equally logical to opposite sorts of minds. Ben Butler, in
Virginia, quickly declared slave property contraband of war,
and put the fugitives to work; while Fremont, in Missouri,
declared the slaves free under martial law. Butler's action
was approved, but Fremont's was hastily countermanded, and
his successor, Halleck, saw things differently. "Hereafter,"
he commanded, "no slaves should be allowed to come into
your lines at all; if any come without your knowledge, when
owners call for them deliver them." Such a policy was
difficult to enforce; some of the black refugees declared
themselves freemen, others showed that their masters had
deserted them, and still others were captured with forts and
plantations. Evidently, too, slaves were a source of strength
to the Confederacy, and were being used as laborers and
producers. "They constitute a military resource," wrote
Secretary Cameron, late in 1861; "and being such, that they
should not be turned over to the enemy is too plain to
discuss." So gradually the tone of the army chiefs changed;
Congress forbade the rendition of fugitives, and Butler's
"contrabands" were welcomed as military laborers. This
complicated rather than solved the problem, for now the
scattering fugitives became a steady stream, which flowed
faster as the armies marched.

Then the long-headed man with care-chiselled face who sat
in the White House saw the inevitable, and emancipated the
slaves of rebels on New Year's, 1863. A month later Congress
called earnestly for the Negro soldiers whom the act of July,
1862, had half grudgingly allowed to enlist. Thus the barriers
were levelled and the deed was done. The stream of fugitives