"Blow, Gabriel! trumpet, blow louder, louder!
An' I hope dat trumpet blow me home
To my New Jerusalem!"
The chorus has a glad, triumphal sound, and in singing it the voice of
old Maurice rings out in wonderfully clear, trumpet-like tones. His
blindness was caused by a blow on the head from a loaded whip. He was
struck by his master in a fit of anger. "I feel great distress when I
become blind," said Maurice; "but den I went to seek de Lord; and eber
since I know I see in de next world, I always hab great satisfaction."
We are told that the master was not a "hard man" except when in a
passion, and then he seems to have been very cruel.
One of the women on the place, Old Bess, bears on her limbs many marks
of the whip. Some of the scars are three and four inches long. She was
used principally as a house-servant. She says, "Ebery time I lay de
table I put cow-skin on one end, an' I git beatin' and thumpin' all de
time. Hab all kinds o' work to do, and sich a gang [of children] to look
after! One person couldn't git along wid so much work, so it go wrong,
and den I git beatin'."
But the cruelty of Bess's master sinks into insignificance, when
compared with the far-famed wickedness of another slave-holder, known
all over the island as "Old Joe Eddings." There seem to have been no
bounds to his cruelty and licentiousness; and the people tell tales of
him which make one shudder. We were once asking some questions about him
of an old, half-witted woman, a former slave of his. The look of horror
and loathing which overspread her face was perfectly indescribable, as,
with upraised hands, she exclaimed, "What! Old Joe Eddings? Lord,
Missus, he second to none in de world but de Debil!" She had, indeed,
good cause to detest him; for, some years before, her daughter, a young
black girl, maddened by his persecutions, had thrown herself into the
creek and been drowned, after having been severely beaten for refusing
to degrade herself. Outraged, despised, and black, she yet preferred
death to dishonor. But these are things too heart-sickening to dwell
upon. God alone knows how many hundreds of plantations, all over the
South, might furnish a similar record.
* * * * *
Early in June, before the summer heat had become unendurable, we made a
pleasant excursion to Edisto Island. We left St. Helena village in the
morning, dined on one of the gun-boats stationed near our island, and in
the afternoon proceeded to Edisto in two row-boats. There were six of
us, besides an officer and the boats' crews, who were armed with guns
and cutlasses. There was no actual danger; but as we were going into the
enemy's country, we thought it wisest to guard against surprises. After
a delightful row, we reached the island near sunset, landing at a place
called Eddingsville, which was a favorite summer resort with the
aristocracy of Edisto. It has a fine beach several miles in length.
Along the beach there is a row of houses, which must once have been very
desirable dwellings, but have now a desolate, dismantled look. The
sailors explored the beach for some distance, and returned, reporting
"all quiet, and nobody to be seen"; so we walked on, feeling quite safe,
stopping here and there to gather the beautiful tiny shells which were
buried deep in the sands.
We took supper in a room of one of the deserted houses, using for seats
some old bureau-drawers turned edgewise. Afterward we sat on the piazza,
watching the lightning playing from a low, black cloud over a sky
flushed with sunset, and listening to the merry songs of the sailors who
occupied the next house. They had built a large fire, the cheerful glow
of which shone through the windows, and we could see them dancing,
evidently in great glee. Later, we had another walk on the beach, in the
lovely moonlight. It was very quiet then. The deep stillness was broken
only by the low, musical murmur of the waves. The moon shone bright and
clear over the deserted houses and gardens, and gave them a still wilder
and more desolate look.
We went within-doors for the night very unwillingly. Having, of course,
no beds, we made ourselves as comfortable as we could on the floor, with
boat-cushions, blankets, and shawls. No fear of Rebels disturbed us.
There was but one road by which they could get to us, and on that a
watch was kept, and in case of their approach, we knew we should have
ample time to get to the boats and make our escape. So, despite the
mosquitoes, we had a sound night's sleep.
The next morning we took the boats again, and followed the course of the
most winding of little creeks. In and out, in and out, the boats went.
Sometimes it seemed as if we were going into the very heart of the
woods; and through the deep silence we half expected to hear the sound
of a Rebel rifle. The banks were overhung with a thick tangle of shrubs
and bushes, which threatened to catch our boats, as we passed close
beneath their branches. In some places the stream was so narrow that we
ran aground, and then the men had to get out, and drag and pull with all
their might before we could be got clear again. After a row full of
excitement and pleasure, we reached our place of destination,--the
Eddings Plantation, whither some of the freedmen had preceded us in
their search for corn. It must once have been a beautiful place. The
grounds were laid out with great taste, and filled with fine trees,
among which we noticed particularly the oleander, laden with deep
rose-hued and deliciously fragrant flowers, and the magnolia, with its
wonderful, large blossoms, which shone dazzlingly white among the dark
leaves. We explored the house,--after it had first been examined by our
guard, to see that no foes lurked there,--but found nothing but heaps of
rubbish, an old bedstead, and a bathing-tub, of which we afterward made
good use. When we returned to the shore, we found that the tide had gone
out, and between us and the boats lay a tract of marsh-land, which it
would have been impossible to cross without a wetting. The gentlemen
determined on wading. But what were we to do? In this dilemma somebody
suggested the bathing-tub, a suggestion which was eagerly seized upon.
We were placed in it, one at a time, borne aloft in triumph on the
shoulders of four stout sailors, and safely deposited in the boat. But,
through a mistake, the tub was not sent back for two of the ladies, and
they were brought over on the crossed hands of two of the sailors, in
the "carry-a-lady-to-London" style. Again we rowed through the windings
of the creek, then out into the open sea, among the white, exhilarating
breakers,--reached the gun-boat, dined again with its hospitable
officers, and then returned to our island, which we reached after
nightfall, feeling thoroughly tired, but well pleased with our
excursion.
From what we saw of Edisto, however, we did not like it better than our
own island,--except, of course, the beach; but we are told that farther
in the interior it is much more beautiful. The freed people, who left it
at the time of its evacuation, think it the loveliest place in the
world, and long to return. When we were going, Miss T.--the much-loved
and untiring friend and physician of the people--asked some whom we met
if we should give their love to Edisto. "Oh, yes, yes, Miss!" they said.
"Ah, Edisto a beautiful city!" And when we came back, they inquired,
eagerly,--"How you like Edisto? How Edisto stan'?" Only the fear of
again falling into the hands of the "Secesh" prevents them from
returning to their much-loved home.
* * * * *
As the summer advanced, the heat became intense. We found it almost
overpowering, driving to school near the middle of the day, as we were
obliged to do. I gave up riding, and mounted a sulky, such as a single
gentleman drives in at the North. It was exceedingly high, and I found
it no small task to mount up into it. Its already very comical
appearance was enhanced by the addition of a cover of black India-rubber
cloth, with which a friend kindly provided me. Thus adorned, it looked
like the skeleton of some strange creature surmounted by a huge bonnet,
and afforded endless amusement to the soldiers we chanced to meet, who
hailed its appearance with shouts of laughter, and cries of "Here comes
the Calithumpian!" This unique vehicle, with several others on our
island, kindred, but not quite equal to it, would create a decided
sensation in the streets of a Northern city.
No description of life on these islands would be complete without a word
concerning the fleas. They appeared at the opening of spring, and kept
constantly "risin'," as the people said, until they reached a height the
possibility of which we had never conceived. We had heard and read of
fleas. We had never _realized_ them before. Words utterly fail to
describe the tortures we endured for months from these horrible little
tyrants. Remembering our sufferings "through weary day and weary
_night_," we warn everybody not gifted with extraordinary powers of
endurance to beware of a summer on the Sea Islands.
Notwithstanding the heat, we determined to celebrate the Fourth of July
as worthily as we could. The freed people and the children of the
different schools assembled in the grove near the Baptist Church. The
flag was hung across the road, between two magnificent live-oaks, and
the children, being grouped under it, sang "The Star-Spangled Banner"
with much spirit. Our good General could not come, but addresses were
made by Mr. P.,--the noble-hearted founder of the movement for the
benefit of the people here, and from first to last their stanch and
much-loved friend,--by Mr. L., a young colored minister, and others.
Then the people sang some of their own hymns; and the woods resounded
with the grand notes of "Roll, Jordan, roll." They all afterward partook
of refreshments, consisting of molasses and water,--a very great luxury
to them,--and hardtack.
Among the visitors present was the noble young Colonel Shaw, whose
regiment was then stationed on the island. We had met him a few nights
before, when he came to our house to witness one of the people's shouts.
We looked upon him with the deepest interest. There was something in his
face finer, more exquisite, than one often sees in a man's face, yet it
was full of courage and decision. The rare and singular charm of his
manner drew all hearts to him. He was deeply interested in the singing
and appearance of the people. A few days afterwards we saw his regiment
on dress-parade, and admired its remarkably fine and manly appearance.
After taking supper with the Colonel we sat outside the tent, while some
of his men entertained us with excellent singing. Every moment we became
more and more charmed with him. How full of life and hope and lofty
aspirations he was that night! How eagerly he expressed his wish that
they might soon be ordered to Charleston! "I do hope they will give _us_
a chance," he said. It was the desire of his soul that his men should do
themselves honor,--that they should prove themselves to an unbelieving
world as brave soldiers as though their skins were white. And for
himself, he was like the Chevalier of old, "without reproach or fear."
After we had mounted our horses and rode away, we seemed still to feel
the kind clasp of his hand,--to hear the pleasant, genial tones of his
voice, as he bade us good-bye, and hoped that we might meet again. We
never saw him afterward. In two short weeks came the terrible massacre
at Fort Wagner, and the beautiful head of the young hero and martyr was
laid low in the dust. Never shall we forget the heart-sickness with
which we heard of his death. We could not realize it at first,--we, who
had seen him so lately in all the strength and glory of his young
manhood. For days we clung to a vain hope; then it fell away from us,
and we knew that he was gone. We knew that he died gloriously, but still
it seemed very hard. Our hearts bled for the mother whom he so
loved,--for the young wife, left desolate. And then we said, as we say
now,--"God comfort them! He only can." During a few of the sad days
which followed the attack on Fort Wagner, I was in one of the hospitals
of Beaufort, occupied with the wounded soldiers of the Fifty-Fourth
Massachusetts. The first morning was spent in mending the bullet-holes
and rents in their clothing. What a story they told! Some of the jackets
of the poor fellows were literally cut in pieces. It was pleasant to see
the brave, cheerful spirit among them. Some of them were severely
wounded, but they uttered no complaint; and in the letters which they
dictated to their absent friends there was no word of regret, but the
same cheerful tone throughout. They expressed an eager desire to get
well, that they might "go at it again." Their attachment to their young
colonel was beautiful to see. They felt his death deeply. One and all
united in the warmest and most enthusiastic praise of him. He was,
indeed, exactly the person to inspire the most loyal devotion in the
hearts of his men. And with everything to live for, he had given up his
life for them. Heaven's best gifts had been showered upon him, but for
them he had laid them all down. I think they truly appreciated the
greatness of the sacrifice. May they ever prove worthy of such a leader!
Already, they, and the regiments of freedmen here, as well, have shown
that true manhood has no limitations of color.
* * * * *
Daily the long-oppressed people of these islands are demonstrating their
capacity for improvement in learning and labor. What they have
accomplished in one short year exceeds our utmost expectations. Still
the sky is dark; but through the darkness we can discern a brighter
future. We cannot but feel that the day of final and entire deliverance,
so long and often so hopelessly prayed for, has at length begun to dawn
upon this much-enduring race. An old freedman said to me one day, "De
Lord make me suffer long time, Miss. 'Peared like we nebber was gwine to
git troo. But now we's free. He bring us all out right at las'." In
their darkest hours they have clung to Him, and we know He will not
forsake them.
"The poor among men shall rejoice,
For the terrible one is brought to nought."
While writing these pages I am once more nearing Port Royal. The
Fortunate Isles of Freedom are before me. I shall again tread the
flower-skirted wood-paths of St. Helena, and the sombre pines and
bearded oaks shall whisper in the sea-wind their grave welcome. I shall
dwell again among "mine own people." I shall gather my scholars about
me, and see smiles of greeting break over their dusk faces. My heart
sings a song of thanksgiving, at the thought that even I am permitted to
do something for a long-abused race, and aid in promoting a higher,
holier, and happier life on the Sea Islands.