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THE

FLAG REPLACED ON SUMTER.


_A PERSONAL NARRATIVE_

BY

WILLIAM A. SPICER.


READ BEFORE THE

RHODE ISLAND SOLDIERS AND SAILORS
HISTORICAL SOCIETY,

FEBRUARY, 1884.


PROVIDENCE:
PRINTED BY THE PROVIDENCE PRESS COMPANY.
1885.

COPYRIGHT,
1885.


[Illustration: THE ATTACK ON FORT SUMTER IN APRIL, 1861.]




THE FLAG REPLACED ON SUMTER.

       "What's hallowed ground? 'Tis what gives birth
     To sacred thoughts in souls of worth!
       Peace! Independence! Truth!"--_Campbell._


[Illustration]

Immediately upon the election of Abraham Lincoln as President, in
November, 1860, a predetermined plan of secession was entered upon by
the leading public men of the South, on the plea that his election was
dangerous the interests of slavery. In February, 1861, seven of the
slave States having united in the movement, an independent government
was organized, under the name of the Southern Confederacy, and
Jefferson Davis was inaugurated as President with great pomp, at
Montgomery, Alabama; so that on the fourth of March, the day of Mr.
Lincoln's inauguration at Washington, the flag of the United States
was flying at only three points south of the Capital, viz: Fort
Sumter, Fort Pickens, and Key West.

South Carolina naturally led the scheme of disunion, passing the
ordinance of secession on the twentieth of December, 1860, and
immediately proceeding to secure possession of the national property
in the State, particularly the forts in Charleston harbor.

To prevent this, Major Robert Anderson, an able and loyal southern
officer, commanding a small garrison of United States troops in Fort
Moultrie, hastily removed, on the night of the 26th of December, to
Fort Sumter, a much stronger but unfinished fortress in the middle of
the harbor, hoping to maintain his position there till reinforced. But
before this could be effected by President Lincoln, who had plainly
advised Governor Pickens of his intention, a formal demand for the
surrender of the fort was made by General Beauregard, commanding the
rebel forces, which being promptly refused by Major Anderson, the
order to reduce the fort was given by the Confederate government. On
the morning of Friday, the twelfth of April, 1861, at half-past four,
the first shot was fired upon Fort Sumter, which aroused and excited
the nation, and begun the war of the Rebellion. For two days the
assault continued, when after a most gallant defense by the little
garrison of eighty men, Major Anderson was compelled to accept terms
of evacuation. On Sunday afternoon, April 14th, he marched out of the
fort with colors flying and drums beating, saluting the United States
flag, as it was lowered, with fifty guns.

There was great rejoicing in Charleston. Thousands had assembled at
the Battery, excited spectators of the scene. They exultingly beheld
the banner of the Republic lowered, and the flags of South Carolina
and the Southern Confederacy raised defiantly over the ramparts of
Fort Sumter.

Governor Pickens, the bustling and blustering State executive, thus
addressed the populace:

     "We are now one of the Confederate States, and they have
     sent us a brave and scientific officer, to whom the credit
     of this day's triumph is due. We have defeated their twenty
     millions. We have humbled the flag of the United States
     before the Palmetto and Confederate, and so long as I have
     the honor to preside as your chief magistrate, so help me
     God, there is no power on this earth shall ever lower from
     that fortress those flags, unless they be lowered and
     trailed in a sea of blood. I can here say to you it is the
     first time in the history of this country that the stars and
     stripes have been humbled. That flag has never before been
     lowered before any nation on this earth. But to-day it has
     been humbled, and humbled before the glorious little State
     of South Carolina."

But Governor Pickens little dreamed that the discharge of his guns
upon the United States flag at Fort Sumter would awaken such an
outburst of patriotism as immediately followed all over the North,
uniting the people of all classes in a determination to maintain the
majesty of the Union, and vindicate the honor of the flag. How little
he foresaw the mighty sweep and terrible devastation of the pitiless
storm of civil war which now burst over the land, and which never
departed from the soil of South Carolina till every rebel ensign was
"lowered and trailed in a sea of blood;" till slavery, the cause of
the conflict, was forever abolished, and the power of the United
States firmly re-established on land and sea.

Four years had scarcely passed ere he heard the tramp of Sherman's
army sweeping victoriously across the State, and beheld the once proud
and haughty Charleston in possession of the Union legions. As he saw
the starry flag again waving aloft in triumph, he hastened, with
reluctant footsteps, to place himself once more under its protecting
folds, thus renewing, in 1865, his oath of allegiance to the
government whose authority he had defied in 1861!

A few months later, at the State Convention at Columbia, assembled
under the direction of the President of the United States, it is none
other than our _reconstructed_ friend, Ex-Governor Pickens, who rises
amid the ashes of his once beautiful Capital, and offers the following
ordinance:

     "_Resolved_, We, the delegates of the people of the State of
     South Carolina, in general convention met, do ordain, that
     the ordinance [of secession] passed in convention on the
     twentieth of December, 1860, withdrawing this State from the
     Federal Union, be, and the same is hereby repealed. The
     fortunes of war, together with the proclamations of the
     President of the United States and the generals in the
     field commanding, having decided that domestic slavery is
     abolished, that therefore, under the circumstances, we
     acquiesce in said proclamations, and do hereby ordain
     implicit obedience to the Constitution of the United States,
     and all laws made in pursuance thereof."

He had thus at last learned the truth of that ancient and profound
maxim, that "he who would aspire to _govern_, should first learn to
_obey_!"

General Sherman did not pause in his rapid march northward from
Savannah, through the Carolinas, to make any demonstration against
Charleston; he conquered it, in the words of General Robert Anderson,
"by turning his _back_ on it!" His military operations compelled the
evacuation of the city, which was occupied by the Union troops on the
eighteenth of February, 1865. Lieutenant-Colonel A.G. Bennett, of the
Twenty-first United States colored troops, was the first to land with
a small force, while some of the rebel mounted patrols still remained,
applying the torch as they retreated. The Colonel at once addressed
himself to the Mayor: "In the name of the United States government I
demand a surrender of the city, of which you are the executive
officer." The Mayor responded by immediately turning over the Cradle
of Rebellion to its rightful owners. The Colonel then proceeded to the
citadel with his colored troops, two companies of the Fifty-second
Pennsylvania Regiment, and about thirty men of the Third Rhode Island
Heavy Artillery, under Lieutenant-Colonel Ames, and proclaimed martial
law. In his official report he says: "Every officer and soldier
exerted himself to a most willing performance of every allotted duty,
yet I do not deem it invidious for me to make special mention of
Lieutenant John Hackett, Company M, Third Rhode Island Artillery, who
volunteered to go alone to Fort Moultrie, and there raised the flag."
This was a most perilous service, gallantly performed amid the danger
of exploding rebel powder magazines.

It was the beginning of the end. President Lincoln, realizing that the
fall of the Confederacy was near at hand, determined to celebrate the
fourth anniversary of the surrender of Fort Sumter by replanting the
old flag of 1861, with imposing ceremonies, upon the ruins of the
fort, and the following order was accordingly issued:

     GENERAL ORDERS, NO. 50.
       WAR DEPARTMENT, ADJUTANT-GENERAL'S OFFICE, }
         WASHINGTON, MARCH 27, 1865.              }

     ORDERED: _First_, That at the hour of noon, on the 14th day
     of April, 1865, brevet Major-General Anderson will raise and
     plant upon the ruins of Fort Sumter, in Charleston harbor,
     the SAME United States flag which floated over the
     battlements of that fort during the rebel assault, and which
     was lowered and saluted by him, and the small force of his
     command, when the works were evacuated on the 14th of April,
     1861.

     _Second_, That the flag, when raised, be saluted by one
     hundred guns from Fort Sumter, and by a national salute from
     every fort and rebel battery that fired upon Fort Sumter.

     _Third_, That suitable ceremonies be had upon the occasion,
     under the direction of Major-General William T. Sherman,
     whose military operations compelled the rebels to evacuate
     Charleston, or, in his absence, under the charge of
     Major-General Q.A. Gilmore, commanding the Department. Among
     the ceremonies will be the delivery of an address by the
     Rev. Henry Ward Beecher.

     _Fourth_, That the naval forces at Charleston, and their
     commander on that station, be invited to participate in the
     ceremonies of the occasion.

     _Official._

       By order of the President of the United States.
         EDWIN M. STANTON, _Secretary of War_.

     E.D. TOWNSHEND, _Assistant Adjutant-General_.

The steamer "Arago" was officially commissioned to carry to the fort
those who were to take part in the exercises, and the gratifying
announcement was afterwards received in Providence that a second
steamer had been chartered, the "Oceanus," of our Neptune Propeller
Line, to sail from New York for Charleston, on Monday, April 10th, at
noon. Immediately, three Providence boys, two of us comrades in the
Tenth Rhode Island Regiment, fired with the news just received of the
fall of Richmond, made our plans for going to Charleston on the
"Oceanus." We so well succeeded that on the morning of the tenth we
made our appearance on the deck of the steamer, duly armed and
equipped with the necessary papers and outfit.

There was great enthusiasm on board over the news from the seat of
war, not only on account of the recent capture of Richmond and
Petersburg, but because, during the night, the news had flashed over
the wires of the surrender of Lee and the death of the Rebellion. We
thus became the bearers of these glorious tidings to Fort Sumter and
Charleston.

My reception of the news in New York is thus described in my diary:
"Monday, April 10, Astor House. On coming down from my room this
morning, my attention was arrested by the 'big letters' at the head of
the column of the morning paper, bearing the announcement of the
surrender of General Lee and his whole army. It was pretty big news to
take _in_, and contain myself. Passing into the hotel parlors, I
noticed that Broadway was gaily decorated with flags (though the rain
was descending in torrents), and there read in the _Herald_ the
official documents from General Grant, upon which I could hardly
refrain from shouting three cheers! I believe I did give one! While
waiting for breakfast I ventured, in the enthusiasm of the moment, to
seat myself at the piano, and was hard at work on about the only
patriotic tune I could drum, viz: 'Tenting on the old camp ground,'
when a small boy came up with a message from some nice looking young
ladies at the opposite end of the parlor, requesting 'The Star
Spangled Banner,' in honor of the glorious news. Well, I didn't
exactly fall under the piano; but briefly conveying regrets at my
inability to comply, I retired as gracefully as possible."

Promptly at noon we waved our adieus from the deck of the "Oceanus" to
the friends assembled on shore, and steamed slowly down the harbor.
The weather was extremely rainy and foggy, and when hardly three hours
out, we found ourselves aground on Sandy Hook bar. A pilot was
signaled, who brought the report of a heavy storm outside, and after
getting us safely off the sand-spit, he advised our "laying to" till
morning. This was a great disappointment, as there was no time to
lose, and some one impatiently asked, "Can't you take us out this
afternoon, pilot?" "I reckon I can if you all say so," responded the
old salt, "but you'd better lay _here_, to-night!" "Why so, pilot?"
"You gentlemen want to go to Charleston, don't you?" "Why, yes, of
course." "Wall, then, I tell you, you'd better lay _here_ to-night,
for it's goin' to be a werry nasty, dirty night outside." That settled
the matter, and down went the big anchor of the "Oceanus."

Having eaten but sparingly during the day to avoid sea-sickness, and
fully believing that we were firmly anchored for the night, I indulged
in a hearty supper, concluding, as my diary says, "with sardines and
oranges." I had occasion to feel very sorry for this a few hours
later.

A patriotic meeting was held in the cabin during the evening. The
music and addresses were very enjoyable, till suddenly the sound of
hurrying feet was heard overhead, and the news was whispered round
that we were "weighing anchor." Soon we began to feel the
uncomfortable rolling of the steamer. The orator who was then
addressing the meeting, and who had waxed eloquent with his subject,
now provoked considerable merriment by his ungraceful and involuntary
gestures, clutching desperately at a chair, then taking a fresh hold
of the table to steady himself. It well illustrated Demosthenes'
famous rule for oratory, "Action! action! action!" But a more serious
impression quickly prevailed among the audience, that it was high time
to retire, and, like Longfellow's Arabs, they began to "silently steal
away." The chairman of the meeting, Mayor Wood, of Brooklyn, unmindful
of his usual decorum, upon an extra roll of the steamer went over the
back of his chair, and rolled ingloriously upon the floor. He
acknowledged that he had never been so completely floored in his life.

There was another portly gentleman who, in attempting to navigate, was
caught near the cabin door, just behind the knees, by a friendly
chair, and as he was suddenly tilted back into it, remarked somewhat
dryly, "I believe _I'll sit down_!" Going out on deck, I found that
the storm had lifted, the lights of Sandy Hook were far astern, and we
were fairly at sea. From this point of time on Monday evening, when we
_lay_ on deck, (things were getting too _unsteady_ for landsmen to
_stand_,) I omit, out of courtesy to ourselves, any further incidents
of the voyage, and pass on to Thursday morning, which found us sitting
on the forward deck, waiting and watching for the spires of
Charleston. The weather was delightful. As we passed into the warmer
southern climate, the sea became calmer and more transparent, schools
of porpoises played about the steamer, and one enthusiastic individual
insisted that he had seen a whale! but he was set down by one of the
disgruntled passengers as "only a pesky oil speculator." The German
band on board, or rather the brief remnant of it, still kept up what
at the distance of several yards sounded like very dismal music!
Presently some one suggested "lemons and lump sugar," as the right
remedy for any lingering unpleasantness, and we drew lots as to who
should "go below," combat the smells of the cook-room, and purchase
them. The announcement that the chance had fallen on my old friend and
comrade of the Tenth Rhode Island, William Vaughan, was greeted with
roars of laughter. But he got off very much like another fellow
described in Pickwick, who spelled his name with a "double you" and a
"wee," by liberally feeing some one else to go in his place.

About three o'clock in the afternoon came the joyful shout of
"Land-ho!" which quickly filled the deck of the "Oceanus" with a troop
of smiling faces. All gloom now gave way to sanguine expectation. We
could plainly distinguish the light-ship, bearing the suggestive name,
"Rattlesnake Shoals," and knew we were at last off Charleston harbor.
A pilot was presently taken on board, who informed the captain that we
could not go over the bar till sunset. Some one asked him, "Are the
people over there in Charleston loyal now, pilot?" He shook his head
gravely, and was non-committal. "Well, then, we've come down here to
_make_ you loyal, pilot!" Turning his keen eye, which had peered into
many a northeaster, directly upon his interviewer, the old salt
vigorously replied, "You can't make _me_ loyal, for I always _have_
been!" Noble words and truly spoken, as we afterwards found.

The sun was still shining brightly in the western horizon as we
weighed anchor, and with colors flying and whistle sounding, steamed
slowly towards the majestic bay which expands its broad bosom before
the city of Charleston. The pilot, dressed in navy blue, stood at the
window of the pilot-house, guiding the helmsman and announcing the
various points of historic interest.

[Illustration]

Close at hand two buoys marked the spots where the monitors "Keokuk"
and "Weehawken" were sunk; and lashed to a mast-head of the latter,
still visible above the water, was a small American flag floating in
the breeze. But the attention of all was now suddenly arrested by a
more imposing display in the sky. For high above the city the
glorious sunset had painted the western heavens with streaming bars of
red and white and blue, fringed with gold. It was our banner,
stretched out again by a Divine hand, over the recovered city; and all
eyes turned to behold the sight, as the shout went up, "See, the Red,
White and Blue! The Red, White and Blue!" Fort Strong, formerly
called Fort Wagner, on Morris Island, was passed with uncovered heads,
in honor of Colonel Shaw, who fell gallantly leading his colored
regiment to the assault; then Fort Putnam, formerly Battery Gregg, on
Cummings' Point, and on the right Fort Moultrie and Battery Bee, on
Sullivan's Island, were pointed out, till at length the cry rang out,
"Fort Sumter! Fort Sumter!" Battered and crumbled almost to
shapelessness, it rose before us like some vast monster in the centre
of the harbor. As we drew nearer, we could distinguish the sentinels
on the ramparts, whose bayonets glistened in the rays of the setting
sun.

[Illustration: FORT SUMTER IN RUINS.]

For a few moments we contemplated in silence the storied fortress, as
memories of the long and bitter struggle here inaugurated passed in
quick procession before us. But victory had come at last, and
rebellion had perished. As by a common inspiration, all hearts and
voices united in the grand old doxology,

     "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow."

It was our good passport to the city, heard and honored at Fort Sumter
by the rapid dipping of the colors, while the answering strains of
the "Star Spangled Banner" echoed and re-echoed o'er the bay.

Passing rapidly on, we soon arrived within hailing distance of our
blockading squadron, safely riding at anchor. As we gave each ship and
gunboat and monitor, as we passed, the news of Lee's surrender, a
scene of the wildest enthusiasm followed, which quickly spread
throughout the entire fleet. The sailor boys in blue crowded to the
bulwarks, or mounting aloft, manned the yards, climbing even to the
main-tops, and turning swung their caps and rent the air with their
shouts. "Hurrah! hurrah! Lee has surrendered! Lee has surrendered!!"
How welcome the tidings after their arduous service.

     "Sweet after danger's the close of the war."

The shades of night were falling thickly about us, as we left the
fleet astern and came swiftly up to the city, which was shrouded in
darkness. From the midst of a crowd of people gathering on the deck
ahead of us, a squeaky voice piped out, "What's the news?" and a
strong voice gave back the answer:

"Lee has surrendered with his whole army!"

Again the piping voice:

"Have you got Lee?"

And the reply, with no uncertain sound:

"Yes, we've got him this time, sure," followed by an indescribable
medley of southern yelling, cheering and dancing.

Amid the excitement and enthusiasm, the band of the United States
steamer "Blackstone" struck up the "Star Spangled Banner," to which
ours responded with "My country, 'tis of thee." Again from the
"Blackstone," "The Red, White and Blue," followed by the martial notes
of "Hail Columbia" from the "Oceanus" as she was made fast to the
dock. Captain Hunt, of General Hatch's staff, came aboard promptly,
and after exchanging congratulations over the great news, tendered us
during our stay the "freedom of the city." We were not expected to
avail ourselves of this courtesy till morning; a few of us, however,
did get out on southern soil, just to stretch ourselves a bit after
our long sea-faring, but encountering rather a suspicious looking
crowd, we soon returned on board, to await the morrow, the
ever-memorable fourteenth of April, 1865.

The day dawned at length, mild and verdant with the breath of spring,

             "And o'er the bay,
     Slowly, in all his splendors dight,
     The great sun rises to behold the sight."

Turning toward the city we could easily distinguish the long line of
edifices along the Battery, their windows glittering in the yellow
sunshine. Quickly dressing, we set forth on a ramble through the
deserted metropolis. There was plenty of time, as the transports were
not to leave for Fort Sumter till ten o'clock. Vaughan and I sauntered
down East Bay street, among the crumbling and deserted warehouses, to
the Battery. This was a long and straight promenade, with stone
pavement, commanding a fine prospect of the bay and fortifications.
Here, four years before, all was activity and bustle; here the
populace assembled, and sent up their frenzied shouts as the flag of
the Republic was lowered, and the ensign of Rebellion supplanted it
for a season.

How changed the scene! The streets were deserted. The crowds were
scattered and gone forever! The silence of desolation reigned on
every hand, disturbed only by the songs of the summer birds. Not even
a newsboy assailed us with the _Mercury_ or _Courier_, containing an
account of the latest victory over the Yankees. Here, along the
Battery, were many of the finest residences, stately mansions with
broad verandas, which bore the terrible effects of the long
bombardment. Their walls were scarred and rent. The roofs were
crushed, the glass shattered, piles of rubbish and other débris
encumbered the ground, and the grass was growing in the streets. The
siege of the city had steadily and relentlessly continued for five
hundred and eighty-eight days. It was commenced on the twenty-first of
August, 1863, by the opening of the Swamp Angel Battery on Morris
Island, five miles away. On the seventh of September, Fort Wagner and
Battery Gregg were taken, and more guns were trained upon the city
(notably the water battery), compelling the evacuation of the lower
part. During the long siege not less than thirteen thousand shot and
shell were thrown into the city.

We strolled into the garden of one of the deserted mansions, which
still exhibited evidences of taste and culture, even in neglect and
decay. Borders of box lined the graveled walks and encircled beautiful
flower shrubs, or clusters of japonica, of manifold hues; the
mock-orange, the lilac and magnolia tree were blooming luxuriantly,
and grew to a remarkable height. What a contrast to the bare gardens
we had left at home, amid a cold and cheerless storm. We were now in
another zone, in the full bloom of summer. After helping ourselves to
roses in abundance, the largest I had ever seen, we passed on up the
street. Notices like the following were posted on the doors of some of
the houses: "Occupied by permission of the Provost Marshal, the owner
having taken the oath of allegiance to the United States." Similar
cards in the shop windows announced that the occupants had permission
to transact business.

A Charleston lady complained to one of our officers, saying, "_You_
treat us well enough, but _the niggers_ are _dreadful_ sassy. They
don't turn out now when you meet them; they even smoke cigars, and go
right up to a gentleman and ask him for a light!"

[Illustration]

We now began to meet contrabands of all ages and of all sizes, from
the little barefooted piccaninnies and chimney sweeps to the old,
gray-haired uncles and turbaned aunties. While all appeared bubbling
over with joy, yet they were quiet and orderly, greeting us with bows
and courtesies, and a "God bress ye! we're so powerful glad ye've
come!" Said one old negro to another, "Yer mus' try now, an' do as yer
done by, Uncle Rube." "Yeth," said Uncle Reuben, "but de fact am _dis_
chile ain't never been _done by_! Dat's where de shoe pinches!"

We took great pleasure in calling with other friends upon Colonel
Lorenzo Potter, one of the veteran Union citizens, formerly of
Providence. He had been at home only a few weeks, but his family had
remained through the long and dreary siege. Fortunately the shells
from the Union batteries had spared the home of these devoted
loyalists.

I remember a fine fig-tree in his garden, laden with fruit, and my
disappointment at finding it in a green state, "for the time of figs
was not yet." Reluctantly leaving this hospitable family, we made a
hasty tour of several public buildings and banks, which we found in a
sadly _broken_ and ravaged condition. The elaborately carved counters
and wainscoting had been reduced to fragments; the tiled floors and
frescoed walls were plowed up and ruined by exploding shells. In one
of the banks I secured a collection of both Continental and
Confederate notes, the obsolete currency of two centuries. On one of
them I read this curious endorsement: "Payable two years after a
treaty of peace between the Confederate and United States
Governments." But right before me lay the effective protest of the
Union shot and shell against any treaty of peace with armed
rebellion, in the shape of an immense pile of débris,--broken brick
and glass, and charred timbers, the ruins of a once fine and imposing
structure. I was told of an estimable lady of Charleston who, after
investing her all (fully $5,000) in these Confederate "promises to
pay," brought them out at last, and kindled her morning fire with the
worthless chaff. Most of the citizens who were considered wealthy at
the beginning of the war were reduced to penury at its close, and were
to be seen carrying their rations through the streets of Charleston.

"General Wade Hampton needs horses," read the last order of the
Governor to the citizens, on the twenty-first of January, 1865, "and I
have told him he shall have them. Put aside your please-carriages for
the time, and bring or send in your horses to Columbia. Colonel C.T.
Hampton is charged by me with the duty of receiving with thanks all
that will be sent, and of _taking_ all that are withheld. The horses
will be paid for. No one shall suffer from his devotion to the
State."

The public conveyances kindly placed at our disposal by the
authorities, showed how effectively this order had been carried out.
Such a sorry looking set of horses, mules and donkeys, attached to
omnibuses, army ambulances and fish-wagons, would appropriately have
found a place in a Providence Antique and Horrible procession!

Passing on to the Market Building we stopped to chat with the darkey
shop-keepers who occupied the few stalls which were open. We purchased
here some sugar-cane and strawberries, the first of the season. The
darkeys proved to be pretty shrewd traders, and promptly declined all
offers of Confederate currency in payment. One shook his woolly head,
saying, "O, sar, we'd better _gib_ um to you, sar!" They had evidently
acquired some of the sharpness of their old masters, one of whom I
read about used to make his negroes _whistle_ while they were picking
cherries, for fear they would _eat_ some! But now they could sing
their Jubilee hymn, as their colored brethren sung it, marching
through Richmond:

     "De whip is lost, de han'cuf broken,
     An' massa'l hab to _whistle_ for his _pay_;
     He's ole enough, big enough, an' ought to known better
     Dan to went an' run'd away:
             Ole massa run, ha! ha!
             De darkey stay, ho! ho!
             It mus' be now dat de kingdom's cummin',
             An' de year of Jubilo!"

Some ragged negro boys on the street, who, by the way they danced,
appeared to have india-rubber joints, and who ended their songs with a
"shout" and a "break-down," were asked if they knew the John Brown
song.

"Oh, yeth, massa; we know ole John Brown."

"Well, give it to us then."

     "John Brown's body lies a mold'ring in de clay,
     But his soul am a marchin' home!"

"Good! give us some more!"

     "We'll hang Jeff Davis on a sour apple tree,
     On Canaan's happy _sho'_!"

Some of them doubtless still sing the new version, believing that Jeff
Davis will yet be hung, on Canaan's happy shore; and so they are all
"bound for the happy land of Canaan!" It has been stated as an
indisputable _fact_, that some of the older negroes having never heard
their masters mention the name of a Yankee except with a profane
accompaniment, have been praying for years, "O Lord! bress, we beseech
Thee, and speedily bring along de comin' of de _dam_ Yankees!"

Retracing our steps towards the steamer, we met our friends coming
from various directions. Some of them would have passed for returning
miners, who, in lieu of rich booty, were heavily laden with relics of
stone, brass and iron. While these Yankee relic-hunters failed in
getting away with old Fort Sumter itself, they successfully carried
off two six-hundred pound shots from the great English Blakely gun,
(sent over to the rebels by friends in England.) They afterwards
presented these to the New York and Long Island Historical Societies,
as enduring evidences of British neutrality during our war.

[Illustration: Ruins of Circular Church. St. Michael's Church. Ruins
of Institute Hall.

CHARLESTON IN RUINS.]

My mementoes included _several hundred dollars worth_, so to speak, of
Confederate currency; a tile from the floor of the State Bank of South
Carolina, and a Book of Common Prayer picked up among the rubbish
in St. Michael's Episcopal Church. The floor of the edifice was
covered with the shattered glass from the windows. A large shell had
ploughed its way directly through the tower, fragments passing through
the rear wall of the church, demolishing the pulpit, and even
"breaking the commandments" inscribed on tablets attached to the wall.
But the iron messenger kindly spared the precepts most needed in
Charleston, "Thou shalt not kill!" and "Thou shalt not steal!"

We climbed to the top of the tower of this ancient structure, whose
chimes had been removed to be recast into rebel cannon. I have since
heard that a new set of chimes now ring out the glad notes of Freedom.

Near by, on the right, were the ruins of Institute Hall, where the
Ordinance of Secession was passed, December 20th, 1860, by more than
five hundred majority. On the left, the ruins of Circular Church,
where the first secession sermon was preached.

But the hour for the grand ceremonial at Sumter had now almost
arrived. Hastily embarking on the transport "Golden Gate," the
brilliant pageant in the harbor opened before us. As far as the eye
could reach, its waters were thickly crowded with shipping, gaily
decked from bow-sprit to yard-arm and top-mast, "with flags and
streamers gay, in honor of the gala-day!" While on every ship and
transport, in every available place, were assembled the expectant
multitude.

A steamer in the advance suddenly attracted our attention, decked with
banners and crowded with the boys in blue. Can it be? Yes, it is our
old Rhode Island steamer "Canonicus." Summoned at the opening of the
war from the peaceful waters of Narragansett bay, she had rendered
efficient service as a government transport, and now at its close had
been honorably chosen to lead the grand procession in the peaceful
advance to Fort Sumter. Presently the signal was given, the drums were
beaten, the trumpets sounded, and immediately the "Canonicus" led the
proud procession, followed by a long line of steamers and transports
which gracefully rounded into line. Prominent among them was the
"Planter," commanded by Robert Small, a freedman, who shouted his
orders from the top of the paddle-box, while all around him, and
below, in every nook and corner, were crowded the happy contrabands of
South Carolina, of all ages and sizes, presenting in their variety of
costumes a most novel and fantastic picture.

It was a proud day for them and for Robert Small, who, a few months
before, almost unaided and alone, had captured the "Planter" from the
armed State of South Carolina, safely passed the rebel batteries, and
delivered her a prize to our blockaders. He received from the
government $4,500, one-half the value of the steamer, with a
commission of $1,800 as her commander. He afterwards purchased his old
master's house and furniture, which set him up as immensely rich among
his people, who declared him to be "de dun smartest cullud man in Souf
Curlina!"

As the long procession of steamers and transports passed the fleet at
anchor, manned and decked most gallantly, there was a scene of
indescribable enthusiasm; guns were booming, bands playing triumphal
marches, bells ringing and whistles sounding, while everybody was
shouting and cheering at the highest pitch of patriotic exultation.
This continued unabated till we reached the landing of Fort Sumter.
Disembarking we passed between two files of soldiers, black men on the
right, and white men on the left, rivalling each other in soldierly
bearing. Ascending a flight of fifty steps we reached the parapet of
the fort, where we found the Rhode Island boys of Company B, Third
Artillery, Lieutenant J.E. Burroughs commanding, in charge of six
pieces of artillery. Captain J.M. Barker and his men, of Company D,
were on duty on Morris Island; and our comrade, Charles H. Williams,
with a detachment of Company B, were on Sullivan's Island, in charge
of Fort Moultrie and Battery Bee. As I stood there on the parapet of
Sumter, and looked out over the battered and crumbled fortress, I
realized how it had become, even in ruins, well nigh impregnable. The
upper, or barbette walls, had fallen on the outside, and lay packed
solidly against the lower walls, choking the entrances to the
shattered casemates; numberless great guns, whose thunder had long
been the voice of battle, lay dismounted and half buried in the sand,
while the immense volume of shot and shell which had been hurled
against the fort had served only to solidify and strengthen the entire
mass. The fort was further protected from a scaling party by _cheveaux
de frise_ of pointed pickets, while along the base of the wall, near
the water line, was a barrier of interlaced wire fence, invisible at
the distance of a few feet, and which effectively resisted the advance
of our naval forces on the night of September 8, 1863.

In the interior of the fort, packed tier above tier against the walls,
were layers of tall wicker baskets filled with sand. In the centre
stood the new flag-staff, nearly one hundred and fifty feet high,
while here and there, at considerable intervals, were piled pyramids
of solid shot.

But the grim aspect of war had been somewhat softened by the floral
decorations, which, I was informed, were the combined taste of six
Union ladies of Charleston. Near the flag-staff, a graceful arched
canopy had been erected, draped with the American flag, and handsomely
trimmed with evergreens and myrtle. On the stage beside the speakers'
stand, was a golden eagle, resting upon a shield of the national
colors, and holding in his beak a wreath of flowers and evergreen.

Descending to the interior of the fort, we passed from the foot of the
wall-steps to the platform through a double file of navy boys, in
trimmest holiday attire. Here were now assembled the great audience of
five thousand soldiers, sailors and citizens, and we joined them in
the stirring song of "Victory at Last," composed for the occasion by
William B. Bradbury, who was present and led the singing. Then
followed the old battle song:

     "Yes, we'll rally round the flag, boys, rally once again,
       Shouting the battle-cry of Freedom."

The formal exercises were opened with prayer by the Rev. Matthias
Harris, Chaplain United States Army, a venerable man, who had made the
prayer at the raising of the flag on Fort Sumter, in December, 1860,
when Major Anderson removed his command from Fort Moultrie. It was a
brief but touching invocation for the blessing of God upon the flag of
the nation, and upon the great occasion. The Rev. R.S. Storrs, D.D.,
of Brooklyn, N.Y., then read with the audience, alternately, the one
hundred and twenty-sixth, forty-seventh, ninety-eighth, and a part of
the twentieth Psalms.

Major Anderson's dispatch to the Government, April 18, 1861, on
steamship "Baltic," off Sandy Hook, announcing the fall of Fort
Sumter, was then read by Brigadier-General E.D. Townshend, Assistant
Adjutant-General United States Army.

Then came the crowning event of the day, the "raising and planting
upon the ruins of Fort Sumter of the SAME United States flag which
floated over the battlements of the fort during the rebel assault,
April 14, 1861, by Brevet Major-General Robert Anderson, United States
Army."

Promptly upon the reading of the dispatch, Sergeant Hart (who had
gallantly replaced the flag after it had been shot away in the first
assault) stepped forward with the Fort Sumter mail-bag in his hand. As
he quietly drew forth from its long seclusion the _same_ old flag of
'61, a wild shout went up, "prolonged and loud." It was quickly
attached to the halyards by three sailors from the fleet, who were in
the first fight, and crowned with a wreath of evergreen, set with
clusters of rosebuds and orange blossoms.

All was now ready, and the hour, the moment, for which the nation had
so long earnestly struggled and patiently waited, had come at last!

     "Though the mills of God grind slowly,
       Yet they grind exceeding small;
     Though with patience He stands waiting,
       With exactness grinds He all!"

[Illustration: ROBERT ANDERSON.]

Who of us can ever forget that memorable hour, or the deep and silent
expectation of the great assembly, as General Robert Anderson, the
hero of the day, stepped forward, and with uncovered head and a voice
trembling with emotion, said:

     "I am here, my friends, my fellow-citizens and
     fellow-soldiers, to perform an act of duty to my country,
     dear to my heart, and which all of you will appreciate and
     feel. Had I observed the wishes of my heart, it should have
     been done in silence; but in accordance with the request of
     the Honorable Secretary of War, I make a few remarks, as by
     his order, after four long, long years of war, I restore
     to its proper place this dear flag, which floated here
     during peace, before the first act of this cruel rebellion.
     [Taking the halyards in his hands, he said:] I thank God
     that I have lived to see this day, and to be here, to
     perform this, perhaps the last act of my life, of duty to my
     country. My heart is filled with gratitude to that God who
     has so signally blessed us, who has given us blessings
     beyond measure. May all the nations bless and praise the
     name of the Lord, and all the world proclaim, 'Glory to God
     in the highest, and on earth peace, good will toward men.'"

"Amen! amen!" the multitude responded. Then the old veteran grasped
the halyards with firm and steady hand, and

     "Forthwith from the glittering staff unfurled
     The starry banner, which full high advanced,
     Shone like a meteor streaming to the wind."

[Illustration: THE FLAG REPLACED ON SUMTER.]

A loud and prolonged shout, from fort and fleet, greeted the old flag
as, all tattered with shot and shell, it rose above the battlements
into its native air. The whole audience sprang to their feet. Several
bands began to play their most inspiring music. Men swung their hats
and grasped each other by the hand; women and children waved their
handkerchiefs, and many wept for very joy. As it rested at length in
its old place at the top of the staff, and waved its victorious folds
towards the recovered city, which had first disowned it, the
enthusiasm became tumultuous and overpowering, till at last it found
relief in the national song:

     "The star spangled banner, O long may it wave,
     O'er the land of the free, and the home of the brave!"

I can never forget the impression of that glorious spectacle, and that
song of victory that went up from five thousand voices. The colored
soldier pacing to and fro, with beating heart and gazing aloft with
pride upon the "flag of the free hearts' hope and home," could now
exclaim, "Yes, that is now _my_ flag! and yonder, at Fort Wagner, the
colored soldier fought and died to restore it. Four years ago, when
that flag went down, more than four millions of my people _had_ no
flag! But to-day it is _our_ flag, and _our_ country!"

Immediately followed the grand artillery salute to the flag; and I
left my seat and climbed the look-out high above upon the wall to
obtain an unobstructed view of the bay. First, the heavy guns of
Sumter thundered forth their hearty greeting to the flag. Then, in
loyal and quick response, came the answering notes from Fort Moultrie
and Morris Island, followed by a national salute from every fort and
rebel battery that had fired upon the flag four years before.

Finally the fleet, with the little monitors, joined in the deep
harmonies of the grand chorus, till the earth trembled with the
cannonade, the air grew heavy with smoke, and nothing was visible but
the rapid flashes of the artillery. For a moment it seemed as if the
assault of '61 was being re-enacted before me. But it is safe to add
that had this been the case, I should hardly have chosen such an
elevated position upon the observatory of the fort. At length the roar
of cannon ceased, the dense clouds of smoke and sand drifted away, and
order was restored. The orator of the day, Rev. Henry Ward Beecher,
then began his address, of which the opening and closing sentences
were as follows:

     "On this solemn and joyful day, we again lift to the breeze
     our fathers' flag, now, again, the banner of _the United
     States_, with the fervent prayer that God would crown it
     with honor, protect it from treason, and send it down to our
     children, with all the blessings of civilization, liberty
     and religion. Terrible in battle, may it be beneficent in
     peace. Happily, no bird or beast of prey has been inscribed
     upon it. The stars that redeem the night from darkness, and
     the beams of red light that beautify the morning, have been
     united upon its folds. As long as the sun endures, or the
     stars, may it wave over a nation neither enslaved nor
     enslaving. [Great applause.]

     "Once, and but once, has treason dishonored it. In that
     insane hour, when the guiltiest and bloodiest rebellion of
     time hurled their fires upon this fort, you, sir, [turning
     to General Anderson,] and a small, heroic band, stood within
     these now crumbled walls, and did gallant and just battle
     for the honor and defense of the nation's banner.
     [Applause.]...

     "To-day you are returned again. We devoutly join with you in
     thanksgiving to Almighty God, that he has spared your
     honored life, and vouchsafed you the honors of this day. The
     heavens over you are the same; the same shores; morning
     comes, and evening, as they did. All else, how changed! What
     grim batteries crowd the burdened shores! What scenes have
     filled this air, and disturbed these waters! These shattered
     heaps of shapeless stone are all that is left of Fort
     Sumter. Desolation broods in yonder sad city--solemn
     retribution hath avenged our dishonored banner! You have
     come back with honor, who departed hence, four years ago,
     leaving the air sultry with fanaticism. The surging crowds
     that rolled up their frenzied shouts, as the flag came down,
     are dead, or scattered, or silent; and their habitations are
     desolate. Ruin sits in the cradle of treason. Rebellion has
     perished. But there flies the same flag that was insulted.
     [Great and prolonged applause.] With starry eyes it looks
     all over this bay for that banner that supplanted it, and
     sees it not. [Applause.] You that then, for the day, were
     humbled, are here again, to triumph once and forever.
     [Applause.] In the storm of that assault this glorious
     ensign was often struck; but, memorable fact, not one of its
     _stars_ was torn out by shot or shell. [Applause.] It was a
     prophecy. It said, 'Not one State shall be struck from this
     nation by treason!' The fulfillment is at hand. Lifted to
     the air, to-day, it proclaims, after four years of war, 'Not
     a State is blotted out!' [Applause.] Hail to the flag of our
     fathers, and our flag! Glory to the banner that has gone
     through four years black with tempests of war, to pilot the
     nation back to peace without dismemberment! And glory be to
     God, who, above all hosts and banners, hath ordained
     victory, and shall ordain peace! [Applause.]

     "Our nation, under one government, without slavery, has been
     ordained, and shall stand. There can be peace on no other
     basis. Reverently, piously, in hopeful patriotism, we spread
     this banner on the sky, as of old the bow was planted on the
     cloud; and, with solemn fervor, beseech God to look upon it,
     and make it the memorial of an everlasting covenant and
     decree, that never again on this fair land shall a deluge of
     blood prevail. [Applause.]...

     "From this pulpit of broken stone we speak forth our earnest
     greeting to all our land.

     "We offer to the President of these United States our solemn
     congratulations that God has sustained his life and health
     under the unparalleled burdens and sufferings of four bloody
     years, and permitted him to behold this auspicious
     consummation of that national unity for which he has waited
     with so much patience and fortitude, and for which he has
     labored with such disinterested wisdom. [Applause.]

     "To the members of the government associated with him in the
     administration of perilous affairs in critical times; to the
     Senators and Representatives of the United States, who have
     eagerly fashioned the instruments by which the popular will
     might express and enforce itself, we tender our grateful
     thanks. [Applause.]

     "To the officers and men of the Army and Navy, who have so
     faithfully, skillfully, and gloriously upheld their
     country's authority, by suffering, labor, and sublime
     courage, we offer here a tribute beyond the compass of
     words. [Great applause.]

     "Upon these true and faithful citizens, men and women, who
     have borne up with unflinching hope in the darkest hour, and
     covered the land with the labors of love and charity, we
     invoke the divinest blessing of Him whom they have so truly
     imitated. [Applause.]

     "But, chiefly, to Thee, God of our fathers, we render
     thanksgiving and praise for that wondrous Providence that
     has brought forth from such a harvest of war, the seed of so
     much liberty and peace. We invoke peace upon the North.
     Peace be to the West. Peace be upon the South.

     "In the name of God we lift up our banner, and dedicate it
     to Peace, Union and Liberty, now and forever." [Great
     applause.]

At the conclusion of the address, the audience arose and sang the
doxology. An impressive prayer followed, with the benediction, by the
Rev. Dr. Storrs, Jr. Six deafening cheers were then given for the old
flag replaced on Sumter; and three times three for President Lincoln,
General Robert Anderson, and our soldiers and sailors. Many of us
remained to avail ourselves of the opportunity to shake hands with the
old veteran, and I well remember the exultation with which I walked
off with the General's autograph.

We spent an hour in exploring the walls and casements of the fort and
rummaging about for relics. It was amusing to see a man who, after
selecting a twenty-five pound shot for a memento, would carry it a
short distance, change hands to make it easier, and then come to the
conclusion that it was foolish to lug such a heavy thing around; or to
see another person, who had been sweating under the burden of a heavy
shell,--when suddenly told that it was still loaded and liable to go
off, and take him off with it,--quickly turn and lay it down
carefully, and quietly depart. I satisfied my curiosity with a few
small grape and canister shot, some fragments of exploded shells, and
a section of the rebel iron wire fence on the outer wall.

It must have been fully six o'clock when we all arrived safely back to
the city. At sunset there was another grand salute from the fleet, and
in the evening we were summoned on deck to witness the closing
demonstration of the day. Nothing could be seen in the darkness, till
quick, as if by magic, at the signal from the flag-ship of the
Admiral, the entire harbor for miles around was brilliantly
illuminated. Every vessel and transport and monitor was ablaze with
many-colored fires. Each mast and sail and rope was aglow with light.
From every deck came the roar and glare of rockets, darting in quick
procession to the sky, then turning and descending in showers of
golden rain. Hundreds of lanterns, red, green and white, suspended
from the rigging, flashed out their starry signals over the bay, and
were reflected in the waters beneath, while heavy clouds of smoke,
tinged with golden radiance, rolled heavenward like ascending incense,
presenting a scene of rare enchantment.

But hark! another signal gun is heard. Every light instantly
disappears! Every sound is hushed! and grim darkness again mantles the
waters of the bay; and, I was about to add, we were all soon in
sleep's serene oblivion, but my diary records that at nine o'clock
P.M. five of us took an impressed carriage and started for the
Charleston Hotel, to attend a reception given by General Gilmore. On
our arrival, we made a bargain with our negro driver to wait for us,
say half an hour, more or less, and then take us over to the Battery,
to General Hatch's grand military ball. But once inside, we became so
much absorbed, like little Tommy Tucker, in the supper and the toasts,
that we forgot all about our colored driver outside,--just as people
do at parties still. The following are brief extracts from the remarks
of two or three of the principal speakers.

Judge-Advocate Holt, in responding to the toast, "General Robert
Anderson," said:

     "It is not uncommon for organizations in treason or in
     crime, on a vast scale, to commit mistakes in the selection
     of agents to accomplish their work; and no man in all
     history committed a greater mistake than Floyd, in the
     selection of General Anderson, on the sole ground of his
     being a southern man, to command Fort Sumter. He thought to
     find in him a tool of treason, but he found instead a loyal,
     fearless, and true man. Those who have led great treasonable
     enterprises, or great crimes, have suffered most from
     mingled rage and angry fear when they discovered such
     mistakes in the selection of their agents, and none suffered
     more in this respect than Secretary Floyd, on hearing of the
     transfer of the small but devoted garrison from Fort
     Moultrie to the solid walls of Fort Sumter. There was one
     man, still in the service of the government, who was with
     Floyd, in the Cabinet, at the time, and could bear evidence
     to the rage of the defeated traitor, and that man, with
     giant brain and steadfast heart, has for three years
     presided at the head of the war Department--Edwin M.
     Stanton."

Major-General Abner Doubleday was called out by some remarks referring
to the part he took in the defense of Fort Sumter, and said:

     "I feel to-day as if I had been present at the birth of a
     new nation. I was most happy to have been present at the
     impressive ceremonies this day, and glad to remember that I
     dealt some blows against secession in the same place four
     years ago. I never doubted then the propriety of our
     resistance. I felt that the only answer to armed treason
     must come from the mouth of the cannon. There is one class
     of men in that early effort to whom justice has not been
     done. I mean the enlisted men. They were offered every
     inducement to desert,--heavy bribes, and promotion in a new
     service,--but they refused them all. [Cheers.] They were
     told that there would be no necessity for any fighting; that
     there would soon be peace, as the North could not stand up
     against them; but all their efforts failed, and I give you,
     'The remembrance of those noble soldiers.'" [Great
     cheering.]

But we were particularly interested in General Robert Anderson's
response to a toast which had been assigned to General John A. Dix,
who sent the famous order to Louisiana, in 1861, "If any man attempts
to haul down the American flag, shoot him on the spot!"

General Anderson concluded by introducing the toast, "Abraham
Lincoln," with an eloquent tribute of respect and affection. Said he:

     "I beg you now, that you will join me in drinking the health
     of another man whom we all love to honor,--the man who, when
     elected President of the United States, was compelled to
     reach the seat of government without an escort, but a man
     who now could travel _all_ over our country with millions of
     hands and hearts to sustain him. I give you the good, the
     great, the honest man, Abraham Lincoln."

How little we dreamed, as the cheers, twice repeated, went around,
that at that self-same hour the honored President lay prostrate and
dying in the National Capital from the bullet of an assassin.

     "Thus grief ever treads upon the heels of pleasure"--
     "And all alike await the inevitable hour;
     The paths of glory lead but to the grave."

Having now remained at the hotel over an hour, we went out to look
after our colored coachman, only to find, as we might have expected,
that he had given us the slip. But we took possession of another
carriage that fortunately came up, and, in answer to the sable
inquiry, "Am Colonel Fuller ready for de ball?" we kindly informed our
colored friend that if he would take us to the ball, the Colonel would
undoubtedly be ready by the time he returned. Thus assured, he started
off with us over a very dark and rough road, through the burnt
district, till we stopped at length before a fine old mansion on East
Bay street, brilliantly illuminated, from which sounds of music and
festivity proceeded. Here, we were told, was the scene of another
grand ball, given by the Confederates in honor of the fall of Sumter,
just four years before. Some of the same negroes who served at the
first ball, as _slaves_, now attended the second as _free and
independent_ waiters. I purchased of one of them for a nominal sum
quite a collection of Confederate currency, a Palmetto brass button,
and a quaint Pompeiian lamp, which are still preserved as mementoes of
the occasion. We were told "dat Massa Middleton used to own de place,"
but, as the darkeys sing:

     "He saw a smoke way down de ribber,
       Where de Lincum gunboats lay,
     He took his hat, an' lef' berry sudden,
       An' I 'specs he's run'd away!"

So the fine estate, with its broad verandas, and elegant mirrors and
paintings on the walls, all became, including the darkeys, "contraband
of war."

The next day was Saturday, and it was announced that the "Oceanus"
would sail at five in the afternoon. The hour of departure was
afterwards postponed to Sunday morning at nine o'clock, by advice of
the pilot. We visited various points of interest on Saturday,
including the office of the Charleston _Mercury_, where we secured
some interesting papers, which are referred to in the Appendix. We
also saw the slave-marts, where families had so long been bought and
sold like cattle. I secured a bill of sale of a slave who was
described as "a negro fellow called Simon." The seller's name was
Mordecai, and the buyer of "the sole use of Simon forever," was a Mr.
Lazarus.

[Illustration]

During the morning, one of our lady passengers was accosted by an aged
black woman with a hen and a bag of eggs, as follows: "Missus, I want
to gib de northern ladies sumthin', but I have nuthin' but this yer
hen, and these yer eggs. Won't you take 'em?" This was too much for
the sympathetic nature of Mrs. B----, but what to do with the hen and
her products so far from home, was the question. Finally the eggs were
taken and the hen left. The woman was rewarded and departed in much
delight. On the homeward voyage a gentleman proposed to take them up
to his country seat in New York State, and put them under the care of
the most motherly hen of his large flock. This was done with the
following result:

     "JUNE 10, 1865.

     "I am happy to inform you that the Charleston hen has done
     her duty as well as could be expected under the
     circumstances. The eggs were evidently the product of
     secession times, and stoutly resisted all northern
     influences. But the mother hen determined, '_a la_ General
     Grant,' to set it out on this nest 'if it took all summer!'
     A great destruction of capital has been the result, but
     'victory at last' has rewarded her efforts, and she is now
     followed by a train of four bipeds, one black, one white,
     and two octoroons. I have neglected to tell you that the
     mother hen is black, and struts with pompous pride above her
     white and octoroon subjects. 'Let us have peace.'"

My record would be incomplete without a brief description of the
freedmen's meetings on Saturday. We found Citadel square almost
impassable with the dense crowds of negroes, while hundreds of
children were marching through the streets singing "John Brown." The
principal gathering was in Zion's Church, where more than three
thousand colored people were crowded together. One of the speakers
from the north, William Lloyd Garrison, the veteran abolitionist, was
surrounded by the freedmen as he entered the church, and borne on
their shoulders amid great enthusiasm to the platform. Then the
surging multitude sang, with thrilling power and effect:

     "Roll, Jordan, roll, the year of Jubilee;"

and another song, beginning:

     "Blow, blow your trumpet, Gabriel!"

How they all shouted at the first mention of the name of Lincoln!
"Spread it abroad," said Hon. Henry Wilson, "all over South Carolina,
that the black men of South Carolina know no master now, and that they
are slaves no more forever! [Great cheering.] Abraham Lincoln,
President of the United States [tremendous cheering and waving of hats
and handkerchiefs], with twenty-five millions of freemen by his side,
and seven hundred thousand bayonets behind him, has decreed it, and
it will stand while the world stands, that the black men of South
Carolina can never more be slaves! [Loud cheers.] They have robbed
your cradles; they have sold your children; they have separated
husband and wife, father and mother and child. [Cries of 'Yes! yes!
yes!'] They shall separate you no more! ['Hallelujah! bress de Lord!']
The long, dreary night of slavery has passed away forever. ['Amen!
amen! amen!'] Remember that you are now to be obedient, faithful, true
and loyal to your country forevermore!" [Cheers and cries of 'Yes!
yes! yes!']

[Illustration: [_Copyrighted by J.A. & R.A. Reid._]

     "OLE MASSA RUN--HA! HA!
     DE DARKEYS STAY--HO! HO!"]

Twenty years have passed since the emancipation of this race, and
while a great work has been accomplished for their education, aided by
the princely gifts of such philanthropists as George Peabody and John
F. Slater, of New England, it is also true that much remains to be
done. There still appears to exist among the ruling class in the south
a tendency to put barriers in the way of the poor and ignorant masses,
and hinder them in the exercise of their personal and political
rights. "This is a white man's government," exclaims the solid south
to-day, as in 1860. And again let the loyal answer go forth, as
from the lips of the lamented Lincoln, at Gettysburg, twenty years
ago, "This is a government of the people, by the people, and for the
people, without distinction of race or color." The most serious danger
which threatens our country to-day, is the ignorance of the masses,
both white and black, north as well as south. This class in many
States holds the balance of power, and has become a most dangerous
force in the hands of educated but unprincipled leaders. The
beneficent influences of Christianity and universal education are
necessary to lift the masses from their servile position, and enable
them to think and vote for themselves. Nor should they be allowed to
vote until they can read and write. Education and suffrage should go
hand in hand.


CONCLUSION.

On the morning of Sunday, the sixteenth of April, 1865, the good
steamer "Oceanus," gay with crowds of passengers, and proudly waving
flags and signals, steamed slowly down Charleston harbor homeward
bound. As she passed the fleet, parting salutations were exchanged
with the monitors, men-of-war, and the smaller boats passing to and
fro. We turned to take a last survey of the city in the distance, the
forts, and shores thickly studded with now peaceful batteries. As we
passed abreast of Fort Sumter, where, as at Lexington a hundred years
ago, "was fired the shot heard 'round the world," every head was
uncovered, while we reverently sang, the band accompanying:

     "Praise God, from whom all blessings flow,"

followed by the sweet strains of:

     "My country, 'tis of thee,
     Sweet land of liberty."

Immediately the colors on the fort were dipped, and the sentinels on
the walls waved their adieus with caps and bayonets. At length we
crossed the bar and took leave of the pilot.

As the shores of South Carolina faded in the distance, and the walls
of the storied fort sank below the gray horizon, we bade farewell to
scenes which, however changed by the ceaseless march of time, must
always possess a charm indescribable. Religious services were held in
the cabin at eleven o'clock, and again during the evening. The sound
of merriment was hushed, and all seemed to realize that it was the
Sabbath. Indeed, it was observed by one of the speakers, that he had
not heard a word of profanity or seen any one under the influence of
intoxicating beverages during the voyage.

Monday followed without important incident, save that at five o'clock
in the afternoon we safely rounded Cape Hatteras with a gentle
reminder of the old couplet:

     "If the Bermudas let you pass,
     You must beware of Hatteras!"

Tuesday morning, when about thirty miles south of Fortress Monroe, and
while most of the passengers were at breakfast, a steamer was observed
in the distance with her flag at half-mast. Various were the
conjectures for whom it could be. We had been without news from the
north for more than a week; what could have happened?

Presently a pilot-boat, with her colors also at half-mast, appeared
within hailing distance.

"What's the news?" was eagerly shouted from the "Oceanus."

[Illustration: ABRAHAM LINCOLN.]

"The President is dead," came faintly back, with startling effect,
over the water. Immediately the breakfast tables were deserted, and
the passengers gathered in astonished groups on deck, exclaiming, "It
cannot be!" "We do not believe it!" But a second pilot-boat could now
be seen with her flag, half-hoisted, drooping from the halyards. Again
the earnest inquiry, "What's the news?"

"President Lincoln is dead."

"How did he die?"

"He was assassinated in Washington."

Then stout hearts trembled with dismay, and men unused to tears turned
pale and wept. As we passed vessel after vessel, we obtained further
particulars of the cruel tragedy, and the feeling of gloom and
indignation which prevailed was deep and indescribable. Nothing else
was thought or talked of, till we arrived at the fortress. On landing,
I purchased a Richmond paper, containing a full account of the
assassination, the murderous attack upon Secretary Seward and his
sons, with the plot to remove General Grant and the entire Cabinet. We
found the entrance to the fortress draped in mourning, and the saddest
reminders of all were the portraits of the departed President, deeply
hung with crape, in the various offices. We made but a brief stay at
the splendid fortress, with its powerful armament, where, a few weeks
later, Jefferson Davis was brought and confined as a prisoner of war.
We could plainly discern "the Rip Raps" and Sewall's Point, and the
locality was pointed out "in the Roads," where the little Monitor
defeated the Merrimac, in 1862, and saved the Union fleet. The story
of this famous battle, and the revolution it produced in naval
warfare, has been graphically recited by Comrade F.B. Butts.

But the sad intelligence from the Capital had crushed the desire for
sight-seeing, and all seemed anxious to get home with the least
possible delay. After taking a supply of coal and water, and landing
four or five blockade-runners who had secreted themselves in our
coal-bunkers at Charleston, we were again "homeward bound."

Wednesday morning found us well on our voyage to New York, with
continued pleasant weather. At half-past ten, the Sumter Club, which
had been organized, held a meeting, and the rebel flag of Fort
Moultrie was formally presented to the Club. It was voted to procure a
suitable gold badge, with Fort Sumter engraved upon it, for each
member. It was further voted that every passenger who sailed from New
York for Charleston on the "Oceanus" should be entitled to membership.

Appropriate services were held on board at eleven o'clock, the hour at
which the funeral obsequies of the President were being solemnized in
Washington.

At three o'clock we were opposite Coney Island, and entering the
Narrows. After a short detention at quarantine, we rapidly passed the
light-houses and forts and the fleet of shipping, moving and at anchor
about the great metropolis, and drew into the dock at the foot of
Robinson street as the city bells struck five. Hasty farewells were
exchanged with friends on board, mingled with greetings from friends
on shore. Making my way with difficulty through the crowds of people
and among teams, drays and carriages, I at length emerged into the
streets of New York.

But what a change! The city was in mourning! Ten days before, every
highway and avenue had been resplendent with flags and streamers; and
a whole city had celebrated with joy and thanksgiving the return of
peace and the triumph of loyalty over armed rebellion. We had sailed
to the metropolis of the south, the Cradle of the Rebellion, and found
it a city in ruins. There, where the national ensign had been first
dishonored, we had seen it uplifted and restored with imposing
ceremonies, amid the shouts of a race redeemed and set free. To-day we
had returned to find New York as mournful as Charleston. A national
calamity had filled the land with mourning. From every flag-staff the
"stars and stripes," shrouded in black, drooped at half-mast. From the
houses of rich and poor alike, hung the emblems of the universal
sorrow. It is estimated that not less than five hundred thousand
people, the representatives of all classes, crowded the entrances to
the City Hall to take a last look at the familiar features of the
beloved President, who had so endeared himself to all parties by his
patience, wisdom and fidelity during his long and difficult term of
service. Just before the fall of Richmond he uttered those
ever-memorable words, his fitting epitaph: "With malice towards none,
with charity for all, with firmness in the right, as God gives us to
see the right, let us strive to finish the work we are in, and do all
which may achieve and cherish a just and a lasting peace among
ourselves and with all nations." His work was finished. The nation was
reunited, and at peace with all the world. As we enjoy to-day the
blessings of peace and orderly progress let us never forget the name
of Lincoln. Let us ever remember at what a fearful sacrifice of
precious blood and treasure, Liberty and Union were maintained, and
"the flag replaced on Sumter."

[Music: VICTORY AT LAST.

SONG AND CHORUS.

_Words by_ MRS. M.A. KIDDER. _Music by_ WM. B. BRADBURY.

     1. For many years we've waited
       To hail the day of peace,
     When our land should be united,
       And war and strife should cease;
     And now that day approaches,
       The drums are beating fast,
     And all the boys are coming home,
       There's victory at last.

     FULL CHORUS.

     There's victory at last, boys, victory at last!
     O'er land and sea
     Our flag is free;
     We'll nail it to the mast;
     Yes, we'll nail it to the mast, boys,
     Nail it to the mast;
     For there's victory, victory, victory at last!

     2. The heroes who have gained it,
       And lived to see the day,
     We will meet with flying banners
       And honors on the way;
     And all their sad privations
       Shall to the winds be cast,
     For all the boys are coming home--
       There's victory at last.--CHORUS.

     3. O happy wives and children,
       Light up your hearts and homes,
     For see, with martial music,
       "The conquering hero comes,"
     With flags and streamers flying,
       While drums are beating fast;
     For all the boys are coming home--
       There's victory at last.--CHORUS.

Sung at Fort Sumter, April 14, 1865.

See page 42.]




APPENDIX.


_From the Charleston Mercury of January 19, 1865._

(A month before the evacuation of the city.)

CHARLESTON A SARAGOSSA!

"... The same tenacity and daring which has held Charleston and the
Savannah line for four years, can hold Charleston now, if brought to
bear upon the emergency. Too long we have been fighting here, around
these old walls, to yield them now without a struggle. We say,
unhesitatingly, to those in authority, there are brave men here, who
are prepared to make of Charleston a second Saragossa. We use no fancy
phrase. We mean the exact thing. We mean fight the country inch by
inch to her outside lines; and we mean, then, fight it inch by inch to
the foot of old St. Michael's walls.... We want no Atlanta, no
Savannah business here.... Let Charleston be strictly a military camp.
The opportunity is offered--let the commanding general make a fight
here that will ring round the world. We will not fail him. There are
men here to do it. We have made names historic before. We can do it
now. Let us strip and enter the arena for life or for death. Will he
stand by us?"


_From the Charleston Mercury of February 10, 1865._

(A week before the evacuation of the city.)

"Amidst the dark shadows that envelop the destinies of the Confederate
States at the present moment, we think--we dream perhaps, perhaps we
imagine--that we see a faint streak of light, struggling up across
the eastern horizon through the darkness of the night. Is it the early
messenger of morn? or is it an aurora of the night? Yet we imagine we
see a streak of dawn upon the horizon. A new Yankee Congress comes in
on the fourth of March next. What sort of body is it? Wild lunatics.
They come into power flushed with success, and are themselves the very
dregs of radicalism. Every one of them are drunken mobocrats and
bloody Puritans of the deepest dye. What will they not do and say? Can
Lincoln control them? Can Seward control them? We think not. In their
very violence and brutality lies our hope. Can Europe stand them six
months? We think not. Must not Europe see that if they are successful
in destroying US, that their own time is not far off when they will be
swept from off this continent? Will not this coming Yankee Congress
force all the world either to cower before them, or check them by
upholding _us_? We think it must. This is a streak of dawn that we
imagine we see. Perhaps we are only nodding--and only dream. Still we
fancy the thing. Let us stand to our arms, and watch for the morning."

The morning dawns at length.


_From the Charleston Mercury, February 11, 1865._

(The last edition published in the city.)

TO OUR READERS.

"The progress of military events, which has occasioned so much public
and private inconvenience and suffering, has not spared the newspaper
interest. The interruption of railroad communication between
Charleston and the interior, produces a state of affairs which compels
us, _temporarily_, to transfer the publication office of the _Mercury_
elsewhere; and to-day's paper will be our last issue, for the present,
in the city of Charleston." (The editor then moved his establishment
to Cheraw, S.C., directly in the line of General Sherman's advance.)










End of Project Gutenberg's The Flag Replaced on Sumter, by William A. Spicer