It is as though we woke up in a barrack. No! There is the
distinction, that in the passages slaves are moving up and down with cups of
iced milk or water for their mistresses in the early morning, cleanly dressed,
neatly clad, with the conceptions of Parisian millinery adumbrated to their
condition, and transmitted by the white race, hovering round their heads and
bodies. They sit outside the doors, and chatter in the passages; and as the
Irish waiter brings in my hot water for shaving, there is that odd, round,
oily, half-strangled, chuckling, gobble of a laugh peculiar to the female
Ethiop, coming in through the doorway.
Later in the day, their mistresses sail out from the inner
harbors, and launch all their sails along the passages, down the stairs, and
into the long, hot, fluffy salle-Ã -manger,
where, blackened with flies which dispute the viands, they take their
tremendous meals. They are pale, pretty, svelte — just as I was about to
say they were rather small, there rises before me the recollection of one
Titanic dame —a Carolinian Juno, with two lovely peacock daughters — and I refrain
from generalizing. Exceedingly proud these ladies are said to be — for a
generation or two of family suffice in this new country, it properly supported
by the possession of negroes and acres, to give pride of birth, and all the
grandeur which is derived from raising raw produce, cereals, and cotton — suû terrâ. Their enemies say
that the grandfathers of some of these noble people were mere pirates and
smugglers, who dealt in a cavalier fashion with the laws and with the flotsam
and jetsam of fortune on the seas and reefs hereabouts. Cotton suddenly — almost
unnaturally, as far as the ordinary laws of commerce are concerned, grew up
whilst land was cheap, and slaves were of moderate price — the pirates, and
piratesses had control of both, and in a night the gourd swelled and grew to a
prodigious size. These are Northern stories. What the Southerners say of their
countrymen and women in the upper part of this “blessed Union” I have written
for the edification of people at home.
The tables in the eating-room are disposed in long rows, or
detached so as to suit private parties. When I was coming down to Charleston,
one of my fellow-passengers told me he was quite shocked the first time he saw
white people acting as servants; but no such scruples existed in the Mills
House, for the waiters were all Irish, except one or two Germans. The carte is
much the same at all American hotels, the variations depending on local
luxuries or tastes. Marvellous exceedingly is it to see the quantities of
butter, treacle, and farinaceous matters prepared in the heaviest form — of
fish, of many meats, of eggs scrambled or scarred or otherwise prepared, of
iced milk and water, which an American will consume in a few minutes in the
mornings. There is, positively, no rest at these meals — no repose. The guests
are ever passing in and out of the room, chairs are forever pushed to and fro
with a harsh grating noise that sets the teeth on edge, and there is a
continual clatter of plates and metal. Every man is reading his paper, or
discussing the news with his neighbor. I was introduced to a vast number of
people and was asked many questions respecting my views of Sumter, or what I
thought “old Abe and Seward would do?” The proclamation calling out 75,000 men
issued by said old Abe, they treat with the most profound contempt or unsparing
ridicule, as the case may be. Five out of six of the men at table wore uniforms
this morning.
Having made the acquaintance of several warriors, as well as
that of a Russian gentleman, Baron Sternberg, who was engaged in looking about
him in Charleston, and was, like most foreigners, impressed with the conviction
that actum est de Republicâ,
I went out with Major Whiting* and Mr. Ward, the former of whom was anxious
to show me Fort Moultrie and the left side of the Channel, in continuation of
my trip yesterday. It was arranged that we should go off as quietly as
possible, “so as to prevent the newspapers knowing anything about it.” The
Major has a great dislike to the gentlemen of the press, and General Beauregard
had sent orders for the staff-boat to be prepared, so as to be quiet and
private, but the fates were against us. On going down to the quay, we learned
that a gentleman had come down with an officer and had gone off in our skiff,
the boat-keepers believing they were the persons for whom it was intended. In
fact, our Russian friend, Baron Sternberg, had stolen a march upon us.
After a time, the Major succeeded in securing the services
of the very smallest, most untrustworthy, and ridiculous-looking craft ever
seen by mortal eyes. If Charon had put a two horse power engine into his skiff,
it might have borne some resemblance to this egregious cymbalus, which had once
been a flat-bottomed, opened-decked cutter or galley, into the midst of which
the owner had forced a small engine and paddlewheels, and at the stern had
erected a roofed caboose, or oblong pantry, sacred to oil-cans and cockroaches.
The crew consisted of the first captain and the second captain, a lad of tender
years, and that was all. Into the pantry we scrambled, and sat down knee to
knee, whilst the engine was getting up its steam: a very obstinate and
anti-caloric little engine it was — puffing and squeaking, leaking, and
distilling drops of water, and driving out blasts of steam in unexpected
places.
As long as we lay at the quay all was right. The Major was
supremely happy, for he could talk about Thackeray and his writings — a theme
of which he never tired — nay, on which his enthusiasm reached the height of
devotional fervor. Did I ever know any one like Major Pendennis? Was it known
who Becky Sharp was? Who was the O'Mulligan? These questions were mere hooks on
which to hang rhapsodies and delighted dissertation. He might have got down as
far as Pendennis himself, when a lively swash of water flying over the preposterous
little gunwales, and dashing over our boots into the cabin, announced that our
bark was under way. There is, we were told, for several months in the year, a
brisk breeze from the southward and eastward in and off Charleston Harbor, and
there was to-day a small joggle in the water which would not have affected
anything floating except our steamer; but as we proceeded down the narrow
channel by Castle Pinckney, the little boat rolled as if she would capsize
every moment, and made no pretence at doing more than a mile an hour at her
best; and it became evident that our voyage would be neither pleasant,
prosperous, nor speedy. Still the Major went on between the lurches, and drew
his feet up out of the water, in order to have “a quiet chat,” as he said, “about
my favorite author.” My companion and myself could not condense ourselves or
foreshorten our nether limbs quite so deftly.
Standing out from the shelter towards Sumter, the sea came
rolling on our beam, making the miserable craft oscillate as if some great hand
had caught her by the funnel — Yankeeice, smokestack — and was rolling her
backwards and forwards, as a preliminary to a final keel over. The water came
in plentifully, and the cabin was flooded with a small sea: the latter partook
of the lively character of the external fluid, and made violent efforts to get
overboard to join it, which generally were counteracted by the better sustained
and directed attempts of the external to get inside. The captain seemed very unhappy;
the rest of the crew — our steerer — had discovered that the steamer would not
steer at all, and that we were rolling like a log on the water. Certainly
neither Pinckney, nor Sumter, nor Moultrie altered their relative bearings and
distances towards us for half an hour or so, though they bobbed up and down
continuously. “But it is,” said the Major, “in the character of Colonel Newcome
that Thackeray has, in my opinion, exhibited the greatest amount of power; the
tenderness, simplicity, love, manliness, and –––” Here a walloping muddy-green
wave came “all aboard,” and the cymbalus gave decided indications of turning
turtle. We were wet and miserable, and two hours or more had now passed in
making a couple of miles. The tide was setting more strongly against us, and
just off Moultrie, in the tideway between its walls and Sumter, could be seen
the heads of the sea-horses unpleasantly crested. I know not what of eloquent
disquisition I lost, for the Major was evidently in his finest moment and on
his best subject, but I ventured to suggest that we should bout ship and return
— and thus aroused him to a sense of his situation. And so we wore round — a
very delicate operation, which, by judicious management in getting side bumps
of the sea at favorable movements, we were enabled to effect in some fifteen or
twenty minutes; and then we became so parboiled by the heat from the engine, that
conversation was impossible.
How glad we were to land once more I need not say. As I gave
the captain a small votive tablet of metal, he said, “I'm thinkin’ it's very
well yes turned back. Av we'd gone any further, devil aback ever we'd have
come.” “Why didn't you say so before?” “Sure I didn't like to spoil the trip.”
My gifted countryman and I parted to meet no more.
* * * * * *
Second and third editions and extras! News of Secession
meetings and of Union meetings! Every one is filled with indignation against
the city of New York, on account of the way in which the news of the reduction
of Fort Sumter has been received there. New England has acted just as was
expected, but better things were anticipated on the part of the Empire City.
There is no sign of shrinking from a contest: on the contrary, the Carolinians
are full of eagerness to test their force in the field. “Let them come!” is
their boastful mot d'ordre.
The anger which is reported to exist in the North only adds
to the fury and animosity of the Carolinians. They are determined now to act on
their sovereign rights as a State, cost what it may, and uphold the ordinance
of secession. The answers of several State Governors to
President Lincoln's demand for troops, have delighted our friends. Beriah Magoffin, of Kentucky,
declares he won't give any men for such a wicked purpose; and another
gubernatorial dignitary laconically replied to the demand for so many thousand
soldiers, “Nary one.” Letcher, Governor of Virginia, has also sent a refusal.
From the North comes news of mass-meetings, of hauling down Secession colors,
mobbing Secession papers, of military bodies turning out, banks subscribing and
lending.
Jefferson Davis has met President Lincoln's proclamation by
a counter manifesto, issuing letters of marque and reprisal — on all sides
preparations for war. The Southern agents are buying steamers, but they fear
the Northern States will use their navy to enforce a blockade, which is much
dreaded, as it will cut off supplies and injure the commerce, on which they so
much depend. Assuredly Mr. Seward cannot know anything of the feeling of the
South, or he would not be so confident as he was that all would blow over, and
that the States, deprived of the care and fostering influences of the general
Government, would get tired of their Secession ordinances, and of their
experiment to maintain a national life, so that the United States will be reestablished
before long.
I went over and saw General Beauregard at his quarters. He
was busy with papers, orderlies, and despatches, and the outer room was crowded
with officers. His present task, he told me, was to put Sumter in a state of
defence, and to disarm the works bearing on it, so as to get their fire directed
on the harbor-approaches, as “the North in its madness” might attempt a naval
attack on Charleston. His manner of transacting business is clear and rapid.
Two vases filled with flowers on his table, flanking his maps and plans; and a
little hand bouquet of roses, geraniums, and scented flowers lay on a letter
which he was writing as I came-in, by way of paper weight. He offered me every
assistance and facility, relying, of course, on my strict observance of a
neutral's duty. I reminded him once more, that as the representative of an
English journal, it would be my duty to write freely to England respecting what
I saw; and that I must not be held accountable if on the return of my letters
to America, a month after they were written, it was found they contained
information to which circumstances might attach an objectionable character. The
General said, “I quite understand you. We must take our chance of that, and
leave you to exercise your discretion.”
In the evening I dined with our excellent Consul, Mr. Bunch,
who had a small and very agreeable party to meet me. One very venerable old
gentleman, named Huger (pronounced as Hugee), was particularly interesting in
appearance and conversation. He formerly held some official appointment under
the Federal Government, but had gone out with his State, and had been confirmed
in his appointment by the Confederate Government. Still he was not happy at the
prospect before him or his country. “I have lived too long,” he exclaimed; “I
should have died ere these evil days arrived.” What thoughts, indeed, must have
troubled his mind when he reflected that his country was but little older than
himself; for he was one who had shaken hands with the framers of the
Declaration of Independence. But though the tears rolled down his cheeks when
he spoke of the prospect of civil war, there was no symptom of apprehension for
the result, or indeed of any regret for the contest, which he regarded as the
natural consequence of the insults, injustice, and aggression of the North
against Southern rights.
Only one of the company, a most lively, quaint, witty old
lawyer named Petigru, dissented from the doctrines of Secession; but he seems
to be treated as an amiable, harmless person, who has a weakness of intellect
or a “bee in his bonnet” on this particular matter.
It was scarcely very agreeable to my host or myself to find
that no considerations were believed to be of consequence in reference to
England except her material interests, and that these worthy gentlemen regarded
her as a sort of appanage of their cotton kingdom. “Why, sir, we have only to
shut off your supply of cotton for a few weeks, and we can create a revolution
in Great Britain. There are four millions of your people depending on us for
their bread, not to speak of the many millions of dollars. No, sir, we know
that England must recognize us,” &c.
Liverpool and Manchester have obscured all Great Britain to
the Southern eye. I confess the tone of my friends irritated me. I said so to
Mr. Bunch, who laughed and remarked, “You'll not mind it when you get as much
accustomed to this sort of thing as I am.” I could not help saying, that if
Great Britain were such a sham as they supposed, the sooner a hole was drilled
in her, and the whole empire sunk under water, the better for the world, the cause
of truth, and of liberty.
These tall, thin, fine-faced Carolinians are great
materialists. Slavery perhaps has aggravated the tendency to look at all the
world through parapets of cotton bales and rice bags, and though more stately
and less vulgar, the worshippers here are not less prostrate before the “almighty
dollar” than the Northerners. Again cropping out of the dead level of hate to
the Yankee, grows its climax in the profession from nearly every one of the
guests, that he would prefer a return to British rule to any reunion with New
England. “The names in South Carolina show our origin — Charleston, and Ashley, and Cooper, &c.
Our Gadsden, Sumter and Pinckney were true cavaliers,” &c. They did not say
anything about Pedee, or Tombigbee, or Sullivan's Island, or the like. We all
have our little or big weaknesses.
I see no trace of cavalier descent in the names of Huger,
Rose, Manning, Chestnut, Pickens; but there is a profession of faith in the
cavaliers and their cause among them because it is fashionable in Carolina.
They affect the agricultural faith and the belief of a landed gentry. It is not
only over the wineglass — why call it cup? — that they ask for a Prince to
reign over them; I have heard the wish repeatedly expressed within the last two
days that we could spare them one of our young Princes, but never in jest or in
any frivolous manner.
On my way home again, I saw the sentries on their march, the
mounted patrols starting on their ride, and other evidences that though the
slaves are “the happiest and most contented race in the world,” they require to
be taken care of like less favored mortals. The city watch-house is filled
every night with slaves, who are confined there till reclaimed by their owners,
whenever they are found out after nine o'clock, P. M., without special passes
or permits. Guns are firing for the
Ordinance of Secession of Virginia.
_______________
* Now Confederate General.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 112-9
