Chapter XI: Sanitary Work (1)

We found a necessity for organized work, and formed a Freedmen's Relief Association, in Detroit, with Captain E. B. Ward, president; Rev. William Webb, vice-president; Benjamin C. Durfee, secretary; and Francis Raymond, treasurer. These did what they could in gathering supplies in that city for me to take South the coming Autumn. Brother Aldrich was engaged to act as principal of Raisin Institute, and this gave me leisure to hold meetings in towns and county school-houses for soliciting help for my Southern work. During vacation our two halls were made ready for opening the Academic Year, as usual, on the first Wednesday in September, 1863-4. The school, though smaller than before the war, opened with fair prospects, and I felt at liberty to leave. The institution, being in competent hands, I obtained as a companion in labor one of the most devoted of Christian woman, my dear sister, Letitia Backus, of Pittsford, Michigan. With a car-load of supplies we left our homes for fields of greatest suffering, where least help was found. Well furnished with documents from our governor, Austin P. Blair, and two members of Congress, we secured passes to Chicago and return, then to Cairo and return, and from thence to Vicksburg, Mississippi. Waiting a few days at Cairo, for our supplies to reach us, we visited the hospitals and camps. Here we met a company of men who were called "Jay-hawkers." They were all tall, large men. One of these carried the treasure-bag, but I do not think he was a Judas to the government. A pillow-case was nearly half full of gold and silver watches, diamonds, and gold jewelry, which they said was confiscated for the government. They said wealth gave the rebellion strength, no matter in what it consisted.

After the arrival of our supplies we took a steamer down the Mississippi, and stopped a short time at Columbus. A little before landing I discovered an Irish woman had in her possession a six-quart tin pail of whisky, and a gallon jug that she seemed very careful to keep out of sight under the sofa; I took a seat by her side, and knew I could not be mistaken as to the contents of her pail and jug, and as I understood it was a forbidden article, I penciled on the margin of my official paper to the inspector to look well to the whisky the woman at my side had in her possession. As he came to inquire for my baggage to inspect, I told him where he would find it, and he would see by my papers what were their probable contents. Taking a look at the lady by my side, as he handed back my papers he remarked, "I think I'll not take the trouble to inspect your baggage, as I see you are all right." As we were going ashore, my red-shawled companion carefully gathered her pail and jug under her shawl at each side of her, and hurried to bury herself in the crowd. The inspector followed closely, and as he took hold of the pail to see what she had hanging on her arm, in her effort to get away from him it fell on the cabin carpet. As the cover came off we had quite a shower of whisky about our feet. At this the jug was seized by the inspector, amid shouts of "Good, good," and the laughter of the crowd, with muttering and swearing by the Irish woman. She hastened out of the crowd, leaving her pail and jug behind her.

At the Soldiers' Home we found Samantha Plummer and her excellent assistant. The following three days we spent in visiting hospitals. Hospital No. 2 was miserably cared for. The matron was a Southern woman, who had lost her husband in the Confederate army, but she professed to be a Union woman, and said her husband would never have gone on that side but for compulsion. Our officers seemed to pity her and her two daughters, and gave them a home in the hospital. The mother held the position of nurse, but not one of the three was a suitable person to be there. The sick and wounded soldiers did not look as if their beds or apparel had been changed in two weeks. The floor was filthy, and the scent was sufficient to sicken well people. From the appearance of the wash-boiler, running over with dried apples that were being boiled without care, I judged every thing to be done after the same style. I inquired of one of the convalescents in the yard when their supper hour was, and proposed to return to see how the brethren fared. Sister Backus was rather fearful I might make matters worse, as they might suspect we had an object in revisiting the hospital so soon; but we were on hand to see the burned and sour biscuits dealt out to those sick and wounded soldiers, with the half-stewed apples, and a choice given between rancid butter and a poor quality of black molasses. I hoped to see something better when the pail with a spout appeared, out of which was turned a substance half way between pudding and porridge, I asked if it was farina. "It's corn meal mush," and mush it was, running all through whatever was on the plate. I passed from one plate to another, tasting the biscuits and cutting pieces of apple to see if I could find one without an uncooked center, but with little success.

In going around I came to half a dozen of the boys trying to while the time away with a pack of cards. Having an armful of Testaments, I proposed to make an exchange. This was readily agreed to, as each of them had left his home with one, but had lost it in battle or storm. I gave them advice to commit at least one verse from their Testaments daily while in the army, and each promised to do so.

All this time of investigating their supper and making this bargain, sister Backus was busily engaging the attention of the matron. I left that hospital with a heavy heart, and spent a sleepless night. I told sister Backus I must remain there until that hospital was renovated. I wanted to go into it and "make things fly," right and left, if there was no other way. In the morning I found the medical director, and asked if he had visited Hospital No. 2 recently. He said he had not, but thought the surgeon having charge of that hospital a very clever sort of a man.

"I think there is not a single officer in that establishment," said I, "that is at all suitable to be there. Perhaps that surgeon is too clever. I tell you he is defective, or he would not allow such a hospital as that under his charge. But I find I am ahead of myself. You may take me to be some nervous mother, but I only claim to be a representative of common-sense women. Here are papers from the governor of my State, and from two members of Congress."

After reading them he said, "I will take up that hospital within two weeks, I think."

"Two weeks!" I exclaimed; "many of those soldiers will die before that time. I can not leave them for two weeks."

"Then I will tell you what I will do; I will bring the sickest ones here to this hospital, and put the rest on a boat and take them to Mound City, to the United States Hospital, and take up No. 2 within three days."

"That will do," I said; "I am satisfied with Mound City Hospital, and with this one. If you will do this I will go on to-day with our supplies for Vicksburg, Mississippi."

"Mrs. Haviland, it shall be done within three days," he replied, and I left him with a lighter heart.

We went on our way with a number of officers and soldiers on board. As we were on the boat over Sunday, I asked permission of the captain to talk to the soldiers. He gave me leave, saying it was a very unsuitable place for ladies on the rear deck, over cattle, sheep, and hogs, but they would prepare a place as soon as possible. While preparation was being made, a young man who had been studying for the ministry of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church, proposed to the captain to address the soldiers. As he was a minister the captain came and informed me that he had granted his request. I told him I supposed we could attend. "Certainly, certainly, if you like, only as I told you, it is an unpleasant place for ladies." Unpleasant as it was, we listened to a long sermon, and remained a few minutes longer to give the boys a mother's advice, as they were leaving their Northern homes, not to allow themselves to become demoralized by the many dangers and hardships they would have to endure.

About 8 o'clock the boat stopped a little below Napoleon, Arkansas, to wood. As it was very dark, our torches were lighted, and we saw a light advancing so fast on the bank that I thought it must be borne on horseback. "No, it's too low," said a woman standing near me. But it went out as soon as it came to the landing, and our light was immediately extinguished, the cable was drawn back, the men leaped aboard, and the boat was wheeled so suddenly into the stream that there was great danger of bursting the boiler. We heard many inquiries as to what was the matter. But the fact ran quickly over the boat that there were guerrillas after us. The running lantern we saw was carried by an old white man, who overheard the talk of more than forty men, who were secreted in a clump of trees and bushes near the landing. They had planned to capture the first steamer that stopped to wood at that place, to take all on the boat as prisoners, strip it of everything on board, and let it float down the river. The old man told the men not to let it be known, if we were captured, that he had informed them of this, as it would cost him his life. Such a scene of excitement I never witnessed; men, as well as women, turned pale, and their voices trembled. Yet many of them flew to their card tables, expecting every moment to be shot into, and trembling with fear so as hardly to be able to hold their cards. The captain said if pouring tar into the furnace would send us beyond a bayou near by before they could overtake us, he thought we should escape. After passing that point our colonel came to me and asked after my companion. I told him as she was not well she had retired very early, and I thought she had better not know any thing of this excitement until morning, If we should escape; if not, it was time for her to become excited when we were taken.

"How do you feel in such an hour as this?" he asked.

"The God of Daniel lives at this hour," I answered, "and in him I trust."

"I see, you take it coolly," he replied, and looked surprised. I told him I pitied those card-players, for it was a hard play for them, while standing face to face with danger. "You see it is an effort," he replied, "to keep danger out of mind as much as possible."

"But see their pale faces and trembling hands. O, what a poor substitute they have for substantial trust in an Almighty Power! You see that gentleman and his wife sitting on the other side of the cabin. They are calm and perfectly composed; they, too, have their pocket Bible in hand. They are trusting children of the Most High, no doubt." He thoughtfully looked over that crowded cabin a moment, and walked away.

Very few retired before 12 o'clock, and those men and women were all that time making an effort to quiet their nerves at their card-table. The next morning our colonel called again with a little joke: "You meet danger so coolly, I think we had better take you with us to Texas for a general."

I was thankful for the improvement in sister Backus's health by a good night's rest, and that we had escaped. Without further trouble we reached Vicksburg, but learned that the loudest cry for aid was in Natchez, and we hastened there with our supplies. We were offered a home with Lieutenant Thirds and family, who had been invited to occupy rooms at Judge Bullock's. The judge was too strong a secessionist to take the iron-clad oath of allegiance, though solicited by his wife; for she feared they might lose their property by confiscation. To save it, he very blandly offered his parlor and best rooms in his large three-story brick house, where we found very comfortable quarters. Through Colonel Young, we obtained the use of a good-sized store on Main Street for our goods, and the surgeon of the freedmen's camp provided for us a small room near the camp, where were congregated four thousand freedmen in condemned tents. These tents were so leaky that, from exposure, after heavy rains and wind, we had from five to fifteen deaths in a day. Here we found constant work for head, heart, hands, and feet.

But few days elapsed at any time without hearing the roar of battle near by, and sometimes the cloud of blue smoke met our eye. One battle was fought within two miles by the negro soldiers, only a few days after the terrible Fort Pillow massacre. They fought desperately. One of their officers told me they had to command their soldiers to stop, and they obeyed only at the point of the bayonet; for they mowed the enemy down like grass, although they lowered their colors and began to stack their arms. Their officers told them to stop firing; but a number of soldiers replied, while reloading, "They hear no cry for quarter at Fort Pillow," and fired again. But when the enemy stacked their arms they were peremptorily ordered to stop. I didn't blame the boys for feeling as they did over that awful massacre. But strange as it seems, not one of our soldiers was killed, or even wounded. There was a white regiment in reserve, if needed; and the colored soldiers almost resented the idea that they needed any assistance whatever.

There was great excitement in the freedmen's camp that day over their victory. Said one woman, whose husband and two sons were soldiers in this battle:

"Why didn't you shoot away as long as one was lef'?"

"Our officers compelled us to stop."

"I don't care for that; they need killin', _every one_."

Said I, "You wouldn't kill the women, would you?"

"Yes, I would," she answered; "for they's wusser'n the men."

"Well, there are the innocent little children--you wouldn't kill them, would you?"

Hesitating a little, she said:

"Yes, I would, madam; for I tell you nits make vermin."

She and all her family had belonged to Judge Bullock's wife, and she was still living in her little cabin and doing the work for the family, as she had done heretofore, though she did not work so hard. She would take the time to do our washing for us. She said Judge Bullock was harder to please than her mistress; but he was afraid of our soldiers, and when Natchez was taken he kept hid in a thicket of bushes in the garden a number of days. They took his meals to him when no one was in sight, expecting the Yankees would kill every man they met; but as he found it otherwise he came into the house, and now he talked with us quite freely. Their slaves were mostly house-servants, and better treated than many others. Judge Bullock was formerly from the North, and married in the South, and his wife inherited the slaves. Their cook was a mulatto, of more than ordinary intelligence, and she told me of the most terrible scenes of barbarity that she had witnessed.

The marks of cruelty were in that camp so frequently seen--men with broken shoulders and limbs--that it was heart-sickening to listen to the recital of their wrongs.

One man I saw with a shred of an ear, and I inquired how his ear became torn like that. He hesitated to tell me, but one of his fellow-slaves said it was done by order of their master; that he was stripped and fastened by a large nail driven through his ear to a tree, and the overseer was directed to whip him on his naked body until his writhings tore his ear out, and that only ended the punishment. One man by the name of Matthew Lasley, living within two miles of this city, owned one hundred slaves, and was his own overseer. He worked his slaves early and late, and was proverbial for cruelty to them. They were not half fed or clothed. A few days after he had sold the wife and child of his slave Jack, they were burning log heaps and clearing off a few acres of new ground. They had worked until about midnight, and were preparing to "turn in." Jack had split an armful of kindling-wood, and was now ready to go to his lonely hut. Then his utter desolation rolled in upon his mind. When his master stooped over to light his cigar, the thought came to him like a flash to kill him, and then he too would die, and so would end his bitter days. No sooner was the thought conceived than the act was done. The ax was buried in Lasley's head; and he sank, a dead man, without uttering a word. Jack came immediately to the city, tapped on the window of Dr. Smith's sleeping apartment, the son-in-law of Lasley, and told him he wanted him to go at once to the new clearing with him. When the doctor went out Jack told him that he had killed his master.

"What did you do it for?"

"Master sole my wife and chile, an' I don't want to live any longer. Now, master, you may shoot me, or take me to jail, or do any thing you're a min' to."

"Well, Jack, I know you've had a hard time; but I shall have to take you to jail, any how, and see what the court will do."

After ordering Lasley's body to be taken care of, he returned to his wife and told her all, and added that he wondered he had not been killed long before, as it was what he had looked for. Dr. Smith employed one of the best lawyers in the city to plead Jack's case, and had all the Lasley slaves brought into court, not one of whom was without marks of cruelty--a broken arm or leg, an ear cut off, or an eye out. They were all in a nearly nude condition, three children under ten years of age entirely so. The daughter begged her husband to allow better clothes for them; but the doctor and the lawyer insisted upon their coming into court with just the clothing provided for them by their master The lawyer made an eloquent plea for Jack, and pointed to the hundred slaves, maimed and crippled and almost naked, and Jack was acquitted. Lasley's extreme cruelty had created a public sentiment in Jack's favor, so that unexpectedly to himself his life was saved. Jack was hunting for his wife and child among the multitude, but had not yet succeeded in finding them.

Week after week was spent in making personal investigations, measuring and preparing bundles for those nearly naked. As new refugees were daily coming in, the officers found it necessary to organize a new camp over the river, in the rear of Vidalia, Louisiana, on the Ralston plantation. As a few hundred were gathered there we went over and found them exceedingly destitute. There were twenty families, mostly of those recently enlisted as soldiers. Some of them were almost ready to desert. Said one, "They say we are free, and what sort of freedom is this, for us to see our families without a board, shingle, or canvas to cover their heads? We are concluding to leave our regiment and build something to shelter our wives and children. They haven't got a place to sleep at night except in the open field." We told them we would make their families our first care, and advised them not to leave. Upon this they became more calm, and concluded to wait armpits, as I chose to keep my arms out in case of tipping over. Here came brother Reed, one of the teachers, offering to aid me; but he had no pass or transportation, and no time to get it. I called the attention of a passing general to my necessity for help, to be able to return before the firing of the sundown gun. He said if he was in command he would allow him to go with my load, and advised him to try it. On we hastened, but met an ambulance that Captain Howe had sent to the new camp for a sick woman with two small children. It was obliged to return, not being able to pass through the lines, as the provost marshal was not to be found. The supposition was very strong that the lines were closed, as it was the weakest point in the post, and the smoke of rebel fires was in sight on Lake Concordia. A battle had been fought a few days before, and another attack was-daily threatened. The driver and brother Reed were doubting the propriety of crossing the river. "For if the lines are closed," they said, "the President himself would not be permitted to pass." But I told them as they did not positively know that the lines were closed, we had better cross.

"It is your load, and if you say go we shall go," said brother Reed.

"I say go," was my decision.

Soon we were in front of the provost marshal's office. But he was not there, and no one knew where he was. After a long search, in accordance with my plea, some of the guards discovered and brought him back, reeling, with his head of long hair thoroughly decorated with feathers and straws. I met him in his office and read to him my papers, holding, them before his face as I would exhibit a picture to a two-year old baby. After explaining all, I made my request to pass his lines with my load of supplies.

"Who--who's there?"

I told him who he was that so kindly offered to aid me in disbursing these supplies just as I was starting; and that a general advised me to take him with my load, as he would pass him, if in command.

"Well, well, I don'--don't--li-like--this--whole--whole-sa-sale business."

But I pleaded for those suffering women and children with all the politeness I was capable of mastering, with disgust boiling over. With stuttering and mumbling his dislikes, and shaking his head, with the feathers and straws waving and nodding in every direction, he took his pen and scribbled a pass that was difficult to decipher. The next line of guards hardly knew what to do with it until I told them the provost marshal was drunk.

"O, yes, and it's no new trick; go on."

And without further difficulty we reached the group of sufferers, who were shivering as if in an ague fit. I threw to each family two blankets or quilts, and more than forty children were crawling between them within three minutes. I gave to each of those twenty women a suit of men's clothing that day to help them out of this intense suffering. I gave them also three rag-carpet blankets out of the four that were sent me by a woman who took up a new rag-carpet she had just put down, and cut it into four pieces after listening to the recital of the great suffering in these camps. She said she should put no more carpets on her floor as long as the war lasted.

Although I had seen so many marks of cruelty among these people, yet I said to myself, O that these poor people had remained in their old homes a little longer! Surely they can not suffer there like this. A little girl came for me to go to the old blacksmith-shop used as a temporary hospital, as her mother thought her brother was dying, and another brother was very sick. I entered that shop, and listened to the groans of the dying. I repeated to myself, O that they had waited a little longer! Four men and the little son of the distressed mother that sent for me were evidently dying, and four others were sick with pneumonia. The mother of these two sick boys was doing all she could for them all. I gave her ground mustard to make poultices, and ginger for those who had chills, and told her how to use them. I had a few pounds of each, and generally took a little package with me, especially after a storm. This miserable shelter leaked but little, but one side and one end were so open that we could throw a hat through the wall.

I saw a pile of irons by the door. Placing my foot on a queer double jointed ring, I said:

"I wonder what that queer sort of a ring could have been used for," looking toward the old dilapidated cotton-gin near by.

"That's a neck iron," said an old woman standing near me.

"A neck-iron! What do you mean?"

"Why, it's an iron collar to wear on the neck."

"But you are certainly mistaken," said I, picking it up; "you see these joints are riveted with iron as large as my finger, and it could never be taken off over one's head."

"But we knows; dat's Uncle Tim's collar. An' he crawled off in dat fence-corner," pointing to the spot, "an' died thar, an' Massa George had his head cut off to get de iron off."

"Is it possible for a human being to become so brutal as to cut a man's head off when he is dead?"

She looked as if she thought I doubted her word, and said: "It didn't hurt Uncle Tim when he was dead as it did when de iron wore big sores way down to de bone, and da got full o' worms afore he died. His neck an' head all swell up, an' he prayed many, many prayers to God to come and take him out his misery."

"How long did he wear it?"

"'Bout two years."

"Two years! It is impossible for any one to live that length of time with this rough heavy iron."

"We work two seasons, any how, over in dat cotton-fiel'," pointing to the two-hundred-acre cotton-field at our right.

I took up another iron, and inquired, "What sort of an iron is this?"

"A knee-stiffener, to w'ar on de leg to keep 'em from runnin' off in dat swamp," pointing to the dark swamp bordering Lake Concordia, so fully draped with long Southern moss that in many places in it nothing could be discovered three feet in the thicket.

I went to the rear of the shop, with the ring under my shawl. Here stood a dozen or more of old and crippled men and women.

"Did any of this company," I asked, "live on this plantation before the war?"

"Yes, missus, six of us live here. I live here seven year."

I drew out the collar, and asked if any one could tell me what that was. One looked at another, and asked where I found it.

"In that pile of irons by the door," I replied.

One said, in a low tone, "Dat's Uncle Tim's collar."

"Yes, missus, dat is iron collar to wear on de neck."

"But you see it is fastened with heavy iron rivets."

"Yes, de way you see it is 'case Massa George Ralston order Uncle Tim's head cut off to get de collar."

"I want this collar," I said, "and another heavy iron a woman called a knee-stiffener. This plantation is confiscated, and these irons belong to you as much as to any body. Will you give them to me?"

Each seemed to wait for the others to speak, but the one to whom I had mostly directed my conversation at length replied:

"I reckon you can have 'em; for we's had all we wants ov 'em."

"I thank you; and if you can find any other slave-irons in that pile I wish you would pick them out for me to take home to Michigan, to show what sort of jewelry the colored people had to wear down here."

They turned over the heap, and found iron horns, hand-cuffs, etc., and explained how they were worn. They showed me also where the iron rod upon which was suspended a bell was cut off of Uncle Tim's collar.

Among the group was a crippled man walking with two canes, clad in tattered cotton clothes, that were hanging in frozen strings from his arms like icicles. I selected a whole suit for him, and a soldier's overcoat. He stepped in the rear of a cabin and changed, and came to me weeping.

"I come to show you," he said; "dis is de best dressin' I's ever had in my life. An' I thanks you, an' praise God."

As we were standing on the bank of the river waiting for the return of the ferry on her last trip that day, there were thirty or forty men waiting, who by their favorite gray appeared to be rebel citizens; but our many bristling bayonets kept them in subjection. The ferry soon took us over the river, and we were within our post before the sundown gun was fired.

As I had brought the sick woman and two little children that Captain Howe had sent his ambulance for in the morning, in one wagon, I must go to his hospital with them. This made us so late that the guard said I could not be allowed to enter the camp without a permit from the officer of the night. I told him where I had been all day without a fire; and as he knew the storm had continued until late in the afternoon, and this sick woman whom the captain had sent for could not get through the lines in the morning, I hoped he would read my papers. He held up his lantern to see them; but as soon as he caught sight of my old portfolio he said, "Go on, I know who you are; I've seen that before." I was permitted to leave my sick family in the hospital, and drove the two miles to our head-quarters by eight o'clock. Although very much chilled, I felt relieved, notwithstanding I had witnessed such scenes of suffering and dying during that eventful day.

One morning the little drummer-boy of twelve years of age marched into camp with seven men that he had taken prisoners, ragged and almost barefooted. The suffering men were glad to find comfortable quarters. Occasionally we found them tamely submitting to be taken, on account of their sufferings for want of food and clothing. One entire company, who suffered themselves to be captured, told our officers if they would allow them to wear out of sight some sort of a Union mark, so as not to meet with trouble from our soldiers, they would go and bring in their entire regiment, as they all wanted to come into our lines. They were furnished with a badge of national colors to wear under their coats. Soon the whole regiment were with us. One of our officers said they were among our most efficient helps. One of them told me if they had known the real object of the war they would never have gone into it; for more than half of them had never owned a slave, and those who did were better off without them. They were surprised to find an attendance of supplies. They had always been told that all the difference between the Northern people and their slaves was the color of their skin.

There was great excitement during the last presidential campaign. The slave passed through terrible experiences during 1860-61. It seemed to be accepted as a settled fact, that if Lincoln was elected it would result in war; and in many places regular drills were instituted. In Natchez the half-grown slave boys got together on Sunday afternoons, and drilled with sticks for guns. At first it attracted no particular attention, and the boys became as expert in handling their stick guns as were their masters. Two slave men were overheard repeating what their master said, that if Lincoln was elected he would free all the slaves, for he was a Black Republican; and they declared that if this was true they would go to the Yankees and help to free their nation. This talk was sufficient to raise the report of an insurrection throughout all that part of the State, and a large vigilance committee was organized to meet once a week and report what they might hear by listening outside the negro cabins. All slave men or boys who were overheard to pray for freedom, or to say any thing indicating a desire to be free, were marked; and in the discussions of this large committee of a hundred men, every thing that had occurred during a few years past, in efforts among the slaves to learn to read and write, was magnified and construed as pointing toward a long and settled purpose among the slaves to rise in insurrection. A majority of this committee decided by whipping and other torture to compel confessions from all these marked slaves, and then to hang them. A number of the committee resigned because they would not consent to these severe measures. Many negroes were dragged out of their cabins or yards without knowing the cause, stripped, tied to the whipping-post or taken to the calaboose, and given as many lashes as could be endured. At the close of each whipping the sufferer was called upon to make a full revelation of every sentence that he or she had heard in favor of liberty, or of the Yankees, among their people, either in conversation or prayer, and by whom, with a promise to be released from further punishment. Never was one released, but on Saturday generally ten or twelve of these sufferers were thrown into a wagon and conveyed to the gallows, where they were placed in a row, and all were hanged at the same instant.

Some hundreds were thus hanged in the edge of the city, and on an adjoining plantation. I carefully investigated the facts, and gathered the following statement from both white and colored citizens. I have good reasons for placing entire confidence in its correctness. A large number of slaves were hanged, owned by the following persons:

Frank Susetts, 26; James Susetts, 7; Dr. Stanton, 8; Dr. Moseby, 26; widow Albert Dunbar, 48; Mrs. Brady, 12; widow E. Baker, 28; Mrs. Alexander, 16; Dr. George Baldwin, 8; Stephen Odell, 5; G. Grafton, 5; James Brown, 3; Mr. Marshall, 1; Mr. Robinson, 2; Melon Davis, 1; widow Absalom Sharp, 3; Miss Mary Dunbar, 3; Joseph Reynolds, 2; Baker Robinson, 3; Lee Marshall, whipped to death 1; Mrs. Chase, whipped to death 1; a total of 209.

I was told by a number of persons, both white and colored, that there were over four hundred tortured to death in this reign of terror, before Natchez fell into Union hands, but I put in my diary only such as I found were proven to be facts.

Miss Mary Dunbar was very much distressed over the loss of one of her three slaves who were hanged, and offered the vigilance committee ten thousand dollars for his release, but to no purpose. Joseph Reynolds also offered the committee $100,000 for the release of his two, but was denied. One little boy of twelve years of age was taken to the calaboose and whipped, then taken with the wagon-load of other victims of their unrelenting cruelty to the scaffold, followed by his mother in wild despair, praying as she went through the streets, tossing her hands upward: "O, God, save my poor boy! O, Jesus Master, pity my poor child! O, Savior, look down upon my poor baby!" The woman who went with her to the scaffold said she cried these words over and over; "and when we got there," she said, "she fell on her knees before the head man, and begged for the life of her baby. But he kicked her on her head, and cursed her, and told her the boy had got to die. The boy exhorted his mother not to grieve so for him, 'for I'm going to Jesus; meet me in heaven;' and he, with eleven others, were swung off. The mother cried out, 'Oh, my God! my poor son!' and feinted." So perfect was this reign of terror that not even slave-owners, in many cases, dared to protest against this wholesale butchery. The repeated whippings mangled the bodies of many so badly that they were taken to the gallows in a dying state. One man died while being taken upon the scaffold; his sides were cut through to the entrails, and even a part of them protruded. I visited the calaboose, which had two apartments. The first entrance was large enough for two persons to be fastened to the strong iron staples. There was room for two men to each victim, one on each side, who, seated on a stool, could alternate the strokes upon the writhing sufferer. The floor of this calaboose was of hard wood, but it was so thoroughly stained with human gore that the grain of the wood could not be distinguished. Into the second room not a ray of light entered except on opening the middle door.

Frank Susetts was a millionaire in the city of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and made his boast that he had no fear of Yankees, for he had gold enough to cover his front walk from the door to the gate, and could buy up any Yankee who might attempt to trouble him. "There are two things," he said, "they can never do: First, make me poor; second, make me take the oath of allegiance." He owned nine plantations, besides very much city property. Though hundreds of his slaves had left him, he felt himself secure in the abundance of his wealth. The government engineer, who had been casting about for the best place to locate a fort, had been looking over Frank Susetts's place and said it was the most elevated and desirable location he had found in the city, but he rather hesitated because of the magnificent buildings it would destroy. When Susetts's independent words reached his ear he at once decided, and took his men the second time to look over the ground. Standing near the palatial mansion, and within hearing of the owner, he said to his men, "Yes, yes, this is the place for our fort."

Frank Susetts approached him with the offer of thirty thousand dollars in gold if he would spare his place.

"I can not accept it, sir," said the engineer.

"I will give you fifty thousand dollars in gold if you will save it. It cost me one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars to build this house and the out-houses."

"Should you offer all that you say it cost you, it would be of no consequence. We give you ten days to take away every thing movable from your premises, for this house will then be destroyed to make room for the fort. This is the site we have selected."

At the expiration of the time set, it was in flames. Frank Susetts and wife stood a block distant weeping. Two of their former slaves were looking at the conflagration.

"Ah," said one, "a little while ago it was massa Susetts's time, when he had so many of our people hung; now it is God's time. Praise de Lo'd, he's here to-day for sure. Glory to Jesus, massa Susetts's day is over; he can never have any more of our people hung."

It was now the 21st day of March, 1864. Many complained of these turned tables. Judge Bullock remarked that he couldn't even go to meeting without a "pass;" just what used to be required of the six thousand freed slaves who were then in this city of refuge. Painters were seen in various parts of the city dexterously using their brushes in wiping out standing advertisements for the sales of slaves. I saw a number of these whitewashed signs. In some cases the paint was too thin to hide them. "Slaves, horses, mules, cattle, plantation utensils sold on reasonable terms." They knew these advertisements were not agreeable to Northern eyes. But I fear the covering of many of these hearts was as frail as the thin whitewashing over these advertisements.

On the Ralston plantation we visited families, gave tickets, and directed them to meet us at the place and hour appointed. Hundreds in squalid wretchedness were supplied. The following day, in the afternoon, all orphan children were to meet us. One hundred and twenty-two ragged children came. We placed them in two rows, the boys on one side and the girls on the other. Selecting each an assistant, we commenced measuring and distributing, keeping them all standing in their respective places until we had given every one something, but yet too little to meet their necessary wants. There were at that time twenty-seven teachers and missionaries in the city representing nine States. Six day-schools and three night-schools were established by them. Two other schools were taught by colored teachers; one of these was a slave woman, who had taught a midnight school for years. It was opened at eleven or twelve o'clock at night, and closed at two o'clock A. M. Every window and door was carefully closed to prevent discovery. In that little school hundreds of slaves learned to read and write a legible hand. After toiling all day for their masters they crept stealthily into this back alley, each with a bundle of pitch-pine splinters for lights. Milla Granson, the teacher, learned to read and write from the children of her indulgent master in her old Kentucky home. Her number of scholars was twelve at a time, and when she had taught these to read and write she dismissed them, and again took her apostolic number and brought them up to the extent of her ability, until she had graduated hundreds. A number of them wrote their own passes and started for Canada, and she supposes succeeded, as they were never heard from. She was sold after her master's death, and brought to Mississippi, and placed on a plantation as a field-hand; but, not being used to field-work, she found it impossible to keep up with the old hands, and the overseer whipped her severely.

"O, how I longed to die!" she told me; "and sometimes I thought I would die from such cruel whippings upon my bared body. O, what a vale of tears this was for poor me! But one thing kept me from sinking, and that was the presence of my dear Savior."

Her health so far gave way that she reeled with weakness as she went to and from her work; and her master saw she was failing, and gave her permission, to go into the kitchen a part of the time.

"O, how thankful I was," she went on, "for this promotion! and I worked as hard to keep it as any Congressman could work for some high office."

At length her night-school project leaked out, and was for a time suspended; but it was not known that seven of the twelve years since leaving Kentucky had been spent in this work. Much excitement over her night-school was produced. The subject was discussed in their legislature, and a bill was passed, that it should not be held illegal for a slave to teach a slave.

"All this time," said this dear woman, "I constantly prayed that God would overrule this to his own glory, and not allow those I had taught to read his Word to suffer, as we had been threatened. I can not tell you how my heart leaped with praise to God when a gentleman called to me one day on the street, and said he would inform me that I could teach my midnight school if I chose, as they found, no law against a slave teaching a slave."

This was accepted by that trembling teacher and scholars as a direct answer to prayer. She not only opened her night-school, but a Sabbath-school. I found more intelligence among the colored residents of this city than any other Southern city I had visited. Milla Granson used as good language as any of the white people.

We found many little incidents to cheer in all our rounds of pitiable scenes of sorrow. We sometimes met men and women among these Southerners of correct views on secession. One man said he never believed that slavery was right; all the arguments brought forward in its favor never convinced him. Although he held a few slaves by inheritance, he never could buy or sell one. His black people remained with him, and he paid them wages now that they were free by law, and he was glad of it. As he was nearly sixty years of age he had managed to keep out of the army, but had to keep quiet on the subject of secession. From the first he thought it the height of folly to resort to arms, as the Lord could not prosper their undertaking. I believe that man was a conscientious Christian; very different in spirit from Judge Bullock, who said one day in rather a careless mood, "I think you have one class of men in your North the most despicable I ever knew." Now, thought I, we abolitionists are going to take a blessing. "Who are they?" I asked. "They are that class you call Copperheads. They are too dastardly to come down here and help us fight, and they are too pusillanimous to fight for their own side."

Our daily work was very wearisome, having to walk from four to six miles each day. Fresh arrivals daily required our attention, and after wind or rain pneumonia and deaths were frequent. Bible-reading and prayer were also a part of our mission. One day, while sister Backus was opening barrels and boxes, and sorting and arranging their contents in our store, I went with a load, in a recently confiscated stage-coach drawn by mules. One of the mules the colonel said he was afraid to allow me to ride after; but I thought a little mule could do but little harm with the experienced driver, and I ventured the ride, taking in a poor crippled man on the way, who was just coming into camp. He was clad in a few cotton rags that he had patched with old stocking-tops and bits of old tent-cloth, to hold them together, and it was impossible to detect the original fabric. In passing down the "Paradise Road" to the camp in Natchez-under-the-Hill, the unruly mule pranced, kicked, and reared, until both of them became unmanageable, and the dust rolled up a thick cloud, hiding the way before us, as well as the galloping mules.

I believed that we should turn over at the short curve near the base of the hill, where was a number of large stumps; and that if we should strike one of them we should be dashed in pieces. But prayer for a guiding hand seemed in a moment to bring relief. We were overturned amid stumps, and were dragged a few rods on the side of the coach, when the canvas covering was detached from the wheels. Our driver was dragged a few rods farther, while the crippled man and myself were doing our best to crawl from under the canvas. By this time fifteen or twenty men reached us. I was out and hauling the canvas off the groaning man, whose head and face were covered with blood. I told one of the men to run for a pail of water, for I thought the poor man must be dying.

"O, no, it's all right,--it'll make me a better man," said he, while catching his breath, and wiping the blood from his mouth.

"You had better sit down yourself; you are badly hurt," said one of the men.

"O no, I am not hurt," was my reply.

But as I was getting a little child's shirt ready for the men to wash the crippled man's head, I found the front breadth of my dress torn across, and I had to throw back my bonnet to see; but I knew my limbs were all sound. Although it seemed as if we had turned many somersaults in a second, yet I never felt more vigorous. I knew the surgeon of that camp was within a few rods of us, and requested some one to go for him to care for my comrade. I saw a man carefully washing out the large gashes on his head, and I left for the surgeon, holding my torn dress-skirt in my hand. Just as I reached his office he was jumping on his horse, starting for me. He exclaimed in surprise, "Why, Mrs. Haviland! I've just this moment got the word that you were nearly killed, and I was going to see you."

"I am all right," I said; "but I wish you would go and see to that crippled man, for I am afraid he is nearly killed."

"Very well, but I shall look after you first."

By this time he was handling my arms, and pressing here and there on my body, I thought pretty harshly; for he either found or made some sore places. He ordered his ambulance, in which I was taken to head-quarters. As I was badly bruised, the surgeon urged me to take morphine. I was sure of not needing it, but promised to call for it if needed, and he allowed me to go without it. I found myself too lame to resume work for a couple of days; then I commenced again moderately, but carried marks of bruised flesh for a month or more.

About two weeks after this, while investigating a new arrival of a company of slaves, I learned that some of them were shot by their pursuing masters, and one woman's babe was instantly killed in its mother's arms; but the mother succeeded in passing into our lines, with her dead child in her arms, to be buried, as she said, "_free_." A woman and a little boy of three years, with dresses torn with briers to shreds, and feet and limbs swollen and bleeding with scratches, came in, from whom I was getting her sad history. Two gentlemen passing by, halted, and said one:

"This looks as if these would have been much better off at their old homes. Don't you think so?"

"I think this picture shows great effort in escaping from their old home," I replied.

"Do you live here?"

"I am only a temporary resident here. My home is in Michigan."

"May I ask your name?"

I gave it, and he continued:

"And so am I from Michigan. I've heard of you before, I thought this was some good Samaritan," giving his hand for a hearty shake.

"And who is this?" I asked.

"I'm Dr.----, from one of our Michigan cities. And what are you doing here?"

"I am doing just the work you see before us."

"Yes, and I saw a span of mules trying their best to kill her two weeks ago, when they came sailing down that Paradise Road up yonder; but they couldn't do it," said his guide.

I asked him what he was doing. He said he had just come to see if there was any thing he could do. I told him of the new camp on the Ralston plantation, and of this camp of four thousand. I hoped he would look after these, as we proposed to leave soon for other fields of labor below.

On March 24, 1864, I took letters to post-office, and found one from our dear friend, Addie Johnson, assistant matron of Soldiers' Home, in Columbus, Kentucky. I went to General Tuttle for an order for transportation to Baton Rouge, and, as usual, introduced myself by handing my official papers. Being a very large man, he was in proportion consequential.

"What do you want?"

I told him I would like transportation to Baton Rouge.

"I don't know," he said; "that I am here to make the Government a great benevolent society, by giving every thoroughly loyal and earnest Christian man or woman transportation."

"Is there not an order," I replied, "from Adjutant-general Thomas, granting us transportation, rations, and quarters?"

"I have received no such order personally."