CHORUS.

"Jehovyah, Hallelujah! De Lord He will purvide!

Jehovyah, Hallelujah! De Lord He will purvide!"

They repeat the words many times. "De foxes hab holes," and the

succeeding lines, are sung in the most touching, mournful tones; and

then the chorus--"Jehovyah, Hallelujah"--swells forth triumphantly, in

glad contrast.

Christmas night, the children came in and had several grand shouts. They

were too happy to keep still.

"Oh, Miss, all I want to do is to sing and shout!" said our little pet,

Amaretta. And sing and shout she did, to her heart's content.

She read nicely, and was very fond of books. The tiniest children are

delighted to get a book in their hands. Many of them already know their

letters. The parents are eager to have them learn. They sometimes said

to me,--

"Do, Miss, let de chil'en learn eberyting dey can. _We_ nebber hab no

chance to learn nuttin', but we wants de chil'en to learn."

They are willing to make many sacrifices that their children may attend

school. One old woman, who had a large family of children and

grandchildren, came regularly to school in the winter, and took her seat

among the little ones. She was at least sixty years old. Another

woman--who had one of the best faces I ever saw--came daily, and brought

her baby in her arms. It happened to be one of the best babies in the

world, a perfect little "model of deportment," and allowed its mother to

pursue her studies without interruption.

While taking charge of the store, one day, one of the men who came in

told me a story which interested me much. He was a carpenter, living on

this island, and just before the capture of Port Royal had been taken by

his master to the mainland,--"the Main," as the people call it,--to

assist in building some houses which were to shelter the families of the

Rebels in case the "Yankees" should come. The master afterward sent him

back to the island, providing him with a pass, to bring away a boat and

some of the people. On his arrival he found that the Union troops were

in possession, and determined to remain here with his family instead of

returning to his master. Some of his fellow-servants, who had been left

on "the Main," hearing that the Federal troops had come, resolved to

make their escape to the islands. They found a boat of their master's,

out of which a piece six feet square had been cut. In the night they

went to the boat, which had been sunk in a creek near the house,

measured the hole, and, after several nights' work in the woods, made a

piece large enough to fit in. They then mended and sank it again, as

they had found it. The next night five of them embarked. They had a

perilous journey, often passing quite near the enemy's boats. They

travelled at night, and in the day ran close up to the shore out of

sight. Sometimes they could hear the hounds, which had been sent in

pursuit of them, baying in the woods. Their provisions gave out, and

they were nearly exhausted. At last they succeeded in passing all the

enemy's boats, and reached one of our gun-boats in safety. They were

taken on board and kindly cared for, and then sent to this island, where

their families, who had no hope of ever seeing them again, welcomed them

with great rejoicing.

We were also told the story of two girls, one about ten, the other

fifteen, who, having been taken by their master up into the country, on

the mainland, at the time of the capture of the islands, determined to

try to escape to their parents, who had been left on this island. They

stole away at night, and travelled through woods and swamps for two

days, without eating. Sometimes their strength gave out, and they would

sink down, thinking they could go no farther; but they had brave little

hearts, and got up again and struggled on, till at last they reached

Port-Royal Ferry, in a state of utter exhaustion. They were seen there

by a boat-load of people who were also making their escape. The boat was

too full to take them in; but the people, on reaching this island, told

the children's father of their whereabouts, and he immediately took a

boat, and hastened to the ferry. The poor little creatures were almost

wild with joy when they saw him. When they were brought to their mother,

she fell down "jes' as if she was dead,"--so our informant expressed

it,--overpowered with joy on beholding the "lost who were found."

* * * * *

New-Year's-Day--Emancipation-Day--was a glorious one to us. The morning

was quite cold, the coldest we had experienced; but we were determined

to go to the celebration at Camp Saxton,--the camp of the First Regiment

South-Carolina Volunteers,--whither the General and Colonel Higginson

had bidden us, on this, "the greatest day in the nation's history." We

enjoyed perfectly the exciting scene on board the Flora. There was an

eager, wondering crowd of the freed people in their holiday-attire, with

the gayest of head-handkerchiefs, the whitest of aprons, and the

happiest of faces. The band was playing, the flags streaming, everybody

talking merrily and feeling strangely happy. The sun shone brightly, the

very waves seemed to partake of the universal gayety, and danced and

sparkled more joyously than ever before. Long before we reached Camp

Saxton we could see the beautiful grove, and the ruins of the old

Huguenot fort near it. Some companies of the First Regiment were drawn

up in line under the trees, near the landing, to receive us. A fine,

soldierly-looking set of men; their brilliant dress against the trees

(they were then wearing red pantaloons) invested them with a

semi-barbaric splendor. It was my good fortune to find among the

officers an old friend,--and what it was to meet a friend from the

North, in our isolated Southern life, no one can imagine who has not

experienced the pleasure. Letters were an unspeakable luxury,--we

hungered for them, we could never get enough; but to meet old

friends,--that was "too much, too much," as the people here say, when

they are very much in earnest. Our friend took us over the camp, and

showed us all the arrangements. Everything looked clean and comfortable,

much neater, we were told, than in most of the white camps. An officer

told us that he had never seen a regiment in which the men were so

honest. "In many other camps," said he, "the colonel and the rest of us

would find it necessary to place a guard before our tents. We never do

it here. They are left entirely unguarded. Yet nothing has ever been

touched." We were glad to know that. It is a remarkable fact, when we

consider that these men have all their lives been _slaves_; and we know

what the teachings of Slavery are.

The celebration took place in the beautiful grove of live-oaks adjoining

the camp. It was the largest grove we had seen. I wish it were possible

to describe fitly the scene which met our eyes as we sat upon the stand,

and looked down on the crowd before us. There were the black soldiers in

their blue coats and scarlet pantaloons, the officers of this and other

regiments in their handsome uniforms, and crowds of lookers-on,--men,

women, and children, of every complexion, grouped in various attitudes

under the moss-hung trees. The faces of all wore a happy, interested

look. The exercises commenced with a prayer by the chaplain of the

regiment. An ode, written for the occasion by Professor Zachos, was read

by him, and then sung. Colonel Higginson then introduced Dr. Brisbane,

who read the President's Proclamation, which was enthusiastically

cheered. Rev. Mr. French presented to the Colonel two very elegant

flags, a gift to the regiment from the Church of the Puritans,

accompanying them by an appropriate and enthusiastic speech. At its

conclusion, before Colonel Higginson could reply, and while he still

stood holding the flags in his hand, some of the colored people, of

their own accord, commenced singing, "My Country, 'tis of thee." It was

a touching and beautiful incident, and sent a thrill through all our

hearts. The Colonel was deeply moved by it. He said that that reply was

far more effective than any speech he could make. But he did make one of

those stirring speeches which are "half battles." All hearts swelled

with emotion as we listened to his glorious words,--"stirring the soul

like the sound of a trumpet."

His soldiers are warmly attached to him, and he evidently feels towards

them all as if they were his children. The people speak of him as "the

officer who never leaves his regiment for pleasure," but devotes

himself, with all his rich gifts of mind and heart, to their interests.

It is not strange that his judicious kindness, ready sympathy, and rare

fascination of manner should attach them to him strongly. He is one's

ideal of an officer. There is in him much of the grand, knightly spirit

of the olden time,--scorn of all that is mean and ignoble, pity for the

weak, chivalrous devotion to the cause of the oppressed.

General Saxton spoke also, and was received with great enthusiasm.

Throughout the morning, repeated cheers were given for him by the

regiment, and joined in heartily by all the people. They know him to be

one of the best and noblest men in the world. His Proclamation for

Emancipation-Day we thought, if possible, even more beautiful than the

Thanksgiving Proclamation.

At the close of Colonel Higginson's speech he presented the flags to the

color-bearers, Sergeant Rivers and Sergeant Sutton, with an earnest

charge, to which they made appropriate replies. We were particularly

pleased with Robert Sutton, who is a man of great natural intelligence,

and whose remarks were simple, eloquent, and forcible.

Mrs. Gage also uttered some earnest words; and then the regiment sang

"John Brown" with much spirit. After the meeting we saw the

dress-parade, a brilliant and beautiful sight. An officer told us that

the men went through the drill remarkably well,--that the ease and

rapidity with which they learned the movements were wonderful. To us it

seemed strange as a miracle,--this black regiment, the first mustered

into the service of the United States, doing itself honor in the sight

of the officers of other regiments, many of whom, doubtless, "came to

scoff." The men afterwards had a great feast, ten oxen having been

roasted whole for their especial benefit.

We went to the landing, intending to take the next boat for Beaufort;

but finding it very much crowded, waited for another. It was the

softest, loveliest moonlight; we seated ourselves on the ruined wall of

the old fort; and when the boat had got a short distance from the shore

the band in it commenced playing "Sweet Home." The moonlight on the

water, the perfect stillness around, the wildness and solitude of the

ruins, all seemed to give new pathos to that ever dear and beautiful old

song. It came very near to all of us,--strangers in that strange

Southern land. After a while we retired to one of the tents,--for the

night-air, as usual, grew dangerously damp,--and, sitting around the

bright wood-fire, enjoyed the brilliant and entertaining conversation.

Very unwilling were we to go home; for, besides the attractive society,

we knew that the soldiers were to have grand shouts and a general

jubilee that night. But the Flora was coming, and we were obliged to say

a reluctant farewell to Camp Saxton and the hospitable dwellers therein,

and hasten to the landing. We promenaded the deck of the steamer, sang

patriotic songs, and agreed that moonlight and water had never looked so

beautiful as on that night. At Beaufort we took the row-boat for St.

Helena; and the boatmen, as they rowed, sang some of their sweetest,

wildest hymns. It was a fitting close to such a day. Our hearts were

filled with an exceeding great gladness; for, although the Government

had left much undone, we knew that Freedom was surely born in our land

that day. It seemed too glorious a good to realize,--this beginning of

the great work we had so longed and prayed for.

* * * * *

L. and I had one day an interesting visit to a plantation about six

miles from ours. The house is beautifully situated in the midst of noble

pine-trees, on the banks of a large creek. The place was owned by a very

wealthy Rebel family, and is one of the pleasantest and healthiest on

the island. The vicinity of the pines makes it quite healthy. There were

a hundred and fifty people on it,--one hundred of whom had come from

Edisto Island at the time of its evacuation by our troops. There were

not houses enough to accommodate them, and they had to take shelter in

barns, out-houses, or any other place they could find. They afterwards

built rude dwellings for themselves, which did not, however, afford them

much protection in bad weather. The superintendent told us that they

were well-behaved and industrious. One old woman interested us greatly.

Her name was Daphne; she was probably more than a hundred years old; had

had fifty grandchildren, sixty-five great-grandchildren, and three

great-great-grandchildren. Entirely blind, she yet seemed very cheerful

and happy. She told us that she was brought with her parents from Africa

at the time of the Revolution. A bright, happy old face was hers, and

she retained her faculties remarkably well. Fifteen of the people had

escaped from the mainland in the previous spring. They were pursued, and

one of them was overtaken by his master in the swamps. A fierce grapple

ensued,--the master on horseback, the man on foot. The former drew a

pistol and shot his slave through the arm, shattering it dreadfully.

Still, the heroic man fought desperately, and at last succeeded in

unhorsing his master, and beating him until he was senseless. He then

made his escape, and joined the rest of the party.

One of the most interesting sights we saw was a baptism among the

people. On one Sunday there were a hundred and fifty baptized in the

creek near the church. They looked very picturesque in their white

aprons and bright frocks and handkerchiefs. As they marched in

procession down to the river's edge, and during the ceremony, the

spectators, with whom the banks were crowded, sang glad, triumphant

songs. The freed people on this island are all Baptists.

We were much disappointed in the Southern climate. We found it much

colder than we had expected,--quite cold enough for as thick winter

clothing as one would wear at the North. The houses, heated only by open

fires, were never comfortably warm. In the floor of our sitting-room

there was a large crack through which we could see the ground beneath;

and through this and the crevices of the numerous doors and windows the

wind came chillingly. The church in which we taught school was

particularly damp and cold. There was no chimney, and we could have no

fire at all. Near the close of the winter a stove came for us, but it

could not be made to draw; we were nearly suffocated with smoke, and

gave it up in despair. We got so thoroughly chilled and benumbed within,

that for several days we had school out-of-doors, where it was much

warmer. Our school-room was a pleasant one,--for ceiling the blue sky

above, for walls the grand old oaks with their beautiful

moss-drapery,--but the dampness of the ground made it unsafe for us to

continue the experiment.

At a later period, during a few days' visit to some friends living on

the Milne Plantation, then the head-quarters of the First

South-Carolina, which was on picket-duty at Port-Royal Ferry, we had an

opportunity of seeing something of Port-Royal Island. We had pleasant

rides through the pine barrens. Indeed, riding on horseback was our

chief recreation at the South, and we enjoyed it thoroughly. The

"Secesh" horses, though small, poor, and mean-looking, when compared

with ours, are generally excellent for the saddle, well-trained and very

easy. I remember particularly one ride that we had while on Port-Royal

Island. We visited the Barnwell Plantation, one of the finest places on

the island. It is situated on Broad River. The grounds are extensive,

and are filled with magnificent live-oaks, magnolias, and other trees.

We saw one noble old oak, said to be the largest on these islands. Some

of the branches have been cut off, but the remaining ones cover an area

of more than a hundred feet in circumference. We rode to a point whence

the Rebels on the opposite side of the river are sometimes to be seen.

But they were not visible that day; and we were disappointed in our

long-cherished hope of seeing a "real live Rebel." On leaving the

plantation, we rode through a long avenue of oaks,--the moss-hung

branches forming a perfect arch over our heads,--and then for miles

through the pine barrens. There was an Italian softness in the April

air. Only a low, faint murmur--hardly "the slow song of the sea"--could

be heard among the pines. The ground was thickly carpeted with ferns of

a vivid green. We found large violets, purple and white, and azaleas of

a deeper pink and heavier fragrance than ours. It was leaving Paradise,

to emerge from the beautiful woods upon the public road,--the shell-road

which runs from Beaufort to the Ferry. Then we entered a by-way leading

to the plantation, where we found the Cherokee rose in all its glory.

The hedges were white with it; it canopied the trees, and hung from

their branches its long sprays of snowy blossoms and dark, shining

leaves, forming perfect arches, and bowers which seemed fitting places

for fairies to dwell in. How it gladdened our eyes and hearts! It was as

if all the dark shadows that have so long hung over this Southern land

had flitted away, and, in this garment of purest white, it shone forth

transfigured, beautified, forevermore.

On returning to the house, we were met by the exciting news that the

Rebels were bringing up pontoon-bridges, and were expected to attempt

crossing over near the Ferry, which was only two or three miles from us.

Couriers came in every few moments with various reports. A

superintendent whose plantation was very near the Ferry had been

watching through his glass the movements on the opposite side, and

reported that the Rebels were gathering in large force, and evidently

preparing for some kind of demonstration. A messenger was despatched to

Beaufort for reinforcements, and for some time we were in a state of

expectancy, not entirely without excitement, but entirely without fear.

The officers evidently enjoyed the prospect of a fight. One of them

assured me that I should have the pleasure of seeing a Rebel shell

during the afternoon. It was proposed that the women should be sent into

Beaufort in an ambulance; against which ignoble treatment we indignantly

protested, and declared our intention of remaining at our post, if the

Colonel would consent; and finally, to our great joy, the best of

colonels did consent that we should remain, as he considered it quite

safe for us to do so. Soon a light battery arrived, and during the

evening a brisk firing was kept up. We could hear the explosion of the

shells. It was quite like being in the war; and as the firing was

principally on our side, and the enemy was getting the worst of it, we

rather enjoyed it. For a little while the Colonel read to us, in his

spirited way, some of the stirring "Lays of the Old Cavaliers." It was

just the time to appreciate them thoroughly, and he was of all men the

fittest person to read them. But soon came a courier, "in hot haste," to

make report of the doings without, and the reading was at an end. In the

midst of the firing, Mrs. D. and I went to bed, and slept soundly until

morning. We learned afterward that the Rebels had not intended to cross

over, but were attempting to take the guns off one of our boats, which

they had sunk a few days previous. The timely arrival of the battery

from Beaufort prevented them from accomplishing their purpose.

* * * * *

In April we left Oaklands, which had always been considered a

particularly unhealthy place during the summer, and came to "Seaside," a

plantation on another and healthier part of the island. The place

contains nearly a hundred people. The house is large and comparatively

comfortable. Notwithstanding the name, we have not even a distant

glimpse of the sea, although we can sometimes hear its roar. At low tide

there is not a drop of water to be seen,--only dreary stretches of

marsh-land, reminding us of the sad outlook of Mariana in the Moated

Grange,--

"The level waste and rounding gray."

But at night we have generally a good sea-breeze, and during the hottest

weather the air is purer and more invigorating than in many parts of the

island.

On this, as on several other large plantations, there is a

"Praise-House," which is the special property of the people. Even in the

old days of Slavery, they were allowed to hold meetings here; and they

still keep up the custom. They assemble on several nights of the week,

and on Sunday afternoons. First, they hold what is called the

"Praise-Meeting," which consists of singing, praying, and preaching. We

have heard some of the old negro preachers make prayers that were really

beautiful and touching. In these meetings they sing only the

church-hymns which the Northern ministers have taught them, and which

are far less suited to their voices than their own. At the close of the

Praise-Meeting they all shake hands with each other in the most solemn

manner. Afterward, as a kind of appendix, they have a grand "shout,"

during which they sing their own hymns. Maurice, an old blind man, leads

the singing. He has a remarkable voice, and sings with the greatest

enthusiasm. The first shout that we witnessed in the Praise-House

impressed us very much. The large, gloomy room, with its blackened

walls,--the wild, whirling dance of the shouters,--the crowd of dark,

eager faces gathered around,--the figure of the old blind man, whose

excitement could hardly be controlled, and whose attitude and gestures

while singing were very fine,--and over all, the red glare of the

burning pine-knot, which shed a circle of light around it, but only

seemed to deepen and darken the shadows in the other parts of the

room,--these all formed a wild, strange, and deeply impressive picture,

not soon to be forgotten.

Maurice's especial favorite is one of the grandest hymns that we have

yet heard:--

"De tallest tree in Paradise

De Christian calls de Tree ob Life,

An' I hope dat trumpet blow me home

To my New Jerusalem.