There was also great suffering in the camp of freedmen. The officers wished me to aid them in persuading these people to go down to the island, as they were afraid of being returned to slavery at the close of the war, and desired to push as far into the free States as possible, and very loath to go back "an inch," as one of the officers expressed it. I took the names of these almost nude people, whom I instructed to come to my tent; as the officers said I should have one for the purpose of giving out clothing to the most needy among them. They assured them that their freedom was a fixed fact; that they would never see the day again when they would be separated by being sold apart. This, I found, has a greater inducement for them to consent to the request of the officers to go to the island than all the clothing I could promise. But one poor woman came to the captain weeping, saying, "My poor baby is dying' an' I can't leave him. He is my only child left me." In the great hurry and bustle of business the quick reply was, "Go back and I'll see to it." As she left the office he turned to me and said, "I don't know whether it is so or not; they get up all sorts of excuses." As she was not yet out of sight, I followed her to the slab hut and found it true. An hour later and the baby of eight years was in the spirit world. "Now, missus, I can't go an' leave my dead baby for de wharf-rats to eat, an' de boat goes out at three o'clock." I reported the death of the child and of the distress of the mother. "Tell her," said the officer, "we will see that her child is buried this afternoon, and I want her to go on this boat." I told the mother of the captain's wish, and that I would see that her child was buried. "Ob, missus, it 'pears like I can't leave him so; they'll leave him here to-night, an' dese wharf-rats are awful. Da eat one dead chile's face all one side off, an' one of its feet was all gnawed off. I don't want to leave my chile on dis bare groun'." The grief of this poor mother was distressing in the extreme. She knew not whether her husband and three older children, sold away two years previously, were still slaves or living, as she had never heard a word from them since they were taken from her. Those sad separations, she said, were much harder to bear than the death of this child. But she consented to go, on my promise to see that her child was buried before night. After she left for the boat I went to the captain to see his promise performed. He seemed very indifferent. "What is the difference if that child shouldn't be buried this afternoon or whether wharf-rats eat it or not?" "You promised to have it buried this afternoon," I said, "and I told that poor woman I would see that it was done; and I see no other way than to hold you to that promise, for I shall meet her on the island, and I must report to her."