The Boys of ’61 is a Webnovel created by Charles Carleton Coffin.
This lightnovel is currently completed.
The sister made no reply, but sat wiping away her tears, and sighing over the fate of her children.
“Did you not feel sometimes like rising against your masters?” I asked of the husband.
“Well, sir, I did feel hard sometimes, and I reckon that if it hadn’t been for the grace which Jesus gave us we should have done so; but he had compa.s.sion on us, and helped us to bear it. We knew that he would hear us some time.”
“Did you ever try to escape?”
“No, sir. I was once interested in colonization, and talked of going to Africa,-of buying myself, and go there and be free. Rev. Mr. Gurley came here and gave a lecture. He was the agent of the Colonization Society, I reckon; but just then there was so much excitement among the slaves about it, that our masters put a stop to it.”
“The good people of Boston are heaping coals of fire on the heads of the slaveholders and Rebels,” said Aunt Nellie.
“How so?” I asked.
“Why, as soon as General Sherman took possession of the city, you send down ship-loads of provisions to them. They have fought you with all their might, and you whip them, and then go to feeding them.”
“I ‘spect you intended that black and white folks should have them alike,” said her sister.
“Yes, that was the intention.”
“Not a mouthful have I had. I am as poor as white folks. All my life I have worked for them. I have given them houses and lands; they have rode in their fine carriages, sat in their nice parlors, taken voyages over the waters, and had money enough, which I and my people earned for them. I have had my back cut up. I have been sent to jail because I cried for my children, which were stolen from me. I have been stripped of my clothing, exposed before men. My daughters have been compelled to break G.o.d’s commandment,-they couldn’t help themselves,-I couldn’t help them; white men have done with us just as they pleased. Now they turn me out of my poor old cabin, and say they own it. O dear Jesus, help me!”
“Come, come, sister, don’t take on; but you just give thanks for what the Lord has done for you,” said Aunt Nellie.
Her sister rose, stately as a queen, and said,-
“I thank you, sir, for your kind words to me to-night. I thank all the good people in the North for what they have done for me and my people. The good Lord be with you.”
As she and her husband left the room, Aunt Nellie said,-
“Poor girl! she can’t forget her children. She’s cried for them day and night.”
Never till then had I felt the full force of Whittier’s burning lines:-
“A groan from Eutaw’s haunted wood,- A wail where Camden’s martyrs fell,- By every shrine of patriot blood, From Moultrie’s wall and Jasper’s well!
“By storied hill and hallowed grot, By mossy wood and marshy glen, Whence rang of old the rifle-shot, And hurrying shout of Marion’s men, The groan of breaking hearts is there,- The falling lash, the fetter’s clank!
Slaves, SLAVES are breathing in that air Which old De Kalb and Sumter drank!
“What, ho! our countrymen in chains!
The whip on WOMAN’S shrinking flesh!
Our soil yet reddening with the stains Caught from her scourging, warm and fresh!
What! mothers from their children riven!
What! G.o.d’s own image bought and sold!
Americans to market driven, And bartered, as the brute, for gold!”
The night of the 28th of January was a fearful one in Savannah. The inhabitants experienced all the terror of a bombardment combined with the horror of a great conflagration. A fire broke out a little before midnight in a long row of wooden buildings at the west end of the city. The wind was fresh from the northwest, and the night exceedingly cold. My rooms were in the Pulaski House. I was awakened by a sudden explosion, which jarred the house, and heard the cry that the a.r.s.enal was on fire.
There was another explosion,-then a volley of sh.e.l.ls, and large fragments came whirring through the air, striking the walls, or falling with a heavy plunge into the street.
“There are three thousand sh.e.l.ls in the building,” said a soldier running past, fleeing as if for his life.
“There are fifty tons of powder, which will go off presently,” said another, in breathless haste. Fifty tons of powder! Savannah would be racked to its foundations! There would be a general crumbling of walls. Men, women, and children were running,-crying, and in fear of being crushed beneath the ruins of falling buildings.
It was the Rebel a.r.s.enal. I could not believe that the Rebels would store fifty tons of powder in the city, and waited for the general explosion. It did not come. Gradually I worked my way, under the shelter of buildings, towards the fire. The fire-engines were deserted, and the fire was having its own way, licking up the buildings, one after another, remorselessly.
It was a gorgeous sight,-the flames leaping high in air, thrown up in columns by the thirteen-inch sh.e.l.ls, filling the air with burning timbers, cinders, and myriads of sparks. The streets were filled with fugitives. The hospitals were being cleared of sick and wounded, the houses of furniture.
It was grand, but terrible. General Grover at once took measures to arrest the progress of the flames, by tearing down buildings, and bringing up several regiments, which, with the citizens and negroes, succeeded in mastering the destroying element.
In the morning there was a wilderness of chimneys, and the streets were strewn with furniture.
It was amusing to see with what good humor and nonchalance the colored people and the soldiers regarded the conflagration.
Two negro women pa.s.sed me, carrying great bundles on their heads.
“I’s clean burned out,” said one.
“So is I”; and they both laughed as if it was very funny.
“Let ’em burn: who cares?” said one soldier. “They have fought us, and now let ’em suffer.”
“We have got to do guard duty, and it is a little more comfortable to be quartered in a house than to sleep in a shelter-tent, so let us save the place,” said another; and the two went to work with a will to subdue the flames.
General Sherman’s Special Field Order No. 15, dated January 16, 1865, permitted the freedmen to take possession of the abandoned lands. A meeting-called by General Saxton, who had been appointed Inspector-was held in the Second African Baptist Church, a large building, which was crowded to its utmost capacity by the colored people. It was the first meeting ever held in Savannah having in view the exclusive interests of the colored people.
The organist was playing a voluntary when I entered the church. He was a free colored man, a native of Charleston, having a bullet-shaped head, bright, sparkling eyes, and a pleasant voice. He had lived in Savannah nine years, and was a music-teacher,-giving instruction on the violin, piano-forte, and organ, also vocal music, to persons of his own race. He was in the habit of putting in clandestinely some of the rudiments of the English language, although it was against the peace and dignity of the State. He dared to open a school, and taught in secret in the evening; but a policeman discovered that he was an incendiary, and he was compelled to hide till the matter was forgotten.
“When the voluntary was completed, the choir sung Rev. Mr. Smith’s American hymn,-
“My country, ’tis of thee, Sweet land of liberty, Of thee I sing.”
Their country! Their liberty! The words were no longer meaningless.
By request of General Saxton, they also sang Bishop Heber’s Missionary hymn,-
“From Greenland’s icy mountains, From India’s coral strand, Where Afric’s sunny fountains Roll down their golden sand, From many an ancient river, From many a palmy plain, They call us to deliver Their land from error’s chain.”
General Saxton addressed them.
“I have come to tell you what the President of the United States has done for you,” said he.
“G.o.d bless Ma.s.sa Link.u.m!” was the response of a thousand voices.
“You are all free.”
“Glory to G.o.d! Hallelujah! Amen!” they shouted in tumultuous chorus.