Produced by Juliet Sutherland, Rose Koven, Charles Franks
and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team.
A YANKEE GIRL
AT
FORT SUMTER
BY
ALICE TURNER CURTIS
AUTHOR OF
The Little Maid's Historical Series, etc.
Illustrated by ISABEL W. CALEY
PHILADELPHIA
1920
INTRODUCTION
Sylvia Fulton, a little Boston girl, was staying with her father and
mother in the beautiful city of Charleston, South Carolina, just before
the opening of the Civil War. She had become deeply attached to her new
friends, and their chivalrous kindness toward the little northern girl,
as well as Sylvia's perilous adventure in Charleston Harbor, and the
amusing efforts of the faithful negro girl to become like her young
mistress, all tend to make this story one that every little girl will
enjoy reading, and from which she will learn of far-off days and of the
high ideals of southern honor and northern courage.
I. SYLVIA
II. A NEW FRIEND
III. SYLVIA IN TROUBLE
IV. AN UNEXPECTED JOURNEY
V. ESTRALLA AND ELINOR
VI. SYLVIA AT THE PLANTATION
VII. SYLVIA SEES A GHOST
VIII. A TWILIGHT TEA-PARTY
IX. TROUBLESOME WORDS
X. THE PALMETTO FLAG
XI. SYLVIA CARRIES A MESSAGE
XII. ESTRALLA HELPS
XIII. A HAPPY AFTERNOON
XIV. MR. ROBERT WAITE
XV. "WHERE IS SYLVIA?"
XVI. IN DANGER
XVII. A CHRISTMAS PRESENT
XVIII. GREAT NEWS
XIX. SYLVIA MAKES A PROMISE
XX. "TWO LITTLE DARKY GIRLS"
XXI. FORT SUMTER IS FIRED UPON
CHAPTER I
SYLVIA
"Your name is in a song, isn't it?" said Grace Waite, as she and her
new playmate, Sylvia Fulton, walked down the pleasant street on their
way to school.
"Is it? Can you sing the song?" questioned Sylvia eagerly, her blue
eyes shining at what promised to be such a delightful discovery.
Grace nodded smilingly. She was a year older than Sylvia, nearly eleven
years old, and felt that it was quite proper that she should be able to
explain to Sylvia more about her name than Sylvia knew herself.
"It is something about 'spelling,'" she explained, and then sang, very
softly:
"'Then to Sylvia let us sing,
That Sylvia is spelling.
She excels each mortal thing,
Upon the dull earth dwelling.'
"I suppose it means she was the best speller," Grace said soberly.
"I think it is a lovely song," said Sylvia. "I'll tell my mother about
it. I am so glad you told me, Grace."
Sylvia Fulton was ten years old, and had lived in Charleston, South
Carolina, for the past year. Before that the Fultons had lived in
Boston. Grace Waite lived in the house next to the one which Mr. Fulton
had hired in the beautiful southern city, and the two little girls had
become fast friends. They both attended Miss Patten's school. Usually
Grace's black mammy, Esther, escorted them to and from Miss Patten's,
but on this morning in early October they were allowed to go by
themselves.
As they walked along they could look out across the blue harbor, and
see sailing vessels and rowboats coming and going. In the distance were
the three forts whose historic names were known to every child in
Charleston. Grace never failed to point them out to the little northern
girl, and to repeat their names:
"Castle Pinckney," she would say, pointing to the one nearest the city,
and then to the long dark forts at the mouth of the harbor, "Fort
Sumter, and Fort Moultrie."
"Don't stop to tell me the names of those old forts this morning," said
Sylvia. "I know just as much about them now as you do. We shall be late
if we don't hurry."
Miss Patten's house stood in a big garden which ran nearly to the
water's edge. The schoolroom opened on each side to broad piazzas, and
there was always the pleasant fragrance of flowers in the big airy
room. Sylvia was sure that no one could be more beautiful than Miss
Patten. "She looks just like one of the ladies in your 'Godey's
Magazine,'" she had told her mother, on returning home from her first
day at school.
And with her pretty soft black curls, her rosy cheeks and pleasant
voice, no one could imagine a more desirable teacher than Miss Rosalie
Pattten. There were just twelve little girls in her school. There were
never ten, or fourteen. Miss Patten would never engage to take more
than twelve pupils; and the twelve always came. Mrs. Waite, Grace's
mother, had told Mrs. Fulton that Sylvia was very fortunate to attend
the school.
School had opened the previous week, and Sylvia had begun to feel quite
at home with her new schoolmates. The winter before, Mrs. Fulton had
taught her little daughter at home; so this was her first term at Miss
Patten's.
Miss Patten always stood near the schoolroom door until all her pupils
had arrived. As each girl entered the room she made a curtsey to the
pretty teacher, and then said "good-morning" to the pupils who had
already arrived, and took her seat. When the clock struck nine Miss
Rosalie would take her place behind the desk on the platform at the
further end of the room, and say a little prayer. Then the pupils were
ready for their lessons.
"Isn't Miss Rosalie lovely," Sylvia whispered as she and Grace moved to
their seats, "and doesn't she wear pretty clothes?"
Grace nodded. She had been to Miss Rosalie's school for three years,
and she wondered a little at Sylvia's admiration for their teacher,
although she too thought Miss Patten looked exactly like a fashion
plate.
Grace was eager to get to her desk. From where she sat she could see
the grim lines of the distant forts; and this morning they had a new
value and interest for her; for at breakfast she had heard her father
say that, although the forts were occupied by the soldiers of the
United States Government, it was only justice that South Carolina
should control them, and if the State seceded from the Union Charleston
must take possession of the forts. With the consent of the United
States Government if possible, but, if this was refused, by force.
Grace had been thinking about this all the morning, wondering if
Charleston men would really send off the soldiers in the forts. She had
not spoken of this to Sylvia as they came along the street facing the
harbor, and now as she looked at the distant forts on guard at the
entrance of the harbor, she resolved to ask Miss Rosalie why the United
States should interfere with the "Sovereign State of South Carolina,"
which her father had said would defend its rights. "Question time" was
just before the morning session ended. Then each pupil could ask a
question. But as a rule only one or two of the girls had any inquiry to
make. To-day, however, there were several who had questions to ask and
Grace waited with what patience she could until it was her turn. When
Miss Rosalie smiled at her and called her name, Grace rose and said:
"Please, Miss Rosalie, if Charleston owns the forts, could anyone take
them away?"
The teacher's dark eyes seemed to grow larger and brighter, and she
straightened her slender shoulders as if preparing to defend the rights
of her State.
"My dear girl, who would question the right of South Carolina to
control all forts on her territory? We all realize that this is a time
of uncertainty for our beloved State; we may be treated with harshness,
with injustice, but every loyal Carolinian will protect his State."
The little girls looked at each other with startled eyes. What was Miss
Rosalie talking about, they wondered, and what did Grace Waite mean
about anybody "taking" Fort Sumter or Fort Moultrie? Of course nobody
could do such a thing.
School was dismissed with less ceremony than usual that morning, and
the little girls started off in groups, talking and questioning each
other about what Miss Rosalie had said.
Two or three ran after Grace and Sylvia to ask Grace what she meant by
her question.
"Of course we know that northern people want to take our slaves away
from us," declared Elinor Mayhew, the oldest girl in school, whose dark
eyes and curling hair were greatly admired by auburn-haired, blue-eyed
Sylvia, "but of course they can't do that. But how could they take our
forts?"
"I don't know," responded Grace. "That's why I asked Miss Rosalie. I
guess I'll have to ask my father."
"We'll all ask our fathers," said Elinor, "and to-morrow we will tell
each other what they say. I don't suppose YOUR father would care if the
forts were taken," and she turned suddenly toward Sylvia. "I suppose
all the Yankees would like to tell us what we ought to do."
Sylvia looked at her in surprise. The tall girl had never taken any
notice of the little Boston girl before, and Sylvia could not
understand why Elinor should look at her so scornfully or speak so
unkindly. The other girls had stopped talking, and now looked at Sylvia
as if wondering what she would say.
"I don't know what you mean," she answered bravely, "but I know one
thing: my father would want what was right."
"That's real Yankee talk," said Elinor. "They say slavery isn't right."
There was a little murmur of laughter among the other girls. For in
1860 the people of South Carolina believed they were quite right in
buying negroes for slaves, and in selling them when they desired; so
these little girls, some of whom already "owned" a colored girl who
waited upon them, had no idea but what slavery was a right and natural
condition, and were amused at Elinor's words.
"Why do you want to be so hateful, Elinor?" demanded Grace, before
Sylvia could reply. "Sylvia has not said or done anything to make you
talk to her this way," and Grace linked her arm in Sylvia's, and stood
facing the other girls.
"Well, Grace Waite, you can associate with Yankees if you wish to. But
my mother says that Miss Patten ought not to have Sylvia Fulton in her
school. Come on, girls; Grace Waite can do as she pleases," and Elinor,
followed by two or three of the older girls, went scornfully down the
street.
"Sylvia! Wait!" and a little girl about Sylvia's age came running down
the path. It was Flora Hayes; and, next to Grace Waite, Sylvia liked
her the best of any of her new companions.
"Don't mind what Elinor Mayhew says. She's always horrid when she dares
to be," said Flora.
Flora's father was a wealthy cotton planter, and their Charleston home
was in one of the historic mansions of that city. Beside that there was
the big old house on the Ashley River ten miles from the city, where
the family stayed a part of the time.
Flora's eyes were as blue as Sylvia's, and her hair was very much the
same color. She was always smiling and friendly, and was better liked
than Elinor Mayhew, who, as Flora said, was always ready to tease the
younger girls.
"I don't know what she meant," said Sylvia as, with Grace on one side
and Flora on the other, they started toward home.
"She is just hateful," declared Grace. "I wish I had not asked Miss
Rosalie about the forts. But I did want to know. It would be dreadful
not to see them where they have always been."
"Oh, Grace! You didn't think they were going to move the forts to
Washington, did you?" laughed Flora. "I know better than that. Taking
the forts means that the Government of the United States would own them
instead of South Carolina."
Grace laughed good-naturedly. She was always as ready to laugh at her
own mistakes as at those of others; and in the year that Sylvia had
known her she had never seen Grace vexed or angry.
Both Grace and Flora advised Sylvia not to tell her mother of Elinor's
unkindness, or of her taunting words. But it was rather difficult for
Sylvia to keep a secret from her mother.
"You see, it will make your mother sorry, and she will fret about it,"
Flora had said; and at this Sylvia had decided that no matter what
happened at school she would not tell her mother about it. She almost
dreaded seeing Elinor again, and wondered why Elinor's mother had not
wanted Miss Patten to take her as a pupil.
Mr. and Mrs. Fulton were surprised when at supper time Sylvia demanded
to know what a "Yankee" was. She thought her mother looked a little
troubled. But her father smiled. "Yankee is what Britishers call all
Americans," he answered.
"Then Elinor Mayhew is just as much a Yankee as I am," thought Sylvia,
and she smiled so radiantly at the thought that Mrs. Fulton was
reassured, and did not question her.
The next day was Saturday, and Mr. Fulton had planned to take his wife
and Sylvia to Fort Moultrie. The military band of the fort played every
afternoon, and the parapet of the fort was a daily promenade for many
Charleston people. During the summer workmen had been making necessary
repairs on the fortifications; but visitors were always welcomed by the
officers in charge, one of whom, Captain Carleton, was a college friend
of Sylvia's father.
Sylvia could row a small boat very well, and her father had purchased a
pretty sailboat which he was teaching her to steer. She often went with
her father on trips about the harbor, and the little girl always
thought that these excursions were the most delightful of pleasures.
There was a favorable breeze this Saturday afternoon, and the little
boat, with its shining white paint and snowy sail, skimmed swiftly
across the harbor. Sylvia watched the little waves which seemed to
dance forward to meet them, looked at the many boats and vessels, and
quite forgot Elinor Mayhew's unkindness. Her mother and father were
talking of the black servants, whom they had hired with the house of
Mr. Robert Waite, Grace's uncle. Sylvia heard them speak of Aunt
Connie, the good-natured black cook, who lived in a cabin behind the
Fultons' kitchen.
"Aunt Connie wants to bring her little girl to live with her. Their
master is willing, if we have no objections," Sylvia heard her mother
say.
"Oh, let the child come," Mr. Fulton responded; "how old is she?"
"Just Sylvia's age. Her name is Estralla," replied Mrs. Fulton.
"You'll have a little darky for a playmate, Sylvia. How will you like
that?" her father asked. But before Sylvia could answer, the boat swung
alongside the landing-place at the fort and she saw her father's
friend, Captain Carleton, waiting to welcome them.
The band was playing, and a few people were on the parapet.
"Not many visitors to-day," said the Captain, as they all walked on
together. "I am afraid the Charleston people resent the fact that the
United States is protecting its property."
As they walked along the Captain pointed to the sand which the wind had
blown into heaps about the sea-front of the old fort. "A child of ten
could easily come into the fort over those sand-banks," he said.
"Whose fort is this?" asked Sylvia, so earnestly that both the Captain
and her father smiled.
"It belongs to the United States, of which South Carolina is one,"
replied the Captain.
Sylvia gave a little sigh of satisfaction. Even Elinor Mayhew could not
find any fault with that, she thought, and she was eager to get home
and tell Grace what the Captain had said.
On the way back Sylvia asked her mother if she knew that there was a
song with her name in it.
"Why, of course, dear child. You were named for that very Sylvia,"
replied her mother.
"'Then to Sylvia let us sing,
That Sylvia is excelling;
She excels each mortal thing
Upon the dull earth dwelling;
To her let us garlands bring'"--
sang Mrs. Fulton; "and you can thank your father for choosing your
name," she added gaily.
"Oh! But Grace said it was about spelling," explained Sylvia; "but I
like your way best," she added quickly.
There were a good many pleasant things for Sylvia to think of that
night. Not every girl could be named out of a song, she reflected. Then
there was the little colored girl Estralla, who was to arrive the next
day, and besides these interesting facts, she had discovered who really
owned the forts, and could tell her schoolmates on Monday. All these
pleasant happenings made Sylvia forgetful of Elinor Mayhew's
unkindness. Before bedtime she had learned the words of the song from
which she was named. She knew Grace would think that "excelling" was
much better than "spelling."