Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, January 30, 1863

ALBERTI's Mills, 40 miles from FERNANDINA.

January 30, 1863. 

This river is rebellious to the last degree. It is very crooked and sluggish and black and got us aground so many times in the long, sleepless night that rebel pickets might have picked off many of our men and officers. Again and again we had to turn points at right angles and we were never more than two rods from one or the other shore. Often the sides of our boat were swept by the boughs of the mournful looking trees. The shores are generally low and marshy, and the moss droops so low as to give the appearance of weeping willows. It is now eleven, A.M. and we are starting homeward. Oh, it is a queer night, so queer that more than once I laughed outright, when I thought of the curious fact that T. W. H. and I were so industriously trying to get a peep at real rebels, while they would undoubtedly do something to get a peep at us. In my time I have seen considerable mismanagement of one kind and another, but do not remember that I ever dreamed that so much of that article could be employed in one night on board a steamboat. Among the boat's officers there was no mutual understanding, and it is fortunate for us that the rebels did not know it. But at daylight we did reach Alberti's Mills, and then came for me an hour of fitful, dreamy sleep. I had made three vigorous efforts to sleep during the night, but enjoyed the calm moonlight and strange scenery and spice of danger too much for drowsiness. We passed picket fires and felt the possibility that our return might be obstructed, or greatly harassed. Very few officers have voluntarily dared such a responsibility as that resting on our Colonel, but he patiently and vigilantly met all the obstacles and had his pickets and skirmishers so arranged. . . .

Evening and Ben Deford again, thank God!

 I had written thus far when the rebels began firing from the shore and I found myself among our soldiers, who replied with spirit and precision that sent more than one poor fellow to the dust.

Captain Clifton of the John Adams was shot through the head and died instantly. The Major's [J. D. Strong] head escaped by about two inches.

Strange to say no other accidents occurred in this nor in the subsequent firing from the bluffs on the Florida shore. The first attack was from the Georgia bluffs. They were both desperate, but of short duration. One fellow actually jumped on the flat-boat in tow, and was immediately shot by one of our soldiers. I afterwards asked Robert Sutton what he himself was about during the conflict, and found that he was deliberately shooting from the pilot house, with two guns, having a man to load one while he fired the other. But now I will go back to the sunrise. As I was saying, the pickets and skirmishers were so placed that there was no escape for the white families at Alberti’s Mills. The Colonel had gone ashore and a little after sunrise sent for me to go off and take with me some copies of the President's proclamation. I found a little village, all included in the A. estate, and the mansion was occupied by Madame A. and her family. She was a New Yorker by birth and her deceased husband was a native of Philadelphia. Mr. B., former business partner of his - A.'s was at the house on a visit, ill with chronic bronchitis. He, being an important person, must be made prisoner, unless too feeble to be removed from the house. I found, on examination, that he could be taken with us without danger to himself. Madame A. spent much time trying to convince me that she and her husband had been wonderfully devoted to the interests of their slaves, especially to the fruitless work of trying to educate them. The truth of these assertions was disproved by certain facts, such as a strong slave jail, containing implements of torture which we now have in our possession, (the lock I have), the fact that the slaves have “mostly gone over to the Yankees,” and the yet other fact that Robert Sutton, a former slave there, said the statement was false. The statement of a black man was lawful in Dixie yesterday. I called Madame A.'s attention to a former slave of hers, whom she remembered as “Bob,” but never before knew as Robert Sutton, corporal in the army of the United States. Robert begged me to forgive him for breaking through my order that he should not exert himself at all till the danger of inflammation of the brain should be averted. The white bandage about his head was conspicuous at the points of danger through all the twenty-four eventful hours of our expedition. It finally devolved upon him and Sergeant Rivers¹ to examine the persons of our six rebel prisoners, for concealed weapons of defense. This last process was so very anti-slavery, that I fancied the rebels enjoyed it somewhat less than I.

I am told that thirteen riderless horses went back to camp after that fight in the woods the other night; that the lieutenant [Jones] in command and five others were killed and many others wounded. Could our party have known the exact state of affairs, the camp might have been destroyed and many prisoners taken. But it was safer and wiser for infantry not to follow cavalry in the night. Our comrades on the Ben Deford greeted us heartily and the Provost Marshal was in readiness to take charge of our prisoners. We shall probably take Mr. B. to Beaufort with us. He is a wealthy and influential rebel and may become a very important hostage when Jeff Davis begins to hang us. We brought off two or three negroes, and rice, corn, sheep and other valuable things, strictly contraband of war. I wanted the Colonel to take a piano already boxed, and in a store-house at the wharf, but we had no room for it. I thought it would especially please Miss Forten to have it in her school.

_______________

¹ Prince Rivers.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 352-4

Dr. Seth Rogers to his daughter Dolly, February 3, 1863

CAMP SAXTON, BEAUFORT, S. C.,

February 3, 1863.

At break of day we were at Beaufort and my sick and wounded were being carefully conveyed to the “Contraband Hospital” for better care than our camp hospital affords. I left eight there and it seemed like leaving my children among strangers. But this was only a feeling, not a fact. It was very pleasant to have the black soldiers served first when wounded. Colonel [Rishworth] Rich and the other officers and soldiers, must wait the convenience of our freedmen. I should quite enjoy living in some one of our Northern cities a few months with the 1st S. C. Vols. I fancy there would be a conquering of prejudices somewhat satisfactory to your humble servant. Justice is an admirable machine when in good running order and with honest engineers to keep it going. 

The Colonel took his official report in one hand and a captured instrument of slave torture in the other, to Gen. Saxton and left them for an early inspection. I was too busy to breakfast there with the Colonel. At ten o'clock we were disembarking opposite our camp and the home troops were receiving us with wild cheers of joy. All sorts of false rumors had been reported concerning us. 

We had been cut up and cut down, hung and cut to pieces, and various other rebel morsels of information had been circulated. I trust that you have not been tormented by such rumors. Perhaps it is best for me to take this occasion to say that the rebel reports are not always so reliable as their personal sympathizers could wish. Believe nothing short of official reports and my letters. 

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 356-7

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 20, 1863

January 20, 1863.

Gen. Hunter is in earnest about arming the blacks, so we may confidently expect the well-done to increase. The little opposition to our movement will fall to the ground so soon as we can prove our worthiness by marked success. Remember, it requires not only time but deeds, to undo the hateful lesson this Republic (!) has been so long teaching. The public heart has virus in it, and nothing but the flow of arterial blood can purify it. The innocent must suffer for the guilty.

I am beginning to find a little leisure for noting verbatim some of the individual histories of these soldiers and shall endeavor to forward them to you. The Colonel and young captain have transcribed many of their songs and hymns, but, without the music of their peculiar voices, I confess the words do not much interest me. Now and then a fine, poetical expression, but as a rule, somewhat dry, like the human skull Serg't Rivers brought me one day. Their autobiographies, on the contrary, if one has the time and patience to draw them out, are often so unique that I feel deeply interested in them.

At dress parade, tonight, the Colonel had some of my sanitary measures embodied in a general order and read by the Adjutant. One of the most important details was that each tent is hereafter to have a fire in it at evening. We have tried it long enough in James's company, to be satisfied of its utility. The men do not greatly mind the smoke and I have convinced the Colonel that it is one of the best purifiers and antiseptics we could have.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 346

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 23, 1863

STEAMER Ben Deford, January 23, 1863.

I have refrained till now from informing you of a little expedition which for the last few days has been planning for us. I suppose there never was an expedition, however small, that got off at the time specified, nor one that was kept secret. So we are five days later than intended, and the floating rumors of our plans are enough in number to make it appear that we are to take Charleston and all other prominent Secesh places on the coast of Dixie.

The Planter, the same that Robert Small ran out of Charleston, and the John Adams, each with a company of soldiers and some large guns on board, started from camp at noon today, Major Strong on the John Adams. About four this afternoon we started with four companies including that of Cap’t R[andolph] the Colonel, Surgeon, and second assist't surgeon, and at this moment we are outside the bar, off Hilton Head, sailing as quietly in the soft moonlight and warm atmosphere as if our intentions were of the most peaceful nature.

The Ben Deford is really a magnificent steamer for transporting troops. A turn among the soldiers just now, convinced me that we can have ventilation enough and warmth enough to prevent illness. It is a real pleasure to go and see them so quietly wrapped in their blankets, — no quarreling, no profanity. Very much depends upon our success in this expedition, and the whole responsibility rests upon our Colonel. He has absolute authority over these three steamers. Our men were all anxious to go, and many, belonging to companies not designated for the trip, went to Col. H. and begged to go. Some have been permitted to do so. It remains to see how they will fight.

_______________

¹ John D. Strong.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June, 1910: February 1910. p. 347-8

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 6, 1863

January 6, 1863.

For the first time in the six weeks Colonel H. has been in camp, he to-day went to Beaufort. He returns with a more civilized air and informs me that there are yet many people outside our camp.

The rebel pickets above came down to the river bank this morning and announced that an armistice had been agreed upon for six months, and therefore laid aside their guns and sat on the bank, fishing. Their statement is not credited, because nobody believes the insanity of the nation has taken such a disastrous turn.

I am steadily becoming acquainted with very remarkable men whose lives in slavery and whose heroism in getting out of it, deepens my faith in negro character and intellect. The difference in physiognomy. among them now seems to me quite as marked as among the whites and the physiognomy of their diseases is quite as apparent to me.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June,1910: February 1910. p. 341

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 2, 1863

January 2, 1863.

. . . I did not observe any reporters at our barbecue yesterday, but I presume some of the journals will contain enough to make it unnecessary for me to write more than my letter of yesterday. I will, however, reiterate the statement that it was the most eventful day of my life. To know what I mean you must stand in the midst of the disenthralled and feel the inspiration of their birth into freedom. . . . There is nothing in history more touching and beautiful than the spontaneous outburst of these freed men and women just at the moment when our gallant colonel was receiving the flag of the regiment. None of us had ever heard them sing America, and the most infinite depth and tenderness of

My Country 'tis of thee

Sweet land of liberty

was inspiring to the last degree. I doubt if our Col. ever spoke so well and he justly attributed inspiration to the unexpected singing of the hymn.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June,1910: February 1910. p. 341

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, January 1, 1863

January 1, 1863

This is the evening of the most eventful day of my life. Our barbecue was a most wonderful success. Two steamboats came loaded with people from Beaufort, St. Helena Island and Hilton Head. Among the visitors were some of my new acquaintances. My friend, Mr. Hall of the voyage on the Delaware. But the dearest friend I found among them was Miss Forten, whom you remember. She is a teacher of the freed children on St. Helena Island. Gen. Saxton and his father and others came from Beaufort, and several cavalry officers hovered around the outskirts of our multitude of black soldiers and civilians, and in the centre of all was the speakers’ stand, where the General and our Colonel and some others, with the band, performed the ceremonies of the day. Several good speeches were made, but the most impressive scene was that which occurred at the presentation of the Dr. Cheever flag to our regiment. After the presentation speech had been made, and just as Col. Higginson advanced to take the flag and respond, a negro woman standing near began to sing “America,” and soon many voices of freedmen and women joined in the beautiful hymn, and sang it so touchingly that every one was thrilled beyond measure. Nothing could have been more unexpected or more inspiring. The President's proclamation and General Saxton's New Year's greeting had been read, and this spontaneous outburst of love and loyalty to a country that has heretofore so terribly wronged these blacks, was the birth of a new hope in the honesty of her intention. I most earnestly trust they may not hope in vain.

Col. Higginson was so much inspired by the remarkable thought of, and singing of, the hymn, that he made one of his most effective speeches. Then came Gen. Saxton with a most earnest and brotherly speech to the blacks and then Mrs. Frances D. Gage, and finally all joined in the John Brown hymn, and then to dinner. A hundred things of interest occurred which I have not time to relate. Everybody was happy in the bright sunshine, and in the great hope. The ten oxen were eaten with hearty relish and barrels of molasses and water and vinegar and ginger were drunk to wash them down. Mr. Hall, Miss Forten and some others took dinner with us.

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June,1910: February 1910. p. 340-1

Dr. Seth Rogers to his Daughter, December 27, 1862

CAMP SAXTON, BEAUFORT, S. C.

December 27, 1862.

. . . There is a little more of solid reality in this work of camp-life than I have found in any previous experience. You remember my delight in the life of ship surgeon, when I had three hundred and fifty of the lowest Irish to care for. Multiply that delight by ten and you will approximate to what I get among these children of the tropics. A more childlike, jovial, devotional, musical, shrewd, amusing set of beings never lived. Be true to them and they will be devoted to you. I leave all my things in tent unguarded and at loose ends, as I could never think of doing in a white regiment, and if I ever lose anything you shall be informed. Their religious devotion is more natural than any I ever witnessed. At this moment the air is full of melody from the tents, of prayer and hymns, mingled with the hearty yah, yah, of the playful outsiders.

Last night I had too many business letters to get off in today's mail to allow me time for writing half of what I wished, and since then I have lived so long that much has been lost in the ages. I want, once for all, to say that Col. H. is splendid — pardon the McClellan word, — beyond even my anticipation, which, you know, has for years been quite exalted. I stood by General [Rufus] Saxton, who is a West Pointer, the other night, witnessing the dress parade, and was delighted to hear him say that he knew of no other man who could have magically brought these blacks under the military discipline that makes our camp one of the most enviable. Should we by possibility ever increase to a brigade I can already foresee that our good Colonel is destined to be the Brigadier General.

I am about selecting my orderly from among the privates, and just now a Lieutenant brought little “ Charlie" before me: a boy of fourteen or fifteen, who saw his master shot at Hilton Head without weeping over it; who had some of his own teeth knocked out at the same time. He has always taken care of his master and knows so many things that I shall probably avail myself of his bright eyes and willing bands. We have had an old uncle “Tiff,” whom I should take if I had the time and strength to wait upon him when he should get too tired to wait upon me. He is a dear old man who prays day and night.

I have forgotten whether I have written that the mocking-bird sings by day and the cricket by night. To me it is South America over again. The live oak grows to enormous size. Today I made thirty of my longest paces across the diameter of the branches of one of these handsome trees. The beautiful gray moss pendent everywhere from its branches gave the most decided impression of fatherliness and age.

Col. H. kindly invited James and me to mess with him and the adjutant. Thus we have a pleasant little table under the supervision of “William and Hattie,” in an old home just outside the camp. I am yet sharing the young captain's tent, but in a day or two shall have my own pitched. . . . We are not more than fifty rods from the shore. Our landing is remarkable for its old fort, built of shells and cement in 16— by Jean Paul de la Ribaudière. Its preservation is almost equal to monuments perpetuated by Roman cement.

The chance for wild game here is excellent, and in anticipation I enjoy it much, while in reality I doubt whether I shall ever find time for such recreation, and actual profit to our stomachs. It is not very easy for us to get fresh meat here, but we shall not suffer, because oysters are plentiful and fresh.

Our Chaplain is a great worker, and has a good influence over the soldiers — I presume Mr. Wasson knows him, — Mr. [James H.] Fowler, who was not long ago at Cambridge.

My first assistant surgeon is Dr. [J. M.] Hawks of Manchester, N. H. He is a radical anti-slavery man, somewhat older than I, and has had a large medical experience and in addition has been hospital surgeon at Beaufort during several months. He has been rigidly examined by three regimental surgeons from New England, and they have given him a very flattering certificate of qualification. I consider myself fortunate in having a man so well fitted for the place. The men and officers like him, and I fancy will take to him quite as much as to me. The second assistant is not yet decided upon, but will probably be a young man who has already been several months in the army. The hospital steward has also had experience . . .

SOURCE: Proceedings of the Massachusetts Historical Society, Volume 43, October, 1909—June,1910: February 1910. p. 338-9

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, August 1860

August, 1860

The [boarding] house was further enlivened last night by the presence of Mr. Longfellow's son and heir . . . who with a companion sailed round from Nahant. Late in the evening — that is, probably so near the small hours as half-past nine — he was heard in the entry, rousing the echoes with the unwonted cry of Landlord! and when at last Mary Moody or some similar infant appeared, it appeared that they desired pen, ink, paper, and postage stamps. Mary thinks they had run away from their nurses and wished to send word home.

We have decided that Americans think their own race so beautiful, something must be done to disguise it; and bathing is taken as the occasion, certainly with great success. Mary was especially impressed with one man in scanty raiment, exhibiting an amount of bald head which Mary declared to be positively indelicate.

Also a tall, slim, red, unpleasing Californian with a perpetual pipe and a capacity for steady flirtation so long as his wife can be kept at a safe distance.

. . . To-day (Sunday) we thought would be hot, but there is a cool breeze and Miss Susanna's supposed lover is patiently stirring or revolving water-ice for dinner. Little “Parkie” Haven just called to him from the window, “Is it did yet?” — he responding, “No.”

*          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *          *

I had a characteristic letter from Charles H. [a cousin] yesterday, closing with a hint that there was often trouble in the army about delay of pay, etc., and begging me to draw on him up to five hundred dollars at any time, if needed. I have a great mind to take it and then turn miser and strike out a new path for Higginsons.

This is Sunday, the B—— visiting day, and their, loud voices pervade the promontory — Miss Susanna perhaps does not extend into the afternoon her impressive attire of this morning, which consisted of three vast curtains of white cotton (shall I say dimity?), the first draping her head, the second reaching to her waist, the third touching the ground, and the whole filling the horizon and making a shade in sunny places. She and Isa and brother David can protect this place from sunstroke, never fear. The present delight of visitors is the calf, to inspect which all are invited by the mighty voice of Mr. George Swett, resident ambassador from the court of Cupid near the headquarters of Susanna. “George” is the Gloucester widower of whom we used to hear, and who is now admitted to a nearer probation, and has been so indispensable in the family for two years that if he struck for higher wages I certainly think Miss B. would, with the family eye for the main chance, give him herself instead. Many are the anxious observations made with the sleepless microscopic eyes of childhood by Florence and Annie, who think nothing of popping out of bed for this purpose by moonlight, and who have composed a poem thereon, which ends, perhaps ingloriously, with

Another rhyme I wish to make

That his name is Mr. Swett, —

which may remind you of some of Pet Marjorie's poetical difficulties.

It is a singular compensation of human skill that while all other B—— voices are so vast and resounding, that their copperness of head must go down to the lungs, at least; one youth of eighteen next door was born with a squeak. Yet by one stroke he has outwitted Fate, and by dint of a piano fortissimo and twelve hours' daily and nightly practice he has attained skill to drown any of his relations, voice and all, and is now performing “The Maiden's Prayer” in tones to silence the Mighty Deep.

. . . Looking about for some literature suited for “a lonely and athletic student” temporarily on half rations, I have selected Miss Austen, the only author except Dr. Bartol whose complete works the house possesses, and one whose perfect execution cheers, while her mild excitements do not inebriate the mind of man.

. . . There is a Mrs. D—— of Cambridge, with a gentle dyspeptic daughter, whom (the mother) I should define as a Cambridge waiter — a perpetual tone of motherly despair, with the personal grandeur peculiar to that classic town, when represented by its citizens abroad. She was née W——, and there is a suppressed-Quincy sacredness in her every gesture. Her husband is the noted antiquarian, I believe; but nothing unbends her but perch, of which she has caught more than anybody; thus linking her to humanity through the indirect tie of a fishline.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 148-50

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Louisa Storrow Higginson

Dear Mother:

Pigeon Cove is a bit of seashore, meant originally for the Isles of Shoals, but finally tacked on to mainland and thus brought near a railroad and some woods, with plenty of granite quarries thrown in. . . .

The rocks are precisely like Appledore and so would be the surf if there were any, but there never is any on our coast, except in storms. I always distrust that part of "Thalatta," when I am on the spot. The secret of the ocean is in the horizon line; the actual height of the waves is always absurdly small.

Here we have, for lions, artists instead of authors, though Whipple is here whom you saw at dinner and who is thought very brilliant, though he seems to me only dry and keen and critical. At a house below are some H—— and C—— of Cambridge showy, dressy women who are or have been belles; one of them is just engaged to Darley, the artist, who is here also. Yesterday I went on a long walk in the woods with Darley and Kensett — Kensett it was who illustrated Curtis's “Lotus-Eating” and drew one curl of a wave at the bottom of a page which has haunted me ever since. Kensett is about my age, short, stout, and heavy with a pleasant, genial face, dark eyes and hair and beard; Darley is larger, of English frame and substance, with sandy hair and moustache; face pockmarked and rather coarsely colored; cool, semi-military air. It was pleasant to be seated in the woods and have Darley's sketches passed about: some fine figures of guides and Indians at Moosehead. . . . Kensett came for a day with Tom Appleton, the renowned, Mrs. Longfellow's brother; Curtis, “Mot Natelpha,” a famous wit and connoisseur; he it was who said, “Good Americans, when they die, go to Paris.”

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 146-7

From the Notebook of Thomas Wentworth Higginson

It is a severe test of the mental health of a busy man to stay a few weeks by the seashore, without regular work. I have sometimes found it almost impossible to endure it.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 146

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, July 1862

Princeton, July, 1862

Here we are at this most placid of places, just now stirred to its Sunday excitement, the greatest it ever knows. Country wagons with people in their best bonnets go quietly by, or stop to call at our door because we are the Post-Office. During the week scarcely a person passes by day — only an occasional haymaker; the shop opposite with a large sign is a scene of profound repose, and you would only know it to be “business hours” by the door’s being open. At half-past six, however, the mail arrives and the current of life sets in, and from that time till eight we and the shop are in fashion — all manner of vehicles, from boys with wheelbarrows to Mr. Charles Appleton in his barouche; old farmers for the newspaper and young girls for letters from brothers or lovers at the war; and it is quite entertaining. The road is very narrow and turning round very difficult, so that Mary perceives why they have a doctor for postmaster, to provide for the broken bones.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 146

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, June 1862

Worcester, June, 1862

Mrs. Howell, of Philadelphia, a most attractive woman whom I met last year, is there [Princeton] already. She wrote Milton's verses on his blindness which were included in a London edition of his works, and there is a mild, chronic, Quakerly flirtation between her and Whittier, who wrote in the April “Atlantic” a charming poem about a ride with her at Princeton last year. She is a fine-looking woman of forty-five, but the hotel scandal of last year was that she wears what are called plumpers in her cheeks to preserve the roundness of early years, and though I hold this a libel, still the overwhelming majority of last year's Princetonians believe it. Miss Betsey Sturgis, that arbiter of fashion, says plumpers are very common in Philadelphia and she doesn't doubt Mrs. H. wears them. Nature has plumped the cheerful B. S., but there is no telling what other beautifying appliances may not be purchased with Mrs. Cushing's bequest.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 145

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Louisa Storrow Higginson, June 1853

Princeton, June, 1853

Dearest Mother:

We do not see Wachusett — we are halfway up the ascent — but we look east and west over great valleys which need only more water to be radiantly beautiful. . . . The little hamlet sleeps in profound repose — a two-horse wagon, or even a pedlar with a pack, are events for a day. We look between the two little white churches up a lane which leads to Wachusett; last night we followed this up to its first summit — a little height before the real Wachusett begins; there was the skeleton of an old church, the strong frame uninjured, though raspberry bushes flaunt through the floor, and elders look in at windows; near it an old burial ground, Wordsworth's “Churchyard among the Mountains.” . . . The strawberries were ripening all over the lonely hill-top, and five children with cows and tin kettles and the baby in a wagon — in the waning June sunset; five little sisters there were, with all bleached but their blue eyes.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 144-5

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to a Member of the Dabney Family, October 9, 1856

Steamboat Cataract

aground on a bank in the Missouri River

October 9, 1856

I know you would enjoy going to Kansas, for it is as genuine a sensation as we expect it to be; things and people are very real there. It is precisely like waking up some morning and stepping out on the Battle of Bunker Hill; one learns in a single day more about Greeks and Romans and English Puritans and Scotch Jacobites, and Hungarians and all heroic peoples, than any course of history can teach. The same process is producing the same results before your eyes, and what is most striking the same persons whom you saw a year ago in Boston, indolent and timid, are here transformed to heroes. Perhaps this brings down the dignity of our courage a little, showing it to be the child of circumstances, but still one sees great differences of temperament in Kansas as elsewhere. What struck me most was the unconscious buoyancy of the people. Living in the midst of danger, they recognize it as the normal condition of existence, and talk of it in the sort of way that sailors do. In the intervals of dinner (if dinner there be), they talk over the last fight as if it were a picnic. In fact it was plain that the excitement had become a necessary stimulus to them, and during the partial peace which existed while I was there, they confessed that they missed something. Women complained that there wasn't much to talk about. At Lawrence, when the evening drum beat to call out the guard (of United States troops, placed there by Governor Geary, for protection) somebody would always exclaim, “That sounds good!” And the patience is about as remarkable as the courage. People would describe their way of living, sick wife and children perhaps . . . and always end, “But we shall live or die in Kansas.” Of course there are exceptions; but the more men sacrifice there, the more they seem to love the country. The difficulty is, that there is not much left to sacrifice; everybody has grown poor. I hope nothing from Governor Geary; he means well and has energy of will, but no energy of character; he can take efficient single steps, but not carry out any systematic plan of action. . . . I have less hope that Kansas will be a free State than before I came here. Before this last interference of Governor Geary, the Kansas men under General Lane (who is a very remarkable man) had driven out the Missourians in all directions; but it is their policy not to resist the United States Government, and the Missourians are always ready to take the slightest advantage which that affords them. After the Presidential election the invaders will make a desperate effort; their success is certain if Buchanan is elected, and probably if Fremont is.

. . . On board I have thus far met no annoyance, though there is a company of young Virginians and Carolinians returning to their homes; they are of the race of “poor white folks,” commonly. My copy of “Dred” occasions some remarks. I trust your father will feel a becoming reverence when I say that I am a General in the Kansas Army, having been immediately presented with a commission to that effect by the redoubtable “Jim Lane” himself, the “Marion” of the age. I keep it as a valuable autograph, or to be used on my next visit to Kansas.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 142-4

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, September 24, 1856

Topeka, September 24, 1856

People joke here as readily as anywhere, though all pronounce it the darkest time Kansas has ever seen. . . . Geary is conquering them at last and the leaders are flying from arrest. Just as they had thoroughly expelled the Missourians, the United States Government steps in, and arrests their best and bravest. Geary's intention is to give them peace and bread, at the price of obedience to the laws of the false legislature. He is making a clear path, therefore, for a contest between the inhabitants and the United States troops, first or last.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 141

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to a Friend, September 16, 1856

Nebraska City, September 16,1856

I know you will particularly like a word from the Border. . . . Various camping grounds are scattered along from twenty-five miles north to the same distance south, of various parties, and in a day or two more it will be “Boot, saddle, to horse, and away,” as Browning has it. Only just at this moment things look discouragingly safe, and the men are beginning to fear marching in without a decent excuse for firing anything at anybody. But we shall take in arms and ammunition and flour and groceries and specie, and shall be welcomed even if we go through safe. As one approaches Kansas, it becomes more and more the absorbing topic and every one here talks it all day, while waiting for real estate to rise. Then comes a cloud of dust on the western road and two or three horsemen come riding wearily in, bearded and booted and spurred and red-shirted, sword and pistol by their side — only the sword is a bowie-knife — wild, manly-looking riders, and they are the latest from Kansas and we get them quickly into a private room to hear the news — how the road is peaceful just now, and they need flour and lead woefully at Lawrence, and how four hundred men chased seven hundred.

. . . The wells are nearly dry, though I can't conceive that enough has ever been drawn from them to produce the effect, and the dirtiest thing in the landscape is the river. . . . The most discouraging thing I have heard for liberty in Kansas is that the Kansas River is just like the Missouri.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 140-1

Thomas Wentworth Higginson, September 3, 1856

Chicago, September 3

Arrived here in safety. I find to my regret that I shall be employed more out of Kansas than in Kansas. They are very glad to have me here, and are in need of efficient agents.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 140

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Louisa Storrow Higginson, August 31, 1856

August 31

Some good news and some bad — the good being that our private advices state that things really are much better than is represented, in Kansas; the leading Missourians are making great efforts to raise men to invade, but find great reluctance to follow. They are considerably intimidated, in fact.

The bad news (for you) is that I leave for Chicago to-morrow, shall go to Nebraska City and probably into the Territory. . . . I allow six weeks, but it may be only a month, and hope to write a good deal to you and Mary and the “Tribune,” though letters may be intercepted. Letters for me to be directed to

James L. Armstrong

Topeka Kansas

Mary taxed her wits to invent this name and intends to write in the character of an affectionate grandmother!

I shall take out a nice supply of boots and clothing for our Worcester men and a plum cake and some other dainties, and long to see their delight at my appearance. Good-bye, darling mama.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 139-40

Thomas Wentworth Higginson to Louisa Storrow Higginson, August 29, 1856

August 29

We have excellent news from Kansas. . . . Our men are nicely settled in the northern part of Kansas, which is more peaceful. Colonel Topliff, who has just come from Lawrence, speaks quite encouragingly and thinks they can resist invasion.

Meanwhile it will be probably necessary for me to go out West again for several weeks¹ to the Nebraska border, and perhaps some way inside. But my mission will not be a very warlike one, and I have only the same general sense of possible danger that one has in setting foot in a ship or in the cars, or in running fast downstairs, or (if feminine) in meeting a drove of cows. . . . Frank Sanborn is to stop here to-morrow, safe back from the same ground I am going over.

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¹ He had previously been sent to Chicago and St. Louis to aid emigrants.

SOURCE: Mary Potter Thacher Higginson, Editor, Letters and Journals of Thomas Wentworth Higginson, 1846-1906, p. 139