National Freedman's Aid Association

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 emancipated 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 passage, 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 class, and was abolished, without a substitute 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 Association 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 impassable 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 nobody 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 noble 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 class, 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 God to whom she can say, "Give" me "this day" my "daily bread". This woman represents at least two hundred persons in every way as destitute, who look to me for help. Another class of two hundred are in a similar state of destitution, 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 destitute 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 circumstances 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. Fanny 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, emancipated 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 nobody 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 nobody 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 Scraper 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 God; if not, he must do without it. Tuesday and Saturday 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 nobody 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 nobody 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 multitude 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 God perform a miracle to feed this multitude? 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 God 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 constituents 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 noble men and women whose sympathy and aid I would have, and ever pronounce 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 institution we could with far greater economy than ever before, provide for them all. But I have trespassed 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,

Josephine S. Griffing.

Faithfully and lovingly,

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.

Lucretia Mott.

Thine in haste and affectionately,

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 God'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."

Death of Mrs. Josephine S. Griffing.—Yesterday morning, at two o'clock, Mrs. Josephine S. Griffing departed to a higher life. A woman of rare beauty of character, of uncommon executive capacity and judgment, and ever inspired by a beautiful and self-sacrificing charity, she had warm friends among the best men and women, eminent in character, influence, and position, and a host of devoted friends also among the poor and aged freed people, to whom for years she has been a daily angel of mercy. Accomplished and cultivated, she has devoted herself to the wants of the poorest of the poor, visiting their homes and ministering to their wants with her own hands. She has disbursed many thousands of dollars and a large amount of food and clothing furnished by the Government and by private benevolence, and done all wisely and well and for long periods of time without material fee or reward.

Rarely, indeed, do we find such tender charity, such ability for continuous labor, and such spiritual beauty of life as hers, and her departure is no doubt the result of her too severe and self-sacrificing career of good works.

From 10 a.m. to 4 p.m. to-day the remains may be seen by her many friends at her late home, on Capitol Hill, and to-night her daughters go with all that is mortal of a most tender and loving mother to the family burial-place in her native town of Hebron, Conn.—Washington Chronicle.

Mrs. Griffing to Catharine F. Stebbins.

Washington, June 27, 1870.

My Dear Mrs. Stebbins:—Yours so kind and interesting came duly, and I thank you. I am sure you have seen how some genius, greater, more powerful than myself control me and forbids me to seek enjoyment in human friendships. If you comprehend my life, you will pardon long silence of the lips, and join me in the prayer, that the poor all taken into "Abraham's bosom," I may enjoy those I love, in heaven. I am pained when I think that not only you, but my dear father in his affliction, has been neglected, for it is now four long weeks since I have written a word of love and consolation to him. But the days are so full of work, and the nights of thinking, that all my vitality seems to be in requisition, and I sometimes think there is no reserve force left in me. Oh, how I wish our Christianity would be true to itself, and take to its heart the great questions of humanity, then would I turn over a precious few of the starving old people now calling upon God and me for their support, to churches, and enter the field for woman.

How grandly the tide is lashing the shore on both sides of the Atlantic, and its voice is the voice of God, commanding once more that ye "let my people go, that they may serve me." Only the foam and the surge are seen to-day—"Woman and the Ballot." But there is overturning and upheaving below, and the great depths shall ere long become the surface, and what is now seen in the social realm and believed in, as a religious creed, must enter into the formation, geologically conforming to fossilization and decay; so the last shall be first, and the first last. The last half century is a grand prophecy. How slavery went down, carrying away social and religious systems with it! There they lie, like dust and ashes in the rear. None are found so poor and benighted as to do homage at their shrine. It was the moral agitation that gave spiritual birth to the race enslaved. I remember to have felt great impatience at the tardy and conservative elements that entered into the struggle side by side with the radical leaders of 1845, when to me the issue was not with the Constitution, nor even with the pulpit, nor the Bible, but with Justice. It was man to man, stripped of all but the Divine within him. The lessons of moral and political formation in its slow but certain work, come to strengthen me now. To my mind the issue of to-day in the woman cause is clearly not what Paul taught and thought, nor what God has settled upon her as her dower, nor what the marriage contract makes her, but it is woman as a beneficent genius, next to the angels, against woman below the beasts, in human society under the heel of the Law, in the arms of brute force, crushed to death with passion and lust. Lucy Stone has made it obvious to the world that six plates, six teacups and saucers, and a guardian for her children, at the time of her husband's death, are not her only legitimate property. Mrs. Stanton goes further, and declares that not alone is her property sacred, and must be restored to her, but that personal freedom, subject to the Moral Law, not to the law of Society, nor of Government, if those powers contravene or interfere with God's Law as it is written in her own constitution.

In so much as woman is endowed by the Creator with the most loving and beneficent genius or nature capable of enduring the agonies of many deaths, to give life to many souls, in so much she is entitled to command, not left to obey. So says Mrs. Stanton; I agree with her. Both Lucy Stone and Mrs. Stanton are skilled workmen. Both representative women; representing the two wings in the cause of woman's freedom.

You speak of Mrs. Stanton's view in the McFarland-Richardson case. I knew but little of the real character of Mrs. Richardson, but if what is acknowledged to be true of his,—I do agree with Mrs. S. in declaring this case a forcible argument—not against marriage,—such a thing can not be—but against the marriage contract, as interpreted in the courts. What a burlesque upon insanity! Poor Minnie Gaines, the colored girl who shot her seducer the other day, in my neighborhood, was cleared upon as doubtful insanity as McFarland's, and she enjoys the benefit of the doubt in the insane asylum, where she will remain unquestionably for a term of years; why does this man "go at large"? Neither of the Associations, nor journals, are ready to assume the high ground that Mrs. Stanton standing alone and leading, as she always has on this question, can and will do. With all my heart, I pray that true women and the angels will stand by and sustain her in this noble daring.

Our work (the Freedman's work) is as usual, every day painfully interesting and compensating. No money comes yet, and I have to raise some $2,000 soon, or lose our delightful home. (Yes, it is delightful). We have a bad city government, the colored people begin to feel the old rebel spirit. Hundreds thrown out of work, and I have nothing to hope from the City Council to compensate for my work. Some good friend said a few days since, that Congress would, if persons of influence would ask it, pay me. Now would Mr. Ward with Mr. Wade, do this, and so let me breathe and live? or not?

We can not go out of the city this summer. You will be in Philadelphia at the Decade meeting I hope, and I shall rejoice to be there too. You see the Peace Society is in "hot water" over the McFarland-Richardson discussion in the Band of Peace.

Thermometer stood at 107° yesterday, and very hot to-day. Write when you can, and believe me ever your attached friend,

J. S. Griffing.