A Woman's Life-Work — Labors and Experiences of Laura S. Haviland

by Laura S. Haviland

CHAPTER X.

HOSPITAL WORK.

Our last chapter left us in hospital world at Cairo. A portion of the freedmen's camp of three thousand the officers proposed to remove to Island No. 10, and wished me to take most of my supplies to that place. While waiting for their arrival I visited the United States Hospital at Mound City, a few miles up the Ohio River. Here, too, were dying soldiers, one of whom especially attracted my attention, as he was perfectly sane and rather unusually intelligent. I immediately addressed him: "My son, are you prepared to go hence?"

"Mother," he said, "that is a matter which I ought to have attended to long ago, but I did not, and now it is too late! I am dying."

"Oh, do not say too late! Remember the condition is, 'Believe and thou shalt be saved;' 'As thou hast believed, so shall it be unto thee.' These are the sure promises of our merciful Redeemer. Remember the thief on the cross looked at him with repenting spirit and living faith, and said, 'Lord, remember me when thou comest into thy kingdom;' and the quick reply was, 'This day thou shalt be with me in Paradise.' Can you not trust such a Redeemer?—such a loving Father as is our God, who saves to the uttermost all who ask with believing hearts?" He firmly held my hand and said, "I will try."

Our prayers were mingled in asking for the enlightening of the Holy Spirit, and while he was asking for the forgiveness of all his sins, that he might receive an evidence of acceptance, he seemed encouraged and gave me the names and address of his parents, for me to write them of his hope, in departing, of a better future.

There was also great suffering in the camp of freedmen. The officers wished me to aid them in persuading these people to go down to the island, as they were afraid of being returned to slavery at the close of the war, and desired to push as far into the free States as possible, and very loath to go back "an inch," as one of the officers expressed it. I took the names of these almost nude people, whom I instructed to come to my tent; as the officers said I should have one for the purpose of giving out clothing to the most needy among them. They assured them that their freedom was a fixed fact; that they would never see the day again when they would be separated by being sold apart. This, I found, has a greater inducement for them to consent to the request of the officers to go to the island than all the clothing I could promise.

But one poor woman came to the captain weeping, saying, "My poor baby is dying' an' I can't leave him. He is my only child left me." In the great hurry and bustle of business the quick reply was, "Go back and I'll see to it." As she left the office he turned to me and said, "I don't know whether it is so or not; they get up all sorts of excuses." As she was not yet out of sight, I followed her to the slab hut and found it true. An hour later and the baby of eight years was in the spirit world.

"Now, missus, I can't go an' leave my dead baby for de wharf-rats to eat, an' de boat goes out at three o'clock."

I reported the death of the child and of the distress of the mother. "Tell her," said the officer, "we will see that her child is buried this afternoon, and I want her to go on this boat." I told the mother of the captain's wish, and that I would see that her child was buried.

"Ob, missus, it 'pears like I can't leave him so; they'll leave him here to-night, an' dese wharf-rats are awful. Da eat one dead chile's face all one side off, an' one of its feet was all gnawed off. I don't want to leave my chile on dis bare groun'."

The grief of this poor mother was distressing in the extreme. She knew not whether her husband and three older children, sold away two years previously, were still slaves or living, as she had never heard a word from them since they were taken from her. Those sad separations, she said, were much harder to bear than the death of this child. But she consented to go, on my promise to see that her child was buried before night. After she left for the boat I went to the captain to see his promise performed. He seemed very indifferent.

"What is the difference if that child shouldn't be buried this afternoon or whether wharf-rats eat it or not?"

"You promised to have it buried this afternoon," I said, "and I told that poor woman I would see that it was done; and I see no other way than to hold you to that promise, for I shall meet her on the island, and I must report to her."

Said the captain, "You won't allow such things as these to break your heart, after being in the army a little while and seeing our soldiers buried in a ditch, with no other coffin or winding sheet than the soldier's dress. For the time being we bury hundreds just in that way; and when from five to fifteen die in one day, as sometimes is the case in these large camps, we can not make coffins for them, but we roll them up in whatever they have. If we can get a piece of board to lay them on when we put them in their graves we do well." "But here you have lumber and plenty of carpenters, and you can have a plain coffin for the dead, and I do hope one will be made for this child. As I told the mother I would see that a coffin was made for her child and have it buried this afternoon, I will do it." He called the sergeant and gave the order for a carpenter among the soldiers to make it, and I saw the pine board coffin go to the burying ground with the child just before sunset.

Colonel Thomas and the captain doubted whether I could secure transportation from General Taliaferro, who was in charge of that post. They said he was a cross old bachelor, and had said he would not give another woman transportation to go into the army. "But," said Colonel Thomas to the captain, "she will be more likely to succeed if she goes herself without any word from us."

On the following day my car-load of supplies arrived, and I began to regret that I had not waited a day or two longer at home for the one hundred dollars that could have been placed in my hands, so that I could use it in an emergency if I should be refused transportation. With some misgivings I entered the general's office and requested an interview. I introduced myself by handing him my papers, which he looked over, and pleasantly asked what I wished.

"I am hoping," I said, "to secure transportation to Island No. 10, and to Memphis, Tennessee, for myself and the supplies referred to in those papers."

"Well, madam, I think your papers are worthy of attention, and I will grant your request."

This was said in such a pleasant manner I almost concluded the general had been misrepresented, but how changed his tone when he called his adjutant, who in an instant stood before him. "Go tell my clerk to come in." He hurried to obey his command, and returned with the report, "He is gone."

"Gone! where has he gone?"

"He went a few minutes ago to Church."

"Gone to Church! He has no business to go to Church, or anywhere else, without my permission; he has no right to leave his office without my order."

This he said in such a stern, vociferous manner that I wished myself out of his presence. But turning to me, in a mild tone, he said:

"Mrs. Haviland, you don't want transportation tonight. You come to-morrow morning at nine o'clock, and you shall have the papers."

With heartfelt thanks I left his office. On my return I found Colonel Thomas and the captain anxiously waiting to learn the result of my call on the general. They met me at the door of their office, and asked:

"What is the news?"

"The general grants transportation for myself and supplies to Island
No. 10 and to Memphis," I said.

By their clapping of hands one would have thought they had got cheering news from the army. I found they too felt the weight of responsibility in this, as they had solicited my aid in getting these freed people to go to the island.

The following morning I found a boat was going to leave at half-past eight o'clock, but too early for the promised transportation, I told the captain of the boat of my wish to go with supplies to Island No. 10 and to Memphis, but had the promise from the general to have the papers at nine o'clock. A captain in the army, standing by, told him he could take me with supplies with all safety; for if General Taliaferro had promised transportation he could rest assured the general at Columbus, Kentucky, would be sure to give it.

"Very well," he said; "where are your supplies?"

They were pointed out, and he ordered them to be put on board at once.

On landing at Columbus I called on the general, and secured transportation from Cairo to places of destination. Now I thought all was straight; but as I handed my paper to the captain he said:

"This is an order for transportation. The captain-quartermaster is to fill it out, to be good for any thing."

I confessed my ignorance of army red-tape, and took back the papers to have them finished. He inquired for my pass from the provost-marshal. That, too, I knew nothing about; but the army captain came to my relief, taking my papers and getting the transportation filled, with a pass from the provost-marshal. These lessons I found important in all my after work.

We soon landed at Island No. 10, the area of which was two hundred and fifty acres of available plow land, with an excellent orchard of three hundred bearing apple and peach trees. Upon this island were seven hundred freedmen, who were making good use of the rich donations of twenty-five plows, with harrows, hoes, axes, rakes, and garden and field seeds, from Indiana and Ohio. Their superintendent, Chaplain Thomas, told me that he never saw a more willing and obedient people. They mostly lived in tents. Government had furnished lumber to erect a few temporary buildings. An old dilapidated farmhouse, and a few log-huts formerly occupied by the overseer and slaves, were the homes of Captain Gordon and Surgeon Ransom, with their families, who seemed to enjoy camp life as well as any I had seen. They had in charge four companies of soldiers. Their hospital assumed an air of neatness and comfort.

We took a stroll over the battle-ground, and saw the deep furrows plowed by the terrible shells, in which a horse might be buried. Here and there were interspersed "rebel rat-holes," as they were called, dug seven or eight feet deep, and nearly covered with planks and two or three feet of earth, in which they dropped themselves, after firing, to reload and be secure from flying shot and shell. I picked up a couple of cannon-balls about the size of a small tea-cup, of which a peck is used for a load. An officer told me that he saw twenty-five rebels killed with one discharge of these balls. O, what slaughter of human life!

Government provided a physician and dispensary for the freed people. Their hospital was a tent, like the majority of the regimental hospitals in the army. The first tent I visited was occupied by an aged pair, with two grown children, who appeared quite intelligent. Hard treatment and cruel separations had filled the greater portion of their lives. As I was making remarks on the wickedness of slavery, said the old man, with tearful eyes, "Please stop till I bring in my daughter and family from the next tent." They soon entered. "Please go on," said the father. While tears were coursing down the old man's furrowed cheeks, in undertone he ejaculated, "O Lord, I did not expect to live to see this day."

At the close of my remarks he arose to his feet, and in the most pathetic manner addressed his family as follows:

"My wife and children, have you thought we should ever see this? I fear we are not thankful enough to God. Do we prize this precious privilege as we ought? That dear wife was sold from me nearly twenty years ago; soon after my children were sold, and I thought my heart was broke. They punished me because I grieved so much, and then sold me to be taken another way. O, how I prayed for death to hide me from my troubles, for I thought none could see as much as I did. Many gloomy nights and days of sorrow I spent. I could hear no word from my wife, and nothing from my children. My master told me I should never hear from them again, because I made so much trouble over it; he would send me as far as wind and water would carry me, so I would never hear from them again. I remembered the words of my poor old father upon his death-bed, when he gave me this Bible: 'My son, the same God that made that Bible learned me to read it, and learned me to endure hard trials patiently. Remember, my son, the same God will do the same for you if you go to him for help;' and so he has. Praise be to the Lord forever!" He took from a box a Bible, all spotted over with mold, without and within: "This Bible has been manna to my soul for many years. God has learned me to read, as he did my poor father. He has been my support. I have prayed these many years for deliverance from bondage, and my faith told me it would come; but I didn't know it would come in my time. O, what a Savior is our Jesus! That dear wife was compelled to marry another man in these long years of separation. He was taken into the rebel army, and she came to the Union camp. A few days ago we met at Fort Pillow; and there we met our two long lost children; and here we found this daughter and family. O, how wonderful are God's ways! O, my wife, my children! let us live nearer that Almighty Deliverer than ever before, and praise his holy name forever." And the tall figure sat down, amid sobs and tears. The spirit of that family sermon I can never forget.

This noble man, Uncle Stephen, was but a few days before a slave; yet with the dignity of a patriarch he assumed his new relation. He was evidently a self-taught man, more intelligent, and using more correct language, than any I had met on the island.

On leaving my tent, tickets were given with explanations of my mission, which was both new and strange to them. In another tent I found a young man who had attempted to escape to our lines more than a year before, but was overtaken and shot by his master, shivering the bones six inches above the ankle, making amputation necessary. He was beginning to use his wooden leg. His master was taken prisoner by our men a few days before, and he, with one hundred fellow-slaves, fell into the hands of the Union army. He was fitted with a whole suit. This was done in but few instances, the general destitution forbidding it. It would have pleased the donors to see me with open boxes, taking out garment after garment, measuring and delivering, upon presentation of tickets previously given, to fifty or a hundred at a time; and to listen to the many thanks and hearty "God bless you!" as each garment was taken.

At breakfast the adjutant told me of five little boys belonging to some of the Fort Pillow families that were almost naked, and that he had given one little fellow a pair of his own pants. I told him to bring them to the commissary tent any time from nine to twelve o'clock, as I had arranged to meet the children to whom I had given tickets; and if he brought them or gave them a slip of paper with his name, it would serve the same purpose. Soon we were beside the boxes in our commissary tent measuring, fitting, and handing out, when up stepped the little fellow of eight summers with the tall man's pants, rolled over and over at the bottom, with one suspender tied around him, the other placed over his shoulder to hold them on. His eyes sparkled as a new suit was thrown over his arm; calling out, "See here, Johnnie, what I got!" "Yes, look at mine!" was the quick reply, while on the other side stood a little girl who exclaimed, in surprise, "Oh, Milla, my dress has a pocket, and see what I found," as she drew out a rag doll two inches long. Then a dozen other little girls instituted a search and found similar treasures, which I recognized as coming from certain little girls in Hudson, Michigan. All were on tip-toe with excitement, and these remarks were flying through this crowd of little folks when the adjutant came to the tent door. Laughing through tears, he said, "Have you ever thought of the Savior's words, 'Inasmuch as ye have done it unto the least of these, ye have done it unto me?'"

"That thought had come to my mind before engaging in this mission, and it is that which drew me from my Michigan home."

"Doesn't this pay you," he continued, "for coming all this distance, to see those sparkling eyes and light hearts dancing with joy?"

"Here is verified the declaration that it is more blessed to give than to receive," was my reply.

A woman came one evening with the following queries:

"Missus, whar all dese clo'es come from? Does gov'ment send 'em to us?"

On listening to my explanation, "An' don't gov'ment pay you for bringin' 'em to us?"

After all her questions had been disposed of she sat for a moment in a deep study; then said in surprise, "De Norf mus' be mighty, mighty rich to send so much money down here to carry on de war and send so much to eat, and den da send so many clo'es an' keep so many men here too; indeed da mus' be mighty rich."

They were preparing to open a school for them. Henry Roundtree, a missionary, was laboring among them, and would disburse clothing sent to that point.

After spending over a week on this beautiful island, on my way to the steamer, I was hailed by a female voice calling out, "Missus, missus, don't pass by dis yere way." Turning in the direction of the call, I saw a very old woman sitting on a log, clad in a man's coat, hat, and shoes, with an old patched negro cotton skirt. On approaching her I remarked, as I took the bony hand, "You are very old."

"Can't tell how ole I is, only I knows I's been here great while. You see dat white house over de river dar? Dat's been my home great many year, but massa drove me off, he say, 'case I's no 'count, gwine round wheezin' like an ole hoss, an' snap a gun at me an' say he shoot my brain out if I didn't go to de Yankees. An' missus come out an' say she set fire to my cabin some night an' burn me up in it. 'Go 'long to de Yankees; da wants niggers, an' you ain't no 'count no how.' An' I tole 'em, 'Wa'n't I 'count good many years ago?' But da say, 'Clar out wid you.' An' I seed some boys fishing' on de bank, an' da fetch me over."

Looking down at her stockingless feet she said, "Missus, I ain't had a suit o' clo'es in seven years." I told her if there was a woman's garment left she should have it. And I would tell the good people about her, and they would send her a suit of clothes.

"Tank you, missus; God bless you!"

And I left the giant-like old woman, whose head was bleached by the fronts of eighty or ninety Winters. While waiting on the gunboat for the steamer, I referred to the old woman I had seen, when one of the men turned to his comrade and said, "That's the same strange-appearing old woman we brought over," and he repeated the same story she related to me. Said one, "Such people ought to be made to bite the dust. Her master took the oath of allegiance to save his property; but he has no more principle than a hyena to turn out such an old white-headed woman as that to die like a brute."

Such are some of the incidents that gradually changed the politics of the army. They made our Butlers and Hunters by scores. They saw that man's inhumanity to man was the outgrowth of slavery. They clearly perceived that the iron rod of oppression must be broken, or the unholy rebellion would succeed.

At four P. M. I embarked for another field. On board the steamer were a number of officers and soldiers, and three women who were ex-slave owners. They had quietly listened to the conversation of the officers on establishing schools among the freed men, and taking them into the army as soldiers. I, too, had been a silent listener. After the officers had left the cabin, one of the women drew her chair near me, and in a subdued tone said:

"Do you believe it is right to set up schools among niggers?"

"Certainly I do," was my reply, "as they have as good a right to become intelligent as any other class of people."

"Do you think that it is right to make soldiers out of niggers?"

"Certainly, if it is right for any class of people."

After looking around to see whether any officer was in hearing, she added:

"And do you think it right to rob us of our niggers, as the Yankees are doing?"

"Certainly, if you call it robbery to allow the negroes to go where they please."

My replies were in my common tone of voice, yet it seemed to frighten her. She would take a look to see whether an officer was near. Then would go on with her queries in an undertone.

"I tell you it is mighty hard, for my pa paid his own money for our niggers; and that's not all they've robbed us of. They have taken our horses and cattle and sheep and every thing."

As I had my little Bible in my hand, I turned to the predicted destruction of Babylon in Revelation, and read, "Fine flour, and wheat, and beasts, and sheep, and horses, and chariots, and slaves, and souls of men." "You see here," I said, "are the very articles you have named. And God is the same unchanging Lord to-day."

"But I tell you, madam, its mighty, mighty hard."

In all this conversation she closely watched the officers, and often raised her handkerchief to her face while talking with me, as if to check the sound of her already stifled voice. How widely different were our positions, compared with six years before, when going down this river on an errand for a white fugitive from slavery. Then my thoughts could find no place even in a whisper, and slave-holders were cursing and threatening abolitionists. What a turning of tables! Now I could say all that was in my heart on the sin of slavery, and the slave-holder was now hushed. The coal-barge "L. S. Haviland," that I saw on my other trip tied up a little way above Memphis, was not now to be seen. I had not yet learned the fate of those Tennessee slave-holders who had so often threatened my life, and a number of my friends had advised me to keep a proper distance from them, as this might be the time for their opportunity. When I left my home I had no idea of going as far as Tennessee, or my children and friends would have feared for my safety; but, as for myself, I knew no fear.

In Memphis I found many hospitals filled with sick, wounded, and dying soldiers; and in better condition than I had anticipated, except the Jackson Hospital, which was one of the largest in the city. I asked permission of the guards to enter, but was informed their orders were very strict to allow no one to go in without permission.

"Very well," said I, "please inform me where I can find the clerk, and
I will secure a permit."

The surgeon in charge was just passing out of the main entrance, and the guard introduced me. I informed him of my wish to visit his hospital. In a very surly manner he inquired:

"Have you a son here?"

"I have not," I answered.

"Then what do you want to go in here for? It is no place for a lady to step her foot over the threshold of a hospital."

"I perceive you and I differ widely in that; but if you doubt my fitness to visit your patients, you can examine my papers from the governor of my State and a member of Congress and others."

"If you have no son here, I don't see that you have any business here."

"Every soldier is some mother's son, and I wish to visit them, and here are my papers; you can read them if you wish."

Throwing out his hand angrily, he said:

"Go along, then; go along."

I went, but he took good care to bear me company.

As we entered each ward, every soldier who was able to bear his weight sprang to his feet, and stood by his cot during our stay in the ward. I saw at once that it was in pursuance of an order. I had made it a point to shake hands with every soldier that was awake and conscious, but the surgeon hurried through without giving an opportunity to speak to a half-dozen in the whole hospital. One poor skeleton of a man sat bolstered on his cot, eating his dinner, and had on his plate a spoonful of cooked onion.

"Where did you get that onion?" cried the surgeon.

"I paid my own money for it, doctor."

"Who said you might have it?"'

"Dr. Spears."

"Very well, then;" and passed on.

Here my disgust filled up to the brim. I cared but little for his attempt to browbeat me; but when he treated a helpless soldier like this I could hardly keep my indignation from boiling over. The first words spoken to me after entering the hospital were:

"Do you want to go into the kitchen?"

"I would like to pass through your kitchen," was my reply.

"Very unfavorable time, madam—very unfavorable; about dinner-time."

Very favorable, thought I, and went in. I could see at a glance that the large caldron of potatoes was boiled half an hour too long. Their bread looked well, and I suppose it was good. As we passed out, taking memoranda and pencil, I said:

"You have a very large hospital. How many will it accommodate?"

"Fifteen hundred, madam. Very few, very few at present, only four hundred and eighty-four."

"How many nurses have you?"

"Twenty-three."

"No female nurses?"

"No, madam. As I told you, a woman has no business to step inside of a hospital."

"As I told you, we evidently differ in that respect. Where I have found judicious female nurses it seems more home-like, and our soldiers feel more contented."

"Very few, very few judicious female nurses."

"They exist, notwithstanding. How many surgeons have you?"

"Only four at present."

"You are the surgeon in charge; please give me your name."

"My name is Surgeon Powers, of the Seventh Missouri Regiment."

His name and figures were too plainly recorded to be effaced. Here he turned a perfect somersault, if words could perform the feat. With an affected politeness, bowing himself almost double:

"Madam, I hope you will call again some time; call in the middle of the forenoon or afternoon—very unfavorable about meal-time."

"If I remain a week or ten days longer in the city," I replied, "I shall do so."

"I would be very happy to have you call again, madam; very happy to see you again."

I left with a heavy heart, and called at the sanitary rooms to ascertain the location of five unvisited hospitals. I found the room filled with officers and a few generals of high rank. I introduced myself, as usual, by handing Dr. Warrener, sanitary agent, my papers.

"Then you are visiting the hospitals, with supplies, etc., are you? I am glad to see you, as we have had no visitor from so far North. How do you find them?"

"I have found them," I answered, "more satisfactorily conducted than I anticipated, with but one exception."

"Have you visited the Jackson?"

"I have just come from there."

"To-day is not the visiting day. Did you see Surgeon Powers?"

"I did."

"Did you get into that hospital without trouble?"

"We had a parley."

"What did he say to you?"

I gave his objection and my reply in a low tone. To my annoyance, the doctor repeated it in a loud voice, and continued:

"You certainly could have given no better reason than that every soldier is some mother's son. What do you think of Surgeon Powers?"

I hesitated in view of all these officers; but my second thought was, no matter whether the President himself were present; and I frankly replied:

"I think he is a tyrant brandy-cask. Why do you allow such a man to occupy the responsible position of surgeon in charge of hundreds of the sick and wounded soldiers?"

"We tried once to get him out, and failed. You ought to see the medical director, who is in the city."

He gave me the location of the hospitals I desired, and I left. Remembering the promise I made my son Joseph, I returned to head-quarters, and spent the balance of the day in writing for soldiers and for myself.

The following morning I resumed hospital visiting. On the street I met an officer, who reached his hand with a smile, saying, "You do not recognize me, but I recognize you as being the lady in Dr. Warrener's office yesterday, after visiting the Jackson Hospital."

"I do not know but you thought me severe in my remarks concerning
Surgeon Powers."

"Not at all—not by any means, for I had two sons under him six weeks, and they both declared they would rather die in the open field than be under the care of that drunken tyrant again."

"Why do you permit such a surgeon to have the care of the sick, wounded, and dying soldiers?"

"Well, it is difficult for us to do much with each other, but there is the medical director just ahead of us; you ought to see him; I'll introduce you. He is very much of a gentleman."

The first query of the medical director, after reading my papers, was
"Have you visited the Jackson Hospital? And did you see Surgeon Powers?"

"I undertook to visit it yesterday," I said, "but was hurried through in such haste, by Surgeon Powers, that I could not speak to any of the soldiers, or stop to write for them to their home friends, if they desired."

"What do you think of Surgeon Powers?"

"I think he is an unfeeling tyrant. The white of his eyes had the color of red flannel, and the unmistakable brandy breath made standing near him very unpleasant. Besides, his ungentlemanly, morose treatment of helpless soldiers indicates his entire unfitness for the position he occupies. If the milk of human kindness is more loudly called for in one position than another, it is in the surgeon in charge of sick, wounded, and dying soldiers."

"We know, Mrs. Haviland, this is true, and we made an effort to displace him once and failed, because the medical director over the whole of us in this division, next in rank to Grant himself, is determined to hold him here. But if you will make out your report, with the recommendations from your governor and Congressman backing it, we can make that efficient. You may make your report as strong as you please."

I left him with cordial thanks, and soon the report was handed him. I visited all the hospitals in that post, and on my second visit to the Jackson found Surgeon Powers filled to overflowing with affected politeness; but it did not brighten the bleared eye, or straighten the zigzag gait of the surgeon.

A few weeks after I met a Memphis officer, who informed me that Surgeon Powers was relieved of hospital work altogether very soon after I left the city. A few months later he filled a drunkard's grave.

In one hospital in Memphis I found in one corner a female soldier, Charlie. She was in both Bull Run battles, and four others she named; besides, she had endured long marches. Here she was taken violently ill with typhoid fever, and for the first time her sex became known. She was large and rather coarse-featured, and of indomitable will. She said the cause of her enlistment did not now exist, and she wanted to go home as soon as able. She intimated that her betrothed had recently died, and she had no desire to remain in the army.

While in Memphis a telegram came from President Lincoln ordering four hundred colored men to be enlisted, and no more, until further orders. Colonel Eaton took this work for his breakfast spell. As he came in rather late for his morning meal he said, "I have enlisted the required number, and quite a company went away crying because they could not enlist. I comforted them by telling them that I presumed there would be another call soon." I had built a bed for myself in one corner of the commissary building, and as we were occupying the weakest point at the post, we were ordered to have no light in our tents, but before dark to have every needed article at our bedside, ready at a moment's warning to be conducted to Fort Pickering. Soldiers were kept in readiness for action, as the enemy was threatening to retake Memphis. At two, o'clock A. M. the loud cry, "Halt!" at the corner where I was sleeping, aroused me. This was quickly followed by a still louder "Halt! May be you don't know who I is; I holds a gun, an' her's off."

"Well-well, I only want to come to you; I don't want to go farther." The officer approached, saying, "That is right; if I had taken one step after you cried halt the third time, you should have shot me through, no matter who I am, if it was the President himself."

At the breakfast table Colonel Eaton remarked: "A number of our new colored soldiers were put on picket guard last night on trial, and not one sleepy head was found among them. Since we accept these men as soldiers I am confident it will do away the necessity of drafting men, as some think must soon be done."

I spent a few days in visiting hospitals, often reading portions of Scripture, and kneeling by the cot of the suffering and dying soldiers, imploring the Great Physician to heal the sin-sick soul. For some I wrote letters to their home friends, which I found was often very gratifying to poor homesick boys. One very sick with pneumonia wished me to write to his folks in Kent County, Michigan, that he was in the hospital from a little cold, but would soon be able to join his regiment again. I dared not write according to his directions, and told him I would finish his letter at head-quarters. When he asked my name, he wanted to know if I was a relative of Rev. D. S. Haviland, in Kent County, Michigan. When I told him he was my son, he held my hand in both of his and burst into a flood of tears, and said he had heard him preach many times, and thought he was such a good man. I saw his feelings were deeply affected, and I feared it would increase the fever, and I promised to come and see him again in a day or two. I sat by him with my hand upon his head and consoled him as best I could. When he became calm I left, and called on his physician for his opinion concerning him. He said he was still in a critical condition, but thought the disease was turning in his favor, and advised me not to write to his friends until two days more had passed, as he would then be able to judge better of his case. Two days later I called again and found him much better, but the doctor thought the excitement of my leaving him increased the fever during the afternoon. He was now a little stronger, and he said I had better not let him know that I designed leaving the city. I finished the letter with greater encouragement than I could have done conscientiously on my first visit.

As I was passing out one of the convalescents said, "Frank, here is that woman you wanted to see;" and he came on a run.

"Are you from Michigan?" I asked.

"Not quite," he said; "but I've been in Michigan. I am from Ohio, and that is its next neighbor;" and he seemed as glad as if he was meeting his mother. "O, how much you remind me of my mother! Your advice to us boys is almost in the same words my mother gave me when I left her;" and tears spoke louder than words of his appreciation of visits from his mother's representative.

I visited many camps of the freedmen, where there were two thousand, with daily additions. Forty came into Bethel Camp one afternoon. I went among them, and said to the man I met first:

"You concluded to use your freedom in coming into the Union camps?"

"Freedom!" looking up in surprise.

"Yes; you know President Lincoln has proclaimed all slaves free."

"Is dat so?"

"Certainly; you have heard about it, I suppose."

"No, missus, we never hear nothing like it. We's starvin', and we come to get somfin' to eat. Dat's what we come for. Our people home tell us Yankees want niggers to kill; an' da boils 'em up in great caldrons to eat, 'case da's starvin'. But all de white men gone into de army, an' lef' us all wid missus, an' da locks de bacon up for de sojers, an' gib us little han'ful o' meal a day, an' we's got weak an' trimbly. An' I tole my people we's gwine to die anyhow, an' we'd try de Yankees."

They were all so surprised at the idea of freedom that they could hardly credit the fact until their own people confirmed what I had told them. Rations were given to that hungry company at once. I told them this did not look like killing off colored people.

"No, missus, dis 'pears like makin' alive, instead of killin'. God bless sich people as dese, if dis be Yankees."

A couple of young men followed me from tent to tent, as I was reading portions of Scripture, and advising them how to live in their new relation as a free people. I advised them to live soberly and honestly in the sight of all men; that our Heavenly Father looks upon all his children alike, and that our Lord and Savior died upon the cross for all alike, because he is no respecter of persons. The young men, asked to be excused for following me; "for," they said, "we never heard, white folks talk like you talks in our life. Da never talks fur our own good, an' dis is so new we wants to ax you please excuse us."

Our head-quarters were most of the time at Camp Bethel; but I spent a portion of my time in Camp Shiloh, which was in sight. On the Sabbath I attended a very large meeting in a grove of pecans, oaks, and magnolias. The minister was a colored man of considerable intelligence, could read quite well; and perhaps there were nearly or quite one hundred of our soldiers in attendance. I spoke to one man near the stand while they were singing, informing him that I would like to make a few remarks if their minister was willing. The minister said, before dismissing the congregation, he would give liberty for a white lady present to speak. "I do not know who she is. She may be here inquiring for some of her people; but we can tell better as to her object when we hear her;" and he invited me forward.

I saw at once the minister took me to be one of those slave-holders who were coming into their camp almost daily to persuade their slaves back, though not one of them ever succeeded. I told them my object was to inquire after the health of this people, body, soul, and spirit—and my people were all who accept salvation through our Lord and Savior Jesus Christ; that our Heavenly Father made all the nations of the whole earth of one blood, and never designed that one race should hold another in bondage. I had hardly finished my first sentence before the minister and those near him were urging me to step to the top of their platform, as I had only taken one or two steps forward. "Come up here; our people all want to see you." I had to obey. Ten minutes' talk did not satisfy. The minister and others in that large congregation bade me go on; and ten or fifteen minutes more were occupied.

At the close a few hundred of those whose families had been broken up by cruel separations came to me, and many tears were coursing down the sable cheeks of many gathered around me to shake my hands, which were actually lame and swollen for three days after.

Said the disappointed minister, "It 'pears like an angel dropped down 'mongst us, in place of the slave-missus come for her people."

Said one woman: "My ole missus come las' week to get all fifty-five of us back again, and she tried mighty hard to get us to go back wid her. Den she went to General Grant, an' he say, 'If your people want to go back they may.' Den she try us again; but not one would go, 'case we knows her too well—she's mighty hard on us. Den she went back to the general, an' begged an' cried, and held out her han's, and say, 'General, dese han's never was in dough—I never made a cake o' bread in my life; please let me have my cook.' An' she tuck on so I jus' trimble; I's feared he'd tell me to go wid her. But all her cryin' didn't help her. General say, 'I can't help you, madam; if your cook wants to go wid you she can; but she is free, an' can do as she likes about it.' An' she went off cryin'; an' we could jus' kiss de groun' General Grant walks on ever since."

Among the most affecting scenes were meetings of members of families long separated. In passing out of this multitude my attention was attracted to a group who were singing, shaking hands, shouting, and reciting their afflictions and sore trials since they were parted. One woman found her sister, who was sold from her fifteen years before. They had not heard from each other till just here they met. "O sis' Susie, you know my two nice boys was sole from me two year afore I was sole off dat plantation down de river, an' it 'peared like my heart was broke; an' missus had me hit fifty lashes 'case I cried so much. An' de Lo'd has been my sun an shiel' all dis time. An' here I foun' my two boys; da's heap bigger, but da's my own dear boys. I's prayed long for freedom, an' God did come down and make us free. Glory, GLORY be to his name!" And they embraced each other in wild excitement during some minutes. Then they went to another part of the camp to meet some of their friends Susie told her of.

I hastened back 'to Camp Bethel, to witness the marriage of twenty couples that Colonel Eaton, who was a chaplain among them, was to marry with one ceremony. Many of the men were of the newly-enlisted soldiers, and the officers thought they had better be legally married, although many of them had been married a number of years, but only according to slave law, which recognized no legal marriage among slaves. At the appointed hour the twenty couples stood in a row, each couple with right hands clasped; and among them one young couple, that being their first marriage. All gave affirmative answers at the same time; first the men, then the women. After the ceremony Chaplain Eaton offered an earnest prayer; all kneeling. Then he shook hands with them to signify his congratulations, and I followed him in like manner. It was a novel scene, and yet solemn.

On the morning I was to leave Memphis I saw an old woman wringing the bottom of her cotton dress a few rods from the door. I inquired how her dress came so wet half a yard deep. "I come up in a leaky skiff las' night wid six boys dat do oberseer whip de Yankee out, he say; an' da say da go to Yankees now any how, an' I begged 'em to let me come, for da knows I has sich hard times. But da say, 'Aunt Peggy, de skiff leak so bad.' But I tole 'em I's comin' wid a basin, an' I reckon I dip fas' enough to keep us 'bove water. An' da let me come, an' it tuck all night to come seven miles up de river. Dar was forty of us on dis plantation. Massa is a big man in Secesh army, an' sent more'n a hundred of our people 'way off to de big plantation: an', missus, da all wants to come mighty bad, an' begged us to go see de big man right soon, an' tell him da wants to do any thing he wants 'em to do, if he will only let 'em come. For missus is mighty rich, an' don't need us, 'case she's got barrels of meal, an' flour, an' plenty bacon in de smoke-house, da keeps locked up, da say for de Secesh sojers. An' missus had us put a tin trunk of gole an' silver money, an' a big ches' of all her silver plate way up in de lof' few days ago. Missus, do please go tell de big man how da all begged us so hard to ax him, soon as we got here, if he 'll let 'em come."

I told her I would see the colonel, and inquired for the boys who came with her. She pointed to the six young men standing outside our door. I approached the young men, who were between twenty and thirty years of age, and shook hands with them, saying, "It seems your overseer didn't succeed in whipping the Yankee out of you night before last."

"No, indeed," said one; "he drove in the Yankee deeper every lick;" and another said, "I reckon he'll find out this mornin' how much Yankee he whipped out."

I informed Colonel Eaton of his new comers; and of the earnest appeal of the old woman in behalf of the remaining thirty-three, and how she backed her pleading, with enumerating the abundance of every thing her mistress possessed. He said he would see General Veach, and he might conclude to send a gun-boat for them.

On May 17, 1863, I called at Dr. Warrener's office on my way to General Veach's office for transportation to Cairo, but designed calling at Island No. 10 and Columbus, Kentucky. The doctor kindly offered to take my papers and get transportation and pass from the provost marshal for me, and allow me to rest the while. I was glad to accept the favor; but he soon returned, rather discouraged, and said, "I think the general rather cross today, and I don't know whether you'll get transportation or not. After reading your papers he asked where you were, and I told him you looked tired and were resting in my office, and I offered to do this errand for her, as it would save her a mile of walk. 'I'd like to see the lady,' he said, as he handed back your papers; and you'll have to go and see him." Here was another narrow place. I took my papers to General Veach in haste, as there was a boat which I was anxious to take going up the river that afternoon. I entered his office and handed him my papers, telling him I hoped to receive the favor of an order for transportation to Cairo, with the privilege of stopping at Island No. 10 and Columbus. He neither asked me a question nor opened my papers, but threw them to his clerk, with directions to give the order. Then he sent it to the quartermaster to fill. On my return I called on the provost-marshal and secured my pass. Said the doctor, "What did the general say?"

"Nothing," I answered; "he only looked at me when I gave him my papers, and passed them over to his clerk to make the order."

"I think he might just as well have sent them by me; but the general hadn't seen a Union woman for so long, he just wanted to take a look at one."

I was soon on the steamer that took me from this city of many exciting scenes. Here I learned the sequel of my Tennessee correspondents, formerly mentioned, and was shown the house where they had both lain dead men.

I found on the island many waiting for the remainder of my supplies. The number in camp had now reached about 3,000. I also spent a little time at Fort Pillow, where a company of ex-slaves, thirty-seven in number, had just made their escape from their old home. They had traveled all night to get to our lines. They took two mules and two carts to bring their bundles and little folks. Men, women, and larger children walked twenty-five miles, to get to Fort Pillow. "What time did you start?" I asked one of the tired women. "Early moonrise," was the reply. That was about 11 o'clock P. M., and they had made all possible speed to get to our lines, and seemed very much pleased to get clear of pursuers, as some in their neighborhood had been shot and killed in their attempt to come. The officers took charge of the mules and carts, and sent the people to Island No. 10. Here I took a steamer for Columbus.

After landing I saw a funeral procession of colored people, and a number of officers and soldiers. I joined the procession, and learned it was the only son of a slave mother who, two days previously, had left their plantation. He had heard that colored men were accepted as soldiers, and was exceedingly anxious to enlist. When they were nearly half across the river their young master reached the bank and bade them return or he'd shoot them; but the son pulled for the opposite shore, when a ball passed through his right arm, breaking the bone above the elbow. The mother took the oars and pulled with all her might, when a second ball entered the lungs of the son. They were met by a few of our soldiers, who took him from the skiff to the hospital, where he received the best surgical attendance, but without avail. Much sympathy was manifested in behalf of the bereaved mother, who was left with two little girls. Bereavement was no new trial for her. Her husband had been sold from her a few years before. I asked her if these three children were all her family. "O, no, honey; I had two big boys sold jus' afore the war. Don't know whar they went. An' now my poor boy is shot dead by that young massa I nussed with my own boy. They was both babies together. Missus made me nuss her baby, an' set her little girl to watch me, fur fear I'd give my baby too much, no matter how hard he cried. Many times I wasn't allowed to take him up, an' now that same boy has killed mine," and she buried her face in her faded calico apron until it was wet with tears. A soldier told me a large company of them were only waiting permission from their commander to go to that plantation and strip it. He said she seemed to be such a nice woman; that they all felt so indignant they hardly knew how to wait for orders.

From this sad scene, walking to the Soldier's Home, my attention was arrested on seeing a white man with a ball and chain attached to his ankle, with brick and his ball in the wheelbarrow, wheeling toward the soldier's camp, guarded by a black soldier. As I stood looking at the black soldier walking leisurely beside the white man in irons, an officer accosted me with, "Madam, that prisoner you see wheeling brick to our camp is a strong secessionist, and was a hard master over a large plantation with more than one hundred slaves, and he was taken prisoner, and all his slaves came into our camp. The younger men enlisted as soldiers, and that man made an attempt to escape and we put him in irons and set a black soldier, who had been his own slave, to guard him."

"What a turning of tables!" I said.

"Yes, you will find the same turning of tables within our lines all over the South."

At the door of a tent I saw a large, square block of iron, weighing sixty or eighty pounds, to which was attached a ring. I inquired of a colored man what it was for.

"That belonged to our plantation, and when master had a mind to punish us he ordered us locked to that block, and from one to a dozen of us sometimes were locked to it with a long chain; and when we hoed corn we'd hoe the chain's length, then the one next the block had it to tote the length of the chain, and so on till we did our day's work. Since we've been here we've seen nine of our masters chained to that same block and made to shovel sand on that fortification yonder. There were forty of us that belonged to our plantation standing in this yard looking on."

"How did you feel to witness such a scene?"

"O, I can't tell you, madam; but I cried like a baby."

"Why did you cry?"

"O, to think what great things God is doing. Man could never, never do it."

"Did the others feel as you did?"

"O no, some laughed, and one man said, 'Ah ha, you see now how sweet 'tis to tote the old block, don't you?'"

"Did he say that in his hearing?"

"O no, we's five rods off."

There were a number of houses burned down, May 28th, three miles beyond our lines. Mrs. Samantha Plumer inquired of Curlie, one of our boys of the home, if he would take us to that biggest house burning on the Moss plantation. No sooner was the suggestion made than Curlie got his ambulance ready for us, and we were soon in front of the smoldering mansion. The proprietor was raking over the debris for gold and silver or other imperishable treasure. Among the ashes; were hand-cuffs, chains, shackles, and other slave-irons. He was occupying one of his slave cabins, as the long row was vacated by seventy of his former slaves. He was said to be one of the wealthiest planters in Kentucky. One year previous to the war, report said he lost seven valuable slaves, and one from each of three adjoining plantations escaped at the same time. After a consultation over their loss they placed the blame of their escape on a carpenter from Illinois, who had been a few weeks working at his trade in their midst. To be avenged on the poor carpenter, a band of men came upon him in the night, took him out of bed, gave him a coat of tar and feathers, and treated him to a ride on a rail-horse. Then they furnished him with soap and lard with which to disrobe himself, and charged him to leave the State within twelve hours, never to be seen there again, or a calamity far exceeding this would be his portion. All his assertions that he knew nothing whatever of their slaves were of no avail. He left the State as requested, but wrote back to the chief leader, Moss, that if an opportunity ever presented he would be avenged on those who had heaped upon him these abuses. Mr. Moss said he saw that same carpenter a few days previous to the house-burning, with three other men, in soldier's dress, but he did not believe he was a soldier, but only in borrowed clothes, as he did not think a Union soldier would do so mean a thing. An officer remarked, however, that he was a hard master and a firm secessionist, but was now very tame. On our way back Curlie informed us that he had taken us three miles beyond our lines, and we were very near being caught just opposite the line at the firing of the sundown gun. But with Curlie's earnest pleading the guards consented to allow us to cross the line.

In one cabin there were two quite intelligent mulatto women, better clad than any I had met in the camp, one of whom was the mother of three fine-looking children. I remarked to one of them that they had a better chance for life than others I had seen, and inquired how long they had been within our lines.

One of them answered, "Only ten days. Thar was thirty-three when we left our plantation seven miles below Memphis, 'bout three weeks ago, but some of our people stopped at Memphis when we came up the river."

As I was interested in her recital, she became more excited in giving details, and said:

"Mistess got mighty feared of black smoke, an' watched boats mighty close. One day as she was settin' on the sofa she say, Mill, I reckon thar's a gunboat comin'; see de black smoke, an if they do come, I reckon they won't fin' that trunk o' money, an' ches' of silver plate you put up in the lof t'other day.' Lookin' out for the boat, 'Yes that's a gunboat sure. Now, if the Yankees do stop, you all run and hide, won't you?' I looked too, but didn't answer till I see the big rope flung on the bank. An' mistess got wild-like. 'Yes, they are stoppin'. Mill an' Jule run, tell all the niggers in the quarters to run to the woods an' hide; quick, for they kills niggers. Mill, why don't you go? I said, 'I ain't feared the Yankees.' 'Jule, you run and tell all the niggers to run to the woods, quick. Yes, here they are coming, right up to the house. Now, Mill, you won't go with them, will you?' As the men had started for the house I felt safe, and said, 'I'll go if I have a chance.' 'Jule, you won't go, will you?' 'I shall go if Mill goes.' She began to wring her hands and cry. 'Now, 'member I brought you up. You won't take your children away from me, will you, Mill?' 'Mistess, I shall take what childern I've got lef.' 'If they fine that trunk o' money or silver plate you'll say it's your'n, won't you?' 'Mistess, I can't lie over that; you bo't that silver plate when you sole my three children.' 'Now, Jule, you'll say it's yourn, won't you?' 'I can't lie over that either.' An' she was cryin' an' wringin' her han's, an' weavin' to an' fro as she set thar. 'Yes, here they come, an' they'll rob me of every thing. Now, 'member I brought you up.' Here come in four sojers with swords hangin' to their sides, an' never looked at mistess, but said to me, 'Auntie, you want to go with us?' 'Yes, sir,' I said, an' they look to Jule an' say, 'You want to go?' 'Yes, sir.' 'Well, you can all go; an' hurry, for we shall stay but a little while.' An' Jule jus' flew to the quarters, an' they all tied up beds an' every thing, an' tote 'em down, to the gunboats in a hurry. An' two sojers went up-stairs an' wa'n't gone but a few minutes, an' don't you think here they come, with that tin trunk o' money an' ches' of silver plate, an' broke 'em open an' tuck out a big platter an' water-pitcher an' a few other pieces an' say, 'See here, Tom, haven't we foun' a prize of solid silver for gov'ment,' an' he put it all back. An' another open the trunk,' O, see here, Jim; see what a mine of money we foun' for General Veach,' as he tuck up a han'ful of gole an' silver money an' sif it through his fingers, droppin' in the trunk, sayin', 'Ain't we got a pile o' money for gov'ment.' An' he han' it over to a sojer to tote to the gunboat. An' two ov 'em went down cellar an' come back with stone jars of butter, an' pezerves, an' opened 'em. 'Tom, see here, what a lot of goodies we got; won't we live well?' An' he cover'd 'em up agin an' toted 'em to the gunboat. Then they broke open the meal-room, an' rolled out barrels of meal and flour, saved for secesh sojers, an' rolled 'em down to the gunboat. An', last of all, they went to the smoke house, an' broke it open an' got a lot of bacon. 'Now, auntie, you all ready,' they say? 'Yes, sir,' I tell 'em. 'Here's a roll of linsey for our cloze, shall we take it?' 'Certainly, an' any thing else you'r a mine to.' As we started for the door mistess followed us cryin' an' wringin' her han's. 'Now, Mill an' Jule, I know you'll suffer when you leave me.' One o' the sojers turn to her and said, 'They won't suffer again as they have done with you.' An' this was the firs' words she spoke after they come in, an' the firs' they said to her. An' we all got on the boat in a hurry; an' when we's fairly out in the middle' of the river, we all give three times three cheers for the gunboat boys, and three times three cheers for big Yankee sojers, an' three times three cheers for gov'ment; an' I tell you every one of us, big and little, cheered loud and long and strong, an' made the old river just ring ag'in."

She became so excited she acted the part of her mistress admirably in the half-bent, whining, crying, and wringing of hands, as she followed them to the door.

"How did you feel about that silver plate that was bought with the price of your three children? Didn't you think you ought to have it?"

"O'no, I couldn't touch it. It was part o' my poor dear childern; but I didn't want mistess to keep it. I was glad to see it go to gov'ment."

The tears coursed down her care-worn cheeks as she related the sale of her three older children.

"I fell upon my knees afore master an' mistess, an' begged 'em not to sell my poor childern down the river, whar I could never see or hear from 'em any more. But master say it's none o' my business, an' I should stop my noise, or he'd have me punished. An' mistess say she won't have all this cryin' round her. 'Your childern belongs to us, an' you know it; an' it's not for you to make all this fuss over it, either.' I said, 'Mistess, wouldn't you grieve over your childern, if somebody take 'em from you?' 'You hush your sauce, or I'll have you punished. That's another thing; my childern's white.' An' then they had me punished."

Her husband was sent, with many others, to what they called the "big plantation," in the interior. She said her master was a "big man" in the secesh army. I found they called all officers big men. After she finished her story I told her I saw the seven she said went to Memphis, a few days before they left, and how Aunt Peggy begged me so hard to tell the big man that they all wanted to come. And to impress me with the idea that the mistress could do without slaves, she told me about the trunk of money and chest of silver plate; but I had no more idea of its being confiscated than had Aunt Peggy in her appeal.

My attention from this episode was arrested by another scene of a different character, but truly revolting—a young mother of only fourteen years, with a very sick infant, pale and emaciated herself; the grandmother of a very light complexion, and the great-grandmother a mulatto. All these four generations were the children of their old master, whose hair was white with age. He was the father of the great-grandmother, and of each generation to the fourth, and master, all in one. As revolting as this fact was, I was compelled to believe it, as his former slaves told me of his licentious character from his early youth to eighty years! He was never married, and was the owner of a large plantation, and his many slaves sought the first opportunity to make their escape. The condition of these women was truly appalling, and the history of their base and degraded master and father too revolting for the public eye or ear! I turned away with utter disgust at their recitals. The child soon died, and I thought it seemed a pity that its demented mother could not have gone with it; but I did what I could to relieve their wants.

The hospitals at this post were tolerably well cared for, except one regimental hospital, where were a number of sick and emaciated soldiers, who had no pillows but their haversacks, and no covering but their overcoats, and they piteously begged for milk. I went to their surgeon, and inquired whether boiled milk would not be allowed for those men who were so low with camp diarrhea, and whether I could not bring them quilts and pillows. "Madam, you can bring them milk, or any thing you've named; but I tell you, if you undertake to listen to all these soldiers' teasing, you'll have your hands full. As like as not, any way, they'll trade whatever you give them for whisky the first chance they have." I could not sleep until I secured the aid of two soldiers to go with me to carry milk, pillows, and quilts for those sick men. Their tears of gratitude, as I handed each his bottle of milk, and placed a pillow under their heads, and a quilt for those who had only an overcoat for a covering, paid me well. I returned to the Soldiers' Home quite relieved, but wearied and sick, with a severe cough, that had followed me for more than a month. I found it necessary to hasten home to rest.

I left this field of suffering and constant excitement May 30th, for dear home and anxious children and friends. A few days' rest restored health and strength, but we were not relieved from excitement. Our principal, E A. Haight, enlisted soon after closing the Spring term of our school. Preparation for another school-year was before me, beside the necessity of calling on friends in various places for supplies. I was informed by officers that I could now secure passes and transportation for an assistant as readily as for myself alone. My school vacation was fully occupied in preparing for the following academic year, and in looking for a congenial companion to share with me in this work,—one who was willing to sacrifice all upon our country's altar.