. The soldiers used their utmost

exertions to extinguish the flames, working under the direction of

their officers. The whole of Wood's division was sent in for the

purpose, but very little could be done towards saving the city. The

fire raged through the day and night. Hundreds of families were burned

out, and reduced from opulence, or at least competency, to penury. It

was a terrible scene of suffering and woe,--men, women, and children

fleeing from the flames, surrounded by a hostile army, composed of men

whom they had called vandals, ruffians, the slime of the North, the

pests of society, and whom they had looked upon with haughty contempt,

as belonging to an inferior race. Indescribable their anguish; and yet

no violence was committed, no insulting language or action given by

those soldiers. Sherman, Howard, Logan, Hazen, Woods,--nearly all of

Sherman's officers,--did what they could to stay the flames and

alleviate the distress. They experienced no pleasure in beholding the

agony of the people of Columbia.

General Sherman thus vindicates himself in his official report, and

charges the atrocity upon Wade Hampton:--

"I disclaim on the part of my army any agency in this fire, but,

on the contrary, claim that we saved what of Columbia remains

unconsumed. And without hesitation I charge General Wade Hampton

with having burned his own city of Columbia,--not with a

malicious intent, or as the manifestation of a silly 'Roman

stoicism,' but from folly and want of sense, in filling it with

lint, cotton, and tinder. Our officers and men on duty worked

well to extinguish the flames; but others not on duty, including

the officers who had long been imprisoned there, rescued by us,

may have assisted in spreading the fire after it had once begun,

and may have indulged in unconcealed joy to see the ruin of the

capital of South Carolina."[78]

[Footnote 78: Sherman's Report.]

Thus Columbia, the beautiful capital of a once haughty State, became a

blackened waste. The convention which passed the ordinance of

Secession, when called together on the 17th of December, 1860, met in

Columbia, but after organizing adjourned to Charleston, as the city

was infected with small-pox. But it was the more poisonous virus of

Secession which finally laid their proud city low.

The people of South Carolina are bitter in their hatred of General

Sherman. They charge all the devastation committed during his march

from Atlanta to Goldsboro' upon him. In their estimation he is "a

fiend," and his conduct not merely "inhuman," but "devilish." Yet he

only adopted the policy which the Rebel leaders urged upon their

adherents, and which was vehemently advocated by the Southern press.

Rebel, not loyal torches, fired Charleston, Orangeburg, and Columbia.

It is claimed that Sherman did not regard private property, but

destroyed it indiscriminately with that belonging to the Confederate

government. Was there any respect shown by the Rebel authorities?

Cotton, resin, turpentine, stores owned by private individuals, were

remorselessly given to the flames by the Rebels themselves, and their

acts were applauded by the people of the South as evincing heroic

self-sacrifice.

Great stress is laid upon the suffering occasioned by the pillaging

and burning by Sherman's troops; but in Pennsylvania yet remain the

ruins of Chambersburg as evidence of the tender mercy of the Rebels,

who not only destroyed public property, but gave dwelling-houses and

stores to the torch.

What act so malignant, bloody, ghastly, and fiendish as the sacking,

burning, and massacre at Lawrence! What deed so damning since the

barbarities of Scio or Wyoming! What woe so deep!--men, children,

murdered, butchered, scalped, the bodies of the dead tossed into the

flames! No relenting on the part of the Rebels, but savage, infuriate

joy at the sight of the warm heart's blood of their victims! Woman's

prayers and tears availed not to stay their murderous hands or move

their brutal hearts.

The responsibility cannot be evaded by saying that Quantrel was only a

guerilla. If not holding a commission from the Rebel government, he

was fighting for the Confederacy, and was ranked with Morgan and

Mosby. He was an ally of Jeff Davis and General Lee. When were his

acts disavowed by the Rebel government? What restraint was ever laid

upon him? He passed from the scene of massacre, lighted by the flames

of the burning town, safely into the Rebel lines, where instead of

outlawry he found protection and favor. On what page of Confederate

history shall we read the remonstrance of Lee, Davis, Stephens,

Toombs, or Breckenridge? Where is the protest of the "chivalrous"

gentlemen of the South? What action was taken by the Rebel Congress?

Vain the search for disavowal of or protest against the act. The

historian of another generation will be able to pass right judgment

upon all that has transpired during these dark years of anarchy and

revolution, sorrow, tears, and anguish. The verdict of posterity will

be just, and will endure through the ages.

[Illustration: Mississippi river hospital steamer.]

CHAPTER XXVII.

SOUTH CAROLINA BEFORE THE WAR.

[Sidenote: Dec., 1864.]

To fully comprehend the fitting punishment of South Carolina we must

keep in remembrance her position before the war. We must behold her as

she appeared in 1860,--the leader and chief conspirator against the

Republic.

She had always taken a prominent part in the political affairs of the

nation. Although a State, she was hardly a republican commonwealth,

and very far from being a democracy. The State was ruled by a clique,

composed of wealthy men, of ancient name, who secured privileges and

prerogatives for themselves at the expense of the people, who had but

little voice in electing their lawgivers.

The basis of representation in the Legislature was exceedingly

complex. In the House of Representatives it was a mixture of property,

population, white inhabitants, taxation, and slaves. In the Senate it

consisted of geographical extent, white and slave population,

taxation, and property. The Senate was constituted after the "Parish

system," which gave the whole control of political affairs in the

State into the hands of a few wealthy men from the sea-coast.

[Illustration: Battle of Fort Sumter.]

There are two distinct classes of people in South Carolina,--the

lowlanders and the uplanders. The settlers of the lowlands were

emigrants from England and France, gentlemen with aristocratic ideas.

The settlers of the uplands, in the western counties, were pioneers

from Virginia and North Carolina,--small farmers, cultivating their

own lands. During the Revolutionary war the uplanders were Whigs, the

lowlanders Tories. The lowlanders had wealth, the uplanders were poor.

When the Constitution was formed, organizing a State government, the

lowlanders took care of their own interests. The lowlands in Colonial

times were divided into parishes, and with the forming of the

Constitution each parish was to have a Senator. The uplands, not

being parishes, were districts of much larger territorial area, hence

political power fell into the hands of a few individuals along the

coast. As white population increased in the districts, and decreased

or remained stationary in the parishes, the up-country men tried to

emancipate themselves from political serfdom, but there was no remedy

except by an amendment to the Constitution, through a Convention

called by the Legislature; and as the lowlanders had control of that

body, there was no redress. The State, therefore, became an engine of

political power, managed and worked by a few men from Charleston,

Beaufort, St. Helena, Edisto, Colleton, and other parishes along the

sea-coast.

Nature gave South Carolina sunny skies and a genial clime. The sea

contributed an atmosphere which gained for Edisto and St. Helena

islands the monopoly in the world's markets for cotton of finest

fibre. Wealth increased with the gathering in of each new crop, and

with wealth came additional power. Superiority of political privilege

made the few impatient of restraint and ambitious not only to control

State, but national affairs. South Carolina attempted defiance of

national law in 1832, and was defeated.

The parishes governed the State solely in the interests of slavery. It

gave them power, to perpetuate which they made slavery aggressive.

Here is exposed the root from which Secession sprung. Free labor in

the North was a plant of vigorous growth. Slavery was slow. It left

worn-out lands in its track. Hard work, brutality, and sin sent its

victims to an early grave. Freedom was gaining ground. Slavery must be

carried into the Territories and secure a foothold in advance of free

labor. So the struggle began, and through pride, passion, and

malignant hatred of the North Secession was at last accomplished.

Upon the assembling of the Legislature for the choice of Presidential

electors, the President of the Senate, W. D. Porter, of Charleston,

said to his fellow-legislators:--

"All that is dear and precious to this people,--life, fortune,

name, and history,--all is committed to our keeping for weal or

for woe, for honor or for shame. Let us do our part, so that

those who come after us shall acknowledge that we were not

unworthy of the great trusts devolved upon us, and not unequal

to the great exigencies by which we were tried.... No human power

can withstand or break down a united people, standing upon their

own soil and defending their own firesides."[79]

[Footnote 79: Proceedings of South Carolina Legislature.]

They made their election. They thought it to be weal, but under God's

providence it proved to be woe.

A Senator said:--

"We have two ways before us,--in one, whether we will or not, we

must tread; for, in the event of this issue, there would be no

repose. In both lie dangers, difficulties, and troubles, which no

human foresight can foreshadow or perceive; but they are not

equal in magnitude. One is beset with humiliation, dishonor,

_emeutes_, rebellion,--with submission in the beginning to all,

and at all times, and confiscation and slavery in the end. The

other, it is true, has its difficulties and trials, but no

disgrace. Hope, duty, and honor shine along the path. Hope

beacons you to the end.... For himself he would unfurl the

Palmetto flag, fling it to the breeze, and with the spirit of a

brave man determine to live and die as became our glorious

ancestors, and ring the clarion notes of defiance in the face of

an insolent foe."[80]

[Footnote 80: Speech of Senator Chestnut.]