Part 2

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:

[Music]

“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.