At first the northern people were chagrined and disheartened. Then came a renewed determination. They saw the real character of the war, and no longer dreamed that the south could be subdued by a mere display of military force. They were to fight a brave people - Americans - who were to be conquered only by a desperate struggle. During the first year of the war the Confederates had captured the large arsenals at Harper's Ferry, near Norfolk. They had been successful in the two great battles of the year - Bull Run and Wilson's Creek; also in the minor engagements at Big Bethel, Carthage, Lexington, Belmont, and Ball's Bluff. The Federals had saved Fort Pickens and Fort Monroe, and captured the forts at Hatteras Inlet and Port Royal. They had gained the victories of Phillippi, Rich Mountain, Boonville, Carricks' Ford, Cheat Mountain, Carnifex Ferry and Danville. They had saved for the union, Missouri, Maryland, and West Virginia. Principally, however, they had thrown the whole south into a state of siege - the armies on the north and the west by land, and the navy in the east by sea, maintaining a vigilant blockade.

After the death of my master I remained as cook for the company until November, 1863, when at Blue Springs, Tennessee, Generals Thomas and Burnside routed Hood and Forrest, after a short contest; and in the retreat, I, with many others, was captured. I was with the cooks' brigade. There were about fifty of us, and each one was riding one of those long eared fellows, that lean against the fence and say, “I have no one to love me.”

In the retreat we had quite a deep ditch, or gully, to cross. My animal was heavily loaded with camp kettles, tin pans and kitchen utensils in general. When the cavalry got to this ditch they commanded their horses to mount, and the horses leaped over, but I suspect in the excitement I forgot to give the necessary commands, for my long eared friend's fore feet reached the other shore safely, but his hind feet fell short of the mark, and down in the ditch we went; such a scramble you never saw. But I found that there were many rebel soldiers in there, who were tired of the Yankee lead and wanted to be captured. I was scrambling to get out, but they told me to lie still, and in a few moments Yankee soldiers - both cavalry and infantry, seemed to have popped up out of the earth; while some pursued the fleeing rebels, others took us to the general's headquarters. The rebels were sent to the northern prisons, and the cooks and colored servants that had been captured, were next brought before General Thomas and disposed of. I was the last man in the line, and when I came before the general, his first words to me were, “you're a fine looking fellow. Here we are fighting to free you and you are here dressed up in a suit of rebel uniform.” He then called his cook - a quaint looking, cross-eyed old man, who like myself, was “hewn out of a slab of ebony.” He said, “Nathan, what shall we do with this boy?” “Hang him to the highest tree we can find,” said Nathan. “Well, bring me the best rope you can find.” Nathan obeyed. He came with a rope as large around as his wrist, and about twenty feet long. The general asked him if he thought that would hold me; he answered in the affirmative, and General Thomas told him to throw it over the limb of a tall oak which stood near by. But an officer by the name of Lane rode up and said: “General, maybe this boy will take the oath of allegiance.” I would have taken most anything about this time. Then the general inquired of me if I would take the oath. I told him I would. By this time some one said, “hold up your right hand.” Another said, “hold up your left hand,” another said, “your right foot,” and another said, “your left foot.” I obeyed orders as fast as they were given until it came to the left foot. I had up all I could possibly get up. After having all the fun the, wanted with me, the general told Nathan to take me back and wash and clean me up. Uncle Nathan took me to his tent, where he had a kettle of boiling water. It looked as if he were going to scald a hog; then began the washing process. After the old man had rubbed and washed me until my flesh burned, and I had put on a castaway suit of General Thomas', I went to headquarters. After standing before the large mirror in the general's tent. I thought I was the richest, freest man in America. They had carried the joke to such an extent - for I really thought they were going to hang me - that I was sick. They administered some medicine to me and I lay down across the general's bed, General Thomas himself having told me to. When I awoke about 3 p. m. I was between the two generals, Burnside and Thomas. When I moved towards one he would crowd against me, and if I moved towards the other he would crowd in, until I was squeezed as tightly as possible between the two. They were both awake, and I could feel their sides heaving until they could not restrain their laughter any longer, then General Thomas said, “lie still boy, this white won't rub off.” This was my first day of freedom.

General Thomas questioned me concerning my parents, and on learning that my mother was in Greenville, Tennesse, he said; “you will see her within three days if the rebels don't whip us.” Accordingly we left Blue Springs that day enroute to Madison Court House, Virginia. which brought us through Greenville where mother was. It was hard to prevent me from being the advance guard. For two days they were trying to hold me back, until we finally reached Greenville, and I saw the house in which mother lived. Seeing that no rebels were near, the officers allowed me to advance. Before I reached the house I saw mother and my Jewish mistress, Mrs. Hadley, standing on the porch. Everybody seemed very much excited, and the rebel army was retreating.

Having changed my uniform from the rebel gray to the Yankee blue, my mother did not recognize me until I was at the gate; then she came running and shouting “this is William.” I was saying in one breath - not waiting for one question to be answered before I asked another, “how are you?” I am free, are you? Get ready to go to the Yankees; has master the same black horse and buggy?” She told me he had. I told her to go pack up while I hitched the horse to the buggy. When I returned to the house the soldiers had surrounded it and asked me where my mother was. I ran up stairs. tried to open mother's door, when she informed me that Massa Jake had locked her in. The soldiers were hurrying me to get my mother and come on I told them Massa had locked her in, and one of them gave me an ax and told me to break the door open. I told mother to stand back from the door. At the same time Massa Jake came in with a shot gun in his hand, but before he could raise it dozens of muskets were aimed at him. By this time I had the door open, and there stood mother with a rope around the bureau, and every loose article she could get hold of was wrapped in her straw tick, all tied up ready for moving. She was expecting to move the whole cargo in a buggy.

I had her unpack as quickly as possible and gather up her clothes and little keepsakes, so we could be out of the yard as soon as possible. I shall never forget the courtesy shown mother by two or three soldiers, in helping her in the buggy. Being all ready, and our buggy placed in line with the other contrabands - for there were between one hundred anti fifty and two hundred wagons, mule carts, pack horses, mules and even milch cows, we started on our journey.

Most of the southern men had gone to war, and those who were too old to go had taken the women and gone to the cities, leaving the farms and country homes virtually in charge of the colored people. I had an uncle who was left in charge of a farm three miles from town. We passed by his place on our way to Virginia, and when we came in sight of the farm we could see colored people by the hundreds, who had gathered from other farms. The news spread like wild fire all over the country that the Yankees had come.

The “great house” was kept furnished the year round and left in the colored overseer's charge, because the family would come back and forth, sometimes staying weeks at a time. The veranda was filled with men, women and children, singing, shouting and praising God in the highest. I hastened into the yard and was soon the center of attraction. Uncle Isaac was soon by my side, picking me up and carrying me around, shouting at the top of his voice, while I was struggling to get down, and trying to drown his voice so I could tell him that he was free, and to pack up at once and go with us.

I was inviting him to liberty, yet I had not a shelter in all the world to put my head save the canopy of Heaven. But I had heard of a country where all men were free, and like Bunyan's Pilgrim I had started to make it my home.

I finally succeeded in loosing myself from his strong embrace, and then I made a short speech to all, telling them to hitch their ox and mule carts, and load up their things and go to the Yankees. There was considerable fear about their doing as I said, until some of the soldiers appeared, and helped to dispel this fear by confirming what I had said. It was not long until the yard was fairly lined with wagons, carts and every conceivable beast of burden. They began to tear down their old bedsteads, built against the walls of their cabins, and gather up their rude furniture, when the Yankees asked what was in the “great house.” On learning that it was furnished they demanded that it be opened, and that the people take everything they wanted and load their wagons. My uncle had the key but refused to open the door, saying “that belongs to old Master.” Fifteen or twenty soldiers then seized a huge log of wood and broke the door down.

'Twas but a few minutes until the great place was gutted. The piano was the only piece of furniture remaining, and some women wanted to take that for their girls when they became educated. Now the wagons were loaded to their utmost capacity. I can't afford to spoil a good joke because of race, color or nationality. Then the children were put on, and it seems to me now that the mothers must have taken some kind of paste and put on the backs of the children, so as to stick them up against the furniture. They were so thick around the wagons it seemed there was not a spot left where there was not a baby. They were of all sizes and colors; they were black, dark brown, pumpkin colored, yellow and half white. And they were all crying with a different voice, giving different tunes to the song they were singing. It was certainly a menagerie when the procession left the farm. Some of the babies were crying alto, some soprano, some bass, but most of them baritone - because it was bare of all music.

Of course all of our masters were honorable, and these children were all called by their master's name - but they didn't call them papa all the time. Many of their mothers were as honorable as a woman could be under the circumstances, but many times in order to save their backs from being lacerated they obeyed the command of their master, and their commands were not always honorable.

The soldiers now moved forward toward Knoxville, Tennessee. We had four or five hundred men, women and children in this great march from a land of servitude to a land of liberty. Sometimes like Pharaoh of old, the old masters would pursue their slaves, and even come into the camp but the slaves' fears would soon be dispelled by the stern command of some Yankee soldier or officer, who would order the rebs to leave the camp. Many times they subjected them to some humiliating treatment - such as riding the rail horse, or carrying a barrel up the hill and rolling it down again, and they would continue this process for hours. After skirmishing for a week or ten days we arrived at Knoxville, Tennessee, where we sold the horses, mules, oxen, buggies and wagons to General Thomas. I bought an old log cabin on the old battle field for my mother. I was to give seventeen dollars for this property. I could count from one to fifty, but I could not tell the denominations; I didn't know a ten dollar bill from a one; so I counted out seventeen bills and paid for the place. Later I learned that I had paid some forty or fifty dollars for it.

About this time, in 1863, Frederick Douglas went to Washington to see President Lincoln, telling him “that our people were digging breast works, exposed to the shot and shell, and why not give them guns and let them have a hand in freeing themselves and saving the union.” Lincoln's reply was that the feeling at the north was running so high he didn't know what the result would be, for no measure of the war was more bitterly opposed than the project of arming slaves. It was denounced at the north, and the confederate congress passed a law which threatened with death any white officer captured while in command of negro troops, leaving the men to be dealt with according to the laws of the state in which they were taken. Douglas said he returned home, but slept little that night, for he continually called on God to in some way bring peace out of the confusion, and open the way for colored men to get on the field of battle as enlisted soldiers. The next morning by nine o'clock Douglas said he was at the capitol and closeted with the president. To his surprise Lincoln told him that Grant had sent for a division of colored soldiers. Lincoln commissioned Douglas as recruiting officer, and sent him to Boston Massachusetts, where he mustered in the 54th and 55th colored regiments. These were the first colored regiments organized in the free states.

Col. Shaw led the 54th regiment in its first battle at Fort Wagner. After keeping us in reserve for three hours while the union soldiers were falling like Wheat before the sharpened sickle, Col. Shaw asked to lead the black phalanx into the battle, notwithstanding he knew it meant certain death to him if he was captured, the confederates having said they would not take any union soldier prisoner who was in command of colored troops, for they did not recognize the colored men as citizens or soldiers, therefore would not consider them or their leaders as prisoners of war. Col. Shaw sent his orderly back to the wagon train. He returned in a few moments and handed the Colonel a bundle, which contained a regimental silk flag with the inscription, “To the 54th Colored Regiment, Robert G. Shaw, Colonel. Presented by the White Ladies of Boston, Massachusetts.” Our regiment went wild at the sight of the flag. They carried Col. Shaw up and down the line on their shoulders, cheering like mad. As he handed the flag to Carney, the flag bearer, the Colonel said, “Carney, will you return this flag to us in honor?” His answer was, “Colonel, I will do so or report to God the reason I do not.” The roll was called and twelve hundred men and officers answered to their names. The battle was on. Our gallant Colonel's side was torn by a shell a few moments after. His dying words were, “boys, don't let the flag go down.” His body never touched the ground, being borne to the rear by his colored troops, one of whom was instantly killed. His place was immediately filled by another. Carney's right arm was shot off during the battle. As he fell, holding the flag with his left hand and in his teeth, he shouted, “boys, don't let the flag go down.” When the roll was called after the battle seventy-seven had answered to their last roll call, having fallen defending the flag and fighting for their liberty. Colonel Shaw was buried with his many black soldiers who lost their lives in this fierce battle.

At one time, in order to be in season for an assault, these regiments marched two days through heavy sands and drenching storms. After only five minutes rest, we took our place at the front of the attacking column. The men fought with unflinching gallantry, and planted their flags. So willing were the negroes to enlist, and so faithful did they prove themselves in service, that in December, 1863, over fifty thousand had been enrolled, and before the close of the war that number was quadrupled.

I recognized then that I was to take part in one of the greatest wars of modern times. The war of the rebellion was now on, when the numbers engaged in it, and the extent of territory affected are considered. It was primarily a war based on sentiment. The long, but peaceful and prayerful contest of the abolitionist against the slave power, and the earnest and faithful prayer of the slave himself, all crowded the throne of a just God, and had aroused the whole country, so that everywhere, in every state in the union, there was a sharp division of opinion among the people. It is true always, however, that God makes the wrath of man to serve him, and out of the wear of the rebellion the slave fought his way to freedom. What a glorious record the Afro-American made in that war! It is one of the brightest pages in all history. In the early stages of the war he was not even allowed to drive the teams, to dig trenches or to throw up breastworks for the union army. Tile soldiers of the north declared that this was a white man's war, and that sentiment had made it very difficult for the government at Washington to call for colored troops, but before the close of the war he was a regularly enlisted soldier in all the departments, to the number of 200,000, and had fought with such valor, such heroism, from Fort Wagner to Fort Fisher, from New Market Heights to Petersburg, that when the victorious union army at last marched into Richmond, the fallen and deserted capitol of the lost cause, he was accorded the first place of honor at the head of the column! Thirty six years afterwards Colonel Theodore Roosevelt, of the rough riders, commented on the bravery of the black soldiers after the brilliant charge of a successful capture of San Juan Hill. Thirty six years after Colonel Robert Gould Shaw was buried with his negroes, in the sands of Morris Island, the world has looked with enthusiasm upon the heroic deeds and gallantry of the negro soldier, and today he is filling his station from West Point, the military center of the world, to the navy that plows the distant seas and watches the gate way to this nation. This fact is demonstrated when you recall to memory the 25th of January, 1898, when the battleship Maine steamed into the harbor of Havana. She went there on an errand of peace, the representative of a friendly power. On the 15th of February the Maine was blown to atoms by a floating mine, together with two hundred sixty-six American sailors, of whom more than thirty were negroes.