Confederate Union

by Alan Sewell

  18

  Delphi, Indiana, May 11, 1861

  Brigadier General William S. Harney considered himself a tough but fair-minded commander. The Indians out on the Great Plains trusted him to help them fight the outlaws bent on stealing what little they had left of their lands. He befriended the Indian warriors and competed fearlessly with them in their ferocious games. He was one of only a handful of Whites the Indians ever welcomed into their councils as a true and respected friend, an equal in courage.

  But the Indians also knew another side of Harney’s nature. Those few who had gone on the warpath against him and lived to tell about it called him “the woman killer” because of his propensity to massacre hostiles of all ages and sexes in battle. Harney asked the Indians to respect his authority as the agent of the American government. Those who did became his blood brothers. Those who didn’t died.

  The men in Harney’s command had also experienced the full range of his nature. He had led his men to victory during the Mexican War. However, one of his companies of foreign-born Irish-Catholic men had deserted and joined the Mexican Army. When Harney captured the deserters he executed them without formality of courts martial, including one in the hospital with his legs shot off. Harney had dragged “that legless son of a bitch” out of his hospital bed and strung him up with the rest of the miscreants. In other incidents he had been court-martialed four times for challenging fellow officers to duels and tried in civil court for beating to death a female slave who had lost his house keys.

  Like many other Douglas voters he equally loathed the Southern Secessionists and Northern Abolitionists who disturbed the peace of the country with silly agitations about whether Negroes should be slaves or free. Harney couldn’t care less whether Negroes labored for their own accounts or their masters’. What he did mind were extremist Whites in the North and South who used the Negro as a wedge to splinter the Union.

  Harney thus arrived at Delphi having neither sympathy nor animosity for either the Slavers or the Free State men. If he could defuse the situation by appealing to both parties’ reason he would do it. If reason didn’t suffice he was prepared to order his men to open fire on either or both parties. He calculated that if violence became necessary he would cooperate with one party to take down the other and then turn his guns on the survivors of the cooperating party. Perhaps he would enjoy hanging some of the wounded, like he had done with that legless turncoat in Mexico. Let the people watch the wounded thrash around at the end of a noose before they died, then see how enthusiastic anybody else was to defy his authority wielded on behalf of his government.

  His apprehension that this encounter might turn violent had increased when he had detrained in Indianapolis last night and picked up the newspapers. Down in Alabama some idiot named “Yancey” was calling for the mobilization of Southern State militias to invade Indiana and come to the rescue of the besieged Slavers. Abolitionist radicals in the North were calling on the Wide Awake paramilitaries to flock to the scene and “extirpate from our free land the vile stain of the slave masters.”

  After reading the newspapers at Indianapolis Harney had telegraphed his headquarters command at Jefferson Barracks and ordered them to put two more companies in transit. He ordered the first to halt in Indianapolis and wait at the station for further orders. He ordered the second to proceed to New Albany, across from Louisville, and secure the Ohio River crossings, including the terminal of the LNAC railroad, in case any more slave raiders got ideas about crossing the river to come to the aid of those trapped at Delphi. He also ordered the independent command at Newport, Kentucky to secure the Ohio River crossings at Cincinnati.

  It was in that frame of mind that Harney and one hundred eighty of his men detrained in Delphi. What he saw when he got off the train reminded him of a funeral and a circus. Ellsworth’s survivors had wrapped the bodies of their dead in sheets, ready to be placed in the freight car going back to Chicago. The Free Staters had stacked their dead beside their wagons, preparing to return to their homes in Michigan. Somebody had brought in the bodies of a few dead Slavers and posed them on the courthouse square where they stood propped up on timbers with flies buzzing around them.

  The circus aspect was also apparent. Dozens of newspaper reporters and onlookers were milling around. Vendors were hawking “souvenirs of the battle” including weapons taken from the dead Slavers and the chains that had been busted off the Negro captives. A couple farmers were selling barbequed pork from a spit while others sold ‘shine from their wagons. Frederick Douglass had arrived from Toledo. He was giving a rousing speech to cheering Abolitionists on the courthouse steps just clear of the swarms of flies buzzing around the posed bodies of the dead Slavers.

  Harney had never met Douglass but took an instant disliking to him based on the circumstances. That’s all I need, a loud-mouthed Nigger stirring up another heap of trouble.

  Harney interrogated John Barrie, the surviving officer of Ellsworth’s command, to ascertain the facts of the situation. The extermination of the Slavers and the heavy casualties they had inflicted upon Ellsworth’s men and the sheriff’s posse warned him that this was still a potentially explosive situation that needed to be tamped down before any more outsiders arrived to inflame it. To establish his authority he began issuing orders, as he had learned to do in occupied towns during the Mexican War.

  He ordered two of his men to secure the telegraph office and prevent the transmission or receipt of telegrams to anyone other than himself. He ordered the train station secured to prevent the detraining of anyone without proof of residence in the vicinity. He ordered a squad to conscript some of the bystanders and put them to work interring the dead Slavers outside of town. As he had hoped, the prospect of conscripted labor began dispersing the other bystanders back to their homes. He asked Ellsworth’s survivors to return to Chicago with their dead, except for John Barrie who asked to remain behind to see to the proper care of the wounded.

  He confronted Sheriff Parker and the lackadaisical local sheriff.

  “I am in authority here, by order of the President.”

  “Yes, Sir!” shouted the local sheriff, relieved to have responsibility lifted from his shoulders.

  Harney addressed Sheriff Parker. “Let me know if my command can be of assistance in expediting your return home. I would like for you to be on your way as soon as possible. You may leave one of your men here to look after the welfare of your wounded.”

  “We were planning on spending the night here and sending most of our people home tomorrow morning,” Parker replied. “The doctor says the Negroes need another couple days’ rest before they’re fit to go back home, so I thought myself and a few others would stay behind to look after them. The Slavers didn’t feed them anything more than a couple handfuls of parched corn and scarcely gave them any water.”

  “The Negroes will not be going home with you,” declared Harney. “My orders are to escort them to the Federal Court in Indianapolis.”

  “I’ve lost five Cass County men killed,” Parker replied sternly. “There’s three more lying gutshot in the doctor’s house who may not make it. Now you’re telling me I have to surrender the Negroes that my men died saving so that Douglas can make them slaves? General, these are free men and women. They are citizens of the State of Michigan. They’re my friends and neighbors. It is my sworn duty to protect them, and that I will do.”

  “Sheriff, you did your duty to your people, same as I would have were I in your shoes,” Harney said, meaning every word. “But I have my orders directly from the President to deliver these Negroes to the Federal Court in Indianapolis that will lawfully decide their fate. It’s what I have to do. The issue is more than just these folks. It might well involve the whole country.”

  The lines in Parker’s face tightened. “You know it’s a foregone conclusion that any court convened by the Douglas Administration is going to order these Negroes returned to slavery. Can’t you just ‘look the other way’ for an hour while I get th
em out of here. The Slavers are all dead, so who is there left to complain?”

  “General Harney, we’ve lost eleven of our men killed,” added John Barrie. “Another couple aren’t likely to make it out of here alive. There’ll be hell to pay in Chicago if the Negroes are returned to slavery. Maybe Parker’s got a point. Nobody’s going to blame you if the Negroes happen to disappear from here and turn up safe at home.”

  At that moment Frederick Douglass joined the group with all his imposing presence. Harney grimaced. Here’s the loudmouth coming to make trouble. He expected Douglass to obnoxiously harangue the group with high-sounding Abolitionist platitudes about the Negroes’ “God-given rights to be free.” If Douglass had started any of that nonsense Harney would have shot him dead on the spot with his sidearm.

  Instead Douglass addressed him in a soft-spoken voice barely above a whisper. “General Harney, I just spoke to one of the captive Negroes whom these brave men gave their lives to return to freedom. His name is Eddie Bates. He is thirty-seven years of age. He’s been living free since his father brought him North as a young boy. General, will you be the instrument that tears Eddie Bates away from his wife and home, that robs him of the life of a free man he has known for almost all his life?”

  Douglass turned toward the station where Ellsworth’s survivors were loading their dead into the baggage car. “Those men gave their lives to save Eddie Bates and his neighbors from being returned to a fate worse than death. Can you and your command not do as Sheriff Parker suggests, and turn your heads for a little while? I most humbly implore you to listen to the mercy that God placed in your good heart and allow the free Negroes to go home. Let this incident end, where it began, with those people back in their homes and living in the freedom that the God who watches over all of us has blessed them with.”

  Harney was moved by Douglass’ gentle words. The Slavers were dead. Nobody around here would care if the Negroes “disappeared” and were never heard of again. And Frederick Douglass had been persuasive because he had been right, by damn. If he did “look the other way” perhaps the Negroes would go home unobserved and the incident would begin to lose steam.

  However, the newspaper reports he had read in Indianapolis had made him aware that the issue had already spread beyond Indiana. He had to assume that the Douglas Administration had a larger view of the situation than he did. He therefore most reluctantly decided that he must execute his orders to the letter in bringing the Negroes to Indianapolis.

  “This is the hardest duty I have had to do in my many years of service to my country,” Harney explained. “But it must be done. The Negroes will accompany my command to Indianapolis and will be released to the authority of the Federal Court. Mr. Douglass, if you desire to make a plea on their behalf, it will have to be made there.”

  Frederick Douglass again spoke softly. “General, will you do the free Negroes a courtesy before you take them away? Will you go with me and talk to Eddie Bates and tell him face-to-face that he’s going back to slavery? Please tell him that he’s never going to see his wife, his neighbors, or his home again. Tell him that he’s never going to take another breath of air as a free man for the rest of his days. Will you tell him that and then decide if your duty compels you to deliver him and the other Negroes to the slave court that will bind them in chains?”

  Harney was not the sort of man given to explaining his orders. But Douglass’ demeanor demanded his full respect.

  “Mr. Douglass, I would accommodate the Negroes if this issue involved only us. But it has already become a national issue. The southern agitator who set up this raid is right now at this minute asking President Douglas to call out the Southern state militias. The Abolitionists and Wide Awakes are sending their men here. My orders are to get these Negroes to Federal Court where their case can be legally processed before this situation explodes and blows the nation apart. That I must do. I can’t be held responsible for unleashing a civil war by disobeying my President’s orders.”

  Douglass’ demeanor stiffened. “Maybe we should have a civil war, if that is what it takes to right the wrong of free men and women being returned to bondage! Our grandfathers fought a war to liberate this country from a king who made not a single one of them his slave. And now the day has come when free men are killing free men to deliver free men into slavery!”

  Harney became enraged, all the more so because Douglass spoke with righteous conviction. “That’s enough! I’m going to get those Negroes. Anyone who resists will do so at peril to their lives!”

  Parker stood firm. “General, if you want to take these Negroes it will have to be over the dead bodies of me and my men.”

  Fred Douglass stood next to Parker. “Thank you, Sheriff.”

  John Barrie also stood his ground. “My men aren’t leaving here until the Negroes are returned to freedom.”

  Harney was enraged to fury. “I am declaring martial law in this county. There will be no further warnings!” He shouted to his men, “Let’s go get those Negroes. Any man who stands in your way gets the bayonet!”

  Harney marched forward. John Barrie, who had been blocking his way, was overawed and started to move a step backward. Parker stood firm. Harney called to his soldiers, “Place that man under arrest!”

  At that moment an ancient man with shock-white hair and a lean, wind-burned face stepped slowly forward from the crowd and confronted Harney. Everybody in Delphi seemed to know the man, but no one could name him. Some said he was the Unitarian Pastor who had ridden in from Logansport. Some said he was the itinerant schoolteacher who travelled the rural townships. Some said he was the old militia colonel who had fought with General Harrison at Tippecanoe in 1813. Nobody could say for certain because the old fellow was never seen again after that day.

  Whoever he was, the ancient stranger walked right up in front of Harney and planted his carved hickory cane firmly in the ground. He looked Harney straight in the eye and spoke in the confident voice of command.

  “Halt!” The word thundered from his lips and echoed across the town square. “This is Free Soil. It is free by the Blessing of God and by the Ordinance of Man. You shall not trespass another step upon it.”

  Harney kept moving until he was eyeball to eyeball with the old man. Then he stopped. The soldiers marching behind him also stopped in their tracks.

  John Barrie who had been inching backward away from confrontation came back and stood firm at the old man’s side. Barrie looked Harney in the eye. “Declare martial law, you say? Indeed, General, you’d best read the Constitution. Only Congress can declare martial law!”

  Frederick Douglass, stepped forward to close the gap on Barrie’s left. The townspeople milling about took courage. They too closed ranks and interposed themselves between Harney’s men and the doctor’s house that sheltered the recovering Negroes.

  The ancient stranger said to the people, in a voice that carried across the square, “Stand firm! Free Soil men are coming. They will help us!”

  Harney considered ordering his men to break the line. The look of steadfast determination on his opponents, some of whom were armed, told him it would take a rifle volley followed by a bayonet charge. He looked the white-haired stranger in the eye and blew hot breath in his face. The old man moved not a muscle. Harney hesitated. These people were not going to back down. Stories of Lexington, Concord, and the Boston Massacre came to mind. Firing on them might touch off an armed revolt by every Free Soil man within a hundred miles, maybe throughout the whole North. He decided to stand firm and wait it out. His Regular Army men, trained to hold their place in line for hours, could wait until the civilians dispersed from hunger, thirst, fatigue, and boredom. He did not think it would take longer that an hour for them to begin heading back to their homes.

  Ten minutes passed, then twenty, then an hour, then an hour and a half. The ancient stranger kept his place. Beside him unmoving stood Sheriff Parker, John Barrie, and Frederick Douglass. The citizens held firm behind them. Harney fumed in sil
ence. Two hours passed. The old geezer will have to go take a leak sometime. I can wait him out.

  Then Harney noticed a cloud of dust rising up out of the east. Five minutes later he heard the sound of drumming. A man from the edge of town came running up. “The Wide Awakes are here! Thousands of them! From Detroit, Fort Wayne, South Bend, and Toledo!” Harney watched them come marching into town in perfect order, their drummers leading the way. They were young, healthy men. And they were singing a new song in rhythm with their drums, a song honoring the martyr who had given up his life in an ill-planned quest to liberate the slaves:

  John Brown's body lies a-mouldering in the grave,

  But His soul's still marching on.

  He's gone to be a soldier in the army of the Lord,

  His soul's a-marching on.

  Hurrraaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

  Many held the torches which were standard issue for the Wide Awakes, but many carried firearms. Their standard bearer flew a dark blue flag with a large gold star touching its corners. In front of the standard bearer came a man who seemed to be in command. He moved forward and entered the line next to the ancient stranger.

  He addressed General Harney: “I am Jacob Loomis, Commanding Officer of the Ohio Division of the Army of the Republic of Free America! The Negroes are coming with us. You are to vacate the premises, and I mean now.”

  19

  The White House, May 13, 1861

  President Stephen Douglas rolled up his sleeves and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, as if to make clear to his Cabinet that the time for heavy labor in service to the country had come. He had a leaf of paper and a pen handy. He did not often take notes at Cabinet meetings but this time he wanted to be sure that nothing of substance slipped past his memory.

  A fresh breeze from the open window caught his collar and dried the sweat from his neck. He turned his head toward the tall window. The cool winds and sunny skies that had blown across Indiana had arrived in Washington City, clearing the early spring humidity from the air. The rush of fresh air made Douglas feel years younger. For a moment the fresh breeze and the scent of budding vegetation on the air recalled memories of himself as a young man on the outdoor stump on the Illinois prairie a quarter-century ago.