[444]
The contrabands in the war.
The army correspondents as well as the soldiers have regarded the contrabands as fair subjects for practical jokes, and when .these have been harmless in their character the negroes themselves have enjoyed them sometimes as much as their perpetrators. No doubt many of the stories of the contrabands, retailed by the letter writers from the army, had their origin in the brains of those veracious chroniclers; but the following can generally be vouched for.Company K, of the First Iowa Cavalry, stationed in Tennessee, received into their camp a middle-aged but vigorous contraband. Innumerable questions were being propounded to him, when a corporal advanced, saying:
See here, Dixie, before you can enter the service of the United States, you must take the oath,
“Yes, massa, I do dat,” he replied; when the corporal continued:
holding out a letter envelope, upon which was delineated the Goddess of Liberty standing upon something like a Suffolk pig, wearing the emblem of our country. The negro grasped the envelope cautiously with his thumb and finger, when the corporal proceeded to administer the oath by saying:Well, then, take hold of the Bible!
[445]You do solemnly swear that you will support the Constitution of the United States, and see that there are no grounds floating upon the coffee, at all times?
“ Yes, massa, I do dat,” he replied; “I allers settle 'um in de coffee-pot.”
Here he let go the envelope to gesticulate, by a downward thrust of his forefinger, the direction that would be given to the coffee-grounds for the future.
“Never mind how you do it,” gravely exclaimed the corporal; “but hold on to the Bible.”
“ Lordy, massa, I forgot,” said the negro, as he darted forward and grasped the envelope with a firmer clutch, when the corporal continued:
And you do solemnly swear that you will support the Constitution of all loyal States, and not dirty the plates when cleaning them, or wipe them with your shirt sleeves?
Here a frown lowered upon the brow of the negro, his eyes expanded to their largest dimensions, while his lips protruded,with a rounded form, as he exclaimed:
Lordy, massa--I nebber do dat. I allers washes 'um nice. Ole missus mighty 'tickler 'bout dat.
“Never mind ole missus!” said the corporal, as he resumed: “And you do solemnly swear that you will put milk into the coffee every morning, and see that the ham and eggs are not cooked too much or too little?”
“ Yes — I do dat. I'se a good cook.”
“And lastly,” continued the corporal, “you do solemnly swear that when this war is over, you'll make tracks for Africa mighty fast?”
“Yes, massa, I do dat. I allers wanted to go to Cheecargoo.”
Here the regimental drum beat up for dress parade, when Tom Benton — that being his name — was declared [446] duly sworn and commissioned as chief cook in Company K, of the First Iowa Cavalry.
One of the Anderson Zouaves relates the following incident as having come under his observation:
We were scouting one day in Alabama, when in a remote field we found a negro man and woman ploughing with a good horse. We paused, and the ploughers gazed at us with the greatest curiosity. I never saw a more thoroughly astonished individual. It was evidently his first sight at Yankee soldiers.
“Well, boy, wont you come along with us?” I said.
“De Lawd bless's-mars's, is you really De Fed'rals?”
“That's it, old fellow.”
“De rale Linkum sojers?”
“Exactly.”
“De kind as wants counterbans?”
“Identically.”
Here he proceeded with great deliberation to unhitch his horse from the plough. Gathering up divers small objects, that nothing might be lost, he slung himself on his steed, and cried, over his shoulder, to his amazed work-fellow:
Good-by, M'ria. I'se off!
And off he rode, stared at by “M'Ria,” whose eyes gazed after him in utter and complete bewilderment-“like the grandmother of all the owls when she first baw sunshine.”
The contraband of whom the following story is told [447] was not, it would seem, as courageous as some of his colored brethren, though decidedly a philosopher:
Upon the hurricane-deck of one of our gunboats, an elderly darkey, with a very philosophical and retrospective cast of countenance, squatted upon his bundle, toasting his shins against the chimney, and apparently plunged into a state of profound meditation. Finding, upon inquiry, that he belonged to the Ninth Illinois, one of the most gallantly behaved and heavy-losing regiments at the Fort Donelson battle, and part of which was aboard, the “war correspondent,” began to interrogate him on the subject:Were you in the fight?
“Had a little taste of it, saa.”
“Stood your ground, did you?”
“No, saa, I runs.”
“Run at the first fire, did you?”
“Yes, saa, and would hab run soona, had I knowd it war comina”
“Why, that wasn't very creditable to your courage.”
“Dat isn't my line, saa — cookin's my profeshun.”
“Well, but have you no regard for your reputation?”
“Reputation's nuffin to me by de side ob life.”
“Do you consider your life worth more than other people's?”
“It's worth more to me, saa.”
“Then you must value it very highly?”
“ Yes, sa, I does, more dan all dis wuld, more dan a million of dollars, saa, for what would dat be wuth to a man wid de bref cut ob him? Self-preservation am de fust law wid ne.” [448]
“ But why should you act upon a different rule from other men?”
“Becase different men sot different values upon their lives: mine is not in de market.”
“ But if you lost it, you would have the satisfaction of knowing that you died for your country.”
“ What satisfaction would dat be to me when de power ob feelina was gone?”
“Then patriotism and honor are nothing to you?”
“Nuffin whatever, saa — I regard dem as among de wanities.”
“If our soldiers were like you, traitors might have broken up the Government without resistance.”
“Yes, sa, dar would hab been no help for it. I wouldn't put my life in de scale 'ginst any gobernment dat ever existed, for no gobernment could replace de loss to me.”
“Do you think any of your company would have missed you if you had been killed?”
“Maybe not, saa — a dead white man aint much to dese sojers-let alone a dead nigga-but I'd a missed myself, and dat was de pint wid me.”
That was an admirable retort of a Union officer, a colonel in the Union army, who having been taken prisoner by a rebel officer of the same rank, was taken by his captor in a railroad car to prison. While seated besides his captive, the rebel, for a long time, insulted him in the most cowardly and contemptible manner; but finding that his abuse produced no effect beyond a contemptuous silence, he went out and returned with a [449] particularly black and ragged slave, whom he compelled to sit beside the colonel; having done which, he left him. Half an hour passed by, when the Confederate officer returned, and inquired, with a grin at his white prisoner, how he liked his new comrade. “He is not such a person as I have been accustomed to associate with,” was the calm reply; “but he is a better bred man than the one who last sat beside me.”
The monster shells thrown from the heavy guns of the Western gunboats, excited alarm and terror both in whites and blacks. The account of their effect on the former, given by an old contraband, is somewhat amusing:
We were passing along the wharves, a few days ago, wondering at the amount of business that was there transacted. While standing observing a cargo of horses being transferred from a vessel to the shore, an “old contraband” appeared at our elbow, touching his fur hat, and scraping an enormous foot. He opened his battery upon us with the following:
“Pretty well, daddy; how are you?”Well, boss, how is yer?
“I'se fuss rate, I is. B'long to old Burnemside's boys, does yer?”
“Yes, I belong to that party. Great boys, ain't they?”
“ Well, I thought yer b'longed to that party. Great man, he is, dat's sartin. Yes, sir. We waited and waited; we heard yer was comina but we mos' guv yer [450] up. 'Deed we jest did; but one mornina we heard de big guns, way down ribber, go bang, bang, bang, and de folks round yere begun to cut dar stick mitey short, and trabble up de rail-track. Den, bress de good Lord, we knowed yer was comina, but we held our jaw. Bymeby de sojers begun to cut dar stick, too, and dey trabble! Goramity, 'pears dey make de dirt fly! Ya, ha!”
“Why, were they scared so bad?”
“De sojers didn't skeer um so much as dem black boats. Kase, yer see, de sojers shot solid balls, and dey not mind dem so much; but when dem boats say b-o-o-m, dey know de rotten balls was comina, and dey skeeted quickern a streak of litenina.”
“ What rotten balls did the boats throw at them?”
“Don't yer know? Why, dem balls dat are bad; dey're rotten, ana fly all to bits-'deed does dey-play de very debbil wid yer. No dodgina dem dere balls; kase yer dunno whare dey fly too-strike yah and fly yandqh; dat's what skeered 'em so bad!”
“Well, what are you going to do when the war's over?”
“ Dunno; p'raps I goes Noff wid dis crowd. Pretty much so, I guess. 'Pears to me dis chile had better be movina.”
During the riot in New York city, in July, 1863, the negroes were in great peril from the rioters, and many of them owed their escape to the “ready wit” of some of their friends and employers. The following was one of numerous instances of this: While President Acton, at the police headquarters, [451] was giving some final orders to a squad of men who were just leaving to disperse the crowd in First Avenue, a wagon containing a hogshead was driven rapidly up the the Mulberry street door by a lad, who appeared much excited and almost breathless.
“ What have you there, my lad?” said President Acton.
“Supplies for your men,” was the answer. “What are they?”
“ l;s an assorted lot, sir; but the people say it's contraband.”
Being exceedingly busy, Acton ordered the wagon to be driven round to the Mott street entrance, where an officer was sent to look after the goods. When the wagon arrived the officers were about to tip the cask out, but were prevented by the boy, who exclaimed:
A hatchet was brought, and the little fellow set to work unheading the cask; and as he did so the officers were astonished to see two full-grown negroes snugly packed inside. Upon being assured by the lad that they were safe, they raised their heads, took a long snuff of fresh air, and exclaimed, “Bless de Lord!”Wait a minute-bring me a hatchet.
The boy stated that the rioters had chased the poor unfortunates into the rear of some houses on the west side of the town, and that they had escaped by scaling a fence and landing in a grocer's yard; that the grocer was friendly to them, but feared his place might be sacked if they were found there. He accordingly hit upon this novel plan of getting them out, and while he kept watch in front the boy coopered up the negroes. The cask was then rolled out like a hogshead of sugar, [452] placed in the wagon, and driven off to Mulberry street.
Heading up the darkies headed off the mob that time.
We presume the slave-holder whose slaves were disposed of by his friend as related below, hardly contemplated adding recruits to the Union army, but he could not complain of his friend for obeying orders:
A slave-holder from the country approached an old acquaintance, also a slave-holder, residing in Nashville, the other day, and said:
I have several negro men lurking about here some where. I wish you would look out for them, and when you find them, do with them as if they were your own.
“Certainly I will,” replied his friend.
A few days after the parties met again, and the planter asked:
Have you found my slaves?
“ I have.”
“And where are they?”
“ Well, you told me to do with them just as if they were my own, and as I made my men enlist in the Union army, I did the same with yours.”
The astonished planter “absquatulated.”
A very independent darkey was Sam, as the reader will discern:
During the winter of 1863, a contraband came into the Federal lines n North Carolina, and marched up to [453] the officer of the day to report himself, whereupon the following colloquy ensued:
What's your name?
“My name's Sam.”
“ Sam what?”
“ No, sah — not Sam Watt. I'se just Sam.”
“What's your other name?”
“ I hasn't got no oder name, sah! I'se Sam-dat s all.”
“ What's your master's name?”
“I'se got no massa, now-massa runned away-yah!”
“yah! I'se free nigger, now.”
“ Well, what's your father and mother's name?”
“I'se got none, salh-neber had none. I'se jist Sam--aint nobody else.”
“ Haven't you any brothers and sisters?”
“No, sah-neber had none. No brudder, no sister, no fader, no mudder, no massa-nothina but Sam. When you see Sam, you see all dere is of us.”
In West Point, Virginia, there was a negro scout, named Clairborne, in the employ of the Union forces, who was a shrewd hand at escaping from the rebels. He was evidently a full-blooded African, with big lips and flat nose, and, having lived in this vicinity all his life, was familiar with the country, which rendered him o very valuable aid.
On Clairborne's last trip inside the enemy's lines, after scouting around as much as he wished, he picked up eight chickens and started for camp. His road led past the house of a secesh doctor named Roberts, who knew him, and who ordered him to stop, which, of course, [454] Clairborne had no idea of doing, and kept on, when .he doctor fired on him and gave chase, shouting at the top of his voice. The negro was making good time toward camp, when, all at once, he was confronted by a whole regiment of soldiers, who ordered him to halt. For a moment the scout was dumbfounded, and thought his hour had come, but the next he sang out:
“Where? Where?” inquired the rebels.The Yankees are coming! the Yankees are coming!
“Just up in front of Dr. Roberts' house, in a piece of woods. Dr. Roberts sent me down to tell you to come up quick, or they'll kill the whole of us.”
“ Come in!-come into camp!” said the soldiers.
“No-no,” said the cute African, “I've got to go down and tell the cavalry pickets, and can't wait a second.” So off he sprang, with a bound, running for dear life — the rebs, discovering the ruse, chasing him for three miles, and he running six, when he got safely into camp, but minus his chickens, which he had dropped at the first fire.
