It was on the afternoon of a warm, murky day late in October that our
steamer, the United States, touched the landing at Hilton Head. A motley
assemblage had collected on the wharf,--officers, soldiers, and
"contrabands" of every size and hue: black was, however, the prevailing
color. The first view of Hilton Head is desolate enough,--a long, low,
sandy point, stretching out into the sea, with no visible dwellings upon
it, except the rows of small white-roofed houses which have lately been
built for the freed people.
After signing a paper wherein we declared ourselves loyal to the
Government, and wherein, also, were set forth fearful penalties, should
we ever be found guilty of treason, we were allowed to land, and
immediately took General Saxton's boat, the Flora, for Beaufort. The
General was on board, and we were presented to him. He is handsome,
courteous, and affable, and looks--as he is--the gentleman and the
soldier.
From Hilton Head to Beaufort the same long, low line of sandy coast,
bordered by trees; formidable gunboats in the distance, and the gray
ruins of an old fort, said to have been built by the Huguenots more than
two hundred years ago. Arrived at Beaufort, we found that we had not yet
reached our journey's end. While waiting for the boat which was to take
us to our island of St. Helena, we had a little time to observe the
ancient town. The houses in the main street, which fronts the "Bay," are
large and handsome, built of wood, in the usual Southern style, with
spacious piazzas, and surrounded by fine trees. We noticed in one yard a
magnolia, as high as some of our largest shade-maples, with rich, dark,
shining foliage. A large building which was once the Public Library is
now a shelter for freed people from Fernandina. Did the Rebels know it,
they would doubtless upturn their aristocratic noses, and exclaim in
disgust, "To what base uses," etc. We confess that it was highly
satisfactory to us to see how the tables are turned, now that "the
whirligig of time has brought about its revenges." We saw the
market-place, in which slaves were sometimes sold; but we were told that
the buying and selling at auction were usually done in Charleston. The
arsenal, a large stone structure, was guarded by cannon and sentinels.
The houses in the smaller streets had, mostly, a dismantled, desolate
look. We saw no one in the streets but soldiers and freed people. There
were indications that already Northern improvements had reached this
Southern town. Among them was a wharf, a convenience that one wonders
how the Southerners could so long have existed without. The more we know
of their mode of life, the more are we inclined to marvel at its utter
shiftlessness.
Little colored children of every hue were playing about the streets,
looking as merry and happy as children ought to look,--now that the evil
shadow of Slavery no longer hangs over them. Some of the officers we met
did not impress us favorably. They talked flippantly, and sneeringly of
the negroes, whom they found we had come down to teach, using an epithet
more offensive than gentlemanly. They assured us that there was great
danger of Rebel attacks, that the yellow fever prevailed to an alarming
extent, and that, indeed, the manufacture of coffins was the only
business that was at all flourishing at present. Although by no means
daunted by these alarming stories, we were glad when the announcement of
our boat relieved us from their edifying conversation.
We rowed across to Ladies Island, which adjoins St. Helena, through the
splendors of a grand Southern sunset. The gorgeous clouds of crimson and
gold were reflected as in a mirror in the smooth, clear waters below. As
we glided along, the rich tones of the negro boatmen broke upon the
evening stillness,--sweet, strange, and solemn:--
"Jesus make de blind to see,
Jesus make de cripple walk,
Jesus make de deaf to hear.
Walk in, kind Jesus!
No man can hender me."
It was nearly dark when we reached the island, and then we had a
three-miles' drive through the lonely roads to the house of the
superintendent. We thought how easy it would be for a band of
guerrillas, had they chanced that way, to seize and hang us; but we were
in that excited, jubilant state of mind which makes fear impossible, and
sang "John Brown" with a will, as we drove through the pines and
palmettos. Oh, it was good to sing that song in the very heart of
Rebeldom! Harry, our driver, amused us much. He was surprised to find
that we had not heard of him before. "Why, I thought eberybody at de
Nort had heard o' me!" he said, very innocently. We learned afterward
that Mrs. F., who made the tour of the islands last summer, had publicly
mentioned Harry. Some one had told him of it, and he of course imagined
that he had become quite famous. Notwithstanding this little touch of
vanity, Harry is one of the best and smartest men on the island.
Gates occurred, it seemed to us, at every few yards' distance, made in
the oddest fashion,--opening in the middle, like folding-doors, for the
accommodation of horsemen. The little boy who accompanied us as
gate-opener answered to the name of Cupid. Arrived at the headquarters
of the general superintendent, Mr. S., we were kindly received by him
and the ladies, and shown into a large parlor, where a cheerful
wood-fire glowed in the grate. It had a home-like look; but still there
was a sense of unreality about everything, and I felt that nothing less
than a vigorous "shaking-up," such as Grandfather Smallweed daily
experienced, would arouse me thoroughly to the fact that I was in South
Carolina.
The next morning L. and I were awakened by the cheerful voices of men
and women, children and chickens, in the yard below. We ran to the
window, and looked out. Women in bright-colored handkerchiefs, some
carrying pails on their heads, were crossing the yard, busy with their
morning work; children were playing and tumbling around them. On every
face there was a look of serenity and cheerfulness. My heart gave a
great throb of happiness as I looked at them, and thought, "They are
free! so long down-trodden, so long crushed to the earth, but now in
their old homes, forever free!" And I thanked God that I had lived to
see this day.
After breakfast Miss T. drove us to Oaklands, our future home. The road
leading to the house was nearly choked with weeds. The house itself was
in a dilapidated condition, and the yard and garden had a sadly
neglected look. But there were roses in bloom; we plucked handfuls of
feathery, fragrant acacia-blossoms; ivy crept along the ground and under
the house. The freed people on the place seemed glad to see us. After
talking with them, and giving some directions for cleaning the house, we
drove to the school, in which I was to teach. It is kept in the Baptist
Church,--a brick building, beautifully situated in a grove of live-oaks.
These trees are the first objects that attract one's attention here: not
that they are finer than our Northern oaks, but because of the singular
gray moss with which every branch is heavily draped. This hanging moss
grows on nearly all the trees, but on none so luxuriantly as on the
live-oak. The pendants are often four or five feet long, very graceful
and beautiful, but giving the trees a solemn, almost funereal look. The
school was opened in September. Many of the children had, however,
received instruction during the summer. It was evident that they had
made very rapid improvement, and we noticed with pleasure how bright and
eager to learn many of them seemed. They sang in rich, sweet tones, and
with a peculiar swaying motion of the body, which made their singing the
more effective. They sang "Marching Along," with great spirit, and then
one of their own hymns, the air of which is beautiful and touching:--
"My sister, you want to git religion,
Go down in de Lonesome Valley,
My brudder, you want to git religion,
Go down in de Lonesome Valley.