The gloomy mantle of darkness was settling over the harbor as the paper canoe stole quietly into its historic waters.Before me lay the quiet bay, with old Fort Sumter rising from the watery plain like a spectral giant, as though to remind one that this had been the scene of mighty struggles.The tranquil waters softly rippled a response to the touch of my oars; all was peace and quiet here, where, only a few short years before, the thunder of cannon woke a thousand echoes, and the waves were stained with the lifeblood of America, -- where war, with her iron throat, poured out destruction, and God's creatures, men, made after his own image, destroyed each other ruthlessly, having never, in all that civilization had done for them, discovered any other way of settling their difficulties than by this wholesale murder.
The actors In this scene were scattered now;they had returned to the farm, the workshop, the desk, and the pulpit.The old flag again floated upon the ramparts of Sumter, and a government was trying to reconstruct itself, so that the Great Republic should become more thoroughly a government of the people, founded upon equal rights to all men.
A sharp, scraping sound under my boat roused me from my revery, for I had leaned upon my oars while the tide had carried me slowly but surely upon the oyster-reefs, from which Iescaped with some slight damage to my paper shell.Newspaper reading had impressed upon me a belief that the citizens of the city which played so important a part in the late civil war might not treat kindly a Massachusetts man.Itherefore decided to go up to the city upon the ferry-boat for the large mail which awaited my arrival at the Charleston post-office, after receiving which I intended to return to Mount Pleasant, and cross the bay to the entrance of the southern watercourses, leaving the city as quietly as I entered it.
My curiosity was, however, aroused to see how, under the new reconstruction rule, things were conducted in the once proud city of Charleston.As I stood at the window of the post-office delivery, and inquired through the narrow window for my letters, a heavy shadow seemed to fall upon me as the head of a negro appeared.The black post-office official's features underwent a sudden change as Ipronounced my name, and, while a warm glow of affection lighted up his dark face, he thrust his whole arm through the window, and grasped my hand with a vigorous shake in the most friendly manner, as though upon his shoulders rested the good name of the people.
"Welcome to Charleston, Mr.B____, welcome to our beautiful city," he exclaimed.So this was Charleston under reconstruction.
After handing me my mail, the postmaster graciously remarked, "Our rule is to close the office at five o'clock P.M., but if you are belated any day, tap at the door, and I will attend you."This was my first welcome to Charleston; but before I could return to my quarters at Mount Pleasant, members of the Chamber of Commerce, the Carolina Club, and others, pressed upon me kind attentions and hospitalities, while Mr.James L.Frazer, of the South Carolina Regatta Association, sent for the Maria Theresa, and placed it in charge of the wharfinger of the Southern Wharf, where many ladies and gentlemen visited it.
When I left the old city, a few days later, Iblushed to think how I had doubted these people, whose reputation for hospitality to strangers had been world-wide for more than half a century.
While here I was the guest of Rev.G.R.
Brackett, the well-loved pastor of one of Charleston's churches.It was with feelings of regret I turned my tiny craft towards untried waters, leaving behind me the beautiful city of Charleston, and the friends who had so kindly cared for the lonely canoeist.
