The Negro in The American Rebellion

A correspondent, of “The Cleveland Leader,” writing from the headquarters of the Fifty-ninth United-States Infantry (colored) at Memphis, under date of June 15, gives a detailed and graphic account of the brave fight of the colored troops in Gen. Sturgis’s command, fully confirming previous accounts. The following is a material part of the statement: —

“About sunrise, June 11, the enemy advanced on the town of Ripley, and threatened our right, intending to cut us off from the Salem Road. Again the colored troops were the only ones that could be brought into line; the Fifty-ninth being on the right, and the Fifty-fifth on the left, holding the streets. At this time, the men had not more than ten rounds of ammunition, and the enemy were crowding closer and still closer, when the Fifty-ninth were ordered to charge on them, which they did in good style, while singing, —

‘We’ll rally round the flag, boys.’

“This charge drove the enemy back, so that both regiments retreated to a pine-grove about two hundred yards distant.

“By this time, all the white troops, except one squadron of cavalry, that formed in the rear, were on the road to Salem; and, when this brigade came up, they, too, wheeled and left, and in less than ten minutes this now little band of colored troops found themselves flanked. They then divided themselves into three squads, and charged the enemy’s lines; one squad taking the old Corinth Road, then a by-road, to the left. After a few miles, they came to a road leading to Grand Junction. After some skirmishing, they arrived, with the loss of one killed and one wounded.

“Another and the largest squad covered the retreat of the white troops, completely defending them by picking up the ammunition thrown away by them, and with it repelling the numerous assaults made by the rebel cavalry, until they reached Collierville, a distance of sixty miles. When the command reached Dan’s Mills, the enemy attempted to cut it off by a charge; but the colored boys in the rear formed, and repelled the attack, allowing the whole command to pass safely on, when they tore up the bridge. Passing on to an open country, the officers halted, and re-organized the brigade into an effective force. They then moved forward until about four, p.m.; when some Indian flank skirmishers discovered the enemy, who came up to the left, and in the rear, and halted. Soon a portion advanced, when a company faced about and fired, emptying three saddles. From this time until dark, the skirmishing was constant.

“A corporal in Company C, Fifty-ninth, was ordered to surrender. He let his would-be captor come close to him; when he struck him with the butt of his gun.

“While the regiment was fighting in a ditch, and the order came to retreat, the color-bearer threw out the flag, designing to jump out and get it; but the rebels rushed for it, and in the struggle one of the boys knocked down with his gun the reb who had the flag, caught it, and ran.

“A rebel, with an oath, ordered one of our men to surrender. He, thinking the reb’s gun was loaded, dropped his gun; but, on seeing the reb commence loading, our colored soldier jumped for his gun, and with it struck his captor dead.

“Capt. H., being surrounded by about a dozen rebels, was seen by one of his men, who called several of his companions: they rushed forward and fired, killing several of the enemy, and rescued their captain.

“A rebel came up to one, and laid, ‘Come, my good fellow, go with me and wait on me.’ In an instant, the boy shot his would-be master dead.

“Once when the men charged on the enemy, they rushed forth with the cry, Remember Fort Pillow.’ The rebs called back, and said, ‘Lee’s men killed no prisoners.’

“One man in a charge threw his antagonist to the ground, and pinned him fast; and, as he attempted to withdraw his bayonet, it came off his gun, and, as he was very busy just then, he left him transfixed to mother-earth.

“One man killed a rebel by striking him with the butt of his gun, which he broke; but, being unwilling to stop his work, he loaded and fired three ‘times before he could get a better gun: the first time, not being cautious, the rebound of his gun badly cut his lip.

“When the troops were in the ditch, three rebels came to one man, and ordered him to surrender. His gun being loaded, he shot one, and bayoneted another: and, forgetting he could bayonet the third, he turned the butt of his gun, and knocked him down.”

Great were the sufferings which the colored people had to endure for their fidelity to liberty and the Union during the Rebellion. Space will allow me to give but one or two instances.

“On Monday, Feb. 21, a band of guerillas, commanded by Col. Moore, of Louisiana, made a bold dash upon our lines at Waterproof, La., opening with four pieces of artillery upon Fort Anderson. Capt. Johnson, of the gunboat ‘No. 9,’ was on hand, and, after two hours’ vigorous shelling, the enemy abandoned the attack.

“Our loss was three killed. Two colored soldiers, members of the Eleventh Louisiana Volunteers, were captured, and afterwards brutally murdered, with an old slave known by the sobriquet of ‘Uncle Peter.’ The bodies of the two soldiers were discovered the next day riddled with bullets. Old Uncle Peter had been of great service to our Government in piloting our officers to localities where large quantities of cotton belonging to the rebel Government were concealed. After capturing this old man, the assassins compelled him to kneel, with his hands behind his back, in presence of some fifty slaves on one of the adjoining plantations; and two Minie-balls pierced his body. They then intimidated the slaves by threatening to treat all negroes in a similar manner whom they caught aiding the Yankees.

“Through the instrumentality of this faithful old man, Capt. Anderson had secured four hundred bales of fine cotton marked ‘Confederate States of America,’ together with a hundred and fifty fine horses, and a number of mules. The value of the cotton alone was a hundred thousand dollars. Among the prisoners captured by our forces was Lieut. Austin, adjutant-general on Gen. Harris’s staff, with his fine horses and costly equipments. Capt. Anderson succeeded in capturing the murderer of old Uncle Peter, and having plenty of slaves to testify who were obliged to witness the infamous crime, he ordered the guilty wretch to be shot; and in a few hours the villain paid the penalty of his dastard crime. Another one of the guerillas engaged in this outrage is now in our hands, under guard at this place; and it seems like an act of great injustice to our brave soldiers, that such outlaws should be treated as prisoners of war.

“After shooting these three defenceless men, the chivalrous knights robbed old Uncle Peter of a thousand dollars in treasury notes, and completely stripped the two colored soldiers of all their outer clothing and their boots. We hear Northern copperheads, who have never been south of Mason and Dixon’s Line, constantly prating about the unconstitutionality of arming the slaves of rebels; and often these prejudiced people accuse the negro troops of cowardice. After the bloody proof at Milliken’s Bend, Port Hudson, and at Fort Wagner in front of Charleston, it would seem that nothing more was needed to substantiate the resolution and undaunted courage of the slave when arrayed against his master, fighting for the freedom of his race. The following incident speaks for itself: —

“In the attack on Fort Anderson, Sergt. Robert Thompson exhibited traits of courage worthy of record. A party of eight guerillas surrounded Sergt. Thompson of Company I, Eleventh Louisiana, and Corp. Robinson of the same regiment. The two prisoners were threatened with torture and death, and were finally placed in charge of three guerillas, while the balance of their party were harassing our troops. Seeing a revolver in the sergeant’s belt, they ordered him to give it up. As he fumbled around his belt, he touched the corporal with his elbow as a signal to be ready. Drawing it slowly from his belt, he cocked it, and, ere the rebel could give the alarm, he fell a corpse from his horse. At the same time, Corp. Robinson shot another; and the third guerilla, without waiting for further instructions, put the spurs to his horse, and in a few seconds was out of sight. The two brave men are now on duty ready for another guerilla visit.” —Correspondence of The Tribune.

Kindness to Union men and all Northerners was a leading trait in the character of the colored people of the South throughout the war. James Henri Brown, special correspondent of “The New-York Tribune,” in his very interesting work, “Four years in Secessia,” says, “The negro who had guided us to the railway had told us of another of his color to whom we could apply for shelter and food at the terminus of our second stage. We could not find him until nearly dawn; and, when we did, he directed us to a large barn filled with corn-husks. Into that we crept with our dripping garments, and lay there for fifteen hours, until we could again venture forth. Floundering about in the husks, we lost our haversacks, pipes, and a hat. About nine o’clock, we procured a hearty supper from the generous negro, who even gave me his hat, – an appropriate presentation, as one of iny companions remarked, by an ‘intelligent contraband’ to the reliable gentleman of ‘The New-York Tribune.’ The negro did picket-duty while we hastily ate our meal, and stood by his blazing fire. The old African and his wife gave us ‘God bless you, massa!’ with trembling voice and moistened eyes, as we parted from them with grateful hearts. ‘God bless negroes!’ say I, with earnest lips. During our entire captivity, and after our escape, they were ever our firm, brave, unflinching friends. We never made an appeal to them they did not answer. They never hesitated to do us a service at the risk even of life; and, under the most trying circumstances, revealed a devotion and a spirit of self-sacrifice that were heroic.

“The magic word ‘Yankee,’ opened all their hearts, and elicited the loftiest virtues. They were ignorant, oppressed, enslaved; but they always cherished a simple and beautiful faith in the cause of the Union, and its ultimate triumph, and never abandoned or turned aside from a man who sought food or shelter on his way to freedom.”

“On the march of Grant’s army from Spottsylvania to the North Anna, at intervals of every few miles, families of negroes were gathered along the roadside, exchanging words of salutation to our soldiers as they passed, and grinning all over their faces. ‘Massa’s gone away, gemmen,’ was the answer in almost all cases where the query in relation to their master’s whereabouts was raised. ‘Specs he gwan to Richmon’. Dun know. He went away in a right smart hurry last night: dat’s all I knows.’ A sight of the fine, athletic, plump appearance of some of these negroes, of both sexes and all ages, would have driven a negro-trader crazy, especially when he became convinced of the fact that, according to the terms of President Lincoln’s proclamation, these negroes are free the moment the lines of the Union army closed in upon them. It was a pleasing spectacle, and commingled with not a little pathos, to hear the benedictions which the aged and infirm negroes poured out upon our soldiers as they marched by. ‘I’se been waitin’ for you,’ said an old negro, whose eyesight was almost entirely gone, and whose head was covered with the frosts of some eighty-five winters. ‘Ah! I’se been waitin’ for you gemmen some time. I knew you was comin’, kase I heerd massa and missus often talkin’ about you;’ and then the old hero chuckled, and almost ground his ivories out of his head.”

No heroism surpasses that of the poor slave-boy Sam, on board the gunboat “Pawnee,” who, while passing shell from the magazine, had both legs shot away by a ball from the rebel guns; but, still holding the shell, cried out at the top of his voice, “Pass up de shell, boys. Nebber mine me: my time is up.” The greatest fidelity of the white man to the Union finds its parallel in the nameless negro, who, when his master sent him out to saddle his horse, mounted the animal, rode in haste to the Federal lines, and pointed out the road of safety to the harassed, retreating Army of the Potomac; then, returning for his wife and children, was caught by the rebels, and shot. When the rebels made their raid into the State of Pennsylvania, and the governor called the people to arms for defence, it is a well-known fact that a company of colored men from Philadelphia were the first to report at Harrisburg for service. These men were among the most substantial of the colored citizens in point of wealth and moral culture. Yet these patriotic individuals, together with all of their class, are disfranchised in that State.

In the engagement on James Island between the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts and the rebels, the latter surrounded three companies of the former, which were on picket-duty, and ordered them to surrender; the colored troops replied by making the best possible use of their muskets. In the fight, Sergt. Wilson, of the Fifty-fourth Massachusetts, fought bravely, having fired his last cartridge, used the butt of his gun upon his enemies, and, even after being severely wounded, still struggled against the foe with his unloaded weapon. The enemy, seeing this, called repeatedly to the negro to surrender; but Wilson refused, and fought till he was shot dead.

CHAPTER XL – FALL OF THE CONFEDERACY, AND DEATH OF PRESIDENT LINCOLN

Flight of Jeff. Davis from Richmond. – Visit of President Lincoln to the Rebel Capital. – Welcome by the Blacks. – Surrender of Gen. Lee. – Death of Abraham Lincoln. – The Nation in Tears.

Jefferson Davis and his cabinet had hastily quitted Richmond, on Sunday, the third day of April, 1865; the Union troops had taken possession the day following; and Abraham Lincoln, President of the United States, and the best-hated man by the rebels, entered the city a short time after. For the following account of the President’s visit, I am indebted to a correspondent of “The Boston Journal:”

“I was standing upon the bank of the river, viewing the scene of desolation, when a boat, pulled by twelve sailors, came up stream. It contained President Lincoln and his son, Admiral Porter, Capt. Penrose of the army, Capt. A. H. Adams of the navy, Lieut. W. W. Clements of the signal corps. Somehow the negroes on the bank of the river ascertained that the tall man wearing the black hat was President Lincoln. There was a sudden shout. An officer who had just picked up fifty negroes to do work on the dock found himself alone. They left work, and crowded round the President. As he approached, I said to a colored woman, —

“‘There is the man who made you free.’

“‘What, massa?’

“‘That is President Lincoln.’

“‘Dat President Linkum?’

“‘Yes.’

“She gazed at him a moment, clapped her hands, and jumped straight up and down, shouting, ‘Glory, glory, glory!’ till her voice was lost in a universal cheer.

“There was no carriage near; so the President, leading his son, walked three-quarters of a mile up to Gen. Weitzel’s headquarters, – Jeff. Davis’s mansion. What a spectacle it was! Such a hurly-burly, such wild, indescribable, ecstatic joy I never witnessed. A colored man acted as guide. Six sailors, wearing their round blue caps and short jackets and bagging pants, with navy carbines, were the advance-guard. Then came the President and Admiral Porter, flanked by the officers accompanying him, and the correspondent of ‘The Journal;’ then six more sailors with carbines, – twenty of us all told, – amid a surging mass of men, women, and children, black, white, and yellow, running, shouting, dancing, swinging their caps, bonnets, and handkerchiefs. The soldiers saw him, and swelled the crowd, cheering in wild enthusiasm. All could see him, he was so tall, so conspicuous.

“One colored woman, standing in a doorway as the president passed along the sidewalk, shouted, ‘Thank you, dear Jesus, for this! thank you, Jesus!’ Another standing by her side was clapping her hands, and shouting, ‘Bless de Lord!’

“A colored woman snatched her bonnet from her head, and whirled it in the air, screaming with all her might, ‘God bless you, Massa Linkum!’

“A few white women looking out from the houses waved their handkerchiefs. One lady in a large and elegant building looked a while, and turned away her head as if it was a disgusting sight.

“President Lincoln walked in silence, acknowledging the salutes of officers and soldiers, and of the citizens, black and white. It was the man of the people among the people. It was the great deliverer meeting the delivered. Yesterday morning the majority of the thousands who crowded the streets and hindered our advance were slaves: now they were free, and beholding him who had given them their liberty.”

On the 9th of the same month, Gen. Lee, with his whole army, surrendered to Gen. Grant; and thus fell the Southern Confederacy, the enemy of the negro and of Republican government. The people of the North, already tired of the war, at once gave themselves up to rejoicing all over the free States.

But the time of merry-making was doomed to be short; for slavery, the cause of the Rebellion, was dying hard. The tyrants of the South, so long accustomed to rule, were now determined to ruin. Slavery must have its victim. If it could not conquer, it must at least die an honorable death; and nothing could give it more satisfaction than to commit some great crime in its last struggles.

Therefore the death of Abraham Lincoln by the hand of an assassin was but the work of slavery. It murdered Lovejoy at Alton, it slowly assassinated Torrey in a Maryland prison, it struck down Sumner in the Senate, it had taken the lives, by starvation, of hundreds at Anderson, Richmond, and Salisbury; why spare the great liberator?

President Lincoln fell a sacrifice to his country’s salvation as absolutely and palpably, as though he had been struck down while leading an assault on the ramparts of Petersburg. The wretch who killed him was impelled by no private malice, but imagined himself an avenger of that downcast idol, which, disliking to be known simply as slavery, styles itself “The South.” He was murdered, not that slavery might live; but that it might bring down its most conspicuous enemy in its fall.

The tears of four millions of slaves whom he had liberated, five hundred thousand free blacks whose future condition he had made better, and the twenty millions of whites in the free States, stricken as they never had been before by the death of a single individual, followed his body to the grave. No nation ever mourned more sincerely the loss of its head than did the people of the United States that of President Lincoln. We all love his memory still.

“His name is not a sculptured thing, where old Renown has rearedHer marble in the wilderness, by smoke of battle seared;But graven on life-leaping hearts, where Freedom’s banners wave,It gleams to bid the tyrant back, and loose the fettered slave.”

Faults he had; but we forget them all in his death. It seemed to us that God had raised this man up to do a great work; and when he had finished his mission, flushed with success over the enemies of his country, while the peals of exultation for the accomplishment of the noble deed were yet ringing in his ears, and while our hearts were palpitating more generously for him, he permitted him to fall, that we should be humbled, and learn our own weakness, and be taught to put more dependence in the ruler of the universe than in man.

‘So sleep the good, who sink to restBy all their country’s wishes blest.When Spring with dewy fingers coldReturns to deck their hallowed mould,She there shall dress a sweeter sodThan Fancy’s feet have ever trod:By forms unseen, their dirge is sung;By fairy hands, their knell is rung;There Honor comes, a pilgrim gray,To bless the turf that wraps their clay;And Freedom shall a while repair,To dwell a weeping hermit there.”

CHAPTER XLI – PRESIDENT ANDREW JOHNSON

Origin of Andrew Johnson. – His Speeches in Tennessee. – The Negro’s Moses. – The Deceived Brahmin. – The Comparison. – Interview with Southerners. – Northern Delegation. – Delegation of Colored Men. – Their Appeal.

Springing from the highest circle of the lowest class of whites of the South, gradually rising, coming up over a tailor’s board, and all the obstacles that slaveholding society places between an humbly-born man and social and political elevation, Andrew Johnson entered upon his presidential duties, at the death of Mr. Lincoln, with the hearty good feeling of the American people. True, he had taken a glass too much on the day of his inauguration as vice-president, and the nation had not forgotten it; yet there were many palliating circumstances to be offered. The weather was cold, his ride from Tennessee had been long and fatiguing, he had met with a host of friends, who, like himself, were not afraid of the “critter.” And, after all, who amongst that vast concourse of politicians, on that fourth day of March, had not taken a “Tom and Jerry,” a “whiskey punch,” a “brandy smash,“or a “cocktail”? Again: the people had been robbed of their idol, and suddenly plunged into grief, and felt like looking up the commendable acts of the new President, rather than finding fault, and were desirous to see how far he was capable of filling the gap so recently made vacant.

They remembered that when the secessionists were withdrawing from Congress, in 1860, Mr. Johnson said,

“If I were president, I would try them for treason, and, if convicted, I would hang them.” This was mark number one in his favor. They had not forgotten his address to the Tennessee Convention, which, in the preceding January, had, by an almost unanimous vote, declared slavery in that State forever abolished.

This speech was made on the 14th of January, and is very uncompromising and eloquent. “Yesterday,” said he to the Convention, “you broke the tyrant’s rod, and set the captive free. (Loud applause.) Yes, gentlemen, yesterday you sounded the death-knell of negro aristocracy, and performed the funeral obsequies of that thing called slavery… I feel that God smiles on what you have done. Oh, how it contrasts with the shrieks and cries and wailings which the institution of slavery has brought on the land!”

And his speech to the colored people of Nashville in the preceding October was exceedingly touching, by reason of its tender, heartfelt compassion for all the degradation, insult, and cruelty which had been heaped upon that poor and unoffending people so long. Its scorn and sarcasm were terrible as he arraigned the “master” class for their long career of lust, tyranny, and crime. He hoped a Moses would arise to lead this persecuted people to their promised land of freedom. “You are our Moses,” shouted first one, and then a great multitude of voices. But the speaker went on,

“God, no doubt, has prepared, somewhere, an instrument for the great work he designs to perform in behalf of this outraged people; and in due time your leader will come forth, – your Moses will be revealed to you.”

“We want no Moses but you!” again shouted the crowd. “Well, then,” replied Mr. Johnson, “humble and unworthy as I am, if no better shall be found, I will indeed be your Moses, and lead you through the Red Sea of war and bondage to a fairer future of liberty and peace.”

These were brave words in behalf of the rights of man, and weighed heavily in Mr. Johnson’s favor. Also in his first public words, after taking the oath as President of the United States, Mr. Johnson referred to the past of his life as an indication of his course and policy in the future, rather than to make any verbal declarations now; thereby manifesting an honorable willingness to be judged by his acts, and a consciousness that the record was one which he need not be ashamed to own.

What better words or greater promises could be demanded? And, moreover, the American people are admirers of self-made men. Indeed, it is the foundation of true republican principles; and those who come to the surface by their own genius or energies are sure to be well received by the masses. But was Andrew Johnson a genius? was he shrewd? was he smart? If not, how could he have attained to such a high position in his own State? Were the people there all fools, that they should send a mountebank to the United-States Senate? Or were they, as well as the National-Republican Convention that nominated him in 1864 for the Vice-Presidency, deceived?