CHAPTER XII.

MISSION WORK IN NEW ORLEANS.

At New Orleans, where we arrived April 6, 1864, our home was a very pleasant one. Beneath the windows of our room was a grove of fig-trees. We had the kindest of friends.

We visited ten colored schools in the city, filled with eager learners. One was taught by Mrs. Brice, who had in charge sixty scholars. She had been teaching here three years, under much persecution, and stemmed the torrent of opposition, sometimes in secret, before the war. Sister Brice and her husband had been struggling in this city nearly five years, through this bitter hate to the North, contending for Unionism everywhere, through civil, religious, and political life. We called on them, and spent two hours in eating oranges and listening to the fanaticisms and wild conceptions of this misguided people and terror-stricken multitude when the "Yankee" soldiers marched up the streets from the gun-boats. Schools were dismissed; the children cried as they ran home, telling those they met that the Yankees had come to kill them and their mothers. But there were those who cried for joy at the sight of the national flag. The starting tear manifested the deep feeling of these friends as they attempted to relate the scene, but said it was impossible, as it was beyond description. It seemed like an oasis in a desert to meet such kindred spirits. We left them, with their urgent request to make, another call before we left the city.

We were invited by the pastor to attend a love-feast meeting at half-past six o'clock, P. M., where we met a large congregation. The services were opened as usual.

Soon they were "breaking bread" with each other, shaking hands, and singing. Many were weeping. Some broke to each other the bread, exclaiming, "Praise God for this day of liberty to worship God!" One old man said to one of the ministers, as he placed his hand on his shoulder: "Bless God, my son, we don't have to keep watch at that door," pointing to it, "to tell us the patrollers are coming to take us to jail and fine us twenty-five dollars for prayin' and talkin' of the love of Jesus. O no, we's FREE! Yes, thank God for freedom!" Clapping his hands, his shouts of "Glory, glory, hallelujah!" were followed by others, until "Glory, hallelujah to the Lamb forever!" was heard from many voices. Men clasped the necks of their brethren, and shook hands with the sisters, singing, weeping, shouting, jumping, and whirling. Said one woman, as she clasped another, "O sister, don't you 'member when da tuck us over in dat jail dat night, an' said da would whip us if we didn't stop prayin'?" and then they both jumped and shouted, throwing up their hands in wild excitement. A half-hour was spent in these outbursts of long pent-up feelings; then they settled down into comparative quiet, and the pastor exhorted them to be brief in their remarks. Perhaps an hour was spent in the relation of experiences, and the meeting closed with singing:

"The jubilee has come;
And we are free, we are free."

Then there was again the shaking of hands, and another half-hour was spent in overflowing manifestations, as at the opening of their meeting. This long-oppressed people realized their great change beyond our conceptions.

At the Christian Commission rooms, No. 69 Carondelet Street, Dr. F. B. Smith, agent, we met brother Merrifield, of Baton Rouge, and brother Horton, who took us to visit a school of sixty pupils, taught by two colored men, Baptist ministers. They had opened it before the government or missionaries opened a school in this city for colored children. We had visited and addressed a number of other schools among these people of this city, one of which numbered over four hundred scholars, in a confiscated college; but this in interest surpassed them all. Here in an old slave-pen, where hundreds and thousands had been cried off to the highest bidder, where the cries of parting mother and child had been heard and unheeded, where the pleadings of husbands and fathers were only answered by the lash, those many tears, sighs, and groans were exchanged for intellectual culture and religious instruction. Here were sundry Union flags waving and a large portrait of Abraham Lincoln hung on the wall behind the desk. The scene was inspiring.

After returning, two colored women, genteelly dressed, and quite intelligent, called on us and gave us a thrilling history of the past. They gave us some startling facts of the efforts made to return slaves, who had come within our lines to their masters, by making friends of our officers and soldiers. Men had enlisted from this State (Louisiana) and Mississippi as Union soldiers from selfish motives. Their sole object was to assist in getting their slaves back, by taking them out of houses when employed by colored people, and from the street when sent to market, and placing them in jail. After orders were passed to give rations to the families of colored soldiers, one young girl, whose name was Rhoda, was doing well until she was overtaken with chills. Her brother gave her a paper certifying he was a soldier, and requested rations for her, but she was arrested on the street, and lodged in jail, where she remained three months, sick with chills and fever, and without change of clothing, although her female friends made many efforts to get food and clothing to her. At length a deliverer came, who found three hundred miserable, vermin-eaten prisoners, and set them free. A more grateful company was never found. Find fault who will with Benjamin F. Butler, this was just the work he did; and many lives were saved, and much suffering relieved, under his administration.

We dined with, a widow who had paid $1,800 for herself, and lived in good style by boarding her friends, who paid her extra board-bills to assist her. A Creole lady called to see us who could converse a little in English. The Creoles in New Orleans generally spoke French. This madam was a woman of wealth and position, and well pleased with the freedom of the slave.

We heard of a project devised by many masters to massacre all the blacks. One brought in three hogsheads marked sugar. A little slave girl, hearing her master say at dinner-table, that he had one filled with loaded pistols, another with dirks, and the third with bowie-knives, went and told her mother. She was directed to be careful and listen, while busy about the room, to all her master said, and report to her. In this way she heard the plans that her master and his friends designed to carry into execution, and informed her mother. The plan was to paint a large company of their men black, who should assume the attitude of fight; then all were to cry out "Insurrection! INSURRECTION!" and fly to every negro man, woman, and child, and kill them all off. The mother made an errand down-town with her little girl, and called on General Butler, to whom they told all. A party of officers and soldiers were dispatched at once, who visited that house, demanded the keys, and searched the premises. There they found the hogsheads, broke in the head of each, and found all as reported. The master was banished from the city, his family sent outside the lines, his property confiscated and his slaves set free. No wonder they disliked General Butler, when he defeated their base designs.

The convention which met in the City Hall to frame a free constitution for Louisiana created considerable excitement. Many slave-owners were confident they would have all their slaves back again, or get pay for them.

As there were no sanitary agents at Brazier City, and we learned of much suffering there, we called at the Christian Commission Rooms to make further inquiries, and found brother Diossy had just sent both an agent and a teacher to that point. "But if you are hunting for destitute places," he told us, "I wish you would go to Ship Island, in the Gulf of Mexico, as there are soldiers and many prisoners there, and they have no chaplain or agent to look after their sanitary condition" While I was inclined to go, sister Backus thought, in view of the very warm weather, and because we were so nearly worn out with several months constant toiling, we had better turn our faces homeward. I knew there was but little more than shadows left of us, yet I could not rid myself of the impression that it would be right to go; but I told her I would not draft her into service, or persuade her against her judgment.

I met at these rooms brother Merrifield and brother Horton, and the chaplain of the Michigan 6th Infantry. By their request we attended a soldiers' prayer-meeting. Near the close one soldier expressed his gratitude for the privilege of listening to the voice of mothers in counsels that reminded many of them of their own mothers far away. He could say no more for a moment, being overcome with emotion. "You may call me weak, and if this be weakness, then I am weak," he said. Another requested prayer for his sick soldier brother, and for the preservation of the Northern ladies who were laboring for them.

After this meeting I called at the office for transportation; but there was no encouragement that I could get it for a number of days, "perhaps two weeks," as General Banks had nearly all the boats up Red River, in his fleet. But as I was passing the gulf office I called and found the steamer Clyde going out for Ship Island in four hours, and at once secured transportation for us both. I returned to our boarding-house, and reported what I had done, and told sister Backus if she was willing to go the sea-breeze might do more to rest us than the labors would add to our weariness. She consented to accompany me, and we provided ourselves with half a bushel of reading matter at Christian Commission Rooms, and secured the aid of a couple of soldiers to carry our books to the street-car, from thence to a steam-car that landed us at the Clyde. As there was no berth for us we obtained a couple of blankets, but there being room for only one to lie down, we managed, by taking turns, to get considerable sleep. On April 8th, at ten A. M., we landed on Ship Island. It was of white sand, that resembled, at a distance, a huge snow-bank. We found a little sprinkle of brown sand, upon which grew a few scrubby trees and a species of cactus that spread out in clusters as large as a dinner-plate. The island is eight miles in length, and from one-fourth to three-fourths of a mile wide. The captain told us he should not leave until four o'clock, P.M., and we made use of our time accordingly. When we landed with our large market-basket heaping full of Testaments and other reading matter, the gunboat boys and prisoners gathered around us like hungry children. Prisoners in irons came holding the iron ball in one arm, while the other hand reached for a Testament, crying out, "Please give me a Testament, I lost mine in battle;" "Please give me one, I lost mine in a long march;" "Please give me something to read, I lost my Testament in a rain-storm." Many hands were reached over the shoulders of others, until thirty or forty hands at a time were extended. We soon exhausted our basket-supply. We had a few in our satchels, but we reserved them for the hospital and military prison. As we had disposed of the most of our books in an hour, we spent an hour on the beach gathering sea shells until noon, then took our rations, and spent the remainder of our time in hospital-visiting, and in learning from the officers what was needed to be sent on our return to New Orleans.

While engaged in other matters, we found our boat had left us, and was steaming away perhaps a mile from us. Sister Backus was greatly disappointed at being left, and gave way to despondency; but I assured her it was all for the best, and that as the Lord had heretofore provided for us, so he would provide for us now. We returned to the tent of Mrs. Green, a tidy mulatto woman, where we had left our satchels. As she met us and learned of our being left, and heard sister Backus lament over "not having where to lay our heads," she quickly replied: "Yes, you shall have a place for your heads. In that chest I have plenty of bedding, and I'll dress up this bed for you two. My husband can find a place with some of his comrades, and I'll make a bed for myself on the floor till the boat comes back." "There, sister Backus," I said, "the Lord is providing for us already." Tears filled her eyes. She replied, "I will not doubt any more."

Mrs. Green had a nice dinner prepared in the best style; table-linen of the finest damask, chinaware and solid silver spoons, pitcher, forks, and plated table knives, etc. I inquired how this came about, as I had not seen a table so richly set since coming into the army. Her reply was, that both of their fathers were wealthy planters, who made them free when they died. Her husband received by will twenty-five thousand dollars, and she also received from her father's estate a fine brick residence. They had it nicely furnished, and their property was valued at fifty thousand dollars. Her husband was making in his business from seventy-five to one hundred dollars a month, but he was so confident that this war would result in the freedom of their race that he, with others, enlisted in a colored regiment for seven dollars a month, under the rebel government, with a secret understanding among themselves that they would all go in with the Union army as soon as opportunity presented. The opportunity was furnished on the taking of New Orleans by Union troops. The regiment was officered by men of their own color, but the indignities they received at the hands of Union commanders caused their officers to resign their positions. One of the many was on one occasion of an order by one of their captains for shoes and blankets for his destitute men. It was not honored, and he went in person to inform the commander how needy his men were. The reply was that he need not expect negro regiments to be supplied the same as white soldiers. This was thrown in their teeth by Confederates: "You see what you get by going over to the Yankees. We never served you like that," said a Confederate.

We found Mr. Green an intelligent and pleasant man. Just as our dinner was ready, Captain James Noyce called to see us, and urged us to make our home with his family during our stay on the island. We told him of the kind offer of Mrs. Green. "I know," was his reply, "that Mrs. Green has the nicest things of any one on this island, but my wife and I want you with us." He said he should call for us in two hours, which he did; and we felt that our lots were cast in a pleasant place. There were two lieutenants boarding with them, both of whom, with the captain, appeared like men of sterling principle.

While enjoying a very pleasant social visit with our new friends, sister Backus espied the life of Orange Scott on their center table (a goods-box with a newspaper spread). In surprise she exclaimed: "Sister Haviland, here is the life of Orange Scott! Isn't this home-like? away here in the Gulf of Mexico!"

"Do you know any thing of Orange Scott?" inquired our hostess.

"I guess we do. We know all about him," replied sister Backus.

"You are not Wesleyan Methodists, are you?"

"Indeed we are, both of us."

She almost flew at us, placing her hands on our shoulders. "I don't wonder you seemed so much like relatives. Orange Scott is my father, and Mr. Noyce and I are Wesleyans," and she laughed and cried at the same time. The dear little homesick woman was overjoyed. She had been on the island a long time with her husband, and in poor health, sick and tired of army life, and longing for her Northern home. Yet she would not consent to leave her husband so long as he could stay in one place a sufficient time for her to be with him. But he was fearful it was impairing her health. On her account, as well as our own, we were thankful for the privilege of mingling with kindred spirits. The two lieutenants who boarded with them brought in their new mattresses to make a double bed for the captain and his wife, as they gave up their own bed to us during our stay. This left the lieutenants to sleep on the bare tent floor, with their blankets only. But we did not know of this arrangement until the day we left.

April 9th was very windy. We could not go out for the drifting sand, without being thickly veiled. I walked to the beach, near the soldiers' burying-ground, and stood two hours watching the waves as they lashed the bars of sand. Their briny spray bedewed the graves of soldiers, who had fallen far away from their kindred and their loved ones, in their Northern homes. I could not repress the tear of sympathy as these reflections came to me, and I listened to the solemn moan of the ocean. Yet here is the God of peace and love.

"He plants his footsteps in the sea,
And rides upon the storm."

This evening we listened to Lieutenant Kingsley's thrilling description of the cruel irons he filed off from a number of slaves, who were too intelligent to be held without severe measures. He said these men made soldiers who hesitated not to brave the greatest dangers. His experience reminded us of the words of another:

"Beware the time when that chain shall break,
That galls the flesh and spirit;
When the yoke is thrown from the bended neck,
That is chafed too much to hear it
There's a God above, that looks with a frown,
To see how long you have trodden him down."

In distributing the remainder of our tracts and Testaments to prisoners we met a number of very intelligent men, who appeared to be men of Christian principles. I always made it a point to say nothing to a prisoner of the particular crime that placed him in confinement, but directed his thoughts to the Lord Jesus, the lover of sinners. As my sympathies became deeply enlisted in behalf of many of the prisoners in irons, I inquired of Captain Noyce, in whose charge they were, what crimes these soldiers had committed, that they should be confined in irons. "No crime," he answered.

"Then please tell me," I said, "why they are here?"

"For drunkenness, being late at roll-call, absence without leave, and selling government property, mostly exchanging rations for groceries, such as sugar and tea."

"Is this possible?" I exclaimed. "All these trivial offenses have been settled in their own regiments wherever else I have been."

"So they have wherever I have been, until I came here. But you seem almost to disbelieve my word. If you do, you can step into my office and examine the record for yourself. You will find these men sentenced from one year to thirty-eight for the offenses I have named."

"I have no reason to doubt your word, but I will thank you for the privilege of examining that record. Who pronounced these sentences?"

"Judge Attocha."

"Who is Judge Attocha?"

"He was a rebel captain, but after New Orleans fell into our hands he took the oath of allegiance, and General Banks promoted him by giving him the position of judge advocate."

"That man is a rebel still," I said. "He is doing for the rebel cause more than when at the head of his company, in the rebel ranks. You say a few over 3,000 have passed through your hands here and on the Dry Tortugas. We read in the paper, the day we left New Orleans, an order from President Lincoln to draft men, and here are three whole regiments laid upon the shelf. Are all these Union soldiers?"

"They are all Union soldiers. We had a Confederate here for murder, sentenced for a year. He was here only three months, when he was pardoned; and on your return to New Orleans you may see him walking the streets as independent as yourself."

"This is a flagrant wrong in holding these 3,000 men. Why don't you report Judge Attocha?"

"He outranks me, and should I presume to do it I would be put into a dungeon myself, and probably die there without an investigation."

Sister Backus and I went into the office, and the captain brought us a great roll, as large around as a man's hat. I unrolled a few feet, and read the name, regiment, company, offense, and penalty of each man, thus: For drunkenness, fifteen years hard labor with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited, except three dollars a month; for selling government property, eight years hard labor, with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited except three dollars a month. Some prisoners were sentenced to longer, others to shorter, terms; but upon all were imposed the same forfeitures, and all were put in irons. One man from near Battle Creek, Michigan, was sentenced for life. His offense was simply "suspicious character." No other reason for his sentence was given. I handed this fearful record to sister Backus, and we both read with heavy hearts. Every free State was represented. What can we do, we asked ourselves, for these poor men, some of whom are sick and dying with scurvy? This was a query hard to answer. I retired to bed, but not to sleep, wrestling in prayer to Him who hears the sighs of the prisoner to lead me to a door that would open for the 3,000 men in irons. The captain was a kind-hearted man, and told me that he had in many cases put the irons on so loosely that they could relieve themselves when out of his sight, but he charged them to be careful not to allow him to see them off. On account of the injustice of their sentences, he had favored them wherever he could do so, and keep his own record clear.

The next day, April 10th, was Sunday. The morning was clear and beautiful. Sister Backus said:

"You are sick, or very weary; for you groaned in your sleep so much last night."

"I am not conscious of having groaned," I said; "but I did not sleep a wink. I am distressed, and have spent the night in prayer for a guiding hand to open a door of relief for these prisoners, and I must see them before I leave this island. I am this morning bearing as heavy a heart as at any period of this deadly strife."

"Try and dismiss this subject if possible," she returned, "as they have appointed a meeting for us in the regiment, and I presume there will be an opportunity for you to see the prisoners."

As best I could, I dismissed the all-absorbing theme; and according to previous arrangement we met the regiment, with a few gun-boat soldiers and the officers. We enjoyed a favored season, and found a liberty of spirit our dear Redeemer only can give. After closing the services to the peace of my own mind, and to the apparent satisfaction of the large congregation, Captain James Noyce came to me and said:

"You are certainly too weary to visit the prisoners now."

"O no," was my reply, "if you will allow me that privilege."

"They are in very large barracks, and it is a very unpleasant place for a lady to visit; but if it is your wish, these gun-boat officers wanted me to ask you if you had any objections to their going."

"Not at all; all can go who wish."

Captain Noyce and wife took us to the barracks, where the prisoners were arranged in rows, six men deep, on both sides and at the end, leaving an aisle three feet in width between. In every berth there was a man in a horizontal position; and all were in irons, either in handcuffs with chain, or in a clog for the ankle, to which was attached the chain and ball. What a scene! The click of the irons at the least move greeted our ears. We walked midway of the long aisle, and looked over the sad faces before us. Upon the necks of those who stood near vermin were to be seen. Filthy and ragged were many of these poor boys. Some had been there a year, without change of raiment. I could say nothing of the injustice of their punishment; but I exhorted them to come forth from this furnace of affliction with higher, nobler, and holier aspirations than ever before, and to lift up their heads in hope of better days, although the heavens might then seem as brass and the earth as bars of iron. I spoke a few minutes, and as I closed my remarks I turned to sister Backus, standing by, and asked her to say a few words of encouragement, but she declined. She said that all she could do was to weep with those who wept. I knelt to pour out the overflowings of a full heart in prayer, and as I did so they all knelt with me, amid the clank and clatter of irons that made it necessary to wait a moment to be heard.

As we were leaving, two prisoners advanced a few steps toward us and said, "In behalf of our fellow-prisoners, we return to you our thanks for the kind words which you have spoken to us, and pray God to restore you safe to your Northern homes." We bade them adieu, with many tears. After leaving this place we visited other quarters equally large, with similar experiences.

I had become very much interested in a number with whom I conversed, who were very thankful for the Testaments we gave them. They gave evidence of possessing an earnest trust in God and of enjoying the cleansing power of the blood of his dear Son.

Accompanied by the captain and his wife, on Monday we visited the light-house, and ascended the flight of steps of sixty-four feet. The weather was clear and calm, and we had a fine view of the Gulf of Mexico on one side and the grand expanse of the ocean on the other. After dinner with the same party, accompanied by Lieutenant Kingsley, we took a ten-oar row-boat and went to see the burial-ground of four hundred deceased soldiers. The graves were all plainly marked with head-boards. These soldiers were mostly from Maine and New York, with a few from New Jersey, Wisconsin, and Michigan. This was another solemn place for reflection. The soldiers' grave-yard on this island differs somewhat from all others. Here their funeral dirge will never cease; the requiem of the ocean's surge will ever sound as if saying, "Sleep on undisturbed until the last trump shall wake the nations of the dead!"

We returned to our boat, and pursued our way to the extremity of the island. Here the picket-guards were much pleased to see us. They had been on the island about two years, ever since it was taken from the Confederates. We gathered a basket of shells, and our men gathered a quantity of crabs for breakfast. We were presented with some beautiful shells by one of the pickets. We returned home, having had a ten miles' ride. We passed the wreck of a ship burned many years ago, which gave this island its name. We could clearly see its charred cabin twenty or thirty feet below the surface. So clear was the water it did not seem more than eight or ten feet deep over the white sand, upon which beautiful shell-fish were crawling, as if to beautify the grand scene so new to us.

In a long conversation with Lieutenant Kingsley concerning his religious experience, he said he was not satisfied with his attainments in the divine life, and very earnestly requested to be remembered at a throne of grace. The moon rose full and clear on the sparkling face of the deep, reminding us of David's sublime thoughts when he exclaims in the eighth Psalm: "When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor."

After our return we enjoyed a season of prayer, in which Lieutenant Kingsley was earnestly remembered, and he expressed himself greatly encouraged. Leaving all those burdened souls with the Lord Jesus, who cares for all that he has redeemed with his own precious blood, I retired to rest.

The next day one of the prisoners came to inform me that their keeper had granted them the privilege of asking me if I would take a petition from them to General Weitzel, former commander of seventy of their number. They had heard he was then in New Orleans, and they thought if he could do any thing for their release he would, as he was a very kind officer. I cordially assented to his request, of course, and he thanked me with tears. In company with the captain and wife we visited the gigantic fort that had been two years in building, but was not yet completed. It was to cost two million dollars. The brick wall at the base is six feet thick, and about two hundred and fifty men were employed on it when we were there. It is constructed to mount forty cannons.

At supper I received a request from Lieutenant Foster, who was sick, to visit him. I found him in low spirits. He wished me to write a request to his wife to come to him, which I did. I read to him some extracts from an excellent little work, "The Soldier's Armor," and a chapter in the best of all books, closing with prayer. Lieutenant Foster seemed a devout Christian man, and expressed great satisfaction with this interview. The captain smiled on my return, saving I had "better remain with them and be their chaplain."

On April 13th we made a few calls, and two of the soldiers' wives came for us to dine with them. I made a copy of the record of the soldier prisoners, as a specimen of their alleged crimes, and the penalties imposed upon them. One of the prisoners brought me their petition, which reads as follows:

"SHIP ISLAND, April 12, 1864.

"MAJOR-GENERAL WEITZEL: Sir,—We whose names are affixed, prisoners on Ship Island; respectfully beg our release, and that we be allowed to return to our respective regiments. We are here for various military offenses, and for nothing criminal. Nearly all of us have participated in the engagements under your lead in this department, both on the battle-field and on the long, wearisome marches we have been called to undergo; and we have always followed cheerfully wherever you have led. We naturally feel that you are the proper person to appeal to to give us one more chance to redeem ourselves. And we solemnly assure you that we never will, by any unsoldier-like act, give you any occasion to regret any act of clemency that you may exercise toward us. Many of us have families dependent on us for support, and are suffering for our forfeited wages. Many of us are already suffering from that dread scourge—the scurvy—which must increase to a fearful extent in this tropical climate as the season advances and sweep, us away. And now that the campaign is open and advancing, and men are needed, we hope we may be permitted to return to the field, and by future faithfulness in our country's cause be able to return to our homes with what all good men so highly prize-untarnished characters. Should you exercise your influence in our favor in procuring our release, rest assured you will ever be remembered with gratitude."

This petition was signed by "Moses Fuller," sentenced to three years' hard labor, with belt and chain, and forfeited wages, except three dollars a month, charged with selling government property, to wit: exchanging his surplus rations; but Judge Attocha would listen to no witness in the case. Sixty-nine other names were appended to this petition.

Our anxiously looked for steamer, the Clyde, came in view, but it was too windy for it to land until noon. It brought about thirty prisoners, who had come in with a flag of truce, mostly white refugees. One family was from Mobile. The woman said the suffering from the war was not much there, and all she knew any thing about had enough to eat and wear. "But I reckon poor people suffer," she said, evidently wishing us to understand she was not poor. She had two servants to wait on her and five children. But her servants seemed to think they were free here, and said they should leave her unless she paid them wages. There were a number of slaves who came here for freedom. I called on Colonel Grosvenor, the commandant of the post, who appeared like a kind-hearted officer, and he approved of the petition. The next day, April 14th, we took the Clyde for New Orleans, after being a week on the island. On our way to the boat a soldier came running to overtake us, with a message from another soldier that he had that morning found peace in believing. He would have come himself, only that he was on picket-guard and could not leave; but he wanted us to know that our mission was not in vain.

As Ship Island receded from view sister Backus, as well as myself, felt thankful that our Heavenly Father had ordered all things well in regard to our having been left "'way off in the Gulf of Mexico."

We reached our pleasant New Orleans home, at Elder Rogers's April 16th, and were as kindly received as if we had been friends of many years' standing. The next day, after a good night's rest, we made an effort to find General Weitzel, but failed. At two P.M., we attended prayer-meeting and had a rich season of communing with our Heavenly Father. There were present two chaplains, one of whom had been at various points in Arkansas, and he gave a thrilling account of some engagements his regiment had had with the enemy. The other was just from the dreadful fight at Alexandria, up the river. It is reported and believed by thousands that the rebel general came to General Banks with a flag of truce and informed him that, unless he withdrew his colored troops, he should take no prisoners and give no quarter. Report said further that they were withdrawn and were not permitted to advance on the enemy, as they desired, and the consequence was an awful slaughter of our Northern men. The colored troops complained of inactivity in the field more than any thing else. We found along the whole length of the river fortifications built, streets in cities cleaned, and the greater part of manual labor performed by colored soldiers.

We renewed our efforts to find General Weitzel, visiting all the offices of the army we could hear of. Some reported that he was up Red River assisting General Banks, but at length, with thoroughly blistered feet, I found him. I introduced myself, as usual, by handing him my papers from Governor Blair and F. C. Beaman, member of Congress. After looking them over, he asked:

"What can I do for you?"

"I hope you can do something," I said, "toward releasing three thousand of our soldiers now confined on Ship Island and the Dry Tortugas, seventy of whom have served under you; and here is a petition from them."

He took it, and read the petition, and not more than a half-dozen names perhaps, before he became too much excited to read further. "Mrs. Haviland," he said, "these are as noble soldiers as I ever had serve under me. I don't think Moses Fuller, or any of the others, is capable of doing a wrong act. They are the most conscientious men I ever knew. Judge Attocha has no right to give these sentences; he has no business in this department of the work."

"Can't you do something for their release?" I asked.

"If I were in command I would tell you very quick; but General Banks is the one you ought to see."

"I am aware of that; but he is beyond my reach up Red River. And they told me they sent him a petition similar to this three months ago; but they had heard nothing from it."

"I will do what I can toward getting up a committee to investigate and report these facts."

"Do you think you can accomplish any thing in their favor?"

"I fear it is doubtful, but will do what I can."

This was but little relief to me; but what could I do further? I called at the Christian Commission rooms, discouraged and weary, while sister Backus returned to our quarters. These rooms I found well filled with officers, among whom were generals of high rank, indicated by the eagles and stars on their shoulders.

"Here comes Mrs. Haviland, from Ship Island. And how did you find things there?" said brother Diossy.

"Sad enough," was my reply; and I handed him a copy of the petition that I gave General Weitzel, with the extract of the record of fifteen prisoners, detailing the offense and penalty of each. The officers gathered around to see and hear.

"This is too bad," said one.

"Can't you do something for these soldiers?" I inquired.

"I wish I could; but I can't leave my post."

Said another, "It is a pity some one doesn't."

I turned to him with, "Can't you do something for their release?"

"It is the same with me," he answered; "I can not leave my post."

"Some one ought to see to their release. Can not you see to their release?"

"I tell you, madam, it is hard to do much for each other."

"Gentlemen," I responded, "I have learned one thing thoroughly since being with the army, and that is, it is almost impossible to get one officer to touch another's red-tape. But position or no position, head or no head, these flagrant wrongs ought to be plowed up beam deep. Here comes an order from President Lincoln for drafting men, and Judge Attocha has laid three thousand on the shelf, when all they ask is to be permitted to return to their respective regiments. That man is serving the rebel cause more effectually than when at the head of his company in the rebel ranks, by decimating the Union army; and here you have it in a tangible form. I am informed that Judge Attocha was a rebel captain. He is a rebel still, and in the exercise of this authority is banishing your soldiers for trivial military offenses, in irons, with forfeited wages; for which their families are now suffering."

The thought struck me, What will these officers think, to see a little old woman talking to them like this? for I addressed them as I would a group of ten-year-old boys. I had lost all reverence for shoulder-straps, and cast a glance over my audience, when I saw a number in tears. Surely there are hearts here that feel, I thought to myself. I turned to brother Diossy, and said, "You can leave your position, and get another to occupy your place here?"

"Yes, I could, if it would avail any thing; but it would be impossible for me to accomplish what you have done on Ship Island."

"Why? The idea seems to me perfectly preposterous."

"I will tell you why. There is so much wire-pulling here in the army. I would be suspected of trying to displace an officer for the position for myself, or for a friend standing behind me. Consequently I could not have examined the record as you did."

"That is true," rejoined a general. "I presume there is not one of us that could have had access to those records that you had, for the reason that Mr. Diossy has given. They know you have no such object in view, but see you as a sort of soldiers' mother; and records, or any sort of investigation, would be opened to you when it would be closed to us."

I told them I had not viewed it from that stand-point.

One of the officers, a very large man, six feet and four inches tall, I should judge, stepped up to me in officer-like style. "What do you propose to do with facts you gathered on Ship Island?"

I looked up in his face, a little hesitating.

"I say, madam, what do you propose to do with these papers?"

"I can hardly answer intelligently," I replied; "but I will tell you one thing I do propose to do, and that is, to take these facts from one officer to another, over all the rounds of the ladder, until they reach the highest official at Washington, but what justice shall be done to those poor soldiers in irons."

He settled back, with softened tone. "Well, it ought to be done."

The commanding appearance and tone, with the changed mellow voice, of that officer is still vividly remembered.

There were two chaplains in this company who said they would unite with General Weitzel on the committee he proposed, and they could learn within a week whether they could accomplish any thing in their behalf. If favorable, Chaplain Conway said he would write me at Adrian, as we were soon to return to our homes, and would write, as I requested, by two boats in succession, as guerrillas were at that time frequently interrupting boats. If no letter was received within two weeks I was to accept it as granted that nothing could be done for them in that department.

At 2 o'clock we attended prayer-meeting, where we met many soldiers and two chaplains. I was called upon to give a sketch of our Ship Island visit, and at the close a frail and spoke encouraging words to them, in passing through this transition state. From them we went to the river bank to see five hundred prisoners of war, captured up Red River. Many of them were citizens of New Orleans.

On returning we went to a meeting of the colored people, where we found Uncle Tom's spirit waiting confidently for the "better day a-coming." A number of white soldiers present encouraged us with kind words. After refreshments we attended another meeting, and listened to an instructive sermon by a colored chaplain, of the Second "Corps d'Afrique," as the colored regiments were called in that part of the country. He was the first colored man who received an appointment from the government.

At 4 P.M. we visited the colored Sabbath-school of seven hundred at the Medical College. Chaplain Conway superintended. Colonel Hanks, General Banks's wife, and a number of other visitors were present. Dr. John P. Newman addressed the school, and gave a thrilling narrative of his visit to the Holy Land, exhibiting the native scrip, sandals, girdle, goat-skin bottle, a Palestine lantern, and sundry other curiosities. After a few encouraging remarks by Col. Hanks, the superintendent unexpectedly called upon me to address the school. After the session closed I was introduced to Mrs. Banks, who wished me to write out the sketch of the facts I had gathered on Ship Island for her to send to her husband. This I did. She said that Judge Attocha promised General Banks that he would do all in his power for the Union cause, and now in this way he was paying him for his promotion.

After giving my statements to Mrs. Banks, and the petition to General Weitzel, I felt that I could leave for home on the first boat going North; yet we had but little hope of success in behalf of the 3,000 prisoners in this department. We took passage on the hospital transport Thomas, bound for Cairo, with eighty wounded soldiers from the Red River expedition, all discharged or furloughed for home. Medical Inspector Stipp kindly gave us a state-room. We were grateful to our Heavenly Father for the many kind friends we everywhere found, although surrounded by bitter enemies. The boat did not design stopping until it reached Baton Rouge; but I wanted to stop at Plaquemine to get the little girl Matilda, previously mentioned, to take to her mother, who had made her escape a few years before.

After breakfast, dressing wounds was the order of the day. I kept off the flies during the process, as it was very difficult otherwise to keep them away, the stench being so great. Poor boys! there were all sorts of wounds among them,—saber-cuts and bullet-wounds in the head, neck, shoulders, arms, hands, body, legs, and feet, of all shapes and sizes. O what horrid mangling! Yet the same patience that so remarkably characterized the Union soldier everywhere was seen here. It was hard to restrain tears in their presence, but we gave vent to them when in our state-room.

I was unexpectedly called for at Plaquemine, as I was informed that Medical Inspector Stipp had ordered the Thomas to stop for me. They were already landing before they found me. I caught up my bonnet and shawl and threw them on while hastening through the cabin. Sister Backus ran with me to the plank, where we snatched a parting kiss. I jumped ashore, sister Backus, surgeons, and a few others waving good-by signals with their handkerchiefs. The Thomas pushed out into the channel, and the next moment found me without my official papers, pocket-book, or portfolio; all were gone on to Baton Rouge with my friend Letitia Backus. In my haste they had been forgotten. As I was inquiring for the name of Eliza's sister of a colored picket, he recognized me at once, being from Detroit. He said he had beard me speak in the colored church in that city, and urged me to speak for them the next evening in their confiscated Methodist Episcopal Church. I consented, and found the two sisters, with little Matilda, almost wild with delight.

I soon had the pleasure of introducing my Detroit acquaintance, who called with a few other young men that knew me; and here, too, I was surrounded by friends, but they expressed fears of my not securing transportation to Baton Rouge, because their commander was cross and was known to issue but few orders for transportation. But I went to his office and told him what my business was in the army, and why I called there; that, on leaving the floating hospital in haste, I forgot my official papers, and consequently had nothing by which he could judge whether my statement was correct or not. I, however, had presumed to call on him to see if I could secure transportation for myself and that little girl of twelve years.

"Well, I think your motherly face will take you to Baton Rouge," he answered. "There is a regular packet running to that city, and I will send a note by you to the captain that will secure your passage, although it is not a government boat. The captain has received favors from me, and will gladly make this return."

He handed me a paper that requested a state-room and board for us, for which continued thankfulness filled my heart.

The friends of Eliza and of another escaped slave, Fleming, came in to inquire after them, and to tell long stories of the efforts put forth for their capture. But Bissel, Slaughter, and "Old Eaton," as they called him, only had the opportunity of gratifying themselves in threats.

The colored minister in the regiment took much pains in circulating notice of the meeting, and the church was well filled. We enjoyed the presence of the Lord Jesus in our midst. There were those there who had felt the bitter pangs of family separations, with cruel treatment, who wept for joy in speaking of the precious boon of freedom. Some of them were fearful that it would last no longer than the war; but I assured them, as officers and soldiers had done, that it was a fixed fact.

The packet Bank came in at five o'clock, P. M., April 21st, when we took leave of kind friends who accompanied us to the boat. After a pleasant trip, we were received with joy on our safe arrival at Baton Rouge. The next day we visited the Forty-eighth Illinois Regiment, and distributed a quantity of reading matter. We also attended the funeral of a deceased soldier, where the privilege was granted me of making some remarks. I endeavored to enforce the solemn truth, "It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment." I exhorted those present to prepare to live in friendship with God, as that alone would enable them to gain the victory over death.

On April 23d we visited the jail, in company with brother Merrifield, and distributed Testaments and tracts, which were gladly received. Here we met a rebel captain, who said he was a rebel of the strongest kind; had been fighting to establish his government, and should do it again if he lived to get to his regiment. I told him I had no hope in his case, unless he would accept the truth contained in the Testament, which I presented to him, and said that if he would read carefully and prayerfully, and drink in its spirit and practice its teachings, he would find a religion pure and undefiled.

"Madam," he answered, "if I thought reading that book carefully and prayerfully, and accepting pure and undefiled religion, would lead me to lay down arms in defense of the Confederate Government, I would never read a word in it or take one thought of religion; no, not to save my soul."

This he uttered with a change from a flushed to a blanched countenance. We afterwards learned he was a captain of a guerrilla band, and had been sentenced to be shot, but the sentence had been commuted. A Union man who was a citizen here knew him, and said he ordered a Union man out of his buggy, and shot him dead; then he bayoneted him through and through, in the presence of his wife and child; then ordered them out, took the horse and buggy, and left the distracted wife and child to wait by the mangled body, until a passer by hastened to the city and sent a hearse for the body. On the way to town for burial, the same band of guerrillas captured the team and hearse, and left again the distressed mother and child to get the mutilated body of the husband and father taken to burial as best they could. "Such horrible deeds," said a Union man of this city, "will continue until government takes a more decided policy."

On Sunday morning, April 24th, we attended the sunrise prayer-meeting among the colored people, and more earnest prayers I never heard for Union soldiers: never heard more earnest pleading for the triumph of liberty. God was truly overshadowing his own. Before the rising of the sun, there was a large congregation. At nine o'clock we were invited to make some opening remarks in brother Tucker's Sabbath-school of three hundred children. Then we were conducted to another Sabbath-school, where we were invited to make a few closing remarks. At 11 o'clock we attended a meeting led by Chaplain Berge. On returning to our boarding-place, we were called upon by brother Merrifield, who accompanied us into the fort to address the colored troops. Sister Backus referred to the importance of making themselves intelligent, so that when their rights were established as citizens, they would be prepared to vote understandingly. This brought smiles from the officers, and frowns from a few of the white soldiers. We also attended a meeting conducted by the chaplain of the general hospital, who preached a very appropriate sermon for officers as well as soldiers. He warned against the truckling, time-serving, and cotton-speculating manifestations in this war, and also the influence of Southern women in sympathy with the rebellion.

This was the sixth religious service we attended during the day, in four of which we had taken an active part. We retired to rest until the 6:30 o'clock meeting at the Methodist Episcopal Church, now turned over to Chaplain Brakeman, who was called away the previous day. He had left an urgent request for me to address the soldiers on Sabbath evening; but I told the chaplain who brought the word we could make no further engagements, as we were waiting hourly for a boat going up the river. Before six, a steamer stopped, and we took passage for Natchez, as we had business to see to concerning an orphan asylum. One of the chaplains said if we could realize the good it was doing the soldiers, we would visit them oftener; that there were more conversions during the week after we left than in many months previously. An exhortation from a mother reminded the soldiers of home and home influences.

We had a conversation with a colored captain, who had just resigned on account of the constant indignities heaped upon the colored troops. He was a man of wealth and intelligence, and gave us an account of a review by General Sherman, after General Butler left. When General Sherman came to him, he stopped to look at the bars on his shoulders, and gruffly asked, "Are you a captain?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "O, you are too black for a captain," said the general. At Fort Hudson, when our troops were retreating under a galling fire, a colored captain, with his men, at the risk of his life, ran to bring out General Sherman, who was badly wounded, and would have died but for the daring feat of the colored soldiers. The colored captain lost his life, but General Sherman was rescued. Since then he has spoken highly of colored soldiers, and of the brave captains that led them. My informant said that after General Banks assumed command they hoped for better treatment, but their hopes were vain. As the men in December and January were in want of shoes and clothing, he told General Banks that they were not in a suitable condition to work on the fortifications where the detachment was ordered, but no attention was paid to him. He inquired why his men could not be supplied the same as the white soldiers. The reply he received was, "Don't you know you are niggers, and must not expect the same treatment?" "From that moment," he said, "I resolved to resign; but after waiting a little, and seeing no better prospects, I did so, and shall not resume arms until we can be treated as men."

In New Orleans two regiments of free colored men were raised in forty-eight hours. They were officered by men of their color in grades as high as major by General Butler, who said they were as good officers as he held under him. We arrived in Natchez on the 26th, where we met rejoicing friends. We found a number of the missionaries sick, among them sister Burlingame.

The day following we spent chiefly in writing, and distributing Testaments and tracts among soldiers. In the evening we attended a protracted meeting, conducted by two sisters. They acquitted themselves nobly, and had three conversions. They exhorted earnestly and prayed fervently. They invited us to take part with them. One of the ministers told me they had worked in this meeting until they were tired out, and then gave it over to these mothers in the Church, whose labors the Lord was blessing in the conversion of precious souls.

We made an effort to secure a house for an orphan asylum.

Rebel sympathizers were making trouble all along the line of our work. They tried every plan that could be devised to drive the refugees back to their old plantations. An infamous "health order" was issued, compelling every colored person, not employed by responsible parties in the city or suburbs, to go into the "corral," or colored camp. Many were employed by colored citizens, who were doing all they could to find work for them. But on the day this order took effect soldiers were sent to hunt them out of all such places, as no colored party was deemed responsible; and all who were not actual members of these colored families were driven out at the point of Union bayonets.

They gathered two hundred and fifty, mostly women and children, and drove them through the streets of Natchez on a chilly, rainy day, and marched them into the camp of four thousand in condemned tents. One of the colored citizens told me that she was paying her woman wages, and allowing her to have her three children with her, but the soldiers drove her out into the rain. Men and women tantalized them as they were marching through the streets, saying: "That's the way the Yankees treat you, is it? You'd better come back to us; we never treated you like that." Many of the women went into camp crying. Said an old colored man: "Never min', thar's a better day a comin'. 'Twould be strange if Uncle Sam hadn't a few naughty boys." He was one of the group that was driven in.

We heard, April 30th, that there was a skirmish near our lines the evening before. A party of scouts had shot into the pickets, and they retreated; but we did not learn whether any were killed. News came to us of Calvin Fairbanks's release from the Kentucky penitentiary. We trusted that the same Deliverer would open the prison-door for the three thousand soldiers on the two islands in the Gulf.

At nine o'clock A. M., May 1st, we attended the organization of the fifth colored Sabbath-school in the city. At eleven A. M. we went to Wall Street Church, and listened to an interesting discourse by Chaplain Trask, of the Fourth Illinois Regiment. At two P. M., at the Colored Methodist Episcopal Church, we heard brother Burlingame. After a short exhortation by brother Fitzhugh, twelve came forward for prayer, and some were blessed with pardon. At six P. M. we attended a soldiers' meeting at Wall Street Church, in which we took a part; also a number of soldiers spoke and prayed. Between meetings I wrote a letter for a colored man to his wife, who is still a slave in Woodville, twenty miles distant.

I was sick with a chill and fever May 2d, and the nearest to being homesick since I left Michigan. The next day I was better. Here I met Joseph Warner, with whom I had been acquainted from his childhood. He was a lessee at Waterproof. He had a large plantation, and two hundred hands employed. He was twice taken by guerrillas. He told them they could hang or shoot him, but they might rest assured that forty of their men's lives would pay for his, and forty men stood ready to take his place; and they let him go each time. A distressed mother came to us to inquire for her two daughters, that her mistress had sent to Texas to elude the effects of the Proclamation of Emancipation. She had begged her mistress to allow them to remain in town, if she could not have them with her. The mistress said, "No you shall never have your girls with you again, not even to give you a drink of water if you are dying." This was at the retaking of Baton Rouge, when the mistress considered herself again in full power; but she was soon to suffer herself. When that city was retaken by Union men, the only son of the mistress was burned to death in the house at which he was boarding. Upon this she fell into fits. Yet, Pharaoh-like, she persisted in keeping the slave-girls in Texas.

A number of missionaries called on us, and urged me to remain with them a few weeks longer; but for two reasons I had to decline: First, those three thousand soldier prisoners were daily on my mind; and, second, my poor health made it a duty to return home.

Skirmishing four miles off took place May 5th, and we could see the blue smoke of battle. The shooting seemed near us. How little this terrible war was realized in our own free State homes!

I met on the street a mulatto girl seventeen years old, weeping, and inquired the cause of her grief. She said her owner, Mrs. Morehead, had been beating her.

"Why do you remain with her?" I asked.

"She keeps my baby locked up," was her reply; "and she says if I leave
I shall never have him."

I told her that I could take her to the provost-marshal, who would give her an order for her child. At this she cheered up, and went with me, and received an order, in case she could not get it without. She said she would go back and pack her few things in her old trunk, and then watch her opportunity when the mistress was out to bring her baby to the freedmen's store. After the child was secured I sent a soldier with her, who brought her trunk, without letting any one in the hotel know of her movements. Only a short time elapsed before we saw Mrs. Morehead in front of the hotel, looking up and down the street for her Delphine, who kept herself hid in the freedmen's store with her little Charlie, about two years old. Just before the war Mr. Morehead had brought her away from her mother in St. Louis, Missouri, and the height of her ambition was to get back there. I secured transportation for herself and child to Cairo, and paid her fare to St. Louis. But she was in constant fear of her former owners.

Her history was a sad one. She was bought for their hotel fancy girl, and the father of her child was her own master. The child resembled his father so much that he was frequently taken by strangers to be the child of the mistress. The mother was two-thirds white; and the Roman, nose, straight hair, and white skin of the child would not give a stranger the least idea that he had even the sixteenth part of African blood in his veins.

As a boat was expected to arrive within an hour, we took leave of the many kind friends, and repaired to the wharf-boat. Soon Mrs. Morehead followed, and called for Delphine; but the trembling girl caught her babe and hid.

But as her mistress repeated the calls, she at length came to me with the child, asking, "What shall I do? I would rather throw myself and baby into the river than go back to her." Said her mistress, "I tell you, Del., I've got an officer to come and take you to jail for stealing." I told Delphine she could rest assured that none of the officers would trouble her, for they informed me they should not notice her mistress's complaints, let them be what they would, as they had had more trouble with that rebel family than a little ever since they occupied the city. I told her to leave Charlie on the boat, and go out on the levee and tell her mistress plainly that she was going to St. Louis to her mother, and not be so excited. She did so, and Mrs. Morehead kept her nearly an hour, trying to coax, hire, and frighten her, but without avail. Delphine all this while was trembling with fear. I believe if she had seen an officer coming with her mistress, she would have thrown herself and child into the river. Mrs. Morehead at length came upon the wharf-boat. When Delphine saw her coming she snatched up her child, and ran to the rear of the boat, and the mistress after her. Again she came to me with "What shall I do?" I replied, "Sit down here by me and hold your child, and she will not dare touch you." She trembled as if having an ague fit. Soon a her mistress stood before us in a rage, and turned to me:

"You came into my kitchen with an order, and took her, when she was doing better than you ever dare do."

"I never went into your kitchen," I said. "A soldier went with her for her trunk. I understood an officer called on you and called for her child, at her request, before she came to me."

"It's a lie. Delphine lied about me."

Said sister Backus, "I shouldn't think you would want such a person about you, if that is true."

"Well, the child seems so near to me. I've always had the care of it."

She left us at length with a threat that she would bring the officers to take her to jail for stealing.

The Kennet came in at 11 o'clock A. M., May 6th, bound for St. Louis, Missouri, and we went aboard. As we pushed out from shore, Delphine clapped her hands. "Now I know Mistress Morehead can trouble me no more; thank God, I've got my Charlie too! Nobody knows what I have gone through since I've been in this city." We arrived in Vicksburg May 7th, and took breakfast at the Soldiers' Home, where we met Ex-Governor Harvey, a soldiers' friend. Here was a lady who had charge of the body of her brother, killed up Red River, taking the remains back to Iowa.

After spending a little time in this large city of soldiers, whose tents whitened the adjoining fields, we left. On the day this city fell into Union hands, report said, there was an old man very confident of the success of the Confederate government, and he said that God could not let it fail; if he did, he would never believe there is a God. When, the gun-boats came in, and he was told the city was taken, he would not believe it, until he rose up from his chair and saw marching columns of soldiers, with their bayonets glistening in the Fourth of July sun. He immediately sank back in his chair in a faint, and soon died.

May 8th was a sort of a war Sabbath. The night before our boat ran aground, and it took three hours to get her off. Many of the passengers dressed, and made ready to escape at the first possible chance, in case she should become wrecked. We were told that at one time the water was three feet deep in her hull. By making great effort the men succeeded in pumping it out. She run slowly, being a very large boat. We had a variety of passengers on board, officers of various ranks, soldiers, missionaries, preachers, and a few secessionists. Major-general Hunter remained with us two days.

Quite an excitement arose over the arrest of a smuggler of goods through our lines. He was thought to be connected with the little steamer Baltic. There was a major and a provost-marshal, from Baton Rouge, who followed up the matter. When the prisoner was brought to the rear of the boat, with his hands tied, it created much feeling among a dozen colored people, until they heard the major ask him if he had taken the oath of allegiance. He answered gruffly, "No, and I never will."

This led the major to ask other questions concerning the trade of the Baltic.

"I will tell you nothing about it, if I stand here till I die, and you may go to—."

This brought the sympathy of the colored people, as well as of the rest of us, down below zero. Said one colored man, "Let him stand there, then, until he dies." But within an hour he consented to be sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and the major examined him in the presence of many witnesses, Major-general Hunter one of them.

On Monday I introduced myself to General Hunter, as usual, by my letters.

"How long have you been in the army," he asked, "and how far?"

In reply to his queries I gave him a sketch of our work. I mentioned General Tuttle's refusal to grant us transportation, the wrongs of the colored soldiers, and the history of the three thousand prisoners on Ship Island and Dry Tortugas, and stated the fact that some missionaries and missionary teachers had advised me to say nothing of these wrongs, however flagrant. I also called his attention to the printed order placed in our hands, that we were not to report any movements in the army, either verbally or by writing, and asked his advice whether it was wiser to report or to keep silent.

"Mrs. Haviland," he replied, "I am glad you have been in the army so long, and I am glad you went so far, and I will explain that order.

"You have observed movements of troops from one place to another just on the eve of battle. These are the matters you are not to report; but the wrongs you have met you may proclaim on your arrival at home from the house-tops."

I thanked him for this advice, for it was to me a great relief. It seemed to trouble him. After pacing the cabin to and fro a few minutes, he came to me and said:

"Mrs. Haviland, we have had a good deal of sifting done in the army, and more must be done yet. Did General Tuttle see those papers you gave me?"

"He did," I answered.

"Copperheads have no business in the army in the exercise of such authority as this. General Tuttle ran for governor on the Copperhead ticket in Iowa last year. What right has a copperhead to be lifted up here, where loyal men are needed? I have never seen the least cause to abandon my first conclusion, that the only way to crush this rebellion was to emancipate and arm the slaves; and if I could have been permitted to carry out my plan of taking Kentucky into my field, as my rank and position entitled me to do, I should have proclaimed freedom to the slaves as fast as I reached them. The strength I could have gathered from the slave population would soon have been two hundred thousand men, and that number of stand of arms was all I asked. But the vacillating policy of the government would not permit it. I saw clearly that this was the only policy that would prove successful, and I thought every body else must see it when I first proclaimed it in South Carolina. It seemed there were others who took a different view, and my order was superseded."

Said sister Backus, "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your policy had to be adopted before the nation could succeed."

"O, yes," replied he reluctantly; "but it is with regret that I think of the drafting of thousands, which might have been avoided just as well as not. There was no necessity for the draft."

Sister Backus remarked, "As a nation, we must suffer defeats until it reaches the right position, not only in arming colored men, but in paying them just wages; for they make as good soldiers as white men."

A bystander said, "I don't know that they make as good soldiers as white men, from the fact that they are not so intelligent. Here is General Hunter, and I presume he will say the same thing"—turning to him for an answer.

In a decided tone the general said, "I shall say no such thing. They make the best of soldiers; for, first, they are kind and docile; and, second, they are apt to learn. They learn military tactics very readily, and ought to have the same wages as any other soldier. All along this river I find one continued series of wrongs inflicted upon the negro."

We told him of the infamous order by Dr. Kelley, sanctioned by General Tuttle, and published under the specious guise of "Health Order," to drive the slaves back to their masters. He shook his head in disgust.

"Why does the head of this serpent rise up at almost every point? When it appeared in the department under my command I crushed it at once."

At the mouth of Red River three women came aboard, by permission of the gunboat officers stationed there. Their object was to hire men, whom they wanted to gather cane for working up into weaving reeds. One of them reported to Dr. Long that she had been watching a couple of ladies on our boat, and she believed them spies, for they seemed to have a great deal of writing to do. Dr. Long happened to know enough about the ladies reported as spies to allow sister Backus and myself to pass unmolested. But these ladies were themselves suspected of being spies.

We reached the city of Memphis May 10th. Sister Backus had been quite sick for three days, but was now a little better. We called at the Christian Commission Rooms, and got a market-basket full of reading matter for distribution.

The next day was quite cold and freezing. We stopped at Columbus a short time. Here we secured a paper giving an account of the terrible slaughter at Fredericksburg. Rumor had it that fifteen thousand were killed and wounded; that Lee was driven back thirty miles; Grant and Butler were said to be pushing on to Richmond, and were now within a short day's march of the rebel capital. General Hunter was quite sanguine in hope that Richmond would soon fall.

On May 13th we arrived at Cairo, and took leave of the friends whom our few days' acquaintance had made dear. We reached home on the 18th, amid the rejoicing of dear children and friends. It is no wonder the soldiers we met were delighted to see a Northern face, for it reminded them of their home associations. Intercession unceasing went up for the three thousand soldier prisoners banished to the Gulf Islands. The mail had brought nothing from New Orleans. By this I was to understand that nothing could be done for them there. Congress was still in session, and I immediately wrote a full account of their wrongs to congressman Beaman, and urged the presentation of the case to the war department.

Without giving myself time to rest, I hastened to Detroit, to report our work and give an account of the unjust sentences of those prisoners at Ship Island and the Tortugas. While making my statements in Captain E. B. Ward's office, he took them down to forward them to B. F. Wade, chairman of the Committee on the Conduct of the War; but he said, "You must go to Washington and report these facts to the committee in person." I told him I had written the full details to my friend, F. C. Beaman, member of Congress, and I thought he would do all that could be done. He answered, "I shall send these items to B. F. Wade, and our letters will make good entering wedges; but the living tongue will do more than the pen." I told him I was ready to go or do any thing I could for their release, but still hoped to hear from New Orleans. I would wait a week longer and rest. Then, if I had means, I would go. He said he would see to that, and I returned to my home.

Within a week I received a note from him, stating that he had just received a letter from B. F. Wade, requesting me to come at once and bring my extracts from the record I had examined on Ship Island. I was soon on my way to Detroit, and at nine o'clock, A. M., on the following day, I was in Captain Ward's office, ready to take the boat for Cleveland on my way to Washington. I waited but a few minutes when the captain came in with a letter, which he threw in my lap, saying, "There is a letter for you to read." The first sentence was, "The exhibition of these letters before Secretary Stanton has proved sufficient. Judge Attocha was dismissed immediately, and a committee is to be appointed to investigate and release those prisoners at once. There is therefore no necessity for Mrs. Haviland's presence on that score. General Tuttle is already relieved." On reading these glad words, I remarked that I never had been a shouting Methodist, but I felt more like shouting over these glad tidings than I ever had done in all my life. If I had not been spoiled for singing by being raised a Quaker, I would have sung the doxology.

I wrote an article for the Detroit Tribune containing these facts, and stating the prospects of the immediate release of the three thousand prisoners on Ship Island and Dry Tortugas. I sent the paper to Captain J. Noyce, and very soon received a reply that my letter, with the Tribune, was the first intimation they had received of any thing being done in their behalf. He said, "I sent the letter and paper to the prisoners, and they eagerly read them in all their companies, until I doubt whether a whole sentence can be found together." A few weeks later I received another letter from Captain Noyce, in which he stated that the committee was investigating, and that but one person in seventy-five was found unworthy of being released at once; but that very soon all would be restored to their regiments.