Historical Romance of the American Negro
"The first thing I do in the morning, and the last thing at night, is to pray to our Father in Heaven for you, my own dear Tom, – that he may take care of you; and, if it be his good will and pleasure, to bring you back safe and sound to us at home. I no longer wonder at some people being fond of travel. No wonder, for it has its charms and great ones too. It seems to me so very strange that the children and I, – in a few hours time, should be transported from the City of Buffalo to this romantic and almost ethereal home upon the hills of Western Canada, and then for me to turn around and think of you and the rest of the army battling away for freedom and union in the Fair South! We get the papers here every day. They are brought from the nearest post town which is three miles away, and then we all have such a scramble to hear the latest news from the seat of war, as they call it on their great headlines. It does not surprise me so much that we at home should make such an ado over the war news, but that these Canadians should also take so much interest as ourselves seems to me most astonishing indeed. It is just three miles from here to the post town, and one day we three went to spend the day with some relatives of the Gibsons. On an open space at the entrance to the town stood a large tent, – a kind of show called 'The War in the South.' We paid the showman five cents apiece and went in to see the pictures of the war set out on the canvas. We looked through the round, bull-eye glasses, and the general effect was to magnify the whole scene to a very great extent. I must confess that after all that I have read and heard, this peep-show, or whatever else you may call it, gave me a better idea of the field of war, and its far-spreading extent than all I have ever learned from other sources, – all put together.
"As we stood and looked we could see the long, fertile, southern plains under the noon-day sun; the woods and forest lay around them like a fringe in the distance; so minute and life-like did the very trees and bushes appear that I could almost tell what species they belonged to. Other pictures, in which we were ten times more interested, showed us the northern and southern armies on the march with flags flying, or else they were encamped on the edge of a wood among the lofty trees. There were also scenes of war and a battle which looked really too dreadful, even to behold the pictures of them. At such times I felt quite inclined to shut my eyes on such awful scenes. 'If such is the mere picture,' I said to myself, 'what must the reality of actual war be.' When we had thoroughly satisfied ourselves with this famous little peep-show, we came out, considering that we had had a good five cents' worth, – I mean five cents a piece! And so we moved on to our friend's house, where we had a most uncommonly warm welcome, and where we spent the whole day, some other friends coming in to see us during our pleasant visit.
"I must not forget to tell you that at the farm house at 'Richmond Hill' they have quite a fine piano; and, as my experience during the great Abolition campaign in the North made me quite an adept at speaking and singing in public, I have been able to entertain these good Gibsons and other Canadian friends with some of the music and songs I used to play and sing. Our girls also have dome very well on the piano, to be so young yet.
"We all send our warmest love to you; and if I see any good reason for writing you again before we leave Richmond Hill, will send you another Canadian letter before our return home, and I remain, my dear Tom, ever your most affectionate wife,
"BEULAH LINCOLN."When we had been a month at Richmond Hill, and were getting ready for our departure on the following day, the girls had a great desire to write their papa. So I furnished them with the writing materials, upon which they put their heads and thoughts together, and wrote the letter that follows:
"RICHMOND HILL, October, 1864."Our Dear Papa: —
"With great pleasure we send you this letter, we your daughters, who love you. We are all quite well, and hope you are well also amidst the dangers and toils of the war. All the letters and other things that you sent us to Buffalo were forwarded to us to Richmond Hill, in Canada. We have read your letters over and over again with great interest, and the friends here have read some of them that told all about the military operations in the fields, and they were very well pleased with their contents, for the Gibsons are great union people too.
"As the weather here has been most delightfully sunny, and we have been so much in the open air on these Canadian hills, both mama and our two selves have gotten quite fat, and also look as people do when they come from the bathing places on the sea shore. We also feel right good, all three of us, for we have had a grand time, and been so very kindly used. Thus our hearts and minds are content, and we are going home to Buffalo to-morrow filled with pleasure, like heavily laden bees going humming to their hives with plenty of sweet honey.
"We have been to church in the town every Sunday since we came here. The Gibsons are Presbyterians, and so we went to the Presbyterian church, and indeed it is very beautiful. We stood up to pray instead of kneeling down as we do at Vine Street, in Buffalo, but Dr. Bell is a famous preacher.
"As the buggy could not hold everybody, mamma rode both ways and we walked, and we never thought of getting tired.
"The horse is an awful quiet one, something little 'Gentle Annie' of the song. We were not a bit afraid to drive on week days by our two selves, and bring the mail from the postoffice; and then we learned how to drive and manage a horse. But the Gibson horse would never make a war horse, he is not strong enough, and the cannons would frighten him too much.
"We do not go to market here for fruit and vegetables. We just open the gates to the garden and orchard, and bring in all the potatoes, cabbage, turnips, pears, peaches, apples, and whatever else we may need. We have been very busy paring apples; and besides that we have a lot of fruit in jars that we are going to take home to Buffalo. The preserves will be nice in winter.
"We met with a wonderful piece of good luck at Richmond Hill. The Gibsons have got an enormous copy of the Pilgrim's Progress, – as big as a family Bible, published in London, and all the pictures are quite different from those in our own. O, what grand times we had looking at all the pictures!
"When night came on, we girls took our turn and read 'The War in the South' in the 'Daily Toronto Globe.' How our eyes did glisten as we read many parts of the news!
"We will leave this house to-morrow after an early breakfast. One of the sons will drive us to Ingersoll railway station. We have now seen the whole family, – all the Gibsons. We never knew that there were such fine people in Canada. We are all so very glad that the Lord directed our young feet to this place.
"We must now close our letter with much love from everybody, and we are, our dear papa, your most loving daughters,
" – and – Lincoln."We got home to Buffalo once more all right, but that grand visit made a very great impression upon our hearts and minds. I have attempted to place a few sketches of it before my kind and indulgent reader, but Oh, dear me! if I were to write down all that I could write about that famous visit it would fill up a whole book. Perhaps I may return to the subject again.
Soon after our return to our happy and pleasant home in Buffalo, I received the following letter from Tom:
"NEW ORLEANS, La., October, 1864."Mrs. Beulah Lincoln,
"My Dear Beulah: – Since I was promoted to the rank of captain, my duties have varied a good deal more at different times than they did when I was a private in the ranks. I have lately been away in the interior of this State, but here I am back to the Crescent City once more, and ever trying to attend most faithfully to my duties. I tell you, my dear Beulah, it takes every one of us to do our very best, – with a long pull, and a strong pull, and a pull altogether, – to pull down this terrible and powerful rebellion. People can think, and talk, and even write all they please; but I am firmly convinced that had Abraham Lincoln not issued his famous emancipation proclamation on the 1st of January, 1863, the war would go on for twenty years, and perhaps we would have to compromise with the rebels even then. And then they are such fighters! Why, they are worse than tigers! However that may be, I know one thing, – since the issuing of that proclamation the rebellion has been cut down in territory on all sides; and, as we have got hold of the rebel ports, one by one, the blockade runners have been cut off by sea to that extent. Thus we have cut off their supplies from foreign nations; and right here I may notice that, as to the millions of silver and gold that the South has piled and heaped from the toils and labors of the oppressed slaves, – of all that ill-gotten coin, there is perhaps not one dollar of it left now in the entire South. It has all gone to buy the munition of war in Europe; and yet the cause for which the South has expended it will all be lost!
"The rebellion is going down, and will come to an end by and by. I suppose there are now about 200,000 colored troops in the field, many of whom used to raise the crops for 'old Massa.' Now white men must stay at home and raise the crops, and look after their own families into the bargain, and all that is so much more cut off from their resources.
"I used to be of the opinion that after all the lickings we have given them, and seeing that they had no prospect but ultimate defeat before their eyes, they would come to terms and lay down their arms. But no! – nothing of the sort indeed! They have still their pride left, and that is something! – I don't think we will ever conquer them; but we will just wear them away, one by one, till there is not another rebel left. The armies of the nations of history have usually laid down their arms when they saw that the struggle was quite hopeless; but so long as there is even one Southern rebel left who can stand on his feet and hold up a flag, I believe they will say that the South is still independent and free! We will never conquer them; we shall have to wear them out!
"We here at the seat of war in the South are splendidly supplied with an abundance of newspapers, magazines, and I know not what besides. Some are illustrated with all sorts of pictures, and some are not illustrated; and they appear to be sent to us poor fellows by all sorts of good people from all the four winds of heaven. In one of these latest magazines there is a very vivid representation of a terrible fight that the First South Carolina Colored Regiment had with bloodhounds at Pocataligo Bridge, on the 23rd of October, 1862. The rebels came streaming on through the woods, with horse, foot and dragoons, and also the bloodhounds. Our own brave men advanced boldly through among the trees, and attacked dog, horse and man in a terrible hurry. The hounds especially dashed against our men with great fierceness, but they were shot down and bayoneted quicker than it takes me to tell the tale with pen and ink. Then the gallant troops held them up aloft for joy on the points of their bayonets and laughed. The dogs looked just like meat on the point of a fork. I have turned the entire scene into a little poem of my own. Here it is:
"We met the bloodhounds at the bridge,They ran with all their might;Their open months cried bow, wow, wow!It was a glorious sight.We ran our bayonets through their backs,We shot them with the gun;It was all over with the dogs,And 'twas most glorious fun!"In former days those brutes were usedTo hunt the flying slave;They tracked them through their dismal swamps,And little quarter gave;But when they tried the game of warWe knocked them on the head,We shot them quick, and ran them through,Until every hound was dead!"Thus perished those bad dogs at once,We tossed them high for fun;We held them on our bayonet tops,And finished the last one;Which was a flitting end for them,The brutes shall bark no more,Nor hunt the flying fugitiveOn Carolina's shore!"But slavery there has lost the day,They need bloodhounds no more;All men and women now are freeOn Carolina's shore;The white man now will learn to workLike other men I trow,Nor raise the bloodhounds for the chase,Big brutes that cry bow, wow!"But I must lay down the pen, or else I am sure you will begin to get tired of my long letter. I was very greatly interested, indeed, in your glorious visit to Canada. I would like to go there myself. Perhaps we will all visit them together some future day. With much warm love to yourself, the girls, and all the rest. I am as ever,
"Your most loving husband,
"THOMAS LINCOLN."CHAPTER VIII
The Fight at Marion, Tennessee – The Battle of Nashville – Success of the Northern Armies – Massacre at Fort Pillow – The Rebels Refuse to Exchange Colored Soldiers – Our Defeat at Olustee – Eighty Thousand Northern Prisoners Perishing in Southern Prisons – The Mine at Petersburg – The Wealth of the South – A Soldier's Song.
When we consider that there were 200,000 or more colored men in the field, and that they were engaged in fights, large and small, somewhere or other every day all over the far-spreading South, where all did so well and received the praises of the brave and true, it seems to me ridiculous at this time of day to look back and select particular actions wherein they distinguished themselves. But I am not aware that I can do any better than many worthy writers have done before me. There was one circumstance, however, or rather course of similar circumstances that struck those of us at home who closely followed the war as detailed by private letters and dispatches in the public newspapers, which was that on many memorable occasions the colored regiments saved the defeated and flying white troops from complete destruction. And white men were thankful enough to be saved by our men, and who could blame them? They were both in the field to assist one another in every possible way. I am not claiming more for the colored troops than belongs to them; but let them have their rights. No just man will give them less.
It was in the beginning of December, 1864, that a regular battle took place near Marion, Tennessee, for the destruction of the Marion Salt Works. The battle commenced in the morning, and fluctuated backwards and forwards the greater part of the day. General Stoneman, who commanded the Federals, at last found himself badly beaten by the Confederates, under General Breckenridge. The national troops were in a desperate condition, and nothing but destruction stared them in the face. There was no time to be lost. The fate of the Northern army was trembling in the scales. General Stoneman at once ordered up the black troops, whom he divided into three columns. He placed General Burbridge at the head of one column, gave another to Col. Wade, and the third to General Brisbin.
Colonel Wade led the right column, General Burbridge the left, and General Brisbin the centre. Wade got off first, and sailed into the rebels in gallant style. Burbridge piled his overcoat on the ground, drew his sword, and led his column forward like lions. Most of the officers and all the men were on foot. Wade's horse was soon shot, after which he led his men on foot, and they were the first to strike the Confederate line, who fired time after time, but Wade's column advanced rapidly for a hand-to-hand fight with the rebels. They went through the Confederate lines like an iron wedge, when the enemy broke, turned and ran. Burbridge hit with all his might on the left, and Brisbin's men in the centre also covered themselves with glory. Men never did better in this world. When their guns were empty, they clubbed their foes with the butt ends, many of the latter jumping fully fifteen feet down the opposite side of the hill to get out of the way of our infuriated men! The night was now coming on! Sauve qui peut! The rebels fled in the darkness, and ultimately took the North Carolina road, fleeing over the mountains. Thus ended the grand struggle for the salt works at Marion, Tennessee. Our troops now advanced, nor stopped till their destruction was complete.
We all know that it must go very hard, indeed, with any people when they have got no salt. Poor things! What could they do without salt? So these coveted salt works at Marion were destroyed by the Union army, but not till the army had been first rescued from destruction by the colored troops who were attached to the service there.
I don't know how it happened, but somehow or other the Northern generals had a great deal of confidence in colored men, whom they often put aside, and held in reserve in case of the direst necessity in the end, and when the worst might come to the worst. It was then that our faithful fellows were called forwards to save the armies, and they saved them, too, standing like walls of adamant between the white Unionists and their terrible foes. Our brave boys often did as well elsewhere as they did at Marion.
It used to be the grand hue and cry in the beginning of the war that if colored men were enlisted into the armies of the Union, they would not fight like their white brothers! Even we ladies, who surely were never intended to fight in the ranks – we ladies living far away up in the North at Buffalo, used to laugh at the whole thing as a joke, for certainly everybody knew better. But that miserable parrot cry ceased after a while, and was no more heard of.
Another grievance in the beginning of the enlistment of colored troops was to offer them smaller pay than white men. Some of our regiments absolutely refused to take less; others took what was offered. But as a general thing, between Congress and the States themselves, all things were put right at last, and justice was done by making things about even. But whether right or wrong the troops never refused to do their duty. It certainly was a shameful and shabby affair to offer them less, because many of them certainly were superior to their white brothers in the field. The color of the skin was a poor, miserable reason for giving them less.
General T. J. Morgan gives a long and brilliant account of his connection with several colored regiments in the Department of Cumberland. He is also very jokey, and furnished us with a great many amusing anecdotes, which he loves to relate. He gives us some very good sketches of the Battle of Nashville, Tennessee, which occupied two days, in the middle of December, 1864. A thaw had set in; the ice and cold had given way, and General George T. Thomas now took advantage of the opportunity that presented itself to compel the rebel General Hood to raise the siege of Nashville. It was decided that General Morgan and his colored regiments should begin the attack on the Union left as soon as they could see their way in the dawn of that December morning. After an early breakfast, Morgan and his men advanced upon the rebel right with unbounded enthusiasm, and struck it with all their might. Their attacks were simply irresistible, and although the Southerners fought with their accustomed stubbornness and bravery they had to give way. General Hood was under the impression that this attack upon his left was to be the grand attack of the day's battle, but it was a feint to draw off his men from his right, where General Thomas struck him with awful force, doubled him up, and forced the whole rebel army, right, left and centre, to retreat for the space of two miles. Thus the first day's battle (which the colored troops began) was a complete success along the whole line, although we lost many a brave man. General Hood made haste to fortify himself, and threw up intrenchments on his line of battle – in short, he did everything that a prudent general upon the defensive could do. But the white and colored troops followed up their success by attacking his forces with unwonted vigor and enthusiasm on the morning of the second day. The Southerners not being gods, nor made even of iron, now turned and fled. A general pursuit of the rebels at once began; colored and white alike pressed on like hounds behind the hares. We followed them all the way to Franklin, Tennessee, followed them day and night, and traversed hundreds of miles, with mud and rains. The roads were in a dreadful condition. Many of our brave men lost their shoes in the deep and sticky mud, but still kept on, though their feet were cold, and bled into the bargain. At night they would take down fence-rails and such like to make fires to keep themselves warm. General Hood fled away, and returned no more. The Confederacy was now beginning to shake in every limb of its body. The North determined to hold on. Thus our own 200,000 colored men contributed to the grand result. As the songs of the day said, "The colored troops fought bravely!"
About the 20th of April, 1864, after I had given the children their breakfast, and sent them to school, the letter-carrier came up the steps with another missive from my own dear Tom, and just as I had opened it to begin to read it, who came into the room but dear mother! So to work we went and read the letter together:
"NEW ORLEANS, April, 1864."Mrs. Beulah Lincoln,
"My Dear Beulah: – With great pleasure I sit down to answer all the delightful letters I have received from yourself and the girls. Your letters have been a very great joy to me indeed all the time I have been in the hospital. They have actually helped me to mend by keeping up my spirits! At least that is what the doctors and nurses say, who have read some of your letters, and they liked them so much. They were greatly delighted over your letters on your trip to Canada! If it had not been for my wound, my residence at this beautiful hospital in the Sunny South would have been almost as great a treat to me as the month you and the girls spent at Richmond Hill. Because here comes neither frost nor snow, and the sun is always bright and genial, and the flowers scent the air all the year round, and the winds come through the open windows just laden with their fragrance. But, thank God, I shall soon be well now, and then I will go back to the war if it is not all over by the time I receive my discharge from this good hospital. If the war is not over then, I will go back to the field; but, if it is all over, then I am likely to get my discharge from the army and come home. I have taken 'notes' of all the active operations in which I was engaged in the field up to the time I was wounded; and I think I will write and publish a book when I come home! All the events, let things be going as they may, I am sure that they are going ten times better now that our glorious Grant has got the chief command over all the armies in the field throughout the far-extended seat of war in the South. Before he took command even a child could see how our own Northern generals and colonels themselves wrangled, and were jealous of one another, and carried on. It always appeared to me that before Grant took command they wasted as much strength and national resources as the rebels themselves did! Too many cooks spoil the broth; and they also resembled a balky team of cross-grained mules pulling, kicking and flinging against one another! Indeed they had a great deal to learn, and that was how to agree. But Grant put them all to rights with a few shuffles of national 'cards.' He made all things work aright, and those who were too anxious to be bosses, he either set off on one side by themselves, or else sent them home about their business. In this respect the rebels had been far wiser than we were. They had, of course, their quarrels and disagreements also, but never to the same extent as ourselves. But Grant ended all that, and I observe that secession has been ailing very much ever since!
"It will be old news to you to speak in this letter about the late massacre of white and colored officers and soldiers at Fort Pillow, where General Forrest and his men murdered hundreds of our own brave fellows in cold blood. I understand that although that massacre occurred only a few days ago, so to speak, that the war-cry 'Remember Fort Pillow!' has already been made in quite a number of the most recent engagements between colored troops and rebels on the seat of war. The wholesale murder of our own men and officers at Fort Pillow is the entire conversation throughout the hospital, the city of New Orleans and the entire South. Surely that murder was winked at by the rebel government at Richmond. From the very first day when a rebel was shot dead by a former servant (?) all the rebels of the South together have been more faint at heart than if they had got the leprosy! There has been a constant attempt from the first to treat colored troops not as soldiers under the United States Government, but as perfect outlaws or even as wild animals themselves. A certain kind of shudder, a horror, – a something that no man can describe – seems to have taken possession of the rebel breast at the very idea of letting loose their former slaves against their masters! They think that this is awful indeed, and hold up their hands in holy horror. And this horror of theirs holds good not only with regard to the colored troops themselves, but it is even more bitter if possible when directed against the white officers who trained them in the art of war, and who led them on the battle-field. It is true that we have officers chosen from among ourselves, but then we are all one army, and we must go shares hand in hand with the rest in the general conflict.