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

by Laura S. Haviland

When I informed Mrs. Halford, the landlady of the Garno House, of my errand, she was much pleased, and said that her duties forbade her to assist me, but she would do her part in giving me a welcome home while in their town. She introduced me to a family of benevolent ladies, who promised to aid me in my investigations, but did not think I would find the suffering in their city that I found in Quindaro. One of my new friends went with me to a neighborhood where there were new arrivals, and found many in a perishing condition with cold and hunger. From thence we went to old stables and sheds crowded with destitute human beings, both white and colored. The dear friend who volunteered to guide to these children of want wept herself sick as we listened to the stories of their flight from homes in Missouri and Arkansas. Here was a woman, named Melinda Dale, with six small children and a sick husband, who had to flee for their lives. A few pieces of old tent-cloth, picked up about an old camp, made their bed. Children were crying for bread, the mother was sick with grief, and the father had a high fever. A blanket was given them, with a few loaves of bread; and after the reading of Scripture and prayer we left for the relief of others.

Our next call was upon the wife and five small children of Lieutenant Miller, who was supposed to be in a rebel prison. The wife was in great distress, not knowing whether her husband was living or perishing by starvation. He was taken prisoner one year before and she and her children were in a starving condition. They occupied an old Sibley tent. These were also, with many others, reported for rations, and immediate relief was given. A few weeks previously rations were withheld, which caused great suffering with many. I gave rations to Barbara Stewart, with two sick children, whose husband was murdered by guerillas because he was known to be a Union man. I next called on Green F. Bethel, who left his Arkansas home with a large family, consisting of his wife, nine children, and aged mother. All except himself were taken down with the measles, soon after passing through Fort Scott. His mother soon died, and was buried by the way-side. A day later his wife and infant child died, and were also buried by the way. Not long after the last three children died, and were also buried by the road-side. He said, "O, what sorrow was mine! One-half of my family are gone! The light of my household seemed vanishing! Were it not for the help of my Lord I should have fainted under this sweeping affliction. My wife and mother were Christians many years. We were members of the Cumberland Presbyterian Church." We found the poor man in a hard chill. It came on every third day, and was followed with high fever. The two intervening days he was able to use his team in little jobs of hauling, and thus he kept his children and team alive. I inquired why he did not make his condition known to the citizens of that town. He said no one knew any thing about him, and there were so many making pretensions to loyalty who were not loyal, that none would know but he was of that class. "My wife's brother," he said, "came with his family when we did, and he also lost his wife on the way, following the Union soldiers. Our lives were threatened, and the rope was placed around my neck once, but by the entreaties of my wife and children the rebels concluded to let me go a day or two longer; then if I would not join with them in supporting the Confederate government, I was to be hung or shot. The same threat was made to my brother-in-law, and we hid in the woods three weeks, before we left in the night for the lines of the Union soldiers. We started with two wagons, and had nine horses and three cows. But they gave out one after another, and we had to leave them all on the way, except the youngest and best team, which I have yet. I have a good farm, and so has my brother-in-law; but if we are ever permitted to return to our homes, it is doubtful whether we shall find a building left."

He wept freely, as well as his children. The oldest daughter, Amy, of seventeen, leaned her head upon my shoulder, and wept aloud. She said, "We could all bear this furnace of affliction much better if our dear mother had been spared us."

With prayer we left this house of mourning, with a request for the afflicted brother to call at head-quarters for the rations I should report for the six in his family. Said he, on taking the parting hand, "One favor I ask of you, my dear sister; and that is, your continued prayers that the Lord may open a way for us where there now seems to be no way."

My friend who served as guide said, "My head aches with weeping, in witnessing these heart-rending scenes. I must decline going with you farther this afternoon. I shall be obliged to take my bed. I do not see how you live, as you meet similar scenes so frequently."

These visits made us quite late for dinner, but my kind hostess kept it waiting for me. With interest, she sat by my side to listen to a report of my morning calls. She was surprised to learn of so much suffering near them. After dinner I resumed my work. On my way I met a woman shivering in an ague chill, thinly clad, and weeping. I inquired for the cause of her grief. She said she had been hunting for washing or something to do, to purchase bread for her three little children, for they had had nothing to eat for a whole day. I told her I would call on her before night. I found a number in as great distress as in my morning calls. One man, who lost his wife, leaving him with six small children, had found work six miles away; but he returned at night to care for his little ones. The oldest child, ten years of age, was left during the day in charge of the five younger ones. For the sake of furnishing bread for his children, he walked the twelve miles back and forth daily. I found the woman whom I had met on the street in a high fever, with an infant of eight months in her arms, and two of her children crying for bread. I took them a few loaves, and gave her an order for rations. The husband had been pressed into service when they had been but two weeks from home, and was not allowed to see his wife and children to say good bye. She had heard nothing from him since. In the corner lay a crippled discharged colored soldier, who was also suffering for food. I stepped into a grocery and purchased sugar and crackers for the sick and for the children.

My next call was on another woman with six children.

Her husband had been in the army a long time, and she had not heard from him. She feared he was suffering in a rebel prison. Near this cabin was Agnes Everett, with five children between the ages of fifteen months and twelve years. Her two youngest children were in a starving condition—the baby, she said, had been too sick to allow her to do much in procuring food. Her boy of twelve years was her only dependence in getting little jobs of wood-sawing or doing chores for cold victuals, or a pint of meal which she made into porridge. The little emaciated baby was fed with the porridge. Its face was wrinkled like an old person's of ninety years. Its eyes were sunken and glassy; its hands looked more like birds' claws than like human hands. "Don't, Clarkie; poor little Fannie is so sick she must have this," said the mother to the little fellow who watched the mother when her attention was occupied for a chance to snatch a floating lump. As I looked upon these famishing children I could not refrain from weeping. Her husband and grown son were in the army. She had been looking for money from them for a number of months, but had heard nothing from them. I gave them two loaves of bread for their supper, and directed them to meet me at the post-office the next day at ten o'clock A. M., and I would give her an order for six half rations until she received help from her husband. This closed my day's work. On my return to the Garno House, Mrs. Halford informed me that the lady who went with me in the morning was sick, for she had hardly ceased weeping over those pitiful families we visited in the morning.

At the time appointed I met a number at the post-office, among whom was Agnes Everett, to receive orders for half, quarter, or whole rations, and gave out a few articles of clothing. As I gave Agnes the order for rations, I charged her strictly to give the two younger children no strong food for a few days, but only a little at a time and often, especially the youngest, as it would live but a few hours if she allowed it to eat all it craved. A number of gentlemen listened to my charge, and as the little group left the office one of them inquired where I was from. With my reply I gave them my papers from the governor and members of Congress of Michigan. After reading they introduced themselves,—Dr. Wood, Dr. Speck, Lawyer James, and others. Dr. Speck informed me of a family whose youngest child actually starved to death three days before. He was called when it was dying, but too late to save it. He said, "There were two other families who would have died soon if the citizens had not rendered the aid needed; and there would have been another death by starvation before we should have known it, here in our midst, but it took you to come from Michigan to find it out." Lawyer James said there was a family on the hill opposite the ferry he would like to see visited, but there were so many crowding in here of late that it seemed as if they had done all they possibly could. They were rejoiced to learn of the liberty granted, by General Curtis to issue orders for rations. Said Dr. Wood, "The freedmen are seeking for work, no matter what kind, but the white refugees are the most do-nothing set I ever saw." While I acknowledged his position true in most cases, yet there were noble exceptions and I mentioned the Bethel family and stated their condition. One gentleman said he would look after that family. In confirmation of his remarks I told of a family of poor whites in Quindaro who were asked to assist a neighbor in sickness. As there were the mother and two grown daughters, it was supposed one of them could be secured a few days with the promise of provisions or money; but the mother contemptuously tossed her head to one side and drawled out the reply, "I reckon we hain't come down so low yet as to work" I told them they must come up high enough to work before I could do any thing for them, and left them to sit in their own filth and rags.

My order from General Curtis was to report none for rations who could obtain work for wages. I passed on to other scenes of sorrow too numerous to narrate here.