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

by Laura S. Haviland

"Oh, you are a Bureau woman then. We don't have nothin' to do with
Bureau folks. I can't board you."

After being directed to two others, who made like inquiries, and received like replies, I found I was going to have an all-day job on hand in feeling the public pulse at Harper's Ferry. After making eight calls, chatting a while at each place pleasantly, for I would talk in no other way, although I was told in nearly every place that no one in that town would disgrace himself by walking on the streets with a nigger teacher, or speaking to one, on my way to report my unsuccessful day's work to the colonel, it being after sunset, I found an army surgeon sitting on his front porch.

"Have you found no place for dinner?" he asked.

"O no," I said, "I have been amusing myself over Confederate fever that
I find runs too high for health in your town."

"My mother-in-law is away," he answered, "but my wife and I will give you our room to-night, and we will see that you have supper at once."

At Mrs. Bilson's (the mother-in-law) I remained during the week.

At the close of the week I attended a quarterly-meeting of the Methodist Episcopal Church. When the minister invited all who loved the Lord Jesus to testify, I, with others, accepted and took part. At the close he came and inquired who I was. I introduced myself as usual. After reading my papers from the Governor, Members of Congress, and a few ministers of Michigan, I received a number of invitations to their houses, which gave me an opportunity to relate my first day's experience in their town. They made a number of excuses. Among them was the fact that Miss Mann (Horace Mann's sister), kept herself exclusively with the colored people. She not only taught their school, but boarded with them, and made no calls on white people. They acknowledged that those upon whom I had called were not in sympathy with the Union.

Here, as in other places, were those in extreme suffering, both white and colored. One blind man, and an old white man and his wife, were too sick to take care of each other. One sick woman, whose husband was in the army, had no fire, only as the little girl of three years old gathered old boots and shoes around an old camp with which to build it. All of these cases were relieved.

One day it rained too hard to be out. A little girl brought an umbrella with a request from her folks for me to call on them. I went and met about a dozen men and women, who wished to consult with me. The troops were liable to be withdrawn. If so, their lives would not be safe an hour. A few nights before a mob broke their windows and rushed into their grocery and took sacks of flour and meal, pies, cakes, and crackers, and strewed them over the street, in front of their grocery, and broke up their chairs and tables, and swore that no nigger should have a business place on Main Street. They threw stones and brickbats into their living rooms, and the men, women, and children ran to the soldiers for protection, with bleeding bruises that were bound up at the time of my call. A sad picture they presented with their broken furniture and injured bodies.

"What use is there in gathering more? Can you tell us what to do? You see our lives are in danger as it is. If the troops shall be withdrawn, what shall we do?"