I think, those first few months of war, I learned a whole new language from just their sighs.

But then it was at our door. That spring, two years into the war, some of the men had left us to join the armies fighting two states over, maybe marching near.

The other ones, they came to us in July, by rowboat, deep in the dark. They found Mama’s by midnight.

It was a family who came first. A mother and father, the mother’s dress torn, her children balling the cloth of her skirts in their fists. They would not let go for anything—that’s what I remember most—their tiny fists tight on muddied homespun, the mother holding the top of her dress to her chest, to keep herself decent. The father had a hat clamped to his head, the brim sticky with blood from his own brow. He wouldn’t take it off while his children were in the room. Mama had to wait while the mother distracted them.

When Mama took off the hat, the father closed his eyes. He did not cry out, because he did not want to scare his children. Then he said, “They’ve gone crazy. The whites in Manhattan have gone crazy. They took Gold Street and Pearl Street, and then they made it all the way to Forty-Second. They’re burning our churches. They are shouting that they won’t fight for niggers, not ever. They surrounded our orphanage, so we were told.

“We were hiding in the house, till we heard that. That’s when we picked up the babies and ran. One of ’em threw a bottle at my head, but we kept running.

“The white men were looking for anyone colored they could find. The white women were reaching out, trying to catch any colored child who ran by. When they caught one, they’d dash ’em against the stones in the street and cheer.

“On our way to the dock, we saw three men hanging from lampposts. The whites were hoisting up a fourth when we reached the wharf.

“We paid all we have in the world to an oysterman for his boat to take us across. We knew not to stay downtown, because there were too many whites there, and we were not sure who was friendly and who would attack. We slept under some pilings, or tried to, and when night fell, we walked to you. We knew it would be safe. Mr. Culver told us to come to you for our wounds. Said this one too deep for him.”

Mama only nodded. She had learned, since Ben Daisy, you let them talk. She called me over after the man’s head was bandaged.

“With luck, there should be more coming,” Mama said. I looked at the man, blood drying on his closed eyelids. So this is luck, I thought. Mama said, “We have to be ready.”