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

by Laura S. Haviland

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

"Did he say that in his hearing?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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