Word of the court-martial and Pemberton’s decision to overturn the verdicts would eventually make its way north. On August 15 The New York Times gleefully wrote, “It seems that the officers of the steamer Planter have been on trial for allowing Robert Smalls and his associates to outwit them and transfer the vessel to National control.” The paper printed the entire order by Pemberton, who, not surprisingly, was transferred west that fall.33
Relyea, who turned his attention to blockade running, died shortly after the trial. In January 1863 his steamer, en route from Nassau to Charleston, foundered in a storm, and he was lost at sea.34
* * *
The fate of the white officers was not the only issue of concern for the people of South Carolina affected by the loss of the Planter. Some owners of those who had escaped wanted their slaves returned. One anonymous master wrote a letter to the editor of the Charleston Daily Courier: “Ought not those in authority assist in getting back the women and children to their owners?—One of the Sufferers.”35
Kingman, who had owned Hannah and her daughter, Clara, as well as Hannah’s children with Smalls, wanted to be compensated. He filed a claim for their loss with the State of South Carolina. South Carolina had appointed a claims committee after the Union invasion and occupation of Port Royal and the Beaufort area in November 1861 to ascertain the value of property destroyed or taken because of the war; enslaved people were included as property. To the Confederates the enslaved men, women, and children all had a specific monetary value, and their owners were entitled to redress. Kingman estimated that Hannah and her children were worth $2,250: Hannah, he wrote, was worth $800, while Clara was worth $1,000, Elizabeth $300, and the infant Robert $150.36
Henry McKee, Smalls’ former owner, was by this time serving as a steward at the Confederate Hospital on the campus of South Carolina College and was grieving the loss of two of his ten children to scarlet fever.37 The bacterial illness, caused by strep throat, created a bright red rash over most of the patient’s body, giving the disease its name, and was often deadly, particularly in children.38
McKee must have been surprised and even angry when he learned what Smalls had done, but McKee was also weary and preoccupied with all the losses he had suffered. Though he may have had property and investments elsewhere, and savings in Savannah or Charleston (Beaufort had no banks), he had lost his home, lands, and almost all his slaves in Beaufort when the Union captured Port Royal.39 Now he was dealing with the unexpected deaths of two of his children. McKee’s friend, Charles Leverett, an Episcopal clergyman and planter, reported that McKee had said that “one of the negroes was his” when they were discussing the taking of the steamer, but it is not clear whether McKee, like Kingman, put in a formal claim.40
* * *
The South lamented Smalls’ bold feat, but much of the North celebrated it. The New York Herald wrote, “One of the most daring and heroic adventures since the war was commenced was undertaken and successfully accomplished by a party of negroes in Charleston on Monday night last.” The story described the men and women on the Planter as “plucky Africans who have distinguished themselves by this gallant service.”41 Dozens of newspapers and magazines across the country republished the story.
The New York Tribune, the mostly widely read newspaper in the country, saw the event as evidence that General Hunter’s effort to start a black regiment was a good idea. But even as the paper championed allowing African Americans to fight, its argument was condescendingly racist: “[Smalls’] skillful and brave exploit is a justification of Gen. Hunter’s assumption that in the class to which Smalls belongs in South Carolina, there is some intelligence and patriotism which is worth appealing to.” In a later article the paper seemed genuinely surprised to find that blacks could be not only heroic but also skillful and tactful. It wrote, “This man, though black, is a hero—one of the few History will delight to honor. He has done something for his race and for the world of mankind … He has added new proof to the evidence, that negroes have skill—and courage and tact, and that they will risk their lives for the sake of their liberty.”42
The notion that blacks would fight for their freedom was not new. Abolitionists like Frederick Douglass had been arguing since the beginning of the war that blacks would and should fight. In May 1861 he wrote,
Oh! that this Government would only now be as true to liberty as the rebels, who are attempting to batter it down, are true to slavery. We have no hesitation in saying that ten thousand black soldiers might be raised in the next thirty days to march upon the South … Every consideration of justice, humanity and sound policy confirms the wisdom of calling upon black men just now to take up arms in behalf of their country.43
If what Douglass said was not enough to convince some Americans that blacks would fight for their freedom, Smalls was helping to prove it.
The story of his escape was so big at the time that major newspapers argued that Smalls and the others who had been aboard the steamer should be compensated, just as Du Pont had argued to the Secretary of the Navy. The New York Times wrote, “Such heroism should not go unrewarded … They deserve something more.” The Philadelphia Inquirer declared, “It is said that his vessel and guns are worth near $30,000, a prize to the blockading fleet. Will no Congress, by unanimous consent, give these bold fellows the full value of their prize, as an encouragement to others?”44
Some politicians in Washington agreed that the crew deserved prize money for the vessel even though they were not members of the military. On May 19, just days after the steamer was turned over to the Navy, Senator James W. Grimes of Iowa, a member of the Naval Committee, introduced a bill that would entitle the crew to a reward. Once the Planter had been appraised, half its value would go to Smalls and the others. The bill passed unanimously.45
When the House took up the bill a week later, representatives from Kentucky, one of the border states that still allowed slavery, left the room in protest.46 Despite the theatrics, the bill passed, 121–9. Lincoln signed it on May 30, only seventeen days after Smalls and company had taken the steamer.
The measure read:
Be it enacted by the Senate and House of Representatives of the United States of America in Congress assembled, That the Secretary of the Navy be, and he is hereby, authorized to cause the steam transport boat Planter, recently in the rebel service in the harbor of Charleston, and all of the arms, munitions, tackle, and other property on board of her at the time of her delivery to the Federal authorities, to be appraised by a board of competent officers, and when the value thereof shall be thus ascertained to cause an equitable apportionment of one-half of such value so ascertained as aforesaid to be made between Robert Smalls and his associates who assisted in rescuing her from the enemies of the Government.
Section 2. And be it further enacted, That the Secretary of the Navy may, if he deems it expedient, cause the sum of money allotted to each individual under the preceding section of this act to be invested in United States securities for the benefit of such individual, the interest to be paid to him or to his heirs annually until such time as the Secretary of the Navy may deem it expedient to pay to him or his heirs the principal sum as aforesaid.47
Given that prize money awarded to Navy sailors was never invested on their behalf, the second section was likely added because of the former slaves’ inexperience with handling finances.
Just a few days after Lincoln signed the bill into law, Owen Lovejoy, a Republican representative from Illinois and an abolitionist whose brother Elijah had been killed in 1837 by proslavery forces, was so moved by what Smalls had done that he introduced another bill in the House. This bill would emancipate Smalls and those who had escaped with him. It was hard to imagine, but they were still deemed contrabands by the government and were not legally free. Lovejoy wanted to change that.
Lovejoy’s bill was referred to the Judiciary Committee, but there is no record of what happened to it. It is possible that Smalls and the others were officially freed then. I
t is equally possible that the bill never became law. The country was still debating whether to free slaves, and the issue may have been too controversial to tackle.48
An official decree of freedom would have had great meaning to Smalls and the others. But even without it, they were no longer enslaved.
* * *
That summer, Secretary of the Navy Welles sent Rear Admiral Du Pont instructions to have the Planter appraised and asked him to forward his recommendations for how the money should be distributed among the Planter’s crew. While Welles waited to hear from Du Pont, the rear admiral proudly sent the secretary the two flags, the Confederate flag and the South Carolina flag, that had been aboard the Planter when it reached the Union fleet.49 The flags were now war trophies and emblems of what African Americans were willing to do for their country.
The appraisal, which was supposed to be determined by “competent officers,” came in at $9,000, far less than the $30,000 at least one newspaper had estimated and the $32,000 it had cost Ferguson to build it.50 The Planter’s guns, which had been sent to New York and appraised by ordinance officers, were estimated to be worth a total of $168, another ridiculously low appraisal.51 Years later Smalls would contest these estimates and offer testimony from two experts who thought the average value of the Planter at the time was $67,500—more than seven times the original estimate—with an additional $10,290 worth of cargo.52
Du Pont was probably not surprised by the low appraisals, given that government funds were especially tight during the war. Despite the disappointing figures, Du Pont was likely relieved that Smalls and the others were getting something.53 The government could easily have refused to give the party any prize money because they were not members of the military.
With just $4,584 to divide among Smalls and the others, Du Pont gave his recommendations to Welles in August. Du Pont awarded Smalls, as the leader of the party, $1,500. It was not as much as Smalls deserved and likely not as much as he had hoped, but it was enough to change his life forever and give his family what they needed to survive.
Du Pont awarded John Small and Alfred Gourdine, the engineers, $450 each, whereas Chisholm, Allston, Turner, and Jackson each got $400, and Morrison, the tinsmith whose family was in Alabama, received $384. Du Pont gave Morrison a lesser share because the admiral believed incorrectly that Morrison had been the only man who “joined the Planter after she left the wharf” and therefore had played a lesser role in the escape. In fact, two other men had been with him.
The women in the party did not fare as well. Du Pont gave Annie White and Lavinia Wilson $100 each, but the other women got nothing. Du Pont reasoned that these women, including Hannah, “would derive benefit through their various relationships to the men.” White and Wilson, he wrote, “have no such connection, and are destitute and unprovided for.”54
Although Smalls and the others celebrated the news that they had been awarded prize money, their struggles were far from over.
CHAPTER 5
Our Country Calls
Shortly after Smalls met with Du Pont on board the Wabash and shared the story of his escape, Smalls learned that the women and children in the party would be sent to Beaufort, a short trip from where the large warship was anchored in Port Royal Sound.1 In Beaufort, Hannah, Elizabeth, Robert, Jr., and the others would receive food, shelter, clothing, and medical attention as part of the government’s efforts to help the thousands of people in the area whose former owners had fled months earlier.
Though Smalls would be separated from his family, slavery no longer posed a danger to Hannah and the children now that they were behind Union lines. Smalls must have had some concerns about exactly how they would be treated, but he knew they would be far safer in Union-held Beaufort than they had been in Confederate Charleston. His mother, Lydia, was still in Beaufort as well and would do what she could to help Hannah and the children. It was an exciting yet uncertain time for Smalls and his family as they started their new lives.
After Hannah and the children said their good-byes, Smalls and the rest of the men were put to work almost immediately, but not all in the same capacity. Du Pont wanted to take advantage of Smalls’ superior navigation skills and his expert knowledge of the area and made him a civilian pilot.2 The job paid forty dollars a month, three times what Union privates made.3 It was an especially large sum compared to the one dollar per month that Henry McKee had allowed Smalls to keep from his pay. Smalls’ job as a pilot also meant he would be helping the Union cause, a source of great pride for Smalls.
Although Smalls was now working for the Union, he was not an enlisted man. As a former slave he never would have been allowed to serve in such a high position as pilot if he had enlisted.
Allston enlisted in the Navy, and the others probably enlisted as well. Unlike the Army, which had barred black men from serving since the Militia Act in 1792, the Navy had never forbidden their service. Within the first ninety days of the Civil War, nearly three hundred free African Americans had joined the Navy; about 20 percent were previous Navy veterans.
Yet those who had once been enslaved were not welcomed in the same way as free blacks. At the beginning of the war they had not even been allowed to enlist in the Navy. By September 1861, however, as more escapees had reached the blockading fleets, Secretary of the Navy Welles had changed the service’s policy. He wrote, “They can neither be expelled from the service to which they have resorted nor can they be maintained unemployed; and it is not proper that they should be compelled to render necessary and regular services without a stated compensation.”4
Welles now allowed newly freed black men to enlist, but he required they be classified no higher than “boy,” the lowest rank and one typically given to men younger than eighteen.5 The term was humiliating and dehumanizing. Paid ten dollars per month and given one ration a day, these men were usually assigned to manual labor and busywork and were often looked down upon by both whites and free blacks in the Navy. Although the men called “boys” were no longer enslaved, they were constantly reminded of their former status. (In late 1862, as the military’s need for men grew, Welles upgraded the status of former slaves who enlisted to “landsmen.”)6
* * *
When Hannah, Elizabeth, and Robert, Jr., arrived in Beaufort, they found the once-quiet streets crowded with Union soldiers, missionaries from the North, and blacks from throughout the surrounding area who had flocked to Union lines. The town was overflowing with people desperate to have their basic needs met. With no home of their own to return to, Hannah and the children were likely housed in one of the camps set up by the Union to help care for the former slaves.
By the time of their arrival, the Union had occupied the entire area of Port Royal for almost six months. While Beaufort, as the largest town in the area, was also a center of activity, military headquarters remained on Hilton Head.
The task of managing the thousands of former slaves in Port Royal had formally fallen to Brig. Gen. Thomas Sherman, who commanded the Union land forces in the area. He was also placed in charge of managing the valuable Sea Island cotton that had been left by the fleeing whites. Tasked with tackling both of these massive operations in addition to his military duties, which included conducting campaigns against Charleston and Savannah, Sherman was overwhelmed and desperate. He wrote to the War Department to ask what to do with the men, women, and children. The answer he received focused on the collection of cotton and did not address the situation of the former slaves.
Sherman had little choice but to proceed in the best way he could. In early December 1861, less than a month after the Union victory at Port Royal, Sherman appointed a chief cotton collector, William H. Nobles, to tackle the cotton issue, but the people in his care received little help. There simply were not enough resources.7
Much to Sherman’s relief, Secretary of the Treasury Salmon P. Chase soon took over both missions. Chase, fifty-three, an abolitionist who had been raised in Ohio, was in charge of all abandoned property, which incl
uded cotton and former slaves. When the Union captured Port Royal, Chase had noticed the potential value of the area. The government could benefit monetarily from the Sea Island cotton, and it could begin acclimating the former slaves to freedom and preparing them for citizenship. By taking advantage of these opportunities, Chase would be helping African Americans while perhaps helping himself win a future Republican presidential nomination. The reserved secretary had already lost the nomination twice. If his efforts at Port Royal proved that he could lead the country through the aftermath of the war, he might be in a better position to make his case.8
Chase sent his own man, Lt. Col. William H. Reynolds, to take over responsibility for the cotton, and by Christmas 1861 Reynolds was hiring a team of agents to help him collect it. They also quickly changed how they paid the African Americans who now worked for them. Instead of paying them in cash, Reynolds’ agents gave out vouchers that had to be redeemed at overpriced stores operated by Treasury agents who received the goods on their shelves from the Army at no cost. The agents then redeemed the vouchers for cash, making a hefty profit.9
These agents also helped themselves to anything else of value. Their plunder included Beaufort’s extensive library, which had been supplemented with books the Union collected from abandoned homes for the benefit of the soldiers stationed in town. Reynolds and his men saw the books as valuable and were able to override any efforts by Union officers to stop them from taking them. The collection of more than three thousand books was packed up and shipped to New York to be sold. But when citizens of New York learned of the sale, they strongly opposed it. The public outcry was so strong that the sale was canceled, and the books were sent to the Smithsonian Institution in Washington, D.C. Beaufort never saw the books again. (In January 1865 a fire in the Smithsonian’s castle, where the books were kept, destroyed the entire collection.)
Be Free or Die--The Amazing Story of Robert Smalls' Escape from Slavery to Union Hero Page 9