On inquiring what the members of the chain-gang had done to be punished in this ignominious manner, I got a list of their misdemeanors, one of the gravest of which was “using abusive language towards a white man.” Some had transgressed certain municipal regulations, of which, coming in from the country, they were very likely ignorant. One had sold farm produce within the town limits, contrary to an ordinance which prohibits market-men from selling so much as an egg before they have reached the market and the market-bell has rung. For this offence he had been fined twenty dollars, which being unable to pay, he had been put upon the chain. Others had been guilty of disorderly conduct, vagrancy, and petty theft, which it was of course necessary to punish. But it was a singular fact that no white men were ever sentenced to the chain-gang,—being, I suppose, all virtuous.
The battle of Selma was not a favorite topic with the citizens, most of whom were within the stockade, or behind the breastworks, captured by an inferior force of the Yankee invaders. But on the subject of the burning and pillaging that ensued they were eloquent.
A gray-haired old gentleman said to me: “I was in the trenches when Wilson came. Everybody was. I just watched both ways, and when I saw how the cat was jumping, I threw my musket as far as I could, dropped down as if I was killed, and walked into town atter the Yankees. I stood by my own gate, when four drunken fellows came up, slapped me on the shoulder, and said, ‘This old man was in the stockade,—he’s a Rebel!’ ‘Of course I’m a Rebel,’ I said, ‘if I’m ketched in a Rebel trap.’
“They was taking me away when an officer rode up. ‘Old man,’ says he, ‘can you show me where the corn depot is?’ ‘I reckon I kin, if these gentlemen will let me,’ I says. So I got off; and when I had showed him the corn he let me go.
“The fire was first set by our own men: that was in the cotton yards. They blazed up so quick, the Yankees couldn’t have got thar without they went on wires. The next was the post-office; that they burned. The next was a drug store; the other drug store they didn’t burn, but they smashed everything in it. The Arsenal was owing me and my family fifteen hundred dollars, when they destroyed it.
“They just ruined me. They took from me six cows, four mules, fifteen hogs, fifteen hundred pounds of bacon, eight barrels of flour, and fifty-five sacks of corn. They took my wife’s and daughters’ clothing to carry away flour in. I saw a man take my wife’s best dress, empty into it all the flour he could tote, tie it up, clap it on his shoulder, and march off. Another went off with an elegantly embroidered petticoat full of flour swung on his arm. Another would take a pair of ladies’ drawers, fill the legs with flour, and trot off with ’em riding straddle of his neck. It made me feel curi’s! It made me feel like if I had ’em down in the squirrel woods, I could shoot a right smart passel of ’em with a will!”
There were one hundred and fifty dwellings burned; some caught from the shops and warehouses, and others were said to have been set by marauders. These robbed everybody, even the negroes in the streets and the negro-women in their houses. Charles Mencer, a well-known and respectable colored man, related to me the following:—
“I worked here in a saddle-shop, at the time of Wilson’s raid. I hired my time of my master, and had laid up two hundred dollars in gold and silver: I had invested my earnings in specie, and in two watches, because I knew the Confederacy couldn’t last. The Yankees came in on Sunday evening; they robbed my house and stole my gold and silver, and one of my watches. Four of them stopped me in the street, and took my other watch, and my pocket-book, with all my Confederate money in it.”
The rest of this man’s story possesses a semi-historical interest.
“The next Tuesday General Wilson sent for me; he wanted somebody that he could trust to carry despatches for him down the river to General Canby, and I had been recommended to him by some colored people. I said I would take them; and I sewed them up in my vest collar. Then I went to my master, and told him there was no chance for work since the Yankees had come in, and got a pass from him to go down to Mobile and find work. Tuesday night I started in a canoe, and paddled down the river. I dodged the Rebel guard when I could, but I was taken and searched twice, and got off by showing my master’s pass. I paddled night and day, and got to Montgomery Hill on Sunday. There I saw Federal troops, and went ashore, and delivered myself up to the captain. He took me to General Lucas, who sent me with a cavalry escort to General Canby at Blakely.”