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

by Laura S. Haviland

CHAPTER XIV.

HOME MISSION WORK.

There were many sick, crippled, aged, and blind sufferers in Washington to visit and relieve, but the severest trial I endured was encountering the virus of disloyalty wherever I went. Women were more outspoken than men, because they could dare be. Men were more subtle and appeared more pliant, only to hoodwink government. They said in secret, "We'll yet gain by the ballot, with the help of Northern sympathizers, what we failed to accomplish with the bullet." By order of President Johnson the colored soldiers were every where discharged and withdrawn from forts and garrisons, at the request of their former masters, only to be left to their unrelenting hate. One colored man returned to the plantation of his wife's master, and asked him if he could take his wife and children to himself, as he had means, after two years of service to support them. The only answer he received was the contents of a pistol, that took his life instantly! I heard of similar murders in this vicinity, of which no notice was taken by the State authorities.

I visited a number of large schools in Alexandria, September 14th, and was invited to address them. Two of these were kept in two of the largest slave-pens in the city. Alexandria was one of the greatest slave marts in Virginia. In the Avery slave-pen there was a dungeon-like room, designed for one standing, with iron staples to which the wrists were locked, and a sort of stocks for the feet, when a stream of cold water was pumped over the nude form of the refractory slave, from ten minutes to an hour or more, according to the offense. They told me they had known them taken down chilled to death. It was said to be one of the most cruel punishments. They showed me the stump of the whipping post, where hundreds of writhing victims had suffered this kind of torture. But it did seem as if the better day was coming, to see a hundred and fifty-three black children here so eager to learn, and to hear them read so well after only four months' schooling. I met a woman on the street in deep mourning who was weeping. I inquired the cause of her grief. She said: "I have been to visit the grave of my only son. His father died a few months ago, and this darling son was my only child. He died in the Union army; but what does all this terrible sacrifice amount to? President Johnson is giving strength to the rebels. Every rebel general has been pardoned, and the vast amount of land restored to them is increasing their power. You see, wherever troops are withdrawn they commit murders, and no notice is taken of it. I feel as though my son's life and thousands of other precious lives have been sacrificed for nothing." I could say but little to comfort that poor, broken-hearted, widowed, childless mother. I could only commend her to our Heavenly Father, who alone can console the widow's aching heart.

On September 15th I took a steamer for Richmond, Virginia, and arrived on the 16th at Fredericksburg. Here were standing many chimneys, showing us the waste places and burned houses in this small but quaint old city. I called at the teachers' boarding-house, kept by a good Union family, Wm. J. Jeffries. Mrs. King accompanied me to the soldiers' hospital. Here, as elsewhere, the poor suffering soldier seemed rejoiced to see and hear the representative of their mothers. After reading the Scripture and prayer I left a number in tears.

Here was the home of General Washington's mother. I visited the house, and a feeling of solemnity came over me as we passed through her sitting room into the large bed-room, where report said she died. Near by is her tomb. The pedestal only stands erect, but badly marred by the chisel in chipping off pieces, by hundreds of visitors Our teachers inquired if I would not like a chip from the tomb. I told them that no chisel or hammer should be applied for me; but I picked up a little piece at its base. We had gone but few rods before a carriage drove to the tomb, and the chisel and hammer were flaking off keepsakes for four men. The long block of marble designed to have been placed on the pedestal lay near it half buried in the ground where it had lain nearly or quite a century.

After inspecting the rebel earth-works and rifle-pits, I visited Miss Strausburg's school of 181 poor white children, quite unlike any colored school I had visited any where, as to order. They commenced to sneer at me the moment I entered, but their teacher invited me to speak to the school, and they became at once quiet and respectful. Little James Stone asked permission to sing for me, and he sang a religious hymn in which nearly all the school joined. To my surprise they sang the "Red, White and Blue" and "The Soldier's Farewell to his Mother," for which I thanked them. In passing along the street after the school was dismissed, many of the children came out with their mothers, pointing toward me. At two places I halted to speak to them and their mothers, which pleased them very much.

The next day I visited a few Union families, who gave some interesting facts concerning their trials. I left two dollars with one sick woman, who wept as I left her. I called at Major Johnson's headquarters. He was very anxious to send on an orphan baby one year old to Camp Lee orphanage, in Richmond. He gave me a paper that would secure its admission. On arriving at Richmond I left my charge at the orphanage. As no name was on the paper, or was given to me with the child, the matron, Mrs. Gibbons, named him Haviland Gibbons.

I visited the orphanage a number of times. The matron said the little fellow learned his name very readily. Here was a pair of twin boys, about two years old, very black and smart. As they quarreled so much of the time, Judge Fitzhugh proposed to name them Abe and Jeff, after the two Presidents. Though a strong Confederate, he said they were smarter than any white children he ever saw, and to prove his position he called them out to dance, as he had taught them to step the figure. He sang for them, and they danced to his music.

"There, I'll venture to say," he said, "you never saw two white children of their age do that. I tell you the negro race is naturally smarter than the Anglo-Saxon."

I told him I was surprised at this remark, when he had told me a few minutes before that the negroes would soon die out, because they could not take care of themselves.

"That is true," he rejoined, "and I have written a book in which I take the same position, and can prove it. They will do more work than white people can, but they lack calculation; hence the necessity of their being under the supervision of the whites." We have the planning faculty, and they have the ability to do the work. There is therefore a necessity for both races to work together to be a successful people. I repeat what I told you before, that we never shall prosper separated. The power of governing must remain with the Anglo-Saxon race, and God has so designed. The Yankees have made a sad mistake in freeing the slave, for in time they will become extinct; but God will never suffer this state of things to remain, and you will see the South in power in two years, and the North minus the power she now wields.

I cited him to black men in Canada, who had escaped from slavery and who had acquired wealth, and to one of the wealthiest livery men in their own city. I also referred to a shoemaker who had been free but a few months.

His credit was sufficient to purchase ten dollars' worth of stock, which he made up and sold, paying for his stock; he then made another purchase and was hard at work to purchase a little home. His wife was washing and house-cleaning, with the same object in view. They told me they allowed themselves meat but once a week, and lived on corn-bread, mush, and molasses, and that they intended to live and work in this way until they should succeed.

"Does not this look like calculation?" I asked.

"I admit," he said, "there are isolated cases, but it is not the rule."

He gave me his book to read, entitled "Sociology of the South, by J. Fitzhugh, Att'y." I found it a perfect bundle of inconsistencies. He goes into a labored argument against free-labor, free-schools, free-press and free-speech, as destructive to a prosperous people. He claimed to be a cousin of Gerrit Smith's wife, and said that they were crazy over slavery. He also claimed that President Johnson was doing all he could for them, and that through him they were going to have their rights restored. He knew of men who had gathered half a bushel of Confederate money, and said they should keep it until it would be worth as much as greenbacks. He also knew men who had bills of sale of negroes, a foot deep, that they were keeping to recover their slaves, or pay for them; and he was confident that it would be accomplished within two years. This I found to be a very general feeling among the most prominent Confederates.

On September 20th I visited a number of sick that I supplied with bedding and clothing. I walked six miles that day, and then went to the office of the Freedmen's Bureau, where I was furnished with an ambulance and driver to take things to the sufferers I had visited.

After spending several days in this work, visiting schools and giving attention to many sufferers, I returned, weary in body but restful in mind, and thankful that the friends of humanity had made me the almoner of their gifts.

On October 2d I spent some time in Libby Prison. My sanitary goods were stored in one apartment of it. The prisoners were under guards, and were permitted to assist me in opening, closing, and moving barrels and boxes, a portion of which I prepared to take to Ashland. One of the keepers took me to the long, deep tunnel which the Union prisoners had dug under the building to escape from their terrible sufferings. To look at the great risk they were running in their fruitless effort to escape, speaks loudly of the desperation to which they were driven. My guide gave me a few of the hand-cuffs that our officers removed from some of the emaciated prisoners when Richmond was taken. The doors of Castle Thunder and Libby were opened, and the hand-cuffs were placed on their cruel keepers, who had made a boast of killing as many Yankees in these prisons as their troops were killing in battle.

I went out some distance, October 3d, to an old camp, where a school was organized in an old slave-pen. Here was the stump of the whipping-post cut even with the ground. I was shown where stood the auction-block. As I listened to a history of cruelties inflicted here I did not wonder that our nation was compelled to pass through this baptism of blood. Pointing to a large plantation in sight, said one: "There lives my old master, who said in the beginning of this war, 'Before my children shall ever be disgraced with work I will wade in blood to the horse's bridle.' He did fight hard as long as the war lasted. But last week he told his two sons that they must go to work or die. He came into my shoe-shop the other day with his feet almost bare, and I took the best pair of boots I had and gave them to him. I know he thought of old days, for I did."

After talking to the children at school I visited the aged and sick. Anthony Wilson, very aged, said, "Dun kno' how ole I is. White folks say I's more'n eighty. Had heaps o' ups an' downs; good many more downs dan ups; my big family all tore to pieces two times." I gave him a whole suit of clothes. "Bress de good Lo'd," he exclaimed, "dis is de best suit I eber had; dis I reckon is my freedom suit." Mary Brackson, also very old, had two little grandchildren with her. Their mother was sold down the river when the youngest was a year old. Her life had been a sad one. She was crippled with rheumatism, and her arm had been broken by an overseer's club. I gave her a bed-tick, quilt, blanket, and a few clothes for herself and grandchildren. Then I visited and relieved four other families, to whom I gave advice, and with the most I read and offered prayer, which always seemed to be a great comfort to them.

Two days after I took a train with supplies for Ashland. I arrived in the afternoon and met an excellent Union family, formerly from England, Judge James, whose house was battered on each side with bullets and shells in the severe battle fought at that place. This town, the home of some strong political men, seemed dilapidated and forsaken. Judge James's wife and daughter were noble women, and I found a very pleasant home in this family. They directed me to the most suffering families and individuals. My first call was on Charlotte Boles, whose reply to the query for her age was, "I dun kno'; missus 'specks I's eighty, large odd." She had served three generations.

"I's had so many children," she said, "I can't tell till I call de names: Pomp, Jim, Tom, Sol, Sue, Dick, an' Dilcy; den some babies I's got in heaven. I seed heap o' trouble in my time. I nursed at de breas' eleven of my firs' massar's chillen, Isaac Wiston, and six of his gran'-chillen. I dress 'em firs', an' some on 'em for de grave. My secon' massar, William Winfield, Jun., da have six chillen, an' I dress 'em all firs', and most all at las' for de grave. O my God, I can neber, neber tell de trouble I's had. O how hard I prayed for freedom, an' de Lord come at las'. I's praise his name. De one dat I nurst when a babie ordered me whipped 'case I cried so much when da sole my chillen down de riber. But I hear dat de war free five of my chillen, an' I's prayin' God to sen' 'em to poor me."

Notwithstanding her great age her mind was unusually clear, and the frequent starting tear manifested strong maternal affection.

There was not a house, yard, or grove but bore the mark of shell or bullet.

An exciting scene passed before us October 15th. Young Mrs. Pollard, daughter of my host, who had became the wife of the noted Confederate editor of the most rabid paper in Richmond, had been forbidden to visit or even to correspond with her parents. Her husband said if she should attempt it, it would be at her peril. She found him to be inconstant, as he had become the paramour of a Cyprian in New York city, where he spent several weeks writing a book on the bravery of Confederate soldiers. "When she discovered these facts, with her heart full of grief, she told him the reports she had heard of his inconstancy. He acknowledged all, and entreated her pardon. But he soon became as cruel as ever. During his absence in New York she took her son of less than two years and came to her father's house, a poor, heart broken woman. A divorce was immediately sued for, and she received a summons to appear in court in Richmond. Although her father was there to receive her, she feared Mr. Pollard would take her life, also her father's, at their parting. She threw her arms around her mother's neck and wept upon her shoulders; then, sobbing, said, as she rested her head upon my shoulders:

"Mrs. Haviland, you won't leave me after our arrival in Richmond until
I am with my father, will you?"

With an assurance that I would remain at her side until her father took her under his protection, she left her babe with her mother and we departed for Richmond. We met her father, with whom I felt she would be safe. I find these extremes of love and hate more prevalent in the South than in the North.

On the 18th of October, after visiting fifteen suffering families, I called at the office for an ambulance and driver to go to Libby Prison for supplies. These were obtained and distributed, and such gratitude from the recipients I never found elsewhere. Same of them wept aloud. A number of the women kissed my hands as I left them, and the hearty "God bless you, honey," was an everyday blessing from these poor-crushed spirits.

One of our officers came to me with the urgent request of two women, living in a large brick house, to see me. I obeyed the summons at once. As I rang the door-bell, a genteelly dressed lady in black satin met me at the door. I inquired if there were two ladies here who had sent for me? She replied in the affirmative. By this time the other lady appeared in the hall, also dressed in rich silk.

"What are your greatest needs," I asked, "that will come within my power to supply?"

"We want money, madam," they said, "and must have it."

"Are any of your family sick?"

"No, madam, but money we must have."

"Will rations answer your purpose?"

"No, madam, we want no such thing; we want money, and must have it."

I told them I had no money to disburse, and only supplied food and clothing to those who were suffering from greatest destitution, and left them without being invited inside their house. I saw at once they were most accustomed to the imperative mood.

The captain came to me a few days after and inquired if I found it in the way of my duty to relieve the wants of those two ladies? I told him I asked them a few questions and did not think it worth the money demanded. He said they had sent for him, and a number of other officers, making the same demand, and as they had not succeeded they sent for me, and he was not disappointed at the result.

As I was passing their news depot, I saw blazoned in red letters, "No New Nation sold here" I stepped in and inquired for their best paper. The Examiner was handed me, edited by Pollard, the whilom son-in-law of Judge James, one of the most rabid Confederate sheets in Richmond. I inquired where the New Nation was sold. They said nowhere, unless a few "niggers" might be found selling it on, the street. One of them poured forth a long catalogue of epithets: "Arrant liar," "reckless villain," and finally a "crazy scamp."

As I was passing the street one day, and saw "New Nation," I thought I would call on the "insane editor," Mr. Hunnicutt. I ascended to the third story, where I found the busy editor and his son. They were surprised to see a lady of sufficient moral courage to call on them. The editor exhibited a pile of anonymous letters, threatening his life. He was an outspoken Union man, and had received over one hundred of these nameless letters within three months. He was a native of Virginia, and said:

"The Union of the States is a fixed fact, and I will advocate it squarely, though it cost me my life, but Union principles must and will prevail."

I left a dollar for a subscription to the New Nation for six months.
As I was about to leave, said he, with tearful eye:

"A select few in this city meet once a week for a prayer-meeting, but I can not attend it in the evening, as it is unsafe for me to be out after dark."

I told him I had received a secret invitation, and had attended each meeting since my first knowledge of this praying band. I told him it was one of the most solemn meetings I had ever attended. As in the days of the apostles, we met in an upper room at the hour of prayer, where I had heard the editor of the New Nation remembered.

"I know," he said, "that I have friends in this city, and some I know are secretly friends for fear of this bitter spirit that reigns to a fearful extent. Don't forget to pray for me and my family. I dare not bring my wife and daughter to this city."

My work kept me here many days. November 25th I spent mostly at the sanitary rooms in Libby Prison, with Miss Morris, a French lady, who served as a spy for the Union generals. Report had it that she was writing a book of her exploits. A soldier told me he saw her a prisoner in Southern hands before the fall of New Orleans. But she managed to make her escape from that city, and in disguise revisited it, and reported to our generals. She could speak French and German better than our own language. She often disguised herself most effectually. Her French politeness would have been quite annoying to me had it not been for the faithful assistance she rendered in seeking out the sick and dying, not hesitating to enter filthy alleys, dark, cold cellars, or with me to climb rickety flights of stairs into dark attics. I have found in almost every place one or more Christian women who kindly offered to assist me, but few would dare visit those filthy places, fearing contagious diseases. Having had the small pox, and all other common contagious diseases, with my very plain habits of living, I dared to visit the sick and dying in any of these loathsome places, many of which I found in Richmond.

The next day, being Sunday, was spent as usual in attending Sabbath-schools. I spoke in two of them, and in one meeting. At night I was at Camp Lee Orphanage with Annie Gibbons, the matron, who had an interesting group of little folks. As they gathered around the table, at the tap of the bell, with clasped hands and closed eyes, they repeated the verse:

"Lord, teach a little child to pray,
Thy grace to me impart," etc.

I met a colored man from Raleigh, North Carolina, who gave a few items of Andrew Johnson's early history, in regard to his apprenticeship in tailoring. If there was a dance within reach, black or white, it was all the same to "Andy,"—he was sure to be there. His boss, Mr. Selby, lectured him about his late hours, and to evade these lectures he often "turned in" with Handy Luckett, a steady old slave man, whose bed was in the loft of J. O. Rork's carriage house.

At a shoe-shop, I met John Blevins, a noble appearing John Brown sort of man whose sentence was forty years in the Virginia Penitentiary in Richmond. His crime was, aiding slaves to their God-given rights. He had served sixteen years when Richmond was taken. The Union soldiers opened the prison door, and John Blevins, with four hundred other prisoners, walked out free men. His intelligence speaks of better days. He is sixty years of age, and hard treatment had added ten years to his appearance. During the first few years of his prison life he could tell when a master had lost his slaves, as they would then place him in the dungeon, where he was kept for weeks at a time, to compel him to give the names of other abolitionists, but they never succeeded. He was at this time teaching a colored school. Out of school-hours, he worked in the shoe-shop, and was trying to make enough to purchase for himself a suit of clothes, when he designed returning to his home in Philadelphia. He had just heard from a family that he assisted to their liberty, some of whom had become quite wealthy, and were trying to find him.

He had written to them and was expecting to receive assistance. Whenever he went out on the streets he was annoyed by half-grown boys hooting after him, "Old John Brown, nigger thief." At the time he was arrested, they took all of his money, amounting to five hundred and fifty seven dollars.

I visited a Baptist Sabbath-school where three thousand members were enrolled. Over one thousand five hundred were present. They were addressed by Professor Johnson, who introduced and invited me to address the school. They very cautiously discussed the coming holidays, as they had never held one there on their own account. They decided to observe Thanksgiving, Christmas, and celebrate the Proclamation of Freedom on New Year's day. Their minister advised his people to be very careful in word and deed, so as not to give the least occasion for misconstruing their motives. Some of the white people said it ought not to be allowed. They feared an "uprising," but our soldiers said they should have the privilege.

I visited Howard Grove Hospital, under the charge of Miss Marcia Colton, matron. She was a missionary among the Choctaw Indians nine years, and was a noble, self-sacrificing woman. The surgeon of the hospital was D. R. Browery. I found a little boy of about eight years, whose mother he said was "done dead." He knew nothing of his father. I took him to Camp Lee Orphanage. Here and there I find kindred spirits, but none more devoted to the cause of Christ than sister Marcia Colton. She gave herself entirely to the advancement of his cause during nine years of labor among the poor, despised Indians. During the terrible conflicts of the war she unreservedly gave herself to the suffering and dying soldier, and she said that when, no longer called for in that field her life was just as cheerfully given to uplifting the lowly among the freed slaves of the South.

On visiting the State Penitentiary, the keeper hesitated about allowing me admittance. Said he: "I am afraid you'll give a bad report of us, as did Miss Dix, who gave us a bad name, and I thought of her as you entered my office. You look like her, and I am afraid of you. You know we don't have our prisons like yours of the North, like grand palaces, with flower-yards; and I reckon I had better not let you in." I told him I perceived they were rebuilding the part burned awhile ago, and would make due allowance for bad house-keeping.

"Well, if you'll do that, I reckon I'll have to risk you, for you'll see we are whitewashing the old cells and other parts of the prison, and then you must make allowance for its age. It was built in 1800, and is the first penitentiary in the world, and you Northerners have had all these sixty-five years to improve in, and then your gardens about your prisons are all so grand that I am a little afraid of your report. But, steward, you may take her through, and well see what she'll do for us."

I discovered a contrast, it is true. But, as in other places in the South, they seem a century behind the times. I found here, as in our State prisons, a majority of the convicts were left orphans in childhood. The number of inmates was at that time two hundred and twenty-four. I called on the general in command to inquire for Oliver Williams, whose wife requested me to see if I could find him. She was in Washington, D. C., and had not heard from him for a long while. I found he had been sentenced to three months imprisonment to hard labor, with ball and chain, but the time had now expired. The general referred me to Fortress Monroe, as the military prisoners had been removed to that prison. He advised me to call on Governor Pierpont, who gave the same reference, and gave me some interesting items concerning this State. He said that, but for slavery, Virginia would have been one of the richest States in the Union in mines. Colored men were then making a dollar a day in gathering gold dust without the facilities of enterprising men with capital. There were also silver, copper, nickel, and a fine quality of kaolin or porcelain clay. He exhibited a specimen of each metal, and two bowls made of the native kaolin, a very fine material. To show the absorbing interest in slave-dealing he gave the figures of income, as shown during the discussions in their State Convention in 1861. The Metropolitan Press reported that "the income from slaves for the last twenty years amounted to twenty millions of dollars annually, and from all other products eight million dollars annually." This Governor Pierpont believed to be a true estimate.

I called at Sarah E. Smiley's Teachers' Home. Here I found Rachel Snell, daughter of Richard Snell of Lockport, New York, my old childhood home. With this group of kindred spirits I spent a refreshing season during a hard rain.

New Year's Day, 1866, was long dreaded by a large majority of the white citizens of Richmond. Great excitement prevailed over its celebration by the colored people. Soldiers were seen in every direction. A few companies of colored men went on the common to organize for the day's procession. The citizens were excited over that, and said they were preparing for "insurrection." They had permission from the governor to form in front of the State House. In the park were rustic seats of ancient style, chipped off and notched here and there, yet a colored person had never been allowed inside unless as the body servant of his master. But now their banners of various devices were floating, interspersed with United States flags. Each society had its motto, such as, "Peace, Liberty, and Freedom with all Mankind;" "Union, Liberty's Protecting Society;" "Peace, Good Will to all Mankind;" "In Union there is Strength;" "In God we Trust." On a blue satin banner were initials of a Benevolent Protective Association. The religious exercises were opened in the morning by reading the eighth chapter of Deuteronomy and singing an appropriate hymn. The text of the minister's discourse was a part of the second verse, "And thou shalt remember all the way which the Lord thy God led thee forty years in the wilderness." The minister could read quite well, though his life had been spent in slavery. He presented the past and present prospects of his people in a clear and affecting manner, and the necessity of remembering the past, to be fully prepared to praise God for the precious boon of freedom he had bestowed upon their race. There were four very large congregations opened this morning in a similar manner, and songs of praise were heard from the marching multitudes wending their way to the State House Park. There was shooting from a hotel window. Two of the suspected men were taken to Libby Prison. With the soldiers on the alert, and an increased force of policemen, they had no further trouble.

At the meeting of fifteen thousand or more in the park good order prevailed. I passed along through the moving masses, a silent listener to many outburstings of joy, contrasting with past sorrows—a great change indeed. Editor Hunnicutt, of the New Nation, was called upon to make a speech, and he exhorted them to cultivate industry, honesty, and virtue. He was followed by a number of others. At three o'clock the crowds began to disperse, so as to reach their homes before nightfall. It is passing strange why the white people here were so much excited over this celebration. There were two colored Baptist Churches burned two nights before, and on the night previous threats were made that all who took part In the celebration would lose their places of business.

The Episcopalian rector came after ten P. M. the same night to advise the two teachers, Mrs. Starky and Miss Hicks, to continue their school, and persuade the scholars to remain, and take no part in it themselves whatever, as the white people said this rejoicing was over the fall of Richmond and the downfall of the Confederacy. This idea was dwelt upon to such an extent that the Committee of Arrangements printed circulars and scattered through town during the week previous, stating their object in full, "that it was only to celebrate the day that God gave freedom to their race, and nothing more." But "insurrection," "uprising among the negroes," had been household words since the days of Nat Turner. The rebel flag was carried past Sarah E. Smiley's Mission Home for Teachers twice that day. Had the fact been reported at head-quarters, the bearers would have found themselves in the military prison.

As the army was being disbanded, and rations curtailed, and the suffering for want of them equaled that for clothing, I was informed by the general in command that there were more calls for rations by white than the colored people since the fall of Richmond. Said he: "I will mention a few to show the importance of investigation. Daniel Lacy had nine houses and servants and applied for and drew rations for his whole family. John Kimbo had servants out at work and drew rations for all his family, and had a number of houses. Mrs. Mary Ann Moseby had a grocery store well supplied, and drew rations and sold them. Mrs. Elizabeth Hunt also kept a full grocery, and drew rations to sell. Mrs. Sophia Coach, whose husband was a plasterer, drew rations. Mrs. Miller represented herself as a widow, and drew rations all the season, but I found out that she had a husband at home all this time. Mrs. Houston had a husband, but represented herself a widow, and drew rations and wood, as did all the others. The whole of two blocks drew rations, and most of them wood. Joseph Mayo, who is mayor of the city, and was when it fell into Union hands, drew rations, and owns a number of houses, and has servants. Ten years ago his slave Margaret's babe died with the croup, and he charged her with choking it to death, and had her hung on the scaffold after being whipped almost to death. He sent one of his slave women to the penitentiary six months ago, for a trivial offense. I heard by one of her friends, that she said it was a relief, for she was treated better there than at her master's. She is so rejoiced to learn that when she comes out she will be a free woman, and never again be compelled to serve that cruel master. But what contrasts we find here in both races! I have never found as much lying, misrepresentation, and cheating, among the negroes as among the white people, in my experience in this four years of war. Our records show more rations, wood, and coal issued to the whites than to the blacks in the State of Virginia."

I was careful to take down these items, in writing, as he gave them, in his office. O, what changes, what reverses, were here experienced. A. R. Brooks, who bought himself fourteen years ago, was now a wealthy man, owned ten horses, and six fine hacks and carriages, and his former master, by the fall of the Confederate government, was reduced almost to beggary. A few months ago he sold his plantation of three thousand acres for Confederate money, and is now penniless. Last February his wife died, and his former slave, A. R. Brooks, bore the entire expense of her burial. He said he praised the Lord for giving him the ability to do it. But how greatly was that wealthy planter, Henry A. Winfy, now changed in his prospects, when, a few months before, he considered himself the owner of three thousand acres, "well stocked" with slaves to work it.

With every day come new scenes, and yet such a similarity; investigating, relieving, reading Scriptures, advising, and often by the cot of the sick and dying. I often felt myself a stranger in a strange land, and yet I was never alone. Although, boisterous waves dashed around me, yet the dear Savior was near at hand.

I learned of much suffering on the Peninsula, and decided to take the rest of my supplies down the James River to Williamsburg. While arranging my packages for leaving Libby, a multitude of people were thronging the street near the prison. I inquired for the cause of this excitement, and was informed that a Union soldier was about to be executed for murdering a man for his money, horse, and buggy. As he was led out of prison upon the scaffold I hurried away, trembling with the terrible thought that a young life was about to be taken. As it was impossible for me to speak to him I hastened to escape the sound of the drop, but did not succeed. The horrors of war no pen can describe, no tongue can utter, no pencil can paint. The demoralizing influence over the soldier is dreadful. No doubt desertion was this fellow's aim, and, to serve his purpose, he fell into this strong temptation and crime. Desertion cost the life of one whom I saw in Mississippi sitting on a white-pine coffin and followed by his armed comrades, who were soon to take his life. It was then as now, too late to speak a word to that soldier-boy. And I hastened to outdistance the report of the guns that took his life. But I failed, as in the present sad event.

I called on a number of friends and co-laborers in Richmond; for here, as in every place, I have found kindred spirits. I spent the night with dear sisters in Christ, who labored in his vineyard to uplift the lowly. Scripture reading and prayer closed this eventful day.

On March 3d, at six o'clock A. M., I left Richmond and took the steamer Martin at the Rockets, followed by my friend, Mrs. Morris, with a basket of fresh cakes, apples, oranges, and a bottle of wine. I asked her to excuse me for objecting to the bottle of wine, as I never drank it.

"O, indeed, you must take it; your royal highness may be ill, and you may find it quite proper to take a little wine for your 'stomach's sake.' Don't, my dear madam, refuse your most humble servant the privilege of presenting this basket and its contents, wine and all, to my royal madam."

And I saw by the starting tear that she would feel quite hurt if I refused her, and accepted her gift.

As we steamed down the river I saw many little hillocks where were buried the fallen soldiers who left their northern homes with high hopes of saving the nation's life from the hand of treason. Here they fell long before Richmond was taken. We passed Burmuda Hundred and City Point, upon which stood General Grant's headquarters. Next came Harrison's Landing, near President Harrison's birth-place, an ancient appearing building situated upon a high bluff.

At Wilson's Landing and Clarmount Landing there was a high bank, upon which lived one of the wealthiest men in the State of Virginia, William Allen, who adopted the name of his father-in-law for the sake of his immense wealth. William Allen, sen., had no son, but an only daughter, and he offered his entire estate to any young man whom his daughter might be pleased to accept, if he would assume his name; he cared not how poor he might be, if he was only respectable. The daughter had many suitors, but at length a young man won this bride and adopted the whole name—William Allen. At the death of the father-in-law he came into possession of thirteen plantations and over four thousand slaves. All these plantations were managed by overseers. One man told me he had seen him take a keg of gold and silver coins down to the sand-bank, with a company of his comrades, on a holiday spree, and when they were all thoroughly drunk he would take up a handful of gold and silver pieces, throw them in the sand, and tell them to scramble, and he that got the most was the best fellow. He, with the rest, "scrambled," as he called it. William Allen declared that the Yankees had robbed him of fifty thousand dollars worth of negroes under ten years of age, and more than one hundred and fifty thousand dollars' worth of slaves above that age.

At twelve o'clock we landed at Jamestown. In this old, dilapidated place were yet standing brick walls of three old buildings open to the birds and the bats. The brick of these half-torn down buildings were transported from England more than two hundred years ago. I saw a piece of a marble slab from the graveyard dated 1626, broken in pieces by soldiers for relics. We were soon met by the ambulance-driver, and he took us through a nice field of wheat owned by William Allen, just referred to, who was one of our passengers to the ancient city of Williamsburg. Here was a large insane asylum, built of imported bricks from England, with a marble front, erected, by Lord Bottetourt, governor of the colony. It was founded in 1688. The tower was ninety-six feet high, and the number of inmates one hundred and one, forty-two of whom were colored. Robert M. Garrett was the physician and superintendent. This is the oldest institution of the kind in the Union. In the front yard of this asylum stands, in life-size, the statue of Lord Bottetourt. As we were passing through the apartments we listened to a very sweet voice singing a hymn. Said my guide, "Mr. Scott is singing for you. He is General Winfield Scott's nephew. He bet both of his plantations that the Confederates would succeed in this war, and when Richmond fell he became insane and was brought here two weeks ago."

I was shown an old brick church in which was a colored school of one hundred and ninety-six scholars, taught by Miss Barton, of Connecticut, and a gentleman from Michigan. Here I found myself at home at once. There were here, previous to the late war, two institutions of learning—the William and Mary College at one end of the main street, and at the other, three and a quarter miles distant, the female seminary. The college was burned in the war of 1776, again in the war of 1812, and, for the third time, a few months before I was there. There was no school now in the female seminary, and it looked as if waiting for repairs. Here is the old ivy-bound church in which George Washington was married. The bricks of this building were also brought from England. This town was the capital of tins State previous to its removal to Richmond.

I walked nearly two miles to Fort Magruder, where I found a colored school of one hundred and fifty-eight members, taught by Maggie Thorpe and Martha Haines, of New York, under the auspices of the Society of Friends. To accommodate men and women who could not leave their work during the day they opened a night school, and had fifty of that class. Half of these did not know their letters when their school opened in February, and could then read quite fluently in the second and third readers. A few miles further there was another school of thirty scholars who had made commendable progress.

The teachers informed me that there were many very old people on the oldest plantation near King's Mill, who needed help. I was furnished with an ambulance, in which I took a bale of bedding and clothing, and went from cabin to cabin to visit twenty-seven aged people, from sixty to a hundred and five years of age. After learning their most urgent needs, I selected supplies for each. When I expressed my surprise at seeing the old plantation with such a grove of woods, Uncle Bob Jones, the oldest of them all, said:

"Missus, all dat woods on dat side I helped clar off when firs' woods was thar, beech, maple an' linn wood, only now an' agin a pine. Den we work it till it wore out, an' wouldn't noffin grow on it, an' we lef it to grow up to dose pines you see."

"Is this possible?" I said. "I saw men chopping sawmill logs as I came through that wood."

"Yes, missus," he answered; "shure's you are bo'n, my sweat lies dar under dem big tree roots. My Milla an' me was married when we's chillen, an' we's had a good many chillen, but de Lo'd knows whar da's gone to; da sole down de riber, many, many year ago. But we prayed to Lo'd Jesus to take keer on 'em all dese years, an' we'll go home to glory soon."

In answer to my query as to his age, he said:

"Massa Moses' book say I's a hundred an' five, an' my Milla's a hundred an' three. I might slip count a year or two, but I reckon not."

I never before met one couple living to this advanced age. I gave them the best new quilt I had, made by a class of Sabbath-school girls, from eight to fifteen years of age, in Wayne County, Michigan. The names of the little girls were written on the blocks they pieced. The old man was quite blind, but he felt of it; then he exclaimed:

"Missus, did you say little white gals made this? Lo'd bless the little angels! Honey, look at dis; we's neber had sich a nice bed-kiver in all our lives."

To this she assented:

"I see it's a beauty; we's neber had sich a kiver afore, missus; tell de sweet little angels we'll pray for 'em as long as we live."

"Yes, tell 'em we won't stop prayin' for 'em when we gits up yonder, in de mansions," rejoined the old man.

It seemed to them wonderful that white girls should make such a nice quilt for black folks, and they were in an ecstasy over the surprise. Aunt Milla could see to do considerable work in their little garden patch, that some of the younger men among them had spaded for her. Every thing about their little cabin was neat and clean, and their clothes were well patched. Uncle Bob had been off this plantation but twice in his life; then he went to Williamsburg. It was affecting to see these old, worn-out slaves rejoicing over freedom, but it seemed to be more on account of their children and of their race. They had passed through many hard trial but their faith was strong that they were soon going to rest with Jesus.

A colored man brought two cripples to me, in his cart, for relief and their wants were supplied. He said he wished I could see two old men who were living in the mill. One of them was an old soldier in the Jackson war. My ambulance friend took me to the old brick mill that was the first one built in that country, they said more than a hundred and fifty years ago. The roof was covered with thick moss. The cedar shingles, as well as bricks, were brought from England.

I found here an intelligent mulatto man of about sixty years who had had a fever sore a little above the ankle a number of years. He was the eldest of twenty seven children. His mother had thirteen pairs of twins and he the only single child, and they were all sold to slave-dealers of the lower States.

"When my mother died in the cold cellar' he told me 'I begged to see her but my old master said he would shoot me if I dared to set foot on his plantation case I'd been with Yankees and she died one year ago without a child to give her a sip of water. My wife and seven children belong to another man who said he would shoot my brains out if I dared to come on his plantation. But I pray God to help my wife to go to the soldiers before they are all gone and get them to help her to come to me with our children. I was one of the slaves that master promised freedom, at the close of General Jackson's war and the general promised us ten dollars a month besides during service which was one year and eight mouths. There were five regiments of colored men. Some got their freedom as promised but my master and many others were more severe than ever. On my return home I reminded my master of the promise of freedom by him and General Jackson but I found it unsafe to say any thing more about it. We thought General Jackson ought to have seen the promise made good, as long as he promised freedom as well as our masters. He gave us credit for being among the best soldiers he had. But we never would have fought as we did had it not been for freedom ahead. We pledged ourselves to each other, that we never would fight for white folks again, unless we knew our freedom was sure. And never would our people have gone into this war had it not been for the Proclamation of Emancipation from the President of the whole United States."

This man was the most intelligent and used the best language of any colored person of his age I met in this portion of Virginia. His mother's name was Maria Sampson. She lived and died in King William County, Virginia. There were twenty sons and seven daughters of her own. Yet, through wicked enactments, her master tore from her every one, and claimed her own body besides, as a valuable piece of property.

My next visit was to an old brick kitchen. In the "loft," lived two aged sisters of seventy-five and eighty years, whose youngest brother, of about sixty years, was insane. His sisters said about twenty years ago he "lost his mind." His wife and children were all sold from him down the river, and he grieved so long over it, he lost his mind, and never came right since. As I entered, I took him by the hand and inquired for the aged women in that house; he pointed to the stairway. As I was going up the stairs, he danced to and fro, slapping his hands, "Glory, hallelujah to the Lamb!" I paused to look at him. His sisters met me at the head of the stairs, and said, "Don't mind him, he has no mind, and is rejoicin' to see a white woman come up these stairs, for it's a new thing. I reckon there hain't been a white woman up here more'n twenty year, an' he don't know how to tell his gladness.". They said he was good to bring them wood and water, and take care of himself in washing and patching his own clothes. I presented him a suit, and when he found they would fit him, the dancing and singing were resumed. I should judge from the history his sisters gave of him, and from his high forehead, that he had been a man of more than ordinary talent. These sisters, too, had been made widows and childless by slavery's cruel hand. This I found to be the hard lot of all these old people. They told me of many cruel over-seers, that would take the life of a slave, to get their names up as "boss overseers." I told them I had heard of instances where an overseer was missing occasionally. One old man dropped his head, then looking up said, in a hesitating manner, "I's knowed that in my time, but massar keep it mighty still, an' say de overseer runned away, an' he git one right soon agin." I talked and read, and offered prayer with these stripped and lonely ones.

During my three weeks' stay in Williamsburg, Fort Magruder, and vicinity, I had a number of meetings with these newly freed slaves, three of them in those old slave-pens in which were large schools taught.

I took a stroll through the old graveyard which surrounded the old ivy-covered church. The marble slabs were mostly in a horizontal position, with quaint inscriptions. In these J, or I, was often found in place of the figure 1. The spelling, too, we should call badly warped. I copied a few of the epitaphs, as follows:

Here lyes the Body of Mr John Collett, who departed this life
February 24th, 1794, aged 52 years

Sacred to the memory of James Nicholson, late stuard of William and Mary College. Was born in the Town of Invenck, North Britton, ano 1711, died the 22nd of January, 1773. Frugality—industry, and simplicity of manners and independence of Soul Adorned his character and procured universal esteem.

READER, Learn from this example as the most exalted Station may be debased by vice, so there is no situation in life on which virtue will not confer DIGNITY.

Mrs. Catharine Stephenson died April 22; born in Nottinghamshire,
1778.
Her body now slumbers along with the dead;

Her Savior hath called, to him she has gone,
Be ye also ready to follow her soon.

Under this marble lieth the body of Thomas Ludwell, Esq., Secretary of
Virginia, who was born at Britton in of Summerset in the kingdom of
England, and departed this life in the year 1678; and near this place
lye the bodies of Richard Kerdp, Esq, his predecessor in ye
Secretary's office and Sr.

Thomas Lunsford, Kt., in memory of whom this marble is placed by order of Philip Ludwell, Esq., nephew of the said Thomas Ludwell, in the year 1727.

As Yorktown was an important post, after three weeks' work in this section, I repaired to that ancient place. There I found two large camps. A few large freedmen's schools were established under the auspices of Philadelphia Friends, and of these Jacob Vining had supervision. Two others were under the supervision of the American Missionary Association. Both were doing a noble work for these people, who were like hungry children, grasping at the food handed them by these Christian teachers.

We had a very large meeting in the old barracks fitted up for school and meetings. There were more than could get inside, and groups stood at the door and outside the windows. Here I met two young men who had walked all the way from beyond Fort Magruder, eighteen miles, to attend this meeting. They were more intelligent than the larger portion of life-long slaves. They were encouraged in the future prospect of freedom. They said the white people declared they would soon have all their slaves back again, the same as they had before the war. Said one, "They talk it so strong it makes us trimble. For we-uns think they'd be harder on us than ever." I told them to look at that strong fort built by Confederates, which they had said "all the Yankees of the North could never take." "And where is it now?" I said. "You may rest assured it will be as I repeated to-day, 'Except the Lord keep the city the watchman walketh but in vain; except the Lord build the house they labor in vain who build it.' The Lord will never permit the house of bondage to be rebuilt, for the cup of our nation's wickedness has been filled to the brim. They will never again barter for paltry gold the bodies and souls of those whom Christ died to redeem with his own precious blood. No, never." They wept, while talking over the past, with new hopes before them of their future. They said they were well paid for their long walk, though they should work the next day with blistered feet. They were working for their old owner, as he had promised to pay them. They had sometimes felt fearful as to the final result of this war. If there were doubts, they would go as far North as they could while they were enjoying their present liberty.

A number lingered to talk with me on the prospect of freedom or slavery for them, telling me of the positive expressions of their former masters, and of their threats of having them all back again within a few months. They wanted to know what the prospect was in Washington.

"Do you think we are sure to come out of the wilderness?" said one.

"Will this sun of freedom, now peepin' troo de black cloud, come cl'ar out, an' make a bright day?" said another.

I found many of these people in trouble, because they saw plainly the old slave spirit reviving, and they were trembling with fear; but others had stronger faith. There was one poor woman, whose husband and four children were sold to a trader, to be taken down the river in a gang. When the news came to her master's home that Richmond had fallen, she said:

"Missus an' all was cryin', and say da catch Jeff. Davis. An' I hurried de supper on de table; an' I say, Missus, can Dilla wait on table till I go to de bush-spring an' git a bucket o' cool water?' She say, 'Hurry, Mill; an' I seed 'em all down to table afore I starts. Den I walks slow till I git out o' sight, when I runn'd wid all my might till I git to de spring, an' look all 'round, an' I jump up an' scream, 'Glory, glory, hallelujah to Jesus! I's free! I's free! Glory to God, you come down an' free us; no big man could do it.' An' I got sort o' scared, afeared somebody hear me, an' I takes another good look, an' fall on de groun', an' roll over, an' kiss de groun' fo' de Lord's sake, I's so full o' praise to Massar Jesus. He do all dis great work. De soul buyers can neber take my two chillen lef' me; no, neber can take 'em from me no mo';" and the tears fell thick and fast as she told me how she clung to her husband, then to her children, as the trader took them to the slave-pen to lock up till they were ready to start for the river. Her mistress ordered her to be whipped because she cried so long for her husband and children. I did not wonder at her ecstasy.

A poor old slave, called Aunt Sally, came to me April 15th; crippled with rheumatism, and walking as well as she could with two canes. She asked for a blanket or quilt, saying that one old blanket had been her only bed for seven years. I told her I should pass her home the next day, and would bring her some things. She said, "I mus' hurry back, or missus will fin' me out. You gib 'em to the man choppin' wood in de yard; he'll put 'em in de cellar for me. Missus is mighty hard on you alls;" and she hobbled back as fast as she could with two canes. But her mistress found out that she had been to see me, and told her she should never set her foot inside her yard again, neither should a Yankee. The day following I took a package for Aunt Sally, containing a straw bed-tick, quilt, blanket, and a good suit of clothes; for I had learned that Mrs. Pendleton, the daughter of ex-President Taylor, was a hard mistress. Aunt Sally had served her father, and helped bring up his children, and was now seventy-five or eighty years old. From the cold, damp cellar, with only one blanket to cover her, she had become badly crippled, and was left to die, like an old worn-out horse.

The colored man near the fence of the back yard told me I would find Aunt Sally in a little cabin he pointed out, with two old colored people. I found her crying. She said her mistress had turned her out, and told her she should never come inside her yard, nor eat a kernel of the corn that she had planted in ground all spaded by herself, and it was growing so nice. The old people very kindly offered to share with her. He was a cobbler, and made all he could, but he said they had but one bed. I furnished one for her, and gave the old people a quilt and a few needed garments for their kindness to Aunt Sally. They, too, had been stripped of all their large family, as well as Aunt Sally of hers.

As I passed Mrs. Pendleton's front yard I saw a large bloodhound on the door-step as sentinel. Even a look at him from the street brought a threatening growl.

Here, too, were William and Phillis Davis, over eighty years of age, they think. They had fourteen children, "all sold down the river," they said, "except those we's got in heaven. We's glad they's safe, an' we trus' de jubilee trumpet will retch their ears, way down Souf, we don't know whar. We's cried for freedom many years, an' it come at last," said the old, tottering man.

Eva Mercer, over seventy five years of age, had a large family. Her husband and all her children were sold twenty years ago. She has been left to perish alone, and had had no underclothes for seven years. She was supplied, and made more comfortable than she had been for years.

David Cary, one hundred years old, in great suffering, was relieved. He, too, had a large family. Three wives were sold from him, and his children, one, two, and three at a time, were sent down the river, never to be heard from again. He said he forgot a great many things every day, "but I can never forget the grief I passed through in parting with my good wives and chillens."

Pross Tabb, ninety years old, was turned out of his cabin, and came to the captain crying. He said, "Massar Tabb turn me out to die by de roadside. I begged him to let me build me a cabin in de woods, and he say if I cut a stick in his woods he'll shoot me." The captain informed J. P. Tabb that he would violate the martial law, and be fined and imprisoned, if he turned that old man out of his cabin, where he had lived and served him many years. The poor lone man was permitted to remain. J. P. Tabb owned twelve thousand acres of land, and had called himself master of one hundred and sixty slaves; now all had left him.

Sunday, May 3d, was a beautiful Sabbath. In the morning I attended service at the school-house, conducted by a Baptist minister, who examined nine new converts. Among them was a little girl, Susan Monroe, eight years old. The preacher asked her, "What have you got to say 'bout Jesus, sis?"

"He tuck de han' cuffs off my han's," she replied, "an' de spancels off my feet, an' Jesus made me free."

With a few other satisfactory answers he passed to the next, a man of forty, perhaps: "And what have you to tell us?"

"It 'peared," he said, "like I's so heavy here, on my heart. I could do nuffin but groan, 'Massar Jesus have pity on poor me;' an' as I was a walkin' 'long de road, he cum sure, an' poured hisself all over me, an' cover over my han's an' my feet, an' made me all over new. I say is dis me? Glory, hallalujah! dis is me. I went on an' met sis Molly. 'What's de matter o' me? it's all full tide here,' I says. 'Why honey,' she answered, 'you's got 'ligion; praise de Lord! Now keep de pure stuff, don't trade it off for de devil.' An' by de help o' de Lord, I don't do any sich tradin'."

The next was queried. "Ah, I's played de fool," he said, "in jist dat kind o' tradin'. I's an ole backslider. Ole Satan had me, sure, an' I cried, 'Massar Jesus, save me from dat horrible pit,' an' he fotch me out, an' put dese feet on de rock, and here I means to stan'."

Others were examined, and a season of prayer followed. Their prayers were marked for their originality and earnestness. Said one woman, "Oh Lord, do please hitch up your cheer a little nearer your winder—draw aside your curtain, an' look down 'pon us poor creturs, an' gib your table-cloth a good shake, dat we may pick up a few crumbs."

There were many of these much more intelligent than I supposed I should find them, and used as good language as the white people. House-servants and body-servants were more intelligent than those who lived only in the field. They were very imaginative, and talked with God. One woman in giving a sketch of slave life, said a young girl went to a night meeting contrary to orders, and for so doing was stripped naked and whipped in the presence of the other slaves, the master himself plying the lash. While she cried for mercy her master replied, "I'll give you mercy." "Good Lord do come and help me." "Yes, I'll help you" (and kept plying the lash). "Do, Lord, come now; if you ha'n't time send Jesus." "Yes, I'm your Jesus," retorted the inhuman persecutor, and he continued to ply the lash until thirty strokes were well laid on.

The colonel commanding this post called on me with a request to go to Gloucester Court-house, to look after the condition of the freedmen there. There were several very old, crippled people in Gloucester, in almost a nude condition. I agreed to go, and the colonel went to procure a buggy, as his own was broken; but he failed to get one, though more than a double price was offered, because he was a Yankee. He returned discouraged, as he was unwilling to send me in a Virginia cart, the only government conveyance. I told him I had frequently seen the wealthiest ladies sitting on straw, with no other seat in the cart. "O yes," he answered, "the F. F. V.'s ride in that way here. But you look too much like my mother to see you go in that style. I could not bear to have your children in Michigan know that I sent their mother out to ride thirty miles in that way;" and tears filled his eyes, as he referred to his own mother in his far off Northern home. I told him if I could accomplish any good by going, I was more than willing to take the cart-ride, as I could make a seat with my bale of clothing, and thus I went.

I crossed York River at Gloucester Point, and stepped into a store to wait for our soldier driver. Here a Southern brigadier-general addressed me in the following style:

"I reckon you are from the North, madam."

"I am from the State of Michigan," I said, "but more directly from
Washington."

"You Northern people can not be satisfied with robbing us of millions of dollars in slaves, that were just as much our property as your horses and cattle, but you stole our sheep and horses, or any thing else you could get hands on; and yet that was not enough. Now you have a bill in Congress to rob us of our land, and of course it will pass. Then we'll go to work and mix up a little cake to bake for our families, and you'll come and snatch even that away from us."

"You probably refer," I said, "to the bill just introduced, to allow the leaders in this Rebellion no more than twenty thousand dollars' worth of real estate, confiscating the balance, to sell in parcels to the soldiers and poor people, black or white, on liberal terms, to liquidate the war debt. This debt would never have been contracted, had not the South brought on the war. You fired upon Sumter; you determined to sever the Union. It was a bargain of your own making. You determined to make slavery the chief corner stone of the Republic, but another stone, Liberty, has ground it to powder. We had better accept the situation as we find it, and not call each other thieves and robbers because your chief corner-stone is no more. God never designed that we should make merchandise of human beings. In the written Word we find that God made of one blood all the nations of the earth. We find there no lines of distinction because of color or condition. Now let us drop slavery and hold it no longer as the bone of contention, and live henceforward a united nation."

With flushed face and flashing eyes he said, "Never, NEVER shall we give up our rights. We acknowledge you have overpowered us, but you have not, and never will, conquer us; we shall yet in some way secure our rights as Southerners, notwithstanding all your Northern preaching."

"If you carry out your position," I rejoined, "you will unite with some foreign power to break up our government, or to grind its republican form into powder and scatter it to the four winds."

"Of course we should, and you can't blame us for doing that. It is just exactly what we shall do if we have the chance."

After a few minutes unpleasant talk of this sort our soldier drove in front of the door for me. We borrowed a little box, upon which a coffee sack of clothing was laid, and we thus made a comparatively comfortable seat.

We reached Gloucester, and, on May 10th, went to the office of Captain McConnell. He was engaged all the morning in hearing complaints on the part of the freedmen and in adjusting their wrongs. Some of them were pitiable cases of outrage, but we can not report them here. There were eight difficulties settled within the few hours that I remained in the office. I resumed visiting and supplying the wants of the destitute as far as my means would allow. There were some old and crippled people here in the same condition as those whom I had relieved in other places in this part of the State. As usual, I took with me my Bible, for these colored people had none, because they had never been permitted to learn to read. Many of them gave thrilling sketches of their experiences in slave-life.

On May 13th, at four o'clock P. M., I found myself back at Old Yorktown. Here I visited the cave in which General Cornwallis was found. The old wood house in which the treaty was signed is covered with thick moss. A two-story brick building was Washington's head-quarters after he took possession of Yorktown. It was also the head-quarters of the Union generals after it fell into their hands. Here was the stamping-ground of two great armies. The contention was not now with British red-coats, as in the Revolution, but with our brethren in gray. Richard Lee, an ex-slave-holder, undertook to whip a colored man with the help of his overseer, after the old style, but in the struggle he found himself cut in two or three places, and the blood was flowing pretty freely from the overseer. The colored man told them whipping days were past, and he came out of the affray with but few scratches. His offense was refusing to work on Sunday afternoon. They entered no complaint at the office of the Freedmen's Bureau, and the colored man went about his business unmolested.

After taking leave of many dear friends at this place, through the kindness of sister Ailsgood, the matron of the Teachers' Home, I was conveyed to the boat in Lieutenant Massy's carriage. We enjoyed a beautiful run on the Chesapeake. Among our passengers for Norfolk was a young lady who seemed bright and gay, but had nearly spoiled herself with affectation. She was going to visit her aunt previous to entering upon her new duties in teaching a school.

"I never did do any thing of the kind," she told me; "but pa says I must; now that we have lost all our servants by this awful war. But I don't know how I'll do. Do you think I can teach a small school?"

Receiving a word of encouragement, she went on:

"I reckon I'll have to try. We've always had a lady preceptress at our house, besides the nurse, to take care of us."

A few minutes after I saw her weeping bitterly, as if her heart was nearly broken. Placing my hand upon her shoulder I inquired if she had heard bad news that was grieving her? She sobbed and sighed with quite an effort in commanding her feelings to speak.

"No; do you see that man yonder with a light hat on?"

"Yes."

"Well, he winked at me, and I was never so insulted in my life."

And she burst again into tears.

"Don't grieve over that," I said; "I wouldn't look at him."

"But I never was so insulted. I'm so glad my brother ain't here; I tell you there'd be trouble."

"Never mind; don't notice him."

"Won't you stand by me?"

"Yes; I'll stand here," I answered. And she soon became calm, when I thought it safe to leave. But a few moments later I saw her weeping as hard as ever. I went across the cabin to her relief the third time and inquired, "What is the trouble now?"

"He winked at me again, and I never, never was so insulted. I know if my brother was here he'd shoot him, for he'd never stand this."

I stood by her this time till I saw her in the ladies' dressing-room, by her request remaining between her and the object of her fears, who was at least fifteen feet from us, sitting in the farthest end of the cabin. After she had washed and combed her hair she asked, "How does my hair look? I never combed my hair myself. Our nurse did that always, until six months ago our last servant left us, I don't know if it looks well anyhow, for I don't know how to dress it. And do my eyes look as if I'd been crying?"

"Not to be noticed," I said. "You look all right."

"Will you see if that fellow has gone out?"

On the report that he had left she returned. I inquired if she was alone.

"O, no, not entirely; pa put me under the care of a splendid man; I reckon he's on deck; O, he's such a beautiful gentleman; he was pa's overseer a good many years; pa thought he couldn't carry on our plantation without him; when I see him I'll be all right. I reckon you've heard of my pa. Everybody knows him—Mr. Hampton—in Gloucester County, one of the most splendid counties in the State. Were you ever in Gloucester County?"

"I was there last week," I answered.

"Isn't it the most beautiful county you ever saw?"

I replied, "Nature has done enough to make it so."

"It was a grand county before the war," she said. "Everybody thinks it's the best county in the State of Virginia."

But my opinion widely differed from hers. It seemed to me one of the darkest and most God-forsaken corners of the earth. But the influence of slavery had its deleterious effects upon whites as well as blacks.

Laura Hampton knew nothing of self-reliance. All she knew was to be a consequential young lady of distinction, full of exalted qualifying adjectives in the superlative degree. But she was not so much to blame as her parents for her simpering and tossing the head with overstocked affectation. She was to be pitied for her unfortunate surroundings. Her "splendid man," a "beautiful gentleman," was a coarse, burly headed "Legree" in appearance.

I arrived at Norfolk at four o'clock P. M., and found a pleasant home at the Tyler House. Here, I met eighteen teachers, with whom I enjoyed a refreshing prayer-meeting, led by S. J. Whiting, a missionary, who gave an interesting sketch of his experience in the Meudi Mission in Africa. I gave an account of the work accomplished through the blessing of God in the Mississippi Valley, while I was accompanied by my dear sister Backus, and spoke of trials I had recently passed through. Here were kindred spirits, with whom we held sweet communion, and with our Heavenly Father, who is ever near at hand.

While in this part of the State, I saw a white woman who had been cruelly assaulted and beaten with a raw-hide by her sister and niece for associating with the teachers of our freedmen's schools. They thought she had disgraced the family; but she said she would not turn away from those Christian ladies, however her own kindred might treat her. O the wrongs and outrages which the spirit of slavery inflicted not only on the blacks, but also on the white people of the South!