* * * * *

LIFE ON THE SEA ISLANDS.

[To THE EDITOR OF THE "ATLANTIC MONTHLY."--The following graceful
and picturesque description of the new condition of things on the
Sea Islands of South Carolina, originally written for private
perusal, seems to me worthy of a place in the "Atlantic." Its
young author--herself akin to the long-suffering race whose Exodus
she so pleasantly describes--is still engaged in her labor of love
on St. Helena Island.--J.G.W.]


PART I.

It was on the afternoon of a warm, murky day late in October that our
steamer, the United States, touched the landing at Hilton Head. A motley
assemblage had collected on the wharf,--officers, soldiers, and
"contrabands" of every size and hue: black was, however, the prevailing
color. The first view of Hilton Head is desolate enough,--a long, low,
sandy point, stretching out into the sea, with no visible dwellings upon
it, except the rows of small white-roofed houses which have lately been
built for the freed people.

After signing a paper wherein we declared ourselves loyal to the
Government, and wherein, also, were set forth fearful penalties, should
we ever be found guilty of treason, we were allowed to land, and
immediately took General Saxton's boat, the Flora, for Beaufort. The
General was on board, and we were presented to him. He is handsome,