Clara Barton, Harriet Tubman Met On Hilton Head Island During the 1863 Charleston Campaign

In Soldiers Just Like You, my novel about the trial of captured black soldiers from the 54th Massachusetts Infantry, one chapter deals with a meeting between Clara Barton, the founder of the American Red Cross, and Harriet Tubman, of Underground Railroad fame.

 

Union ironclads try to destroy Fort Sumter in April, 1863. When the Naval attack failed, the siege of Charleston fell to the army. -A Currier & Ives print from the Library of Congress Collection.

 

Both historical figures were on Hilton Head Island in the summer of 1863 as Union forces tried to take Charleston, South Carolina. That campaign saw the famous attack of the 54th on Battery Wagner, a Confederate sand fort guarding Charleston Harbor. Barton and Tubman spent that summer in Carolina nursing wounded soldiers. In my telling, they meet in the field tent of Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, the commander of the 54th, before the battle. Shaw and Barton of course were natives of Massachusetts and Tubman resided there, so they were acquainted with each other. The dialogue is mine, though it does incorporate some of Shaw's, Barton's and Tubman's writings and concerns at the time. For instance Tubman spoke out about the quality of troop rations and Barton was worried about malarial fever in the ranks. 

Here's an excerpt from the book, a chapter called "A Special Meeting," whereby I imagine what it must have been like to see the three legendary Americans together in such an unlikely place. Of course Shaw would lose his life in the ensuing attack, while Tubman and Barton would pen most eloquent reminiscences of the battle's aftermath, which I also include in Soldiers Just Like You.

 

A Special Meeting

 

On Hilton Head Island-54^th Massachusetts Headquarters

       “The droll Emerson has written: ‘A hero is no braver than an ordinary man, but he is braver five minutes longer.’ Probably a truer statement than the master realized, though he surely was trying merely to be clever when he penned it.” Colonel Robert Gould Shaw, an admirer of the New England author, suavely smiled at his dinner guest.

       “A hero gains his status no matter how long it takes, I suppose, colonel,” the woman replied. “It has been my experience that most heroes, in the course of doing their duty, don’t live long enough. Five minutes? Five minutes is an eternity under fire.”

Robert Gould Shaw

       “Very true, my deah. Our duty now, however, is nothing more than dinnah,” Shaw retorted, playfully changing the subject. He stood and called to his personal assistant. “Orderly, we ah ready for suppah, when the cook is ready to serve.”

       The twenty-five year old Shaw contrasted sharply with his 54^th Massachusetts Infantry of black men. He could not help that he was rich, privileged and white. But he could volunteer as an officer in the only army ever raised to quell a rebellion and end slavery in one fell swoop. That he commanded that army’s first black regiment was an even more remarkable sacrifice. Shaw’s appearance belied his rare social conscience. He was small and lean and seemed boyish even behind a sharply cut goatee. And yet, the little colonel was the picture of Union dash and strength, in his bespoke Union uniform studded with rows of brass buttons and accented with bright infantry blue. His clear-eyed countenance reflected the moral clarity he felt in his abolitionist heart. Indeed, a few minutes with the man would convince you that he was an authentic vintage trampler cloaked in righteous indignation as well as blue wool.

       Dining with him at a camp table in a command tent was a remarkable woman named Clara Barton, a Washington Patent Office clerk turned battlefield nurse. Miss Barton, still attractive at forty-two, had never married, perhaps because her professional career absorbed all of her time.

      “Colonel Shaw, your hospitality here on the sands of Carolina would stand the scrutiny of the primmest marm back in the Bay State,” Barton said with the faintest smile on her strong face. The nurse, like Shaw, hailed from Massachusetts originally.

Clara Barton

      “Miss Barton, you have seen the worst of this war, at Antietam as I was, and at Fredericksburg. You alone know that every living moment must be cherished as the Almighty may ordain suffering and death with the rising sun,” the soldier said.

       “Yes colonel, death and suffering are my lot in life,” the dignified woman replied without false modesty. “I have been five days on a ship from New York to help defray those terrible things here. My friends said I would only find more trouble if I came to the South again.”

        Barton watched with some anticipation as stewards served a hot meal of some type of local fish, grilled over a campfire, along with corn cakes. Such a sumptuous meal was as precious as gold in the field with a fighting army. She wondered if the men were eating this well. It was a special dinner that Shaw knew was made even more extraordinary by the company he kept this night. Clara Barton was already a national hero. Among the soldiers she attended in Maryland and Virginia she had achieved mortal sainthood.

       “I told them, my friends, that I had never missed finding the trouble I went to find and I was never late for it,” she said with a self-assured chuckle. Shaw laughed along with her, and at the same time marveled at the confidence she oozed. She was truly a remarkable woman, just as he’d heard. But another notable was present as well.

      “Miss Barton,” Shaw said, grasping the hand of the servant who brought the food. “I would like you to meet someone as remarkable as yourself. Miss Harriet Tubman, meet Miss Clara Barton.” Miss Tubman curtsied briefly and offered her hand. Barton stood and the two women shook hands as if they were professional partners. “Miss Tubman...” the colonel began.

        “I know all about her,” Barton interrupted, meeting Tubman’s dark, stern eyes. “I am very honored to meet you, ma’am.”

       “And I you, Miss Barton,” Tubman replied.

       “I stand in the presence of greatness and humble piety all at once,” Shaw offered. The women smiled warmly.

       “I do what I can to help the Union war effort, that is all,” said Tubman.

      “And that is what I am here for, as well,” Barton added. “I am here to alleviate what suffering as I may find here, though my abilities are humble and resources few. I hear the mosquitoes are legion in this lowcountry, and that the malarial fever is as rampant as the enemy.”

Harriet Tubman

       “Disease takes many a good man, it is true. But the men ask for better food, mainly,” Tubman offered. “They call the hard beef they are provided ‘salt junk.’ It is exceedingly salty, like the water from the sea. The crackers are often buggy and wormy.”

       “This sub-par food is due to unscrupulous war profiteers, mainly, I believe,” Shaw added. “The judge advocate tries to prosecute these scofflaws. Death would not be too great a punishment for them, in my opinion.”

       “And yet death is what we wish to avoid on our side, isn’t it?” Barton replied with irony. Shaw looked uncomfortable with the remark. Like most men, he was not sure how to deal with a strong, opinionated woman like Barton. The young man changed the subject.

       “I could not ask for better victuals or more pleasant company for my last meal before battle,” Shaw said. “Shall we begin?”                       

       “Yes you should eat while it is hot,” Tubman admonished as she excused herself.

 Barton took her seat and she and her host said grace before they began arranging their plates. Neither spoke for a time. The flat clinking of tin utensils was the only sound for several moments.

       “We embark for James Island tomorrow,” Shaw confided to the nurse. “General Strong will lead the brigade to the front.”  

       “I should like to travel with you if you please. I have supplies and a small medical team to aid your regimental surgeon.”

      “Of course, Miss Barton, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” the colonel replied brightly. “The men will be eternally grateful that you have come to our humble regiment out of all the outfits in this army.”

      “You and your men are special. You know that, colonel. They will be a model for all Colored troops to follow.”

      “But will they—the legions of other Negroes whom we seek to inspire—will they follow us? And for what?  So far, we have been given little in the way of combat assignments,” the officer complained. “We need an opportunity to prove ourselves in battle.” Shaw knew that the glory of combat alone could bring the regiment the respect he and its men needed.

       “Your chance will come, Robert,” the older woman said tenderly. “The Lord put you here for a reason and He will make that reason clear on his own timetable. Be patient.”

       “Of course you are correct, Miss Barton,” Shaw agreed. “In the last few days I have come to realize that. Our time will come. The navy has failed and it falls to the army now to take Charleston the hard way.”

 

If you enjoy studying the Civil War and its many historical figures like Tubman, Barton and Shaw, read Soldiers Just Like You, or my newest novel, Burning Rage: A Ced Buckley Civil War Mystery. Both are available in digital or paperback formats at Amazon.com.