Our lieutenant was an excellent man. One day he wished me to go with him to see his old building that he had ordered fitted up for a school for three hundred freed children in that part of his district. But he found that nothing had been done. "Upon my word," he exclaimed, "not a stroke, not a stone, not a window. O, I can't stand this red tape; I just want to leave every other duty and pitch into this house. I know I am too impulsive, but that is the way of an Irishman. I have often thought Peter was an Irishman, he was so impulsive."
I spent the greater portion of New-year's day, 1867, in calling upon twelve families and taking to the sick and aged ones, blankets and clothing. I walked nearly a mile to the ferry, and called at the mission-rooms, where I found the secretary, E, M. Cravath, just returned from his Southern tour. He thought my work was most needed in Memphis, Tennessee. I received from him my commission for that field. I met in his office Rev. A. Scofield and daughter, just driven from Camp Nelson, by returned secessionists. After a very busy New-year's day, I returned to Levi Coffin's for the night, and the next day left for Memphis, which I reached on the 6th, spending two days in Cairo.
In the evening I attended a large colored church, and at the close of the service introduced my work. The meeting, as usual, was very demonstrative. The home assigned me was a Mission Home, with thirteen teachers, Joseph Barnum, formerly of Oberlin, Ohio, being superintendent. It was a rich treat to meet several who had been co-workers in the field of clashing arms and roar of cannonading. But few can realize the strength of the tie that binds those who have labored together in the lion's den. One of the teachers being sick, at the request of the superintendent I temporarily took her place.
On my way to school, one morning, I was conducted to the place where lay twelve dead bodies till the third day after the terrible riot which occurred a few months previously. One of the bodies was half burned. I was shown another corner of the streets where lay six bodies more at the same time. O what horrible scenes were enacted then. My conductor pointed to a charred spot of earth where had stood a cabin in which lay a very sick woman, whose daughter of sixteen years stood in the door pleading with the infuriated mob not to burn their house for her mother was near dying, and it was impossible for her to carry her out. One fiend caught her up on his bayonet and tossed her into the midst of the flames of an adjoining cabin. In a moment her screams of agony were hushed by the crackling flames. Fire was then thrown into the dying woman's cabin, and both mother and daughter perished. Their charred bodies were taken out by their friends and buried with others slaughtered in the riot of May, 1866. In that riot there were forty-six negroes killed, seventy-five wounded, five rapes were committed, ten persons maltreated, and one hundred robbed, and ninety-one houses and cabins burned, besides four churches and twelve school-houses reduced to ashes. These facts were given me by white witnesses as well as colored, and they probably may be found in General Kiddoo's military record, as he was one of the officers with armed soldiers who quelled the terrible riot. I was soon relieved of school duty, and as I received a few boxes of goods, a portion of which were from England, I found constant employment in the ever-varying mission work.
The grandmother of a little girl who had died a few days before was very sick and in great distress of mind when I entered her cabin, she said imploringly, "O missus, do pray for poor me. Can God forgive sich an ole sinner as me? Can I fin' Jesus so quick as poor Mary Jane did afore she died? I knows she went so happy; I prayed all night, but 'pears like so dark; don't see de place o' de candle." I read to her of the readiness of Jesus to forgive, and how he forgave the thief on the cross, because he repented and looked to Jesus in faith even in his last moments. As I knelt by her cot I implored unbounded mercy in the Spirit's teaching this precious soul the way to enter in through the door. I left her more calm. She lingered a few days, but her mind became clear from the shadow of a cloud. She died in the triumphs of faith, leaving, she said, her little lambs with the dear Shepherd, "Dat hunted de lost sheep an' foun' her 'mid de wolves, dat scratch her mightily." The children were taken to the orphanage.
While pursuing this work our lives were daily threatened, and some had fears of another riot. One Union woman on our block told me that she had often spent sleepless nights on our account. She had heard such frequent threats that "Nigger teachers should be cleared out, as well as free niggers," that she expected every day would be our last, and every pistol shot she heard in the night, or the alarm of fire, she listened and looked in the direction of our Mission House. But I told her I did not believe we should have another riot; I believed the God of Daniel was able and willing to protect us, and that in him was my confidence.
"But you don't know these people as I do," she said, "for I have always lived here. I have sometimes thought I would not tell you. And then I made up my mind that I would, so you could be more on your guard; because they threatened, just as they do now, before that awful riot a few months ago."
The teachers who were my room-mates said they had heard of the same threats, but there were soldiers near at hand now, and when the riot broke out there were so few here they had to be called from other points to quell it.
On April 13th I visited the sick and relieved eight families. Then I went over old Fort Pickering and through the freedmen's hospital, containing one hundred and eighty-eight inmates, four of them cripples, and fifteen very old. Of one I inquired how old she was:
"I's goin' on two hundred," she answered. "Massa's book say I's one hundred and eight, an' dat is eight years for another hundred, ain't it? Dey name me Esther Jane. I was sole at sheriff's sale for debt to Massa Sparks. In de ole war Massa George Washington was a mighty kind man. He boarded wid Massa Sparks four or five weeks. He wore short breeches an' knee-buckles an' a cocked hat I kep' his room clar'd up."