Thirty Years a Slave - Louis Hughes
The war had been talked of for some time, but at last it came. When the
rebels fired upon Fort Sumter, then great excitement arose. The next day
when I drove Boss to town, he went into the store of one Williams, a
merchant, and when he came out, he stepped to the carriage, and said:
"What do you think? Old Abraham Lincoln has called for four hundred
thousand men to come to Washington immediately. Well, let them come; we
will make a breakfast of them. I can whip a half dozen Yankees with my
pocket knife." This was the chief topic everywhere. Soon after this Boss
bought himself a six shooter. I had to mould the bullets for him, and
every afternoon he would go out to practice. By his direction, I fixed a
large piece of white paper on the back fence, and in the center of it
put a large black dot. At this mark he would fire away, expecting to hit
it; but he did not succeed well. He would sometimes miss the fence
entirely, the ball going out into the woods beyond. Each time he would
shoot I would have to run down to the fence to see how near he came to
the mark. When he came very near to it--within an inch or so, he would
say laughingly: "Ah! I would have got him that time." (Meaning a Yankee
soldier.) There was something very ludicrous in this pistol practice of
a man who boasted that he could whip half a dozen Yankees with a
jackknife. Every day for a month this business, so tiresome to me, went
on. Boss was very brave until it came time for him to go to war, when
his courage oozed out, and he sent a substitute; he remaining at home as
a "home guard." One day when I came back with the papers from the city,
the house was soon ringing with cries of victory. Boss said: "Why, that
was a great battle at Bull Run. If our men had only known, at first,
what they afterwords found out, they would have wiped all the Yankees
out, and succeeded in taking Washington."
* * * * *
PETTY DISRESPECT TO THE EMBLEM OF THE UNION.
Right after the bombardment of Fort Sumter, they brought to Memphis the
Union flag that floated over the fort. There was a great jubilee in
celebration of this. Portions of the flag, no larger than a half dollar
in paper money, were given out to the wealthy-people, and these
evidences of their treason were long preserved as precious treasures.
Boss had one of these pieces which he kept a long time; but, as the
rebel cause waned these reminders of its beginning were less and less
seen, and if any of them are now in existence, it is not likely that
their possessors will take any pride in exposing them to view.
As the war continued we would, now and then, hear of some slave of our
neighborhood running away to the Yankees. It was common when the
message of a Union victory came to see the slaves whispering to each
other: "We will be free." I tried to catch everything I could about the
war, I was so eager for the success of the Union cause. These things
went on until
* * * * *
THE BATTLE OF SHILOH, APRIL 9, 1862.
Boss came hurrying in one morning, right after breakfast, calling to me:
"Lou, Lou, come; we have a great victory! I want to go up and carry the
boys something to eat. I want you and Matilda to get something ready as
quickly as you can." A barrel of flour was rolled into the kitchen, and
my wife and I "pitched in" to work. Biscuit, bread, hoe-cake, ham,
tongue--all kinds of meat and bread were rapidly cooked; and, though the
task was a heavy one for my wife and me, we worked steadily; and, about
five o'clock in the afternoon the things were ready. One of the large
baskets used to hold cotton was packed full of these provisions. Our
limbs ached from the strain of the work, for we had little help. One
reason for the anxiety of the Boss for the preparation of this provision
for the soldiers was that he knew so many in one of the companies, which
was known as the "Como Avengers," and he had a son, a nephew and a
brother of his wife connected with it; the latter a major on Gen.
Martin's staff. On the following morning I got up early, and hurried
with my work to get through, as I had to go to the postoffice. Madam
hurried me off, as she expected a letter from her husband, who had
promised to write, at the earliest moment, of their friends and
relatives. I rushed into the city, at full speed, got some letters and a
morning paper, and, returning as rapidly as possible, gave them to her.
She grasped them eagerly, and commenced reading the paper. In a short
time I heard her calling me to come to her. I went in, and she said, in
great excitement: "Louis, we want to have you drive us into town, to see
the Yankee prisoners, who are coming through, at noon, from Shiloh." I
went and told Madison to hitch up, as soon as he could. In the meantime
I got myself ready, and it was not long before we were off for the city.
The madam was accompanied by a friend of hers, a Mrs. Oliver. We were at
the station in plenty of time. About twelve o'clock the train from
Shiloh drew into the station; but the prisoners that were reported to be
on board were missing--it proved to be a false report. While they were
looking for the prisoners, Mrs. Oliver saw Jack, a servant of Edward
McGee, brother of madam. "Oh! Look," said Mrs. Oliver, "there is
Edward's Jack. Lou, run and call him." In a minute I was off the
carriage, leaving the reins in madam's hands. Jack came up to the
carriage, and the women began to question him: "Where is your Master,
Ed," asked both of them. "He is in the car, Missis--he is shot in the
ankle," said Jack. In a minute the women were crying. "I was going to
get a hack," said Jack, "to--" "No, No!" said both of them. "Go, Lou,
and help Jack to bring him to our carriage. You can drive him more
steadily than the hackman." Jack and I went to the car, and helped him
out, and after some effort, got him into our carriage. Then I went and
got a livery hack to take the women and his baggage home. When we
reached home, we found there old Mrs. Jack McGee, mother of the madam,
Mrs. Charles Dandridge, Mrs. Farrington, sisters of madam, and Fanny, a
colored woman, Edward's housekeeper and mistress--a wife in all but
name. All of these had come to hear the news of the great battle, for
all had near relatives in it. Mrs. Jack McGee and Mrs. Dr. Charles
Dandridge had each a son in the terrible conflict.
* * * * *
MOURNING IN MASTER'S FAMILY.
In the afternoon, when all were seated in the library reading, and I was
in the dining room, finishing up my work, I happened to look out of the
window, and saw a messenger coming up the graveled walk. I went out to
meet him. "Telegram for Mrs. McGee," he said. I took it to her; and,
reading it without a word, she passed it to the next member of the
family, and so it was passed around until all had read it except Mrs.
Dandridge. When it was handed to her, I saw, at a glance, that it
contained for her the most sorrowful tidings. As she read she became
livid, and when she had finished she covered her face with her
handkerchief, giving a great, heavy sob. By this time the whole family
was crying and screaming: "Oh! our Mack is killed." "Mars, Mack is
killed," was echoed by the servants, in tones of heart-felt sorrow, for
he was an exceptional young man. Every one loved him--both whites and
blacks. The affection of the slaves for him bordered on reverence, and
this was true not alone of his father's slaves, but of all those who
knew him. This telegram was from Boss, and announced that he would be
home the next day with the remains. Mrs. Farrington at once wrote to old
Master Jack and to Dr. Dandridge, telling them of Mack's death and to
come at once. After I mailed those letters nothing unusual happened
during the afternoon, and the house was wrapped in silence and gloom. On
the following morning I went for the mail as usual, but there was
nothing new. At noon, the remains of the much loved young man arrived at
our station, accompanied by Boss and Dr. Henry Dandridge, brother of the
father of the deceased, who was a surgeon in the rebel army. I went to
the station with another servant, to assist in bringing the body to the
house. We carried it into the back parlor, and, after all had been made
ready, we proceeded to wash and dress it. He had lain on the battlefield
two days before he was found, and his face was black as a piece of coal;
but Dr. Henry Dandridge, with his ready tact, suggested the idea of
painting it. I was there to assist in whatever way they needed me. After
the body was all dressed, and the face painted, cheeks tinted with a
rosy hue, to appear as he always did in life, the look was natural and
handsome. We were all the afternoon employed in this sad work, and it
was not until late in the evening that his father and mother came down
to view the body for the first time. I remember, as they came down the
broad stairs together, the sorrow-stricken yet calm look of those two
people. Mrs. Dandridge was very calm--her grief was too great for her to
scream as the others did when they went in. She stood and looked at her
Mack; then turning to Boss, she said: "Cousin Eddie, how brave he was!
He died for his country." Poor, sorrowing, misguided woman! It was not
for his country he died, but for the perpetuation of the cruel, the
infamous system of human slavery. All the servants were allowed to come
in and view the body. Many sad tears were shed by them. Some of the
older slaves clasped their hands, as if in mute prayer, and exclaimed,
as they passed by the coffin: "He was a lovin boy." It seems that all
his company but five or six were killed. At an early hour next morning
the funeral party started for the home in Panola, where the body of the
lamented young man, sacrificed to an unholy cause, was buried, at the
close of the same day.
Edward stayed at our house some six weeks, his ankle was so slow in
getting well. At the end of that time, he could walk with the aid of
crutches, and he took Fanny and went home.
* * * * *
ALARM OF THE MEMPHIS REBELS.
Not long after this the people were very much worked up over the
military situation. The Yankees had taken Nashville, and had begun to
bombard Fort Pillow. The officials of the Memphis and Ohio railroad
company became alarmed at the condition of things, fearing for the
safety of their stock. The officers, therefore, set about devising some
plan by which they might get the cars down on the Memphis and Jackson
road, where they imagined their property would be safe from the now
terrible Yankees. The railroad officials at once set to work to buy the
right of way through Main street, to give them the connection with the
southern road named. At first it was refused by the city authorities,
but finally the right of way was granted. When, however, the railroad
men began to lay the ties and rails, the people grew furious. Some fled
at once, for they imagined that this act of the railroad officials
indicated that the Yankees must be coming pretty near. Boss became so
excited, at this time, that he almost felt like going away too. The
family grew more and more uneasy; and it was the continual talk: "We
must get away from Memphis. The companies are already moving their
rolling stock, fearing the Yankees may come at any time and destroy
everything; we must get away," said Boss, speaking to the madam.
* * * * *
THE FAMILY FLEE FROM MEMPHIS.
Things continued in this way until about June, 1862. The Union troops
had taken Fort Pillow. We had heard the firing of cannon, and did not
know what it meant. One morning I was in the city after the mail, and I
learned that a transient boat had just come down the river, which had
lost a part of her wheelhouse. She was fired on from Fort Pillow,
sustaining this serious damage from the shot. This increased the
excitement among the people; and our folks became alarmed right away,
and commenced talking of moving and running the servants away from the
Yankees, to a place of safety. McGee was trying for some time to get
some one to take the house, that is, to live in and care for it until
after the war, while the family were gone. They never thought that
slavery would be abolished, and so hoped to come back again. After some
search, they found a widow, a Mrs. Hancock. She was to have full charge
of the house and continue keeping boarders, as she had been doing in
Memphis. The vaunted courage of this man seems to have early
disappeared, and his thought was chiefly devoted to getting his family
and his slaves into some obscure place, as far away as possible from the
Yankees, that were to be so easily whipped. We were about two weeks
getting ready to leave, stowing away some of the things they did not
want to move. The Boss and his family, my wife and I, and all the house
servants were to go to Panola, to his father's. The family went by rail,
but I had to drive through in a wagon.
* * * * *
I AM TAKEN TO BOLIVAR FARM.
Soon after the family all reached Master Jack's, Boss took me to his own
farm in Bolivar county. This separated me for a time from my wife, for
she remained with the family. I had to look after the house, at the
farm, attend the dining room, and, between meals, sew every day, making
clothes for the hands. I could run on the machine eighteen to twenty
pairs of pants a day, but two women made the button holes and did the
basting for me, getting the goods all ready for the machine.
* * * * *
CAPTURE OF A UNION TRADING BOAT.
The Yankees had made a raid through Bolivar, before I came, and the
excitement had not abated, as they were spreading themselves all through
the state. There was a Union trading boat, the Lake City, that had been
successful in exchanging her goods for cotton that came from Memphis.
She usually stopped at Helena, Fryer's Point and other small towns; but
on a trip at this time she came about fifty miles farther down the
river, to Carson's Landing, right at Boss' farm. She was loaded with all
kinds of merchandise--sugar, tobacco, liquor, etc. She had a crew of
about forty men, but they were not well prepared for a vigorous defense.
The rebel soldiers stationed in the vicinity saw her as she dropped her
anchor near the landing, and they determined to make an effort for her
capture. They put out pickets just above our farm, and allowed no one to
pass, or stop to communicate with the boat. Every one that sought to
pass was held prisoner, and every precaution taken to prevent those on
the boat from learning of the purposes of the rebels, knowing that the
boat would land in the morning, if not informed of the danger, and then
it was anticipated that they could easily make her a prize. There was a
small ferry boat behind the steamer, and as the latter dropped down
stream, and then steamed up to the landing, the former stood off for a
few moments. As the steamer touched shore, the rebels charged on her,
and captured her without a struggle. In the meantime the ferry boat,
seeing what had happened, sped away up stream, the soldiers firing at
her, but doing little damage, except the breaking of the glass in the
pilot house. The rebels, seeing that the ferry boat had escaped them,
turned their attention to the unloading of the steamer. They sent out
for help in this work, and the summons was answered by the neighbors far
and near. Wagons were brought, two of which were from our farm, and
loaded with goods, which were taken to Deer Creek, forty miles from
Carson Landing. What goods they found themselves unable to carry away
were packed in the warehouse. The steamer was then burned. McGee was
present, and the rebel captain gave him a written statement of the
affair to the effect that the residents were not responsible for it, and
that this should be a protection for them against the Union forces. The
officers and crew of the steamer to the number of forty were made
prisoners, and taken to Deer Creek, the rebel headquarters of that
region, and put in the jail there. The ferry boat that escaped went to
Helena, Arkansas, and carried the news of the affair to the Union forces
there.
* * * * *
BOSS TAKEN PRISONER.
I was told by Boss to take my stand on our veranda, and keep watch on
the river, and if I saw any boat coming down to let him know at once. I
kept a close watch the next morning until about eight o'clock, when I
saw a boat, but she had almost gone past our house before I discovered
her. I ran into the house and told Boss. He ordered me to get his horse
at once, which I did; and he mounted and went down to the landing as
fast as he could. Upon reaching there, he was taken prisoner by the
Union soldiers, who had just landed from the boat. All who came near
were captured. The Union soldiers went to work and transferred all the
goods which the rebels had put into the warehouse from the boat which
they had captured, then setting fire to the warehouse and the
postoffice, they pushed off yelling and shouting with glee. Among those
captured by the Union soldiers were three other rich planters besides
Boss, all of whom were taken to Helena. After they had been there about
a week, the planters offered to secure the release of the Unionists
captured on the boat which the rebels had burned at Carson Landing, and
who had been sent to the rebel jail at Deer Creek, if they were
guaranteed their own release in exchange. They offered to bear the
expense of a messenger to the rebel officer, at Deer Creek, with this
proposition. The Union officer at Helena accepted the proposition, and
the messenger was sent off. It was arranged that he should stop over at
our house, both on his way down and back. Upon his return, he stopped
over night, and the next morning proceeded on his way. When he had gone
about five miles, he saw a flat-boat at a landing, on which were people
drinking and having a merry time. He stopped, and went aboard; and, in
joining the carousal, he soon became so intoxicated that he was unable
to go on with his journey. Among those present was one Gilcrease, a
cousin of the McGees, who recognized the man as the messenger in this
important business, went to him and asked him for the letters he
carried. The fellow refusing to give them up, Gilcrease took them from
him, and at once sent to our overseer for a reliable man by whom to
forward them to the commandant at Helena. The overseer called me up
from the cabin to his room, and told me that I was to go to Helena to
carry some important papers, and to come to him for them in the morning,
and make an early start. I left him and went back to my cabin.
* * * * *
MY THIRD EFFORT FOR FREEDOM.
I made up my mind that this would be a good chance for me to run away. I
got my clothes, and put them in an old pair of saddle bags--two bags
made of leather, connected with a strip of leather, and used when
traveling horseback for the same purpose as a satchel is used in
traveling in the cars. I took these bags, carried them about a half mile
up the road, and hid them in a fence corner, where I could get them in
the morning when I had started on my trip. Fryer's Point, the place to
which I was to go, was about fifty miles from the farm. I started early
in the morning, and, after I had gone twenty-five miles, I came to the
farm of William McGee, a brother of the madam, and stopped to change
horses. I found that William McGee was going, in the morning, down to
old Master Jack's; so I took one of their horses, leaving mine to use in
its place, went right to Fryer's Point, delivered the letters to a man
there to carry to Helena, and got back to William McGee's farm that
night. I made up my mind to go with William down to Panola, where madam
was, to tell her about Boss being captured. The next morning, he
started, and Gibson, his overseer and myself accompanied him. He
questioned me about the capture of Boss, what the soldiers had done,
etc., and I told him all I knew of the matter. "Well, Lou," he said,
"why did you not bring us some whisky?" "I did bring a little with me,"
I said. He laughed, saying: "Oh, well, when we come to some clear water
we will stop and have a drink." Then I said: "Mr. Smith will look for me
to-night, but he wont see me. I am going to tell the madam that Boss is
captured." "Hey, ho!" he said, "then you are running away." I replied:
"Well I know Miss Sarah don't know Boss is in prison." We traveled on,
all three of us, stopping at intervals to be refreshed. After two days,
we arrived at Panola. Our journey was a tedious one. The streams were so
swollen in places that we could hardly pass. The Tallehatchie we had to
swim, and one of the men came near losing his horse and his life. The
horses became tangled in a prep vine, as we were nearing the shore at
which we aimed, and, the current being very swift, we were carried
below the landing place; but, finally, we got safely ashore, McGee
landing, and we following. Reaching Panola, wet and weary, I conveyed to
madam the story of her husband's capture and imprisonment, a rumor of
which had already reached her.
The next morning was Christmas, and a number of the family had come to
spend it together. They had heard that McGee was captured and in prison;
but, now, as I told them every feature of the affair in detail, they
grew excited and talked wildly about it. Among those who came were Dr.
Dandridge and his wife, Blanton McGee and his wife, Tim Oliver and his
wife. All these women were daughters of old Master Jack McGee, and
sisters to the madam. Mrs. Farrington and old lady McGee were already
there. These re-unions on Christmas were a long established custom with
them, but the pleasure of this one was sadly marred by the vicissitudes
and calamities of the war. A shadow hung over all the family group. They
asked me many questions about Boss, and, of course, I related all I
knew.
After I had been there three days, they started me back with letters for
Boss. When I left it was near night, and I was to stop over at Master
Jack's farm fifteen miles away. It was expected that I would reach
Fryer's Point on the third morning, thus allowing me three days to go
sixty miles; but I could not make much headway, as the roads were so
heavy. The understanding was that I was to deliver the letters to the
same gentleman, at Fryer's, to whom I delivered the others, for
forwarding to Boss at Helena. I was then to go straight to the farm at
Boliver, and report to Smith, the overseer. But after I had got about
four miles away, I concluded that I would not go back to the farm, but
try to get to the Yankees. I knew I had disobeyed Smith by going down to
the madam's to tell her about Boss, because he told me not to go when I
spoke to him about it. And now if I went back I feared he would kill me;
for I knew there would be no escape for me from being run into the bull
ring, and that torture I could not think of enduring. I, therefore,
stopped, and, taking the bridle and saddle from the horse, hid them in
the corner of a fence in a cornfield. Then I went into the woods. The
papers which I had were in the saddlebag safe. The place where I stayed
in the daytime was in a large shuck-pen--a pen built in the field to
feed stock from, in the winter time. This pen was on Dr. Dandridge's
farm; and the second night I worked my way up near the house. Knowing
all the servants, I was watching a chance to send word to the coachman,
Alfred Dandridge, that I wanted him to tell my wife that I was not gone.
I went down to his cabin, in the quarters; and, after a short time he
came. I was badly scared, and my heart was heavy and sore; but he spoke
comfortingly to me, and I was cheered, somewhat, especially when he
promised to see Matilda, and tell her of my whereabouts. He gave me some
food, and hid me away for the night in his house. I kept close all the
next day; and, at night, when all was still, Alfred and I crept out, and
went to old Master Jack's. The distance was not great, and we soon
covered it. Alfred went in and told my wife that I was outside and
wanted to see her. She came out, and was so frightened and nervous that
she commenced sobbing and crying, and almost fainted when I told her, in
low tones, that I was going to try to get to Memphis, and that Alfred
was helping to plan a way to this end. The rebels occupied both roads
leading to Memphis, and I was puzzled to know how to reach the city
without coming in contact with them. Two days after I had talked with
my wife, the rebel troops who were camped on the Holly Springs road left
for some other point. My friend Alfred found this out, and came and told
me the encouraging news. The following night I went to old Master Jack's
and told my wife that the way now seemed clear, and that I was going at
once. I was bent on freedom, and would try for it again. I urged my wife
not to grieve, and endeavored to encourage her by saying that I would
return for her, as soon as possible, should I succeed in getting to a
land of freedom. After many tears and blessings, we parted, and I left,
Uncle Alfred going with me some three miles, as I was not acquainted
with the road. When he left me I went on alone with gloomy forebodings,
but resolved to do my best in this hazardous undertaking, whatever might
happen. The road passed over hills and through swamps, and I found the
traveling very wearisome. I had traveled some hours, and thought I was
doing well; when, about one o'clock in the night, I came up out of a
long swamp, and, reaching the top of a hill, I stopped for a moment's
rest, raising myself to an erect position from that of walking, inclined
by reason of weariness and the weight of the saddle-bags thrown across
my shoulders. The weather was bad, a heavy mist had come up, and was so
dark that I could hardly see my way. As I started on, a soldier yelled
at me from the mist: "Halt! advance and give the countersign." I stopped
immediately, almost scared out of my wits. "Come right up here," said
the soldier, "or I'll blow you into eternity." I saw at once he was a
rebel soldier. I knew not what to do. This place where I was halted was
Nelson's farm, and the house was held as headquarters for a company of
rebel soldiers, known as bushwhackers. While they belonged to the rebel
army, they were, in a measure, independent of its regulations and
discipline, kept back in the woods, ready for any depredation upon the
property of unionists--any outrage upon their persons. The soldier who
had halted me took me up to the house, and all began to question me. I
told them that I had been sent on an errand, and that I had lost my way.
The next morning I was taken about a mile away down in the swamp, over
hills and through winding paths, till at last we came to the regular
rebel camp. I was in great fear and thought my end had come. Here they
began to question me again--the captain taking the lead; but I still
stuck to my story that I had been sent on an errand, and had lost my
way. I knew that this was my only chance. They tried to make me say that
I had come from the Yankees, as they were in camp near Holly Springs.
They thought the Yankees had sent me out as a spy; but I said the same
as at first--that I had lost my way. A soldier standing by said: "Oh! we
will make you talk better than that;" and stepping back to his horse, he
took a sea-grass halter, and said: "I'll hang you." There was a law or
regulation of the rebel government directing or authorizing the hanging
of any slave caught running away; and this fellow was going to carry it
out to the letter. I talked and pleaded for my life. My feelings were
indescribable. God only knows what they were. Dr. Carter, one of the
soldiers, who knew me and the entire McGee family, spoke up and said:
"You had better let me go and tell Mr. Jack McGee about him." The
captain agreed to this, and the doctor went. The following day, Old Jack
came, and steadily refused to consent to my being hung. He said: "I know
Edmund would not have him hung-ung. He is too valuable-aluable. No, no!
we will put him in jail and feed him on bread and water--too valuable a
nigger to be hung-ung."