Thomas Driver

Enslaved at the Cumberland Iron Furnace in Dickson County, Tennessee, Thomas Driver had a wife and four children. In 1840, 100 slaves—mostly men between age 24 and 54—labored there. Whites feared insurrection by this large workforce. In 1856 rumors of a slave revolt led to several slaves being hanged.

SOURCE: Information Panel at the Tennessee State Museum, Nashville, Tennessee

Dr. Spencer G. Welch to Cordelia Strother Welch, January 16, 1864

Camp near Orange Court House, Va.,

January 16, 1864.

The army is filling up with conscripts, absentees and others, and if we get also the principals of the substitutes our army will soon be very formidable. Mose Cappock has returned, although his wound has not quite healed. I believe if we whip the Yankees good again this spring they will quit in disgust. Their cause is not just, like ours, and they are sure to become discouraged more readily.

The people of Richmond have had a great time recently, feasting and fêting General Morgan. Men who saw him there tell me he is very young, handsome and attractive, but is modest and has a most pleasing address. I learned that when he passed through Newberry the people made him come out of the train and let them all take a good look at him.

An officer in our regiment was cashiered for forging a furlough, sure enough. I feel very sorry for him and think he should go to the Yankees the first chance he gets, for he is ruined wherever this thing becomes known.

The winter has been unusually severe so far, but I am perfectly comfortable in every way, except that our diet is becoming anything else but bountiful or extravagant. We draw a little coffee and sugar occasionally. For breakfast this morning I had a cup of "Pure Rio," some ham, rice, biscuit and butter, but I have a hankering for such things as syrup, sweet potatoes, sauer-kraut, and the like. I do hope it will not be a great while before I can have such things.

Edwin still has some of the good things to eat which he brought from home in his trunk. His servant, Tony, stole some of his syrup to give to a negro girl who lives near our camp, and Ed gave him a pretty thorough thrashing for it. He says Tony is too much of a thief to suit him and he intends to send him back home. I had to give Gabriel a little thrashing this morning for "jawing” me. I hate very much to raise a violent hand against a person as old as Gabriel, although he is black and a slave. He is too slow for me, and I intend to send him back by Billie when he goes home on furlough.

I must close, as Gabriel is bringing in my dinner. I will write to you again in a few days.

SOURCE: Dr. Spencer G. Welch, A Confederate Surgeon's Letters to His Wife, p. 86-8

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, February 13, 1863

February 13, 1863.

Tonight I have been talking with Cato Waring, one of my old nurses in the hospital. The attempt to give a report of his history seems futile. He is a quiet old black man, this Cato, with singular combination of intellect and ready shrewdness, a subtlety of character that makes you feel as if a serpent might silently coil around you at any moment, without the rustle of a leaf. He appears dull and heavy, but is full of unspent sharpness and agility. He is old, but not gray, body and spirit alike intact. The night after our return from our expedition, I was telling them in the hospital about it and old Cato sat, with his dull eyes bent upon the fire, seemingly indifferent to all, till I came to the death of the rebel officer in the woods. Then his eyes sparkled and glared at me. “Did you know his name?” “No.” “Oh, I hope to God it was my young master who went down that way.”

Tonight Cato came to my tent and began very quietly to tell me of his life in slavery and his escape from it, but it was not long before his tone and manner became too dramatic for me to take notes, and I felt as if all the horrors of the accursed system were being poured upon my naked nerves. His voice was always low, but commanding. He was born on the Santee river and “raised by Mas'r Cooper as a pet.” But he was sent away to learn the carpenter's trade, and after seven years apprenticeship returned home to find his old master was dead and the estate involved by mismanagement on the part of the widow and children. Finally, he and the other slaves were sold to pay the debts. Dr. Waring, his new master, “was a bad man, but not so bad as his wife.” The Dr.'s family increased rapidly and his expenses were so great that Cato was made not only driver, but overseer of the estate, a position he held till his escape, a period of sixteen years. Dr. Waring and his wife ranked among the affectionate specimens of humanity. “Dey ollus kiss wen he go out an wen he come in.” Mrs. Waring was a neat housewife and made her servants “clean all de brasses an eberyting befo' daylight in de mo'nin.” When she arose in the morning and examined the furniture with her white handkerchief for dust, there were usually one or two victims selected for the lash. It was Cato's business to wait at the door for orders to apply from one hundred to five hundred lashes every morning before going out to the plantation. If the victim was male, he was stripped and cords were fastened to his fingers and then drawn over a horizontal pole above his head, till his toes only, touched the ground; then the master would stand behind Cato with a paddle and knock him over for any delinquency on his part. The same treatment was applied to women, except that instead of stripping off the clothing, the skirts and chemise were drawn up over the head. When the parlor was filled with visitors, the mistress would wind a towel around the end of a stick and have it thrust into the throat of the victim and it would come out all covered with blood thus the screams of the tortured would be smothered. These statements would seem exaggerated to me if I had not, over and over, in my medical examinations in this regiment, found enormous horizontal scars around the body, and, on inquiry, been told “Dat's what my ole Marsa had me whipped.” Never once have these revelations come to me except by inquiry.

Finally, the war began. Old Cato heard the guns of Fort Sumter and waited and waited to hear his master speak of it. He and all his fellow slaves felt that the hour of deliverance had come. Finally, he said one night to his old master, — young Doctor who “had been off to some place dey calls Paris,” and who was worse than the old man ; “What all dat tunder mean way off dar?” “Oh, it's the d----d Yankees who want to steal all our property.” Of course Cato was indignant at the Yankees and promised to stand by his master. Time went on and the rebels began to doubt their success and at the same time began to swear that they would “work de niggers to deat’ [death] before the d----d Yankees should have them.” Cato was compelled to exact tasks of the slaves that were before unheard of. He could not do it, and told his master so one Sunday night. The Doctor swore vehemently and ordered Cato to report himself in the morning for chastisement. Cato said “I tanked him berry much for de information an’ went to my hut an’ hung all de keys whar de ole woman could fin’ ‘em, but did u’t tell her what I’se gwine to do, cause she’d make such a hullaboo about it.” But “Sunday mornin’ befo’ de hen git up,” Cato was in a dugout pushing his way through the rice swamp, so that the dogs could not follow his trail. He had gone far before daylight, and, during the day, lay quietly in his boat. Finally he lost his way and had to leave the swamp and his boat, for he had been three days without eating. When he unexpectedly met a white lady, he assumed nonchalance, touched his hat and said, “howdye,” and told such a plausible story that he got something to eat. At another time he went four days without eating and in the evening saw a black man nailing up a coon-skin by torchlight on the side of a hut. “Dis big ole man look like a religion feller,” and Cato was almost on the point of trusting him enough to go up and ask for food, but finally thought it safer to wait a little and try to steal something. He had just entered the yard when a great dog caught him by the chest, but, fortunately, got only his clothing in his mouth. His hickory cane silenced that dog, but others came, “an’ all de blacks an’ whites came down togedder.” He ran to the woods and found a pond and waded half the night to escape the dogs. “I didn’t git nuffin for eat, but I wasn't hungry no mo’ that night.”

At last he found shelter and food and rest under the roof of a negro whom he could trust. He was then twenty-two miles from the river and in the night a black horseman came and said a Yankee gunboat was “comin’ up de ribber, an’ de Cap'n was holdin’ out his arms an’ beck’nin’ de niggahs fus’ from one sho’ an’ den from de odder.” Cato straightway started toward the river, but there were many roads. The horseman agreed to break off pine boughs and drop one in the right path at the parting of the ways. All during the dark night Cato would get on his hands and knees to find the boughs at such partings and then go on rejoicing. By some mistake he did not reach the river at the point designated, and afterwards learned that his mistake had saved him from a trap of the rebels for whom the black horseman was acting.

Another night he was lying under a garden fence when a rebel was leaning over it, watching, intently, the house beyond, ready to shoot him when he should jump from a window. My heart did beat so hard I wondered he didn't hear it, but he didn't an’ wen dey come to sarch de garden, I crawl on my belly till I jump troo de gate an’ it rain so fass I knowed deyre guns wouldn't go wen dey snapped em at me.” At last after wandering about “from de secon’ week in May till de las’ week in June I reach de gunboat.” His approach to the boat was full of apprehension. Before he could be certain of the boat, he saw soldiers on the shore and did not quite know whether they were Yankees or rebels. So he wavered between holding up his "white rag" and keeping out of sight. At last they saw him in his little boat, which he had somewhere confiscated, and “I hol’ up de rag an’ de mo’ de boat come, de mo’ I draw back, but oh, wen I git on de boat I thought I was in hebben.”

I shall not trouble you with more slave stories. It is too much like trying to relate a tragedy acted by Rachel — very tame.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 362-4

Diary of Laura M. Towne: Monday, May 23, 1862

Ellen is coming at last. I felt sure no one could stop her. Mr. McKim is also to come as Philadelphia agent, and I am free.

We have been for three days going to various plantations, once to Mr. Zacha's at Paris Island, once to Mrs. Mary Jenkins', Mr. Wells' and to Edgar Fripp's, or to Frogmore, Mr. Saulis'; also to Edding's Point and one other place. At the three places of Mr. Jenkins, Mr. Fripp, and Edding, the wretched hovels with their wooden chimneys and the general squalor showed the former misery. One woman said the differences in the times were as great as if God had sent another Moses and a great deliverance — that it was heaven upon earth and earth in heaven now. They all seemed to love Mr. Wells. We saw there one woman whose two children had been whipped to death, and Mr. Wells said there was not one who was not marked up with welts. He had the old whip which had a ball at the end, and he had seen the healed marks of this ball on their flesh — the square welts showed where it had taken the flesh clean out. Loretta of this place showed me her back and arms to-day. In many places there were ridges as high and long as my little finger, and she said she had had four babies killed within her by whipping, one of which had its eye cut out, another its arm broken, and the others with marks of the lash. She says it was because even while "heaviest" she was required to do as much as usual for a field hand, and not being able, and being also rather apt to resist, and rather smart in speaking her mind, poor thing, she has suffered; and no wonder Grace, her child, is of the lowest type; no wonder she is more indifferent about her clothes and house than any one here. She says this was the cruelest place she was ever in.

The happiest family I know here is old Aunt Bess's Minda and Jerry and herself. They are always joking and jolly but very gentle. When I go there at night to dress Bess's foot I find her lying upon her heap of rags with the roaches running all over her and little Leah or some small child asleep beside her.' Jerry got me some of the pine sticks they use for candles. They hold one for me while I dress the foot.

It is- very interesting to observe how the negroes watch us for fear we shall go away. They are in constant dread of it and we cannot be absent a single day without anxiety on their part. It is very touching to hear their entreaties to us to stay, and their anxious questions. They have a horrible dread of their masters' return, especially here where Massa Dan'l's name is a terror.

They appreciate the cheapness of our goods and especially of the sugar at the Overseer house, and are beginning to distrust the cotton agents who have charged them so wickedly.

The scenes in the cotton-house used to be very funny. Miss W. would say to some discontented purchaser who was demurring at the price of some article, “Well, now, I don't want to sell this. I believe I won't sell it to-day. But if you want to take it very much at a dollar and a half, you may have it. Oh, you don't? Well, then, I can't sell you anything. No, you can't have anything. We are doing the best we can for you and you are not satisfied; you won't be contented. Just go — go now, please. We want all the room and air we can get. You don't want to buy and why do you stay? No, I shall not let you have anything but that. I don't want to sell it, but you may have it for a dollar and a half,” etc., etc. This is one of many real scenes. The people are eager, crazy to buy, for they are afraid of their money, it being paper, and besides, they need clothes and see finer things than ever in their lives before. Except when they are excited they are very polite, always saying "Missus" to us, and "Sir" to one another. The children say, "Good-mornin', ma'am," whenever they see us first in the day, and once I overheard two girls talking just after they had greeted me. One said, "I say good-mornin' to my young missus [Miss Pope] and she say, ‘I slap your mouth for your impudence, you nigger.’” I have heard other stories that tell tales.

The white folks used to have no cooking-utensils of their own here. They came and required certain things. The cooks hunted among the huts and borrowed what they needed till the family went away, of course straining every nerve to get such cooking as should please. "I would do anything for my massa," Susannah says, "if he wouldn't whip me."

On May 7, as Mr. Pierce stepped off the boat at Hilton Head and walked up the pier, a Mr. Nobles, chief of the cotton agents here, came forward saying that he had a letter for him. Then he struck him upon the head, felled him, and beat him, saying that Mr. P. had reported him to the Secretary of the Treasury and had got a saddle and bridle of his. Mr. Pierce got up with difficulty and took only a defensive part. Some soldiers took Mr. Nobles off. Mr. Pierce had really mentioned this man and his agents, which was his duty as guardian of these people, for they were imposing upon the negroes shamefully. They, of course, hate this whole Society of Superintendents, etc., who will not see the negroes wronged. So Mr. P. has had his touch of martyrdom.

The Philadelphia consignment of goods — in all $2000 worth — would have done immense good if it had come in season. The people of these islands, whom Government does not ration (because there is corn here) had nothing but hominy to eat, were naked, were put to work at cotton, which they hated, as being nothing in their own pockets and all profit to the superintendent, who they could not be sure were not only another set of cotton agents or cotton planters; and so discontent and trouble arose. Mr. Pierce said to them that they should be fed, clothed, and paid, but they waited and waited in vain, trusting at first to promises and then beginning to distrust such men as were least friendly to them.

The first rations of pork — "splendid bacon," everybody says — was dealt out the other day and there has been great joy ever since, or great content. If this had only come when first ordered there would have been this goodwill and trust from the first. They even allow the removal of the corn from one plantation to another now without murmuring, and that they were very much opposed to before.

SOURCE: Rupert Sargent Holland, Editor, Letters and Diary of Laura M. Towne: Written from the Sea Islands of South Carolina 1862-1864, p. 57-61

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: New Haven to Ship Island

Soon after recruiting for the 13th Connecticut Regiment Infantry Volunteers was begun, I entered the recruiting service, and during the winter of 1861—1862 labored for that regiment in that capacity until it was full. Recruiting officers were quite plenty at that time and somehow the war fever among the people had worn away considerably and consequently recruiting was what might be termed slow, and not until March 17th, 1862, was the regiment ready for the seat of war.

 

On that day at ten p. m. we left New Haven, on a steamboat, and the next morning at five o'clock found us on board a large sailing vessel in New York harbor, bound for Ship Island in the Gulf of Mexico. I enlisted as a sergeant in Company K and it so happened the first night I was detailed as sergeant of the guard. I don't think the 13th C. V. all belonged to the temperance society. If they did many of them sadly broke their pledges; but perhaps they thought the occasion justified them in doing so. The Colonel ordered one poor fellow “seized” up in the rigging for disorderly conduct. It was distasteful to me, but military orders must be obeyed. The job was new to me but I accomplished it without much trouble, otherwise the night passed off quite peacefully.

 

March 20th, the ship hoisted anchor, moved down and anchored off Sandy Hook, where she lay until the 23rd. On the way everything was new to me, Castle Garden, Governor's Island, Staten Island, etc. Besides the U. S. gunboat Roanoake lay there. During the time tugboats were busy bringing water and other supplies for the voyage.

 

On March 23d a propeller came down with two four-inch guns, put them aboard and towed us out to sea. A U. S. mail steamship outward bound passed us. It was a beautiful sight and one to make one feel proud of his country. Thirty-one vessels, great and small were in sight from the deck of our ship. At about one o'clock p. m. the tug boat left us, but the wind was calm as a summer evening, and remained so until about 3 p. m. when a stiff breeze sprang up and the good ship, City of New York, spread her white wings, and soon the Jersey Heights began to grow dim, and the shades of night coming on, they disappeared entirely from view. We never saw any more of this green earth until we reached an island on the southern coast of Florida. Next day got the guns in position, so that when Old Glory crept up to the masthead in the morning and unfolded to the breeze he was greeted with the cannon's roar, the emblem of freedom and power.

 

On the 25th we entered the Gulf Stream, water about milk warm, sea rough, about in the latitude of Charleston, S. C. In the morning, “Sail ho!” from the masthead. “Where away?” “Three points on the weather bow, sir.” “Steamship, looks like a privateer.” Captain Saulter cracks on more sail. At noon it disappeared to leeward. A gale sprang up in the afternoon and blew tremendously all night.

 

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 1-3

Diary of 5th Sergeant Alexander G. Downing: Wednesday, January 18, 1865

The weather is very pleasant. We are still on duty guarding the main road to Beaufort. The trains have all gone in for supplies. All is quiet in front. This low-country, before the war, was planted to cotton, the planters living in town while their plantations were managed by overseers and worked by slaves brought down from the border states. We can see rows of the vacant negro huts on these large plantations, set upon blocks so as to keep the floors dry. The negroes are all gone, being employed in the armies of both sections.¹

_______________

¹ When I think of the vacant plantations I saw all through the South, when I recall the hardships of the negroes, and the different modes of punishment Inflicted upon the slaves, all with the consent of the Southern people, then I can understand how they could be so cruel in their treatment of the Union prisoners of war. They put them in awful prison pens and starved them to death without a successful protest from the better class of the people of the South. The guards of these prisons had lived all their lives witnessing the cruel tortures of slaves; they had become hardened and thus had no mercy on an enemy when in their power. Many an Andersonvllle prisoner was shot down Just for getting too close to an imaginary dead-line when suffering from thirst and trying to get a drink of water.

Not all Southerners were so cruel, for I lived in the same house with an ex-Confederate soldier from Georgia, when in southern Florida during the winter of 1911 and know that he had some feeling. He had been guard at Andersonville for a short time, and told me that he would have taken water to them by the bucketful, for he could not bear to hear the poor fellows calling for water; but that he did not dare to do it. This man's name was McCain, and at the time I met him his home was at College Park, Atlanta, Ga. — A. G. D.

Source: Alexander G. Downing, Edited by Olynthus B., Clark, Downing’s Civil War Diary, p. 247

Diary of Mary Boykin Chesnut: August 29, 1864

I take my hospital duty in the morning. Most persons prefer afternoon, but I dislike to give up my pleasant evenings. So I get up at five o'clock and go down in my carriage all laden with provisions. Mrs. Fisher and old Mr. Bryan generally go with me. Provisions are commonly sent by people to Mrs. Fisher's. I am so glad to be a hospital nurse once more. I had excuses enough, but at heart I felt a coward and a skulker. I think I know how men feel who hire a substitute and shirk the fight. There must be no dodging of duty. It will not do now to send provisions and pay for nurses. Something inside of me kept calling out, “Go, you shabby creature; you can't bear to see what those fine fellows have to bear.”

Mrs. Izard was staying with me last night, and as I slipped away I begged Molly to keep everything dead still and not let Mrs. Izard be disturbed until I got home. About ten I drove up and there was a row to wake the dead. Molly's eldest daughter, who nurses her baby sister, let the baby fall, and, regardless of Mrs. Izard, as I was away, Molly was giving the nurse a switching in the yard, accompanied by howls and yells worthy of a Comanche! The small nurse welcomed my advent, no doubt, for in two seconds peace was restored. Mrs. Izard said she sympathized with the baby's mother; so I forgave the uproar.

I have excellent servants; no matter for their shortcomings behind my back. They gave me all thought as to household matters, and they are so kind, attentive, and quiet. They must know what is at hand if Sherman is not hindered from coming here — “Freedom! my masters!” But these sphinxes give no sign, unless it be increased diligence and absolute silence, as certain in their action and as noiseless as a law of nature, at any rate when we are in the house.

That fearful hospital haunts me all day long, and is worse at night. So much suffering, such loathsome wounds, such distortion, with stumps of limbs not half cured, exhibited to all. Then, when I was so tired yesterday, Molly was looking more like an enraged lioness than anything else, roaring that her baby's neck was broken, and howling cries of vengeance. The poor little careless nurse's dark face had an ashen tinge of gray terror. She was crouching near the ground like an animal trying to hide, and her mother striking at her as she rolled away. All this was my welcome as I entered the gate. It takes these half-Africans but a moment to go back to their naked savage animal nature. Mrs. Izard is a charming person. She tried so to make me forget it all and rest.

SOURCE: Mary Boykin Chesnut, Edited by Isabella D. Martin and Myrta Lockett Avary, A Diary From Dixie, p. 324-6