Chapter II: Part 2

"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.

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!']

"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."

"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