Reminiscences of My Life in Camp
with the 33d United States
Colored Troops Late 1st S. C. Volunteers:
Electronic Edition.
Taylor, Susie King, b. 1848
Funding from the National Endowment for the Humanities
supported the electronic publication of this title.
Text scanned (OCR) by
LeeAnn Morawski
Images scanned by
LeeAnn Morawski Text encoded by
Fiona Mills and Natalia Smith
First edition, 1999
ca. 200K
Academic Affairs Library, UNC-CH
University of North Carolina at Chapel Hill, 1999.
Source Description:
(title page) Reminiscences of My Life in Camp with the 33D United States
Colored Troops Late 1st S.C. Volunteers
Susie King Taylor
82 p., ill.
Boston
Published by the Author
1902
Call number 973.781 T246 (Rare Book, Manuscript, and Special
Collections Library, Duke University Libraries )
The electronic edition is a part of the UNC-CH
digitization project, Documenting the
American South. All footnotes are
inserted at the point of reference within paragraphs.
Any hyphens occurring
in line breaks have been
removed, and the trailing part of a word has been joined to
the preceding line.
All quotation marks,
em dashes and ampersand have been transcribed as
entity references.
All double right and
left quotation marks are encoded as " and "
respectively.
All single right and
left quotation marks are encoded as ' and ' respectively.
All em dashes are
encoded as
-- Indentation in lines
has not been preserved.
Running titles have
not been preserved.
Spell-check and
verification made against printed text using Author/Editor (SoftQuad)
and Microsoft Word spell check programs.
Library of Congress Subject Headings, 21st edition, 1998
Languages Used:
English
French
LC Subject Headings:
Taylor, Susie King, b. 1848.
African Americans -- South Carolina -- Biography.
African American women -- South Carolina -- Biography.
United States. Army. South Carolina Volunteers, 1st
(1862-1864)
United States. Army. Colored Infantry Regiment, 33rd
(1864-1866)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Women.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Personal
narratives.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Regimental
histories.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Military
life.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 --
African Americans.
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865 -- Participation,
Afro-American.
Woman's Relief Corps (U.S.)
Revision History:
2000-06-30,
Celine Noel and Wanda Gunther
revised TEIHeader and created catalog
record for the electronic edition.
1999-12-13, Natalia Smith, project manager,
finished TEI-conformant encoding and final proofing.
I HAVE been asked many times by my friends,
and also by members of the Grand Army of the
Republic and Women's Relief Corps, to write a
book of my army life, during the war of 1861-65,
with the regiment of the 1st South Carolina
Colored Troops, later called 33d United States
Colored Infantry.
At first I did not think I would, but as the
years rolled on and my friends were still urging
me to start with it, I wrote to Colonel C. T.
Trowbridge (who had command of this
regiment), asking his opinion and advice on the
matter. His answer to me was, "Go ahead! write
it; that is just what I should do, were I in your
place, and I will give you all the assistance you
may need, whenever you require it." This
inspired me very much.
In 1900 I received a letter from a gentleman,
sent from the Executive Mansion at St. Paul,
Minn., saying Colonel Trowbridge had told him
I was about to write a book, and when it was
published he wanted one of the first copies.
This, coming from a total stranger, gave me more
confidence, so I now present these reminiscences
to you, hoping they may prove of some interest,
and show how much service and good we can do
to each other, and what sacrifices we can make
for our liberty and rights, and that there were
"loyal women," as well as men, in those days,
who did not fear shell or shot, who cared for the
sick and dying; women who camped and fared
as the boys did, and who are still caring for the
comrades in their declining years.
So, with the hope that the following pages will
accomplish some good and instruction for its
readers, I shall proceed with my narrative.
ACTUAL military life is rarely described by a
woman, and this is especially true of a woman
whose place was in the ranks, as the wife of a
soldier and herself a regimental laundress. No
such description has ever been given, I am sure,
by one thus connected with a colored regiment;
so that the nearly 200,000 black soldiers
(178,975) of our Civil War have never before been
delineated from the woman's point of view. All
this gives peculiar interest to this little volume,
relating wholly to the career of the very earliest
of these regiments,--the one described by
myself, from a wholly different point of view, in
my volume"Army Life in a Black Regiment,"
long since translated into French by the
Comtesse de Gasparin under the title "Vie Militaire
dans un Régiment Noir."
The writer of the present book was very exceptional
among the colored laundresses, in that she
could read and write and had taught children to
do the same; and her whole life and career were
most estimable, both during the war and in the
later period during which she has lived in Boston
and has made many friends. I may add that I
did not see the book until the sheets were in
print, and have left it wholly untouched, except
as to a few errors in proper names. I commend
the narrative to those who love the plain record
of simple lives, led in stormy periods.
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON,
Former Colonel 1st S. C. Volunteers
(afterwards 38d U. S. Colored Infantry).
DEAR MADAM,--The manuscript of the story of
your army life reached me to-day. I have read it
with much care and interest, and I most willingly and
cordially indorse it as a truthful account of your
unselfish devotion and service through more than three
long years of war in which the 33d Regiment bore a
conspicuous part in the great conflict for human liberty
and the restoration of the Union. I most sincerely
regret that through a technicality you are debarred
from having your name placed on the roll of pensioners,
as an Army Nurse; for among all the number of
heroic women whom the government is now rewarding,
I know of no one more deserving than yourself.
MY great-great-grandmother was 120 years
old when she died. She had seven children, and
five of her boys were in the Revolutionary War.
She was from Virginia, and was half Indian.
She was so old she had to be held in the sun to
help restore or prolong her vitality.
My great-grandmother, one of her daughters,
named Susanna, was married to Peter Simons,
and was one hundred years old when she died,
from a stroke of paralysis in Savannah. She
was the mother of twenty-four children, twenty-three
being girls. She was one of the noted
midwives of her day. In 1820 my grandmother was
born, and named after her grandmother, Dolly,
and in 1833 she married Fortune Lambert Reed.
Two children blessed their union, James and
Hagar Ann. James died at the age of twelve
years.
My mother was born in 1834. She married
Raymond Baker in 1847. Nine children were
born to them, three dying in infancy. I was the
first born. I was born on the Grest Farm (which
was on an island known as Isle of Wight),
Liberty County, about thirty-five miles from Savannah,
Ga., on August 6, 1848, my mother being
waitress for the Grest family. I have often been
told by mother of the care Mrs. Grest took of
me. She was very fond of me, and I remember
when my brother and I were small children, and
Mr. Grest would go away on business, Mrs.
Grest would place us at the foot of her bed to
sleep and keep her company. Sometimes he
would return home earlier than he had expected
to; then she would put us on the floor.
When I was about seven years old, Mr. Grest
allowed my grandmother to take my brother and
me to live with her in Savannah. There were no
railroad connections in those days between this
place and Savannah; all travel was by
stagecoaches. I remember, as if it were yesterday,
the coach which ran in from Savannah, with its
driver, whose beard nearly reached his knees.
His name was Shakespeare, and often I would go
to the stable where he kept his horses, on
Barnard Street in front of the old Arsenal, just to
look at his wonderful beard.
My grandmother went every three months to
see my mother. She would hire a wagon to carry
bacon, tobacco, flour, molasses, and sugar. These
she would trade with people in the neighboring
places, for eggs, chickens, or cash, if they had it.
These, in turn, she carried back to the city market,
where she had a customer who sold them for
her. The profit from these, together with laundry
work and care of some bachelors' rooms,
made a good living for her.
The hardest blow to her was the failure of the
Freedmen's Savings Bank in Savannah, for in
that bank she had placed her savings, about
three thousand dollars, the result of her hard
labor and self-denial before the war, and which,
by dint of shrewdness and care, she kept together
all through the war. She felt it more keenly,
coming as it did in her old age, when her life
was too far spent to begin anew; but she took a
practical view of the matter, for she said, "I will
leave it all in God's hand. If the Yankees did
take all our money, they freed my race; God
will take care of us."
In 1888 she wrote me here (Boston), asking
me to visit her, as she was getting very feeble
and wanted to see me once before she passed
away. I made up my mind to leave at once, but
about the time I planned to go, in March, a fearful
blizzard swept our country, and travel was at
a standstill for nearly two weeks; but March 15
I left on the first through steamer from New
York, en route for the South, where I again saw
I WAS born under the slave law in Georgia,
in 1848, and was brought up by my grandmother
in Savannah. There were three of us with her,
my younger sister and brother. My brother and
I being the two eldest, we were sent to a friend
of my grandmother, Mrs. Woodhouse, a widow,
to learn to read and write. She was a free
woman and lived on Bay Lane, between Habersham
and Price streets, about half a mile from my
house. We went every day about nine o'clock,
with our books wrapped in paper to prevent the
police or white persons from seeing them. We
went in, one at a time, through the gate, into the
yard to the L kitchen, which was the schoolroom.
She had twenty-five or thirty children whom she
taught, assisted by her daughter, Mary Jane.
The neighbors would see us going in sometimes,
but they supposed we were there learning trades,
as it was the custom to give children a trade of
some kind. After school we left the same way
we entered, one by one, when we would go to a
square, about a block from the school, and wait
for each other. We would gather laurel leaves
and pop them on our hands, on our way home.
I remained at her school for two years or more,
when I was sent to a Mrs. Mary Beasley, where
I continued until May, 1860, when she told my
grandmother she had taught me all she knew,
and grandmother had better get some one else
who could teach me more, so I stopped my studies
for a while.
I had a white playmate about this time, named
Katie O'Connor, who lived on the next corner
of the street from my house, and who attended
a convent. One day she told me, if I would
promise not to tell her father, she would give me
some lessons. On my promise not to do so, and
getting her mother's consent, she gave me lessons
about four months, every evening. At the end
of this time she was put into the convent
permanently, and I have never seen her since.
A month after this, James Blouis, our landlord's
son, was attending the High School, and
was very fond of grandmother, so she asked him
to give me a few lessons, which he did until the
middle of 1861, when the Savannah Volunteer
Guards, to which he and his brother belonged,
were ordered to the front under General Barton.
In the first battle of Manassas, his brother
Eugene was killed, and James deserted over to
the Union side, and at the close of the war went
to Washington, D. C., where he has since
resided.
I often wrote passes for my grandmother, for
all colored persons, free or slaves, were
compelled to have a pass; free colored people having
a guardian in place of a master. These passes
were good until 10 or 10.30 P. M. for one night
or every night for one month. The pass read as
follows:--
SAVANNAH, GA., March 1st, 1860.
Pass the bearer--from 9 to 10.30. P. M.
VALENTINE GREST.
Every person had to have this pass, for at nine
o'clock each night a bell was rung, and any
colored persons found on the street after this
hour were arrested by the watchman, and put in
the guard-house until next morning, when their
owners would pay their fines and release them.
I knew a number of persons who went out at any
time at night and were never arrested, as the
watchman knew them so well he never stopped
them, and seldom asked to see their passes, only
stopping them long enough, sometimes, to say
"Howdy," and then telling them to go along.
About this time I had been reading so much
about the "Yankees" I was very anxious to see
them. The whites would tell their colored people
not to go to the Yankees, for they would harness
them to carts and make them pull the carts
around, in place of horses. I asked grandmother,
one day, if this was true. She replied,
"Certainly not!" that the white people did not want
slaves to go over to the Yankees, and told them
these things to frighten them. "Don't you see
those signs pasted about the streets? one reading,
'I am a rattlesnake; if you touch me I will
strike!' Another reads, 'I am a wild-cat!
Beware,' etc. These are warnings to the North; so
don't mind what the white people say." I wanted
to see these wonderful "Yankees" so much, as I
heard my parents say the Yankee was going to
set all the slaves free. Oh, how those people
prayed for freedom! I remember, one night,
my grandmother went out into the suburbs of the
city to a church meeting, and they were fervently
singing this old hymn,--
"Yes, we all shall be free, Yes, we all shall be free,
Yes, we all shall be free,
When the Lord shall appear," --
when the police came in and arrested all who were
there, saying they were planning freedom, and
sang "the Lord," in place of "Yankee," to blind
any one who might be listening. Grandmother
never forgot that night, although she did not stay
in the guard-house, as she sent to her guardian,
who came at once for her; but this was the last
meeting she ever attended out of the city proper.
On April 1, 1862, about the time the Union
soldiers were firing on Fort Pulaski, I was sent
out into the country to my mother. I remember
what a roar and din the guns made. They jarred
the earth for miles. The fort was at last taken
by them. Two days after the taking of Fort
Pulaski, my uncle took his family of seven and
myself to St. Catherine Island. We landed under
the protection of the Union fleet, and remained
there two weeks, when about thirty of us were
taken aboard the gunboat P--, to be
transferred to St. Simon's Island; and at last, to my
unbounded joy, I saw the "Yankee."
After we were all settled aboard and started on
our journey, Captain Whitmore, commanding the
boat, asked me where I was from. I told him
Savannah, Ga. He asked if I could read; I said,
"Yes!" "Can you write?" he next asked. "Yes,
I can do that also," I replied, and as if he had
some doubts of my answers he handed me a book
and a pencil and told me to write my name and
where I was from. I did this; when he wanted
to know if I could sew. On hearing I could, he
asked me to hem some napkins for him. He was
surprised at my accomplishments (for they were
such in those days), for he said he did not know
there were any negroes in the South able to read
or write. He said, "You seem to be so different
from the other colored people who came from the
same place you did." "No!" I replied, "the
only difference is, they were reared in the country
and I in the city, as was a man from Darien,
Ga., named Edward King." That seemed to
satisfy him, and we had no further conversation
that day on the subject.
In the afternoon the captain spied a boat in
the distance, and as it drew nearer he noticed it
had a white flag hoisted, but before it had reached
the Putumoka he ordered all passengers between
decks, so we could not be seen, for he thought
they might be spies. The boat finally drew alongside
of our boat, and had Mr. Edward Donegall
on board, who wanted his two servants, Nick and
Judith. He wanted these, as they were his own
children. Our captain told him he knew nothing
of them, which was true, for at the time they
were on St. Simon's, and not, as their father
supposed, on our boat. After the boat left, we
were allowed to come up on deck again.
NEXT morning we arrived at St. Simon's, and
the captain told Commodore Goldsborough about
this affair, and his reply was, "Captain Whitmore,
you should not have allowed them to return; you
should have kept them." After I had been on
St. Simon's about three days, Commodore
Goldsborough heard of me, and came to Gaston Bluff
to see me. I found him very cordial. He said
Captain Whitmore had spoken to him of me, and
that he was pleased to hear of my being so capable,
etc., and wished me to take charge of a school
for the children on the island. I told him I
would gladly do so, if I could have some books.
He said I should have them, and in a week or two
I received two large boxes of books and
testaments from the North. I had about forty children
to teach, beside a number of adults who came to
me nights, all of them so eager to learn to read,
to read above anything else. Chaplain French, of
Boston, would come to the school, sometimes, and
lecture to the pupils on Boston and the North.
was going to be a settlement of the war. Those
who were on the Union side would remain free,
and those in bondage were to work three days for
their masters and three for themselves. It was
a gloomy time for us all, and we were to be sent
to Liberia. Chaplain French asked me would I
rather go back to Savannah or go to Liberia. I
told him the latter place by all means. We did
not know when this would be, but we were
prepared in case this settlement should be reached.
However, the Confederates would not agree to the
arrangement, or else it was one of the many
rumors flying about at the time, as we heard
nothing further of the matter. There were a number
of settlements on this island of St. Simon's,
just like little villages, and we would go from one
to the other on business, to call, or only for a
walk.
One Sunday, two men, Adam Miller and Daniel
Spaulding, were chased by some rebels as they
were coming from Hope Place (which was
between the Beach and Gaston Bluff), but the latter
were unable to catch them. When they reached
the Beach and told this, all the men on the place,
about ninety, armed themselves, and next day
(Monday), with Charles O'Neal as their leader,
skirmished the island for the "rebs." In a short
while they discovered them in the woods, hidden
behind a large log, among the thick underbrush.
Charles O'Neal was the first to see them, and he
was killed; also John Brown, and their bodies
were never found. Charles O'Neal was an uncle
of Edward King, who later was my husband and
a sergeant in Co. E., U. S. I. Another man was
shot, but not found for three days. On Tuesday,
the second day, Captain Trowbridge and some
soldiers landed, and assisted the skirmishers.
Word having been sent by the mail-boat Uncas
to Hilton Head, later in the day Commodore
Goldsborough, who was in command of the naval
station, landed about three hundred marines, and
joined the others to oust the rebels. On Wednesday,
John Baker, the man shot on Monday, was
found in a terrible condition by Henry Batchlott,
who carried him to the Beach, where he was
attended by the surgeon. He told us how, after
being shot, he lay quiet for a day. On the second
day he managed to reach some wild grapes growing
near him. These he ate, to satisfy his hunger
and intense thirst, then he crawled slowly, every
movement causing agony, until he got to the side
of the road. He lived only three months after
they found him.
On the second day of the skirmish the troops
captured a boat which they knew the Confederates
had used to land in, and having this in their
possession, the "rebs" could not return; so pickets
were stationed all around the island. There was
an old man, Henry Capers, who had been left on
one of the places by his old master, Mr. Hazzard,
as he was too old to carry away. These rebels
went to his house in the night, and he hid them
up in the loft. On Tuesday all hands went to
this man's house with a determination to burn it
down, but Henry Batchlott pleaded with the men
to spare it. The rebels were in hiding, still, waiting
a chance to get off the island. They searched
his house, but neglected to go up into the loft,
and in so doing missed the rebels concealed there.
Late in the night Henry Capers gave them his
boat to escape in, and they got off all right. This
old man was allowed by the men in charge of the
island to cut grass for his horse, and to have a
boat to carry this grass to his home, and so they
were not detected, our men thinking it was Capers
using the boat. After Commodore Goldsborough
left the island, Commodore Judon sent the old
man over to the mainland and would not allow
him to remain on the island.
There were about six hundred men, women,
and children on St. Simon's, the women and children
being in the majority, and we were afraid to
go very far from our own quarters in the
daytime, and at night even to go out of the house
for a long time, although the men were on the
watch all the time; for there were not any soldiers
on the island, only the marines who were on the
gunboats along the coast. The rebels, knowing
this, could steal by them under cover of the night,
and getting on the island would capture any
persons venturing out alone and carry them to the
mainland. Several of the men disappeared, and
as they were never heard from we came to the
conclusion they had been carried off in this
way.
The latter part of August, 1862, Captain C. T.
Trowbridge, with his brother John and Lieutenant
Walker, came to St. Simon's Island from
Hilton Head, by order of General Hunter, to get
all the men possible to finish filling his regiment
which he had organized in March, 1862. He had
heard of the skirmish on this island, and was very
much pleased at the bravery shown by these men.
He found me at Gaston Bluff teaching my little
school, and was much interested in it. When I
knew him better I found him to be a thorough
gentleman and a staunch friend to my race.
Captain Trowbridge remained with us until
October, when the order was received to evacuate,
and so we boarded the Ben-De-Ford, a transport,
for Beaufort, S. C. When we arrived in Beaufort,
Captain Trowbridge and the men he had
enlisted went to camp at Old Fort, which they
named "Camp Saxton." I was enrolled as laundress.
The first suits worn by the boys were red
coats and pants, which they disliked very much,
for, they said, "The rebels see us, miles away."
The first colored troops did not receive any
pay for eighteen months, and the men had to
depend wholly on what they received from the
commissary, established by General Saxton. A great
many of these men had large families, and as
they had no money to give them, their wives were
obliged to support themselves and children by
washing for the officers of the gunboats and the
soldiers, and making cakes and pies which they sold
to the boys in camp. Finally, in 1863, the
government decided to give them half pay, but the
men would not accept this. They wanted "full
pay" or nothing. They preferred rather to give
their services to the state, which they did until
1864, when the government granted them full
pay, with all the back pay due.
I remember hearing Captain Heasley telling
his company, one day, "Boys, stand up for your
full pay! I am with you, and so are all the officers."
This captain was from Pennsylvania, and
was a very good man; all the men liked him.
N. G. Parker, our first lieutenant, was from
Massachusetts. H. A. Beach was from New York.
He was very delicate, and had to resign in 1864
on account of ill health.
I had a number of relatives in this regiment,
--several uncles, some cousins, and a husband in
Company E, and a number of cousins in other
companies. Major Strong, of this regiment,
started home on a furlough, but the vessel he was
aboard was lost, and he never reached his home.
He was one of the best officers we had. After
Capt. Walker Capt. A. W. Heasley
Capt. Charles E. Parker Capt. W. W. Sampson
his death, Captain C. T. Trowbridge was promoted
major, August, 1863, and filled Major Strong's
place until December, 1864, when he was
promoted lieutenant-colonel, which he remained
until he was mustered out, February 6, 1866.
In February, 1863, several cases of varioloid
broke out among the boys, which caused some
anxiety in camp. Edward Davis, of Company E
(the company I was with), had it very badly. He
was put into a tent apart from the rest of the
men, and only the doctor and camp steward, James
Cummings, were allowed to see or attend him;
but I went to see this man every day and nursed
him. The last thing at night, I always went in
to see that he was comfortable, but in spite of
the good care and attention he received, he
succumbed to the disease.
I was not in the least afraid of the small-pox.
I had been vaccinated, and I drank sassafras tea
constantly, which kept my blood purged and
prevented me from contracting this dread scourge,
and no one need fear getting it if they will only
keep their blood in good condition with this sassafras
tea, and take it before going where the patient
is.
ON the first of January, 1863, we held services
for the purpose of listening to the reading of
President Lincoln's proclamation by Dr. W. H.
Brisbane, and the presentation of two beautiful
stands of colors, one from a lady in Connecticut,
and the other from Rev. Mr. Cheever. The
presentation speech was made by Chaplain French.
It was a glorious day for us all, and we enjoyed
every minute of it, and as a fitting close and the
crowning event of this occasion we had a grand
barbecue. A number of oxen were roasted whole,
and we had a fine feast. Although not served as
tastily or correctly as it would have been at home,
yet it was enjoyed with keen appetites and relish.
The soldiers had a good time. They sang or
shouted "Hurrah!" all through the camp, and
seemed overflowing with fun and frolic until taps
were sounded, when many, no doubt, dreamt of
this memorable day.
I had rather an amusing experience; that is, it
seems amusing now, as I look back, but at the
time it occurred it was a most serious one to me.
When our regiment left Beaufort for Seabrooke,
I left some of my things with a neighbor who
lived outside of the camp. After I had been at
Seabrooke about a week, I decided to return to
Camp Saxton and get them. So one morning, with
Mary Shaw, a friend who was in the company
at that time, I started off. There was no way
for us to get to Beaufort other than to walk,
except we rode on the commissary wagon. This
we did, and reached Beaufort about one o'clock.
We then had more than two miles to walk before
reaching our old camp, and expected to be able
to accomplish this and return in time to meet the
wagon again by three o'clock that afternoon, and
so be taken back. We failed to do this, however,
for when we got to Beaufort the wagon was gone.
We did not know what to do. I did not wish
to remain overnight, neither did my friend,
although we might easily have stayed, as both had
relatives in the town.
It was in the springtime, and the days were
long, and as the sun looked so bright, we
concluded to walk back, thinking we should reach
camp before dark. So off we started on our
ten-mile tramp. We had not gone many miles,
however, before we were all tired out and began
to regret our undertaking. The sun was getting
low, and we grew more frightened, fearful of
meeting some animal or of treading on a snake on
our way. We did not meet a person, and we
were frightened almost to death. Our feet were
so sore we could hardly walk. Finally we took
off our shoes and tried walking in our stocking
feet, but this made them worse. We had gone
about six miles when night overtook us. There
we were, nothing around us but dense woods, and
as there was no house or any place to stop at,
there was nothing for us to do but continue on.
We were afraid to speak to each other.
Meantime at the camp, seeing no signs of us
by dusk, they concluded we had decided to
remain over until next day, and so had no idea of
our plight. Imagine their surprise when we
reached camp about eleven P. M. The guard
challenged us, "Who comes there?" My
answer was, "A friend without a countersign." He
approached and saw who it was, reported, and
we were admitted into the lines. They had the
joke on us that night, and for a long time after
would tease us; and sometimes some of the men
who were on guard that night would call us
deserters. They used to laugh at us, but we joined
with them too, especially when we would tell
them our experience on our way to camp. I did
not undertake that trip again, as there was no
way of getting in or out except one took the
provision wagon, and there was not much dependence
to be put in that returning to camp. Perhaps
the driver would say one hour and he might
be there earlier or later. Of course it was not
his fault, as it depended when the order was
filled at the Commissary Department; therefore
I did not go any more until the regiment was
ordered to our new camp, which was named after
our hero, Colonel Shaw, who at that time was at
Beaufort with his regiment, the 54th Massachusetts.
I taught a great many of the comrades in
Company E to read and write, when they were off
duty. Nearly all were anxious to learn. My
husband taught some also when it was convenient
for him. I was very happy to know my efforts
were successful in camp, and also felt grateful for
the appreciation of my services. I gave my
services willingly for four years and three months
without receiving a dollar. I was glad, however,
to be allowed to go with the regiment, to care for
the sick and afflicted comrades.
IN the latter part of 1862 the regiment made
an expedition into Darien, Georgia, and up the
Ridge, and on January 23, 1863, another up St.
Mary's River, capturing a number of stores for
the government; then on to Fernandina, Florida.
They were gone ten or twelve days, at the end of
which time they returned to camp.
March 10, 1863, we were ordered to Jacksonville,
Florida. Leaving Camp Saxton between
four and five o'clock, we arrived at Jacksonville
about eight o'clock next morning, accompanied
by three or four gunboats. When the rebels saw
these boats, they ran out of the city, leaving the
women behind, and we found out afterwards that
they thought we had a much larger fleet than
we really had. Our regiment was kept out of
sight until we made fast at the wharf where it
landed, and while the gunboats were shelling up
the river and as far inland as possible, the
regiment landed and marched up the street, where
they spied the rebels who had fled from the city.
They were hiding behind a house about a mile
or so away, their faces blackened to disguise
themselves as negroes, and our boys, as they
advanced toward them, halted a second, saying,
"They are black men! Let them come to us, or
we will make them know who we are." With
this, the firing was opened and several of our
men were wounded and killed. The rebels had
a number wounded and killed. It was through
this way the discovery was made that they were
white men. Our men drove them some distance
in retreat and then threw out their pickets.
While the fighting was on, a friend, Lizzie
Lancaster, and I stopped at several of the rebel
homes, and after talking with some of the women
and children we asked them if they had any food.
They claimed to have only some hard-tack, and
evidently did not care to give us anything to eat,
but this was not surprising. They were bitterly
against our people and had no mercy or
sympathy for us.
The second day, our boys were reinforced by
a regiment of white soldiers, a Maine regiment,
and by cavalry, and had quite a fight. On the
third day, Edward Herron, who was a fine gunner
on the steamer John Adams, came on shore,
bringing a small cannon, which the men pulled
along for more than five miles. This cannon
was the only piece for shelling. On coming upon
the enemy, all secured their places, and they
had a lively fight, which lasted several hours, and
our boys were nearly captured by the Confederates;
but the Union boys carried out all their
plans that day, and succeeded in driving the
enemy back. After this skirmish, every afternoon
between four and five o'clock the Confederate
General Finegan would send a flag of truce to
Colonel Higginson, warning him to send all
women and children out of the city, and threatening
to bombard it if this was not done. Our colonel
allowed all to go who wished, at first, but as
General Finegan grew more hostile and kept sending
these communications for nearly a week, Colonel
Higginson thought it not best or necessary to
send any more out of the city, and so informed
General Finegan. This angered the general,
for that night the rebels shelled directly toward
Colonel Higginson's headquarters. The shelling
was so heavy that the colonel told my captain to
have me taken up into the town to a hotel, which
was used as a hospital. As my quarters were
just in the rear of the colonel's, he was compelled
to leave his also before the night was over. I
expected every moment to be killed by a shell,
but on arriving at the hospital I knew I was
safe, for the shells could not reach us there. It
was plainly to be seen now, the ruse of the flag
of truce coming so often to us. The bearer was
evidently a spy getting the location of the
headquarters, etc., for the shells were sent too
accurately to be at random.
Next morning Colonel
Higginson took the
THOMAS WENTWORTH HIGGINSON
COLONEL FIRST SOUTH CAROLINA VOLUNTEERS
Afterwards 33d U.S.C.T.
cavalry and a regiment on another tramp after the
rebels. They were gone several days and had the
hardest fight they had had, for they wanted to go
as far as a station which was some distance from
the city. The gunboats were of little assistance
to them, yet notwithstanding this drawback our
boys returned with only a few killed and wounded,
and after this we were not troubled with General
Finegan.
We remained here a few weeks longer, when,
about April first, the regiment was ordered back
to Camp Saxton, where it stayed a week, when
the order came to go to Port Royal Ferry on
picket duty. It was a gay day for the boys. By
seven o'clock all tents were down, and each
company, with a commissary wagon, marched up the
shell road, which is a beautiful avenue ten or
twelve miles out of Beaufort. We arrived at
Seabrooke at about four o'clock, where our tents
were pitched and the men put on duty. We were
here a few weeks, when Company E was ordered
to Barnwell plantation for picket duty.
Some mornings I would go along the picket
line, and I could see the rebels on the opposite
side of the river. Sometimes as they were changing
pickets they would call over to our men and
ask for something to eat, or for tobacco, and our
men would tell them to come over. Sometimes
one or two would desert to us, saying, they "had
no negroes to fight for." Others would shoot
across at our picket, but as the river was so wide
there was never any damage done, and the
Confederates never attempted to shell us while we
were there.
I learned to handle a musket very well while
in the regiment, and could shoot straight and often
hit the target. I assisted in cleaning the guns
and used to fire them off, to see if the cartridges
were dry, before cleaning and reloading, each day.
I thought this great fun. I was also able to take
a gun all apart, and put it together again.
Between Barnwell and the mainland was Hall
Island. I went over there several times with
Sergeant King and other comrades. One night there
was a stir in camp when it was found that the
rebels were trying to cross, and next morning
Lieutenant Parker told me he thought they were
on Hall Island; so after that I did not go over
again.
While planning for the expedition up the
Edisto River, Colonel Higginson was a whole
night in the water, trying to locate the rebels and
where their picket lines were situated. About
July the boys went up the Edisto to destroy a
bridge on the Charleston and Savannah road.
This expedition was twenty or more miles into
the mainland. Colonel Higginson was wounded
in this fight and the regiment nearly captured.
The steamboat John Adams always assisted us,
carrying soldiers, provisions, etc. She carried
several guns and a good gunner, Edward Herron.
Henry Batchlott, a relative of mine, was a steward
on this boat. There were two smaller boats,
Governor Milton and the Enoch Dean, in the
fleet, as these could go up the river better than
the larger ones could. I often went aboard the
John Adams. It went with us into Jacksonville,
to Cole and Folly Island, and Gunner Herron was
always ready to send a shell at the enemy.
One night, Companies K and E, on their way
to Pocotaligo to destroy a battery that was
situated down the river, captured several prisoners.
The rebels nearly captured Sergeant King, who,
as he sprang and caught a "reb," fell over an
embankment. In falling he did not release his
hold on his prisoner. Although his hip was
severely injured, he held fast until some of his
comrades came to his aid and pulled them up. These
expeditions were very dangerous. Sometimes the
men had to go five or ten miles during the night
over on the rebel side and capture or destroy
whatever they could find.
While at Camp Shaw, there was a deserter who
came into Beaufort. He was allowed his freedom
about the city and was not molested. He
remained about the place a little while and returned
to the rebels again. On his return to Beaufort a
second time, he was held as a spy, tried, and
sentenced to death, for he was a traitor. The day
he was shot, he was placed on a hearse with his
coffin inside, a guard was placed either side of the
hearse, and he was driven through the town. All
the soldiers and people in town were out, as this
was to be a warning to the soldiers. Our regiment
was in line on dress parade. They drove
with him to the rear of our camp, where he was
shot. I shall never forget this scene.
While at Camp Shaw, Chaplain Fowler, Robert
Defoe, and several of our boys were captured
while tapping some telegraph wires. Robert
Defoe was confined in the jail at Walterborough,
S. C., for about twenty months. When Sherman's
army reached Pocotaligo he made his escape and
joined his company (Company G). He had not
been paid, as he had refused the reduced pay
offered by the government. Before we got to camp,
where the pay-rolls could be made out, he sickened
and died of small-pox, and was buried at Savannah,
never having been paid one cent for nearly
three years of service. He left no heirs and his
account was never settled.
In winter, when it was very cold, I would take
a mess-pan, put a little earth in the bottom, and
go to the cook-shed and fill it nearly full of coals,
carry it back to my tent and put another pan
over it; so when the provost guard went through
camp after taps, they would not see the light, as
it was against the rules to have a light after taps.
In this way I was heated and kept very warm.
A mess-pan is made of sheet iron, something
MAJOR H. A. WHITNEY LIEUT. J. B. WEST
HENRY BATCHLOTT STEWARD OF THE JOHN ADAMS
Page 29
like our roasting pans, only they are nearly as
large round as a peck measure, but not so deep.
We had fresh beef once in awhile, and we would
have soup, and the vegetables they put in this
soup were dried and pressed. They looked like
hops. Salt beef was our stand-by. Sometimes
the men would have what we called slap-jacks.
This was flour, made into bread and spread thin
on the bottom of the mess-pan to cook. Each
man had one of them, with a pint of tea, for his
supper, or a pint of tea and five or six hard-tack.
I often got my own meals, and would fix some
dishes for the non-commissioned officers also.
Mrs. Chamberlain, our quartermaster's wife,
was with us here. She was a beautiful woman;
I can see her pleasant face before me now, as she,
with Captain Trowbridge, would sit and converse
with me in my tent two or three hours at a time.
She was also with me on Cole Island, and I think
we were the only women with the regiment while
there. I remember well how, when she first came
into camp, Captain Trowbridge brought her to
my tent and introduced her to me. I found her
then, as she remained ever after, a lovely person,
and I always admired her cordial and friendly
ways.
Our boys would say to me sometimes "Mrs.
King, why is it you are so kind to us? you treat
us just as you do the boys in your own company."
I replied, "Well, you know, all the boys in other
companies are the same to me as those in my
Company E; you are all doing the same duty,
and I will do just the same for you." "Yes," they
would say, "we know that, because you were the
first woman we saw when we came into camp, and
you took an interest in us boys ever since we have
been here, and we are very grateful for all you do
for us."
When at Camp Shaw, I visited the hospital in
Beaufort, where I met Clara Barton. There
were a number of sick and wounded soldiers there,
and I went often to see the comrades. Miss
Barton was always very cordial toward me, and I
honored her for her devotion and care of those
men.
There was a man, John Johnson, who with his
family was taken by our regiment at Edisto.
This man afterwards worked in the hospital and
was well known to Miss Barton. I have been told
since that when she went South, in 1883, she tried
to look this man up, but learned he was dead.
His son is living in Edisto, Rev. J. J. Johnson,
and is the president of an industrial school on
that island and a very intelligent man. He was
a small child when his father and family were
captured by our regiment at Edisto.
FORT WAGNER being only a mile from our camp,
I went there two or three times a week, and
would go up on the ramparts to watch the gunners
send their shells into Charleston (which they did
every fifteen minutes), and had a full view of the
city from that point. Outside of the fort were
many skulls lying about; I have often moved them
one side out of the path. The comrades and I
would have quite a debate as to which side the
men fought on. Some thought they were the
skulls of our boys; others thought they were the
enemy's; but as there was no definite way to
know, it was never decided which could lay claim
to them. They were a gruesome sight, those
fleshless heads and grinning jaws, but by this time
I had become accustomed to worse things and did
not feel as I might have earlier in my camp life.
It seems strange how our aversion to seeing
suffering is overcome in war,-- how we are able to
see the most sickening sights, such as men with
their limbs blown off and mangled by the deadly
shells, without a shudder; and instead of turning
away, how we hurry to assist in alleviating their
pain, bind up their wounds, and press the cool
water to their parched lips, with feelings only of
sympathy and pity.
About the first of June, 1864, the regiment
was ordered to Folly Island, staying there until
the latter part of the month, when it was ordered
to Morris Island. We landed on Morris Island
between June and July, 1864. This island was
a narrow strip of sandy soil, nothing growing on
it but a few bushes and shrubs. The camp was
one mile from the boat landing, called Pawnell
Landing, and the landing one mile from Fort
Wagner.
Colonel Higginson had left us in May of this
year, on account of wounds received at Edisto.
All the men were sorry to lose him. They did
not want him to go, they loved him so. He was
kind and devoted to his men, thoughtful for their
comfort, and we missed his genial presence from
the camp.
The regiment under Colonel Trowbridge did
garrison duty, but they had troublesome times
from Fort Gregg, on James Island, for the rebels
would throw a shell over on our island every now
and then. Finally orders were received for the
boys to prepare to take Fort Gregg, each man to
take 150 rounds of cartridges, canteens of water,
hard-tack, and salt beef. This order was sent
three days prior to starting, to allow them to be
in readiness. I helped as many as I could to
pack haversacks and cartridge boxes.
The fourth day, about five o'clock in the afternoon,
the call was sounded, and I heard the first
sergeant say, "Fall in, boys, fall in," and they
were not long obeying the command. Each
company marched out of its street, in front of their
colonel's headquarters, where they rested for half
an hour, as it was not dark enough, and they did
not want the enemy to have a chance to spy their
movements. At the end of this time the line was
formed with the 103d New York (white) in the
rear, and off they started, eager to get to work.
It was quite dark by the time they reached Pawnell
Landing. I have never forgotten the good-bys
of that day, as they left camp. Colonel
Trowbridge said to me as he left, "Good-by,
Mrs. King, take care of yourself if you don't see
us again." I went with them as far as the landing,
and watched them until they got out of sight,
and then I returned to the camp. There was no
one at camp but those left on picket and a few
disabled soldiers, and one woman, a friend of
mine, Mary Shaw, and it was lonesome and sad,
now that the boys were gone, some never to
return.
Mary Shaw shared my tent that night, and we
went to bed, but not to sleep, for the fleas nearly
ate us alive. We caught a few, but it did seem,
now that the men were gone, that every flea in
camp had located my tent, and caused us to
vacate. Sleep being out of the question, we sat up
the remainder of the night.
About four o'clock, July 2, the charge was
made. The firing could be plainly heard in
camp. I hastened down to the landing and
remained there until eight o'clock that morning.
When the wounded arrived, or rather began to
arrive, the first one brought in was Samuel
Anderson of our company. He was badly wounded.
Then others of our boys, some with their legs off,
arm gone, foot off, and wounds of all kinds
imaginable. They had to wade through creeks and
marshes, as they were discovered by the enemy
and shelled very badly. A number of the men
were lost, some got fastened in the mud and had
to cut off the legs of their pants, to free
themselves. The 103d New York suffered the most,
as their men were very badly wounded.
My work now began. I gave my assistance to
try to alleviate their sufferings. I asked the doctor
at the hospital what I could get for them to
eat. They wanted soup, but that I could not get;
but I had a few cans of condensed milk and some
turtle eggs, so I thought I would try to make
some custard. I had doubts as to my success,
for cooking with turtle eggs was something new
to me, but the adage has it, "Nothing ventured,
nothing done," so I made a venture and the
result was a very delicious custard. This I carried
to the men, who enjoyed it very much. My
services were given at all times for the comfort of
these men. I was on hand to assist whenever
needed. I was enrolled as company laundress,
but I did very little of it, because I was always
busy doing other things through camp, and was
employed all the time doing something for the
officers and comrades.
After this fight, the regiment did not return
to the camp for one month. They were ordered
to Cole Island in September, where they remained
until October. About November 1, 1864, six
companies were detailed to go to Gregg Landing,
Port Royal Ferry, and the rebels in some way
found out some of our forces had been removed
and gave our boys in camp a hard time of it, for
several nights. In fact, one night it was thought
the boys would have to retreat. The colonel told
me to go down to the landing, and if they were
obliged to retreat, I could go aboard one of our
gunboats. One of the gunboats got in the rear,
and began to shell General Beauregard's force,
which helped our boys retain their possession.
About November 15, I received a letter from
Sergeant King, saying the boys were still lying
three miles from Gregg Landing and had not
had a fight yet; that the rebels were waiting on
them and they on the rebels, and each were holding
their own; also that General Sherman had
taken Fort McAllister, eight miles from Savannah.
After receiving this letter I wanted to get
to Beaufort, so I could be near to them and so
be able to get news from my husband. November
23 I got a pass for Beaufort. I arrived at Hilton
Head about three o'clock next day, but there
had been a battle, and a steamer arrived with a
number of wounded men; so I could not get a
transfer to Beaufort. The doctor wished me to
remain over until Monday. I did not want to
stay. I was anxious to get off, as I knew no one
at Hilton Head.
I must mention a pet pig we had on Cole Island.
Colonel Trowbridge brought into camp, one day,
a poor, thin little pig, which a German soldier
brought back with him on his return from a
furlough. His regiment, the 74th Pennsylvania,
was just embarking for the North, where it was
ordered to join the 10th corps, and he could not
take the pig back with him, so he gave it to our
colonel. That pig grew to be the pet of the
camp, and was the special care of the drummer
boys, who taught him many tricks; and so well
did they train him that every day at practice and
dress parade, his pigship would march out with
them, keeping perfect time with their music.
The drummers would often disturb the devotions
by riding this pig into the midst of evening praise
meeting, and many were the complaints made to
the colonel, but he was always very lenient
towards the boys, for he knew they only did this
for mischief. I shall never forget the fun we
had in camp with "Piggie."
LIEUT. ELI C. MERRIAM LIEUT. JOHN A. TROWBRIDGE
LIEUT. JAMES M. THOMPSON LIEUT. JEROME T. FURMAN
THERE was a yacht that carried passengers
from Hilton Head to Beaufort. There were also
five small boats which carried people over. The
only people here, beside the soldiers, were Mrs.
Lizzie Brown, who came over on a permit to
see her husband, who was at this place, and was
very ill (he died while she was there), Corporal
Walker's wife, with her two years old child, and
Mrs. Seabrooke. As soon as we could get the
yacht, these persons I have mentioned, together
with a comrade just discharged, an officer's boy,
and myself, took passage on it for Beaufort. It
was nearly dark before we had gone any distance,
and about eight o'clock we were cast away and
were only saved through the mercy of God. I
remember going down twice. As I rose the
second time, I caught hold of the sail and
managed to hold fast. Mrs. Walker held on to her
child with one hand, while with the other she
managed to hold fast to some part of the boat,
and we drifted and shouted as loud as we could,
trying to attract the attention of some of the
government boats which were going up and down
the river. But it was in vain, we could not make
ourselves heard, and just when we gave up all
hope, and in the last moment (as we thought)
gave one more despairing cry, we were heard at
Ladies' Island. Two boats were put off and a
search was made, to locate our distressed boat.
They found us at last, nearly dead from exposure.
In fact, the poor little baby was dead, although
her mother still held her by her clothing, with
her teeth. The soldier was drowned, having been
caught under the sail and pinned down. The
rest of us were saved. I had to be carried bodily,
as I was thoroughly exhausted. We were given
the best attention that we could get at this place
where we were picked up. The men who saved
us were surprised when they found me among the
passengers, as one of them, William Geary, of
Darien, Georgia, was a friend of my husband.
His mother lived about two miles from where we
were picked up, and she told me she had heard
cries for a long time that night, and was very
uneasy about it. Finally, she said to her son, "I
think some poor souls are cast away." "I don't
think so, mother," he replied; "I saw some people
going down the river to-day. You know this
is Christmas, and they are having a good time."
But she still persisted that these were cries of
distress, and not of joy, and begged him to go
out and see. So to satisfy her, he went outside
and listened, and then he heard them also, and
hastened to get the boats off to find us. We
were capsized about 8.15 P. M. and it was near
midnight when they found us. Next day, they
kept a sharp lookout on the beach for anything
that might be washed in from the yacht, and got
a trunk and several other things. Had the tide
been going out, we should have been carried to
sea and lost.
I was very ill and under the doctor's care for
some time, in Beaufort. The doctor said I ought
to have been rolled, as I had swallowed so much
water. In January, 1865, I went back to Cole
Island, where I could be attended by my doctor,
Dr. Miner, who did all in his power to alleviate
my suffering, for I was swollen very much. This
he reduced and I recovered, but had a severe
cough for a long time afterward.
IN October, 1864, six companies of the regiment
were ordered to Gregg Landing, S. C.
Captain L. W. Metcalf, of Co. G, was appointed
on General Saxton's staff as provost captain,
Lieutenant James B. West acting as assistant
general. As in some way our mail had been sent
over to the Confederate side and their mail to
us, Captain Metcalf and Lieutenant West were
detailed to exchange these letters under a flag of
truce. So, with an escort of six men of the
companies at Port Royal Ferry, the flag was unfurled
and the message shouted across the river to the
Confederates. Captain Metcalf asked them to
come over to our side under the protection of our
flag of truce. This the Confederates refused to
do, having for their excuse that their boat was
too far up the river and so they had no way to
cross the river to us. They asked Metcalf to
cross to them. He at once ordered his men to
"stack arms," the Confederates following suit,
and his boys in blue rowed him over, and he
delivered the message, after having introduced
himself to the rebel officers. One of these officers
CAPT. MIRON W. SAXTON CAPT. L. W. METCALF CAPT.
A. W. JACKSON CORPORAL PETER WAGGALL
was Major Jones, of Alabama, the other Lieutenant
Scott, of South Carolina. Major Jones was
very cordial to our captain, but Lieutenant Scott
would not extend his hand, and stood aside, in
sullen silence, looking as if he would like to take
revenge then and there. Major Jones said to
Captain Metcalf, "We have no one to fight for.
Should I meet you again, I shall not forget we
have met before." With this he extended his
hand to Metcalf and bade him good-by, but
Lieutenant Scott stood by and looked as cross as he
possibly could. The letters were exchanged, but
it seemed a mystery just how those letters got
mis-sent to the opposite sides. Captain Metcalf said
he did not feel a mite comfortable while he was
on the Confederate soil; as for his men, you can
imagine their thoughts. I asked them how they
felt on the other side, and they said, "We would
have felt much better if we had had our guns with
us." It was a little risky, for sometimes the flag
of truce is not regarded, but even among the
enemy there are some good and loyal persons.
Captain Metcalf is still living in Medford. He
is 71 years old, and just as loyal to the old flag
and the G. A. R. as he was from 1861 to 1866,
when he was mustered out. He was a brave
captain, a good officer, and was honored and beloved
by all in the regiment.
ON February 28, 1865, the remainder of the
regiment were ordered to Charleston, as there
were signs of the rebels evacuating that city.
Leaving Cole Island, we arrived in Charleston
between nine and ten o'clock in the morning, and
found the "rebs" had set fire to the city and fled,
leaving women and children behind to suffer and
perish in the flames. The fire had been burning
fiercely for a day and night. When we landed,
under a flag of truce, our regiment went to work
assisting the citizens in subduing the flames. It
was a terrible scene. For three or four days the
men fought the fire, saving the property and
effects of the people, yet these white men and
women could not tolerate our black Union
soldiers, for many of them had formerly been their
slaves; and although these brave men risked life
and limb to assist them in their distress, men
and even women would sneer and molest them
whenever they met them.
I had quarters assigned me at a residence on
South Battery Street, one of the most aristocratic
parts of the city, where I assisted in caring for
the sick and injured comrades. After getting the
fire under control, the regiment marched out to
the race track, where they camped until March
12, when we were ordered to Savannah, Ga.
We arrived there on the 13th, about eight o'clock
in the evening, and marched out to Fairlong, near
the A.&G. R. R., where we remained about ten
days, when we were ordered to Augusta, Ga.,
where Captain Alexander Heasley, of Co. E,
was shot and killed by a Confederate. After his
death Lieutenant Parker was made captain of the
company, and was with us until the regiment was
mustered out. He often told me about
Massachusetts, but I had no thought at that time that
I should ever see that State, and stand in the
"Cradle of Liberty."
The regiment remained in Augusta for thirty
days, when it was ordered to Hamburg, S. C., and
then on to Charleston. It was while on their
march through the country, to the latter city,
that they came in contact with the bushwhackers
(as the rebels were called), who hid in the
bushes and would shoot the Union boys every
chance they got. Other times they would conceal
themselves in the cars used to transfer our soldiers,
and when our boys, worn out and tired, would fall
asleep, these men would come out from their hiding
places and cut their throats. Several of our
men were killed in this way, but it could not be
found out who was committing these murders
until one night one of the rebels was caught in the
act, trying to cut the throat of a sleeping
soldier. He was put under guard, court-martialed,
and shot at Wall Hollow.
First Lieutenant Jerome T. Furman and a number
of soldiers were killed by these South Carolina
bushwhackers at Wall Hollow. After this man
was shot, however, the regiment marched through
unmolested to Charleston.
THE regiment, under Colonel Trowbridge,
reached Charleston in November, 1865, and
camped on the race track until January, when they
returned to Morris Island, and on February 9,
1866, the following "General Orders " were
received and the regiment mustered out.
They were delighted to go home, but oh! how
they hated to part from their commanding chief,
Colonel C. T. Trowbridge. He was the very first
officer to take charge of black soldiers. We
thought there was no one like him, for he was a
"man" among his soldiers. All in the regiment
knew him personally, and many were the jokes
he used to tell them. I shall never forget his
friendship and kindness toward me, from the first
time I met him to the end of the war. There was
never any one from the North who came into our
camp but he would bring them to see me.
While on a visit South in 1888, I met a
comrade of the regiment, who often said to me, "You
up North, Mrs. King, do you ever see Colonel
Trowbridge? How I should like to see him! I
don't see why he does not come South sometime.
Why, I would take a day off and look up all the
'boys'I could find, if I knew he was coming."
I knew this man meant what he said, for the men
of the regiment knew Colonel Trowbridge first of
all the other officers. He was with them on St.
Simon and at Camp Saxton. I remember when
the company was being formed, we wished
Captain C. T. was our captain, because most of the
men in Co. E were the men he brought with him
from St. Simon, and they were attached to him.
He was always jolly and pleasing with all. I
remember, when going into Savannah in 1865, he
said that he had been there before the war, and
told me many things I did not know about the
river. Although this was my home, I had never
been on it before. No officer in the army was
more beloved than our late lieutenant-colonel, C.
T. Trowbridge.
Copy of General Orders.]
"GENERAL ORDERS.
"HEADQUARTERS 33D U. S. C. T.,
"LATE 1ST SO. CAROLINA VOLUNTEERS,
"MORRIS ISLAND, S. C., Feb. 9, 1866.
"General Order,
"No. 1.
"COMRADES: The hour is at hand when we
must separate forever, and nothing can take from
us the pride we feel, when we look upon the
history of the 'First South Carolina Volunteers,'
the first black regiment that ever bore arms in
defense of freedom on the continent of America.
"On the 9th day of May, 1862, at which time
there were nearly four millions of your race in
bondage, sanctioned by the laws of the land and
protected by our flag,--on that day, in the face
of the floods of prejudice that well-nigh deluged
every avenue to manhood and true liberty, you
came forth to do battle for your country and
kindred.
"For long and weary months, without pay or
even the privilege of being recognized as soldiers,
you labored on, only to be disbanded and sent to
your homes without even a hope of reward, and
when our country, necessitated by the deadly
struggle with armed traitors, finally granted you
the opportunity again to come forth in defense
of the nation's life, the alacrity with which you
responded to the call gave abundant evidence of
your readiness to strike a manly blow for the
liberty of your race. And from that little band
of hopeful, trusting, and brave men who gathered
at Camp Saxton, on Port Royal Island, in the fall
of '62, amidst the terrible prejudices that
surrounded us, has grown an army of a hundred and
forty thousand black soldiers, whose valor and
heroism has won for your race a name which
will live as long as the undying pages of history
shall endure; and by whose efforts, united with
those of the white man, armed rebellion has been
conquered, the millions of bondsmen have been
emancipated, and the fundamental law of the land
has been so altered as to remove forever the
possibility of human slavery being established within
the borders of redeemed America. The flag of
our fathers, restored to its rightful significance,
now floats over every foot of our territory, from
Maine to California, and beholds only free men!
The prejudices which formerly existed against
you are well-nigh rooted out.
"Soldiers, you have done your duty and
acquitted yourselves like men who, actuated by such
ennobling motives, could not fail; and as the
result of your fidelity and obedience you have won
your freedom, and oh, how great the reward!
It seems fitting to me that the last hours of our
existence as a regiment should be passed amidst
the unmarked graves of your comrades, at Fort
Wagner. Near you rest the bones of Colonel
Shaw, buried by an enemy's hand in the same
grave with his black soldiers who fell at his side;
where in the future your children's children will
come on pilgrimages to do homage to the ashes of
those who fell in this glorious struggle.
"The flag which was presented to us by the Rev.
George B. Cheever and his congregation, of New
York city, on the 1st of January, 1863,--the day
when Lincoln's immortal proclamation of freedom
was given to the world,--and which you have
borne so nobly through the war, is now to be
rolled up forever and deposited in our nation's
capital. And while there it shall rest, with the
battles in which you have participated inscribed
upon its folds, it will be a source of pride to us
all to remember that it has never been disgraced
by a cowardly faltering in the hour of danger, or
polluted by a traitor's touch.
"Now that you are to lay aside your arms, I
adjure you, by the associations and history of the
past, and the love you bear for your liberties, to
harbor no feelings of hatred toward your former
masters, but to seek in the paths of honesty,
virtue, sobriety, and industry, and by a willing
obedience to the laws of the land, to grow up to the
full stature of American citizens. The church,
the school-house, and the right forever to be free
are now secured to you, and every prospect
before you is full of hope and encouragement. The
nation guarantees to you full protection and
justice, and will require from you in return that
respect for the laws and orderly deportment which
will prove to every one your right to all the
privileges of freemen. To the officers of the
regiment I would say, your toils are ended, your
mission is fulfilled, and we separate forever. The
fidelity, patience, and patriotism with which you
have discharged your duties to your men and
to your country entitle you to a far higher tribute
than any words of thankfulness which I can
give you from the bottom of my heart. You will
find your reward in the proud conviction that the
cause for which you have battled so nobly has
been crowned with abundant success.
"Officers and soldiers of the 33d U. S. Colored
Troops, once the First So. Carolina Volunteers,
I bid you all farewell!
"By order of
"LT. COLONEL C. T. TROWBRIDGE,
"Commanding regiment.
"E. W. HYDE,
"
1st Lieut. 33d U. S. C. T. and acting adjutant."
I have one of the original copies of these orders
still in my possession.
My dear friends! do we understand the meaning
of war? Do we know or think of that war
of '61? No, we do not, only those brave soldiers,
and those who had occasion to be in it, can realize
what it was. I can and shall never forget
that terrible war until my eyes close in death.
The scenes are just as fresh in my mind to-day as
in '61. I see now each scene,--the roll-call, the
drum tap, "lights out," the call at night when
there was danger from the enemy, the double
force of pickets, the cold and rain. How anxious
I would be, not knowing what would happen
before morning! Many times I would dress, not
sure but all would be captured. Other times I
would stand at my tent door and try to see what
was going on, because night was the time the
rebels would try to get into our lines and capture
some of the boys. It was mostly at night that
our men went out for their scouts, and often had
a hand to hand fight with the rebels, and although
our men came out sometimes with a few killed
or wounded, none of them ever were captured.
We do not, as the black race, properly appreciate
the old veterans, white or black, as we
ought to. I know what they went through,
especially those black men, for the Confederates had
no mercy on them; neither did they show any
toward the white Union soldiers. I have seen
the terrors of that war. I was the wife of one
of those men who did not get a penny for eighteen
months for their services, only their rations
and clothing.
I cannot praise General David Hunter too
highly, for he was the first man to arm the black
man, in the beginning of 1862. He had a hard
struggle to hold all the southern division, with
so few men, so he applied to Congress; but the
answer to him was, "Do not bother us," which
was very discouraging. As the general needed
more men to protect the islands and do garrison
duty, he organized two companies.
I look around now and see the comforts that
our younger generation enjoy, and think of the
blood that was shed to make these comforts
possible for them, and see how little some of them
appreciate the old soldiers. My heart burns
within me, at this want of appreciation. There
are only a few of them left now, so let us all, as
the ranks close, take a deeper interest in them.
Let the younger generation take an interest also,
and remember that it was through the efforts of
these veterans that they and we older ones enjoy
our liberty to-day.
IN 1866, the steamers which ran from Savannah
to Darien would not take colored people
unless they stayed in a certain part of the boat,
away from the white people; so some of the
colored citizens and ex-soldiers decided to form a
syndicate and buy a steamer of their own. They
finally bought a large one of a New York
company. It arrived in fine shape, apparently, and
made its first trip to Darien. The next trip was
to Beaufort. I went on this trip, as the pilot,
James Cook, was a friend of my family, and I
thought I would enjoy the trip; and I did,
getting back in safety. The next trip was to go to
Florida, but it never reached there, for on the
way down the boat ran upon St. John bar and
went entirely to pieces. They found out afterwards
that they had been swindled, as the boat
was a condemned one, and the company took
advantage of them; and as they carried no insurance
on the boat they lost all the money they had
invested in it. The best people of the city
expressed great sympathy for them in their loss, as
it promised to prove a great investment at first.
At the close of the war, my husband and I
returned to Savannah, a number of the comrades
returning at the same time. A new life was
before us now, all the old life left behind, After
getting settled, I opened a school at my home on
South Broad Street, now called Oglethorpe Avenue,
as there was not any public school for negro
children. I had twenty children at my school,
and received one dollar a month for each pupil,
I also had a few older ones who came at night.
There were several other private schools besides
mine. Mrs. Lucinda Jackson had one on the
same street I lived on.
I taught almost a year, when the Beach Institute
opened, which took a number of my scholars,
as this was a free school. On September 16, 1866,
my husband, Sergeant King, died, leaving me
soon to welcome a little stranger alone. He was
a boss carpenter, but being just mustered out of
the army, and the prejudice against his race
being still too strong to insure him much work at
his trade, he took contracts for unloading vessels,
and hired a number of men to assist him. He
was much respected by the citizens, and was a
general favorite with his associates.
In December, 1866, I was obliged to give up
teaching, but in April, 1867, I opened a school
in Liberty County, Georgia, and taught there one
year; but country life did not agree with me, so
I returned to the city, and Mrs. Susie Carrier
took charge of my school.
On my return to Savannah, I found that the
free school had taken all my former pupils, so I
opened a night school, where I taught a number
of adults. This, together with other things I
could get to do and the assistance of my brother-in-law,
supported me. I taught this school until
the fall of 1868, when a free night school opened
at the Beach Institute, and again my scholars
left me to attend this free school. So I had to
close my school. I put my baby with my mother
and entered in the employ of a family, where I
lived quite a while, but had to leave, as the work
was too hard.
In 1872 I put in a claim for my husband's
bounty and received one hundred dollars, some of
which I put in the Freedmen's Savings Bank. In
the fall of 1872 I went to work for a very wealthy
lady, Mrs. Charles Green, as laundress. In
the spring of 1873, Mr. and Mrs. Green came North
to Rye Beach for the summer, and as their cook
did not care to go so far from home, I went with
them in her place. While there, I won a prize
for excellent cooking at a fair which the ladies
who were summering there had held to raise
funds to build an Episcopal Church, and Mrs.
Green was one of the energetic workers to make
this fair a success; and it was a success in every
respect and a tidy sum was netted.
I returned South with Mrs. Green, and soon
after, she went to Europe. I returned to Boston
again in 1874, through the kindness of Mrs.
Barnard, a daughter of ex-Mayor Otis of Boston.
She was accompanied by her husband, Mr. James
Barnard (who was an agent for the line of
steamers), her six children, the nurse, and
myself. We left Savannah on the steamship Seminole,
under Captain Matthews, and when we had
passed Hatteras some distance, she broke her
shaft. The captain had the sails hoisted and we
drifted along, there being a stiff breeze, which
was greatly in our favor. Captain Matthews said
the nearest point he could make was Cape Henry
Light. About noon, Mr. Barnard spied the light
and told the captain if he would give him a boat
and some of the crew, he would row to the light
for help. This was done, the boat was manned
and they put off. They made the light, then
they made for Norfolk, which was eight miles from
the light, and did not reach the city until eight
o'clock that night.
Next morning he returned with a tug, to tow
us into Norfolk for repairs; but the tug was too
small to move the steamer, so it went back for
more help, but before it returned, a Norfolk
steamer, on its way to Boston, stopped to see what
was the matter with our steamer. Our trouble
was explained to them, and almost all the passengers
were transferred to this steamer. Mr.
Barnard remained on the steamer, and Mrs. Barnard
deciding to remain with him, I went aboard this
other steamer with the rest of the passengers.
We left them at anchor, waiting for the tugs to
return.
This accident brought back very vividly the
time previous to this, when I was in that other
wreck in 1864, and I wondered if they would
reach port safe, for it is a terrible thing to be cast
away; but on arriving in Boston, about two days
later, I was delighted to hear of the arrival of
their steamer at T Wharf, with all on board safe.
Soon after I got to Boston, I entered the
service of Mr. Thomas Smith's family, on Walnut
Avenue, Boston Highlands, where I remained
until the death of Mrs. Smith. I next lived with
Mrs. Gorham Gray, Beacon Street, where I
remained until I was married, in 1879, to Russell
L. Taylor.
In 1880 I had another experience in steamer
accidents. Mr. Taylor and I started for New
York on the steamer Stonington. We were in
bed when, sometime in the night, the Narragansett
collided with our boat. I was awakened by the
crash. I was in the ladies' cabin. There were
about thirty-five or forty others in the cabin. I
sprang out of my berth, dressed as quickly as I
could, and tried to reach the deck, but we found
the cabin door locked, and two men stood outside
and would not let us out. About twenty minutes
after, they opened the doors and we went up on
deck, and a terrible scene was before us. The
Narragansett was on fire, in a bright blaze; the
water was lighted as far as one could see, the
passengers shrieking, groaning, running about, leaping
into the water, panic-stricken. A steamer
came to our assistance; they put the life-rafts off
and saved a great many from the burning steamer,
and picked a number up from the water. A
colored man saved his wife and child by giving each
a chair and having them jump overboard. These
chairs kept them afloat until they were taken
aboard by the life-raft. The steamer was burned
to the water's edge. The passengers on board
our steamer were transferred to another one and
got to New York at 9.30 the next morning. A
number of lives were lost in this accident, and
the bow of the Stonington was badly damaged.
I was thankful for my escape, for I had been in
two similar experiences and got off safely, and I
have come to the conclusion I shall never have a
watery grave.
ALL this time my interest in the boys in blue
had not abated. I was still loyal and true,
whether they were black or white. My hands
have never left undone anything they could do
towards their aid and comfort in the twilight of
their lives. In 1886 I helped to organize Corps
67, Women's Relief Corps, auxiliary to the G. A.
R., and it is a very flourishing corps to-day. I
have been Guard, Secretary, Treasurer for three
years, and in 1893 I was made President of this
corps, Mrs. Emily Clark being Department President
this year. In 1896, in response to an order
sent out by the Department W. R. C. to take a
census to secure a complete roster of the Union
Veterans of the war of the Rebellion now residing
in Massachusetts, I was allotted the West
End district, which (with the assistance of Mrs.
Lizzie L. Johnson, a member of Corps 67, and
widow of a soldier of the 54th Mass. Volunteers)
I canvassed with splendid success, and found a
great many comrades who were not attached to
any post in the city or State.
gave a grand fair at Music Hall. I made a large
quilt of red, white, and blue ribbon that made
quite a sensation. The quilt was voted for and
was awarded to the Department President, Mrs.
E. L. W. Waterman, of Boston.
LIVING here in Boston where the black man is
given equal justice, I must say a word on the
general treatment of my race, both in the North and
South, in this twentieth century. I wonder if our
white fellow men realize the true sense or meaning
of brotherhood? For two hundred years we
had toiled for them; the war of 1861 came and
was ended, and we thought our race was forever
freed from bondage, and that the two races could
live in unity with each other, but when we read
almost every day of what is being done to my race
by some whites in the South, I sometimes ask,
"Was the war in vain? Has it brought freedom,
in the full sense of the word, or has it not made
our condition more hopeless?"
In this "land of the free" we are burned,
tortured, and denied a fair trial, murdered for any
imaginary wrong conceived in the brain of the
negro-hating white man. There is no redress for
us from a government which promised to protect
all under its flag. It seems a mystery to me.
They say, "One flag, one nation, one country
indivisible." Is this true? Can we say this truthfully,
when one race is allowed to burn, hang, and
inflict the most horrible torture weekly, monthly,
on another? No, we cannot sing "My country,
'tis of thee, Sweet land of Liberty"! It is hollow
mockery. The Southland laws are all on the side
of the white, and they do just as they like to the
negro, whether in the right or not.
I do not uphold my race when they do wrong.
They ought to be punished, but the innocent are
made to suffer as well as the guilty, and I hope
the time will hasten when it will be stopped
forever. Let us remember God says, "He that sheds
blood, his blood shall be required again." I may
not live to see it, but the time is approaching when
the South will again have cause to repent for the
blood it has shed of innocent black men, for their
blood cries out for vengeance. For the South still
cherishes a hatred toward the blacks, although
there are some true Southern gentlemen left who
abhor the stigma brought upon them, and feel it
very keenly, and I hope the day is not far
distant when the two races will reside in peace in
the Southland, and we will sing with sincere and
truthful hearts, "My country, 't is of thee, Sweet
land of Liberty, of thee I sing."
I have been in many States and cities, and in
each I have looked for liberty and justice, equal
for the black as for the white; but it was not
until I was within the borders of New England,
and reached old Massachusetts, that I found it.
Here is found liberty in the full sense of the
word, liberty for the stranger within her gates,
irrespective of race or creed, liberty and justice
for all.
We have before us still another problem to
solve. With the close of the Spanish war, and
on the entrance of the Americans into Cuba, the
same conditions confront us as the war of 1861
left. The Cubans are free, but it is a limited
freedom, for prejudice, deep-rooted, has been
brought to them and a separation made between
the white and black Cubans, a thing that had
never existed between them before; but to-day
there is the same intense hatred toward the
negro in Cuba that there is in some parts of this
country.
I helped to furnish and pack boxes to be sent
to the soldiers and hospitals during the first part
of the Spanish war; there were black soldiers
there too. At the battle of San Juan Hill, they
were in the front, just as brave, loyal, and true
as those other black men who fought for freedom
and the right; and yet their bravery and
faithfulness were reluctantly acknowledged, and
praise grudgingly given. All we ask for is
"equal justice," the same that is accorded to all
other races who come to this country, of their
free will (not forced to, as we were), and are
allowed to enjoy every privilege, unrestricted,
while we are denied what is rightfully our own
in a country which the labor of our forefathers
helped to make what it is.
One thing I have noticed among my people in
the South: they have accumulated a large amount
of real estate, far surpassing the colored owners
in the North, who seem to let their opportunity
slip by them. Nearly all of Brownsville (a suburb
of Savannah) is owned by colored people,
and so it is in a great many other places throughout
the State, and all that is needed is the
protection of the law as citizens.
In 1867, soon after the death of my father,
who had served on a gunboat during the war,
my mother opened a grocery store, where she
kept general merchandise always on hand. These
she traded for cash or would exchange for crops
of cotton, corn, or rice, which she would ship once
a month, to F. Lloyd&Co., or Johnson&
Jackson, in Savannah. These were colored
merchants, doing business on Bay Street in that city.
Mother bought her first property, which contained
ten acres. She next purchased fifty acres of land.
Then she had a chance to get a place with seven
hundred acres of land, and she bought this.
In 1870, Colonel Hamilton and Major Devendorft,
of Oswego, N. Y., came to the town and
bought up a tract of land at a place called
Doctortown, and started a mill. Mrs. Devendorft
heard of my mother and went to see her, and
persuaded her to come to live with her, assuring her
she would be as one of the family. Mother went
with her, but after a few months she went to
Doctortown, where she has been since, and now
owns the largest settlement there. All trains
going to Florida pass her place, just across the
Altamaha River. She is well known by both
white and black; the people are fond of her, and
will not allow any one to harm her.
Mr. Devendorft sold out his place in 1880 and
went back to New York, where later he died.
I read an article, which said the ex-Confederate
Daughters had sent a petition to the managers
of the local theatres in Tennessee to prohibit
the performance of "Uncle Tom's Cabin," claiming
it was exaggerated (that is, the treatment of
the slaves), and would have a very bad effect on
the children who might see the drama. I paused
and thought back a few years of the heart-rending
scenes I have witnessed; I have seen many
times, when I was a mere girl, thirty or forty
men, handcuffed, and as many women and
children, come every first Tuesday of each month
from Mr. Wiley's trade office to the auction
blocks, one of them being situated on Drayton
Street and Court Lane, the other on Bryant
Street, near the Pulaski House. The route was
down our principal street, Bull Street, to the
courthouse, which was only a block from where
I resided.
from the city pumps, which stood about a block
apart throughout the city. The one we used to
get water from was opposite the court-house, on
Bull Street. I remember, as if it were yesterday,
seeing droves of negroes going to be sold, and I
often went to look at them, and I could hear the
auctioneer very plainly from my house, auctioning
these poor people off.
Do these Confederate Daughters ever send
petitions to prohibit the atrocious lynchings and
wholesale murdering and torture of the negro?
Do you ever hear of them fearing this would have
a bad effect on the children? Which of these
two, the drama or the present state of affairs,
makes a degrading impression upon the minds of
our young generation? In my opinion it is not
"Uncle Tom's Cabin," but it should be the one
that has caused the world to cry "Shame!"
It does not seem as if our land is yet civilized.
It is like times long past, when rulers and high
officers had to flee for their lives, and the negro
has been dealt with in the same way since the
war by those he lived with and toiled for two
hundred years or more. I do not condemn all
the Caucasian race because the negro is badly
treated by a few of the race. No! for had it not
been for the true whites, assisted by God and the
prayers of our forefathers, I should not be here
to-day.
Why, there are still thousands that have not
bowed to Baal. So it is with us. Man thinks two
hundred years is a long time, and it is, too; but
it is only as a week to God, and in his own time
--I know I shall not live to see the day, but it
will come--the South will be like the North, and
when it comes it will be prized higher than we
prize the North to-day. God is just; when he
created man he made him in his image, and never
intended one should misuse the other. All men
are born free and equal in his sight.
I am pleased to know at this writing that the
officers and comrades of my regiment stand ready
to render me assistance whenever required. It
seems like "bread cast upon the water," and it has
returned after many days, when it is most needed.
I have received letters from some of the
comrades, since we parted in 1866, with expressions
of gratitude and thanks to me for teaching them
their first letters. One of them, Peter Waggall,
is a minister in Jacksonville, Fla. Another is
in the government service at Washington, D. C.
Others are in Darien and Savannah, Ga., and
all are doing well.
There are many people who do not know what
some of the colored women did during the war.
There were hundreds of them who assisted the
Union soldiers by hiding them and helping them
to escape. Many were punished for taking food
to the prison stockades for the prisoners. When I
went into Savannah, in 1805, I was told of one of
these stockades which was in the suburbs of the
city, and they said it was an awful place. The
Union soldiers were in it, worse than pigs, without
any shelter from sun or storm, and the colored
women would take food there at night and pass it
to them, through the holes in the fence. The
soldiers were starving, and these women did all they
could towards relieving those men, although they
knew the penalty, should they be caught giving
them aid. Others assisted in various ways the
Union army. These things should be kept in
history before the people. There has never been
a greater war in the United States than the one
of 1861, where so many lives were lost,--not men
alone but noble women as well.
Let us not forget that terrible war, or our
brave soldiers who were thrown into Andersonville
and Libby prisons, the awful agony they
went through, and the most brutal treatment they
received in those loathsome dens, the worst ever
given human beings; and if the white soldiers
were subjected to such treatment, what must have
been the horrors inflicted on the negro soldiers
in their prison pens? Can we forget those cruelties?
No, though we try to forgive and say,
"No North, no South," and hope to see it in reality
before the last comrade passes away.
THE inevitable always happens. On February
3, 1898, I was called to Shreveport, La., to
the bedside of my son, who was very ill. He
was traveling with Nickens and Company, with
"The Lion's Bride," when he fell ill, and had
been ill two weeks when they sent to me. I tried
to have him brought home to Boston, but they
could not send him, as he was not able to sit and
ride this long distance; so on the sixth of
February I left Boston to go to him. I reached
Cincinnati on the eighth, where I took the train for
the south. I asked a white man standing near
(before I got my train) what car I should take.
"Take that one," he said, pointing to one. "But
that is a smoking car!" "Well," he replied,
"that is the car for colored people." I went to this
car, and on entering it all my courage failed me. I
have ridden in many coaches, but I was never in
such as these. I wanted to return home again, but
when I thought of my sick boy I said, "Well,
others ride in these cars and I must do likewise,"
and tried to be resigned, for I wanted to reach
my boy, as I did not know whether I should find
him alive. I arrived in Chattanooga at eight
o'clock in the evening, where the porter took my
baggage to the train which was to leave for
Marion, Miss. Soon after I was seated, just
before the train pulled out, two tall men with
slouch hats on walked through the car, and on
through the train. Finally they came back to
our car and stopping at my seat said, "Where
are those men who were with you?" I did not
know to whom they were speaking, as there was
another woman in the car, so I made no reply.
Again they asked me, standing directly in front
of my seat, "Where are those men who came
in with you?" "Are you speaking to me?" I
said. "Yes!" they said. "I have not seen any
men," I replied. They looked at me a moment,
and one of them asked where I was from. I
told him Boston; he hesitated a minute and
walked out of our car to the other car.
When the conductor came around I told him
what these men had said, and asked him if they
allowed persons to enter the car and insult
passengers. He only smiled. Later, when the porter
came in, I mentioned it to him. He said, "Lady,
I see you do not belong here; where are you
from?" I told him. He said, "I have often heard
of Massachusetts. I want to see that place."
"Yes!" I said, "you can ride there on the cars,
and no person would be allowed to speak to you
as those men did to me." He explained that those
men were constables, who were in search of a
man who had eloped with another man's wife.
"That is the way they do here. Each morning
you can hear of some negro being lynched;" and
on seeing my surprise, he said, "Oh, that is
nothing; it is done all the time. We have no rights
here. I have been on this road for fifteen years
and have seen some terrible things." He wanted
to know what I was doing down there, and I told
him it was only the illness of my son that brought
me there.
I was a little surprised at the way the poor
whites were made to ride on this road. They put
them all together by themselves in a car, between
the colored people's coach and the first-class coach,
and it looked like the "laborers' car" used in
Boston to carry the different day laborers to and
from their work.
I got to Marion, Miss., at two o'clock in the
morning, arrived at Vicksburg at noon, and at
Shreveport about eight o'clock in the evening,
and found my son just recovering from a severe
hemorrhage. He was very anxious to come home,
and I tried to secure a berth for him on a sleeper,
but they would not sell me one, and he was not
strong enough to travel otherwise. If I could only
have gotten him to Cincinnati, I might have
brought him home, but as I could not I was forced
to let him remain where he was. It seemed very
hard, when his father fought to protect the Union
and our flag, and yet his boy was denied, under this
same flag, a berth to carry him home to die,
because he was a negro.
Shreveport is a little town, made, up largely of
Jews and Germans find a few Southerners, the
negroes being in the majority. Its sidewalks are
sand except on the main street. Almost all the
stores are kept either by the Jews or Germans.
They know a stranger in a minute, as the town is
small and the citizens know each other; if not
personally, their faces are familiar.
I went into a jewelry store one day to have a
crystal put in my watch, and the attendant
remarked, "You are a stranger." I asked him
how he knew that. He said he had watched me
for a week or so. I told him yes, I was a stranger
and from Boston. "Oh! I have heard of
Boston," he said. "You will not find this place like
it is there. How do you like this town?" "Not
very well," I replied.
I found that the people who had lived in
Massachusetts and were settled in Shreveport were
very cordial to me and glad to see me. There
was a man murdered in cold blood for nothing.
He was a colored man and a "porter" in a store
in this town. A clerk had left his umbrella at
home. It had begun to rain when he started for
home, and on looking for the umbrella he could
not, of course, find it. He asked the porter if he
had seen it. He said no, he had not. "You
answer very saucy," said the clerk, and drawing
his revolver, he shot the colored man dead. He
was taken up the street to an office where he was
placed under one thousand dollars bond for his
appearance and released, and that was the end of
the case. I was surprised at this, but I was told
by several white and colored persons that this was
a common occurrence, and the persons were never
punished if they were white, but no mercy was
shown to negroes.
I met several comrades, white and colored, there,
and noticed that the colored comrades did not
wear their buttons. I asked one of them why this
was, and was told, should they wear it, they could
not get work. Still some would wear their
buttons in spite of the feeling against it. I met a
newsman from New York on the train. He was
a veteran, and said that Sherman ought to come
back and go into that part of the country.
Shreveport is a horrid place when it rains.
The earth is red and sticks to your shoes, and it
is impossible to keep rubbers on, for the mud pulls
them off. Going across the Mississippi River, I
was amazed to see how the houses were built, so
close to the shore, or else on low land; and when
the river rises, it flows into these houses and must
make it very disagreeable and unhealthy for the
inmates.
After the death of my son, while on my way
back to Boston, I came to Clarksdale, one of the
stations on the road from Vicksburg. In this
town a Mr. Hancock, of New York, had a large
cotton plantation, and the Chinese intermarry
with the blacks.
At Clarksdale, I saw a man hanged. It was a
terrible sight, and I felt alarmed for my own
safety down there. When I reached Memphis I
found conditions of travel much better. The people
were mostly Western and Northern here; the
cars were nice, but separate for colored persons
until we reached the Ohio River, when the door
was opened and the porter passed through, saying,
"The Ohio River! change to the other car."
I thought, "What does he mean? We have been
riding all this distance in separate cars, and now
we are all to sit together." It certainly seemed
a peculiar arrangement. Why not let the
negroes, if their appearance and respectability
warrant it, be allowed to ride as they do in the North,
East, or West?
There are others beside the blacks, in the South
and North, that should be put in separate cars
while traveling, just as they put my race. Many
black people in the South do not wish to be
thrown into a car because all are colored, as there
are many of their race very objectionable to them,
being of an entirely different class; but they have
to adapt themselves to the circumstances and
ride with them, because they are all negroes.
There is no such division with the whites. Except
in one place I saw, the workingman and the
millionaire ride in the same coaches together. Why
not allow the respectable, law-abiding classes of
the blacks the same privilege? We hope for
better conditions in the future, and feel sure
they will come in time, surely if slowly.
While in Shreveport, I visited ex-Senator
Harper's house. He is a colored man and owns
a large business block, besides a fine residence
on Cado Street and several good building lots.
Another family, the Pages, living on the same
street, were quite wealthy, and a large number
of colored families owned their homes, and were
industrious, refined people; and if they were only
allowed justice, the South would be the only place
for our people to live.
We are similar to the children of Israel, who,
after many weary years in bondage, were led
into that land of promise, there to thrive and
be forever free from persecution; and I don't
despair, for the Book which is our guide through
life declares, "Ethiopia shall stretch forth her
hand."
What a wonderful revolution! In 1861 the
Southern papers were full of advertisements for
"slaves," but now, despite all the hindrances
and "race problems," my people are striving to
attain the full standard of all other races born
free in the sight of God, and in a number of
instances have succeeded. Justice we ask,--to be
citizens of these United States, where so many of
our people have shed their blood with their white
comrades, that the stars and stripes should never
be polluted.
| Buy DocSouth Books
