Week after week was spent in making personal investigations, measuring and preparing bundles for those nearly naked. As new refugees were daily coming in, the officers found it necessary to organize a new camp over the river, in the rear of Vidalia, Louisiana, on the Ralston plantation. As a few hundred were gathered there we went over and found them exceedingly destitute. There were twenty families, mostly of those recently enlisted as soldiers. Some of them were almost ready to desert. Said one, "They say we are free, and what sort of freedom is this, for us to see our families without a board, shingle, or canvas to cover their heads? We are concluding to leave our regiment and build something to shelter our wives and children. They haven't got a place to sleep at night except in the open field." We told them we would make their families our first care, and advised them not to leave. Upon this they became more calm, and concluded to wait armpits, as I chose to keep my arms out in case of tipping over. Here came brother Reed, one of the teachers, offering to aid me; but he had no pass or transportation, and no time to get it. I called the attention of a passing general to my necessity for help, to be able to return before the firing of the sundown gun. He said if he was in command he would allow him to go with my load, and advised him to try it. On we hastened, but met an ambulance that Captain Howe had sent to the new camp for a sick woman with two small children. It was obliged to return, not being able to pass through the lines, as the provost marshal was not to be found. The supposition was very strong that the lines were closed, as it was the weakest point in the post, and the smoke of rebel fires was in sight on Lake Concordia. A battle had been fought a few days before, and another attack was-daily threatened. The driver and brother Reed were doubting the propriety of crossing the river. "For if the lines are closed," they said, "the President himself would not be permitted to pass." But I told them as they did not positively know that the lines were closed, we had better cross.

"It is your load, and if you say go we shall go," said brother Reed.

"I say go," was my decision.

Soon we were in front of the provost marshal's office. But he was not there, and no one knew where he was. After a long search, in accordance with my plea, some of the guards discovered and brought him back, reeling, with his head of long hair thoroughly decorated with feathers and straws. I met him in his office and read to him my papers, holding, them before his face as I would exhibit a picture to a two-year old baby. After explaining all, I made my request to pass his lines with my load of supplies.

"Who—who's there?"

I told him who he was that so kindly offered to aid me in disbursing these supplies just as I was starting; and that a general advised me to take him with my load, as he would pass him, if in command.

"Well, well, I don'—don't—li-like—this—whole—whole-sa-sale business."

But I pleaded for those suffering women and children with all the politeness I was capable of mastering, with disgust boiling over. With stuttering and mumbling his dislikes, and shaking his head, with the feathers and straws waving and nodding in every direction, he took his pen and scribbled a pass that was difficult to decipher. The next line of guards hardly knew what to do with it until I told them the provost marshal was drunk.

"O, yes, and it's no new trick; go on."

And without further difficulty we reached the group of sufferers, who were shivering as if in an ague fit. I threw to each family two blankets or quilts, and more than forty children were crawling between them within three minutes. I gave to each of those twenty women a suit of men's clothing that day to help them out of this intense suffering. I gave them also three rag-carpet blankets out of the four that were sent me by a woman who took up a new rag-carpet she had just put down, and cut it into four pieces after listening to the recital of the great suffering in these camps. She said she should put no more carpets on her floor as long as the war lasted.

Although I had seen so many marks of cruelty among these people, yet I said to myself, O that these poor people had remained in their old homes a little longer! Surely they can not suffer there like this. A little girl came for me to go to the old blacksmith-shop used as a temporary hospital, as her mother thought her brother was dying, and another brother was very sick. I entered that shop, and listened to the groans of the dying. I repeated to myself, O that they had waited a little longer! Four men and the little son of the distressed mother that sent for me were evidently dying, and four others were sick with pneumonia. The mother of these two sick boys was doing all she could for them all. I gave her ground mustard to make poultices, and ginger for those who had chills, and told her how to use them. I had a few pounds of each, and generally took a little package with me, especially after a storm. This miserable shelter leaked but little, but one side and one end were so open that we could throw a hat through the wall.

I saw a pile of irons by the door. Placing my foot on a queer double jointed ring, I said:

"I wonder what that queer sort of a ring could have been used for," looking toward the old dilapidated cotton-gin near by.

"That's a neck iron," said an old woman standing near me.

"A neck-iron! What do you mean?"

"Why, it's an iron collar to wear on the neck."

"But you are certainly mistaken," said I, picking it up; "you see these joints are riveted with iron as large as my finger, and it could never be taken off over one's head."

"But we knows; dat's Uncle Tim's collar. An' he crawled off in dat fence-corner," pointing to the spot, "an' died thar, an' Massa George had his head cut off to get de iron off."

"Is it possible for a human being to become so brutal as to cut a man's head off when he is dead?"

She looked as if she thought I doubted her word, and said: "It didn't hurt Uncle Tim when he was dead as it did when de iron wore big sores way down to de bone, and da got full o' worms afore he died. His neck an' head all swell up, an' he prayed many, many prayers to God to come and take him out his misery."

"How long did he wear it?"

"'Bout two years."

"Two years! It is impossible for any one to live that length of time with this rough heavy iron."



"We work two seasons, any how, over in dat cotton-fiel'," pointing to the two-hundred-acre cotton-field at our right.

I took up another iron, and inquired, "What sort of an iron is this?"

"A knee-stiffener, to w'ar on de leg to keep 'em from runnin' off in dat swamp," pointing to the dark swamp bordering Lake Concordia, so fully draped with long Southern moss that in many places in it nothing could be discovered three feet in the thicket.

I went to the rear of the shop, with the ring under my shawl. Here stood a dozen or more of old and crippled men and women.

"Did any of this company," I asked, "live on this plantation before the war?"

"Yes, missus, six of us live here. I live here seven year."

I drew out the collar, and asked if any one could tell me what that was. One looked at another, and asked where I found it.

"In that pile of irons by the door," I replied.

One said, in a low tone, "Dat's Uncle Tim's collar."

"Yes, missus, dat is iron collar to wear on de neck."

"But you see it is fastened with heavy iron rivets."

"Yes, de way you see it is 'case Massa George Ralston order Uncle Tim's head cut off to get de collar."

"I want this collar," I said, "and another heavy iron a woman called a knee-stiffener. This plantation is confiscated, and these irons belong to you as much as to any body. Will you give them to me?"

Each seemed to wait for the others to speak, but the one to whom I had mostly directed my conversation at length replied:

"I reckon you can have 'em; for we's had all we wants ov 'em."

"I thank you; and if you can find any other slave-irons in that pile I wish you would pick them out for me to take home to Michigan, to show what sort of jewelry the colored people had to wear down here."

They turned over the heap, and found iron horns, hand-cuffs, etc., and explained how they were worn. They showed me also where the iron rod upon which was suspended a bell was cut off of Uncle Tim's collar.

Among the group was a crippled man walking with two canes, clad in tattered cotton clothes, that were hanging in frozen strings from his arms like icicles. I selected a whole suit for him, and a soldier's overcoat. He stepped in the rear of a cabin and changed, and came to me weeping.

"I come to show you," he said; "dis is de best dressin' I's ever had in my life. An' I thanks you, an' praise God."

As we were standing on the bank of the river waiting for the return of the ferry on her last trip that day, there were thirty or forty men waiting, who by their favorite gray appeared to be rebel citizens; but our many bristling bayonets kept them in subjection. The ferry soon took us over the river, and we were within our post before the sundown gun was fired.

As I had brought the sick woman and two little children that Captain Howe had sent his ambulance for in the morning, in one wagon, I must go to his hospital with them. This made us so late that the guard said I could not be allowed to enter the camp without a permit from the officer of the night. I told him where I had been all day without a fire; and as he knew the storm had continued until late in the afternoon, and this sick woman whom the captain had sent for could not get through the lines in the morning, I hoped he would read my papers. He held up his lantern to see them; but as soon as he caught sight of my old portfolio he said, "Go on, I know who you are; I've seen that before." I was permitted to leave my sick family in the hospital, and drove the two miles to our head-quarters by eight o'clock. Although very much chilled, I felt relieved, notwithstanding I had witnessed such scenes of suffering and dying during that eventful day.

One morning the little drummer-boy of twelve years of age marched into camp with seven men that he had taken prisoners, ragged and almost barefooted. The suffering men were glad to find comfortable quarters. Occasionally we found them tamely submitting to be taken, on account of their sufferings for want of food and clothing. One entire company, who suffered themselves to be captured, told our officers if they would allow them to wear out of sight some sort of a Union mark, so as not to meet with trouble from our soldiers, they would go and bring in their entire regiment, as they all wanted to come into our lines. They were furnished with a badge of national colors to wear under their coats. Soon the whole regiment were with us. One of our officers said they were among our most efficient helps. One of them told me if they had known the real object of the war they would never have gone into it; for more than half of them had never owned a slave, and those who did were better off without them. They were surprised to find an attendance of supplies. They had always been told that all the difference between the Northern people and their slaves was the color of their skin.

There was great excitement during the last presidential campaign. The slave passed through terrible experiences during 1860-61. It seemed to be accepted as a settled fact, that if Lincoln was elected it would result in war; and in many places regular drills were instituted. In Natchez the half-grown slave boys got together on Sunday afternoons, and drilled with sticks for guns. At first it attracted no particular attention, and the boys became as expert in handling their stick guns as were their masters. Two slave men were overheard repeating what their master said, that if Lincoln was elected he would free all the slaves, for he was a Black Republican; and they declared that if this was true they would go to the Yankees and help to free their nation. This talk was sufficient to raise the report of an insurrection throughout all that part of the State, and a large vigilance committee was organized to meet once a week and report what they might hear by listening outside the negro cabins. All slave men or boys who were overheard to pray for freedom, or to say any thing indicating a desire to be free, were marked; and in the discussions of this large committee of a hundred men, every thing that had occurred during a few years past, in efforts among the slaves to learn to read and write, was magnified and construed as pointing toward a long and settled purpose among the slaves to rise in insurrection. A majority of this committee decided by whipping and other torture to compel confessions from all these marked slaves, and then to hang them. A number of the committee resigned because they would not consent to these severe measures. Many negroes were dragged out of their cabins or yards without knowing the cause, stripped, tied to the whipping-post or taken to the calaboose, and given as many lashes as could be endured. At the close of each whipping the sufferer was called upon to make a full revelation of every sentence that he or she had heard in favor of liberty, or of the Yankees, among their people, either in conversation or prayer, and by whom, with a promise to be released from further punishment. Never was one released, but on Saturday generally ten or twelve of these sufferers were thrown into a wagon and conveyed to the gallows, where they were placed in a row, and all were hanged at the same instant.

Some hundreds were thus hanged in the edge of the city, and on an adjoining plantation. I carefully investigated the facts, and gathered the following statement from both white and colored citizens. I have good reasons for placing entire confidence in its correctness. A large number of slaves were hanged, owned by the following persons:

Frank Susetts, 26; James Susetts, 7; Dr. Stanton, 8; Dr. Moseby, 26; widow Albert Dunbar, 48; Mrs. Brady, 12; widow E. Baker, 28; Mrs. Alexander, 16; Dr. George Baldwin, 8; Stephen Odell, 5; G. Grafton, 5; James Brown, 3; Mr. Marshall, 1; Mr. Robinson, 2; Melon Davis, 1; widow Absalom Sharp, 3; Miss Mary Dunbar, 3; Joseph Reynolds, 2; Baker Robinson, 3; Lee Marshall, whipped to death 1; Mrs. Chase, whipped to death 1; a total of 209.

I was told by a number of persons, both white and colored, that there were over four hundred tortured to death in this reign of terror, before Natchez fell into Union hands, but I put in my diary only such as I found were proven to be facts.

Miss Mary Dunbar was very much distressed over the loss of one of her three slaves who were hanged, and offered the vigilance committee ten thousand dollars for his release, but to no purpose. Joseph Reynolds also offered the committee $100,000 for the release of his two, but was denied. One little boy of twelve years of age was taken to the calaboose and whipped, then taken with the wagon-load of other victims of their unrelenting cruelty to the scaffold, followed by his mother in wild despair, praying as she went through the streets, tossing her hands upward: "O, God, save my poor boy! O, Jesus Master, pity my poor child! O, Savior, look down upon my poor baby!" The woman who went with her to the scaffold said she cried these words over and over; "and when we got there," she said, "she fell on her knees before the head man, and begged for the life of her baby. But he kicked her on her head, and cursed her, and told her the boy had got to die. The boy exhorted his mother not to grieve so for him, 'for I'm going to Jesus; meet me in heaven;' and he, with eleven others, were swung off. The mother cried out, 'Oh, my God! my poor son!' and feinted." So perfect was this reign of terror that not even slave-owners, in many cases, dared to protest against this wholesale butchery. The repeated whippings mangled the bodies of many so badly that they were taken to the gallows in a dying state. One man died while being taken upon the scaffold; his sides were cut through to the entrails, and even a part of them protruded. I visited the calaboose, which had two apartments. The first entrance was large enough for two persons to be fastened to the strong iron staples. There was room for two men to each victim, one on each side, who, seated on a stool, could alternate the strokes upon the writhing sufferer. The floor of this calaboose was of hard wood, but it was so thoroughly stained with human gore that the grain of the wood could not be distinguished. Into the second room not a ray of light entered except on opening the middle door.

Frank Susetts was a millionaire in the city of Baton Rouge, Louisiana, and made his boast that he had no fear of Yankees, for he had gold enough to cover his front walk from the door to the gate, and could buy up any Yankee who might attempt to trouble him. "There are two things," he said, "they can never do: First, make me poor; second, make me take the oath of allegiance." He owned nine plantations, besides very much city property. Though hundreds of his slaves had left him, he felt himself secure in the abundance of his wealth. The government engineer, who had been casting about for the best place to locate a fort, had been looking over Frank Susetts's place and said it was the most elevated and desirable location he had found in the city, but he rather hesitated because of the magnificent buildings it would destroy. When Susetts's independent words reached his ear he at once decided, and took his men the second time to look over the ground. Standing near the palatial mansion, and within hearing of the owner, he said to his men, "Yes, yes, this is the place for our fort."

Frank Susetts approached him with the offer of thirty thousand dollars in gold if he would spare his place.

"I can not accept it, sir," said the engineer.

"I will give you fifty thousand dollars in gold if you will save it. It cost me one hundred and seventy-five thousand dollars to build this house and the out-houses."

"Should you offer all that you say it cost you, it would be of no consequence. We give you ten days to take away every thing movable from your premises, for this house will then be destroyed to make room for the fort. This is the site we have selected."

At the expiration of the time set, it was in flames. Frank Susetts and wife stood a block distant weeping. Two of their former slaves were looking at the conflagration.

"Ah," said one, "a little while ago it was massa Susetts's time, when he had so many of our people hung; now it is God's time. Praise de Lo'd, he's here to-day for sure. Glory to Jesus, massa Susetts's day is over; he can never have any more of our people hung."

It was now the 21st day of March, 1864. Many complained of these turned tables. Judge Bullock remarked that he couldn't even go to meeting without a "pass;" just what used to be required of the six thousand freed slaves who were then in this city of refuge. Painters were seen in various parts of the city dexterously using their brushes in wiping out standing advertisements for the sales of slaves. I saw a number of these whitewashed signs. In some cases the paint was too thin to hide them. "Slaves, horses, mules, cattle, plantation utensils sold on reasonable terms." They knew these advertisements were not agreeable to Northern eyes. But I fear the covering of many of these hearts was as frail as the thin whitewashing over these advertisements.

On the Ralston plantation we visited families, gave tickets, and directed them to meet us at the place and hour appointed. Hundreds in squalid wretchedness were supplied. The following day, in the afternoon, all orphan children were to meet us. One hundred and twenty-two ragged children came. We placed them in two rows, the boys on one side and the girls on the other. Selecting each an assistant, we commenced measuring and distributing, keeping them all standing in their respective places until we had given every one something, but yet too little to meet their necessary wants. There were at that time twenty-seven teachers and missionaries in the city representing nine States. Six day-schools and three night-schools were established by them. Two other schools were taught by colored teachers; one of these was a slave woman, who had taught a midnight school for years. It was opened at eleven or twelve o'clock at night, and closed at two o'clock A. M. Every window and door was carefully closed to prevent discovery. In that little school hundreds of slaves learned to read and write a legible hand. After toiling all day for their masters they crept stealthily into this back alley, each with a bundle of pitch-pine splinters for lights. Milla Granson, the teacher, learned to read and write from the children of her indulgent master in her old Kentucky home. Her number of scholars was twelve at a time, and when she had taught these to read and write she dismissed them, and again took her apostolic number and brought them up to the extent of her ability, until she had graduated hundreds. A number of them wrote their own passes and started for Canada, and she supposes succeeded, as they were never heard from. She was sold after her master's death, and brought to Mississippi, and placed on a plantation as a field-hand; but, not being used to field-work, she found it impossible to keep up with the old hands, and the overseer whipped her severely.

"O, how I longed to die!" she told me; "and sometimes I thought I would die from such cruel whippings upon my bared body. O, what a vale of tears this was for poor me! But one thing kept me from sinking, and that was the presence of my dear Savior."

Her health so far gave way that she reeled with weakness as she went to and from her work; and her master saw she was failing, and gave her permission, to go into the kitchen a part of the time.

"O, how thankful I was," she went on, "for this promotion! and I worked as hard to keep it as any Congressman could work for some high office."

At length her night-school project leaked out, and was for a time suspended; but it was not known that seven of the twelve years since leaving Kentucky had been spent in this work. Much excitement over her night-school was produced. The subject was discussed in their legislature, and a bill was passed, that it should not be held illegal for a slave to teach a slave.

"All this time," said this dear woman, "I constantly prayed that God would overrule this to his own glory, and not allow those I had taught to read his Word to suffer, as we had been threatened. I can not tell you how my heart leaped with praise to God when a gentleman called to me one day on the street, and said he would inform me that I could teach my midnight school if I chose, as they found, no law against a slave teaching a slave."

This was accepted by that trembling teacher and scholars as a direct answer to prayer. She not only opened her night-school, but a Sabbath- school. I found more intelligence among the colored residents of this city than any other Southern city I had visited. Milla Granson used as good language as any of the white people.

We found many little incidents to cheer in all our rounds of pitiable scenes of sorrow. We sometimes met men and women among these Southerners of correct views on secession. One man said he never believed that slavery was right; all the arguments brought forward in its favor never convinced him. Although he held a few slaves by inheritance, he never could buy or sell one. His black people remained with him, and he paid them wages now that they were free by law, and he was glad of it. As he was nearly sixty years of age he had managed to keep out of the army, but had to keep quiet on the subject of secession. From the first he thought it the height of folly to resort to arms, as the Lord could not prosper their undertaking. I believe that man was a conscientious Christian; very different in spirit from Judge Bullock, who said one day in rather a careless mood, "I think you have one class of men in your North the most despicable I ever knew." Now, thought I, we abolitionists are going to take a blessing. "Who are they?" I asked. "They are that class you call Copperheads. They are too dastardly to come down here and help us fight, and they are too pusillanimous to fight for their own side."

Our daily work was very wearisome, having to walk from four to six miles each day. Fresh arrivals daily required our attention, and after wind or rain pneumonia and deaths were frequent. Bible-reading and prayer were also a part of our mission. One day, while sister Backus was opening barrels and boxes, and sorting and arranging their contents in our store, I went with a load, in a recently confiscated stage-coach drawn by mules. One of the mules the colonel said he was afraid to allow me to ride after; but I thought a little mule could do but little harm with the experienced driver, and I ventured the ride, taking in a poor crippled man on the way, who was just coming into camp. He was clad in a few cotton rags that he had patched with old stocking-tops and bits of old tent-cloth, to hold them together, and it was impossible to detect the original fabric. In passing down the "Paradise Road" to the camp in Natchez-under-the-Hill, the unruly mule pranced, kicked, and reared, until both of them became unmanageable, and the dust rolled up a thick cloud, hiding the way before us, as well as the galloping mules.

I believed that we should turn over at the short curve near the base of the hill, where was a number of large stumps; and that if we should strike one of them we should be dashed in pieces. But prayer for a guiding hand seemed in a moment to bring relief. We were overturned amid stumps, and were dragged a few rods on the side of the coach, when the canvas covering was detached from the wheels. Our driver was dragged a few rods farther, while the crippled man and myself were doing our best to crawl from under the canvas. By this time fifteen or twenty men reached us. I was out and hauling the canvas off the groaning man, whose head and face were covered with blood. I told one of the men to run for a pail of water, for I thought the poor man must be dying.

"O, no, it's all right,—it'll make me a better man," said he, while catching his breath, and wiping the blood from his mouth.

"You had better sit down yourself; you are badly hurt," said one of the men.

"O no, I am not hurt," was my reply.

But as I was getting a little child's shirt ready for the men to wash the crippled man's head, I found the front breadth of my dress torn across, and I had to throw back my bonnet to see; but I knew my limbs were all sound. Although it seemed as if we had turned many somersaults in a second, yet I never felt more vigorous. I knew the surgeon of that camp was within a few rods of us, and requested some one to go for him to care for my comrade. I saw a man carefully washing out the large gashes on his head, and I left for the surgeon, holding my torn dress-skirt in my hand. Just as I reached his office he was jumping on his horse, starting for me. He exclaimed in surprise, "Why, Mrs. Haviland! I've just this moment got the word that you were nearly killed, and I was going to see you."

"I am all right," I said; "but I wish you would go and see to that crippled man, for I am afraid he is nearly killed."

"Very well, but I shall look after you first."

By this time he was handling my arms, and pressing here and there on my body, I thought pretty harshly; for he either found or made some sore places. He ordered his ambulance, in which I was taken to head- quarters. As I was badly bruised, the surgeon urged me to take morphine. I was sure of not needing it, but promised to call for it if needed, and he allowed me to go without it. I found myself too lame to resume work for a couple of days; then I commenced again moderately, but carried marks of bruised flesh for a month or more.

About two weeks after this, while investigating a new arrival of a company of slaves, I learned that some of them were shot by their pursuing masters, and one woman's babe was instantly killed in its mother's arms; but the mother succeeded in passing into our lines, with her dead child in her arms, to be buried, as she said, "free." A woman and a little boy of three years, with dresses torn with briers to shreds, and feet and limbs swollen and bleeding with scratches, came in, from whom I was getting her sad history. Two gentlemen passing by, halted, and said one:

"This looks as if these would have been much better off at their old homes. Don't you think so?"

"I think this picture shows great effort in escaping from their old home," I replied,

"Do you live here?"

"I am only a temporary resident here. My home is in Michigan."

"May I ask your name?"

I gave it, and he continued:

"And so am I from Michigan. I've heard of you before, I thought this was some good Samaritan," giving his hand for a hearty shake.

"And who is this?" I asked.

"I'm Dr.——, from one of our Michigan cities. And what are you doing here?"

"I am doing just the work you see before us."

"Yes, and I saw a span of mules trying their best to kill her two weeks ago, when they came sailing down that Paradise Road up yonder; but they couldn't do it," said his guide.

I asked him what he was doing. He said he had just come to see if there was any thing he could do. I told him of the new camp on the Ralston plantation, and of this camp of four thousand. I hoped he would look after these, as we proposed to leave soon for other fields of labor below.

On March 24, 1864, I took letters to post-office, and found one from our dear friend, Addie Johnson, assistant matron of Soldiers' Home, in Columbus, Kentucky. I went to General Tuttle for an order for transportation to Baton Rouge, and, as usual, introduced myself by handing my official papers. Being a very large man, he was in proportion consequential.

"What do you want?"

I told him I would like transportation to Baton Rouge.

"I don't know," he said; "that I am here to make the Government a great benevolent society, by giving every thoroughly loyal and earnest Christian man or woman transportation."

"Is there not an order," I replied, "from Adjutant-general Thomas, granting us transportation, rations, and quarters?"

"I have received no such order personally."

I bade him good morning, and left his office, fully determined to bring him an order, although I knew he must have seen one. My purpose was to take the first boat to Vicksburg, as General Thomas was then in that city, to see whether his order was to be honored. Passing Colonel Young's office, I called to see if he could grant the favor, and found that he could give the transportation desired, consequently I left the general without troubling him further. On my return I called at the other mission store, and met brother Burlingame and Isaac Thorne, who also wished to go below, but were doubtful whether General Tuttle would give them transportation They said they were waiting to learn of my success, and were surprised to find that Colonel Young had the power to grant it.

We took the steamer "J. H. Russell" for Baton Rouge. On March 27th Sunday morning, we passed the mouth of Red River, where was a gun boat, from which a few prisoners were taken aboard of our boat. A woman named Crosly was also taken on board, to go to New Orleans for the purpose of exposing those who had run through our lines contraband goods. There was a woman of property and standing on the boat, who still held her household servants, and made her boast that no one could even hire her slaves to leave her.

"I'd like to see any one offer my niggers a book," she declared. "I reckon they'd take it as an insult. They'd tell you mighty quick they'd no use for books or schools. The niggers never will be as happy as they have been. They'll soon die out. It's fearful to see them die off as they do in these camps. They know nothing of taking care of themselves. They are cared for by us as tenderly as our own children. I tell you, they are the happiest people that live in this country. If they are sick the doctor is sent for, and they are cared for in every way, they know nothing of care."

"If they are such a happy class of people, how was it that you had such a time of punishing and hanging them within the last two years?" I asked.

"O, that had to be done to save our lives, because they were about to rise in an awful insurrection."

"But what would induce them to rise in insurrection, when they are so happy and contented as you have described?"

"O, there is always somebody ready to put the devil in their heads," was her ready reply.

But Mrs. Crosly's report was of a very different character. She said, "There has never been the half told of this hell upon earth—the awful wickedness on these Red River plantations, where I have lived ever since I was fifteen years old. If you knew what I have passed through, you would not wonder that there is nothing but a wreck left of me. I married a plantation blacksmith when a young girl of fifteen, and left my people in Indiana, as my husband was hired by a rich slave-holder, Mr. Samuel Lay, who lived on Red River. We lived on his plantation many years, though he used to do a great deal in ironing negroes for neighboring planters."

I told her of the slave-irons I had found on a deserted plantation, to take to my Michigan home.

"Don't let the people here know it," she said, "or they will take them from you and drop them in the river; for they bury them, or throw them in the river or creek, to put them out of sight of Yankees. When the city was taken they sent painters all over the city, with brushes and paint-buckets, to paint over all advertising signs of slaves for sale, and hid all slave-irons they could lay hands on."

I told her that was done in Natchez, when that city was taken.

"And that is just what they did," she went on, "in Vicksburg. Among the slave-irons you found, were there any of those new-fashioned gags?"

I told her that there were not.

"You ought to get some of them. If I were at home I could get you two or three kinds; but you ought to see the new gags anyhow. They are made with barbs, as they make on fish-hooks, and they pierce the tongue if they attempt to speak or make a noise. They can't live many hours with one of them in their mouths, for the tongue swells up so. Mr. Lay had an old slave woman we called Aunt Hannah whipped, and gagged with that new gag, and left her all night in her cabin; and when I opened her door her tongue was swollen out of her mouth and looked so awful, I wouldn't have known her if she hadn't been in her own cabin. I told 'em she groaned so, I reckoned she was dying, and they sent for the doctor to come and cut the barbs out, and he told Mr. Lay she would have died in an hour longer. It was a long time before she recovered from it. But as near as she was to dying, the overseer left Ben all night with that kind of a gag; and they found him dead in the morning. You of the North have no idea of the perfect hell upon earth we've had down here. Mr. Lay brought Alice from Kentucky, and she'd been a kitchen-maid, and never worked in the cotton-field till she came here. The overseer was a mighty hard man, and he drew that long whip of his over her shoulders so often because she couldn't keep up with the other hands, that she ran away in the bush and was gone two days before they caught her. Then they whipped her awfully, and in two or three days they drove her out in the field. Within a week she ran away again, and was gone about two weeks. They caught her with the help of bloodhounds; and when she was brought in, her arms were torn by the dogs, and I trembled for the poor girl, for I knew they'd nearly kill her. Sure enough, the first I knew my husband had her at his shop, to iron her with a full set. There was a knee-stiffener, an iron collar with a bell, and a pair of handcuffs, with a chain between to allow her to use the hoe. When I saw the heavy irons I went to the shop and begged Mr. Crosly not to iron Alice like that, for it would kill her, as she was badly torn by the dogs. But he swore at me, and told me to go back into the house, were I belonged; this was his business. I went back and cried over it till it appeared I couldn't live; and I went out again and begged him not to put on all these irons; for he knew they were heavier than the law allowed, and he would commit murder, for she could not live in this way. But he only swore at me the more. At this Mrs. Lay came out in a rage, and said she would see whether any one could come in and interfere with the punishment of any of her slaves, and ordered another slave to cut across both of her feet with a pocket-knife, through the skin, so that blood was left in her tracks. I turned away, for I thought they would murder the poor girl before my eyes; and I cried myself sick and couldn't sleep, for I thought she must die before morning. The cotton- field was opposite my window, and after breakfast I watched to see the hands go to their work; and, sure enough, there was poor Alice hobbling out into the cotton-field. They had been at work but a little while when a heavy blow from the whip-handle on the back of her head brought her to the ground. 'O, my God!' I cried, to see that overseer hit her like that because she couldn't keep up her row. I prayed God that Alice might die at once and be out of her misery; and, sure enough, they brought her out of that field dead! I was glad of it. Poor girl! she could suffer no more under their hands."

"And did not her death call forth some action from the law?" I asked.

"Nothing of the kind was ever noticed on our plantation. I tell you it was a perfect hell on earth down here; you don't know anything about it; and yet, if these things are told, they'll deny it, and call them black abolition lies, when it's God's truth, and they know it. There was Uncle Jack, poor fellow! He ran away, and they brought him in with the bounds, after he'd been gone a week, and they made him strip and lie down on his face, and fastened his hands and feet to iron rings. Then a man sat on each side of him to do the whipping, alternating in their strokes from his feet to his head, then back to his feet, and so back and forth until they'd given him one hundred lashes. I passed by them, and saw his back cut up to a raw jelly, and the flesh twitched as you've seen newly killed beef. But this was not all. They took burning pitch-pine slivers and held them over his quivering flesh, dropping the melted blazing pitch from his head to his feet. After this awful torture, the two men carried him to his cabin, I thought, to die; and I had another all-night cry over Uncle Jack, He was not able to go out in the field again for two weeks."

Mrs. Crosly related many other incidents in her own experience, some of which are too shocking for the public eye or ear.

"My husband," she said, "bought two slave women, one of whom was the mother of two illegitimate children, that my children were compelled by their father to address as brother and sister. He also brought the mother to my apartments, and occupied my parlor bedroom with her for years—all to aggravate me. I didn't blame the woman Molly, for she couldn't help herself. She and I cried together over this state of things for hours, many a time. She often begged my husband to let her live a virtuous life, but it was of no use. He would only threaten to punish her. Poor thing! we felt sorry for each other, and she used to do all she could for me. I am so thankful she can now go where she pleases. She took her two children, and with the other woman went as soon as they could get through the lines. I am so glad all the slaves are free. Mr. Crosly has got our oldest boy with him in the army, and threatens to take my youngest boy of fourteen. But the Union officers say they will confiscate our property and make it over to me and my boys, so that Mr. Crosly can not take it from me."

The terrible scenes she had passed through, and witnessed, substantiated our oft expressed opinion that unlimited power on the part of slave-owners was equally degrading to the slave-holder and to the slave. Even more: it fostered the worst passions of a depraved nature. Her experience was no isolated one. Such cases in many localities were neither few nor far between.

On March 28th we learned, with surprise, that the bright light we saw the evening before, as we came from the soldiers' meeting, was the steamer "J. H. Russell" burning to the water's edge. No lives were lost, but all the baggage of passengers and many mules, horses, cattle, and sheep and other government supplies were destroyed. O, how thankful we were that we exchanged boats when we did, and were safely landed here in Baton Rouge. "Bless the Lord, O my soul! and forget not all his benefits," was my first thought. How many favors are often bestowed in disguise!

At three o'clock, P. M., I attended a meeting of colored people at the Methodist Episcopal Church, which was built by themselves, and upon invitation addressed them. I spoke perhaps twenty minutes, taking for my theme Psalm cxi, 12: "I know the Lord will maintain the cause of the afflicted, and the right of the poor." At the close of the meeting the colored people gathered around us, and gave us such a hand-shaking and "God bless you" as we seldom find outside of this oppressed people.

In the evening more than a dozen came to our lodgings and spent two hours recounting the trials of their slave-life, which were of thrilling interest. O, what a bitter draught was theirs, even to the very dregs! One poor man named Henry, owned by John Reese, near Baton Rouge, for the crime of visiting his wife and children oftener than once a month against his master's command, was ordered to be nailed to a tree by his ear, and whipped until it tore out. But even more awful scenes of persecution and outrage these people passed through, which we can not record. We closed our interview, after listening to their sad recitals, with prayer, in which all took part. A solemn season it was, to mingle our tears and voices with those who had passed through such scenes of suffering and were now praising the Lord for freedom.

On Tuesday, 29th, we visited the general hospital in the noble asylum for the mute and blind. Of the latter there were thirty inmates. They played on the piano and sang very sweetly, and we were interested in seeing the mutes converse with each other in their sign language. One little fellow was asked by the matron to give us their name for Yankee. He quickly passed his fingers through each other, and we all laughed to see ourselves with such an unstable name. All seemed much pleased to receive our visit.

We found here our sick and wounded soldiers with nothing but army supplies, boiled fat pork and bread. Surgeon Pole told us they were out of other supplies. We sent immediately to New Orleans for dried fruit, crackers, etc., and within four days they came rolling in by the barrel. We left this marble-faced edifice to visit a few camps surrounding the city of Baton Rouge. By request I attended a six o'clock meeting in the chapel for soldiers at the general hospital, accompanied by Rev. Joel Burlingame and Rev. Mr. Merryfield.

On Wednesday, 30th, we spent some time in visiting and distributing tracts and Testaments, and conversing with soldiers. We also visited a colored school of two hundred and twenty-four pupils. All were much engaged in study. We were invited to address them. Sister Backus and myself complied, and it seemed gratifying to them and satisfactory to us. We returned to our pleasant boarding place, wrote a letter, and made a number of calls. We found a woman who used to sympathise with Eliza Wilson in her slave-trials previous to her escape to the North. Through her we heard from Eliza's little girl, whom she left with her old master Bissel. A few days before she had come to her aunt, in Plaquemine, about nine miles, in the night, she heard that Yankee soldiers were in possession of that town. She had been told that a certain road led to Plaquemine, and took it in a moonlight night and found her aunt. Although she was only about ten years of age, and could not remember her mother, yet this woman said the child had heard I was going to take her to her mother, and that she was nearly insane over it. I had previously sent word to them by a soldier who was a dispatch-bearer, that the mother was very anxious to get her child if she was within our lines; and when he returned to Plaquemine he found the child and helped her to escape from Bissel with much less trouble than her mother had had seven years before.

About the close of the month we took a long walk to Fort Williams, where were three thousand sick and wounded soldiers. The scenes here were indescribable. The mingled language of acute distress, in prayer, groans, and occasional oaths from the profane, could be heard. One young man seemed too near death's door to survive. Said he: "If I die it will be suddenly, upon the amputation of this arm. It is too late for me now; but if I am spared I will seek an interest in Christ." But we had heard the cry of despair before, and could not give him up. The arm was taken off without causing instant death, as he was fearing. He then became an eager listener, and said he could now pray for pardon, and believed that the merciful Redeemer would grant the earnest desire of his soul. We found a few men, whose lives were given up by the surgeon, who were trusting, and possessed the comforting assurance of a glorious future. As we were about to leave, another soldier attracted our attention, who said he was not a Christian, but wished to be, and after repeating a few promises and praying with him we left. In tears, he requested us to see him again.

While we were waiting for a boat for New Orleans we again visited the hospital, and found both of those who were anxious at our previous visit rejoicing Christians.

I went to the office to inquire for a steamer for New Orleans, and on leaving was accosted by a young man with the query whether I was looking for a boat. As he saw that I noticed the feather in his drab hat, and star, with stripes on the sleeves of his gray coat, he remarked that he was an exchanged prisoner, and was on his way to his home at Atlanta, Georgia. Said I:

"You appear like a young man of intelligence, and I hope by the time you reach your home you will conclude to cast your net on the right side."

"We've been fishing on the right side these three years," he replied; "and we'll fight three, ten, or twenty years longer, if we live so long, but what we will have our rights—the right to hold our slave property without interference from Northern abolitionists. You need not judge of our strength because you have a little strip of this river, and our folks are rather discouraged here, and tired of war. If you could see our troops in Virginia, you'd see as hopeful and jolly a set of fellows as you ever saw. Give up? No, never! I tell you, madam, we are determined to have our independence if we fight till we die."

"I am sorry," I answered, "you can not be induced to adopt a course worthy of your zeal. Young man, the worst wish I have for you is that you may be prepared to die, for the fiat of the Almighty is against you. The sword and the boys in blue are going to bring you to terms. You will never again buy and sell men, women, and children like horses, cattle, and sheep in the market. The judgments of the Lord are upon you for these things."

"You needn't think God is on your side, for you've made our niggers our masters. Look! within, four rods of us stand nigger pickets, with their bayonets, and we can't pass those bayonets without a pass—and our own niggers, too. I tell you, madam, if I could have my way, I'd have a rope around every nigger's neck, and hang 'em, or dam up this Mississippi River with them;" and his black eyes flashed with fury. "Only eight or ten miles from this river slaves are working for their masters as happily as ever."

"We know that they are remaining on many plantations; but we know of a number of plantations that are worked by their former slaves because their former masters are paying them wages. But if they are as happy and contented as you describe, why do we see them daily coming into these camps, frequently for twenty to fifty miles, wading swamps and creeks, with swollen and bleeding feet? Why all this painstaking to get away from their masters, if they are so attached to them?"

"They are poisoned by the Yankees. You talk about the justness of your cause—any thing but justice to put arms in the hands of these niggers, to be our masters—to set our slaves over us with gun and bayonet. God Almighty will never prosper you—never."

"I see I can say nothing that will avail with you. I perceive that it is beyond the power of man. Hoping that a Higher Power may reach you, I bid you farewell."

With these words, I turned away; but had not advanced five feet when he called out:

"Madam, I hope we'll get the same boat. I'd like to see you again; for I like to meet people who stand up for their own principles."

Widely differing from this captain's spirit was another, who was the owner of a large plantation, with numerous slaves, yet a strong Union man, and his wife and daughters sympathized with him. Before the fall of Vicksburg he called all his slaves together, and told them this war would result in the freedom of every slave in the United States, and he wanted now to make an arrangement with them to work for him as heretofore. He promised to pay all the grown hands eight dollars a month, and board them with their families as he had done before, and to pay them at the close of each month. With tears of gratitude, they accepted his proposition. He told them that this arrangement must be kept secret, for their safety as well as his own; for they all knew there had always been a prejudice against him because he allowed them privileges that other planters adjoining them did not. They said to him, "Your niggers think they are white," because he never would have an overseer on his plantation, and would not have whipping and punishing among his grown people, and the families among his slaves managed their own children. He came into our lines as soon as he could, to save his life; and he told us he had not visited his home for a long time, except at night, as his life had been threatened, and that his wife and daughters, for their own protection, kept loaded pistols at their bedside. He had also armed a number of his servants, as they were likewise exposed to an attack. He was a noble-appearing man, and said, in conversation: "Mrs. Haviland, I have always held the same views on the subject of slavery that you do; but it was against the law to free them and allow them to remain here, and we could not send them away without breaking up some of their families. But I rejoice that it has come to an end; and I know of others who rejoice, but they do so secretly." His wife came to see him while we were there, and seemed to be a woman of sterling principle. She said they had to watch day and night, fearing their buildings would be burned, and perhaps some of them murdered.

We called on a widow and her two daughters who were in deep affliction on account of the bitterness of feeling toward them in consequence of their Union principles. They were a Christian family, and owned some property in the country, besides their residence in town. A number of our officers boarded with her. I was in her family a day or two, and as I left I took out my purse to pay her. "Don't open that," she cried; "I can't take a farthing. You don't know what we have to endure. I have two brothers in the rebel army, and when they came home, because I told them they were fighting against God in fighting against the Union, they swore at me and threatened to take my life; they said I was a Southern Yankee, and they were the worst of all. I expect they'll burn my house some night or get some one else to do it; and I know there are enough that would gladly do it. O, you can't tell how much good your prayer did us this morning. I do feel a daily necessity of looking to God to keep us. I want to make a request of you to remember us at God's throne, for we know not what a day may bring forth. Do plead for us in prayer, my sister." I left her and her daughters bathed in tears. We the took steamer Niagara for New Orleans, April 2d. It being dark, the captain concluded to wait till moonlight, when an order came to go up the river, near Port Hudson, for twenty soldiers and thirty thousand dollars in contraband goods with two men prisoners, who had been in charge of these goods for the rebels. While they were loading the goods sister Backus and myself took a long walk to the residence of John Buhler, aged seventy-five years, who lost a few weeks before one hundred and thirty slaves. The old man and his wife took us into their flower-garden, where were one hundred and twenty-five varieties of roses and many kinds of shrubbery, and the greatest variety of cactus I ever saw; many of them were six and eight feet high. One large pecan-tree was almost covered with a small yellow rose-climber in full bloom, presenting a beautiful appearance. They gathered nearly an armful of flowers for us, and took us into the room in which a bursting shell made sad havoc. They made many excuses for the weedy flower-beds in the yard and garden, as they now had no servants to keep them. Two drunken women came aboard the boat and were put off by our captain, but through the influence of their friends came on again. We turned from this scene, and took a stroll to another residence, where we found the former slaves of the owner the sole occupants. They had a hearty laugh when I asked if the "smoke-house key was frowed in de well?" "Yes, yes, missus," they answered; "we's got de managin'."

We returned to Baton Rouge (the place where we halted some time is called West Baton Rouge), arriving late in the afternoon. We walked up to our old boarding-place, and took supper with our dear friends.

On April 3d we arrived at New Orleans at nine A. M., in time to attend a colored Sunday-school. At its close I gave them a little talk. From thence we were piloted to the Bethel Methodist Church (colored) and found a quarterly meeting being held. Here we listened to a very interesting and intelligent discourse by Rev. William Dove. I made a few remarks on the comparison of present times with the former. At the close of the service many came forward to shake hands and tell us of the time when ministers and people were hauled out of this church of their own building and taken to jail. The free people were compelled to pay twenty-five dollars' fine, and slaves were punished with twenty-five lashes on the bare back, well laid on. This persecution the authorities deemed necessary in order to keep these poor people from rising in insurrection. They locked up their churches two years and a half, until the Union soldiers unlocked them. Though the authorities forbade their meeting at all, they often stole away two and three miles and held little meetings in deep ravines and in clumps of bushes and trees, to hide from their cruel pursuers; but they could not even there long escape their vigilant enemies. "Insurrection! INSURRECTION!" was constantly inflaming the guilty multitude. Imprisoning, putting into stocks, and all sorts of punishments seemed to be the order of the day.

A few months after the closing of their church the spotted fever broke out, slaying its thousands. An old pious colored woman said to one who was losing all his family, and called upon her to assist them: "Now, who is plotting insurrection? Who you gwine to take to jail now? Who you gwine to whip an' hang now? You can't take God out to jail." They heard that their enemies had concluded to stop their praying, for it was thought to be through the prayers of the colored people that all this trouble was sent upon them; for the plague was almost entirely confined to the white people. This class of accusers became even more bitter than before.

No one can look at this volume of history without calling to mind the hardness of heart of the ancient Egyptians.



CHAPTER XII.

MISSION WORK IN NEW ORLEANS.

At New Orleans, where we arrived April 6, 1864, our home was a very pleasant one. Beneath the windows of our room was a grove of fig- trees. We had the kindest of friends.

We visited ten colored schools in the city, filled with eager learners. One was taught by Mrs. Brice, who had in charge sixty scholars. She had been teaching here three years, under much persecution, and stemmed the torrent of opposition, sometimes in secret, before the war. Sister Brice and her husband had been struggling in this city nearly five years, through this bitter hate to the North, contending for Unionism everywhere, through civil, religious, and political life. We called on them, and spent two hours in eating oranges and listening to the fanaticisms and wild conceptions of this misguided people and terror-stricken multitude when the "Yankee" soldiers marched up the streets from the gun-boats. Schools were dismissed; the children cried as they ran home, telling those they met that the Yankees had come to kill them and their mothers. But there were those who cried for joy at the sight of the national flag. The starting tear manifested the deep feeling of these friends as they attempted to relate the scene, but said it was impossible, as it was beyond description. It seemed like an oasis in a desert to meet such kindred spirits. We left them, with their urgent request to make, another call before we left the city.

We were invited by the pastor to attend a love-feast meeting at half- past six o'clock, P. M., where we met a large congregation. The services were opened as usual.

Soon they were "breaking bread" with each other, shaking hands, and singing. Many were weeping. Some broke to each other the bread, exclaiming, "Praise God for this day of liberty to worship God!" One old man said to one of the ministers, as he placed his hand on his shoulder: "Bless God, my son, we don't have to keep watch at that door," pointing to it, "to tell us the patrollers are coming to take us to jail and fine us twenty-five dollars for prayin' and talkin' of the love of Jesus. O no, we's FREE! Yes, thank God for freedom!" Clapping his hands, his shouts of "Glory, glory, hallelujah!" were followed by others, until "Glory, hallelujah to the Lamb forever!" was heard from many voices. Men clasped the necks of their brethren, and shook hands with the sisters, singing, weeping, shouting, jumping, and whirling. Said one woman, as she clasped another, "O sister, don't you 'member when da tuck us over in dat jail dat night, an' said da would whip us if we didn't stop prayin'?" and then they both jumped and shouted, throwing up their hands in wild excitement. A half-hour was spent in these outbursts of long pent-up feelings; then they settled down into comparative quiet, and the pastor exhorted them to be brief in their remarks. Perhaps an hour was spent in the relation of experiences, and the meeting closed with singing:

"The jubilee has come; And we are free, we are free."

Then there was again the shaking of hands, and another half-hour was spent in overflowing manifestations, as at the opening of their meeting. This long-oppressed people realized their great change beyond our conceptions.

At the Christian Commission rooms, No. 69 Carondelet Street, Dr. F. B. Smith, agent, we met brother Merrifield, of Baton Rouge, and brother Horton, who took us to visit a school of sixty pupils, taught by two colored men, Baptist ministers. They had opened it before the government or missionaries opened a school in this city for colored children. We had visited and addressed a number of other schools among these people of this city, one of which numbered over four hundred scholars, in a confiscated college; but this in interest surpassed them all. Here in an old slave-pen, where hundreds and thousands had been cried off to the highest bidder, where the cries of parting mother and child had been heard and unheeded, where the pleadings of husbands and fathers were only answered by the lash, those many tears, sighs, and groans were exchanged for intellectual culture and religious instruction. Here were sundry Union flags waving and a large portrait of Abraham Lincoln hung on the wall behind the desk. The scene was inspiring.

After returning, two colored women, genteelly dressed, and quite intelligent, called on us and gave us a thrilling history of the past. They gave us some startling facts of the efforts made to return slaves, who had come within our lines to their masters, by making friends of our officers and soldiers. Men had enlisted from this State (Louisiana) and Mississippi as Union soldiers from selfish motives. Their sole object was to assist in getting their slaves back, by taking them out of houses when employed by colored people, and from the street when sent to market, and placing them in jail. After orders were passed to give rations to the families of colored soldiers, one young girl, whose name was Rhoda, was doing well until she was overtaken with chills. Her brother gave her a paper certifying he was a soldier, and requested rations for her, but she was arrested on the street, and lodged in jail, where she remained three months, sick with chills and fever, and without change of clothing, although her female friends made many efforts to get food and clothing to her. At length a deliverer came, who found three hundred miserable, vermin-eaten prisoners, and set them free. A more grateful company was never found. Find fault who will with Benjamin F. Butler, this was just the work he did; and many lives were saved, and much suffering relieved, under his administration.

We dined with, a widow who had paid $1,800 for herself, and lived in good style by boarding her friends, who paid her extra board-bills to assist her. A Creole lady called to see us who could converse a little in English. The Creoles in New Orleans generally spoke French. This madam was a woman of wealth and position, and well pleased with the freedom of the slave.

We heard of a project devised by many masters to massacre all the blacks. One brought in three hogsheads marked sugar. A little slave girl, hearing her master say at dinner-table, that he had one filled with loaded pistols, another with dirks, and the third with bowie-knives, went and told her mother. She was directed to be careful and listen, while busy about the room, to all her master said, and report to her. In this way she heard the plans that her master and his friends designed to carry into execution, and informed her mother. The plan was to paint a large company of their men black, who should assume the attitude of fight; then all were to cry out "Insurrection! INSURRECTION!" and fly to every negro man, woman, and child, and kill them all off. The mother made an errand down-town with her little girl, and called on General Butler, to whom they told all. A party of officers and soldiers were dispatched at once, who visited that house, demanded the keys, and searched the premises. There they found the hogsheads, broke in the head of each, and found all as reported. The master was banished from the city, his family sent outside the lines, his property confiscated and his slaves set free. No wonder they disliked General Butler, when he defeated their base designs.

The convention which met in the City Hall to frame a free constitution for Louisiana created considerable excitement. Many slave-owners were confident they would have all their slaves back again, or get pay for them.

As there were no sanitary agents at Brazier City, and we learned of much suffering there, we called at the Christian Commission Rooms to make further inquiries, and found brother Diossy had just sent both an agent and a teacher to that point. "But if you are hunting for destitute places," he told us, "I wish you would go to Ship Island, in the Gulf of Mexico, as there are soldiers and many prisoners there, and they have no chaplain or agent to look after their sanitary condition" While I was inclined to go, sister Backus thought, in view of the very warm weather, and because we were so nearly worn out with several months constant toiling, we had better turn our faces homeward. I knew there was but little more than shadows left of us, yet I could not rid myself of the impression that it would be right to go; but I told her I would not draft her into service, or persuade her against her judgment.

I met at these rooms brother Merrifield and brother Horton, and the chaplain of the Michigan 6th Infantry. By their request we attended a soldiers' prayer-meeting. Near the close one soldier expressed his gratitude for the privilege of listening to the voice of mothers in counsels that reminded many of them of their own mothers far away. He could say no more for a moment, being overcome with emotion. "You may call me weak, and if this be weakness, then I am weak," he said. Another requested prayer for his sick soldier brother, and for the preservation of the Northern ladies who were laboring for them.

After this meeting I called at the office for transportation; but there was no encouragement that I could get it for a number of days, "perhaps two weeks," as General Banks had nearly all the boats up Red River, in his fleet. But as I was passing the gulf office I called and found the steamer Clyde going out for Ship Island in four hours, and at once secured transportation for us both. I returned to our boarding-house, and reported what I had done, and told sister Backus if she was willing to go the sea-breeze might do more to rest us than the labors would add to our weariness. She consented to accompany me, and we provided ourselves with half a bushel of reading matter at Christian Commission Rooms, and secured the aid of a couple of soldiers to carry our books to the street-car, from thence to a steam-car that landed us at the Clyde. As there was no berth for us we obtained a couple of blankets, but there being room for only one to lie down, we managed, by taking turns, to get considerable sleep. On April 8th, at ten A. M., we landed on Ship Island. It was of white sand, that resembled, at a distance, a huge snow-bank. We found a little sprinkle of brown sand, upon which grew a few scrubby trees and a species of cactus that spread out in clusters as large as a dinner-plate. The island is eight miles in length, and from one-fourth to three-fourths of a mile wide. The captain told us he should not leave until four o'clock, P.M., and we made use of our time accordingly. When we landed with our large market-basket heaping full of Testaments and other reading matter, the gunboat boys and prisoners gathered around us like hungry children. Prisoners in irons came holding the iron ball in one arm, while the other hand reached for a Testament, crying out, "Please give me a Testament, I lost mine in battle;" "Please give me one, I lost mine in a long march;" "Please give me something to read, I lost my Testament in a rain-storm." Many hands were reached over the shoulders of others, until thirty or forty hands at a time were extended. We soon exhausted our basket-supply. We had a few in our satchels, but we reserved them for the hospital and military prison. As we had disposed of the most of our books in an hour, we spent an hour on the beach gathering sea shells until noon, then took our rations, and spent the remainder of our time in hospital-visiting, and in learning from the officers what was needed to be sent on our return to New Orleans.

While engaged in other matters, we found our boat had left us, and was steaming away perhaps a mile from us. Sister Backus was greatly disappointed at being left, and gave way to despondency; but I assured her it was all for the best, and that as the Lord had heretofore provided for us, so he would provide for us now. We returned to the tent of Mrs. Green, a tidy mulatto woman, where we had left our satchels. As she met us and learned of our being left, and heard sister Backus lament over "not having where to lay our heads," she quickly replied: "Yes, you shall have a place for your heads. In that chest I have plenty of bedding, and I'll dress up this bed for you two. My husband can find a place with some of his comrades, and I'll make a bed for myself on the floor till the boat comes back." "There, sister Backus," I said, "the Lord is providing for us already." Tears filled her eyes. She replied, "I will not doubt any more."

Mrs. Green had a nice dinner prepared in the best style; table-linen of the finest damask, chinaware and solid silver spoons, pitcher, forks, and plated table knives, etc. I inquired how this came about, as I had not seen a table so richly set since coming into the army. Her reply was, that both of their fathers were wealthy planters, who made them free when they died. Her husband received by will twenty- five thousand dollars, and she also received from her father's estate a fine brick residence. They had it nicely furnished, and their property was valued at fifty thousand dollars. Her husband was making in his business from seventy-five to one hundred dollars a month, but he was so confident that this war would result in the freedom of their race that he, with others, enlisted in a colored regiment for seven dollars a month, under the rebel government, with a secret understanding among themselves that they would all go in with the Union army as soon as opportunity presented. The opportunity was furnished on the taking of New Orleans by Union troops. The regiment was officered by men of their own color, but the indignities they received at the hands of Union commanders caused their officers to resign their positions. One of the many was on one occasion of an order by one of their captains for shoes and blankets for his destitute men. It was not honored, and he went in person to inform the commander how needy his men were. The reply was that he need not expect negro regiments to be supplied the same as white soldiers. This was thrown in their teeth by Confederates: "You see what you get by going over to the Yankees. We never served you like that," said a Confederate.

We found Mr. Green an intelligent and pleasant man. Just as our dinner was ready, Captain James Noyce called to see us, and urged us to make our home with his family during our stay on the island. We told him of the kind offer of Mrs. Green. "I know," was his reply, "that Mrs. Green has the nicest things of any one on this island, but my wife and I want you with us." He said he should call for us in two hours, which he did; and we felt that our lots were cast in a pleasant place. There were two lieutenants boarding with them, both of whom, with the captain, appeared like men of sterling principle.

While enjoying a very pleasant social visit with our new friends, sister Backus espied the life of Orange Scott on their center table (a goods-box with a newspaper spread). In surprise she exclaimed: "Sister Haviland, here is the life of Orange Scott! Isn't this home-like? away here in the Gulf of Mexico!"

"Do you know any thing of Orange Scott?" inquired our hostess.

"I guess we do. We know all about him," replied sister Backus.

"You are not Wesleyan Methodists, are you?"

"Indeed we are, both of us."

She almost flew at us, placing her hands on our shoulders. "I don't wonder you seemed so much like relatives. Orange Scott is my father, and Mr. Noyce and I are Wesleyans," and she laughed and cried at the same time. The dear little homesick woman was overjoyed. She had been on the island a long time with her husband, and in poor health, sick and tired of army life, and longing for her Northern home. Yet she would not consent to leave her husband so long as he could stay in one place a sufficient time for her to be with him. But he was fearful it was impairing her health. On her account, as well as our own, we were thankful for the privilege of mingling with kindred spirits. The two lieutenants who boarded with them brought in their new mattresses to make a double bed for the captain and his wife, as they gave up their own bed to us during our stay. This left the lieutenants to sleep on the bare tent floor, with their blankets only. But we did not know of this arrangement until the day we left.

April 9th was very windy. We could not go out for the drifting sand, without being thickly veiled. I walked to the beach, near the soldiers' burying-ground, and stood two hours watching the waves as they lashed the bars of sand. Their briny spray bedewed the graves of soldiers, who had fallen far away from their kindred and their loved ones, in their Northern homes. I could not repress the tear of sympathy as these reflections came to me, and I listened to the solemn moan of the ocean. Yet here is the God of peace and love.

"He plants his footsteps in the sea, And rides upon the storm."

This evening we listened to Lieutenant Kingsley's thrilling description of the cruel irons he filed off from a number of slaves, who were too intelligent to be held without severe measures. He said these men made soldiers who hesitated not to brave the greatest dangers. His experience reminded us of the words of another:

"Beware the time when that chain shall break, That galls the flesh and spirit; When the yoke is thrown from the bended neck, That is chafed too much to hear it There's a God above, that looks with a frown, To see how long you have trodden him down."

In distributing the remainder of our tracts and Testaments to prisoners we met a number of very intelligent men, who appeared to be men of Christian principles. I always made it a point to say nothing to a prisoner of the particular crime that placed him in confinement, but directed his thoughts to the Lord Jesus, the lover of sinners. As my sympathies became deeply enlisted in behalf of many of the prisoners in irons, I inquired of Captain Noyce, in whose charge they were, what crimes these soldiers had committed, that they should be confined in irons. "No crime," he answered.

"Then please tell me," I said, "why they are here?"

"For drunkenness, being late at roll-call, absence without leave, and selling government property, mostly exchanging rations for groceries, such as sugar and tea."

"Is this possible?" I exclaimed. "All these trivial offenses have been settled in their own regiments wherever else I have been."

"So they have wherever I have been, until I came here. But you seem almost to disbelieve my word. If you do, you can step into my office and examine the record for yourself. You will find these men sentenced from one year to thirty-eight for the offenses I have named."

"I have no reason to doubt your word, but I will thank you for the privilege of examining that record. Who pronounced these sentences?"

"Judge Attocha."

"Who is Judge Attocha?"

"He was a rebel captain, but after New Orleans fell into our hands he took the oath of allegiance, and General Banks promoted him by giving him the position of judge advocate."

"That man is a rebel still," I said. "He is doing for the rebel cause more than when at the head of his company, in the rebel ranks. You say a few over 3,000 have passed through your hands here and on the Dry Tortugas. We read in the paper, the day we left New Orleans, an order from President Lincoln to draft men, and here are three whole regiments laid upon the shelf. Are all these Union soldiers?"

"They are all Union soldiers. We had a Confederate here for murder, sentenced for a year. He was here only three months, when he was pardoned; and on your return to New Orleans you may see him walking the streets as independent as yourself."

"This is a flagrant wrong in holding these 3,000 men. Why don't you report Judge Attocha?"

"He outranks me, and should I presume to do it I would be put into a dungeon myself, and probably die there without an investigation."

Sister Backus and I went into the office, and the captain brought us a great roll, as large around as a man's hat. I unrolled a few feet, and read the name, regiment, company, offense, and penalty of each man, thus: For drunkenness, fifteen years hard labor with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited, except three dollars a month; for selling government property, eight years hard labor, with ball and chain, and all wages forfeited except three dollars a month. Some prisoners were sentenced to longer, others to shorter, terms; but upon all were imposed the same forfeitures, and all were put in irons. One man from near Battle Creek, Michigan, was sentenced for life. His offense was simply "suspicious character." No other reason for his sentence was given. I handed this fearful record to sister Backus, and we both read with heavy hearts. Every free State was represented. What can we do, we asked ourselves, for these poor men, some of whom are sick and dying with scurvy? This was a query hard to answer. I retired to bed, but not to sleep, wrestling in prayer to Him who hears the sighs of the prisoner to lead me to a door that would open for the 3,000 men in irons. The captain was a kind-hearted man, and told me that he had in many cases put the irons on so loosely that they could relieve themselves when out of his sight, but he charged them to be careful not to allow him to see them off. On account of the injustice of their sentences, he had favored them wherever he could do so, and keep his own record clear.

The next day, April 10th, was Sunday. The morning was clear and beautiful. Sister Backus said:

"You are sick, or very weary; for you groaned in your sleep so much last night."

"I am not conscious of having groaned," I said; "but I did not sleep a wink. I am distressed, and have spent the night in prayer for a guiding hand to open a door of relief for these prisoners, and I must see them before I leave this island. I am this morning bearing as heavy a heart as at any period of this deadly strife."

"Try and dismiss this subject if possible," she returned, "as they have appointed a meeting for us in the regiment, and I presume there will be an opportunity for you to see the prisoners."

As best I could, I dismissed the all-absorbing theme; and according to previous arrangement we met the regiment, with a few gun-boat soldiers and the officers. We enjoyed a favored season, and found a liberty of spirit our dear Redeemer only can give. After closing the services to the peace of my own mind, and to the apparent satisfaction of the large congregation, Captain James Noyce came to me and said:

"You are certainly too weary to visit the prisoners now."

"O no," was my reply, "if you will allow me that privilege."

"They are in very large barracks, and it is a very unpleasant place for a lady to visit; but if it is your wish, these gun-boat officers wanted me to ask you if you had any objections to their going."

"Not at all; all can go who wish."

Captain Noyce and wife took us to the barracks, where the prisoners were arranged in rows, six men deep, on both sides and at the end, leaving an aisle three feet in width between. In every berth there was a man in a horizontal position; and all were in irons, either in handcuffs with chain, or in a clog for the ankle, to which was attached the chain and ball. What a scene! The click of the irons at the least move greeted our ears. We walked midway of the long aisle, and looked over the sad faces before us. Upon the necks of those who stood near vermin were to be seen. Filthy and ragged were many of these poor boys. Some had been there a year, without change of raiment. I could say nothing of the injustice of their punishment; but I exhorted them to come forth from this furnace of affliction with higher, nobler, and holier aspirations than ever before, and to lift up their heads in hope of better days, although the heavens might then seem as brass and the earth as bars of iron. I spoke a few minutes, and as I closed my remarks I turned to sister Backus, standing by, and asked her to say a few words of encouragement, but she declined. She said that all she could do was to weep with those who wept. I knelt to pour out the overflowings of a full heart in prayer, and as I did so they all knelt with me, amid the clank and clatter of irons that made it necessary to wait a moment to be heard.

As we were leaving, two prisoners advanced a few steps toward us and said, "In behalf of our fellow-prisoners, we return to you our thanks for the kind words which you have spoken to us, and pray God to restore you safe to your Northern homes." We bade them adieu, with many tears. After leaving this place we visited other quarters equally large, with similar experiences.

I had become very much interested in a number with whom I conversed, who were very thankful for the Testaments we gave them. They gave evidence of possessing an earnest trust in God and of enjoying the cleansing power of the blood of his dear Son.

Accompanied by the captain and his wife, on Monday we visited the light-house, and ascended the flight of steps of sixty-four feet. The weather was clear and calm, and we had a fine view of the Gulf of Mexico on one side and the grand expanse of the ocean on the other. After dinner with the same party, accompanied by Lieutenant Kingsley, we took a ten-oar row-boat and went to see the burial-ground of four hundred deceased soldiers. The graves were all plainly marked with head-boards. These soldiers were mostly from Maine and New York, with a few from New Jersey, Wisconsin, and Michigan. This was another solemn place for reflection. The soldiers' grave-yard on this island differs somewhat from all others. Here their funeral dirge will never cease; the requiem of the ocean's surge will ever sound as if saying, "Sleep on undisturbed until the last trump shall wake the nations of the dead!"

We returned to our boat, and pursued our way to the extremity of the island. Here the picket-guards were much pleased to see us. They had been on the island about two years, ever since it was taken from the Confederates. We gathered a basket of shells, and our men gathered a quantity of crabs for breakfast. We were presented with some beautiful shells by one of the pickets. We returned home, having had a ten miles' ride. We passed the wreck of a ship burned many years ago, which gave this island its name. We could clearly see its charred cabin twenty or thirty feet below the surface. So clear was the water it did not seem more than eight or ten feet deep over the white sand, upon which beautiful shell-fish were crawling, as if to beautify the grand scene so new to us.

In a long conversation with Lieutenant Kingsley concerning his religious experience, he said he was not satisfied with his attainments in the divine life, and very earnestly requested to be remembered at a throne of grace. The moon rose full and clear on the sparkling face of the deep, reminding us of David's sublime thoughts when he exclaims in the eighth Psalm: "When I consider thy heavens, the work of thy fingers, the moon and the stars, which thou hast ordained; what is man, that thou art mindful of him? and the son of man, that thou visitest him? For thou hast made him a little lower than the angels, and hast crowned him with glory and honor."

After our return we enjoyed a season of prayer, in which Lieutenant Kingsley was earnestly remembered, and he expressed himself greatly encouraged. Leaving all those burdened souls with the Lord Jesus, who cares for all that he has redeemed with his own precious blood, I retired to rest.

The next day one of the prisoners came to inform me that their keeper had granted them the privilege of asking me if I would take a petition from them to General Weitzel, former commander of seventy of their number. They had heard he was then in New Orleans, and they thought if he could do any thing for their release he would, as he was a very kind officer. I cordially assented to his request, of course, and he thanked me with tears. In company with the captain and wife we visited the gigantic fort that had been two years in building, but was not yet completed. It was to cost two million dollars. The brick wall at the base is six feet thick, and about two hundred and fifty men were employed on it when we were there. It is constructed to mount forty cannons.

At supper I received a request from Lieutenant Foster, who was sick, to visit him. I found him in low spirits. He wished me to write a request to his wife to come to him, which I did. I read to him some extracts from an excellent little work, "The Soldier's Armor," and a chapter in the best of all books, closing with prayer. Lieutenant Foster seemed a devout Christian man, and expressed great satisfaction with this interview. The captain smiled on my return, saving I had "better remain with them and be their chaplain."

On April 13th we made a few calls, and two of the soldiers' wives came for us to dine with them. I made a copy of the record of the soldier prisoners, as a specimen of their alleged crimes, and the penalties imposed upon them. One of the prisoners brought me their petition, which reads as follows:

"SHIP ISLAND, April 12, 1864.

"MAJOR-GENERAL WEITZEL: Sir,—We whose names are affixed, prisoners on Ship Island; respectfully beg our release, and that we be allowed to return to our respective regiments. We are here for various military offenses, and for nothing criminal. Nearly all of us have participated in the engagements under your lead in this department, both on the battle-field and on the long, wearisome marches we have been called to undergo; and we have always followed cheerfully wherever you have led. We naturally feel that you are the proper person to appeal to to give us one more chance to redeem ourselves. And we solemnly assure you that we never will, by any unsoldier-like act, give you any occasion to regret any act of clemency that you may exercise toward us. Many of us have families dependent on us for support, and are suffering for our forfeited wages. Many of us are already suffering from that dread scourge—the scurvy—which must increase to a fearful extent in this tropical climate as the season advances and sweep, us away. And now that the campaign is open and advancing, and men are needed, we hope we may be permitted to return to the field, and by future faithfulness in our country's cause be able to return to our homes with what all good men so highly prize- untarnished characters. Should you exercise your influence in our favor in procuring our release, rest assured you will ever be remembered with gratitude."

This petition was signed by "Moses Fuller," sentenced to three years' hard labor, with belt and chain, and forfeited wages, except three dollars a month, charged with selling government property, to wit: exchanging his surplus rations; but Judge Attocha would listen to no witness in the case. Sixty-nine other names were appended to this petition.

Our anxiously looked for steamer, the Clyde, came in view, but it was too windy for it to land until noon. It brought about thirty prisoners, who had come in with a flag of truce, mostly white refugees. One family was from Mobile. The woman said the suffering from the war was not much there, and all she knew any thing about had enough to eat and wear. "But I reckon poor people suffer," she said, evidently wishing us to understand she was not poor. She had two servants to wait on her and five children. But her servants seemed to think they were free here, and said they should leave her unless she paid them wages. There were a number of slaves who came here for freedom. I called on Colonel Grosvenor, the commandant of the post, who appeared like a kind-hearted officer, and he approved of the petition. The next day, April 14th, we took the Clyde for New Orleans, after being a week on the island. On our way to the boat a soldier came running to overtake us, with a message from another soldier that he had that morning found peace in believing. He would have come himself, only that he was on picket-guard and could not leave; but he wanted us to know that our mission was not in vain.

As Ship Island receded from view sister Backus, as well as myself, felt thankful that our Heavenly Father had ordered all things well in regard to our having been left "'way off in the Gulf of Mexico."

We reached our pleasant New Orleans home, at Elder Rogers's April 16th, and were as kindly received as if we had been friends of many years' standing. The next day, after a good night's rest, we made an effort to find General Weitzel, but failed. At two P.M., we attended prayer-meeting and had a rich season of communing with our Heavenly Father. There were present two chaplains, one of whom had been at various points in Arkansas, and he gave a thrilling account of some engagements his regiment had had with the enemy. The other was just from the dreadful fight at Alexandria, up the river. It is reported and believed by thousands that the rebel general came to General Banks with a flag of truce and informed him that, unless he withdrew his colored troops, he should take no prisoners and give no quarter. Report said further that they were withdrawn and were not permitted to advance on the enemy, as they desired, and the consequence was an awful slaughter of our Northern men. The colored troops complained of inactivity in the field more than any thing else. We found along the whole length of the river fortifications built, streets in cities cleaned, and the greater part of manual labor performed by colored soldiers.

We renewed our efforts to find General Weitzel, visiting all the offices of the army we could hear of. Some reported that he was up Red River assisting General Banks, but at length, with thoroughly blistered feet, I found him. I introduced myself, as usual, by handing him my papers from Governor Blair and F. C. Beaman, member of Congress. After looking them over, he asked:

"What can I do for you?"

"I hope you can do something," I said, "toward releasing three thousand of our soldiers now confined on Ship Island and the Dry Tortugas, seventy of whom have served under you; and here is a petition from them."

He took it, and read the petition, and not more than a half-dozen names perhaps, before he became too much excited to read further. "Mrs. Haviland," he said, "these are as noble soldiers as I ever had serve under me. I don't think Moses Fuller, or any of the others, is capable of doing a wrong act. They are the most conscientious men I ever knew. Judge Attocha has no right to give these sentences; he has no business in this department of the work."

"Can't you do something for their release?" I asked.

"If I were in command I would tell you very quick; but General Banks is the one you ought to see."

"I am aware of that; but he is beyond my reach up Red River. And they told me they sent him a petition similar to this three months ago; but they had heard nothing from it."

"I will do what I can toward getting up a committee to investigate and report these facts."

"Do you think you can accomplish any thing in their favor?"

"I fear it is doubtful, but will do what I can."

This was but little relief to me; but what could I do further? I called at the Christian Commission rooms, discouraged and weary, while sister Backus returned to our quarters. These rooms I found well filled with officers, among whom were generals of high rank, indicated by the eagles and stars on their shoulders.

"Here comes Mrs. Haviland, from Ship Island. And how did you find things there?" said brother Diossy.

"Sad enough," was my reply; and I handed him a copy of the petition that I gave General Weitzel, with the extract of the record of fifteen prisoners, detailing the offense and penalty of each. The officers gathered around to see and hear.

"This is too bad," said one.

"Can't you do something for these soldiers?" I inquired.

"I wish I could; but I can't leave my post."

Said another, "It is a pity some one doesn't."

I turned to him with, "Can't you do something for their release?"

"It is the same with me," he answered; "I can not leave my post."

"Some one ought to see to their release. Can not you see to their release?"

"I tell you, madam, it is hard to do much for each other."

"Gentlemen," I responded, "I have learned one thing thoroughly since being with the army, and that is, it is almost impossible to get one officer to touch another's red-tape. But position or no position, head or no head, these flagrant wrongs ought to be plowed up beam deep. Here comes an order from President Lincoln for drafting men, and Judge Attocha has laid three thousand on the shelf, when all they ask is to be permitted to return to their respective regiments. That man is serving the rebel cause more effectually than when at the head of his company in the rebel ranks, by decimating the Union army; and here you have it in a tangible form. I am informed that Judge Attocha was a rebel captain. He is a rebel still, and in the exercise of this authority is banishing your soldiers for trivial military offenses, in irons, with forfeited wages; for which their families are now suffering."