Read Ebook: Reminiscences of the Civil War by Mitchel Cora

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About four in the morning we resumed our way down the now placidly flowing stream. The banks were sometimes high bluffs, then low stretches of sand or clay, but more often tangled masses of trees and thick undergrowth coming right down to the water. No one could possibly penetrate it, and we were as alone as though we were the only inhabitants of the earth.

The exciting event of the morning was passing the little military post where the passport must be examined. I can well remember the rather overdone indifference of my mother and the stoical look on the faces of the men. The passport was only for mother and me. It said nothing about the men, and at first it seemed as though there would be some trouble, but it was so obvious that we must have some one to do the rowing that we were given permission to go on. But it was not till we had left the post several miles behind that we were really at ease. The rest of the trip was uneventful. The men rowed and rested. We always made progress, as the flow of the river was several miles an hour.

We hoped to reach home before dark of the second day in the little boat, but the men were nearly exhausted and could not row steadily. Finally we came out into the big bay in front of the city, and, oh, how little and frail our boat seemed, especially as it had begun to leak and mother and I had to take turns bailing.

But all things come to an end at last, and about midnight we climbed up on the deserted wharf of unfortunate Apalachicola. Little did it look like the busy, thriving place of two years before. Instead of high piles of cotton bales, grass was growing in the streets. Where innumerable negroes used to work busily there was silence and loneliness. The life of the city was gone. Poor Apalachicola! Her glories had departed.

The scene made a vivid impression on my youthful imagination, and I realized in a degree how sad and forlorn it was.

We were glad to be on our feet after the confinement of the boat. No one knew when we would arrive; all were asleep; and the walk to our home seemed like going through a dead city. It reminded me of the old story of "The Sleeping Beauty."

However, the faithful nurse slept with one eye open, and we were soon surrounded by the little family. The meeting was almost too pathetic for joy, and tears and laughter were about evenly distributed.

It was certainly an unusual scene. Aunt Ann, the old nurse, as well as the children, had rushed out in their nightclothes, and we embraced each other in the garden among the orange trees, regardless of the neighbors. The excitement stimulated us for the moment, but we were so exhausted that we were soon put to bed.

It was fortunate that we arrived as we did, for the food question had grown to be a very serious one for the old negro, as the simple supply was nearly exhausted.

Agriculturally, Apalachicola was unfortunately situated, being built on a sand bank. Almost every one who could get away had gone, and there were few negroes to cultivate what little soil there was. No steamers could come down the river, and if any one went down the bay for fish and oysters, he was suspected of sympathizing with the Northerners. That left the city dependent on an occasional barge coming down the lower part of the river with corn meal. Of other food there was none except a few sweet potatoes. There were no cattle, consequently no meat; no poultry, as there was no food for them. Our cow had died from lack of food. She had lived quite a while on cotton seed, but gave very little milk, and at last was buried in the back yard.

Before father left he had found several casks of rice in one of his empty warehouses. It was taken to the house, and he thought it would last a long time. But one day mother discovered that weevils were in it and put it out in the yard on sheets. The neighbors saw it and soon a crowd collected and demanded the rice. Mother knew they would take it by force if she refused, so yielded, giving each a little till nearly all was gone. After the supply of rice was exhausted there was little good food to be had. Corn meal, with an occasional treat of oysters, was the steady bill of fare. Once the supply of meal was so low that mother went to a friend saying, "I hear you have some corn meal; you must divide with me; I have almost nothing for my children." Once there was a report that a barge was in sight, and all flocked to the wharf, only to see the barge upset and the whole cargo dumped into the water. One can imagine the scene!

I had fared rather better in the interior, and found the food very unpalatable, but hunger is the best of sauces, and I soon found an appetite for the simple fare.

As soon as mother had rested she began to plan for our going North. She knew we would have to wait till spring, as none of us was prepared to face the rigors of a Northern winter. She sent a note to the captain of the "Somerset," which he acknowledged by calling one day when he came up to burn a few houses. He said that when she was ready he would come up for us, and take care of us till the transport came from Key West, so her anxieties on that score were at rest.

One day we heard that the town was excited about two men who had been missing for some time, and that a search party had started out in quest of them. Mother was much worried, as they were the men who had taken father and Colby down the bay. Later one of the scouts who came regularly to town said if the men were wanted they could be found at a certain place. Both had been dead some time. They had been tied to trees and shot at by the whole company. They had been suspected of helping others besides father, and of certain other acts that brought them under suspicion of disaffection. All this was a great shock to us. I remember the day that the wife of one of them came to mother and asked her if she had ever told who took father off. Mother's feelings can well be imagined, but she could answer with a clear conscience that she never had.

Towards March the captain sent a letter saying he had received orders not to take any more refugees, as there had been so many, and they always came so poor, and many of them were ill from exposure. The government was tired of supporting them, consequently he would be unable to give us the required assistance.

This sounded very discouraging, but mother's determination was not at all shaken. She knew we could not stay in Apalachicola and starve. There were some islands in the bay on which were a few old houses, and she felt sure she could find shelter there till the fortnightly transport came, so she began her preparations. She packed the articles she felt she must save if possible, and everything was arranged for leaving at a moment's notice.

Not long after, word was brought that the launches were coming up the bay. Mother immediately started for the wharf and met the captain, saying, "I am now ready to go back with you." He laughed and said, "Well, make your packages small." The result was that she, with her five children, and fifteen pieces of luggage, were put safely on board the launches, and we bid farewell to our Southern home.

The people turned out to see us off, and the presence of the various officers, to say nothing of several small cannon, sufficed to insure us a respectful treatment.

On the way mother explained her plan to the captain, but he scorned it, saying, "I will take you over the island after lunch, and you can see for yourself, but I could not think of letting you stay there. I shall be very happy to have you as my guests." It was a new and wonderful experience for us youngsters and we thoroughly enjoyed it.

I must say here that the "Somerset" was a reconstructed ferryboat that previously had plied between New York and Brooklyn. This ferryboat, returned to her original condition, is still carrying passengers to and fro between the same cities, at Fulton Ferry, and whenever I chance to cross on her I am overwhelmed with recollections, most of them very pleasant.

Lunch was served as soon as we arrived, and words cannot express our joy at seeing whitebread and butter, apples and cake, beside other luxuries, spread out before us. It seemed almost like sacrilege to eat such precious delicacies. The captain enjoyed our delight, and mother shed tears at seeing her children eat all they wanted. It is almost impossible to describe how happy we were the next two weeks. The ship and every one on board were at our disposal.

The ship's tailor made beautiful suits for the three boys, and lamented that he could not do the same for the rest of us. We were a shabby looking lot, as to clothing, for nothing had been bought for two years, and growing children are not very careful. Some brown linen curtains had been found in one of father's stores and made into shirts for the boys and dresses for the girls. Shoes had been made out of stiff pieces of cloth, etc. It is useless to enter into these little details, for there would be no end to my story, and they are not essential.

The captain sent the boys to the mess-room, and the rest of us lived in his dining room. We were sent ashore each day for exercise and play, were allowed to bring shells and other treasures on board, and were petted and feasted and very, very happy. In fact, nothing was too good for us. The truth was that these men had been shut off from family life so long, many of them having children at home, that they were as happy as we, and it was a pleasant break in their monotonous routine.

One day the captain said to mother, "I know that whatever Confederate money you have is worthless, and you cannot possibly have any 'greenbacks,' so you must be without funds, and how will you get this family to Rhode Island?" She replied with much spirit, "It is my own affair how much or how little I have. I expect my husband has sent some money to Key West for my use." "Very well," said he, "I have ten thousand dollars here--prize money--that I want deposited in New York, and it would be a favor to me if you would carry it with you, using as much as you need, and your husband can replace it at his convenience."

"Oh," said mother, "I have all the responsibility I can bear now. I could not possibly take your money." "Have you one hundred dollars?" asked the captain. "No." "Have you fifty?" Such persistence brought the climax. "I'll tell you just how much I have. Twelve gold dollars that belong to Cora." "I thought as much," said he. "Now, I insist upon your taking five hundred dollars, for you will need a good deal as soon as you leave us." Such kindness could not be resisted and was accepted with much gratitude.

The days flew by very swiftly. Once a vessel was seen trying to run the blockade, and though we went after her with all haste, she made her escape. Another day we went ashore to see the men casting a seine. Quite large fish were caught and made good sport for the fishermen. Every time we went ashore, we were carried on the backs of the sailors, as the water was too shallow to permit even the small boats to land.

We enjoyed it all so much that if we had not had home in view we should have been very sorry when we saw the "Honduras" arrive, and knew that the time had come for us to leave our kind friends. The "Somerset" family was sincerely sorry to lose us, for our stay had been mutually pleasant.

However, the "Honduras" proved to be as happy a home as the "Somerset," and our life on board for four days has always been a pleasant recollection. We stopped at Tampa and Cedar Keys, both very beautiful harbors, and distributed rations, mail, ammunition and other necessities at the blockading points. It was very interesting to watch.

When we arrived in Key West another problem presented itself. The town was full of refugees. The one hotel was crowded to its fullest capacity, and no boat from New Orleans in sight. It was after Butler had taken New Orleans, and a regular line of steamers plied between that city and New York. Yellow fever had broken out in Key West, and the expected steamer might not even come to the wharf.

Several of the officers of the "Honduras" said they knew of a place which was respectable, but they could not say more for it, but if mother would go there they too would live there till they had to leave for a return trip. Their presence added greatly to our comfort and safety.

While in Key West we were made happy by a visit from our old slave and cook, Aunt Sally. She was a Virginia darky and a first-class servant. Before mother had gone to Columbus for me the negroes had begun to leave for Key West in large groups. Aunt Sally came to mother and said she wanted to go, and mother made no opposition. In fact, she was glad to have her go, as it made one less to feed. She knew Aunt Sally would always be able to take care of herself, as she was an accomplished laundress. I remember well when she first came to us. She was to be sold, and being such a fine woman, was allowed time to find her own master. Failing that she would be sold to the highest bidder in the open market. She went down on her knees before my father, imploring him to buy her as an act of charity. She was overcome with joy when he consented, for she knew she would be kindly treated. I used to stand beside her in the evening when she was making bread. She would entertain me by telling interesting stories and singing the old plantation songs, only one of which I remember, and only three verses of that. The music is a quaint minor, and I always loved it:

"If it hadn't been for Adam and Eve, There never would have been no sin; But Adam and Eve am dead and gone And we have de debt for to pay. Shout, Chilluns! to ease my troubled mind.

"De corn in de field is a-ripening, And de laborers dey are but a few; How can you stand so idle there When there's so much work for to do? Shout, Chilluns! to ease my troubled mind.

"Way down into de Valley, Way down into de Valley, I see my Lord a-coming for To ease my troubled mind. Shout, Chilluns! to ease my troubled mind."

I have often tried to find this song among collections of negro melodies, but have never been successful.

Aunt Sally heard we were in Key West, and immediately came to see us, and took us children in her motherly arms.

After ten days there was a rumor that the steamer from New Orleans was in sight, and mother flew to the dock full of resolution and hope. When the captain saw her he said very decidedly, "Madam, I have no room. Everything is as full as possible." "But my daughter and I can sleep on the cabin floor." "Oh," said he, "if you have a daughter, then it is absolutely impossible." "Captain," she replied, "I have five children, and we are all going with you." The thought that that was the last steamer for the summer and yellow fever surely carrying us off if we stayed, gave force to her manner.

The captain wilted, and said meekly, "I have one stateroom, dark as night all the time, and flooded each morning when the decks are washed." "I will take it, whatever it is. When do you leave?" "Get your children immediately, for we leave as soon as possible, any moment."

How her heart must have jumped for joy when we sailed away from the fever-stricken city into the pure air of the Gulf and knew we were headed toward home.

The fever raged in full force that summer and many, especially negroes, died. As we never heard from Aunt Sally, we felt sure she was one of the victims.

This part of our journey was very different from our previous experiences. We were no longer honored and feasted. We were only one group among many forlorn refugees. We were shabby and neglected. Part of the time we were seasick, and always uncomfortable in our cramped quarters. The boys looked neat in their sailor suits, but the rest of us were, to say the least, not dressed in the latest fashion. The first day my brother Tom was wandering alone about the saloon, when an officer ordered him to go forward, saying, "No sailors were allowed aft." It took a good deal of explanation before he was satisfied that the boy was a passenger, for the suit was so exactly right that he could hardly be convinced that it belonged to a landsman. That was before it was the fashion for boys to wear sailor suits. The rest of my story is not very thrilling. We arrived at our home in Rhode Island after an uneventful trip to New York, and were welcomed by my father and brother, who had passed a long and lonely winter. The old farm seemed a haven of rest and plenty after our hard experience in Apalachicola.

Several of our kind naval friends have visited us since then, and we were very happy at being able to offer hospitality to those who had befriended us in time of peril and need.

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