Little colored children of every hue were playing about the streets,
looking as merry and happy as children ought to look,--now that the evil
shadow of Slavery no longer hangs over them. Some of the officers we met
did not impress us favorably. They talked flippantly, and sneeringly of
the negroes, whom they found we had come down to teach, using an epithet
more offensive than gentlemanly. They assured us that there was great
danger of Rebel attacks, that the yellow fever prevailed to an alarming
extent, and that, indeed, the manufacture of coffins was the only
business that was at all flourishing at present. Although by no means
daunted by these alarming stories, we were glad when the announcement of
our boat relieved us from their edifying conversation.

We rowed across to Ladies Island, which adjoins St. Helena, through the
splendors of a grand Southern sunset. The gorgeous clouds of crimson and
gold were reflected as in a mirror in the smooth, clear waters below. As
we glided along, the rich tones of the negro boatmen broke upon the
evening stillness,--sweet, strange, and solemn:--

"Jesus make de blind to see,
Jesus make de cripple walk,
Jesus make de deaf to hear.
Walk in, kind Jesus!
No man can hender me."

It was nearly dark when we reached the island, and then we had a
three-miles' drive through the lonely roads to the house of the
superintendent. We thought how easy it would be for a band of
guerrillas, had they chanced that way, to seize and hang us; but we were
in that excited, jubilant state of mind which makes fear impossible, and
sang "John Brown" with a will, as we drove through the pines and