Letters from the South/Letter 2
Letters from the South
NO. II.
CHARLESTON.
[FROM A REGULAR CORRESPONDENT.]
We ran into Charleston harbor early in the morning.
As I opened my eyes the first object I saw
through the window of my stateroom was a reddish,
shapeless mass of brick and rubbish, right in the
middle of the bay, over which floated the flag of the
United States. I had seen many pictures of it before
leaving the North, and recognized at once Fort Sumter.
The old fort has undergone a most singular
transformation. It was a masonry work, and has
been battered by the bombardment into an earth
work. The morning was rainy and boisterous, and I
perceived no sign of life in the great ruin except a
single sentinel pacing the rampart. Its outward
appearance has been so frequently and elaborately
described in the papers that it would be difficult to
say any thing new. Fort Sumter is no longer a mere
fortification commanding a channel and protecting a
harbor. It stands there as a great national monument;
it speaks of the overwhelming exultation of
the people of the South, who thought when the first
shot was fired upon the American flag, it required
merely a bold attempt to overthrow the great republic
of the modern age, and to bully the moral sense of
mankind into acquiescence; it tells the sad and
instructive story of that old deluded Virginian,
Mr. Ruffin, whose highest boast it was to have fired
the first cannon on Sumter, and who, with his last
shot, blew his own brains out; it tells of the
inexhaustible energy and perseverence of the loyal people
of the United States, for whom no danger was too
great, no sacrifice too costly in that grand war for
the unity of the republic and the leading ideas of the
nineteenth century. The Southern people, even the
proud “cavaliers” of South Carolina, are beginning
to understand the lesson; let us hope that they will
soon understand all its bearings.
As we passed Fort Sumter the city of Charleston lay open to our view; on the left a row of elegant dwelling houses with pretentious colonnades; on the right were houses and buildings as are usually found in the neighborhood of wharves. There was no shipping in the harbor except a few armed vessels and two or three small steamers. We fastened to a decaying pier constructed of palmetto logs. There was not a human being visible on the wharf. The warehouses appeared completely deserted; no wall nor roof that did not bear the eloquent marks of the bombardment. I was informed that when our troops first took possession of the city, the wharves were overgrown with a luxuriant weed, giving them the appearance of a vast swamp; they have been cleared since, but in many places the weed insists upon springing up again with irrepressible vigor. Nothing can be more melancholy and desolate than the appearance of the lower part of the city immediately adjoining the wharves. The grass seed intended by the seceders for the streets of New York has brought forth a bountiful yield in the streets of Charleston. The military authorities have caused the streets to be well policed, but in the immediate vicinity of the harbor it seems impossible to keep the grass down. The first object that struck me while riding up to the hotel was an old dilapidated U. S. cavalry horse. The poor animal had perhaps passed through many a gallant fight, but now it bore the mark I. C., inspected and condemned, and was eking out its melancholy existence by quietly grazing on a street in the proud city of Charleston. A few cows were hugely enjoying themselves on a vacant lot near by, surrounded by buildings gashed and shattered by shell and solid shot, the crests of the roofs and chimneys covered with flocks of turkey buzzards that were sitting there evidently feeling at home, flapping their hideous wings.
Proceeding higher up into the city, we passed through a part of the burned district, a vast graveyard with broken walls and lofty chimneys for monuments, overtopped by the majestic and picturesque ruins of the cathedral. At last we arrive at the Charleston Hotel, a large building, ornamented with a lofty colonnade in front. The name of the new landlord suggest that even the hotel business has not escaped the sweep of the revolution. From that portico the first speeches were delivered immediately after the passage of the secession ordinance, before a jubilant multitude, defiance was hurled in the face of the government, and the success of the rebellion proclaimed a foregone conclusion. The Charleston Hotel had been the resort of the wealthy; its spacious halls had been enlivened by the cream of South Carolina society. The establishment is now presided over by one of the Stetsons of New York, — a name familiar to all who know the Astor House. As you sit down in the dining hall you perceive several spots on the ceiling and walls recently plastered over; those were the places where General Gillmore's missionaries passed in. Their appearance is said to have produced an immediate effect upon the inmates of the hotel.
Business is slowly reviving. A great many buildings in the principal business streets of the city have been repaired so as to be fit for use, and a number of stores have been opened by Northern men. But it will require a long time to restore the former prosperity of this place unless Northern capital and Northern enterprises step in. The Yankee has to invade this country again, a peaceable invader, to clear away the rubbish and to reopen the avenues of wealth. It is true, the idea that Charleston might become a “Yankee city” is revolting to many of the old South Carolina stock, and I am informed, some of them scorn the idea of selling their real estate to Northern men. As they have certainly not given up some of their old prejudices, so they are not healed of some of their ridiculous old delusions. A gentleman of high standing in this State, in the course of a long conversation, assured me that he was one of those who recognized the exigencies of their situation and were willing to accommodate themselves to them. He saw clearly that aid from abroad was wanted to restore the fallen fortunes of the people in a financial point of view. But, he added, South Carolina, meaning the South Carolinians who want money, could not afford to appeal to the North for financial aid without humiliating herself. He did not even know whether financial aid, if offered by the North, could consistently be accepted by South Carolina. He rather thought not, nor did he believe that a true South Carolinian would like to sell any of his property to Northern parties. State pride forbade it. But South Carolina would go to Europe, raise money there upon the security afforded by her real estate, and thus work out her own destinies. The person who uttered these sentiments was one of the leading men of the State, and his observations came out with so much gravity and assurance as to convince me that he believed in what he said.
It is evident that as long as the people of the South cling to such ideas, they cannot work out the regeneration of their society which is imperatively demanded. But I have already seen enough to warrant me in the conclusion that a majority of the Southern people will permit themselves to be governed by that practical instinct which becomes very potent when the question of social reform is wrapt up in the question of bread and butter. One of our military officials told me that families who possessed plate and jewelry of the value of several thousand dollars had been drawing government rations. I have reasons to believe that this report is strictly true. Now, if their pride did not permit them to sell some of their plate and jewelry, it actually did permit them to accept of the charity of the government. The time will come when the government of the United States will no longer furnish rations, and family pride will have to find some other way to accommodate itself to circumstances. I have no doubt there will be large quantities of real estate sold to Northern men, and the South Carolina gentleman will find it profitable if not gratifying to welcome the gentleman from Massachusetts or Vermont as his neighbor.
Already are the emigration schemes, so much talked of by the first families immediately after the fall of the rebellion, indefinitely postponed or finally given up. Wade Hampton, I understand, will not lead his followers, nor will he go himself, to Brazil; nor will his followers go without him. There are many whose absence would not have been deplored as a calamity, who are now resolved to take revenge on us by staying at home. There are some whom the sudden downfall of the rebellion seems to have bereft of all hope and vitality, and who look into the future with a sort of stolid indifference. But a large majority of the thinking men are actively calculating how to make the best of things as they are, without any experience as to the working of the free-labor machinery, and still subject to the influence of old prejudices, they are certainly apt to fall into dangerous errors and to indulge in dangerous experiments; but if the national government, by a policy founded upon the principle of equal justice, starts and guides them in the right direction, they will soon succeed in understanding and following their true interests.
It is by no means surprising that the tremendous changes, which struck them with the sudden and irresistible force of a thunderbolt, should have had a stunning effect upon many of the natives. As you walk the streets of Charleston you will find negro sentinels in front of every building used by the government for public purposes. At night colored patrols are apt to ask you to oblige them by giving the countersign or showing your pass. Go to the Normal School building, a structure of very moderate pretensions considering that it was one of the principal educational institutions of the State, and you will find it occupied by that class of children whom it was formerly considered a penal offence in South Carolina to educate. When I visited it the teachers gave us an exhibition of the skill and acquirements of their pupils, and it turned out that the colored schoolboys and school girls, some of whom had very rosy cheeks, blue eyes and flaxen hair, are just as “white” school boys and school girls are. When the recitations were over, we were treated to a musical entertainment; the “Star Spangled Banner” and several airs were creditably performed, the whole performance winding up with “John Brown,” which was sung with a will.
Not far from the Normal School building, in St. Phillips Churchyard, is Calhoun's grave, marked by a large, heavy marble slab, resting upon a brick substructure, with the single word “Calhoun” in bold characters written upon it. If Calhoun could wake up a moment he might hear the shrill voices of the negro children, not far off, sing: “John Brown's soul is marching on, Glory Hallelujah!” As you wander on and observe the remarkable sights of the city, you find the “Citadel,” the military school of the State, a large castle-like building, in which the chivalric youth of South Carolina was educated for the task of perpetuating slavery by force of arms. It is now occupied by the 54th Massachusetts Colored Regiment, whose gallant leader, Colonel Shaw, died a glorious death on the parapet of Fort Wagner, and was buried together with his heroic companions in some ditch on the island. They thought to disgrace his memory by paying him this high tribute. His body has not yet been found, but his regiment is quartered in the “Citadel” of Charleston. This is a world of compensations.