University of Virginia Library

CHAPTER XIII.

Early next morning, soon after dawn, I crossed the Cape
Fear River, on which Wilmington is situated, by a steam
ferry-boat. On the quay lay quantities of shot and shell.
"How came these here?" I inquired. "They're anti-abolition
pills," said my neighbor; "they've been waiting here for
two months back, but now that Sumter's taken, I guess they
won't be wanted." To my mind, the conclusion was by no
means legitimate. From the small glance I had of Wilmington,
with its fleet of schooners and brigs crowding the
broad and rapid river, I should think it was a thriving place.
Confederate flags waved over the public buildings, and I was
informed that the forts had been seized without opposition or
difficulty. I can see no sign here of the "affection to the
Union," which, according to Mr. Seward, underlies all "secession
proclivities."

As we traversed the flat and uninteresting country, through
which the rail passes, Confederate flags and sentiments greeted
us everywhere; men and women repeated the national cry;
at every station militia-men and volunteers were waiting for
the train, and the everlasting word "Sumter" ran through
all the conversation in the cars.

The Carolinians are capable of turning out a fair force of
cavalry. At each stopping-place I observed saddle-horses
tethered under the trees, and light driving vehicles, drawn
by wiry muscular animals, not remarkable for size, but strong-looking
and active. Some farmers in blue jackets, and yellow
braid and facings, handed round their swords to be admired
by the company. A few blades had flashed in obscure Mexican
skirmishes—one, however, had been borne against "the

Britishers." I inquired of a fine, tall, fair-haired young fellow
whom they expected to fight. "That's more than I can
tell," quoth he. "The Yankees ain't such cussed fools as to
think they can come here and whip us, let alone the British."
"Why, what have the British got to do with it?" "They
are bound to take our part: if they don't, we'll just give them
a hint about cotton, and that will set matters right." This
was said very much with the air of a man who knows what
he is talking about, and who was quite satisfied "he had you
there." I found it was still displeasing to most people, particularly
one or two of the fair sex, that more Yankees were
not killed at Sumter. All the people who addressed me
prefixed my name, which they soon found out, by "Major"
or "Colonel"—"Captain" is very low, almost indicative of
contempt. The conductor who took our tickets was called
"Captain."

At the Pedee River the rail is carried over marsh and
Stream on trestle work for two miles. "This is the kind of
country we'll catch the Yankees in, if they come to invade us.
They'll have some pretty tall swimming, and get knocked on
the head, if ever they gets to land. I wish there was ten
thousand of the cusses in it this minute." At Nichol's station
on the frontiers of South Carolina, our baggage was regularly
examined at the Custom House, but I did not see any one
pay duties. As the train approached the level and marshy
land near Charleston, the square block of Fort Sumter was
seen rising above the water with the "stars and bars" flying
over it, and the spectacle created great enthusiasm among the
passengers. The smoke was still rising from an angle of the
walls. Outside the village-like suburbs of the city a regiment
was marching for old Virginny amid the cheers of the people
—cavalry were picketed in the fields and gardens—tents
and men were visible in the by-ways.

It was nearly dark when we reached the station. I was
recommended to go to the Mills House, and on arriving there
found Mr. Ward, whom I had already met in New York and
Washington, and who gave me an account of the bombardment
and surrender of the fort. The hotel was full of notabilities.
I was introduced to ex-Governor Manning, Senator
Chestnut, Hon. Porcher Miles, on the staff of General Beauregard,
and to Colonel Lucas, aide-de-camp to Governor
Pickens. I was taken after dinner and introduced to General
Beauregard, who was engaged, late as it was, in his room

at the Head-Quarters writing despatches. The General is a
small, compact man, about thirty-six years of age, with a
quick, and intelligent eye and action, and a good deal of the
Frenchman in his manner and look. He received me in the
most cordial manner, and introduced me to his engineer officer,
Major Whiting, whom he assigned to lead me over the works
next day.

After some general conversation I took my leave; but before
I went, the General said, "You shall go everywhere and
see everything; we rely on your discretion, and knowledge
of what is fair in dealing with what you see. Of course you
don't expect to find regular soldiers in our camps or very scientific
works." I answered the General, that he might rely
on my making no improper use of what I saw in this country,
but, "unless you tell me to the contrary, I shall write an account
of all I see to the other side of the water, and if, when
it comes back, there are things you would rather not have
known, you must not blame me." He smiled, and said, "I
dare say we'll have great changes by that time."

That night I sat in the Charleston Club with John Manning.
Who that has ever met him can be indifferent to the charms
of manner and of personal appearance, which render the ex-Governor
of the State so attractive? There were others
present, senators or congressmen, like Mr. Chestnut and Mr.
Porcher Miles. We talked long, and at last angrily, as
might be between friends, of political affairs.

I own it was a little irritating to me to hear men indulge in
extravagant broad menace and rodomontade, such as came
from their lips. "They would welcome the world in arms
with hospitable hands to bloody graves." "They never could
be conquered." "Creation could not do it," and so on. I was
obliged to handle the question quietly at first—to ask them
"if they admitted the French were a brave and warlike
people!" "Yes, certainly." "Do you think you could better
defend yourselves against invasion than the people of
France?" "Well, no; but we'd make it pretty hard business
for the Yankees." "Suppose the Yankees, as you call
them, come with such preponderance of men and matériel,
that they are three to your one, will you not be forced to submit?"
"Never." "Then either you are braver, better disciplined,
more warlike than the people and soldiers of France,
or you alone, of all the nations in the world, possess the means
of resisting physical laws which prevail in war, as in other

affairs of life." "No. The Yankees are cowardly rascals.
We have proved it by kicking and cuffing them till we are
tired of it; besides, we know John Bull very well. He will
make a great fuss about non-interference at first, but when he
begins to want cotton he'll come off his perch." I found this
was the fixed idea everywhere. The doctrine of "cotton is
king,"—to us who have not much considered the question a
grievous delusion or an unmeaning babble—to them is a
lively all-powerful faith without distracting heresies or schisms.
They have in it enunciated their full belief, and indeed there
is some truth in it, in so far as we year after year by the stimulants
of coal, capital, and machinery have been working up
a manufacture on which four or five millions of our population
depend for bread and life, which cannot be carried on without
the assistance of a nation, that may at any time refuse us an
adequate supply, or be cut off from giving it by war.

Political economy, we are well aware, is a fine science, but
its followers are capable of tremendous absurdities in practice.
The dependence of such a large proportion of the English people
on this sole article of American cotton is fraught with the
utmost danger to our honor and to our prosperity. Here were
these Southern gentlemen exulting in their power to control the
policy of Great Britain, and it was small consolation to me to
assure them they were mistaken; in case we did not act as
they anticipated, it could not be denied Great Britain would
plunge an immense proportion of her people—a nation of
manufacturers—into pauperism, which must leave them dependent
on the national funds, or more properly on the property
and accumulated capital of the district.

About 8.30, p. m., a deep bell began to toll. "What is
that?" "It's for all the colored people to clear out of the
streets and go home. The guards will arrest any who are
found out without passes in half an hour." There was much
noise in the streets, drums beating, men cheering, and marching,
and the hotel is crammed full with soldiers.

April 17th.—The streets of Charleston present some such
aspect as those of Paris in the last revolution. Crowds of
armed men singing and promenading the streets. The battle-blood
running through their veins—that hot oxygen which is
called "the flush of victory" on the cheek; restaurants full,
revelling in bar-rooms, club-rooms crowded, orgies and carousings
in tavern or private house, in tap-room, from cabaret
—down narrow alleys, in the broad highway. Sumter has

set them distraught; never was such a victory; never such
brave lads; never such a fight. There are pamphlets already
full of the incident. It is a bloodless Waterloo or Solferino.

After breakfast I went down to the quay, with a party of
the General's staff, to visit Fort Sumter. The senators and
governors turned soldiers wore blue military caps, with "palmetto"
trees embroidered thereon; blue frock-coats, with upright
collars, and shoulder-straps edged with lace, and marked
with two silver bars, to designate their rank of captain; gilt
buttons, with the palmetto in relief; blue trousers, with a
gold-lace cord, and brass spurs—no straps. The day was
sweltering, but a strong breeze blew in the harbor, and puffed
the dust of Charleston, coating our clothes, and filling our eyes
with powder. The streets were crowded with lanky lads,
clanking spurs, and sabres, with awkward squads marching to
and fro, with drummers beating calls, and ruffles, and points
of war; around them groups of grinning negroes delighted
with the glare and glitter, a holiday, and a new idea for them
—Secession flags waving out of all the windows—little Irish
boys shouting out, "Battle of Fort Sumter! New edishun!"
—As we walked down towards the quay, where the steamer
was lying, numerous traces of the unsettled state of men's
minds broke out in the hurried conversations of the various
friends who stopped to speak for a few moments. "Well,
governor, the old Union is gone at last!" "Have you heard
what Abe is going to do?" "I don't think Beauregard will
have much more fighting for it. What do you think?" And
so on. Our little Creole friend, by the by, is popular beyond
description. There are all kinds of doggerel rhymes in his
honor—one with a refrain—

is much in favor.

We passed through the market, where the stalls are kept
by fat negresses and old "unkeys." There is a sort of vulture
or buzzard here, much encouraged as scavengers, and—
but all the world has heard of the Charleston vultures—so
we will leave them to their garbage. Near the quay, where
the steamer was lying, there is a very fine building in white
marble, which attracted our notice. It was unfinished, and
immense blocks of the glistening stone destined for its completion,

lay on the ground. "What is that?" I inquired.
"Why, it's a custom-house Uncle Sam was building for our
benefit, but I don't think he'll ever raise a cent for his treasury
out of it." "Will you complete it?" "I should think
not. We'll lay on few duties; and what we want is free trade,
and no duties at all, except for public purposes. The
Yankees nave plundered us with their custom-houses and duties
long enough." An old gentleman here stopped us. "You
will do me the greatest favor," he said to one of our party who
knew him, "if you will get me something to do for our glorious
cause. Old as I am, I can carry a musket—not far, to
be sure, but I can kill a Yankee if he comes near." When
he had gone, my friend told me the speaker was a man of fortune,
two of whose sons were in camp at Morris' Island, but
that he was suspected of Union sentiments, as he had a Northern
wife, and hence his extreme vehemence and devotion.