History of Woman Suffrage Volume II Part 122

Hoping that the Committee in charge of the matter may have success,

I am, very truly yours, THOMAS A. SCOTT.

Editorial from the _National Citizen_ (Syracuse, N. Y.), September, 1881:

THE CONTRAST.--"Look on this picture and on that." While President James A. Garfield lay dying, another American citizen, one to whom the country owes far more than it did to him, was stricken with an incurable disease. But in this case no telegram heralded the fact; no messages were cabled abroad; few newspapers made comment, and yet had it not been for the wisdom of this person whom the country forgets, we should have possessed no country to-day.

Anna Ella Carroll lies at her home near Baltimore, stricken with paralysis--perhaps already beyond the river. As the readers of the _National Citizen_ well know, when the nation was in its hour of extreme peril, with a nearly depleted treasury, with England and France waiting with large fleets for a few more evil days in order to raise the blockade, with President, Congress, and people nearly helpless and despairing, there arose this woman, who with strategic science far in advance of any military or naval officer on land or sea, pointed out the way to victory, sending her plans and maps to the War Department, which adopted them. Thus the tide of battle was turned, victory perched on the Union banner, and in accordance with the President's proclamation, the country united in a day of public thanksgiving.

But that woman never received recognition from the country for her services. The Military Committee of various Congresses has reported in her favor, but no bill securing her even a pension has ever been pa.s.sed, and now she is dying or dead.

In another column will be found the report of the Military Committee of the Forty-sixth Congress, in her favor, March, 1881, which as a matter of important history we give in full, hoping no reader will pa.s.s it by. Under the circ.u.mstances we shall be pardoned for giving an extract from a letter of Miss Carroll to the editor of the _National Citizen_, accompanied by a copy of this report.

Miss Carroll says: "I am sure you retain your kind interest in the matter, and will be gratified by the last action of Congress, which is a complete recognition of my public service, on the part of military men; both Confederate and Union brigadiers belonging to the Military Committee."

While this bill was in no sense commensurable with the services rendered by Miss Carroll to the country, yet as the main point was conceded, it was believed it would secure one more consonant with justice at the next session of Congress.

The nation is mourning Garfield with the adulation generally given monarchs; General Grant is decorating his New York "palace" with countless costly gifts from home and abroad; yet a greater than both has fallen, and _because she was a woman_, she has gone to her great reward on high, unrecognized and unrewarded by the country she saved.

Had it not been for her work, the names of James A. Garfield and of Ulysses S. Grant would never have emerged from obscurity. Women, remember that to one of your own s.e.x the salvation of the country is due, and never forget to hold deep in your hearts, and to train your children to hold with reverence the name of ANNA ELLA CARROLL.

WOMEN AS SOLDIERS.

A FEMALE SOLDIER.

There is a female here appealing for five months' back pay due her as a soldier in the army. Her name is Mary E. Wise. She is an orphan, without a blood relative in the world, and was a resident of Jefferson Township, Huntington County, Indiana, where she enlisted in the 34th Indiana Volunteers under the name of William Wise. She served two years and eighteen days as a private, partic.i.p.ating in six of the heaviest engagements in the West, was wounded at Chicamauga and Lookout Mountain, at the latter place severely in the side. Upon the discovery of her s.e.x, through her last wound, she was sent to her home in Indiana. When she arrived there, her step-mother refused her shelter, or to a.s.sist her in any way. Having five months' pay due from the Government, she started for Washington, in the hope of collecting it, arriving in this city on the 4th instant. Here her troubles have only increased. She can not get her pay. Her colonel probably, under the circ.u.mstances, not deeming it necessary, failed to give her a proper or formal discharge, with the necessary papers. In her difficulties she has, repeatedly, endeavored to refer her case to the President, but, not having influential friends to back her, she has been disappointed in all her efforts to see him, and the Department can pay her only upon proper or formal discharge papers, etc. So she is here, without friends or means, wholly dependent upon the bounty of the Sanitary Commission.

NATIONAL FREEDMAN'S AID a.s.sOCIATION.

JOSEPHINE S. GRIFFING.

WASHINGTON, _April 15, 1870_.

LUCRETIA MOTT--MY DEAR FRIEND:--Feeling that the exact condition of the worn-out slaves now in this District could be better understood by a little explanation that I can make, and knowing that you desire the truth in this matter of life-long interest to you, I desire to refer to the following facts, which I trust you will present to the meeting of Friends (Quakers) in Philadelphia who sympathize with you.

In the year 1864, when urging upon Senator Sumner and our friends in Congress, the necessity of a bureau that could afford special aid to the emanc.i.p.ated slaves, the great fact that the old people were suddenly turned out of the possibility of a subsistence, was recognized by all. Mr. Sumner, in his first speech putting the bill in pa.s.sage, urged this as sufficient ground alone, if no other existed, which was not the case. From the time of the organization of the Bureau till now, their special claim has been recognized by Congress, and notwithstanding they received, in common with all the freed people of this District, an allowance made to each in rations, blankets, clothes, fuel, Government buildings, medical treatment, and monthly visitation; they also have each year received from Congress special aid in an appropriation because of their age and infirmity, many of them being helpless as infants, and all too far spent in slavery to labor for a support.

In providing for the able-bodied freed people, only partial support was intended by the Bureau, to bridge over the transition from slavery to freedom. Then education and the ballot, added to their own industrial resources, came in, and furnished them a basis for self-support and citizenship. The Bureau was no longer a necessary department in the Government for THIS CLa.s.s, and was abolished, without a subst.i.tute for the aged and worn-out slaves, though they were now older and more infirm, and had lost in this change houses, food, fuel, clothing, medical treatment, and, excepting myself, visiting agents.

Since the discontinuance of the Bureau, I have acted, as before its creation, as "best friend" and as agent of the National Freedman's Relief a.s.sociation of this District, in the care of the old, crippled, blind, and broken-down, of whom I have at this time in number _eleven hundred_, not one of whom is able to earn for himself the necessaries of life. At this moment, at least one hundred and fifty broken-down slaves are at this office, covering all the porches, sitting on all the stairs, forming an almost impa.s.sable barrier to the entrances--all with a story of want in their _faces_; in fact of want, from "the crown of the head to the sole of the half-naked feet," and all eager to say, "We has n.o.body to go 'pon." An old woman ninety-one, sat on the steps just after the sun rose this morning, so _tired_, she looked a pitying sight for angels. "Can you let me stay anywhere?" she said.

"I'se had no home dis winter; dey let me stay in de wash-room last night, but der wasn't any blanket, and 'pears I got chilled through."

Upon investigation I found it was true she had no friend or relative, and had been going on the outskirts of the city begging among the colored people (poor as herself, except in shelter) _a lodging_, and often doing with almost nothing to eat for two or three days at a time. Perfectly disabled for life by weakness (so common among the old women of slavery) and the infirmities of ninety years of hard life.

Through the n.o.ble efforts of Rachel W. M. Townsend in behalf of these poor human beings, I was able to give her a bedtick and twenty-five cents for straw to fill it, a comforter, and a place to stay in the house with two others of the same cla.s.s, for whom we have all winter paid rental. What less than _this_ would the loving Saviour of men have done for one like her? What less would _you_, who have battled half a century for her freedom, have done in a case like that? She has now a bed and comforter, _no pillow_, nor bedstead, and _not one_ garment to change with the ragged and filthy ones that have served for day and night apparel, for bed and outdoor wrappings, the last three months. She has no resource for bread, _in herself_, and none but G.o.d to whom she can say, "Give" me "this day" my "daily bread". This woman represents at least two hundred persons in every way as dest.i.tute, who look to me for help. Another cla.s.s of two hundred are in a similar state of dest.i.tution, with this exception, they are sheltered by a fellow-servant or distant relative, and sometimes furnished a bed, but nothing more, and none of these can _labor_.

Two hundred more are equally dest.i.tute and as helpless, many of them as young children, needing the personal care that patients in our hospitals do, not excepting medical treatment and bathing. Add to these five hundred, who under the most favorable circ.u.mstances _may_, though do not generally, furnish their bread three months in the summer, by picking up bones and rags in the alleys and gutters, I believe I may safely say that out of the eleven hundred there are not one hundred who can do this, and pay _house-rent_ beside. And it must be remembered that none of these old people own a foot of ground in the city, or have a home they can call their own. A few of these only live with children, some of whom are also very old. f.a.n.n.y Miner, one hundred and thirteen, lives with a daughter seventy-two. William Dennis, ninety-nine, lives with a daughter seventy-four. Anna Sauxter, one hundred and one, with a consumptive son of sixty, and has slept on an old table through the winter _watching_, as she says, two days and a night at one time, _with no food at all_. She was one of the slaves of Washington. Anna Ferguson, another of his slaves, emanc.i.p.ated when young, lives in a wretched garret, and has no one to give her a cup of water. She sent a child to me to-day, who said she went in to borrow some fire of "old auntie," and found her very sick, groaning with dreadful pain, with the message that she was perishing for something to eat; could I send her an Irish potato? She added in her message, "Tell her to come and see me, I'll not be here long."

I have just now returned from a visit on "the Island," where I have seen twenty-seven of these helpless persons, a few cases of which (could you see them) would leave no doubt in your mind in reference to the necessity of a change from the present state of things. I saw enough in this visit to fill a book, and could tongue or pen describe it--to convince the mind of a savage--of terrible inhumanity and lack of all charity. The morning was sunny and clear, and old Aunt Clara and Uncle John sat on broken chairs, under the rude perch of a miserable shanty. He, tall and athletic, his long white beard and snow-white head, impressive as the type of venerable age, was putting Aunt Clara's foot into a soft shoe as carefully as though it was the last time it could be dressed. She 74, neat and velvet-faced, was stone blind, and so paralyzed that the slightest touch on the arm or hand made her spring and cry like a child. The shock put out both her eyes, and made her as helpless as an infant in all particulars.

For one year she has been unable to feed herself, undress, or to do anything to relieve the monotony of utter helplessness. He had brought her out in the sun, there was no window in their room, and had spread a cloth on her lap, as she said, hoping somebody would come along who would comb her hair. Uncle John was 14, he says, when _Washington died_. Not a child or a friend to go to them, _there they stay_. They said they had nothing to eat last night, and were often two days without a pint of meal, and nothing like food in the house, for the old man said, "When mamma has her 'poor turns', I never leaves her, and n.o.body ever feeds her but me, or dresses or undresses her." I shall not forget how the tears dropped from her face, as she told the story of her life. "A _woman once_, but _n.o.body_ now, comfort all gone, and hungry and cold the rest of my days." Her mind was unimpaired, and her faith unwavering.

Henry and Milly Lang were two squares away; persons between sixty and seventy, living in a shanty used in time of the war as a stable. For five years they have lived there, paying, in all but the last two months, _four dollars a month_ rent. Milly is also stone blind, and _sick_ and helpless. They were in great distress, had no food in the house, for Henry has hip disease, and for eleven weeks has not walked a step. On every side I could look through the open boards, and when the last storms came, they said the rain came down on the whole floor, covering it, so they sat on the pallet all day. The landlord has ordered them _to leave the house_ in five days, _to put in a cow_ instead! Friendless, homeless, penniless!!! and yet _must_ eat or die.

Three of those I saw were over one hundred--one had five children, when Washington died, lived in his county. Sixteen were over seventy.

Not one of them had a child in this city. Five were over 80; and all of these whom I saw were as dependent as infants.

Johnny Sc.r.a.per sat in rags, paralyzed from the top of his head to the soles of his feet, alone in a six-by-ten-foot room, unable to walk a step, yet is left entirely alone, sometimes for three days. If he has anything brought in to eat, he thanks G.o.d; if not, he must do without it. Tuesday and Sat.u.r.day night he says a fellow-servant, living in a distant part of the city, came to see him, and sometimes brought a piece of fish or meat; this is all the chance he has for anything, except a little meal or dry bread. Every one of these old people complained that they were _dying_ for some meat--were so weak. Aunt Dinah said that she went out on the street last week and begged of the school children, who gave her seven cents, and she went into a grocery to buy a piece of meat, and received there five cents more. "Oh!"

said she, "how that strengthened me, it lasted me _three days_."

I might go on and fill the sheet with incidents of these extremely aged pilgrims and strangers in this city, for whom n.o.body cares. But I should fail to convey to you any just idea of what they suffer, because you can see there is no parallel to their status. In no city on the globe can you find a people to whom the words of Wood (I think it is) so well apply--"_paupers_ whom n.o.body owns." You must see them _as they are to believe_.

The Government says, "They _need provisions_, let the _city_ be taxed." The city says, "We care for the mult.i.tude of legitimate paupers of the Government--pensioners, who die waiting for their claims, _but these are special wards_, brought to the capital by special legislation, not any of them voluntary residents. We are unable to provide for this surplus of poor." Turning to the people of the country, they say, "We have given them their freedom, let them take care of themselves!" To the Abolitionists, and they rebuke us for listening to their cry, and say, "It is no more than must be expected; let them alone and they will die off." Even the loudest professors have said to me, "As long as you _will_ take care of these poor old creatures, so long you may; there are plenty of others to come." So turn which way we may, we are met with coldness and distrust.

I come now to you, and ask what is our _duty_ to these worn-out slaves, whose labor we have enjoyed in the general prosperity, and whose destiny on earth we have fixed by legislation, over which they could have no control? In old age we have taken from their homes these people, and calling them "free," we have said to them, "Be ye warmed and clothed," and then gone on our way. Had I, like most others, have been so fortunate as not to have met these old people, on the day of arrival here as they came out from slavery, nor have listened to the thousand witnesses, that have each day testified to utter inability to live without charity, as a practical relief, I might as easily as they, perhaps, satisfy my conscience by the above reasoning; but one thing is sure, whoever stands in my place will find no half-way measure will answer. They can not look these people in the face, as they come, averaging under the present arrangements of the Secretary of War _two hundred a day_, to ask for _bread and wood_, and clothes and shoes and shelter, and bed and blanket and medicine, not one of whom can be satisfied without _food_.

One of the most distressing days we have seen was last Tuesday, when two hundred and fifty all broken down, _stood and sat_, three long hours, waiting and hoping that the Commissary would send bread or rations, but none came, and we could get only _twenty-five loaves for them_. Many came from the suburbs of the town, some from over the river, not less than five miles away, and had left an aged companion and orphan grandchildren on the alert for their return, with something for a dinner or a meal. But nothing came; and yet, as they left with sorrow in their faces, that almost breaks my heart to think of, in their meek way one after another said, "You'se done all you could, Honey, we'll do the _best we_ can, and come again to-morrow."

You see, _these people must eat_. Bread must be furnished every day, rain or shine, hot or cold. I ask what is our duty? Will G.o.d perform a miracle to feed this mult.i.tude? I can not ask you, "Is it safe to leave them in the hands of the Government or the city?" I have for six years _plead_, as for the life of them, with both. None but G.o.d knows how earnestly I have laid their claims before officials in the highest departments. By the _greatest_ efforts, and with the sympathy of a small number of friends, who in Congress see with us, and have from the beginning, that the repudiation of this claim _must_ call down upon the Nation the just judgments of heaven, we have secured the special appropriations up to this time.

The history of the past warns us that unless the people, their const.i.tuents at home, recognize this duty, and work with us more earnestly by organized effort, and generous heartfelt contributions, the Government will ignore their claim altogether. Indeed I trembled at the prospect of this immediate result. Excepting the few n.o.ble men and women whose sympathy and aid I would have, and ever p.r.o.nounce unparalleled in the history of benevolent work--_but for these_, Congress might well say, "The people do not demand it. They _do nothing_, why should we?" If you say, "Provision must be made for them, they must not be left to starve and die, like Andersonville prisoners," then let us agree upon the best measures to relieve them, and put an end to the system of slow starvation under which so many have this winter suffered and died.

We need and _must_ have a hospital-home building to gather in the scattered, helpless ones, who now live alone, and in distant localities. With such an inst.i.tution we could with far greater economy than ever before, provide for them all. But I have trespa.s.sed too long upon your patience. I thank you and all the friends in Philadelphia for timely aid during the past winter, and trust you will lay this before your yearly meeting soon to convene, as an appeal for help in the future. Hoping to hear what you think is our duty in this emergency,

Faithfully and lovingly, JOSEPHINE S. GRIFFING.

ROADSIDE, NEAR PHILADA. 5mo. 1st. '70.

MY DEAR JOSEPHINE:--Thy several sheets were duly received and read with heartfelt and thrilling attention. It may seem neglectful that no acknowledgment has been made before.

I have waited hoping to have more than a _mere_ acknowledgment. I took the letter to our meeting, and added somewhat to the appeal made the week before, by our earnest, truly sympathetic R. W. M. Townsend.

Just at this time the approach of our yearly meeting, the claims of the Indians under the care of our Friends, the freedmen's schools at the South, also under our care--for whom thousands have been raised--and the Swarthmore College, just reporting its great need to pay off a debt, etc. All these pressing their claims, of course make it more difficult to collect beyond _our_ city poor, who are ever appealing to us--many of whom also suffering from the effects of cruel slavery. Still thy account was too harrowing to be cast aside, and a few men took hold of it and called a meeting. So I will enclose the small sum of $20, which thou doubtless will find use for.

I was sorry not to have time to speak to thee before leaving that Fifth Avenue Woman Suffrage Meeting. My daughter, fearing we should miss the cars to take us twelve miles to her children at Orange, rather hurried me away.

I can not be in New York again now. Our yearly meeting occurs in Anniversary Week. My son, Edward M. Davis, took thy letter to have a copy taken before returning it to thee. He thought he might make some use of it for the benefit of those poor, aged sufferers.

Thine in haste and affectionately, LUCRETIA MOTT.

LETTERS TO MRS. STEBBINS.

Emily Robinson, of Salem, Ohio, writes me that Mrs. Griffing "was for several years the honored, loved, and trusted agent of the Western Anti-Slavery Society. The fact is indelibly graven on my heart that she was one of the most faithful and indefatigable laborers in the Anti-Slavery cause; she brought a great mother-heart to the work.

Under fearful discouragement, she was ever strong and persevering. I do hope that you knew her, even better than I did, and that the history will be a success. Be sure of my heartiest and kindliest sympathy. It is a beautiful work--the effort to preserve and embalm the memories of the sweet-souled moral heroes in special reforms, those in which we have been pioneers, though scores go out of life without, in the book of G.o.d's remembrance they are gathered, and their work will bear harvest forever and ever."

Mrs. Griffing's daughter says in a letter: "Mother lived till Feb. 18, 1872, and no one can ever know how faithfully she worked for every one but herself. Her very last words were, as she dropped her tired arms by her side, 'I have done the best I could,' and we knew she had."