wet weather, the places where they were obliged to lie. Here and there also, they had scooped out large excavations, into which they might crawl and keep warm, when the winds were chill and the storm severe. All over this field, many a noble fellow suffered in his wounds, and from disease and starvation. Some of them, as they died, were denied sepulture by the rebels, and were buried on the spot, by their comrades, who dug their graves as best they could. Others, three hundred in number, were borne a little distance to a rising ground, and were laid side by side in the earth, in several parallel rows, with no stone or mark to tell their names to the visitor. Hither, to the race-course, the fashionable people of the city, were wont to take their afternoon drives; and, at a little distance from our men, would sit smoking their cigars and drinking their juleps, while surveying through their eye-glasses, with the utmost complacency, if not with the keenest delight, the horrible sufferings .of the defenders of the Union. It was nightfall when I was there. The proud Carolinian, the cruel guard, the multitude of heroes, all were gone. Yet there were the innumerable trenches and excavations, which the hands of our braves had made, there the cold bed of earth, where they had lain, and where so many of them had sickened and died at last-and there, at a little distance, were the unknown graves of the martyrs, to the sacred cause of Union and Liberty. The wind sighed mournfully through the pine trees, that surrounded the little cemetery, which our own troops had recently enclosed by a neat fence, and I came away, feeling that it was one of the saddest scenes I had ever witnessed; and feeling too, how just had been the judgments of God, which had rained down destruction upon that rebellious and cruel city." The Upon returning to the "Oceanus," at 5 o'clock P. M., we learned that the pilot had declared his unwillingness to take the steamer over the bar by twilight, and the time of our departure had been again postponed until the next high tide, at 8 o'clock Sunday morning. majority of the party, very weary by the day's explorations, were glad to spend the evening quietly on board. A few, however, paid a visit to the house of Col. Beecher, to witness a very unique and impressive presentation to his brother, Henry Ward Beecher. One of the witnesses, the Editor of the "The Union," gives the subjoined account. "It was made by a band of ten colored women of Charleston, who had, at an early period, formed an association for the purpose of aiding our sick and wounded prisoners, in the hands of the Rebels. "The difficulties which they had overcome were very great, and the fidelity and courage they had shown, such as every honest man must pay a tribute of respect to. Three of them had been publicly whipped with seventy lashes, for the work they were engaged in, and all of them, compelled to work all day for their own support, had courted this outrage by devoting half of the night to their holy labor. I did not arrive in time to hear their remarks; those of Mr. Beecher in reply, were simple and touching. He promised them the appreciation of the North, and told them that there was a movement there to place the black equal before the laws, with the white, so that they might, free from hindrance, become what they could and would. No scene in Charleston touched me more than this." The evening on board was spent in general conversation, comparison of relics, and musical entertainment, and at an earlier hour than usual, the cabins were deserted and silent. CHAPTER VII. THE morning of Sabbath, April 16th, dawned without a cloud. The air was balmy and incense-laden. The dews of the night had allayed the feverish sultriness of the day before. It was a matter of some regret to many that our departure should have been delayed until Sunday, but we were in the hands of the pilot, whose decision to that effect was final. We must go when he was ready to take us safely over the bar. Three or four of our passengers were to remain for a few days in the city, among whom were Mayor Wood, of Brooklyn, and Rev. J. L. Corning, whom we regretted to leave behind. The crowd assembled upon the wharves to witness our departure. About 9 o'clock we bade adieu to our friends on shore, many of whom were the gentlemanly officers whose attentions had made our stay in the city so delightful; glanced once more at the shot-scarred houses along the Battery, and the curious crowd that lined the docks, and while the band sweetly played the farewell and yet inviting melody, "Home, Sweet Home!" we moved slowly out into the waters of the harbor. Again, we waved salutations to the monitors and vessels of war; again were we abreast of Fort Sumter, which in that Sabbath sunlight seemed more than ever consecrated to Freedom. We could not pass it by, perhaps, never to lock upon its storied walls again, without the voice of sacred song. We uncovered our heads as we stood upon the hurricane and quarter decks. What should meet the demand of our emotion save the Old Doxology again! With tearful eyes and tremulous voices, we sang once more "Praise God from whom all blessings flow!" The sentinels within the fort gave answer to the strain by dipping the colors and waving their bayonets, which flashed in the sun. Then again we sang the appropriate and touching words "Out on an ocean all boundless we ride, We're homeward bound, homeward bound! Who shall smile at the mention of tears of joy? Strong, brave-hearted, noble men shed them then and there! Reluctantly we turned away from the grand old ruin now sinking in the distance. Our eyes had seen the "glory of the nation" ascend to supremacy above its crumbled walls. Our ears had heard the music of its waving folds; our hearts had drunk deeply of the inspiration of that hour. That was a day to be marked "with a white stone" in the calendar of every son and daughter of Columbia. Other scenes might be effaced from memory's tablet, but that, never. And as we "thought thereon, we wept," tears of patriotic |