University of Virginia Library

2. PART II
THE UNDERGROUND RAIL
ROAD AND THE CONTRABAND

12. On the Underground Railroad
By LEVI COFFIN (1850)

THE fugitives generally arrived in the night, and were secreted among the friendly colored people or hidden in the upper room of our house. They came alone or in companies, and in a few instances had a white guide to direct them.

One company of twenty-eight that crossed the Ohio River at Lawrenceburg, Indiana—twenty miles below Cincinnati-had for conductor a white man whom they had employed to assist them. The company of twenty-eight slaves referred to, all lived in the same neighborhood in Kentucky, and had been planning for some time how they could make their escape from slavery. This white man— John Fairfield— had been in the neighborhood for some weeks buying poultry, etc., for market, and though among the whites he assumed to be very pro-slavery, the negroes soon found that he was their friend.

He was engaged by the slaves to help them across the Ohio River and conduct them to Cincinnati. They paid him some money which they had managed

to accumulate. The amount was small, considering he risk the conductor assumed, but it was all they had. Several of the men had their wives with them, and one woman a little child with her, a few months old. John Fairfield conducted the party to the Ohio River opposite the mouth of the Big Miami, where he knew there were several skiffs tied to the bank, near a wood-yard. The entire party crowded into three large skiffs or yawls, and made their way slowly across the river. The boats were overloaded and sank so deep that the passage was made in much peril. The boat John Fairfield was in was leaky, and began to sink when a few rods from the Ohio bank, and he sprang out on the sand-bar, where the water was two or three feet deep, and tried to drag the boat to the shore. He sank to his waist in mud and quicksands, and had to be pulled out by some of the negroes. The entire party waded out through mud and water and reached the shore safely, though all were wet, and several lost their shoes. They hastened along the bank toward Cincinnati, but it was now late in the night and daylight appeared before they reached the city.

Their plight was a most pitiable one. They were cold, hungry, and exhausted; those who had lost their shoes in the mud suffered from bruised and lacerated feet, while to add to their discomfort a drizzling rain fell during the latter part of the night. They could not enter the city for their appearance would at once proclaim them to be fugitives. When they reached the outskirts of the city, below Mill Creek, John Fairfield hid them as well as be could, in ravines that had been washed in the sides of the steep hills, and told them not to move until he returned.

He then went directly to John Hatfield, a worthy colored man, a deacon in the Zion Baptist church, and told his story. He had applied to Hatfield before, and knew him to be a great friend to the fugitives-one who had often sheltered them under his roof and aided them in every way he could. When he arrived, wet and muddy, at John Hatfield's house, he was scarcely recognized. He soon made himself

A STATION ON THE UNDERGROUND RAILROAD.

[Description: Illustration of a station or house used to shelter runaway slaves.]

and his errand known, and Hatfield at once sent a messenger to me, requesting me to come to his house without delay, as there were fugitives in danger. I went at once and met several prominent colored men who had also been summoned. While dry clothes and a warm breakfast were furnished to John Fairfield, we anxiously discussed the situation of the twenty-eight fugitives who were lying, hungry and shivering, in the hills in sight of the city.

Several plans were suggested, but none seemed practicable. At last I suggested that some one should go immediately to a certain German livery stable in the city and hire two coaches, and that several colored men should go out in buggies and take the women and children from their hiding-places, then that the coaches and buggies should form a procession as if going to a funeral, and march solemnly along the road leading to Cumminsville, on the west side of Mill Creek. In the western part of Cumminsville was the Methodist Episcopal burying-,g-round, where a certain lot of ground had been set apart for the use of the colored people. They should pass this and continue on the Colerain pike till they reached a right-hand road leading to College Hill. At the latter place they would find a few colored families, living in the outskirts of the village, and could take refuge among them. Jonathan Cable, a Presbyterian minister, who lived near Farmer's College, on the west side of the village, was a prominent abolitionist, and I knew that he would give prompt assistance to the fugitives.

I advised that one of the buggies should leave the procession at Cumminsville, after passing the burying-ground, and hasten to College Hill to apprise friend Cable of the coming of the fugitives, that he might make arrangements for their reception in suitable places. My suggestions and advice were agreed to, and acted upon as quickly as possible.

While the carriages and buggies were being pro-cured, John Hatfield's wife and daughter, and other colored women of the neighborhood, busied themselves in preparing provisions to be sent to the fugitives. A large stone jug was filled with hot coffee,

and this, together with a supply of bread and other provisions, was placed in a buggy and sent on ahead of the carriages, that the hungry fugitives might receive some nourishment before starting. The conductor of the party, accompanied by John Hatfield, went in the buggy, in order to apprise the fugitives of the arrangements that had been made, and have them in readiness to approach the road as soon as the carriages arrived. Several blankets were provided to wrap around the women and children, whom we knew must be chilled by their exposure to the rain and cold. The fugitives were very glad to get the supply of food; the hot coffee especially was a great treat to them, and much revived them. About the time they finished their breakfast the carriages and buggies drove up and halted in the road, and the fugitives were quickly conducted to them and placed inside. The women in the tight carriages wrapped themselves in the blankets, and the woman who had a young babe muffled it closely to keep it warm, and to prevent its cries from being heard. The little thing seemed to be suffering much pain, having been exposed so long to the rain and cold.

All the arrangements were carried out, and the party reached College Hill in safety, and were kindly received and cared for.

When it was known by some of the prominent ladies of the village that a large company of fugitives were in the neighborhood, they met together to prepare some clothing for them. Jonathan Cable ascertained the number and size of the shoes needed, and the clothes required to fit the fugitives for traveling, and came down in his carriage to my house, knowing that the Anti-Slavery Sewing Society had

their depository there. I went with him to purchase ere needed, and my wife selected all the shoes that w the clothing we had that was suitable for the occasion; the rest was furnished by the noble women of College Hill.

I requested friend Cable to keep the fugitives as secluded as possible until a way could be provided for safely forwarding them on their way to Canada. Friend Cable was a stockholder in the Underground Railroad, and—*e consulted together about the best route, finally deciding on the line by way of Hamilton, West Elkton, Eaton, Paris and Newport, Indiana. I wrote to one of my particular friends at West Elkton, informing him that I had some valuable stock on hand which I wished to forward to Newport, and requested him to send three two-horse wagons-covered-to College Hill, where the stock was resting, in charge of Jonathan Cable.

The three wagons arrived promptly at the time mentioned, and a little after dark took in the party, together with another fugitive, who bad arrived the night before, and whom we added to the company. They went through to West Elkton safely that night, and the next night reached Newport, Indiana. With little delay they were forwarded on from station to station through Indiana and Michigan to Detroit, having fresh teams and conductors each night, and resting during the day. I had letters from different stations, as they progressed, giving accounts of the arrival and departure of the train, and I also heard of their safe arrival on the Canada shore.

13. "Zeke is Free"
By REV. WILLIAM M. MITCHELL (1850)

SOME years ago slavery existed in Delaware, and running away was then as much practised as it is now; many of the fugitives got to Philadelphia. A certain Godwin was in the habit of buying these runaway slaves "running "—that is, he paid the master a small sum, and took the chance of catching—them; of course, if he did not find them, he lost his money; but if he did get them the slaves were his and he could sell them at a large profit. In this way Godwin once purchased a slave named Ezekiel, commonly called Zeke.

Godwin came to Philadelphia and had the coolness to call on Isaac T. Hopper, a strong Quaker Abolitionist, for information as to the whereabouts of Zeke. While talking with Mr. Hopper, up came a black man, who paid close attention to the conversation. "How do you do, Mr. Godwin,"said he; "don't you know me ? Don't you remember a man that lived near your neighbor, Mr. Wilson? "continued he. "I am that man and I am Zeke's brother."The speculator inquired if he knew where his brother was.

"Oh, yes, Mr. Godwin, but I am sorry you have bought Zeke; you'll never make anything of him."

"Why, what is the matter with Zeke?"

"When such fellows as my brother come to Philadelphia, they get into bad company; they are afraid to be seen about in the day, and they go prowling about at night. I'm sorry you have bought Zeke; he is just such a character, though he is my brother."

Godwin, thinking it was rather a bad case, said, Suppose you buy Zeke?"

I should have to take care of him if I did,"replied the black man. "Suppose, however, I should think of buying him, what would you take for him?"

The trader asked one hundred and fifty dollars, which the black man most decidedly refused to give. When the trader came down to sixty dollars the black man went out and soon returned with the money.

Mr. Hopper drew up the deed of purchase, and when duly signed the black man said, "Zeke is free!"

"Yes,"said Mr. Godwin.

Not quite believing the trader, the man turned to Mr. Hopper saying, "Zeke is free, nobody can take him, can they, Mr. Hopper?"

Mr. Hopper replied, "Wherever Zeke is, I assure thee, he is free."

Thus assured, the negro made a low bow towards the ground, and with a droll expression of countenance, said, "I hope you are well, Mr. Godwin; I am happy to see you, sir. I am Zeke!"

The trader seized Zeke by the collar, and began to threaten and abuse him, whereupon the purchaser said quickly: "If you don't let go, Mr. Godwin, I'll knock you down; I am a free citizen of these United States, and won't be insulted in this way by anybody."

Zeke Was taken before a magistrate, who listened to the particulars and said to Godwin, "Zeke is as free as any one in this room, and you have been outwitted."

14. The Ways of Fugitives
By REV. JAMES FREEMAN CLARKE (1850)

THERE were many people in the slave states, even slave holders, who were willing to secrete fugitives if paid enough for doing it. This I learned from a colored

woman who was famous for having got off many fugitives from the South. She helped so many hundreds to escape that they called her "Moses."She once passed an evening at my house and gave us an account of her methods. She said she first obtained enough money, then went to Maryland, where she privately collected a party of slaves and got them ready to start. She first satisfied herself that they had enough courage and firmness to run the risks. She next made arrangements so that they should set out on Saturday night, as there would be no opportunity on Sunday for advertising them, and they would thus have that day's start on their way north. Then she had places prepared where she knew she could be sure that they could be protected and taken care of, if she had the money to pay for that protection.

When she was at the North she tried to raise funds until she got a certain amount, and then went south to carry out this plan. She always paid some colored man to follow after the person who put up the posters advertising the runaways, and pull them down as fast as they were put up, so that about five minutes after each was up it was taken away. She seemed to have indomitable courage herself, and a great deal of prudence.

She told me that once when in Baltimore, she found a negro cook, a Woman who had suffered very much, who had had her children taken from her and sold, and who was determined to escape. She wanted Moses to help her. Moses replied, "If you are willing to come with me, I will take you across the Delaware."So they went upon a steamer which was to sail from Baltimore to Delaware.

When they were aboard she told the woman to stay in one part of the boat, by one of the outside guards, and she herself went to the clerk and asked

for two tickets to the place she wished to go. He looked at her and said, "I do not know whether we can let you have them. You will have to wait a little while."

She went back very much alarmed. She knew that if there was any investigation made it would be found that this woman was a slave, and she would be seized. She went and sat down by the side of the woman, and the woman said, softly, "Have you got the tickets ? "Moses made no reply. "I looked straight at the water,"she said, "and a great darkness came over me. All at once everything brightened again, and I saw a great light which glowed all over the river. 'Yes, I have got them now, I am sure of it,' I replied."

After a little while the clerk came to her and said, 11 Here, Aunty, are your tickets,"and she succeeded in escaping with the woman through Delaware to New Jersey.

Ellen Crafts was a very light mulatto woman, who would easily pass for white. She was nurse in a family in South Carolina, and did not think of escaping. She was married to a man darker than herself. But on one occasion her mistress intended to go North, and wanted to take this colored nurse. Ellen Crafts had a little babe of her own. She was expecting to take her infant with her, till her mistress said, "You don't think that I am going to have that child with me. No, indeed."So the little babe was left behind, and died during its mother's absence.

When Ellen got home she made up her mind to escape. It took her a good while to make her plans. At last she determined to disguise herself as a young

Southern gentleman and take her husband as a body servant. In order that it might not be seen that she had no beard she professed to have great suffering from her teeth, and had a poultice put round her face. In order that she might not be asked to write she put her right arm in a sling, as though an injury had befallen it. So they got off together one morning.

They reached Baltimore safely, although she noticed in the train a gentleman who bad often seen her at her master's house. When she got to Baltimore she had to meet the difficulty of getting out of a slave state into a free one, for which a special pass for her servant was necessary. She had none of course, but she assumed the haughty airs of a Southerner, and when they declined to give her a ticket for her servant, she said, "Why, what can I do? You see my arm; you see my face in this condition! I must have him to take care of me."So by perseverance she succeeded, and they arrived finally in Boston.

The master of William Crafts heard that he was in Boston, and sent on papers to have him arrested under the fugitive slave law. It was understood that he was to be arrested, and he was prepared to defend himself. He said he would kill the United States marshal if he attempted to arrest him.

Then it was arranged that he should be taken to the house of Ellis Gray Loring at Brookline, Mass. Mr. Loring happened to be away, and the honorable nature of Crafts was seen when he found that Mr. Loring was not at home. He asked to see Mrs. Loring, and said to her, "I cannot stay when your husband is away.""Oh,"said Mrs. Loring, "Nothing would

suit him better than to have you stay.""' That may be so,"said Crafts, 11 but he does not know that I am here, and if anything bad happens to you or to him, I shall feel that I have done, very wrong."It was with difficulty that he was at last persuaded by Mrs. Loring to remain.

15. The Rescue of Jerry
BY REV. SAMUEL JOSEPH MAY (1850

AT the meeting on the 12th of October, 1850, we commenced an association to co-operate and to bear, one another's burdens in defence of any among us who should be arrested as slaves. Many came into our agreement. We fixed upon a rendezvous, and agreed that any one of our number, who might know or hear of a person in danger, should toll the bell of an adjoining meeting-house in a particular manner, and that, on hearing that signal, we would all repair at once to the spot, ready to do and to dare whatever might seem to be necessary.

On the first day of October, 1851, a real and, as it proved to be, a signal case was given us. just as I was about to rise from my dinner on that day I heard the signal-bell, and hurried towards the appointed place, nearly a mile from my home. But I had not gone half-way before I met the report that Jerry McHenry had been claimed as a slave, arrested by the police, and taken to the office of the Commissioner. So I turned my steps thither. The nearer I got to the place, the more persons I met, all excited, many of them infuriated by the thought that a man among us was to be carried away into slavery.

Jerry was an athletic mulatto, who had been residing in Syracuse for a number of years, and working quite expertly, it was said, as a cooper. I found him in the presence of the Commissioner with the District Attorney, who was conducting the trial,— a one-sided process, in which the agent of the claimant alone was to be heard in proof, that the prisoner was an escaped slave, belonging to a Mr. Reynolds, of Missouri. The doomed man was not to be allowed to state his own case, nor refute the testimony of his adversary, however false it might be. While we were attending to the novel proceedings, Jerry, not being closely guarded, slipped out of the room under the guidance of a young, man of more zeal than discretion, and in a moment was in the street below. The crowd cheered and made way for him, but no vehicle having been provided to help his escape, he was left to depend upon his agility as a runner. Being manacled, he could not do his best; but he had got off nearly half a mile before the police officers and their partisans overtook him. I was not there to witness the meeting; but it was said the rencounter was a furious one. Jerry fought like a tiger, but fought against overwhelming odds. He was attacked behind and before and soon subdued. He was battered and bruised, and his clothes were sadly torn and bloody.

In this plight he was thrown upon a carman's wagon, two policemen sat upon him, one across his legs, the other across his body, and thus confined he was brought down through the centre of the city, and put into a back room of the police office, the whole posse being gathered there to guard him. The people, citizens and strangers, were alike indignant. As I passed amongst them I heard nothing but execrations

and threats of release. Two or three times men came to me and said, "Mr. May, speak the word, and we'll have Jerry out." "And what will you do with him,"I replied, it when you get him out? You have just seen the bad effect of one ill-advised attempt to rescue him. Wait until proper arrangements are made. Stay near here to help at the right moment and in the right way. In a little while it will be quite dark, and then the poor fellow can be easily disposed of."

Presently the Chief of Police came to me, and said, "Jerry is in a perfect rage, a fury of passion; do come in and see if you can quiet him."So I followed into the little room where he was confined. He was indeed a horrible object. I was left alone with him, and sat down by his side. So soon as I could get him to hear me, I said, "Jerry, do try to be calm.""Would you be calm,"he roared out, "with these irons on you? What have I done to be treated so? Take off these handcuffs, and then if I do not fight my way through these fellows that have got me here,— then you may make me a slave."Thus he raved on, until in a momentary interval I whispered, "Jerry, we are going to rescue you; do be more quiet!""Who are you? "he cried. "How do I know you can or will rescue me? "After a while I told him by snatches what we meant to do, who I was, and how many there were who had come resolved to save him from slavery. At length he seemed to believe me, became more tranquil, and consented to lie down, so I left him.

I went to the office of the late Dr. Hiram Hoyt, where I found twenty or thirty picked men laying a plan for the rescue. Among them was Gerrit Smith,

who happened to be in town attending the Liberty Party Convention. it was agreed that a skilful and bold driver in a strong buggy, with the fleetest horse to be got in the city, should be stationed not far off to receive Jerry, when he should be brought out. Then to drive hither and thither about the city until he saw no one pursuing him; not to attempt to get out of town, because it was reported that every exit was well guarded, but to return to a certain point near the centre of the city, where he would find two men waiting to receive his charge; with them he was to leave Jerry, and know nothing about the place of his retreat.

At a given signal the doors and windows of the police office were to be demolished at once, and the rescuers to rush in and fill the room, press around and upon the officers, overwhelming them by their numbers, not by blows, and so soon as they were confined and powerless by the pressure of bodies about them, several men were to take up Jerry and bear him to the buggy aforesaid.

The plan laid down as I have sketched it was well and quickly executed, about eight o'clock in the evening. The police office was soon in our possession. One officer in a fright jumped out of a window and seriously injured himself. Another officer fired a pistol and slightly wounded one of the rescuers. With these exceptions there were no personal injuries. The driver of the buggy managed adroitly, escaped all pursuers, and about nine o'clock delivered Jerry into the hands of Mr. Jason S. Hoyt and Mr. James Davis. They led him not many steps to the house of the late Caleb Davis, who with his wife promptly consented to give the poor fellow a shelter in their house.

It was generally supposed he had gone to Canada. But the next Sunday evening, just after dark, a covered wagon with a span of very fleet horses was seen standing for a few minutes near the door of Mr. Caleb Davis's house. Mr. Jason S. Hoyt and Mr. James Davis were seen to help a somewhat infirm man into the vehicle, jump in themselves, and start off at a rapid rate. Suspicion was awakened, and several of the "patriots "of our city set off in pursuit of the "traitors."The chase was a hot one for eight or ten miles, but Jerry's deliverers had the advantage on the start, and in the speed of the horses that were bearing him to liberty.

He was conveyed to the house of a Mr. Clarke, on the confines of the city of Oswego: it was not until several days had elapsed that Mr. Clarke was able to find one who would undertake to transport a fugitive slave over the lake. At length the captain of a small craft agreed to set sail after dark. Mr. Clarke took Jerry to a less frequented part of the shore, embarked with him in a small boat, and rowed him to the little schooner of the friendly captain. By him he was taken to Kingston, Canada, where he soon was established again in the business of a cooper.

16. Pass Him On
By H. G. ADAMS (1854)

17. John Brown's Raid
By CAPTAIN DANGER FIELD (1859)

I WALKED toward my office, then just within the armory enclosure, and not more than a hundred yards from my house. As I proceeded, I saw a man come out of an alley, then another, and another, all coming towards me. I inquired what all this meant; they said, "Nothing, only they had taken possession of the Government works."I told them they talked like crazy men. They at once cocked their guns and told me I was a prisoner. I then asked what they intended to do with me. They said I was in no personal danger; they only wanted to carry me to their captain, John Smith. I asked them where Captain Smith was. They answered, at the guard house, inside the armory enclosure. I told them I would go there.

Upon reaching the gate, I saw what indeed looked like war— negroes armed with pikes, and 'sentinels with muskets all around. Up to this time the citizens bad hardly begun to move about, and knew nothing of the raid. When they learned what was going on, some came out with old shot guns, and were themselves shot by concealed men. All the stores, as well as the arsenal, were in the hands of Brown's men, and it was impossible to get either arms or ammunition, for there were hardly any private weapons. At last, however, a few arms were obtained, and a body of citizens crossed the river and advanced from the Maryland side. They made a vigorous attack, and in a few minutes caused all the invaders who were not killed to retreat to Brown inside of the armory gate.

Then commenced a terrible firing from without, at every point from which the windows could be seen, and in a few minutes every window was shattered, and hundreds of balls came through the doors. These shots were answered from within whenever the attacking party could be seen. This was kept up most of the day, and, strange to say, not a prisoner was hurt, though thousands of balls were imbedded in the walls, and holes shot in the doors almost large enough for a man to creep through. At night the firing ceased, for we were in total darkness, and nothing could be seen in the engine-house.

During the day and night I talked much with Brown. I found him as brave as a man could be, and sensible upon all subjects except slavery. He believed it was his duty to free the slaves, even if in doing so he lost his own life. During a sharp fight, one of Brown's sons was killed. He fell; then trying to raise himself, he said, "It is all over with me,"and died instantly. Brown did not leave his post at the porthole; but when the fighting was over be walked to his son's body, straightened out his limbs, took off his trappings, and then, turning to n~e, said, "This is the third son I have lost in this cause."Another son had been shot in the morning, and was then dying, having been brought in from the street.

The firing was kept up by our men all day and until late at night, and during that time several of Brown's men were killed, but none of the prisoners were hurt, though they were often in great danger. When Colonel Lee came with the government troops in the night, he at once sent a flag of truce by his

aid, J. E. B. Stuart, to notify Brown of his arrival, and in the name of the United States to demand his surrender, advising him to throw himself on the clemency of the government. Brown declined to accept Colonel Lee's terms, and determined to await the attack.

When Stuart had gone, Brown at once proceeded to barricade the doors, windows, etc., endeavoring to make the place as strong as possible. All this time no one of Brown's men showed the least fear, but calmly awaited the attack, selecting the best situations to fire from, and arranging their guns and pistols so that a fresh one could be taken up as soon as one was discharged.

When Lieutenant Stuart came in the morning for the final reply to the demand to surrender, I got up and went to Brown's side to hear his answer. Stuart asked, "Are you ready to surrender, and trust to the mercy of the government? "Brown answered, "No, I prefer to die here."His manner did not betray the least alarm. Stuart stepped aside and made a signal for the attack, which was instantly begun with sledge hammers to break down the door. Finding it would not yield, the soldiers seized a long ladder for a battering ram, and commenced beating the door with that, the party firing incessantly. I bad assisted in the barricading, fixing the fastenings so that I could remove them on the first effort to get in. But I. was not at the door when the battering began, and could not get to the fastenings till the ladder was used. I then quickly removed the fastenings, and, after two or three strokes of the ladder, the engine rolled partially back, making a small aperture, through which Lieutenant Green of the Marines forced his

way, jumped on top Of the engine, and stood a second, amidst a shower of balls, looking for John Brown.

When he saw Brown he sprang about twelve feet at him, giving an under thrust of his sword, striking Brown about midway the body, and raising him completely from the ground. Brown fell forward with his head between his knees, while Green struck him several times over the head, and, as I then supposed, split his skull at every stroke. I was not two feet from Brown at that time.

Of course I got out of the building as soon as possible, and did not know till some time later that Brown was not killed. It seems that Green's sword, in making the thrust, struck Brown's belt, and did not penetrate the body. The sword was bent double. The reason that Brown was not killed when struck on the head was, that Green was holding his sword in the middle, striking with the hilt, and making only scalp wounds.

After some controversy between the United States and the state of Virginia, as to which had jurisdiction over the prisoners, Brown was carried to the Charleston jail, and after a fair trial was hanged. Of course I was a witness at the trial, and I must say have never seen any man display more courage and fortitude than John Brown showed under the trying circumstances in which he was placed. 1 could not go to *see him hanged. He had made me a prisoner, but had spared my life and that of other gentlemen in his power; and when his sons were shot down beside him, almost any other man similarly placed would at least have exacted life for life.

18. Battle-hymn of the Republic
By MRS. JULIA WARD HOWE (1866)

19. Refugees from Slavery
By ELIZABETH HYDE BOTUME (1862)

THE reports of the expeditions to bring off the slaves, as given by the officers of the gunboats and by the contrabands themselves, were often touching and amusing in the extreme.

An overseer on one of the plantations ran into the house when he beard the boats were in sight, and excitedly called all the negroes together, saying, "The Yankees are coming! The Yankees are coming! The gunboats are down the river. You must all keep out of sight. Don't let them see you. If they land near here, cut and run and hide where nobody can find you. If they catch you they will sell you to New Orleans or Cuba!"

"Never fear. We'll run sure. We'll run so de Debit hisself couldn't catch we ! "they all exclaimed.

"Don't you worry, Massa Jim,"said the old cook.

We all hear 'bout dem Yankees. Folks tell we they has horns an' a tail. I is mighty skeery myself, an' I has all my t'ings pick up, an' w'en I see dem coming I shall run like all possess'."

"Well, I am going to the main, and I leave all here in your care,"said the overseer as he rode off.

"Good-by, ole man, good-by. That's right. Skedaddle as fas' as you kin,"said the negroes as the white man disappeared. "When you cotch we ag'in, I 'specs you'll know it. We's gwine to run sure enough; but we knows the Yankees, an' we runs that way."

As the boats ascended the river, crowds of poor colored people were seen in some places huddled together, or scattered along the shores, screaming and

gesticulating in the wildest manner. Some of the more daring, leaped into the water, trying to wade or swim to the boats before they were landed.

When the gunboats touched the shore, the news spread like wildfire. Men, women, and children rushed frantically' to them, begging to be taken on board. There was a curious mixture of hope and fear amongst these wretched creatures.

All the white people on the plantations had left precipitately for the interior of the State, taking with them as many of their servants as possible, and leaving the rest to their fate. On some of the places all the strong and able-bodied slaves had been carried it "up country" by their masters, and only the weak and decrepit had been left behind.

In this general stampede for the boats, of course the youngest and strongest were first on board. Those still on shore begged so piteously to be taken care of, that they were put in the guard-house for safe keeping. When order was a little restored, an officer walked past the guard-house, and, looking in upon the crowd there, said, "Well, what are you all about?"

"Dat's jes' what we'd like ter fin' out, massa,"said one of them.

Some sad scenes were witnessed. Mothers were separated from their children, and "old parents"were overlooked. These poor creatures, on the remote plantations of distant islands, had been in the most abject fear for a long time. Now those who had reached what seemed to them safety were wild with delight, and immediately began their jubilant shouting songs, But those left behind unprotected, ran along the shore and even rushed into the water, uttering the most heartrending moans and wailings, which continued until the boat was out of sight and sound.

Many grotesque scenes were also witnessed. When the government steamer John Adams anchored at one of the plantations , the negroes rushed along, carrying every conceivable thing on their heads that could possibly be placed there,—clothing, blankets,

tubs, pots, kettles, pigs, and chickens. One old man had his sick wife on his back, and a half-grown boy had his blind daddy, toting him along "to freedom."A huge negress was seen striding along with her hominy pot, in which was a live chicken, poised on her head. One child was on her back, with its arms tightly clasped around her neck, and its feet about her waist, and under each arm was a smaller child. Her apron was tucked up in front, evidently filled with articles of clothing. Her feet were bare, and in her mouth was a short clay pipe. A poor little yellow dog ran by her side, and a half-grown pig trotted on before.

Another woman staggered along under a large, rice-straw bed and her blankets. A man had a heavy box-coop filled with fowls. Innumerable were the pathetic and ludicrous stories told by officers and men, of scenes which they witnessed on these expeditions.

When all these people were brought to Beaufort, the town was full to overflowing. They were quartered in every available place, and packed as closely as possible,-in churches and storehouses, and in the jail and arsenals. Most of the negro quarters had been taken possession of by the slaves who formerly lived on the island, and who had fled from their old masters on the mainland, back to their homes. Gangs of these poor refugees were sent to different plantations, until there was shelter for no more. There was still a great throng houseless, with no resting-place. Tents were put up for them until barracks could be built outside the town, of which Montgomery District was one.

20. 2O. A Quick-witted Negro
By GEORGE HENRY GORDON (1863)

AN incident that occurred at this time showed what folly it would be to discourage the negroes from escaping to our lines, and thereby reject their sometimes valuable assistance. Colonel Burr Porter, of the Fortieth Massachusetts Regiment, had sent a negro scout to the front, where he was making his way along a thickly wooded road, intent on avoiding everybody, when he came so suddenly upon a Dr. Richards,—a notorious Rebel,—that his only mode of escape was by his heels. Suspecting the darkey's movements, the doctor called to him to stop, firing his pistol at him at the same time to enforce his order. Fortunately the scout was not hit, and fled all the faster, until he gained a thicket, into which he plunged, running and scrambling until, breathless and exhausted, he fell suddenly into the hands of a squad of Rebel infantry. Escape now was hopeless ; his only source was in his wits. Gasping for breath, he utilized his first pursuer most effectually by crying out, "Don't stop me! Dr. Richards sent me to tell you that the Yankees are coming on your flank, with a large column of men; and he wants me, after telling you this to go down on your other flank, and tell some of your pickets there to look out."The other flank was in the direction of our front, where he would be safe if those who held him only believed lie was telling the truth.

Fortunately the message he bore was an urgent one; the occasion did not admit of prolonged discussion, though it was long enough to make the poor

fellow's heart throb with apprehension. For a few moments the scout's fate trembled in the balance. So well, however, did he conceal the struggle within himself, that when he was bidden to go ahead and give his message, he could detect no doubts within his captors. But joy so overcame the man at his unexpected good fortune, that when he sprang forward, he did so with an alertness that for the first time roused suspicions in a Rebel sergeant that all was not right; and he called to him to stop. There was but one hope now, and that was flight. The scout acted so energetically upon this conviction that he escaped unhurt, though a bullet passed through his hat; and he brought to us the information that a regiment of Rebel infantry last night crossed the Mattapony to the peninsula, and was now within seven miles of my outposts. I thought this poor negro had proved his right to possess the freedom to use for his own advancement those talents and faculties which he had made so serviceable to us.

The 29th of May increased my stock of negroes by fourteen,—old and young, crippled and able-bodied,—all of whom had escaped from the clutches of slavemasters. From them all I secured much valuable information. One facetious old woman lamented the loss of flour, corn-meal, and meat, which she had been obliged to leave behind; she feared they might fall into Rebel hands, and thus make them a little less hungry. She asked that my troops and gunboats might make a special trip to her domain to bring away her edibles, —urging as a bait that I might capture some Rebel pickets who were lying in wait to catch me.

Representing the Rebel pickets as quite vigilant, though entertaining a wholesome dread of gunboats,

she thought she could so direct the fire of our guns "dat some of dose big shells'll hit 'em,— dough dey say if you'se all cum up dey gwine to climb trees to 'vade your boat. I knows dey will clar if you fire at 'em. And, oh lordy, won't dey run and sweep away all de black folks to Richmond! Took my son dis morning. 'Cum up!' dey say to him; 'you har? go long! won't hab you telling Yankees eb'ryting.'"My stock of females has so largely increased, that I fear very much for the peace of mind of Old Bob,— Captain Scott's servant, a venerable darkey of more years than he knows, who, when asked if he was a hundred, replied, "Spec's I am, sir."While the captain was at Washington recovering from his Chancellorsville wound, Old Bob said to the captain, "I 'fraid some dose darkeys make me marry'em."But Bob escaped, and recalled a former charmer, to whom, though she wouldn't "put her name on de paper [a contract of marriage] when I was dar,"he caused a letter to be written. This he brought to the captain with the request, "Back dat, sir, ef you please "[direct it].

"To whom? "asked the captain.

"Well,"— in some confusion,— "put my name on it."

"But that won't reach any one! To whom do you wish to send it?"

"Wy, to Em'ly

"Emily who?"

"I dunno, sir!"

"Where is she.

"Wy, dar in Washington!"

"Where's I dar'?"

"Wy, Sandy Bill; he know! "So the letter went to "Emily, care of Sandy Bill, care of Mr. J. W.

Rodgers, Washington,"—the latter being the name of an officer whom Bob had attended during the captain's recovery.

21. Song for our Soldiers

22. Scenes in Savannah
By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN (1864)

As I intended to spend some days in Savannah, I set out one afternoon in search of lodgings more commodious than those furnished at the Pulaski House, and I was directed to a house owned by a gentleman who, during the war, had resided in Paris,—a large brick mansion, fronting on one of the squares, elegantly finished and furnished. It had been taken care of, through the war, by two faithful negroes, Robert and his wife, Aunt Nellie, both of them slaves.

I rang the bell, and was ushered into the basement by their daughter Ellen, also a slave. Robert was

fifty-three years of age,— a tall, stout, coal-black, slow-spoken, reflective man. Aunt Nellie was a year or two younger. Her features were of the African type; her eyes large and lustrous. Her deportment was lady-like, her language refined. She wore a

A SLAVE MOTHER.

[Description: Portrait of a slave mother amidst pots and pans.]

gingham dress, and a white turban. Ellen, the daughter, had a fair countenance, regular features, of lighter hue than either father or mother. She appeared as much at ease as most young ladies who are accustomed to the amenities of society. Aunt Nellie called me by name.

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

She placed a chair for me before the fire, which burned cheerfully on the hearth. There was a vase of amaranths on the mantel, and lithographs on the walls. A clock ticked in one corner. There were cushioned arm-chairs. The room was neat and tidy, and had an air of cheerfulness. A little boy, four or five years old, was sitting by the side of Aunt Nellie,—her grand-nephew. He looked up wonderingly at the stranger, then gazed steadily into the fire with comical gravity.

"You are from Boston, I understand,"said Aunt Nellie. "I never have been to Boston, but I have been to New York several times with my master."

"Did you have any desire to stay North?"

"No, sir, I can't say that I had. This was my home; my children and friends, and my husband were all here."

"But did you not wish to be free?

"That is a very different thing, sir. God only knows how I longed to be free; but my master was very kind. They used to tell me in New York that I could be free; but I couldn't make up my mind to leave master, and my husband. Perhaps if I had been abused as some of my people have, I should have thought differently about it."

"Well, you are free now. I suppose that you never expected to see such a day as this!"

"I can't say that I expected to see it, but I knew it would come. I have prayed for it. I didn't hardly think it would come in my time, but I knew it must come, for God is just."

"Did you not sometimes despair?"

"Never! sir; never! But 0, it has been a terrible

mystery, to know why the good Lord should so long afflict my people, and keep them in bondage,— to be abused, and trampled down, without any rights of their own,-with no ray of light in the future. Some of my folks said there wasn't any God, for if there was he wouldn't let white folks do as they have done for so many years; but I told them to wait,-and now they see what they have got by waiting. I told them that we were all of one blood,— white folks and black folks all come from one man and one woman, and that there was only one Jesus for all. I knew it,— I knew it! "She spoke as if it were an indisputable fact which had come by intuition.

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

"I hope to make your better acquaintance,"she said, courtesying. It is a common form of expression among the colored people of some parts of the South. She was larger, taller, and stouter than Aunt Nellie, younger in years, less refined,—a field hand,— one who had drunk deeply of the terrible cup which slavery had held to her lips. She wore a long gray dress of coarse cloth,—a frock with sleeves, gathered round the neck with a string,—the cheapest possible contrivance for a dress, her only garment, I judged.

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

"It is a dream, sir,—a dream! 'Pears like I don't know where I am. When General Sherman come and said we were free, I didn't believe it, and I wouldn't believe it till the minister told us that we were free. It don't seem as if I was free, sir."She looked into the fire a moment, and sat as if in a dream, but roused herself as I said,

"Yes, you are free."

"But that don't give me back my children,—my children, that I brought forth with pains such as white women have,—that have been torn from my breast, and sold from me; and when I cried for them was tied up and had my back cut to pieces!"

She rose and approached her sister, evidently to call her mind from the terrible reality of the past. 'I You used to come in here and go worry, worry, worry all day and all night, and say it was no use; that you might as well die; that you would be a great deal better off if you were dead. You wouldn't believe me when I said that the Lord would give deliverance. You wouldn't believe that the Lord was good; but just see what he has done f or you,— made you free. Aren't you willing to trust him now?"

The sister made no reply, but sat wiping away her tears, and sighing over the fate of her children.

"Did you not feel sometimes like rising against your masters? "I asked of the husband.

"Well, sir, I did feel hard sometimes, and I reckon that if it hadn't been for the grace which the Lord gave us we should have done so; but he had compassion on us, and helped us to bear it. We knew that he would hear us some time."

"Did you ever try to escape ?"

"No, sir. I was once interested in colonization, and talked of going to Africa,— of buying myself, and go there and be free. But just then there was so much excitement among the slaves about it, that our masters put a stop to it."

"The good people of Boston are heaping coals of fire on the heads of the slaveholders and Rebels,"said Aunt Nellie.

"How so? "I asked.

"Why, as soon as General Sherman took possession of the city, you send down ship-loads of provisions to them. They have fought you with all their might, and you whip them, and then go to feeding them."

"I 'spect you intended that black and white folks should have them alike,"said her sister.

"Yes, that was the intention."

"Not a mouthful have I had. I am as poor as white folks. All my life I have worked for them. I have given them houses and lands; they have rode in their fine carriages, sat in their nice parlors, taken voyages over the waters, and had money enough, which I and my people earned for them. I have had my back cut up. I have been sent to jail because I cried for my children, which were stolen from me. White men have done with us just as they pleased. Now they turn me out of my poor old cabin, and say they own it."

"Come, come, sister, don't take on; but you just give thanks for what the Lord has done for you,"said Aunt Nellie.

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

"I thank you, sir, for your kind words to me tonight. I thank all the good people in the North for what they have done for me and my people. The good Lord be with you."

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

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

23. A Slave's Reminiscences
By CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN (1864)

PASSING by a church, I saw the sexton, with brush in hand, sweeping the aisles. The edifice was a substantial, ancient structure, with a mahogany pulpit of the old style, a broad aisle, chandelier pendent from the arched roof, filagree and panel-work around the galleries. Old and aristocratic families had sat in the cushioned pews,— men of vast wealth, owning houses, lands, and slaves. A great organ loomed high up in the gallery, its gilt pipes fronting the pulpit. Marriages and funerals had been solemnized at the altar. For fifteen years, Sunday after Sunday, this sexton had faithfully discharged his duties at the church.

He was stout, thick-set, strong, with well-developed muscles and a clear eye. He was gentlemanly in his deportment, and his voice was one of the most musical I ever heard.

"Shall I take a look at the church ?

"Certainly, Sir. Walk in."

His words were as if he had chanted them, so faultless the tone, inflection, and cadence. His features were well formed, but anthracite coal is not blacker than his complexion. I was interested in him at once. He leaning upon his broom, and I sitting in one of the pews, had a free conversation upon the events of his life.

He was born in Norfolk, Virginia, in 1829.

"My old master died,"said he, "and I fell to his son, who went off to college and got to spreeing it, lost all his property, and of course I had to be sold. I brought twelve hundred dollars,— that was in 1849,

—but another man offered the man who bought me a hundred and fifty dollars bonus for his bargain, which was accepted, and I was brought to Charleston. I have always been a slave."

"But you are a free man now; just as free as I am."

"Yes, Sir, so General Sherman told me. I had a talk with him; and he talked just as free with me as if I was his own brother. But I don't feel it in my heart, Sir, to go away and leave my old master, now that he is poor, and calamity has come upon him."

"Has he always treated you well ?"

"Yes, Sir,— that is, he never scarred my back. Some masters are mighty hard, Sir. I don't blame some negroes for running away from their masters now that they can, for they have been treated mighty bad, Sir; but my master has had great calamity come upon him, Sir. When I was brought here from Norfolk, master's son Bob, who is in Texas,—a captain in the Southern army now,— saw me, and liked me, and I liked him, and his father bought me for Bob, and Bob and I have been like brothers to each other. I have no complaint to make. But master has lost two sons in Virginia. One of them was killed in the first battle of Manassas."

"I suppose you have heard many prayers here for Jeff Davis?"

"Yes, Sir, and mighty fine sermons for the Southern army, Sir; and there have been solemn scenes in this church, Sir. Six bodies, one Sunday, after the first battle of Manassas, were here in this broad aisle. I had the communion-table set out here, right in front of the pulpit, and, there they lay,—six of 'em. I couldn't help crying when I saw 'em, for they were just like old friends to me. They used to attend the

Sunday school when they were boys, and used to cut up a little wild, and it was my business to keep 'em straight. They belong to the Oglethorpe Light Infantry, and went with Colonel Barton. They went away gayly, and thought they were going to Richmond to have a nice time. Their mothers and sisters told them to go and fight the Yankees. They didn't expect to see them brought back dead, 1 reckon. It was a sad day, sir."

"Then the women were as eager as the men for the war ?"

"Yes, sir,—more. They were crazy about fighting the Yankees. I know that some of the boys didn't want to fight against the flag, but the women made 'em. The men had to wear Secession badges, as something to show that they were for the South. If it hadn't been for the ladies, I reckon we wouldn't have had the war."

"What do the women think now?"

"Well, sir, some of them are as bitter as ever they were against the Yankees, but I reckon they don't care to say much; and then there are others who see it ain't no use to try to hold out any longer. There are lots of 'em who have lost their husbands and brothers and sons. I reckon there are very few of the Light Infantry left. I know 'em all, for I took care of their hall,— their armory,— and they made me hoist the union flag down one day. That made me feel very bad, sir. I always loved the flag, and I love it now better than ever. It makes me feel bad to think that my boys 'fought against it. But I reckon it is the Lord's doing, sir, and~ that it will be a blessing to us in the end."

"Can you read and write? "I asked.

"A little, sir. I never had any one to show me, but I used to sit down here in the pews and take up the hymn-book, and spell out the words, and one day master Bob set me a copy in writing, and so I have learned a little. I can read the newspapers, sir, and have kept track of the war."

We talked upon the prospects of the colored people now that they were free.

"I reckon, sir,"said he, 'I that a good many of 'em will be disappointed. They don't know what freedom is. But they will find that they have got to work, or else they won't get anything to cat. They are poor, ignorant creatures; but I reckon, sir, that after a while, when things get settled, they will learn how to take care of themselves. But I think they are mighty foolish to clear out and leave their old masters, when they can have good situations, and good pay, and little to do. Then, sir, it is kind of ungrateful like, to go away and leave their old masters when the day of calamity comes. I could not do it, sir; besides, I reckon I will be better off to stay here for the present, sir."

24. First School Days
BY ELIZABETH HYDE BOTUME (1865)

ONE bright November morning I started to take possession of my contraband school. The air was soft as June; birds were singing; the cotton-fields were gay with blossoms which contrasted charmingly with the white matured bolls. My path lay through a grand old live-oakgrove. It was wonderfully attractive, with its great trees covered with long gray moss, through

which the broad sunshine cast fantastic lights and shadows. From this I emerged into an open field. There was no regular path, and the walk over the old cotton hills was exceedingly rough and uncomfortable.

The schoolhouse to which I was appointed was a rough, wooden building standing on palmetto posts

two or three feet from the ground, with an open piazza on one side. When I first came in sight of this building, the piazza was crowded with children, all screaming and chattering like a flock of jays and blackbirds in a quarrel. But as soon as they saw me they all gave a whoop and a bound and disappeared.

When I reached the door there was no living thing to be seen; all was literally as still as a mouse; so I inspected my new quarters while waiting for my forces.

There was one good sized room without partitions; it was not celled, but besides the usual heavy board shutters its six windows were glazed. This was a luxury which belonged to but few of the school-buildings. Indeed, these glazed windows had been held up to me as a marked feature in my new location.

The furniture consisted of a few wooden benches, a tall pine desk with a high office stool, one narrow blackboard leaning against a post, and a huge box stove large enough to warm a Puritan meeting-house in the olden times. The pipe of the stove was put through one window.

I believe this was the first building ever erected exclusively for a colored school. It was built for the colored refugees with a fund sent to General Saxton for this purpose by a ladies' freedman's aid society in England. All the contraband schools were at that time kept in churches, or cotton-barns, or old kitchens. Some teachers had their classes in tents.

Inspection over, I vigorously rang a little cracked hand-bell which I found on the desk. Then I saw several pairs of bright eyes peering in at the open door. But going toward them, there was a general scampering, and I could only see a head or a foot disappearing under the house. Again I rang the bell, with the same result, until I began to despair of getting my scholars together. When I turned my back they all came out. When I faced about they darted off. In time, however, I succeeded in capturing one small urchin, who howled vociferously, "0! 0!"This brought out the others, who seemed a little

scared and much amused. I soon reassured my captive, so the rest came in. Then I tried to seat them, which was about as easy as keeping so many marbles in place on a smooth floor. Going towards half a dozen little fellows huddled together on one bench, they simultaneously darted down under the seat, and scampered off on their hands and feet to a corner of the room, looking very much like a family of frightened kittens. Hearing a noise and suppressed titters back of me, I looked around, and saw four or five larger boys rolling over and over under the benches towards the door. Whether for fun or freedom I could not tell; but as the first boy sprang to his feet and out of the door, I concluded they all planned escape. But I halted the rest, and got them on to their feet and into their seats. Then I looked them over. They saw I was not angry, but in earnest, so they quieted down. The runaway peeped in at the door, then crept along and sat down by his companions. There was not a crowd of them,—not half as many as I supposed from all the clatter they had made.

All these children were black as ink and as shy as wild animals. I had seen some of them before, and the brightest among them had been pointed out; but they all looked alike to me now. I tried in vain to fix upon some distinguishing mark by which I might know one from another. Some of these children had been in a school before, but they were afraid of white people, and especially of strangers. As they said of a teacher on a subsequent occasion, "Us ain't know she."

I had much the same experience with these children a few months later. Small-pox had broken out in the colored camps around Beaufort, and the commanding officer issued an order that all the children should be

vaccinated. So one morning a physician came to my school for this purpose I expected him, but had said nothing, not anticipating a riot. The room was full, many large boys and girls being present. The doctor laid his bat with a small box on the desk and took a chair. I called the largest girl in the room to me, and I rolled up her sleeve, the whole school watching us with anxiety. The doctor took hold of her hand and raised his lancet; this was too much; she uttered a shriek, snatched away her hand, and darted out of the room, and the entire school followed her. The leaders dashed down the river-bank, and the little ones darted under the house. I called in vain, and frantically rang my bell. Miss Fannie, who was with me by that time, hunted about, and coaxed the few laggards she found; but they were not to be lured back to face a direful enemy who confronted them with a murderous weapon. There was nothing further to be done that day. The doctor went home, and towards night Miss Fannie and I went to see some of the people, to whom we explained the object of the doctor's visit. The mothers, who had been watchful to protect their children, now turned around and berated them well for their fears.

"Don't you fret, missis. They is sure to be there to-morrow,"they said; and so they were, in full force. The doctor came again, and I explained what he wished to do, baring my own arm to show them the scar made by vaccination in my childhood. Now they were all as eager to have this done as they were reluctant before. Some of the boys came back and begged to have some of that little stuff put into the other arm. They evidently considered the bit of court-plaster a badge of honor.

25. Calling the Roll
BY ELIZABETH HYDE BOTUME (1865)

THESE children had been born and bred in troublous times. They had always been surrounded by conflict and confusion. Irrepressible ? That's tame! They were in a constant state of effervescence. In time, after some more skirmishing, the little gang before

me was brought into a degree of order. They listened, apparently, with open mouths and staring eyes to what I had to say. But I soon discovered my words were like an unknown tongue to them. I must first know something of their dialect in order that we might understand each other.

Now I wished to take down the names of these

children; so I turned to the girl nearest me and said,

What is your name?"

"It is Phyllis, ma'am."

"But what is your other name?"

"Only Phyllis, ma'am."

I then explained that we all have two names; but she still replied, "Nothing but Phyllis, ma'am."

Upon this an older girl started up and exclaimed,

Pshaw, gal! What's you'm title?"whereupon she gave the name of her old master.

After this each child gave two names, most of them funny combinations. Sometimes they would tell me one thing, and when asked to repeat it, would say something quite different. The older children would frequently correct and contradict the younger ones. I know now that they manifested much ingenuity in invention or selection of names and titles. One boy gave his name as Middleton Heywood, shouting it out as if it were something he had caught and might lose. Whereupon another boy started up, saying angrily, " Not so, boy. You ain't Massa Middie's boy. I is."

All were now busily studying up their cognomens, and two or three would try to speak together before being called upon. One boy was "Pumpkin,"another "Squash,"and another "Cornhouse."The girls were "Honey,"and "Baby,"and "Missy,"and "Tay,"with an indiscriminate adoption of Rhetts, Barnwells, Elliots, Stuarts, and Middletons, for titles.

I thought of Adam's naming the animals, and wondered if he had been as much puzzled as I. Certainly he gave out the names at first hand, and had no conflicting incongruities to puzzle him. In time I enrolled fifteen names, the number present.

The next morning I called the roll, but no one answered, so I was obliged to go around again and make out a new list. I could not distinguish one from another. They looked like so many peas in a pod. The woolly heads of the girls and boys looked just alike. All wore indiscriminately any cast-off ,garments given them, so it was not easy to tell which was which. Were there twenty-five new scholars, or only ten ?

The third morning it was the same work over again. There were forty children present, many of them large boys and girls. I had already a list of over forty names. Amongst these were most of the months of the year and days of the week, besides a number of Pompeys, Cudjos, Sambos, and Rhinas, and Rosas and Floras. I now wrote down forty new names, and I began to despair of ever getting regulated. Fortunately, the day before, I had given out two dozen paper primers with colored pictures, and had written a name on each. So I called these names, but only two or three children came forward to claim their books. So I laid the rest one side. Then half-a-dozen little heads were lifted up, and one boy said, "Please, ma'am, us wants one o' dem."

"I have no more, and these are given away already,"I said.

"You'na done give them to we! "they exclaimed. I asked the first boy what was his name. Then I looked over the books. No name had been put down like the one he gave. It was the same with all the rest. But as I turned the books over, one girl exclaimed, "Dar, da him!"And coming forward, she pointed to one of the primers with evident delight, saying, "Him's mine."I looked at the written

name. It was Lucy Barnwell. I asked her name. It was Fanny Osborne. "Pshaw, gal! "exclaimed an older girl, "Dat's youn'a mammy's name."

Now the others came forward and picked out their own books. What marks they had to distinguish their property I have never been able to discover.

In time I. began to get acquainted with some of their faces. I could remember that "Cornhouse "yesterday was "Primus "to-day, and "Quash "was "Bryan."

It was months before I learned their family relations. The terms "bubber "for brother, and "titty for sister, with "nanna "for mother, and "mother"for grandmother, and father for all leaders in church and society, were so generally used, I was forced to believe that all belonged to one immense family. It was hopeless trying to understand their titles. There were two half-brothers in school. One was called Dick, and the other Richard. In one family there were nine brothers and half-brothers, and each took a different title. One took Hamilton, and another Singleton, and another Baker, and others Smith, Simmons, etc. Their father was "Jimmy of the Battery,"or "Jimmy Black."I asked why his title was Black.

"Oh, him look so. Him one very black man,"they said.

These men are well settled, and have families growing up in honor and respectability who are as tenacious of their titles as any of the F. F. V's.

One boy gave the name of Middleton, but afterwards came to me, wishing to have it changed, saying, "That's my ole rebel master's title. Him's nothing to me now. I don't belong to he no longer,

an' I don't see no use in being called for him."But when I asked what other name he would choose, the poor fellow was much puzzled. He evidently supposed I could supply a proper cognomen as I supplied new clothes, picking out something to fit. In time he decided upon Drayton, as "that was a good name in secesh times, and General Drayton was a friend to we, an' no mistake. He fight on our side 'gainst his own brother when the first gun shoot."

That was the beginning of time for these poor freed people, "when the first gun shoot."

26. A Colored Waif
By ELIZABETH HYDE BOTUME (1865)

ONE bright morning in May, 1865, an orderly rode up to our door at the plantation with a military order from General Saxton, requiring us, Miss Fannie and myself, to report at headquarters in Beaufort that afternoon. An ambulance would be sent for us at three o'clock. Unless something unexpected prevented we should be returned to our home Sunday afternoon. This was Friday.

With this order was a bright note from the major's wife, telling us not to be alarmed by a military summons; they all knew that nothing less than a command with authority would bring us to them, and indeed, we must know they wanted to see us very much; besides, they had something to tell us.

So in due time we were packed into an ambulance and conveyed to town, where we were received at headquarters by an orderly, and conducted to the

general. He received us with military formality, asked us a few questions, then laughingly turned us over to the colonel and major, who conducted us to the ladies.

We soon learned why we were summoned at this special time. A little mulatto boy had been sent to General Saxton by Mrs. Jefferson Davis, and now the question came up, what was the best thing to do with him.

He was about seven years old, but small for his age; was a very light mulatto, with brown curly hair, thin lips, and a defiant nose. When brought before us he looked around suspiciously and fearlessly. When Mrs. Saxton called him he walked calmly up to her; but when I held out my hand to him he folded his arms and stood still, straight as an arrow, with his head thrown back, without meeting my friendly advances. It was comical to see the cool indifference of this tiny scrap of humanity.

"Jimmie, this lady is your friend,"said Mrs. Saxton. Thereupon he walked up to me and held out his hand. "Now go out on the piazza, and wait until I call you,"continued the lady.

Now his whole manner changed. Taking the major's little boy by the hand, he went out of the room laughing and talking and we soon saw him racing around with Eddie full of fun and frolic. He was evidently fond of children, but he distrusted grown people. Well he might, for he had seen only troublous times. This was his story as then told us: an officer brought with him this small colored boy, sent by Mrs. Davis to General Saxton. She also sent the following note by the boy, written with pencil on the blank leaf of a book:—

As he was the constant companion and playmate of Mrs. Davis's children, he considered himself as one of them, adopting their views and sharing their prejudices. President Davis was to him the one great man in the world. Mrs. Davis bad given him the kindly care of a mother, and he had for her the loving devotion of a child.

His clothing consisted of a threadbare jacket and pants, much too small for him. He had no covering for his head, and he was barefooted.

One of the ladies asked him if he had any more clothing. He held down his head, and said with a trembling voice:—

"Her couldn't do any better,"meaning Mrs. Davis; "her hadn't any more to give me, for her hadn't any

clothes for the other children. Bud,"meaning Mrs. Davis's oldest boy, "wanted me to wear his cap, and he put it on my head, but her said him wanted it mariana me, and I must be a good boy till her send for me."

He was very quick and active, and always alert. One day he heard some little darkies singing "We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour-apple tree."This was more than Jimmie could stand. He dashed into their gang, and waving his new straw hat, of which he was very proud, shouted, "Three cheers for President Jefferson Davis."At this the whole crowd was in commotion. They shouted "A rebel! a rebel! " and began to throw oyster-shells at him, and all wanted to fight. Jimmie backed up against the house, and told them to come on; that "President Davis was no rebel, but a good gentleman who would whip the Yankees yet."

General Saxton was informed of the fight going on amongst the pickaninnies; so he called James to him and questioned him about the affair.

The boy bravely told him all that had happened, and angrily declared that if he were a man he would kill every one of them.

General Saxton replied it was true General Davis had been his best friend, and he highly approved of his fidelity to him. But fighting for him was of no avail. He doubted if fighting ever helped anybody. He could love and honor President Davis, but it would be wiser at present to say nothing about him. Mrs. Davis had sent him here, and they meant to take care of him.

The little fellow faltered out that-

"Her didn't want to send me, sir, and her cry

when I come away."But after that he never mentioned the name of Jefferson Davis, and was very unwilling to be questioned about him.

General and Mrs. Saxton took him with them to Charleston, and while there he became very fond of his new protectors. But the vicissitudes of army life made it impossible for them to keep him, so he was sent to us to be taken North and placed where he could go to school. This was another great trial for the lad.

When Mrs. Saxton told him he was to go to the plantation she said, "You will be very happy with the ladies."He tearfully replied, " I'll be more happier with the general. I likes to wait on them I love."

"He came to us in March, and soon settled down into regular duties in school, where he seemed very happy. One day he said, "Is to-day March? well, to-morrow will be deeper March, won't it? And then summer will come, and I shall see the general."He told me with evident pleasure of the presents offered General Saxton in Charleston. Then he said thoughtfully, "God is a good man, ain't him? I think him and General Saxton two of the goodest men in the world."

When it was explained to him that God was not a man, he seemed to reflect upon it for a time; then he exclaimed, "Well, the general is most as good as him !"

27. Contrabands
BY CHARLES CARLETON COFFIN (1866)

DURING the march the next day towards the North Anna, I halted at a farm-house. The owner had fled to Richmond in advance of the army, leaving his overseer, a stout, burly, red-faced, tobacco-chewing man. There were a score of old buildings on the premises. It had been a notable plantation, yielding luxuriant harvests of wheat, but the proprietor had turned his attention to the culture of tobacco, and the

breeding of negroes. He sold annually a crop of human beings for the southern market. The day before our arrival, hearing that the Yankees were coming, he hurried forty or fifty souls to Richmond.

This name, which strictly applies to arms and munitions of war, was given to the escaped negroes by General Butler in 1861.

He intended to take all,—forty or fifty more,—but the negroes fled to the woods. The overseer did his best to collect them, but in vain. The proprietor raved, and stormed, and became violent in his language and behavior, threatening terrible punishment on all the runaways, but the appearance of a body of Union cavalry put an end to maledictions. He bad a gang of men and women chained together, and hurried them toward Richmond.

The runaways came out from their hiding-places when they saw the Yankees, and advanced fearlessly with open countenances. The first pleasure of the negroes was to smile from ear to ear, the second to give everybody a drink of water or a piece of hoecake, the third to pack up their bundles and be in readiness to join the army.

"Are you not afraid of us

"Afraid! Why, boss, I's been praying for yer to .come; and now yer is here, thank de Lord."

"Are you not afraid that we shall sell you ?

"No, boss, I isn't. The overseer said you would sell us off to Cuba, to work in the sugar-mill, but we didn't believe him."

Among the servants was a bright mulatto girl, who was dancing, singing, and manifesting her joy in violent demonstration.

"What makes you so happy? "I asked.

"Because you Yankees have come. I can go home now."

"Is not this your home ?

"No. I come from Williamsport in Maryland."

"When did you come from there?"

"Last year. Master sold me. I'spect my brother is 'long with the army. He ran away last year.

Master was afraid that I should run away, and he sold me."

The negroes came from all the surrounding plantations. Old men with venerable beards, horny hands, crippled with hard work and harder usage; aged women, toothless, almost blind, steadying their steps with sticks; little negro boys, driving a team of skeleton steers,—mere bones and tendons covered with hide,—or wall-eyed horses, spavined, foundered, and lame, attached to rickety carts and wagons, piled with beds, tables, chairs, pots and kettles, hens, turkeys, ducks, women with infants in their arms, and a sable cloud of children trotting by their side.

"Where are you going?"I said to a short, thickset, gray-bearded old man, shuffling along the road; his toes bulging from his old boots, and a tattered straw hat on his head,—his gray wool protruding from the crown.

"I do'no, boss, where I'se going, but I reckon I'll go where the army goes."

' "And leave your old home, your old master, and the place where you have lived all your days?"

"Yes, boss ; master, he's gone. He went to Richmond. Reckon he went mighty sudden, boss, when he heard you was coming. Thought I'd like to go along with you."

His face streamed with perspiration. He had been sorely afflicted with the rheumatism, and it was with difficulty that he kept up with the column; but it was not a bard matter to read the emotions of his heart. He was marching towards freedom. Suddenly a light had shined upon him. Hope had quickened in his soul. He had a vague idea of what was before him.

He had broken loose from all which he had been

accustomed to call his own,— his cabin, a mud-chinked structure, with the ground for a floor, his garden patch,—to go out, in his old age, wholly unprovided for, yet trusting in God that there would be food and raiment on the other side of Jordan.

It was a Jordan to them. It was the Sabbath-day,—bright, clear, calm, and delightful. There was a crowd of several hundred colored people at a deserted farm-house.

"Will it disturb you if we have a little singing? You see we feel so happy to-day that we would like to praise the Lord."

It was the request of a middle-aged woman.

"Not in the least. I should like to hear you."

In a few moments a crowd had assembled in one of the rooms. A stout young man, black, bright-eyed, thick-wooled, took the centre of the room. The women and girls, dressed in their best clothes, which they had put on to make their exodus from bondage in the best possible manner, stood in circles round him. . The young man began to dance. He jumped up, clapped his hands, slapped his thighs, whirled round, stamped upon the floor.

"Sisters, let us bless the Lord. Sisters, join in the chorus,"he said, and led off with a kind of recitative, improvised as the excitement gave him utterance.

And so it went on for a half-hour, without cessation, all dancing, clapping their hands, tossing their heads. It was the ecstasy of action. It was a joy not to be uttered, but demonstrated. The old house partook of their rejoicing. It rang with their jubilant shouts, and shook in all its joints.

It was late at night before the dancers ceased, and then they stopped, not because of a surfeit of joy, but because the time had come for silence in the camp. It was their first Sabbath of freedom, and like the great king of Israel, upon the recovery of the ark of God, they danced before the Lord with all their might.

We had a hard, dusty ride from the encampment at Mongohick to the Pamunkey, and halted beneath the oaks, magnolias, and buttonwoods of an old Virginia mansion.

When the war commenced, the owner of this magnificent estate enlisted in the army, and was made a colonel of cavalry. He furnished supplies and kept open house for his comrades in arms; but he fell in a cavalry engagement on the Rappahannock, in October, 1863, leaving a wife and three young children. The advance of the army, its sudden appearance on the Pamunkey, left his wife no time to remove her personal estate, or to send her negroes to Richmond for safe keeping. Fitz-Hugh Lee disputed Sheridan's advance. The fighting began on

this estate. Charges by squadrons and regiments were made through the corn-fields. Horses, cattle, hogs, sheep, were seized by the cavalrymen. The garden, filled with young vegetables, was spoiled. In an hour there was complete desolation. The hundred negroes -cook, steward, chambermaid, house and field hands, old and young—all left their work and followed the army.

Passing by one of the negro cabins on the estate, I saw a middle-aged colored woman packing a bundle.

"Are you going to move?"I asked.

"Yes, sir; I am going to follow the army."

"What for? Where will you go?"

"I want to go to Washington, to find my husband. He ran away awhile ago, and is at work in Washington."

"Do you think it right, auntie, to leave your mistress, who has taken care of you so long?"

She had been busy with her bundle, but stopped now and stood erect before me, her hands on her hips. Her black eyes flashed.

"Taken care of me! What did she ever do for me ? Haven't I been her cook for more than thirty years? Haven't I cooked every meal she ever ate in that house? What has she done for me in return ~ She has sold my children down South, one after another. She has whipped me when I cried for them. She has treated me like a hog, sir! Yes, sir, like a hog!"

28. Hymn of Freedom
By RALPH WALDO EMERSON (1863)