Negro Mother


This Site:

Civil War

Civil War Overview

Civil War 1861

Civil War 1862

Civil War 1863

Civil War 1864

Civil War 1865

Civil War Battles

Confederate Generals

Union Generals

Confederate History

Robert E. Lee

Civil War Medicine

Lincoln Assassination


Site Search

Civil War Links


Civil War Art

Mexican War

Republic of Texas


Winslow Homer

Thomas Nast

Mathew Brady

Western Art

Civil War Gifts

Robert E. Lee Portrait

Civil War Harper's Weekly, June 14, 1862

Welcome to our online archive of Civil War Harper's Weekly newspapers. This archive contains all the Harper's Weekly newspapers published during the Civil War. Examination of these old newspapers will help you develop a better understanding of this important part of American History.

(Scroll Down to See Entire Page, or Newspaper Thumbnails below will take you to a specific page of interest)


Naval Battle

Naval Battle

New Orleans Poem

New Orleans Poem

Battle of Chickahominy

Battle of Chickahominy

Robert Smalls

Robert Smalls

Negro Mammy

Negro Mammy

Prisoner Exchange

Prisoner Exchange

Winslow Homer War News

Winslow Homer's War Illustration

Moses Odell

New Orleans

The Starving in New Orleans

Winslow Homer

Winslow Homer Self-Portrait

Feeding Rebels

Feeding New Orleans Rebels

New Orleans Cartoon





JUNE 14, 1862.]



(Previous Page) to recommend an appropriation of $20,000 as a reward to the plucky Africans who have distinguished themselves by this gallant service—$5000 to be given to the pilot, and the remainder to be divided among his companions.

Our correspondent sends us a drawing of an infernal machine, drawn by one of the negro hands of the Planter named Morrison. This chattel, Morrison, gives the following account of himself:

Belonged to Emile Poinchignon; by trade a tinsmith and plumber; has lived all his life in Charleston; was drum-major of the first regiment of the Fourth Brigade South Carolina Militia, and paraded on the 25th of last month; has a wife and two children in Montgomery, Alabama, whom he expects to see when the war is over. I asked him how he learned to read and write. Answer: "I stole it in the night, Sir."


WE give herewith a couple of pictures of the only allies we have thus far met among the Southerners. Their skin appears, from our artist's sketches, to be black; but their hearts are not nearly as black as those of the white men who dug up the skeletons of our dead at Manassas, and made ornaments of their bones for their sweet-hearts at home. One of our pictures represents a scene on Hilton Head Island, where we have at present several thousand negroes. General Hunter has wisely converted the adult males into soldiers, for the purpose of garrisoning the Southern forts in the unhealthy season at the South; the females are used as washer-women; the children are being educated, so as to form a useful nucleus hereafter for a free black people at the South. Our picture shows the feeding of these negro picaninnies. Poor little creatures! they are realizing for the first time that they are human beings, and not of the same class in animated nature as dogs and hogs.

Our other picture illustrates a scene which we are told is very common in the States through which our armies have penetrated. The negro woman, hearing of the army's approach, runs out to meet it, and cries: "Oh! I'se so glad you is come. Massa says he wish you was in she bottom ob de sea; but you ain't in de bottom ob de sea, you is he'yar, and oh! I'se so glad to see yer."

These poor creatures realize plainly enough that we are their friends, and they have never let slip an opportunity of showing us that their friendship is worth having.


ON page 369 we present a picture of the flag-ship Hartford in the Mississippi, running the gauntlet of Forts Jackson and St. Philip, and attacked simultaneously by a fire-raft and a ram—the Manassas. She was set on fire and narrowly escaped destruction. The following account of the transaction will explain it:

In the midst of this awful scene down came a tremendous fire-raft, and the Ram shoved her under our port quarter. The flames caught our rigging and side, and for a moment it seemed we must fall a prey to the ravages of fire. A fire was also burning on the berth-deck. The fire hose was on hand, and we soon subdued the flames, and gave the Ram a dose of rifle shell. She, however, came up for us again, but some other vessel tackled her and she hauled off. During this stage of affairs we grounded, and our fate seemed sealed; but our men worked like beavers,

and the engineers soon got the ship astern and afloat. It defies the powers of my brain to describe the scene at this time. The river and its banks were one sheet of flame, and the messengers of death were moving with lightning swiftness in all directions. Steadily we plied shell and grape, interspersed with shrapnel. Rebeldom began to quake; her boats were fast being riddled by well-directed broadsides, and they who were able made for the shore to run them on, so that they could save their lives. Some were on fire and others were sinking. Our boys were

cheering with a hearty good-will; and well they might, for we had almost won the day, and we were nearly past the forts. Our ship had been on fire three times, and she was riddled from stem to stern. The cabin was completely gutted, the starboard steerage all torn up, and the armory all knocked into "pi." My clothing was strewn abaft decks, and I was obliged to pick it up piece by piece. The manuscript of the bombardment came near to destruction by a rifle shell, which tore up my room and killed one man.

After being under a terrific fire for one hour and twenty minutes we were past the forts, badly cut up; a shot hole through mainmast, two in stern, and several through us. I frankly confess I am unable to describe the scene. Words can not express any adequate idea of the engagement. Wrapped up in smoke, firing and bring fired at, shot and shell whistling like locomotive demons around, above, before, and in the rear of you ; flames from fire-rafts encircling you, splinters flying in all directions, and shells bunting overhead! Can you imagine this scene? If you can, it is more than I can describe as I would wish to.


THOU lion-fronted, royal man!

Thou of the swerveless lightning glance, Whose thunderous eloquence outran,

O'ertopped, the minds it did entrance; Oh man! made regal by thy might

The many-chorded soul to smite!

The lowly path was not for thee.

Thy mental stature towered above The wondering eyes upraised to see

The man whose tone and glance could move

A people's heart to love or hate;

Whose touch could guide it like a fate.

The glory of his life was set

Unto a measure high and grand; The lofty anthem lingers yet

In haunting echoes through the land; And, greeted with a triumph tone,

He stood, a conqueror—alone !

He fell—and, lo! a mighty wail,

A cry, sublime in grief and strength, Proclaimed the giant lying pale,

His mighty power undone at length;

And for that wondrous man and strong Went up a nation's funeral song!

For him a high applauding tone

Shall linger in the halls of Time. Even as he stood—he fell—alone

A warrior in a strife sublime.

A nation raised his burial stone— He will not sleep unsung, unknown.


Negro Mammy
Troops Before Richmond




Site Copyright 2003-2018 Son of the South.  For Questions or comments about this collection, contact

Privacy Policy

Are you Scared and Confused? Read My Snake Story, a story of hope and encouragement, to help you face your fears.