The Continental Monthly, Vol. 2, No 3, September, 1862

THE NEGRO IN THE REVOLUTION

Whether the negro can or ought to be employed in the Federal army, or in any way, for the purpose of suppressing the present rebellion, is becoming a question of very decided significance. It is a little late in the day, to be sure, since it is probable that the expensive amusement of dirt-and-shovel warfare might, by the aid of the black, have been somewhat shorn of its expense, and our Northern army have counted some thousands of lives more than it now does, had the contraband been freely encouraged to delve for his deliverance. Still, there are signs of sense being slowly manifested by the great conservative mass, and we every day see proof that there are many who, to conquer the enemy, are willing to do a bold or practical thing, even if it does please the Abolitionists. Like the rustic youth who was informed of a sure way to obtain great wealth if he would pay a trifle, they would not mind getting that fortune if it did cost a dollar. It is a pity, of course, saith conservatism, that the South can not be conquered in some potent way which shall at least make it feel a little bad, and at the same time utterly annihilate that rather respectably sized majority of Americans who would gladly see emancipation realized. However, as the potent way is not known, we must do the best we can. In its secret conclaves, respectable conservatism shakes its fine old head, and smoothing down the white cravat inherited from the late great and good Buchanan, admits that the Richmond Whig is almost right, after all—this Federal cause is very much in the nature of a 'servile insurrection' of Northern serfs against gentlemen; 'mais que voulez-vous?—we have got into the wrong boat, and must sink or swim with the maddened Helots! And conservatism sighs for the good old days when they blasphemed Liberty at their little suppers,

'And—blest condition!-felt genteel.'

To be sure, the portraits of Puritan or Huguenot or Revolutionary ancestors frowned on them from the walls—the portraits of men who had risked all things for freedom; ''but this is a different state of things, you know;' we have changed all that—the heart is on the other side of the body now—let us be discreet!'

It is curious, in this connection of employing slaves as workmen or soldiers, with the remembrance of the progressive gentlemen of the olden time who founded this republic, to see what the latter thought in their day of such aid in warfare. And fortunately we have at hand what we want, in a very multum in parvo pamphlet⁵ by George H. Moore, Librarian of the New-York Historical Society. From this we learn that while great opposition to the project prevailed, owing to wrong judgment as to the capacity of the black, the expediency and even necessity of employing him was, during the events of the war, forcibly demonstrated, and that, when he was employed in a military capacity, he proved himself a good soldier.

There were, however, great and good men during the Revolution, who warmly sustained the affirmative. The famous Dr. Hopkins wrote as follows in 1776:

'God is so ordering it in his providence, that it seems absolutely necessary something should speedily be done with respect to the slaves among us, in order to our safety, and to prevent their turning against us in our present struggle, in order to get their liberty. Our oppressors have planned to gain the blacks, and induce them to take up arms against us, by promising them liberty on this condition; and this plan they are prosecuting to the utmost of their power, by which means they have persuaded numbers to join them. And should we attempt to restrain them by force and severity, keeping a strict guard over them, and punishing them severely who shall be detected in attempting to join our opposers, this will only be making bad worse, and serve to render our inconsistence, oppression and cruelty more criminal, perspicuous and shocking, and bring down the righteous vengeance of heaven on our heads. The only way pointed out to prevent this threatening evil, is to set the blacks at liberty ourselves by some public acts and laws, and then give them proper encouragement to labor, or take arms in the defense of the American cause, as they shall choose. This would at once be doing them some degree of justice, and defeating our enemies in the scheme they are prosecuting.'

'These,' says Mr. Moore, 'were the views of a philanthropic divine, who urged them upon the Continental Congress and the owners of slaves throughout the colonies with singular power, showing it to be at once their duty and their interest to adopt the policy of emancipation.' They did not meet with those of the administration of any of the colonies, and were formally disapproved. But while the enlistment of negroes was prohibited, the fact is still notorious, as Bancroft says, that 'the roll of the army at Cambridge had from its first formation borne the names of men of color.' 'Free negroes stood in the ranks by the side of white men. In the beginning of the war, they had entered the provincial army; the first general order which was issued by Ward had required a return, among other things, of the 'complexion' of the soldiers; and black men, like others, were retained in the service after the troops were adopted by the continent.'

It was determined on, at war-councils and in committees of conference, in 1775, that negroes should be rejected from the enlistments; and yet General Washington found, in that same year, that the negroes, if not employed in the American army, would become formidable foes when enlisted by the enemy. We may judge, from a note given by Mr. Moore, that Washington had at least a higher opinion than his confrères of the power of the black. His apprehensions, we are told, were grounded somewhat on the operations of Lord Dunmore, whose proclamation had been issued declaring 'all indented servants, negroes or others, (appertaining to rebels,) free,' and calling on them to join his Majesty's troops. It was the opinion of the commander-in-chief, that if Dunmore was not crushed before spring, he would become the most formidable enemy America had; 'his strength will increase as a snow-ball by rolling, and faster, if some expedient can not be hit upon to convince the slaves and servants of the impotency of his designs.' Consequently, in general orders, December 30th, he says:

'As the General is informed that numbers of free negroes are desirous of enlisting, he gives leave to the recruiting-officers to entertain them, and promises to lay the matter before the Congress, who, he doubts not, will approve of it.'

Washington communicated his action to Congress, adding: 'If this is disapproved of by Congress, I will put a stop to it.'

His letter was referred to a committee of three, (Mr. Wythe, Mr. Adams, and Mr. Wilson,) on the fifteenth of January, 1776, and upon their report on the following day the Congress determined:

'That the free negroes who have served faithfully in the army at Cambridge may be reënlisted therein, but no others.'

That Washington, at a later period at least, warmly approved of the employment of blacks as soldiers, appears from his remarks to Colonel Laurens, subsequent to his failure to carry out what even as an effort forms one of the most remarkable episodes of the Revolution, full details of which are given in Mr. Moore's pamphlet.

On March 14th, 1779, Alexander Hamilton wrote to John Jay, then President of Congress, warmly commending a plan of Colonel Laurens, the object of which was to raise three or four battalions of negroes in South-Carolina. We regret that our limits render it impossible to give the whole of this remarkable document, which is as applicable to the present day as it was to its own.

'I foresee that this project will have to combat much opposition from prejudice and self-interest. The contempt we have been taught to entertain for the blacks makes us fancy many things that are founded neither in reason nor experience; and an unwillingness to part with property of so valuable a kind will furnish a thousand arguments to show the impracticability, or pernicious tendency, of a scheme which requires such sacrifices. But it should be considered that if we do not make use of them in this way, the enemy probably will; and that the best way to counteract the temptations they will hold out, will be to offer them ourselves. An essential part of the plan is to give them their freedom with their swords. This will secure their fidelity, animate their courage, and, I believe, will have a good influence upon those who remain, by opening a door to their emancipation.

'This circumstance, I confess, has no small weight in inducing me to wish the success of the project; for the dictates of humanity and true policy equally interest me in favor of this unfortunate class of men.

'While I am on the subject of Southern affairs, you will excuse the liberty I take in saying, that I do not think measures sufficiently vigorous are pursuing for our defense in that quarter. Except the few regular troops of South-Carolina, we seem to be relying wholly on the militia of that and two neighboring States. These will soon grow impatient of service, and leave our affairs in a miserable situation. No considerable force can be uniformly kept up by militia, to say nothing of the many obvious and well-known inconveniences that attend this kind of troops. I would beg leave to suggest, sir, that no time ought to be lost in making a draft of militia to serve a twelve-month, from the States of North and South-Carolina and Virginia. But South-Carolina, being very weak in her population of whites, may be excused from the draft, on condition of furnishing the black battalions. The two others may furnish about three thousand five hundred men, and be exempted, on that account, from sending any succors to this army. The States to the northward of Virginia will be fully able to give competent supplies to the army here; and it will require all the force and exertions of the three States I have mentioned to withstand the storm which has arisen, and is increasing in the South.

 

'The troops drafted must be thrown into battalions, and officered in the best possible manner. The best supernumerary officers may be made use of as far as they will go. If arms are wanted for their troops, and no better way of supplying them is to be found, we should endeavor to levy a contribution of arms upon the militia at large. Extraordinary exigencies demand extraordinary means. I fear this Southern business will become a very grave one.

'With the truest respect and esteem,

I am, sir, your most obedient servant,

Alexander Hamilton.

'His Excellency, John Jay,

President of Congress,'

The project was warmly approved by Major-General Greene, and Laurens himself, who proposed to lead the blacks, was enthusiastic in his hopes. In a letter written about this time, he says:

'It appears to me that I should be inexcusable in the light of a citizen, if I did not continue my utmost efforts for carrying the plan of the black levies into execution, while there remains the smallest hope of success. The House of Representatives will be convened in a few days. I intend to qualify, and make a final effort. Oh! that I were a Demosthenes! The Athenians never deserved a more bitter exprobation than our countrymen.'

But the Legislature of South-Carolina decided, as might have been expected from the most tory of States in the Revolution, as it now is the most traitorous in the Emancipation—for it is by that name that this war will be known in history. It rejected Laurens' proposal—his own words give the best account of the failure:

'I was outvoted, having only reason on my side, and being opposed by a triple-headed monster, that shod the baneful influence of avarice, prejudice, and pusillanimity in all our assemblies. It was some consolation to me, however, to find that philosophy and truth had made some little progress since my last effort, as I obtained twice as many suffrages as before.'

'Washington,' says Mr. Moore, 'comforted Laurens with the confession that he was not at all astonished by the failure of the plan, adding:

''That spirit of freedom, which at the commencement of this contest would have gladly sacrificed every thing to the attainment of its object, has long since subsided, and every selfish passion has taken its place. It is not the public, but private interest, which influences the generality of mankind, nor can the Americans any longer boast an exception. Under these circumstances, it would rather have been surprising if you had succeeded.'

But the real lesson which this rejection of negro aid taught this country was a bitter one. South-Carolina lost twenty-five thousand negroes, and in Georgia between three fourths and seven eighths of the slaves escaped. The British organized them, made great use of them, and they became 'dangerous and well-disciplined bands of marauders.' As the want of recruits in the American army increased, negroes, both bond and free, were finally and gladly taken. In the department under General Washington's command, on August 24th, 1778, there were nearly eight hundred black soldiers. This does not include, however, the black regiment of Rhode Island slaves which had just been organized.

In 1778 General Varnum proposed to Washington that a battalion of negro slaves be raised, to be commanded by Colonel Greene, Lieutenant-Colonel Olney, and Major Ward. Washington approved of the plan, which, however, met with strong opposition from the Rhode Island Assembly. The black regiment was, however, raised, tried, 'and not found wanting.' As Mr. Moore declares:

'In the battle of Rhode-Island, August 29th, 1778, said by Lafayette to have been 'the best fought action of the whole war,' this newly raised black regiment, under Colonel Greene, distinguished itself by deeds of desperate valor, repelling three times the fierce assaults of an overwhelming force of Hessian troops. And so they continued to discharge their duty with zeal and fidelity—never losing any of their first laurels so gallantly won. It is not improbable that Colonel John Laurens witnessed and drew some of his inspiration from the scene of their first trial in the field.'

A company of negroes from Connecticut was also raised and commanded by the late General Humphreys, who was attached to the family of Washington. Of this company cotemporary account says that they 'conducted themselves with fidelity and efficiency throughout the war.' So, little by little, the negro came to be an effective aid, after all the formal rejections of his service. In 1780, an act was passed in Maryland to procure one thousand men to serve three years. The property in the State was divided into classes of sixteen thousand pounds, each of which was, within twenty days, to furnish one recruit, who might be either a freeman or a slave. In 1781, the Legislature resolved to raise, immediately, seven hundred and fifty negroes, to be incorporated with the other troops.

In Virginia an act had been passed in 1777, declaring that free negroes, and free negroes only, might be enlisted on the footing with white men. Great numbers of Virginians who wished to escape military service, caused their slaves to enlist, having tendered them to the recruiting-officers as substitutes for free persons, whose lot or duty it was to serve in the army, at the same time representing that these slaves were freemen. 'On the expiration of the term of enlistment, the former owners attempted to force them to return to a state of servitude, with equal disregard of the principles of justice and their own solemn promise.'

The iniquity of such proceedings soon raised a storm of indignation, and the result was the passage of an Act of Emancipation, securing freedom to all slaves who had served their term in the war.

Such are the principal facts collected in this remarkable and timely publication. It is needless to say that we commend it to the careful perusal of all who desire conclusive information on a most important subject. It is evident that we are going through nearly the same stages of timidity, ignorance, and blind conservatism which were passed by our forefathers, and shall come, if not too late, upon the same results. It is historically true that Washington apparently had in the beginning these scruples, but was among the first to lay them aside, and that experience taught him and many others the folly of scrupling to employ in regular warfare and in a regular way men who would otherwise aid the enemy. These are undeniable facts, well worth something more than mere reflection, and we accordingly commend the work in which they are set forth, with all our heart, to the reader.

A MERCHANT'S STORY

'All of which I saw, and part of which I was.'

CHAPTER II

The clock of St. Paul's was sounding eight. Buttoning my outside coat closely about me—for it was a cold, stormy night in November—I descended the steps of the Astor House to visit, in the upper part of the city, the blue-eyed young woman who is looking over my shoulder while I write this—it was nearly twenty years ago, reader, but she is young yet!

As I closed the outer door, a small voice at my elbow, in a tone broken by sobs, said:

'Sir—will you—please, sir—will you buy some ballads?'

'Ballads! a little fellow like you selling ballads at this time of night?'

'Yes, sir! I haven't sold only three all day, sir; do, please sir, do buy some!' and as he stood under the one gas-burner which lit the hotel-porch, I saw that his eyes were red with weeping.

'Come inside, my little man; don't stand here in the cold. Who sends you out on such a night as this to sell ballads?'

'Nobody, sir; but mother is sick, and I have to sell 'em! She's had nothing to eat all day, sir. Oh! do buy some—do buy some, sir!'

'I will, my good boy; but tell me, have you no father?'

'No, sir, I never had any—and mother is sick, very sick, sir; and she's nobody to do any thing for her but me—nobody but me, sir!' and he cried as if his very heart would break.

'Don't cry, my little boy, don't cry; I'll buy your ballads—all of them;' and I gave him two half-dollar pieces—all the silver I had.

'I haven't got so many as that, sir; I haven't got only twenty, and they're only a cent a piece, sir;' and with very evident reluctance, he tendered me back the money.

'Oh! never mind, my boy, keep the money and the ballads too.'

'O sir! thank you. Mother will be so glad, so glad, sir!' and he turned to go, but his feelings overpowering him, he hid his little face in the big blanket-shawl which he wore, and sobbed louder and harder than before.

'Where does your mother live, my boy?'

'Round in Anthony street, sir; some good folks there give her a room, sir.'

'Did you say she was sick?'

'Yes, sir, very sick; the doctor says she can't live only a little while, sir.'

'And what will become of you, when she is dead?'

'I don't know, sir. Mother says God will take care of me, sir.'

'Come, my little fellow, don't cry any more; I'll go with you and see your mother.'

'Oh! thank you, sir; mother will be so glad to have you—so glad to thank you, sir;' and, looking up timidly an my face, he added: 'You'll love mother, sir!'

I took his hand in mine, and we went out into the storm.

He was not more than six years old, and had a bright, intelligent, but pale and peaked face. He wore thin, patched trowsers, a small, ragged cap, and large, tattered boots, and over his shoulders was a worn woolen shawl. I could not see the remainder of his clothing, but I afterward discovered that a man's waistcoat was his only other garment.

As I have said, it was a bleak, stormy night. The rain, which had fallen all the day, froze as it fell, and the sharp, wintry wind swept down Broadway, sending an icy chill to my very bones, and making the little hand I held in mine tremble with cold. We passed several blocks in silence, when the child turned into a side-street.

'My little fellow,' I said, 'this is not Anthony street—that is further on.'

'I know it, sir; but I want to get mother some bread, sir. A good gentleman down here sells to me very cheap, sir.'

We crossed a couple of streets and stopped at a corner-grocery.

'Why, my little 'un,' said the large, red-faced man behind the counter, 'I didn't know what had become of ye! Why haven't ye bin here to-day?'

'I hadn't any money, sir,' replied the little boy.

'An' haven't ye had any bread to-day, sonny?'

'Mother hasn't had any, sir; a little bit was left last night, but she made me eat that, sir.'

'D—n it, an' hasn't she hed any all day! Ye mustn't do that agin, sonny; ye must come whether ye've money or no; times is hard, but, I swear, I kin give ye a loaf any time.'

'I thank you, sir,' I said, advancing from the doorway where I had stood unobserved—'I will pay you;' and taking a roll of bills from my pocket, I gave him one. 'You know what they want—send it to them at once.'

The man stared at me a moment in amazement, then said:

'An' do ye know 'em, sir?'

'No, I'm just going there.'

'Well, do, sir; they're bad off; ye kin do real good there, no mistake.'

'I'll see,' I replied; and taking the bread in one hand and the little boy by the other, I started again for his mother's. I was always a rapid walker, but I had difficulty in keeping up with the little fellow as he trotted along at my side.

We soon stopped at the door of an old, weather-worn building, which I saw by the light of the street-lamp was of dingy brick, three stories high, and hermetically sealed by green board-shutters. It sat but one step above the ground, and a dim light which came through the low basement-windows, showed that even its cellar was occupied. My little guide rang the bell, and in a moment a panel of the door opened, and a shrill voice asked:

'Who's there?'

'It's only me, ma'am; please let me in.'

'What, you, Franky, out so late as this!' exclaimed the woman, undoing the chain which held the door. As she was about closing it she caught sight of me, and eyeing me for a moment, said: 'Walk in, sir.' As I complied with the invitation, she added, pointing to a room opening from the hall: 'Step in there, sir.'

'He's come to see mother, ma'am,' said the little boy.

'You can't see her, sir, she's sick, and don't see company any more.'

'I would see her for only a moment, madam.'

'But she can't see nobody now, sir.'

'Oh! mother would like to see him very much, ma'am; he's a very good gentleman, ma'am,' said the child, in a pleading, winning tone.

The real object of my visit seemed to break upon the woman, for, making a low courtesy, she said:

'Oh! she will be glad to see you, sir; she's very bad off, very bad indeed;' and she at once led the way to the basement stairway.

The woman was about forty, with a round, full form, a red, bloated face, and eyes which looked as if they had not known a wink of sleep for years. She wore a dirty lace-cap, trimmed with gaudy colors, and a tawdry red and black dress, laid off in large squares like the map of Philadelphia. It was very low in the neck—remarkably so for the season—and disclosed a scorched, florid skin, and a rough, mountainous bosom.

The furnishings of the hall had a shabby-genteel look, till we reached the basement stairs, when every thing became bare, and dark, and dirty. The woman led the way down, and opened the door of a front-room—the only one on the floor, the rest of the space being open, and occupied as a cellar. This room had a forlorn, cheerless appearance. Its front wall was of the naked brick, through which the moisture had crept, dotting it every here and there with large water-stains and blotches of mold. Its other sides were of rough boards, placed upright, and partially covered with a dirty, ragged paper. The floor was of wide, unpainted plank. A huge chimney-stack protruded some three feet into the room, and in it was a hole which admitted the pipe of a rusty air-tight stove that gave out just enough heat to take the chill edge off the damp, heavy atmosphere. This stove, a small stand resting against the wall, a broken-backed chair, and a low, narrow bed covered with a ragged patch-work counterpane, were the only furniture of the apartment. And that room was the home of two human beings.

'How do you feel to-night, Fanny?' asked the woman, as she approached the low bed in the corner. There was a reply, but it was too faint for me to hear.

'Here, mamma,' said the little boy, taking me by the hand and leading me to the bedside, 'here's a good gentleman who's come to see you. He's very good, mamma; he's given me a whole dollar, and got you lots of things at the store; oh! lots of things!' and the little fellow threw his arms around his mother's neck, and kissed her again and again in his joy.

The mother turned her eye upon me—such an eye! It seemed a black flame. And her face—so pale, so wan, so woe-begone, and yet so sweetly, strangely, beautiful—seemed that of some fallen angel, who, after long ages of torment, had been purified, and fitted again for heaven! And it was so. She had suffered all the woe, she had wept for all the sin, and then she stood white and pure before the everlasting gates which were opening to let her in!

She reached me her thin, weak hand, and in a low voice, said: 'I thank you, sir.'

'You are welcome, madam. You are very sick; it hurts you to speak?'

She nodded slightly, but said nothing. I turned to the woman who had admitted me, and in a very low tone said: 'I never saw a person die; is she not dying?'

'No, sir, I guess not. She's seemed so for a good many days.'

'Has she had a physician?'

'Not for nigh a month. A doctor come once or twice, but he said it wan't no use—he couldn't help her.'

'But she should have help at once. Have you any one you can send?'

'Oh! yes; I kin manage that. What doctor will you have?'

I wrote on a piece of paper the name of an acquaintance—a skillful and experienced physician, who lived not far off—and gave it to her.

'And can't you make her a cup of tea, and a little chicken-broth? She has had nothing all day.'

'Nothing all day! I'm sure I didn't know it! I'm poor, sir—you don't know how poor—but she shan't starve in my house.'

'I suppose she didn't like to speak of it; but get her something as soon as you can.'

'I will, sir; I'll fix her some tea and broth right off.'

'Well, do, as quick as possible. I'll pay you for your trouble.'

'I don't want any pay, sir,' she replied, as she turned and darted from the doorway as nimbly as if she had not been fat and forty.

She soon returned with the tea, and I gave it to the sick girl, a spoonful at a time, she being too weak to sit up. It was the first she had tasted for weeks, and it greatly revived her.

After a time, the doctor came. He felt her pulse, asked, her a few questions in a low voice, and then wrote some simple directions. When he had done that, he turned to me and said: 'Step outside for a moment; I want to speak with you.'

As we passed out, we met the woman going in with the broth.

'Please give it to her at once,' I said.

'Yes, sir, I will; but, gentlemen, don't stand here in the cold. Walk up into the parlor—the front-room.'

We did as she suggested, for the cellar-way had a damp, unhealthy air.

The parlor was furnished in a showy, tawdry style, and a worn, ugly, flame-colored carpet covered its floor. A coal-fire was burning in the grate, and we sat down by it. As we did so, I heard loud voices, mingled with laughter and the clinking of glasses, in the adjoining room. Not appearing to notice the noises, the doctor asked:

'Who is this woman?'

'I don't know; I never saw her before. Is she dying?'

'No, not now. But she can't last long; a week, at the most.'

'She evidently has the consumption. That damp cellar has killed her; she should be got out of it.'

'The cellar hasn't done it; her very vitals are eaten up. She's been beyond cure for six months!'

'Is it possible? And such a woman!'

'Oh! I see such cases every day—women as fine-looking as she is.'

A ring came at the front-door, and in a moment I heard the woman coming up the basement stairs. I had risen when the doctor made the last remark, and was pacing up and down the room, deliberating on what should be done. The parlor-door was ajar, and as the woman admitted the new-comers, I caught a glimpse of them. They were three rough, hard-looking characters; and one, from his unsteady gait, I judged to be intoxicated. She seemed glad to see them, and led them into the room from whence the noises proceeded. In a moment the doctor rose to go, saying: 'I can do nothing more. But what do you intend to do here? I brought you out to ask you.'

'I don't know what can be done. She ought not to be left to die there.'

'She'd prefer dying above-ground, no doubt; and if you relish fleecing, you'll get her an upper room—but she's got to die soon any way, and a day or two, more or less, down there, won't make any difference. Take my advice—don't throw your money away, and don't stay here too late; the house has a very hard name, and some of its rough customers would think nothing of throttling a spruce young fellow like you.'

'I thank you, doctor, but I think I'll run the risk—at least for a while,' and I laughed good-humoredly at the benevolent gentleman's caution.

'Well, if you lose your small change, don't charge it to me.' Saying this, he bade me 'good-night.'

He found the door locked, barred, and secured by the large chain, and he was obliged to summon the woman. When she had let him out, I asked her into the parlor.

'Who is this sick person?' I inquired.

'I don't know, sir. She never gave me no name but Fanny. I found her and her little boy on the door-step, one night, nigh a month ago. She was crying hard, and seemed very sick, and little Franky was a-trying to comfort her—he's a brave, noble little fellow, sir. She told me she'd been turned out of doors for not paying her rent, and was afeared she'd die in the street, though she didn't seem to care much about that, except for the boy—she took on terrible about him. She didn't know what would become of him. I've to scrape very hard to get along, sir, for times is hard, and my rent is a thousand dollars; but I couldn't see her die there, so I took her in, and put a bed up in the basement, and let her have it. 'Twas all I could do; but, poor thing! she won't want even that long.'