The thought struck me, What will these officers think, to see a little old woman talking to them like this? for I addressed them as I would a group of ten-year-old boys. I had lost all reverence for shoulder- straps, and cast a glance over my audience, when I saw a number in tears. Surely there are hearts here that feel, I thought to myself. I turned to brother Diossy, and said, "You can leave your position, and get another to occupy your place here?"

"Yes, I could, if it would avail any thing; but it would be impossible for me to accomplish what you have done on Ship Island."

"Why? The idea seems to me perfectly preposterous."

"I will tell you why. There is so much wire-pulling here in the army. I would be suspected of trying to displace an officer for the position for myself, or for a friend standing behind me. Consequently I could not have examined the record as you did."

"That is true," rejoined a general. "I presume there is not one of us that could have had access to those records that you had, for the reason that Mr. Diossy has given. They know you have no such object in view, but see you as a sort of soldiers' mother; and records, or any sort of investigation, would be opened to you when it would be closed to us."

I told them I had not viewed it from that stand-point.

One of the officers, a very large man, six feet and four inches tall, I should judge, stepped up to me in officer-like style. "What do you propose to do with facts you gathered on Ship Island?"

I looked up in his face, a little hesitating.

"I say, madam, what do you propose to do with these papers?"

"I can hardly answer intelligently," I replied; "but I will tell you one thing I do propose to do, and that is, to take these facts from one officer to another, over all the rounds of the ladder, until they reach the highest official at Washington, but what justice shall be done to those poor soldiers in irons."

He settled back, with softened tone. "Well, it ought to be done."

The commanding appearance and tone, with the changed mellow voice, of that officer is still vividly remembered.

There were two chaplains in this company who said they would unite with General Weitzel on the committee he proposed, and they could learn within a week whether they could accomplish any thing in their behalf. If favorable, Chaplain Conway said he would write me at Adrian, as we were soon to return to our homes, and would write, as I requested, by two boats in succession, as guerrillas were at that time frequently interrupting boats. If no letter was received within two weeks I was to accept it as granted that nothing could be done for them in that department.

At 2 o'clock we attended prayer-meeting, where we met many soldiers and two chaplains. I was called upon to give a sketch of our Ship Island visit, and at the close a frail and spoke encouraging words to them, in passing through this transition state. From them we went to the river bank to see five hundred prisoners of war, captured up Red River. Many of them were citizens of New Orleans.

On returning we went to a meeting of the colored people, where we found Uncle Tom's spirit waiting confidently for the "better day a- coming." A number of white soldiers present encouraged us with kind words. After refreshments we attended another meeting, and listened to an instructive sermon by a colored chaplain, of the Second "Corps d'Afrique," as the colored regiments were called in that part of the country. He was the first colored man who received an appointment from the government.

At 4 P.M. we visited the colored Sabbath-school of seven hundred at the Medical College. Chaplain Conway superintended. Colonel Hanks, General Banks's wife, and a number of other visitors were present. Dr. John P. Newman addressed the school, and gave a thrilling narrative of his visit to the Holy Land, exhibiting the native scrip, sandals, girdle, goat-skin bottle, a Palestine lantern, and sundry other curiosities. After a few encouraging remarks by Col. Hanks, the superintendent unexpectedly called upon me to address the school. After the session closed I was introduced to Mrs. Banks, who wished me to write out the sketch of the facts I had gathered on Ship Island for her to send to her husband. This I did. She said that Judge Attocha promised General Banks that he would do all in his power for the Union cause, and now in this way he was paying him for his promotion.

After giving my statements to Mrs. Banks, and the petition to General Weitzel, I felt that I could leave for home on the first boat going North; yet we had but little hope of success in behalf of the 3,000 prisoners in this department. We took passage on the hospital transport Thomas, bound for Cairo, with eighty wounded soldiers from the Red River expedition, all discharged or furloughed for home. Medical Inspector Stipp kindly gave us a state-room. We were grateful to our Heavenly Father for the many kind friends we everywhere found, although surrounded by bitter enemies. The boat did not design stopping until it reached Baton Rouge; but I wanted to stop at Plaquemine to get the little girl Matilda, previously mentioned, to take to her mother, who had made her escape a few years before.

After breakfast, dressing wounds was the order of the day. I kept off the flies during the process, as it was very difficult otherwise to keep them away, the stench being so great. Poor boys! there were all sorts of wounds among them,—saber-cuts and bullet-wounds in the head, neck, shoulders, arms, hands, body, legs, and feet, of all shapes and sizes. O what horrid mangling! Yet the same patience that so remarkably characterized the Union soldier everywhere was seen here. It was hard to restrain tears in their presence, but we gave vent to them when in our state-room.

I was unexpectedly called for at Plaquemine, as I was informed that Medical Inspector Stipp had ordered the Thomas to stop for me. They were already landing before they found me. I caught up my bonnet and shawl and threw them on while hastening through the cabin. Sister Backus ran with me to the plank, where we snatched a parting kiss. I jumped ashore, sister Backus, surgeons, and a few others waving good- by signals with their handkerchiefs. The Thomas pushed out into the channel, and the next moment found me without my official papers, pocket-book, or portfolio; all were gone on to Baton Rouge with my friend Letitia Backus. In my haste they had been forgotten. As I was inquiring for the name of Eliza's sister of a colored picket, he recognized me at once, being from Detroit. He said he had beard me speak in the colored church in that city, and urged me to speak for them the next evening in their confiscated Methodist Episcopal Church. I consented, and found the two sisters, with little Matilda, almost wild with delight.

I soon had the pleasure of introducing my Detroit acquaintance, who called with a few other young men that knew me; and here, too, I was surrounded by friends, but they expressed fears of my not securing transportation to Baton Rouge, because their commander was cross and was known to issue but few orders for transportation. But I went to his office and told him what my business was in the army, and why I called there; that, on leaving the floating hospital in haste, I forgot my official papers, and consequently had nothing by which he could judge whether my statement was correct or not. I, however, had presumed to call on him to see if I could secure transportation for myself and that little girl of twelve years.

"Well, I think your motherly face will take you to Baton Rouge," he answered. "There is a regular packet running to that city, and I will send a note by you to the captain that will secure your passage, although it is not a government boat. The captain has received favors from me, and will gladly make this return."

He handed me a paper that requested a state-room and board for us, for which continued thankfulness filled my heart.

The friends of Eliza and of another escaped slave, Fleming, came in to inquire after them, and to tell long stories of the efforts put forth for their capture. But Bissel, Slaughter, and "Old Eaton," as they called him, only had the opportunity of gratifying themselves in threats.

The colored minister in the regiment took much pains in circulating notice of the meeting, and the church was well filled. We enjoyed the presence of the Lord Jesus in our midst. There were those there who had felt the bitter pangs of family separations, with cruel treatment, who wept for joy in speaking of the precious boon of freedom. Some of them were fearful that it would last no longer than the war; but I assured them, as officers and soldiers had done, that it was a fixed fact.

The packet Bank came in at five o'clock, P. M., April 21st, when we took leave of kind friends who accompanied us to the boat. After a pleasant trip, we were received with joy on our safe arrival at Baton Rouge. The next day we visited the Forty-eighth Illinois Regiment, and distributed a quantity of reading matter. We also attended the funeral of a deceased soldier, where the privilege was granted me of making some remarks. I endeavored to enforce the solemn truth, "It is appointed unto man once to die, and after this the judgment." I exhorted those present to prepare to live in friendship with God, as that alone would enable them to gain the victory over death.

On April 23d we visited the jail, in company with brother Merrifield, and distributed Testaments and tracts, which were gladly received. Here we met a rebel captain, who said he was a rebel of the strongest kind; had been fighting to establish his government, and should do it again if he lived to get to his regiment. I told him I had no hope in his case, unless he would accept the truth contained in the Testament, which I presented to him, and said that if he would read carefully and prayerfully, and drink in its spirit and practice its teachings, he would find a religion pure and undefiled.

"Madam," he answered, "if I thought reading that book carefully and prayerfully, and accepting pure and undefiled religion, would lead me to lay down arms in defense of the Confederate Government, I would never read a word in it or take one thought of religion; no, not to save my soul."

This he uttered with a change from a flushed to a blanched countenance. We afterwards learned he was a captain of a guerrilla band, and had been sentenced to be shot, but the sentence had been commuted. A Union man who was a citizen here knew him, and said he ordered a Union man out of his buggy, and shot him dead; then he bayoneted him through and through, in the presence of his wife and child; then ordered them out, took the horse and buggy, and left the distracted wife and child to wait by the mangled body, until a passer by hastened to the city and sent a hearse for the body. On the way to town for burial, the same band of guerrillas captured the team and hearse, and left again the distressed mother and child to get the mutilated body of the husband and father taken to burial as best they could. "Such horrible deeds," said a Union man of this city, "will continue until government takes a more decided policy."

On Sunday morning, April 24th, we attended the sunrise prayer-meeting among the colored people, and more earnest prayers I never heard for Union soldiers: never heard more earnest pleading for the triumph of liberty. God was truly overshadowing his own. Before the rising of the sun, there was a large congregation. At nine o'clock we were invited to make some opening remarks in brother Tucker's Sabbath-school of three hundred children. Then we were conducted to another Sabbath- school, where we were invited to make a few closing remarks. At 11 o'clock we attended a meeting led by Chaplain Berge. On returning to our boarding-place, we were called upon by brother Merrifield, who accompanied us into the fort to address the colored troops. Sister Backus referred to the importance of making themselves intelligent, so that when their rights were established as citizens, they would be prepared to vote understandingly. This brought smiles from the officers, and frowns from a few of the white soldiers. We also attended a meeting conducted by the chaplain of the general hospital, who preached a very appropriate sermon for officers as well as soldiers. He warned against the truckling, time-serving, and cotton- speculating manifestations in this war, and also the influence of Southern women in sympathy with the rebellion.

This was the sixth religious service we attended during the day, in four of which we had taken an active part. We retired to rest until the 6:30 o'clock meeting at the Methodist Episcopal Church, now turned over to Chaplain Brakeman, who was called away the previous day. He had left an urgent request for me to address the soldiers on Sabbath evening; but I told the chaplain who brought the word we could make no further engagements, as we were waiting hourly for a boat going up the river. Before six, a steamer stopped, and we took passage for Natchez, as we had business to see to concerning an orphan asylum. One of the chaplains said if we could realize the good it was doing the soldiers, we would visit them oftener; that there were more conversions during the week after we left than in many months previously. An exhortation from a mother reminded the soldiers of home and home influences.

We had a conversation with a colored captain, who had just resigned on account of the constant indignities heaped upon the colored troops. He was a man of wealth and intelligence, and gave us an account of a review by General Sherman, after General Butler left. When General Sherman came to him, he stopped to look at the bars on his shoulders, and gruffly asked, "Are you a captain?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "O, you are too black for a captain," said the general. At Fort Hudson, when our troops were retreating under a galling fire, a colored captain, with his men, at the risk of his life, ran to bring out General Sherman, who was badly wounded, and would have died but for the daring feat of the colored soldiers. The colored captain lost his life, but General Sherman was rescued. Since then he has spoken highly of colored soldiers, and of the brave captains that led them. My informant said that after General Banks assumed command they hoped for better treatment, but their hopes were vain. As the men in December and January were in want of shoes and clothing, he told General Banks that they were not in a suitable condition to work on the fortifications where the detachment was ordered, but no attention was paid to him. He inquired why his men could not be supplied the same as the white soldiers. The reply he received was, "Don't you know you are niggers, and must not expect the same treatment?" "From that moment," he said, "I resolved to resign; but after waiting a little, and seeing no better prospects, I did so, and shall not resume arms until we can be treated as men."

In New Orleans two regiments of free colored men were raised in forty- eight hours. They were officered by men of their color in grades as high as major by General Butler, who said they were as good officers as he held under him. We arrived in Natchez on the 26th, where we met rejoicing friends. We found a number of the missionaries sick, among them sister Burlingame.

The day following we spent chiefly in writing, and distributing Testaments and tracts among soldiers. In the evening we attended a protracted meeting, conducted by two sisters. They acquitted themselves nobly, and had three conversions. They exhorted earnestly and prayed fervently. They invited us to take part with them. One of the ministers told me they had worked in this meeting until they were tired out, and then gave it over to these mothers in the Church, whose labors the Lord was blessing in the conversion of precious souls.

We made an effort to secure a house for an orphan asylum.

Rebel sympathizers were making trouble all along the line of our work. They tried every plan that could be devised to drive the refugees back to their old plantations. An infamous "health order" was issued, compelling every colored person, not employed by responsible parties in the city or suburbs, to go into the "corral," or colored camp. Many were employed by colored citizens, who were doing all they could to find work for them. But on the day this order took effect soldiers were sent to hunt them out of all such places, as no colored party was deemed responsible; and all who were not actual members of these colored families were driven out at the point of Union bayonets.

They gathered two hundred and fifty, mostly women and children, and drove them through the streets of Natchez on a chilly, rainy day, and marched them into the camp of four thousand in condemned tents. One of the colored citizens told me that she was paying her woman wages, and allowing her to have her three children with her, but the soldiers drove her out into the rain. Men and women tantalized them as they were marching through the streets, saying: "That's the way the Yankees treat you, is it? You'd better come back to us; we never treated you like that." Many of the women went into camp crying. Said an old colored man: "Never min', thar's a better day a comin'. 'Twould be strange if Uncle Sam hadn't a few naughty boys." He was one of the group that was driven in.

We heard, April 30th, that there was a skirmish near our lines the evening before. A party of scouts had shot into the pickets, and they retreated; but we did not learn whether any were killed. News came to us of Calvin Fairbanks's release from the Kentucky penitentiary. We trusted that the same Deliverer would open the prison-door for the three thousand soldiers on the two islands in the Gulf.

At nine o'clock A. M., May 1st, we attended the organization of the fifth colored Sabbath-school in the city. At eleven A. M. we went to Wall Street Church, and listened to an interesting discourse by Chaplain Trask, of the Fourth Illinois Regiment. At two P. M., at the Colored Methodist Episcopal Church, we heard brother Burlingame. After a short exhortation by brother Fitzhugh, twelve came forward for prayer, and some were blessed with pardon. At six P. M. we attended a soldiers' meeting at Wall Street Church, in which we took a part; also a number of soldiers spoke and prayed. Between meetings I wrote a letter for a colored man to his wife, who is still a slave in Woodville, twenty miles distant.

I was sick with a chill and fever May 2d, and the nearest to being homesick since I left Michigan. The next day I was better. Here I met Joseph Warner, with whom I had been acquainted from his childhood. He was a lessee at Waterproof. He had a large plantation, and two hundred hands employed. He was twice taken by guerrillas. He told them they could hang or shoot him, but they might rest assured that forty of their men's lives would pay for his, and forty men stood ready to take his place; and they let him go each time. A distressed mother came to us to inquire for her two daughters, that her mistress had sent to Texas to elude the effects of the Proclamation of Emancipation. She had begged her mistress to allow them to remain in town, if she could not have them with her. The mistress said, "No you shall never have your girls with you again, not even to give you a drink of water if you are dying." This was at the retaking of Baton Rouge, when the mistress considered herself again in full power; but she was soon to suffer herself. When that city was retaken by Union men, the only son of the mistress was burned to death in the house at which he was boarding. Upon this she fell into fits. Yet, Pharaoh-like, she persisted in keeping the slave-girls in Texas.

A number of missionaries called on us, and urged me to remain with them a few weeks longer; but for two reasons I had to decline: First, those three thousand soldier prisoners were daily on my mind; and, second, my poor health made it a duty to return home.

Skirmishing four miles off took place May 5th, and we could see the blue smoke of battle. The shooting seemed near us. How little this terrible war was realized in our own free State homes!

I met on the street a mulatto girl seventeen years old, weeping, and inquired the cause of her grief. She said her owner, Mrs. Morehead, had been beating her.

"Why do you remain with her?" I asked.

"She keeps my baby locked up," was her reply; "and she says if I leave I shall never have him."

I told her that I could take her to the provost-marshal, who would give her an order for her child. At this she cheered up, and went with me, and received an order, in case she could not get it without. She said she would go back and pack her few things in her old trunk, and then watch her opportunity when the mistress was out to bring her baby to the freedmen's store. After the child was secured I sent a soldier with her, who brought her trunk, without letting any one in the hotel know of her movements. Only a short time elapsed before we saw Mrs. Morehead in front of the hotel, looking up and down the street for her Delphine, who kept herself hid in the freedmen's store with her little Charlie, about two years old. Just before the war Mr. Morehead had brought her away from her mother in St. Louis, Missouri, and the height of her ambition was to get back there. I secured transportation for herself and child to Cairo, and paid her fare to St. Louis. But she was in constant fear of her former owners.

Her history was a sad one. She was bought for their hotel fancy girl, and the father of her child was her own master. The child resembled his father so much that he was frequently taken by strangers to be the child of the mistress. The mother was two-thirds white; and the Roman, nose, straight hair, and white skin of the child would not give a stranger the least idea that he had even the sixteenth part of African blood in his veins.

As a boat was expected to arrive within an hour, we took leave of the many kind friends, and repaired to the wharf-boat. Soon Mrs. Morehead followed, and called for Delphine; but the trembling girl caught her babe and hid.

But as her mistress repeated the calls, she at length came to me with the child, asking, "What shall I do? I would rather throw myself and baby into the river than go back to her." Said her mistress, "I tell you, Del., I've got an officer to come and take you to jail for stealing." I told Delphine she could rest assured that none of the officers would trouble her, for they informed me they should not notice her mistress's complaints, let them be what they would, as they had had more trouble with that rebel family than a little ever since they occupied the city. I told her to leave Charlie on the boat, and go out on the levee and tell her mistress plainly that she was going to St. Louis to her mother, and not be so excited. She did so, and Mrs. Morehead kept her nearly an hour, trying to coax, hire, and frighten her, but without avail. Delphine all this while was trembling with fear. I believe if she had seen an officer coming with her mistress, she would have thrown herself and child into the river. Mrs. Morehead at length came upon the wharf-boat. When Delphine saw her coming she snatched up her child, and ran to the rear of the boat, and the mistress after her. Again she came to me with "What shall I do?" I replied, "Sit down here by me and hold your child, and she will not dare touch you." She trembled as if having an ague fit. Soon a her mistress stood before us in a rage, and turned to me:

"You came into my kitchen with an order, and took her, when she was doing better than you ever dare do."

"I never went into your kitchen," I said. "A soldier went with her for her trunk. I understood an officer called on you and called for her child, at her request, before she came to me."

"It's a lie. Delphine lied about me."

Said sister Backus, "I shouldn't think you would want such a person about you, if that is true."

"Well, the child seems so near to me. I've always had the care of it."

She left us at length with a threat that she would bring the officers to take her to jail for stealing.

The Kennet came in at 11 o'clock A. M., May 6th, bound for St. Louis, Missouri, and we went aboard. As we pushed out from shore, Delphine clapped her hands. "Now I know Mistress Morehead can trouble me no more; thank God, I've got my Charlie too! Nobody knows what I have gone through since I've been in this city." We arrived in Vicksburg May 7th, and took breakfast at the Soldiers' Home, where we met Ex-Governor Harvey, a soldiers' friend. Here was a lady who had charge of the body of her brother, killed up Red River, taking the remains back to Iowa.

After spending a little time in this large city of soldiers, whose tents whitened the adjoining fields, we left. On the day this city fell into Union hands, report said, there was an old man very confident of the success of the Confederate government, and he said that God could not let it fail; if he did, he would never believe there is a God. When, the gun-boats came in, and he was told the city was taken, he would not believe it, until he rose up from his chair and saw marching columns of soldiers, with their bayonets glistening in the Fourth of July sun. He immediately sank back in his chair in a faint, and soon died.

May 8th was a sort of a war Sabbath. The night before our boat ran aground, and it took three hours to get her off. Many of the passengers dressed, and made ready to escape at the first possible chance, in case she should become wrecked. We were told that at one time the water was three feet deep in her hull. By making great effort the men succeeded in pumping it out. She run slowly, being a very large boat. We had a variety of passengers on board, officers of various ranks, soldiers, missionaries, preachers, and a few secessionists. Major-general Hunter remained with us two days.

Quite an excitement arose over the arrest of a smuggler of goods through our lines. He was thought to be connected with the little steamer Baltic. There was a major and a provost-marshal, from Baton Rouge, who followed up the matter. When the prisoner was brought to the rear of the boat, with his hands tied, it created much feeling among a dozen colored people, until they heard the major ask him if he had taken the oath of allegiance. He answered gruffly, "No, and I never will."

This led the major to ask other questions concerning the trade of the Baltic.

"I will tell you nothing about it, if I stand here till I die, and you may go to—."

This brought the sympathy of the colored people, as well as of the rest of us, down below zero. Said one colored man, "Let him stand there, then, until he dies." But within an hour he consented to be sworn to tell the truth, and nothing but the truth, and the major examined him in the presence of many witnesses, Major-general Hunter one of them.

On Monday I introduced myself to General Hunter, as usual, by my letters.

"How long have you been in the army," he asked, "and how far?"

In reply to his queries I gave him a sketch of our work. I mentioned General Tuttle's refusal to grant us transportation, the wrongs of the colored soldiers, and the history of the three thousand prisoners on Ship Island and Dry Tortugas, and stated the fact that some missionaries and missionary teachers had advised me to say nothing of these wrongs, however flagrant. I also called his attention to the printed order placed in our hands, that we were not to report any movements in the army, either verbally or by writing, and asked his advice whether it was wiser to report or to keep silent.

"Mrs. Haviland," he replied, "I am glad you have been in the army so long, and I am glad you went so far, and I will explain that order.

"You have observed movements of troops from one place to another just on the eve of battle. These are the matters you are not to report; but the wrongs you have met you may proclaim on your arrival at home from the house-tops."

I thanked him for this advice, for it was to me a great relief. It seemed to trouble him. After pacing the cabin to and fro a few minutes, he came to me and said:

"Mrs. Haviland, we have had a good deal of sifting done in the army, and more must be done yet. Did General Tuttle see those papers you gave me?"

"He did," I answered.

"Copperheads have no business in the army in the exercise of such authority as this. General Tuttle ran for governor on the Copperhead ticket in Iowa last year. What right has a copperhead to be lifted up here, where loyal men are needed? I have never seen the least cause to abandon my first conclusion, that the only way to crush this rebellion was to emancipate and arm the slaves; and if I could have been permitted to carry out my plan of taking Kentucky into my field, as my rank and position entitled me to do, I should have proclaimed freedom to the slaves as fast as I reached them. The strength I could have gathered from the slave population would soon have been two hundred thousand men, and that number of stand of arms was all I asked. But the vacillating policy of the government would not permit it. I saw clearly that this was the only policy that would prove successful, and I thought every body else must see it when I first proclaimed it in South Carolina. It seemed there were others who took a different view, and my order was superseded."

Said sister Backus, "You have the satisfaction of knowing that your policy had to be adopted before the nation could succeed."

"O, yes," replied he reluctantly; "but it is with regret that I think of the drafting of thousands, which might have been avoided just as well as not. There was no necessity for the draft."

Sister Backus remarked, "As a nation, we must suffer defeats until it reaches the right position, not only in arming colored men, but in paying them just wages; for they make as good soldiers as white men."

A bystander said, "I don't know that they make as good soldiers as white men, from the fact that they are not so intelligent. Here is General Hunter, and I presume he will say the same thing"—turning to him for an answer.

In a decided tone the general said, "I shall say no such thing. They make the best of soldiers; for, first, they are kind and docile; and, second, they are apt to learn. They learn military tactics very readily, and ought to have the same wages as any other soldier. All along this river I find one continued series of wrongs inflicted upon the negro."

We told him of the infamous order by Dr. Kelley, sanctioned by General Tuttle, and published under the specious guise of "Health Order," to drive the slaves back to their masters. He shook his head in disgust.

"Why does the head of this serpent rise up at almost every point? When it appeared in the department under my command I crushed it at once."

At the mouth of Red River three women came aboard, by permission of the gunboat officers stationed there. Their object was to hire men, whom they wanted to gather cane for working up into weaving reeds. One of them reported to Dr. Long that she had been watching a couple of ladies on our boat, and she believed them spies, for they seemed to have a great deal of writing to do. Dr. Long happened to know enough about the ladies reported as spies to allow sister Backus and myself to pass unmolested. But these ladies were themselves suspected of being spies.

We reached the city of Memphis May 10th. Sister Backus had been quite sick for three days, but was now a little better. We called at the Christian Commission Rooms, and got a market-basket full of reading matter for distribution.

The next day was quite cold and freezing. We stopped at Columbus a short time. Here we secured a paper giving an account of the terrible slaughter at Fredericksburg. Rumor had it that fifteen thousand were killed and wounded; that Lee was driven back thirty miles; Grant and Butler were said to be pushing on to Richmond, and were now within a short day's march of the rebel capital. General Hunter was quite sanguine in hope that Richmond would soon fall.

On May 13th we arrived at Cairo, and took leave of the friends whom our few days' acquaintance had made dear. We reached home on the 18th, amid the rejoicing of dear children and friends. It is no wonder the soldiers we met were delighted to see a Northern face, for it reminded them of their home associations. Intercession unceasing went up for the three thousand soldier prisoners banished to the Gulf Islands. The mail had brought nothing from New Orleans. By this I was to understand that nothing could be done for them there. Congress was still in session, and I immediately wrote a full account of their wrongs to congressman Beaman, and urged the presentation of the case to the war department.

Without giving myself time to rest, I hastened to Detroit, to report our work and give an account of the unjust sentences of those prisoners at Ship Island and the Tortugas. While making my statements in Captain E. B. Ward's office, he took them down to forward them to B. F. Wade, chairman of the Committee on the Conduct of the War; but he said, "You must go to Washington and report these facts to the committee in person." I told him I had written the full details to my friend, F. C. Beaman, member of Congress, and I thought he would do all that could be done. He answered, "I shall send these items to B. F. Wade, and our letters will make good entering wedges; but the living tongue will do more than the pen." I told him I was ready to go or do any thing I could for their release, but still hoped to hear from New Orleans. I would wait a week longer and rest. Then, if I had means, I would go. He said he would see to that, and I returned to my home.

Within a week I received a note from him, stating that he had just received a letter from B. F. Wade, requesting me to come at once and bring my extracts from the record I had examined on Ship Island. I was soon on my way to Detroit, and at nine o'clock, A. M., on the following day, I was in Captain Ward's office, ready to take the boat for Cleveland on my way to Washington. I waited but a few minutes when the captain came in with a letter, which he threw in my lap, saying, "There is a letter for you to read." The first sentence was, "The exhibition of these letters before Secretary Stanton has proved sufficient. Judge Attocha was dismissed immediately, and a committee is to be appointed to investigate and release those prisoners at once. There is therefore no necessity for Mrs. Haviland's presence on that score. General Tuttle is already relieved." On reading these glad words, I remarked that I never had been a shouting Methodist, but I felt more like shouting over these glad tidings than I ever had done in all my life. If I had not been spoiled for singing by being raised a Quaker, I would have sung the doxology.

I wrote an article for the Detroit Tribune containing these facts, and stating the prospects of the immediate release of the three thousand prisoners on Ship Island and Dry Tortugas. I sent the paper to Captain J. Noyce, and very soon received a reply that my letter, with the Tribune, was the first intimation they had received of any thing being done in their behalf. He said, "I sent the letter and paper to the prisoners, and they eagerly read them in all their companies, until I doubt whether a whole sentence can be found together." A few weeks later I received another letter from Captain Noyce, in which he stated that the committee was investigating, and that but one person in seventy-five was found unworthy of being released at once; but that very soon all would be restored to their regiments.



CHAPTER XIII.

FREEDMEN'S AID COMMISSION.

Our Freedmen's Aid Commission was enlarged in June, 1864. Dr. George Duffield was made president; Drs. Hogarth and Chase, vice-presidents; David Preston, treasurer; and B. C. Durfee, secretary. The board of directors appointed me its agent, and allowed me a salary of forty dollars a month. This is the first remuneration I received for my labors; but seeing unfaithful officers dismissed, prisoners released, and the suffering and dying relieved, was a satisfaction far exceeding dollars and cents.

I received invitations to address congregations in large towns, where much was done in gathering supplies. At a Union thanksgiving meeting in Jackson, $97 was collected, and at a similar meeting at Grass Lake, the same day, $70; at Luce's Hall, Grand Rapids, $55; at Methodist Episcopal Church, Pontiac, $44; and at Leoni Wesleyan Methodist Conference, $68.65. Many other liberal donations were also received. Auxiliaries were organized, and I prepared to return to the field of desolation, whither duty seemed to be loudly calling me. I concluded to suspend Raisin Institute until the close of the war. I received propositions from a number of graduates of the Michigan University to take it in charge; but the care of preparing for another academic year was more than I could properly undertake, and do justice to the limitless field of mission work that was open before us.

In September I had a car-load of supplies ready, and $400 in money. Of this amount, $298 was placed in my hands by friends at Adrian, with the request of the donors that it should be retained in my own hands for disbursement on reaching the scene of suffering. At Chicago appeals were made to the Soldiers' Aid Society and Christian Commission for aid in the freedmen's department, and also to myself personally, on account of the great distress in Kansas after General Price's raid through Missouri, followed by Colonels Lane and Jennison, who drove thousands of poor whites and freedmen into that young State. I decided to hasten thither, with Mrs. Lee, of Hillsdale, as an assistant.

At Leavenworth we met J. R. Brown, half-brother of Captain John Brown, of Ossawatomie, who had charge of both white refugees and freedmen and a sort of soldiers' home, under General Curtis. He kindly offered me headquarters in his establishment, consisting of two large two-story frame buildings, with one hundred occupants each. I called on General Curtis, who telegraphed for my goods to be forwarded in preference to other army supplies, and gave me passes through the State to Fort Scott. My object was to investigate all intermediate towns where refugees and freedmen were congregated. He also gave me liberty to use an order he had given J. R. Brown, to call upon quarter-masters for half, whole, or quarter rations, wherever suffering for food existed. These investigations enabled me to judge of the amount of aid needed at each point.

As my supplies had not reached me, J. R. Brown filled two large trunks with sanitary supplies for the greatest sufferers. Thus supplied, I took the stage for Fort Scott. My first halt was at Quindaro, a small town built on rocky bluffs and in deep ravines. A few years previously it was designed by a few speculators to be an important landing on the Mississippi; and they built a few stone houses, a long wood store-house, and a number of small log-houses, which had been left untenanted, but were now filled with white refugees and freedmen, A large majority were women and children. The able-bodied men among the freedmen were in the Union army, but many of the men whose refugee families were here were in the Confederate army. General Price had made terrible havoc of all who were suspected of being favorable to the Union. Then followed Colonels Lane and Jennison, who made as great havoc of the remainder. Those who fled for their lives were crowded into every niche of available room.

In one open log-house I found twenty-three wretched inmates. Four of them were women, two of whom were sick from exposure in husking corn during cold, snowy weather. Eight of the children had the measles, and three of them died; two others seemed near death's door. Two women were hauling a small tree-top to their door to chop for night-wood. The feet of these poor women were exposed to the mud and snow, which was melting. O, what squalid wretchedness was here! Not a bed, chair, table, or whole dish in this gloomy abode! I inquired how they slept. I was shown a rag-carpet on the fence, which they obtained for washing for one of the neighbors. This was spread before a large fire-place, and all lay down upon that but two, who kept up the fire, and watched to keep those asleep from burning. They said the man who owned the adjoining wood-land kindly allowed them all the wood they needed that was on the ground. They borrowed an ax to chop it. I found the four women had husked corn on shares until two were sick with pneumonia; and the corn, boiled without salt, was all they had to eat during the five weeks they had been there. Now they were nearly out, and what to do they knew not, as they were forbidden to go into the field to husk more. I made out an order for rations, and measured their bare feet for shoes and stockings. I took one of the women to the post-office, where I had left my trunks, and gave her four army-blankets, six knit woolen socks, six pairs of drawers, four pairs of stockings, and two pairs of shoes, which were all I had to fit them. As I piled the above articles upon the shoulders and arms of the poor woman she wept for joy.

The postmaster said, "Is this your business here?"

On receiving an affirmative reply, he said, with tearful eye:

"To-morrow morning the ground will be frozen, and I will go with you where the most of these poor people are."

I procured lodging with a widow Johnson and her son, who was with Captain John Brown's party all through the border-ruffian troubles. My kind friend regretted my having made the mile and a half walk to the log-house in the field and back to the post-office before supper, as I had not taken refreshments since leaving Leavenworth, very early. But when I told her of the distress I found, she rejoiced with me at the partial relief I had given them.

After a good rest and an early breakfast, I went with the kind postmaster to visit the most wretched tenements of both white and colored, and found eighty-one to report for rations to the commander in Wyandotte. The postmaster and Mr. Johnson agreed to go with their team every week and distribute to the destitute; and if others were found equally needy they would report them to me on my return. After descending steep cliffs and climbing rugged rocks until past noon, we returned for dinner; but before it was finished the stage came along, and I took it for Wyandotte, where we arrived late in the evening. The weather for October was cold, and freezing quite hard.

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

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

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

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

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

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

My next call was on another woman with six children.

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

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

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

One hundred and four rations I ordered in Wyandotte. This timely relief given, I crossed the river, and in Kansas City, Missouri, met brother Copeland and wife, who were efficient agents and teachers in that field. I secured a pass to Lawrence, where, late in the evening, I was directed to a family that had suffered much in the Union cause. This was the important stamping ground of Captain John Brown. This city had passed through two terrible raids during the war. It is here that Quantrell rushed upon the unsuspecting citizens with a host of Confederate soldiers about daylight, and murdered men at their own doors, and when they could not call them out they rushed into their houses and made terrible havoc of human life. There was a woman here who was a spy. She had been in the city a few weeks taking horse-back rides two hours each morning, ostensibly for her health, but probably to report the most favorable time for attack. She was never seen after the raid. I attended the Methodist Episcopal Church, where seventy wounded, dying, and dead soldiers and citizens were brought in after that raid. The stains of blood were still left on the floor and some of the seats.

The house where I was kindly invited to make my home was entered, and the owner, brother Hockins, was demanded. His wife told them she saw him run up the hill a few moments before, which was true; but on seeing the Confederate soldiers entering the town he hastened back to his house and ran down to the cellar. A squad of them entered and placed the bayonet at his wife, and threatened her life if she did not tell the whereabouts of her husband; but she persisted in pointing up the hill. They went down the cellar, but returned without finding him, and set the house on fire. Then they ran up the hill after him. She succeeded in putting out the fire, and went into the cellar and called her husband. He answered from between the earth and the floor. This was his hiding-place until the Union soldiers rescued the city from further trouble. A strong Union force was now kept at this point.

I found fewer suffering for want of rations at this town than in other places I had visited, and took the stage for Fort Scott. We were advised to keep out of sight any appearance of watches or any sort of jewelry, as guerrillas were sometimes lurking in the woods and attacked the stages. We came in sight of Indians on horses who darted into the woods, fearing we were guerrillas, who had stolen or robbed them of their ponies. One man shouted, "We are all for the Union." This was on Price's track, where they lost their horses, and did not dare come in sight.

Late at night we reached Fort Scott. My first call was on Colonel Blair, commander of the post, who, with his wife, kindly offered me a home with them while I remained at that point. They introduced me to Dr. Slocum, who gave a sketch of the terrible destitution of the forty thousand refugees and freedmen, who passed through this great thoroughfare. Many of them had stopped here. He took me to a number of the destitute families, and gave directions to others, and left me to my work. Here was a great number of the poor whites, called "Clay- eaters," who complained about government dealing rations to colored people. I heard one of them, say that "if niggers would stay where they belonged, with their masters, they would have more white-bread and beef." I told them, I had learned that many of their husbands were fighting against the government while the husbands of many of the colored women were fighting to sustain it, and I should favor those who were on the side of the government. I asked them why they did not themselves remain in their old homes? "We came 'case our men was conscripted," they said. One woman and her daughter of eighteen had each a filthy, ragged bed quilt over her shoulders, and their faces were so swarthy that their eyes and teeth presented as great a contrast as those whose natural skin was of darker hue. As the little boy of four years had no shoes, and I had a pair left that would fit him, I told the mother to wash his feet and try them. "Sal, bring me that cup thar," said the woman. Their drinking cup with water was brought. "Han' me that rag thar," and she wet her hand and wet the feet, and was wiping off the mud, when I told her they were not washed; to look at the mud on the bottom of his feet and between his toes. "O, yez'm," she drawled out, and wet one end of the rag in the cup, and made a second effort. When the shoes were put on, he could not walk without holding to his mother or sister. They were probably the first he had ever had.

Most of the day was spent in visiting this class of persons—the most ignorant, listless, and degraded of any people I had ever met. On giving a description of the ignorance and filth, of the poor whites I called on, Colonel Blair inquired "What would you do with them?"

"I would keep body and soul together till Spring opens," I answered, "and then load up your great army wagons, and take them out upon the rich prairies and dump them out, giving them the homely adage, 'Root, pig, or die.'"

The greatest difficulty in managing this class was to get them to do any thing. Not so with colored people; they would do any thing they could find to do.

I found in this camp of two thousand, a colored woman of an earnest Christian principle. Colonel Blair gave her an excellent character. He said that I might place implicit confidence in any statement she would make. Her history was a novel one. She ran away from a cruel master to the Indians, and married an old Indian, and had four children. She said her husband came in great excitement and asked her if she wanted to run away to the Yankees? She said no, because she thought they were another tribe of Indians. He ran out, and soon came back, and said, "If you run, go quick. I am old; they can't rob me of many days, but they sha'n't have the children to punish." He threw them on a horse and ran off into the woods. She supposed her old master had found her out, and ran another way. Then she heard that her husband was dead, But the Lord hid her from the cruel master, though he broke up her family.

After spending three days in this place, including Sunday, I took the Monday morning stage for Leavenworth. In sending packages to all these places, to reliable friends with whom I had made acquaintance, I requested that no clothing be given to healthy men and women who refused to do work when they could get it.

In one of the hospitals at Leavenworth were two Confederates, one of whom had recently become a Christian. He said when he went into this army he knew not for what they were fighting, but when he learned the real cause, he was for the Union, and should do all be could for it.

During the month of December, we relieved four hundred and forty-four families. There were thirty children in both buildings under my care.

By request of J. R. Brown, the Freedmen's Aid Commission of Michigan consented to allow me to take charge of white refugees in connection with the freedmen. General Curtis detailed a sergeant for my assistant. Another important helper was a noble young woman, Amanda A. Way, who opened a school for children of inmates of the two buildings. I found it difficult to bring into school the white children, and only by a requisition could I accomplish it, or induce the mothers to wash the hands and faces, and comb the hair of their children, to fit them for school.

This, like all previous fields of army mission work, was a laborious one. Our Sundays were spent in teaching a large class in three Sabbath-schools, besides attending the public services and generally taking part in them. At the close of one of the meetings a deacon and his wife rushed through the crowd to me, and gave such an exhibition of joy that it drew the attention of the congregation. He gave a glowing account of my visit to Little Rock, Arkansas, and of my life- long work for their down-trodden people. The hand-shaking for half an hour made my hands lame for three days. The deacon bought himself when a young man, and acquired a property worth four thousand dollars. Slave-holders often said that he knew too much, and thought he was a damage to their slaves. If they lost any, they charged him with aiding them away. He was often lodged in jail and fines imposed upon him. At length he sold his property at half its value to come to Kansas, where he could breathe freely.

On New Year's day I found a poor woman in the last stages of consumption. She could not speak a loud word. I hired another poor woman to care for her, by giving bed and wearing clothes for herself and children. I left them in tears, saying, "We thank you, honey, and praise God. When my poor mother died in that old out-cellar, neither father nor one of us was permitted to give her a cup of cold water, but the last words she was heard to say was, 'I'm going home to die no more.'"

I visited ten families and sent four boxes more of supplies to Fort Scott. The next day I took a barrel of hospital supplies to Fort Leavenworth.

My supplies were now low, and the money nearly spent. I received a letter from the chairman of the committee having charge of preparations for the Ladies' State Freedmen's Fair, to be held in Detroit, soliciting relics of the war. J. R. Brown proposed that I should attend the fair and take his brother's sharp-shooter, that the captain carried through the border-ruffian conflict in Kansas, and during his movement at Harper's Ferry. After a few days' reflection I reached the conclusion to go. General Curtis gave me a pass to Detroit and return.

The John Brown gun created much interest. Besides this relic, the fifty pounds of slave-irons, which we picked up on deserted plantations in the far South, were exhibited in this fair. A petition from Lenawee County was sent to the committee having charge of the fair, to place the avails of our county, one thousand dollars, in my hands for distribution. This money relieved much suffering, and no doubt saved many lives.

During my visit home I sold Raisin Institute and ten acres of land, with an excellent orchard, to the State Freedmen's Aid Commission for an orphans' home. I donated three hundred dollars of the purchase money to this enterprise, stipulating that the premises were to be used for no other purpose. In my absence the friends gave the asylum the name of "Haviland Home for Homeless and Destitute Children." This home I intended as a nucleus for a State Orphan Asylum, as the war had increased the necessity for such an institution.

After two weeks' absence I returned with supplies. Spring was lessening the suffering, yet sickness from long exposures still prevailed. Miss Fidelia Phillips, a teacher, came with a letter from the Michigan Freedmen's Aid Commission, for us to locate and secure board, which duty fell upon me. I hired a conveyance and took her to Oskaloosa, Jefferson County, and found board for her in the kind family of Dr. J. Nelson, who proposed to assist the colored people in securing a house for the school at once.

I found here a poor sick woman with her five children, who was ordered out of her cabin, as she could no longer pay the rent. Dr. Nelson promised to see that she was not disturbed until she was able to be moved, when he would take the family to Leavenworth to go with me to our Home for Homeless Children in Michigan. Her husband was in the army, and she had not heard from him since he enlisted. On my return to Leavenworth I received an order from our Freedmen's Aid Commission, to send twenty-five children with five mothers to assist in caring for them. I accompanied them as far as Quincy, Illinois, with Mrs. Lee and a teacher who had been in the work a few months. They pursued their journey, and I went back.

On April 15th the sad news reached us of the assassination of President Lincoln! A nation in mourning! Every house of any note or size was draped with black.

We were now preparing to close the two refugee buildings before leaving for Michigan. I offered the women the best dresses for finding their own places for work, and by this means many found places, if only to work for their board till they could do better. A good old woman we called Aunt Phoebe came to us with her four grandchildren, and begged to go to Michigan with me. She said the father of the children ran away to enlist in the army, and his master followed him. After an absence of three days, he returned with the report that he had got sight at him, and ordered him to come to him, but he refused, and he shot him dead. At this report his wife (the daughter of Aunt Phoebe), gave a scream and fainted. Both master and mistress were very severe, and whipped her severely for making so much fuss, as they called her grief. She sank under their severity, and died, leaving her infant, a week old, with her mother. Within a few days the oldest boy was taken with small-pox, but as he was not very near the other sick children, Dr. Carpenter thought the others would escape. I rolled him in a couple of quilts and sent him to the pest-house. Aunt Phoebe wept bitterly, as she said she should probably never see Jerry again, and he was such a good boy to help her take care of the other children. A few days later she was taken with a low type of lung fever. I had one of the colored women in the place nurse her.

The white refugee women took but little notice of my offer of best dresses, in finding homes for themselves. I found these women of the lowest class of humanity. I called on General Curtis, and told him I had expended my fund of lecturing material upon these white women in the refugee building, and now I had come to report to him as I had of late threatened them, that, while I was willing to do to the extent of my ability in relieving and improving the most degraded, I could not consent to keep under my charge a house of ill-fame. "I will give you a good honest guard day and night over that building," said the noble general. This did more than all things else to scatter them. They swore they would not be tyrannized over by that Yankee woman any longer, and left, very much to my relief.

Within four weeks our little small-pox boy was returned, but not as safe as the surgeon reported I took him into the wash-room and gave him a thorough cleansing, before taking him to see his grandmother, who wept for joy.

I spent a few days in revisiting Quindaro, Lawrence, Wyandotte, and Kansas City. I found seven homeless children, and a mother of three of them who wished to go with me to Michigan. During the day and night I was in Kansas City I was taken with a severe attack of pneumonia. I called on an army surgeon for mustard, of which, I placed a plaster over the seat of the pain, that had become so severe as to cut every breath. I could neither lie down nor sit still, but walked the room. Placing the children in charge of the mother, I telegraphed my sergeant to meet me at the boat with a hack. I took the boat for Leavenworth, where the carriage met me, and I was taken to our home, with a high fever, but the pain not quite so severe, as the mustard was serving its purpose. Dr. Carpenter said I could not go to Michigan under a month. Although my side remained very sore, yet I managed to sell the furniture. I took a hack to General Curtis's office, and managed to secure transportation for seventy-five, myself and Mrs. Lee included. There were three sick children, and I very much doubted the propriety of removing them. Dr. Carpenter said they would be more likely to live than if taken to the hospital, as I proposed.

We left the city May 28th, with a cloud resting over the nation. My health was still poor, and we had three sick children, whose mother was with them; three other children began to complain of chills and fever soon after leaving. These cases soon developed in measles, but my haste to reach home urged me to proceed against my better judgment. While it looked like presumption in others, I felt safe, as prayer for guidance was my daily bread. While waiting at St. Joseph, Missouri, for the train, I obtained rations for the company. Susan B. Anthony had provided a lunch-basket, well filled, for Mrs. Lee and myself, to serve for the entire journey.

While we were handing around rations, various remarks were made as to what I was going to do with all this company. Said one, "I reckon, she's got a big plantation to stock with a picked set of young niggers, she's going to train to her own liking." Said another, "I am going to ask where she is going with them." At length one ventured, "Will you please excuse me, madam, if I ask you where you are taking all this company?"

"Certainly," was my answer; "I am glad to inform you. I am taking these orphan children, who have been picked up on the streets, and out of freedmen's homes, to an orphan school in Michigan. By order of the State Freedmen's Aid Commission, they will be sent to school until good homes can be secured for them, where they will be taught habits of industry, as well as to improve their intellects. We of the North think they can learn, if an opportunity is provided."

At this he was much pleased, and, as it was communicated to other bystanders, a number came to congratulate me in my good work. One, who had a large number of slaves, said he wished they were with me, "as it would be a right smart of a while before it'll be settled here to have schools for 'em."

All stood ready to put the sick ones on the train. Mrs. Lee took care of the sick during the night, and I had them in charge during the day.

After our arrival at Quincy, Illinois, and our transportation papers were filled out for Chicago, with a little difficulty I secured the largest coach for the seventy-five passengers. By 9 P. M. all were in their beds. A few men were disposed to trouble us, because we did not allow them to enter. I called for the night policeman, and told him of four drunken men who were disposed to give us trouble, and as the train was not going out until eleven o'clock I appealed to him for aid. He assured me we should not receive further annoyance from them. We arrived in Chicago thirty minutes before the Michigan train left for Adrian. I bought tickets for four omnibus loads, but the drivers were determined to crowd them all into two. As they were putting little folks from four to eight years old on the tops I ordered them down. "We are capable of taking care of these children, madam," said they; "you take that one."

"So am I capable of taking care of them," I replied, "and of you too; I paid for four omnibuses and must have them." They had their own sport over their countermanded orders.

We arrived at Adrian June 1st, and met the superintendent of the "Haviland Home" with teams for the women and children. Here my heavy burden fell off, and I dropped into the home of my children to get the rest which I so much needed.

A few week's rest restored my health. Meanwhile I visited our State Prison, and one of the convicts, Thomas Lean, requested an interview with me, which was granted by the officer. He appealed to me to aid him in securing his pardon, as he had served seven years of his term of fifteen. He pleaded as earnestly in behalf of his wife and two little children as for himself. I told him I would do what I could, but as efforts had been made twice before, I thought success quite doubtful. I drafted a petition, and secured a letter of recommendation from Governor Blair, and a strong letter from Judge Ross Wilkins, who gave the sentence, and from the prosecuting attorney who acted in behalf of the United States in his case, and also secured fifty other names to the petition. With six hundred dollars placed in my hands by Mrs. Campbell and Mrs. Pappineau, committee who had charge of the funds of the Freedmen's Fair, I left for Washington, D. C., August 3d. At Pittsburg I spent one night, and on the following day visited the State Prison at Allegheny City.

The next morning I took the early train for Baltimore, and from thence to Annapolis, to learn the result of Elizabeth L. Comstock's petition in behalf of fifteen convicts in the Maryland Penitentiary for aiding slaves to escape from bondage. I found ten of those men had been pardoned, but as four of them had used weapons in defending themselves, and one had taken a span of horses which the friends engaged in their behalf deemed theft, they were retained in prison. I found another on the governor's record for the same offense. I took the names of the six on my list, as the governor thought they were as worthy of release as the others, since the weapons were designed for self-defense, and the horses were only used to take them to the river, and were left to return to their owners. I saw the names of the friends who co-operated with E. L. Comstock on the petition, and called on James Bains, who introduced me to Judge Bond. The judge said he thought I was correct in my views as to the worthiness of the six men presented for his recommendation to the governor for clemency, and that he would attend to it soon. Said the Friend: "If thou feel'st easy to petition for their pardon I think thou hadst better remain with us until it is accomplished, as they have such an amount of business on hand at this time."

The judge seemed to think himself distrusted, and said: "Mrs. Haviland, I will attend to this within a week." With this assurance I told the judge and the Friend that I should feel easy to pursue my journey the first of the week.

From this office I was accompanied to the penitentiary and introduced to the warden, who sent a guide to conduct me through the shops and granted me the privilege of addressing the sixty-eight female convicts. A large majority of them were colored, placed there by their former owners for trivial offenses, the real cause being that of leaving them, but ostensibly for stealing a dress, a pair of shoes, or a dollar or two, etc. One smart-looking octoroon girl of eighteen years was about to be whipped by her mistress, but she had heard of the proclamation of emancipation and concluded that she had been whipped long enough, and snatched the cowhide from the mistress and whipped her. For this she was arrested, had a sham trial, and a sentence of nine years' imprisonment in the penitentiary. One man told me that the mistress reported that the girl half killed her, but he saw her riding out within four days after the whipping, and she looked as well as usual. I visited a very sick white woman in her cell, to whom I read a portion of Scripture, and at her request led in prayer. She said she was going to meet her Judge, in whom she trusted. Jesus hears the cry of a repentant sinner, and she was confident.

The following day was the Sabbath, and I accompanied my friend to the penitentiary, where he opened the Sabbath-school and invited me to teach a class of thirty men. There were nearly five hundred inmates in prison. As we were leaving the yard a request from the warden reached me to conduct the funeral service of the woman I had visited. She died within a few hours after I left. Three o'clock P.M. was the hour appointed. I met them in their chapel, that was well filled, some ladies of the city being present. Many of the convicts were much affected. They also manifested great interest at the meeting on the previous day.

On the following day I arrived at Washington. I found the White House perfectly besieged with pardon-seekers from ex-slave States. I called on a number of the officials, who said that the severity of Thomas Lean's sentence made the case look dark. I told them of one who had robbed the mail of five thousand dollars and was pardoned in three years, whose term was ten years. But he had wealthy and influential friends to intercede for him, while this man robbed the mail of forty- two dollars and had served over seven years of the fifteen, and was poor. Besides, his wife was in poor health, and was supporting herself and two small children. I was advised to take the letters, with petition, to Postmaster-general Dennison, from whom I secured a recommendation for his pardon. From thence I went to the capitol and secured the names of Hon. F. C. Beaman, Member of Congress, Senator Z. Chandler, and all other Michigan members of both Houses to my petition; and through Mr. Wade, the President's house-keeper, I secured an audience with the President, who took my letters with the petition and said he would refer them to the Attorney-general, and do what seemed best in the case. I then left him with his room crowded with Southern pardon-seekers.

While in the Postmaster-general's office the chief clerk said, "Come into this, office at nine A.M., next Wednesday, as I think that will be his pardoning day, and you will learn the result." I waited until eleven A.M., fearing for the worst. As I opened the office-door the clerk threw up both hands, crying, "Your man is pardoned! your man is pardoned! Come and see the notice in this morning's paper." A hearty hand-shaking followed the good news.

I told him I did not know that he had taken such an interest in my cause. He replied, "I have had an interest in this case from the first time you came into this office." A few days after I received a note from the pardoned man conveying his tearful thanks. Here was another burden laid aside, for which grateful thanks were tendered to the Healer of broken hearts.

I received a permit from Secretary Stanton to trade at the government store, where new goods were being sold at auction rates. For five hundred dollars I purchased two thousand dollars' worth of supplies to disburse among the sick, crippled, and aged, both colored and white. There were many in Washington and Georgetown relieved from great suffering. I learned of much suffering at Harper's Ferry, and took four hundred dollars' worth to that point.

On my way I called at the Baltimore penitentiary. As I entered the warden's office he informed me that our men had been released ten days before, except one, who was going out within a week. Another burden left me. These men were making efforts to free their families by flight, and were caught and received long sentences, according to the number in their families. Three men of the six had bought themselves, and in their efforts to free their families received from ten to thirty years' sentence, although two of these families were recovered by their owners. They all looked like intelligent men. I took an early train for Harper's Ferry. In the seat opposite sat a Presbyterian D. D., with his body-servant, who was very attentive in bringing him his coffee, books, or roll of manuscript "How far are you going on this road, madam?" inquired our dignitary.

On informing him he inquired, "Have you friends there?"

"I have," I said, "but I never saw them. They are the poorest of the poor, the sick, lame, and blind, of all classes, black, white, red, or yellow. I draw no lines of demarcation."

"Well, madam, that is a noble work, and God will bless you in it. I am now on my way to Vicksburg. I preached in that city a number of years. I own a plantation near that city, and had forty slaves. A little before Vicksburg fell I moved with them to Richmond, Virginia, and when that city fell I set them free, and they are now as free as myself. Madam, I will tell you what your duty is. It is to go to New York, Philadelphia, and Boston, and gather up fifty thousand dollars, and follow Sherman's track through to the Gulf. You will find plenty of suffering to relieve among both white and black; and you can do it. Those cities I have named are wealthy, I have been there myself. I spent a few months in New York, and I know you can gather up that amount easy, and it's your duty, madam; and God will bless you in it."

The consequential air be assumed would give one an impression that he, at least, considered himself, inspired with power from on high. He did not feel quite satisfied without repeating his command on our arrival at Harper's Ferry: "Do as I have told you, madam, and God will bless you; good by."

I found my goods had just arrived, and the commander of the post kindly offered to store the bales of supplies and furnish an ambulance and driver whenever I desired. My first inquiry was for a boarding place, as the house where the colonel was boarding was full. Mrs. Johnson was about opening a boarding-house, and I called on her for a few days' board.

"Where are you from?"

"From Washington," was my reply, "with supplies for the poor freedmen and whites who are in a suffering condition."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

There was a Free-will Baptist just arrived, who proposed opening a mission school in that town, and had just sent word that he wanted to meet them at their prayer-meeting. Of this I, as well as they, was glad to hear. I met with them, and was pleased with the Christian spirit of this brother, and the prospect of his school among them seemed like a silver lining in their dark cloud. We learned of his success in opening and continuing that school, which a few years after assumed the character of an academy.