Whites also took advantage of the sale. Saxton bought the Nathaniel Heyward house, one of the largest homes in Beaufort, for $2,000, and used it as his headquarters. Rev. Mansfield French bought the Thomas Fuller house, a three-story federal-style tabby home built around 1786, for $1,700, and Northern merchants purchased downtown lots to use for their businesses.33
Henry McKee had owned two properties in town, both of which were sold to whites. Stephen Caldwell Millet, who eventually became the president of the Port Royal Railroad Company, bought McKee’s house on Bay Street for $2,050, and Henry G. Judd, the superintendent for Port Royal Island, purchased the other for $150.
By the end of the auction the government had sold 74 of 134 of Beaufort’s blocks. (Some homes and buildings used by the military were exempted from the sale, especially those that served as hospitals.) Just as when the white owners had fled and Union forces occupied the town, Beaufort had undergone an enormous change in only a matter of days.
Large portions of land, however, remained in the government’s hands, and the tax sales and surrounding controversy would continue for years.
* * *
While much of Beaufort and many plantations nearby were changing hands, Smalls moved his family into their new home. He had last been in the house when he was twelve years old, tending to the needs of the McKee family while abiding by a long list of rules and never being allowed to forget his status as a slave. Now, at twenty-four, he was the owner of the house and the captain of an Army vessel. Rather than sleeping in the slave quarters in the back of the property, Smalls would sleep in the master bedroom. He could come and go as he pleased while enjoying the security the house provided not only him, but his beloved family.
Smalls wasted no time in making full use of the house, which included celebrating the marriage of one of the women who had escaped with him on the Planter. On April 7 Smalls and Hannah hosted a wedding for Lavinia Wilson, whom the couple now considered an adopted daughter. On that spring day Lavinia married a member of the 33rd USCT, the new name for the 1st South Carolina Volunteers. The notice of the wedding in the local paper noted that Smalls “now owned the house of his former master, and where he himself was born.” It also noted that the rooms were reported to be “tastefully decorated and illuminated. A table was furnished bountifully and in a style creditable to any of the chivalry.”
Smalls had proudly invited some of the very men he had first met after he seized the Planter. Reverend French, with whom Smalls had traveled to Washington, New York, and Philadelphia, led the service. Brig. Gen. Saxton and his new wife, Matilda, a Philadelphia missionary, were present, along with several members of Saxton’s staff. Also in attendance were “some of the ‘first families’ of freedmen, many of whom were kindred to the very elite of South Carolina.”34 These were the formerly enslaved children of wealthy white planters and their female slaves. Once ignored by Beaufort society, they were now helping to lead it.
Smalls was close to Lavinia and may have been close to others who had been aboard the Planter that night in May 1862. But their paths through life would be very different, and not all would remain on friendly terms. In 1903, decades after Smalls had commandeered the Planter, Allston, the wheelman, claimed that it had not been Smalls’ idea to take the steamer. Smalls, he said, had just been smart enough to say he was in charge when the Union officer aboard the Onward had asked.35 Clearly Smalls’ fame and the accolades he received had caused some jealousy, but Smalls’ celebrity and his success were not just the result of his escape. They were also due in large part to his determination, bravery, intellect, and charisma.
* * *
Around the time of Lavinia’s wedding, Smalls’ name once again appeared in the papers but for a very different reason. This time the New York Evening Post criticized a Union brigadier general’s leadership at the Battle of Olustee in Florida and accused him of being a racist. In trying to show the disregard of thirty-nine-year-old Truman Seymour for African Americans, the paper referenced an article it had published a year earlier about Seymour’s poor treatment of Smalls at Port Royal.
The article had appeared in April 1863 and was written by Charles Nordhoff, a correspondent who had spent two months in Port Royal. In referring to Seymour, Nordhoff wrote, “I had occasion to see here, one day, how far the bitter and mean prejudice of a pro-slavery man will carry him.” Seymour wrote that Smalls had been ordered by another officer to report to the Wabash to see Du Pont and happened to take the same boat as Seymour. When they arrived at the Wabash, “The General called to the officer of the deck and said to him: ‘Officer, this boy wants to see the Admiral; will you please let him know that the boy is waiting?’ Then turning to Smalls, he cried out, in a sharp voice: ‘Here, boy, you can go aboard, and the officer will tell you when the Admiral is ready to see you.’”
Nordhoff, who described Smalls as “a very quiet man, without the slightest swagger,” was enraged by what he had seen. He wrote, “Now Smalls is not a boy; he is a man … I blushed for Gen. Seymour when I heard him use the old cant of the slave master towards this man, who performed one of the bravest and most brilliant acts of the war. Gen. Seymour is himself a brave man, and if a white man had done what Smalls did, he would no doubt have honored him.” Nordhoff did not record Smalls’ reaction to the insult. The correspondent reported: “How he looked or felt when he was called ‘boy’ in this way I cannot tell you—for I dared not look in the poor fellow’s face.”36
Since that article had appeared, Seymour had led the assault on Battery Wagner in July 1863 in which so many troops of the 54th Massachusetts had been killed. Then, in February 1864, he led an expedition of white and black troops into Florida that culminated in the disastrous Battle of Olustee.
On February 20 Seymour and his five thousand men, including the 54th Massachusetts and two other black regiments, encountered five thousand entrenched Confederates near Olustee Station. A battle raged for five hours. In the late afternoon it became clear that the Confederates had the advantage. Recognizing the situation, Seymour told Col. Edward Hallowell, commander of the 54th Massachusetts, “The day is lost; You must go in and save the corps!”37 The men, along with black troops from the 1st North Carolina Infantry Regiment and white troops from the 7th Regiment New Hampshire Volunteers, did just that, which allowed the other Union troops to retreat.
By the end of the day the Confederates had won a bloody victory. The Union suffered 1,861 casualties, including 506 missing or captured men, while the Confederate casualties numbered 943, with only 9 missing or captured.38 One Union soldier wrote, “What we saw all made our blood run cold. Everywhere, men were staggering out of the forest, faces … dripping with blood and sweat, dragging themselves and their wounded comrades to safety.”39
In their haste to retreat, the Union forces left many wounded behind. One officer wrote, “Our defeat was so severe and unexpected, and our lack of transportation so meager, that we were compelled to leave our killed and most of our wounded in rebel hands.”40
Wounded black soldiers left lying on the fields had little chance of surviving. The Confederates likely clubbed or shot them to death. One soldier from the 26th Virginia Volunteer Infantry Regiment wrote, “I tell you our men slayed the Negroes and if it had not been for the officers there would not one of them been spared.”41
Many newspapers criticized Seymour for the defeat, but the Evening Post’s article also attacked Seymour’s treatment of his black troops. The piece said, “We expected nothing from this expedition under the command of such an officer as General Seymour … General Seymour is a virulent proslavery man … His contemptuous treatment of Robert Smalls … has already been recorded in this paper. He is not the man to avail himself of the services of the African race in the capacity for which they are most admirably adapted.”42
Outraged by the attack, Seymour refused to ignore the paper. He replied: “You assail me professionally and personally … The reputation of a soldier is not based on the opinions of gentle
men of your profession nearly so strongly as upon those of mine; and by these last, only, am I content to be judged.” After addressing other points on which he had been attacked, he wrote,
Pro-slavery sentiments—even in a moderate form—I never entertained. But I despise and scorn the hypocritical and sanctimonious philanthropy of some who are fattening—personally, pecuniarily, and politically—upon the wrongs of the black, but who have been very careful never to set him an example on the battlefield. And that I have faithfully carried out the desires and commands of the Government, so far as I have had command of colored troops, the following letters will best show.43
Seymour included letters from white officers of the 3rd South Carolina Colored Troops and the 34th USCT who defended him and his treatment of African American soldiers. He also included a reply from Smalls. Although Smalls was still learning to read and write, he sought assistance and boldly defended Seymour:
Through all courtesy to your paper and justice where justice is due, I must say that from the first day of my arrival within the Union lines, General Seymour has always shown me the greatest regard, whenever in public or private, inquiring how I was or if I was in need … Never was there a time, when with General Seymour, or any of his [aides], that I was treated contemptuously or unkindly. Trusting you will correct this error, which I fear some reporter has unintentionally made, I am, yours most respectfully, Captain Robert Smalls.44
Seymour’s rebuttal, along with Smalls’ letter and the others supporting Seymour, were so powerful that the Evening Post offered a public apology:
In respect to Gen. Seymour, whose brave services at Sumter and elsewhere we have been always prompt to acknowledge, and against whose courage or honor no word has ever been whispered, we must observe that we have said nothing upon mere rumor or hearsay. Our remarks have been founded upon the letters of various correspondents, on whom we had every reason to rely, and upon the personal observations of one of our own staff … It gives us the greatest pleasure to learn that we have been mistaken in regard to his sentiments on slavery and his treatment of colored troops.45
It was a victory for Seymour. It was also evidence of Smalls’ unfailing diplomacy and his willingness to offer his assistance to others.
Olustee was not the only time black soldiers were murdered rather than taken prisoner after a battle ended. On April 12, just two months later, in one of the most notorious examples, Confederates slaughtered African American troops at Fort Pillow in Tennessee. Fifteen hundred Confederates attacked the fort, which was manned by five hundred white and black troops. Of 262 black troops, only 62 survived.
Many in the Union accused the Confederates of conducting a massacre. The concerns of Northerners were strong enough that a congressional committee investigated the battle and a few weeks later reached the same horrific conclusion:
The sick and wounded were butchered without mercy, the rebels even entering the hospital buildings and dragging them out to be shot, or killing them as they lay there unable to offer the least resistance. All over the hillside the work of murder was going on; numbers of our men were collected together in lines or groups and deliberately shot; some were shot while in the river, while others on the bank were shot and their bodies kicked into the water, many of them still living but unable to make exertions to save themselves from drowning. Some of the rebels stood upon the top of the hill or a short distance from its side and called to our soldiers to come up to them, and as they approached, shot them down in cold blood; if their guns or pistols missed fire, forcing them to stand there until they were again prepared to fire.46
Rather than terrorizing African American troops, however, the butchery only strengthened their determination to fight the Confederates. “Remember Fort Pillow!” became a popular battle cry for black soldiers.47
CHAPTER 9
The City of Brotherly Love
On a warm day in May 1864 Smalls left Hannah and their children at their Prince Street home and prepared for a second trip to Philadelphia. This time he would be taking the Planter. The steamer needed major repairs after coming under Confederate fire on several occasions during her many trips to transport troops and supplies along the South Carolina coast. As her captain, Smalls was responsible for delivering the steamer to the Navy Yard in Philadelphia, where she would be refurbished. Though Smalls would remain in the city for more than seven months waiting for the job to be completed, at least now he could take comfort from knowing that Hannah, their two daughters, and Lydia would be living comfortably in their new home.
As Smalls and his crew steamed out of Port Royal Sound toward Philadelphia, he proudly captained the vessel that had dramatically changed his life and that of his family. Now she would be getting the care she needed to remain in service.
Just as Philadelphia had been two years earlier, the city was booming from the war. In addition to the Navy Yard, the city had a number of private shipyards that also were commissioned to build Navy vessels. Two federal arsenals provided ammunition and other materiel for the war effort, while dozens of private companies manufactured firearms, hats, flags, swords, and sabers for the government.1
While the City of Brotherly Love was still flourishing, it also continued to be generally hostile toward blacks. Smalls would experience this hostility firsthand, but he would encounter kindness and respect, too, and, for the first time in his life, have the chance to receive an education.
* * *
On May 13, 1864, two years to the day after Smalls had seized the Planter and delivered it to the Union fleet off Charleston, he and the steamer reached Philadelphia’s Navy Yard. The eighteen-acre shipyard, the U.S. Navy’s oldest, was located on Federal Street on the banks of the Delaware River. Two huge ship houses, molding lofts, machine shops, barracks, and a floating dry dock made up the yard, which employed about three thousand men.2
During the next several months these men would give the Planter a massive overhaul. The initial estimate for the repairs was $25,000 to $29,000, but it would ultimately cost more than $40,500 to refurbish the steamer. The Navy would attribute the gap between the estimate and the actual charges to the increase in the cost of labor and materials as the war continued.3
The willingness of the Navy to spend so much to restore the Planter demonstrated the extent to which the actual value of the ship exceeded the appraisal value used to determine the prize money given to Smalls and the others. The total cost of the repairs would be more than four times the estimated value of $9,000.
While the Planter was being refurbished, Smalls reported to the assistant quartermaster’s office on Girard Street in Philadelphia. Smalls’ exact duties during this time remain unclear, but officially he continued to serve as the captain of the Planter and was earning $150 per month.
* * *
Even while Smalls was in Philadelphia, he continued to be an important figure to many of the men and women in Port Royal who had recently been freed from slavery. A few days after Smalls arrived in Philadelphia, Beaufort voted for him, albeit in absentia, to serve as a South Carolina delegate to the National Union Party’s convention in Baltimore in June to choose a presidential nominee. (The Republican Party had taken the temporary name National Union to appeal more to War Democrats.)4
Leaders in South Carolina’s occupied Sea Islands had recently called for a state convention to choose delegates to represent the “Union people” in Baltimore, although Republicans would soon debate whether those leaders had the right to do so. In response to the call, about 150 blacks and 100 whites gathered on May 17 in Beaufort at a recently opened hotel called the Saxton House in honor of the military governor.
After “some noisy and acrimonious debate,” the assemblage chose twelve whites and four blacks as delegates to represent South Carolina at the convention. Saxton was one of the whites elected, while Smalls was among the blacks chosen.5
Though Smalls would not be able to attend the convention because of his duties in Philadelphia, his nomination still attracted atte
ntion and ire in the South. The Charleston Mercury, among others, reminded its readers that Smalls had “carried a steamboat to the Yankees two years ago.”6
When the other South Carolina delegates made their way to Baltimore in June, they were not allowed to officially join the proceedings. The convention’s Committee on Credentials would not seat any South Carolinians, black or white. People argued in newspapers across the country about whether the group had been refused because they represented an occupied area rather than a state government or because they were an integrated delegation. In a letter to the editor of The Liberator, Wendell Phillips, the well-known abolitionist, wrote, “Every sane man knows that South Carolina was rejected because she sent black delegates. No evasion can rub that spot out of Baltimore garments, and it is of too much significance to be omitted or confused in an Anti-Slavery record.”7
The delegates in Baltimore who were seated unanimously renominated Lincoln as the Union candidate for president. Andrew Johnson, the military governor of Tennessee and a War Democrat, was named Lincoln’s running mate to broaden his appeal and replace Hannibal Hamlin, the current vice president.
* * *
While Smalls waited for the Planter to be repaired in Philadelphia, he took advantage of the opportunities presented to him, just as he had throughout his life. He understood and valued his status as a hero, especially in the black community, and wanted to encourage and support those fighting for freedom whenever he could.
Days after Smalls arrived, he spoke to a group of Philadelphia’s black citizens at Mother Bethel, the mother church of the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) denomination, as part of the thirteenth general conference of the AME Church. As he had in other places, Smalls won the admiration of the audience. He began by humbly saying, “I am not a speaker, but always feel happy if I can say anything to strengthen the hearts of the noble men who are battling for freedom. It is for the cause of freedom that I am here before you this evening.” He then said something that beautifully and succinctly captured his motivation for everything he had done in his life: “Although born a slave I always felt that I was a man and ought to be free, and I would be free or die.” The captivated crowd exploded in applause.8
Be Free or Die--The Amazing Story of Robert Smalls' Escape from Slavery to Union Hero Page 16