The Press called his inspirational and patriotic speech a “gratifying lecture, giving all the most interesting incidents of his experience in the army and navy since the war began.”
The audience was so taken with Smalls that when his speech was over, Rev. John A. Warren offered two resolutions that were unanimously adopted. The first was that Smalls’ “daring feats, in order to obtain the liberty of his wife, have endeared himself to us and our children forever.” Second, “That Captain Smalls has not only proven to the enemies of our race that he is brave and true to the Union and to Liberty, equal to white men, but that he dared do more than they for the cause of God and man.”9
Smalls followed this speech with another for the Colored People’s Union League Association about a week later at Sansom Street Hall and likely spoke to more gatherings during his stay in Philadelphia.10
At least one of the city’s many African American mutual aid societies also celebrated him. Like the associations to which Smalls had belonged in Charleston, these groups came together to help the sick, assist with the costs of burying the dead, and offer assistance to widows and orphans. This particular group was known as the Fraternal Association and had been established in 1861 “for the purpose of relieving the wants and distresses of each other in the time of affliction and death” and to “establish and maintain a permanent and friendly intercourse among them in their social relations in life.”
On June 21 the Fraternal Association invited Smalls to an extravagant dinner, which included a spread of terrapin, beef á la mode, boiled ham, lobster salad, and rice purleau, followed by desserts, punch, and cigars. After dinner the men toasted everyone from their sister societies and their guests to the women in their lives and the press. It was a festive evening that the Christian Recorder reported as “one of the finest we have ever attended.”11
One guest at the dinner would become an important figure in Smalls’ life in Philadelphia. The guest was Octavius Catto, a well-respected teacher at the city’s Institute for Colored Youth and an influential African American leader in Philadelphia. Perhaps having met Catto for the first time at this dinner, Smalls hired him to teach him to read and write while he waited for the Planter to be repaired. Now that Smalls was a free man, he was determined to get an education.
Like Smalls, Catto had been born in South Carolina in 1839. The upbringings of these two men, however, had been vastly different. While Smalls was born into slavery in Beaufort and spent his childhood in the South, Catto was born free in Charleston and was largely raised in the North. When Catto was still a child, Philadelphia’s First African Presbyterian Church hired his father, a minister, and the family relocated to the city. Since then Catto’s father had become an outspoken champion of emancipation, the right of blacks to vote, and the importance of education.
Catto was following his father’s path. He had graduated as valedictorian of his class at the Institute of Colored Youth in 1858 and was now teaching English and math at the school. He was also becoming a leader in the black community, championing equal rights and advocating education for all.12 Smalls could not have asked for a better teacher.
* * *
Shortly after Smalls’ dinner with the Fraternal Association, an event occurred that would put Smalls back in the national spotlight and focus attention on how the country was treating its black heroes.
Smalls was on his way to the Navy Yard with another crew member of the Planter, a white pilot who had been added to the steamer’s roster. The two men were going to check on the vessel. When they attempted to board one of Philadelphia’s horse-powered streetcars, their plans were interrupted; the conductor refused to allow Smalls to ride in the car because he was black.
As in other cities, including New York, blacks were forced to sit in segregated sections of streetcars, if they were allowed to ride at all. Some African Americans had responded by deliberately entering whites-only cars in protest and were often violently removed. This form of resistance had been carried out since the 1840s, when Frederick Douglass was kicked off segregated railway cars in Massachusetts. Douglass wrote that he was “often dragged out of my seat, beaten, and severely bruised, by conductors and brakemen.”13
Some African Americans had also sued in protest of the segregated policies. When Elizabeth Jennings, a young black schoolteacher on her way to church, refused to leave a New York streetcar in 1854, the conductor and a police officer forcibly ejected her. Jennings and her lawyer, future U.S. president Chester Arthur, sued the company and won $225 (almost $6,000 today) in damages.14 Despite the legal victory and others that followed, New York City’s streetcars would not be integrated for another ten years.
Philadelphia did not have streetcars until January 1858.15 A year later William Still, a black abolitionist, wrote a letter to the editor of the Philadelphia newspaper North American and United States Gazette to criticize the racial discrimination faced by African Americans on these cars. He called it the worst “in any of the leading cities of the Union.” He wrote, “However long the distance they may have to go, or great the hurry—however well or aged, genteel or neatly attired, however hot, cold or stormy the weather—however few in the cars, as the masses of colored people now understand it, they are unceremoniously excluded.” The letter was reprinted in many antislavery publications across the country, but Philadelphians mostly ignored it.16
As the country reeled from the secession crisis in early 1861, George W. Goines, a black man who was ousted from one of Philadelphia’s streetcars, tried to sue the conductor for damages. The judge ruled in favor of the defendant. The judge’s explanation made clear why he had done so. He said African Americans were already excluded from “our theatres, our schools, our lecture-rooms, our churches,” and it was wise not to force a collision between people “long civilized” and those “emerging from the shades of barbarism.”17
Despite the legal setback, Still did not give up on his quest to integrate Philadelphia streetcars. In late 1861 he convinced the Social, Cultural and Statistical Association of the Colored People of Philadelphia, a group he had helped organize, to circulate a petition among the white citizens of the city. The petition asked the Board of Presidents of the City Railways to allow blacks to ride their lines. The association gathered more than 360 signatures from prominent citizens. Some white passengers, however, complained that the petition signers had their own carriages to transport them around town and would not be affected. Afraid to lose its white ridership, the city railways board refused to change its policies.18
By the time Smalls was refused service in 1864, nineteen streetcar and suburban railroad companies operated in the city, and eleven refused to serve blacks. The other eight required African Americans to stand on the front platform with the driver regardless of the weather or how many other passengers were on board.19 Despite the humiliation and the dangers involved, many blacks rode on the platforms out of necessity. Other than walking, streetcars were the most affordable way to get around the city, costing six cents per ride.20 Private carriages cost $6 or $7 per day, far more than the average worker could afford.21
Even after African Americans were allowed to fight for the Union in 1863, they were still forbidden to ride the streetcars in Philadelphia and other cities. And when black soldiers were sick or wounded, their families often could not get to hospitals to see them because of the streetcar policies. As more black men died for the Union, cities like Philadelphia faced growing anger at the policy of segregating streetcar riders.22 Smalls’ experience in 1864 brought the issue to the fore.
The incident with Smalls occurred shortly after he arrived in Philadelphia. When Smalls entered the streetcar, the conductor told him to leave his seat and “go forward,” meaning he would have to ride on the platform. Smalls knew exactly what the conductor meant, but he wanted the man to give him a reason. He calmly responded, “I am accustomed to go forward, but why?” The conductor replied, “We allow no man of your color in the cars, you must go forward.” Smalls had
no intention of doing as the man asked, but he also wanted to know whether the law required him to ride on the platform. When the conductor told him it did, Smalls replied, “Then I will not disobey the law; I will leave the car.” In a show of loyalty the white pilot with Smalls also refused to stay in the car, saying, “I will follow my captain.”23
News of what had happened spread through Philadelphia’s black community. Many of the city’s African Americans met in late July to discuss the incident, along with other similar events, including the turning away of a father carrying his deathly ill son. They had no easy solutions to the problem but vowed to keep trying to fix it.24
The rest of the country did not learn that the Union hero had been denied service until January 1865, after Smalls had returned to Port Royal with the Planter. On January 13, 1865, some of Philadelphia’s most prominent citizens who had signed the previous petition sponsored a protest meeting at Philadelphia’s Concert Hall about the streetcar situation. One of the speakers was J. Miller McKim, a longtime antislavery advocate who had led the missionaries from Philadelphia in Port Royal. McKim described how Smalls, a man whose “name and gallant behavior were themes of universal praise,” had been forced off a streetcar “because of his complexion” about six months earlier.25
Newspapers across the country jumped on the story. One paper called turning Smalls away a “disgrace to American civilization.” A month later Pennsylvania state senator Morrow B. Lowry spoke of Smalls when arguing on behalf of a bill to end streetcar segregation.26
Despite many efforts, streetcars would not be desegregated for another two years. Catto, Smalls’ tutor, was among those who continued to fight for the desegregation of streetcars until the governor signed the law outlawing segregation in March 1867.27 Four years later Catto was shot and killed by a white man during the first election in Philadelphia that allowed blacks to vote.28
* * *
By December 1864 Smalls had been in Philadelphia for seven months and was looking forward to getting home to see Hannah and his daughters. One of the last events he attended in the city was a celebration at National Hall on December 7 in honor of the emancipation of eighty-seven thousand African Americans in Maryland.
While Lincoln’s Emancipation Proclamation had officially freed people enslaved in states that had seceded, it did not free those in the border states of Maryland, Delaware, Kentucky, and Missouri. Before the 13th Amendment was ratified in December 1865, the individual border states were free to determine whether they would abolish slavery.
Some enslaved African Americans in these states were understandably confused about their status as they heard talk of freedom. Annie Davis, a woman in Bel Air, Maryland, wrote a poignant letter to Lincoln in April 1864 to ask if she was free. “Mr. President,” she wrote, “It is my desire to be free, to go to see my people on the eastern shore. My mistress won’t let me. You will please let me know if we are free, and what I can do. I write to you for advice. Please send me word this week or as soon as possible.”29 Although Davis was still legally enslaved when she wrote her letter, she would soon have her freedom.
Delegates to Maryland’s constitutional convention had approved a constitution that abolished slavery in September 1864. A month later Marylanders held a referendum on the constitution, and soldiers in the field were allowed to vote. The vote was extremely close, and without the soldiers’ votes it likely would have been rejected. As a result of its passage, Maryland became the first border state to end slavery. The state’s constitution went into effect on November 1, seven days before Lincoln was reelected president, defeating Democratic candidate George B. McClellan.
The celebration Smalls attended in honor of the emancipation of the Marylanders was hosted by the Colored People’s Union League Association and drew a large crowd. The speakers that night praised the many advances made by blacks in recent years while also criticizing the discriminatory practices of streetcar companies.
Smalls was an honored guest and as such was seated on the stage with the speakers. When one speaker mentioned Smalls’ valor in commandeering the Planter, the applause was deafening.30 Two years after Smalls’ daring escape, the reaction to his heroism was as strong as ever. But it was not surprising. Something about Smalls captured people’s attention and hearts and went far beyond his seizing of a Confederate vessel.
* * *
In mid-December 1864 the repairs to the Planter were finally finished. The steamer now had a new engine as well as two new boilers, which had been relocated from the deck to the hold. This new arrangement made it less likely that a well-placed Confederate shot would strike the boilers and disable the vessel. The smokestack had also been replaced and moved from in front of the pilothouse to behind it, while the hull had been restored and painted.31
With the Planter overhauled, Smalls prepared to return the steamer to Port Royal. On December 17 he piloted the Planter out of the Philadelphia shipyard, leaving a city that had celebrated him in so many ways while also reminding him that racism was not confined to the South.32
* * *
Smalls returned to Port Royal on Christmas Eve 1864. With his arrival came major news. During his journey home the nearby Confederate city of Savannah had fallen to the Union at the hands of Maj. Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman, the red-haired commander of the western theater (Kentucky, Tennessee, Georgia, Alabama, Mississippi, eastern Louisiana, and western Florida).
Sherman’s victory came at the end of his famous March to the Sea, in which he had led sixty thousand troops on a three-hundred-mile march from Atlanta to Savannah. During the journey his soldiers had destroyed bridges, twisted railroads, pillaged farms, and burned plantations, leaving much of Georgia in ruins.33
As the march had progressed, thousands of enslaved people had abandoned the plantations along Sherman’s path and began following his troops. By the time Sherman reached Savannah, ten thousand men, women, and children were shadowing his soldiers. Some followers were looking for freedom and safety, while others were desperately searching for shelter, clothing, and food, the last in scarce supply. Union troops had taken whatever food they could find for their own needs. Like their fellow sufferers in Port Royal, these newly freed people would need assistance just to survive the winter.
The Union had put some of the followers to work, but many were unable to contribute as laborers or cooks and were seen as a hindrance by Union officers, including Sherman. “We wanted the slaves to remain where they were, and not to load us down with useless mouths, which would eat up the food needed for our fighting men,” Sherman said. “If they followed us in swarms of old and young, feeble and helpless, it would simply load us down and cripple us in our great task.”34
One event stands out as a tragic demonstration of the heartrending vulnerability of the people following Sherman. It also contributed to the concern, shared by some in Lincoln’s administration, that certain Union officers under Sherman had a disturbing disregard for their plight.
On December 9, 1864, the 14th Army Corps under the command of Union general Jeff C. Davis, whose name was similar to that of the Confederate president, approached Ebenezer Creek, a tributary of the Savannah River just twenty miles north of Savannah. Davis ordered the corps to cross the swollen creek using pontoon bridges. Following behind the troops were about 650 blacks, who were held back while the soldiers made their way to the other side. When the troops and wagons had crossed, Davis ordered the pontoon bridges removed, leaving the followers stranded.
Davis had not only abandoned the blacks following him, but he had left them to face Maj. Gen. Joseph Wheeler’s Confederate cavalry corps, which had been pursuing Davis’ men. Terrified of facing the Confederates, many of the African Americans tried to cross the frigid, swollen creek. Some found makeshift rafts or were helped by Union soldiers, but hundreds, mostly women, children, and the elderly, drowned. The Confederates likely killed or re-enslaved those who remained on the wrong side of the creek.35
* * *
When Sma
lls was finally reunited with Hannah, Elizabeth, Sarah, and Lydia at their home on Prince Street, he was certainly grateful that they were safe and healthy. Elizabeth was almost seven years old now, and Sarah had just turned one. Thoughts of his late son, Robert, Jr., must have also filled his mind, especially with so many sick children among the new arrivals in Beaufort.
With the fall of Savannah, some of the former slaves in search of help had found their way to the Port Royal area. On Christmas night, just one night after Smalls returned, seven hundred more hungry, cold, and weak African Americans arrived in Beaufort, a massive crowd for a small town already overwhelmed by soldiers, missionaries, and other former slaves.
Brig. Gen. Saxton described the new arrivals as “in a state of misery which would have moved to pity a heart of stone.”36 He already had about fifteen thousand African Americans under his charge and was struggling to provide them with housing, clothing, and rations. Yet thousands more who had recently been freed by Union troops were now on their way from Georgia and other parts of the southeast. By the summer an additional seventeen thousand African Americans would pass through Beaufort. With the town flooded with former slaves, many would move to nearby settlements in the Sea Islands.
Most of the former slaves had come with nothing more than the clothes they were wearing. They were ill and hungry and often had been separated from their families. Smalls’ own fear of losing his wife and children had once spurred him to risk all their lives to escape from Charleston. Had he not done so, they would still have been enslaved in the city and experiencing the deprivations felt by blacks and whites across the South as the war neared its fourth year. Even if they had managed to escape in some other way, they would likely have found themselves in Beaufort, struggling to survive like so many around them.
Be Free or Die--The Amazing Story of Robert Smalls' Escape from Slavery to Union Hero Page 17