MISS WARE, of Cambridge, came to Springfield to visit Mrs. Farrar. The story of her experiences with the colored people in the South was so interesting that my friend Emily Bliss and I became enthusiastic to follow her example.

We went to Boston, saw the chief of the Freedmen's Bureau, were examined, and enrolled as teachers.

We were ordered to leave at once for Hilton Head, and report to Mr. Dodge, the agent there. Our families ridiculed our going and tried to stop us, prophesying our return in less than a month. We made our preparations, which were not elaborate,—a chair, a plate, knife, fork and spoon; cup and saucer, blanket, sheets and pillow-cases, and sacking for a bed of hay or straw to be found wherever we should be situated, and we added some crackers, tea, and a teapot.

We sailed from New York on the steamer Fulton, May 1, 1865, and after a pleasant sail reached Hilton Head on the morning of the fourth day.

We landed after breakfast, and walked to the place where we took the oath of allegiance to the United States. We called upon Mr. Dodge, and found with him five or six teachers. We were not cordially received, and evidently were not wanted, and were advised to proceed to Charleston and report to Mr. Redpath, who was in charge of the Freedmen's Bureau there.

We met a Mr. Blake from New Haven, a pleasant young man, who offered to escort us to Charleston. He is employed by the Boston society to look after forlorn females who come as teachers.

At eight in the evening, we left Hilton Head on a small steamer loaded with soldiers on their way to Charleston, to be discharged from service. There was no place for us. We had to sit the long night through, on a bench with no back, surrounded by soldiers smoking, playing cards, and telling stories—the longest night I ever knew.

Arriving at Charleston early in the morning, we were taken to Mr. Redpath's office. He being absent, Mr. Pillsbury, of Massachusetts, came to meet us. He gave us a most cordial greeting.

Emily, weary, discouraged, and homesick, threw herself sobbing into his arms, saying, “Oh! sir, have you a wife?”

At once, he took in the situation, called an ambulance, and put us in charge of a sergeant with a note to his wife.

At one o'clock we left Charleston on the propeller Hudson, for Edisto Island. Sailing along the shore and up Edisto River, we reached the landing-place just at sunset.

It seemed like fairy land—everything so fresh and green—the air so soft.

We brought on the boat a hundred and fifty negroes, who, as soon as they landed, built fires to cook their supper; the live-oaks in the background, with their hanging moss, had a very picturesque effect.

We spent the night on the boat, the captain giving us his stateroom. We had a visit from a Mrs. Webb and one of the officers of the 32d Regulars, colored infantry, two companies of which are stationed here to protect the island from guerrillas. We were asked to breakfast at headquarters, about half a mile from the landing.

At seven we started for camp, which was on the plantation formerly owned by William Seabrook. They gave us a good breakfast; then the Colonel placed at our disposal a large army wagon, drawn by four horses, to take us with our trunks and boxes to find a place to live. The drive was delightful, the road shaded and cool, winding under immense live-oak trees covered with moss; the wild grape was in bloom, and the air filled with its perfume. We passed several houses crowded with negroes, and could not make up our minds to stop at any. We drove on some three or four miles further and, as it began to be very warm and uncomfortable, we decided to stop at the very next house, negroes or no negroes. Soon we reached what must have once been a pretty avenue, now rather forlorn. Driving in, we found negro cabins on either side, and a large house at the end.

The inhabitants of the cabins came flocking out to welcome us with howdys, and offers of service to the missis. The former owner of the plantation was Dr. Whaley, the possessor of a hundred slaves, many of whom were now returned and living in the cabins. He deserted the place four years before, and the house had a desolate appearance—the windows gone, and shutters hanging by one hinge. Our trunks, box, and chairs were placed on the piazza and the army wagon was driven away. We looked at each other; our hearts were full, and if we could have seen any honorable way to escape and go home we certainly should have gone.

However, we choked down our feelings, and the front door being opened by a black man and a woman, with half a dozen children hanging to her skirts, we entered our home to be. The rooms were large and airy (minus windows), but filled with sticks, plaster from the ceilings, and dirt of all kinds. We selected two rooms and asked if they could be cleared and cleaned. Uncle Jack and Aunt Phoebe, who lived in one of the cabins, came to our assistance, and having no brooms, mops, or any conveniences for cleaning, managed with the gray moss to wipe off the upper dust from the floors; then dashing on cold water, and with their feet shuffling the moss, contrived to wash the floors decently clean.

Meanwhile, the woman, Sarah, made the tea, which, with some crackers, we took out of our trunk;—and this, the first meal in our new home, we ate on the piazza. It was fortunate that we had chairs. The bedsteads were accidentally left behind in New York, but were to be sent on the next steamer. We spread our bed-sacks on the floor after it was dry, for we soon learned there was neither hay nor straw to be had to fill them, covered them with our waterproofs, and, as we had blankets and pillows, our beds were soon ready.

The first thing we did this morning was to get our flag hung out in front of the house. It is quite large and floated out finely. The negroes appeared glad to see it. We unpacked the big box, turning it on its side to serve for a table and washstand.

Jim and Sarah, with six children, are living in the back part of this house. We are glad to have them for protection, and find them useful.

Sarah is a fine-looking woman, quiet and sensible. She has always been a house-servant, was born and reared in Richmond, was sold with three children to Dr. Leavitt of Charleston, leaving the father of her children in Richmond. Since that, she has had six children, having had five husbands, or men with whom she was obliged to live, as she was sold from one master to another. Jim was the last one. At the beginning of the war, Sarah and her children were sent with her mistress to Sumterville.

When Sherman and his army came along, Sarah was told by her mistress that if she followed the army she must take all her children, not thinking she would go.

When the mistress found that Jim and Sarah were actually going, she asked one of the Union officers to make Sarah stay behind. He told her he had no power to do that; the woman was free and could act her own pleasure.

Sarah had a mind to stay on, as her mistress had always treated her kindly, but Jim insisted on joining Sherman's train. Just before they left, one Saturday Campbell, who had been one of Sarah's five husbands, and was the father of her child Anne, came and claimed Sarah. Jim fought and conquered him, thus winning Sarah and her children. They walked nearly a hundred miles, Sarah carrying Margery, a two-year-old child, in her arms. She kept the other children in front of her, for many lost their children.

After dinner of tea and crackers, which was our breakfast and supper also for nearly three weeks, we visited our neighbors. Their faces shone when we told them why we had come. They all seemed decent and sensible creatures.

We learn that there are ten thousand negroes here. The officers and the teachers are the only white people allowed on the island, except the commissary, who is four miles away.

The negroes go to him once a month for rations. Sherman's plan is to have the negroes take care of themselves; they have planted corn, beans, and cotton, and are to repay the Government when their crops are gathered. This seems to be understood by all.

We walked down the road to a church, which bore marks of destruction similar to those of our house. The frame of the organ remains, the windows are gone, doors off their hinges, and pews mutilated, but we decided that it would serve our purpose well as a school-house.

We have announced that we will open school Monday. Many of the older blacks ask if they are too old to learn to read. They cannot come to school during the day as it is planting time, so we have promised to have an evening school at the house twice a week.

We have engaged Sarah, for five or six dollars a month, to wash, iron, and do the little cooking we shall have.

Her second son, Zack, about fourteen, is to wait upon us. He was with Dr. Leavitt, at Fort Sumter, and one day a horse on which he was riding was killed by a Union shell.

Mr. Blake came to see if he could be of service. He, with the aid of Jim, took our big packing-box and made us a table to eat from, and a bench to sit upon at meal time, so that we need not bring our chairs down from the bedrooms. Chairs are a great luxury.

A beautiful day, though rather warm. We started for church, but to our surprise met the congregation coming away. There was to be a funeral at a distance, and the minister had to omit the church service. Later we saw the procession, a long one. They were singing a melancholy dirge as they walked. As they passed, they spoke to us, the men touching their hats, and the women curtsying.

Seating ourselves on the steps of a deserted house, we soon had a crowd about us. One girl amused us—a regular Topsy, who had come from Georgia with Sherman. She examined our clothes, got behind Emily, felt of her dress, and said, “Big plaits in skirts are just coming into style.” The fashion had reached the South, and all the ladies had been changing their skirts.

Then catching sight of the “waterfall” on my head, she was amazed, and said, “Rebel ladies don't know how to make them.”

The weather is much the same that we have in June, cool mornings and evenings, warm in the middle of the day.

Passing a tumbled-down house on our way to school, we heard hammers, and going in, found some men making a coffin out of the boards. During school, we saw them back of the church digging the grave, hoeing out the dirt with their large cotton hoes (their only implement).

We had twenty-eight scholars. Two of the new ones can read. This is pleasanter than teaching ABC. Two children, John and Eliza, came five miles to school. John was fourteen and a bright boy. He was nearly naked, and so filthy that I did not think I could have him near me, and advised him to go into the creek to bathe.

Every noon I take home with me a troop of children, to whom I give thread, needles, and pieces of cloth, that they may have their garments patched at home. We are trying to teach cleanliness as well as reading and spelling, but it is a tough job, for the poor creatures have lived so long in a filthy condition that they don't know what it is to be clean. Soon after we reached home, Eliza came running to tell us that her brother John had been drowned in the creek. He went in with several others, got beyond his depth and did not know how to swim. The tide, which was coming in, is very strong just at that point, and John was carried beyond the reach of those with him. It was a terrible shock to us, and I felt partly responsible.

Our dinner was excellent. We had hominy, brought by a man we met on the road one day, and one of our children caught some crabs, which Sarah boiled. We feel as if we had had a sumptuous feast—such a change from tea and crackers!

There is an open fireplace in Sarah's room, where she makes our tea in a small tin cup, which we brought from home, and boils hominy in—I don't know what,—nor do I ask. At night all the family (six children) stretch themselves on the floor in front of the fire, and so sleep. They have no bedding of any kind, neither chairs nor tables. They have a bowl, one plate, and one spoon. At meal-times they take turns in using these. They sit on the floor of the piazza; a portion is put into the bowl,—hominy or beans with a tiny bit of salt pork,— and they eat by turns. The children are well behaved. George, the eldest boy, is religious and dull; Zack, our waiter boy, is a high-flier; Charlotte, quiet and not well; Ann, a pert piece, bright-eyed and devoted to us. Ben is a nice, chubby little fellow, who will go to school and can't keep awake. Ann flies at him every few minutes, and shakes him up. Margery, two years old, is a pretty little creature.

To-day I found a singular insect on my neck. We have been warned we should meet with such enemies, but this is the first of this kind. Wood-ticks we have already had, mosquitoes and fleas are yet to come.

Mr. Blake made a blackboard for us, wasting several eggs and nearly all our ink before he succeeded.

Jim killed a snake, which he called a chicken snake, as they come where there are chickens. Our neighbors have many chickens so tame that they are in our house constantly. Last week a big rattlesnake was killed in our garden, and a huge black snake in our yard. We have seen only one, and that the children called a glass snake, for when struck it flew into many pieces all wriggling and alive. We see lizards everywhere.

Six new scholars. A woman came with a prayer-book, asking to be taught to read it. We told her we would teach her willingly, but it would be some time before she could read that. She was satisfied, and as she was leaving, put her hand under her apron and brought out two eggs—one she put in Emily's lap, the other in mine.

School went off very well—boys less noisy. A man came in and sat at the back of the church to listen to our teaching, and the boys thought we had engaged him to whip them if they misbehaved. We have found out that the boys are afraid of their fathers, who are “Great on licking,” so we shall threaten to report them if they are unruly.

The ivy round our house is beautiful; the lower part of the building is covered. We have got the men to trim up the trees in our avenue, and to hoe out the road. On either side of our door are clove trees, full of fruit, and in the yard we have found a Cape Jessamine in full flower and a white Crêpe Myrtle. We are trying to get more sun on the house.

No school, and we devote the day to house-cleaning. We feel so much better for having more food. Crackers and tea are not strength-giving. Dr. Mason came in the large army wagon, bringing us from Beaufort a stove, tea-kettle, and coffee-pot. We cannot have our stove put up, as Jim, our Prime Minister, is having toothache and cannot attend to matters. We already see a change in the appearance of our scholars. They are cleaner, and though wearing the same garments the rents are sewed up and patches are put on.

Lieutenant Jenkins, who with Mrs. Webb had invited us to spend the day in the camp, came for us in his carriage. The three-mile drive was beautiful. We did not half appreciate it the day we came. The six officers, who were smoking on the piazza, gave us a cordial greeting.

At the end of a shady walk back of the house are the fish and terrapin ponds. Around the fish pond is a broad carriage drive shaded by immense oak trees. A lovely grove of large trees beyond was approached by an avenue of tall laurels, planted so closely that they formed a thick hedge on either side, and met over our heads, shutting out completely the rays of the sun. At four o'clock we went out to see the dress parade of the colored soldiers.

Nearly the whole school escorted us home to-day.

We sat on the piazza, and dealt out needles, thread, combs, and dresses from Mrs. Pillsbury's store.

It was one o'clock when school closed. We have so many grades that we cannot put them in classes, and it takes longer. The big boys are unruly. Emily is a good singer, and when the school is too much for us, we start singing, and that calms them down.

Several children came and demanded clothing as a right. A girl brought back a dress, saying it was “scant.” She wanted a fuller skirt and a hoop-skirt.

School was getting pretty unruly when a big man appeared to ask for “learning.” The boys quieted down. I had threatened to get a man to help me whip the bad boys, and evidently they thought he had come for that purpose.

We paid Sarah her wages; the first money she ever earned or handled.

We found, growing in great quantities beside the road, the Passion flower, in full bloom.

Some men brought the dried moss for our beds. It is cured by soaking it five days in salt water, then drying it in the sun. It is jet black and very dry. We have paid Uncle Jack for it. Jim will pick it over, and fill our bed-sacks. We shall have soft beds to lie upon to-night.

No school. The morning being fine and the roar of the ocean plainly heard, we decided to drive to the bay. I cannot describe our conveyance. There were large spaces between the floor boards of the cart; both horses were skeletons, one large and the other small. The harness was of ropes and small cords, with twine for reins. The road was much overgrown, flowers of all kinds lined the way, and turkey buzzards were sitting in solemn conference. Within a quarter of a mile of Edingsville—as the bay is called—we reached a creek, which we crossed on a flat-bottomed raft and walked to the long row of houses on the beach. Once this was a famous summer resort, and some of the houses are very pretty. The beach is broad and hard, and the surf was grand. We went to several houses, looking for one that suited us for a summer home.

Meeting Mr. Everett and the two ladies, they invited us to share with them a pleasant house they had found. We will decide later.

After we had gone to bed we heard a clatter of horses' feet, and Dr. Mason and Captain Crissy appeared with our mail. Fatigue and headaches were forgotten; we sat up half the night reading our letters and talking of home.

The army wagon brought our long-delayed and much-needed bedsteads. With them and our moss beds we shall not want to get up at five every morning. We have lain on the bare floor nearly three weeks.

Our shutters and blinds have been mended, and we sent to Charleston for glass for the windows.

Uncle Jack's pig was stolen last night, the second within a few weeks. He says he is going to Charleston to consult a fortune-teller to find out the thief. We advise him to stay at home and to watch for the guilty person.

Walker has made us a chair and table, for which we paid a good price. Some coarse straw hats, suitable only for bathing, cost us a dollar and a half apiece.

In our walk this afternoon, we saw a man and woman who seemed well-informed. They hope to prove to the “Secesh” that colored folks can work and accomplish something without masters or overseers; for it has always been said that “Niggers wouldn't work unless compelled.” The woman's name is Lydia Polite. She gave us cucumbers and peanuts.

We asked another woman if she is contented. She answered, “God bless you, I reckon I am—I heard for a long time of war and the coming of the Yankees, and I spects my bones be white before I see that time, but I did live to see them, bress de Lord.” She said she had raised “Ten head of childen.” Three little ones were with her.

Mr. Everett brought us some school books, for which we are thankful.

We walked across the fields to the Baptist Church, where the colored minister has his school. He came to meet us—said his mother was upstairs sick with smallpox, so we only went through the lower floor, and out the back door into the pretty garden. In the evening the family sang for us, “Heaven's bell ringing—won't turn back heaven's bell ringing for believers.” Another was, “Sister, you come too late, the Devil been and shut the gate and carried off the keys”; then “Don't judge me, Lord, O Lord— don't be offended,” and “Thar's rejoicing ober yander”; “Let me go, Jacob will not let me go,” this repeated over and over, and “Oh, my Lord, help us.”

Mr. Everett is quite sick. We sent to the commissary for the Government doctor, who had gone to Beaufort. Then we sent to headquarters for Dr. Mason. He says Mr. Everett has typhoid symptoms.

At school there were seventy scholars, who behaved pretty well. A girl came just recovering from smallpox. She was indignant when we sent her away, but we pacified her by telling her she could come back in a few weeks. Going up to our bedroom we met on the stairs a rattlesnake. We screamed lustily, and Uncle Jack, Jim, George, and Zack appeared. I jumped over it, and it fell through the balusters to the hall, where the men killed it. We find in our room many holes where it could have come up in the walls from the cellar. To-morrow we shall paper our walls with newspapers.

No churchgoing—too warm, and the walk too long for Sundays, as we are obliged to take it every week-day. We seated ourselves on the piazza to write letters. Soon a crowd of children were around us, all wanting books, and before we knew it we were teaching school. George and Zack came with the others. George is patient and promising. We are surprised at the ease with which he acquires the sound of words. He teaches his father after leaving us.

Dr. Mason does not think Mr. Everett will be sick long. He needs rest and nourishing food.

The captain of the Hudson offered to get our rations in the city. We gave him our bags and trust they will be returned well filled. At bedtime we heard a boat whistle. We may have letters to-morrow.

The store-keeper brought two stools for our use in school; we found it so hard to stand all the time. At eleven, Mr. Blake brought our letters, papers and rations. Emily left for home. Four letters for me, and sixty scholars to attend to before I could open them! We forgot our dinner and spent the afternoon reading each other's letters and talking of home. The rations were ample; we made exchanges at the store.

School over for the week. Very, very hot weather. Emily has much headache from the long walk and exposure to the sun. School and waiting on Mr. Everett take so much time that I cannot write. He is better, but not able to leave his room. Mr. Blake, who came to see him, was surprised and delighted with our school; he said Miss K.'s and Miss S.'s school bore no comparison,—and they “certified” schoolma'ams! We are quite elated. Our books number a hundred and forty scholars, and from sixty to seventy are in daily attendance. Our evening school on the piazza is well attended, and we enjoy our labors. All are respectful and eager to learn. We notice that all the children and grown-ups also hold their books sidewise; when we asked why, a man answered “We wish to learn to read on all sides.”

Phoebe came to wash the floors, and Julia, the windows. I gave the latter a pink calico apron, and Phoebe some flour and coffee, which satisfied her. She said she would give herself to us every Saturday. To Uncle Jack, who cleaned up the yard, I gave a hat. He was tickled, never having owned a covering for his head before. We had a good dinner,—some ham, salad of lettuce, which Henry's grandmother sent us, and some biscuits without butter. Dr. Mason took supper with us. He was much amused with our rooms neatly papered with Springfield and New York papers.

Hottest morning we have had—not a breath of air. Dr. Mason advises us to leave the island as soon as possible —not safe for us to stay much longer. A woman who brought some cucumbers said she would make any sacrifice to serve us, who were doing so much to teach her children, who knew nothing but how to handle a hoe. George killed another rattlesnake under the plum tree,—they are after the figs—horrid creatures!

Three colored clergymen visited our school. They told the scholars to be neat and clean, and to heed all that was taught them.

Intolerably hot days—rather cooler at night. Had a very large school, one hundred and one scholars—too many—cannot keep order with so many. I am well worn out before noon with shouting and stamping, for I am obliged to help Emily when she gets into difficulty. We stayed after school closed with three unruly boys, rough and tough customers, who confessed that they liked to tease us; but they were ashamed and promised to do better in the future.

Captain Storrs called. He told us there were five guerrillas at camp; they had been caught on the island, but there is no evidence to convict them and they will probably be set at liberty.

Jim and Uncle Jerry have cleared out our big front room and arranged some boards on blocks for seats for the older children. The little ones can sit on the floor. Fifty came this morning. They are to bring stools—as many as have them—so we shall get on well. Mr. Everett bade us farewell, riding off on his white beast; he seemed pretty weak. Mr. Redpath writes that we are to report to Mr. Pillsbury, as he himself goes North on the next steamer, and advises us to close our school. All the Charleston schools are closed, as there is much sickness; one northern teacher having died. He thinks we had better go North for our vacation. We cannot do that, for we should never return.

If our friends at home could only see our flowers! Cloth of gold roses and lovely Cape Jessamines. The evening was pleasant; the children sang to us and we told them stories, —Red Riding Hood, etc. They had never listened before to stories of any kind, and were most attentive.

We like the new school arrangement, for we do not get so warm, can wear loose sacks, and can spare our lungs.

When we feel tired, we sing, which they all enjoy. They particularly delight in singing “Hang Jeff Davis to a sour apple tree.”

The children told us some of their experiences in slave life. One boy, Tom, showed us deep scars on his arms; said they were from severe whippings. When about eight years old, he rode a horse to a distant place, and lost the colt that was following; and of course was whipped. Many of the negroes were born on the island, and are glad to get back to their old homes.

Rain for two days. No children came, and we enjoyed the holiday. Heard a boat whistle, but the rain will prevent our sending the boys to camp for our letters. Sarah came to our room after dinner, and we had a nice talk. She is very quiet and never talks of her experiences unless questioned; then she speaks with reluctance and much feeling. She says “It's time slaves were free, they've suffered enough. Only Jesus knows what they've endured.” The song, “Nobody knows but Jesus,” tells the story. She said no slave mother could have her children after they were old enough to be of use; they were sold or hired out. She had often seen her children abused—punished severely for small faults.

She had prayed and prayed that one child—her oldest—might die. The girl was not very strong, and had the care of a fretful baby, when little more than a baby herself. At last God heard her prayer, and her child died. No one could tell how thankful she was. Talk of the happiness of slaves! None were ever happy. They became hardened to their lot and were cheerful, but mothers were always anxious, dreading separation from their children.

Walter, one of our scholars, told us that he saw a box addressed to us on the Charleston boat. He sat on it all the way. What news! probably it is on the wharf soaking in this rain.

Rain still coming down in torrents, but we must have our box, so we started off some boys with umbrellas to find out about it and bring our letters. They brought a big packet of letters, and the camp wagon brought our box from home, and three barrels from the Pillsburys in Charleston. We worked hard all the evening unpacking and looking over our treasures. Oh! such gingerbread was never before made and eaten. We did not care for supper. Phoebe was transformed by her new dress. Uncle Jack says “She will be getting a new man now she is so fine.” Uncle Jack and Jim are resplendent in new coats and trousers. Zack is a picture in a Zouave suit of Jack King's.

The sun came out and we had Sunday school in the school-room. I do the preaching and Emily attends to the singing. She is highly amused at my teachings. What surprises me is that they know so little of the life of Christ; not knowing even of his birth, but they all are familiar with his sayings. They all believe in a hell! I asked the children whom they love best. Some answered “God”; Zack said, “Ma; she loves me and feeds me.” After school, George came and reproved me for telling stories to the children on Sunday. He considers it sinful.

Lydia Polite came to tell us that her baby had died. She is a very good, sensible woman.

Eighty children, and not enough room for them. We heard the alphabet classes and turned them out in the yard to play. A thunder shower freshened the air so we could walk to the store to inquire how we could get to the bay.

Since the boxes of clothing came, we have been besieged by half the island. Some, whom we do not know, and who live miles away, demand clothing and say they have a right to it. I have called Uncle Jack to the rescue. He knows how to deal with them, and explains that the clothing does not come from the Government, and that they must pay for it with vegetables, eggs, chickens, or whatever they can bring in exchange. Before we were up this morning, Phoebe appeared with a live rooster some one had brought. She said she would make a pen for it, as we were provided with food for the day. Before night two more were brought. Soon we shall have a rooster house.

A girl came to school with traces of smallpox on her face. When questioned, she said her baby had died recently. We sent her off, indignant that she came, and she was equally indignant that she was dismissed.

Uncle Jack has heard of a man who owns a horse and cart, and we have told him to find out what day he will take us to the bay. Uncle Jack says we have “Done spile the people here.” Well! we can soon un-spile them.

Clear, and a refreshing west wind. We had a sumptuous dinner,—fried chicken, new potatoes, green corn, and watermelons for dessert. Sounds well, our menu, but the corn was so dry it could not be eaten. Phoebe brought the live chicken in her arms “For Missis' dinner, Mum.” The potatoes came from a man who brought a cracked looking-glass and asked for a gun in exchange. We took the glass and gave him coat, trousers, and a hat. The holes in our bedroom were filled with plaster made of mud and dried moss.

We told the children when we dismissed them, that this is the last day of school, but as we do not mean to leave the island immediately, we will teach a few if they will come to us.

A visit from a Mr. Curtis who keeps a store at Peters Point, seven miles from here. He brought the news that the soldiers stationed here are ordered to leave at once for Beaufort, to join the rest of the regiment. We are troubled because we depend upon them for our mail and packages. All the afternoon we wrote, that our letters might be ready for to-night's steamer. George, Zack, and Uncle Jack took them to the landing and gave them into the hands of Captain Storrs, who sent us a good-by.

It is a great relief to have no school. Got out the materials sent from home and cut and fitted our bathing suits.

Independence Day. Perfect quiet reigns. We imagine we hear the cannon and firecrackers at home. It is so very warm that we have no life, and lay on the bed all the morning. James Russell offered us his horse and cart for the day for two dollars and a half.

A cool and refreshing morning after our uneasy night. The water's edge is only a few feet from the house. All the houses, sixty or more, are built close down on the beach. After we made our toilets, Zack built a fire and boiled some eggs. Before we had eaten them, we heard voices, and soon Jim and Uncle Jack appeared. All the people in our yard had been greatly worried and unable to sleep, fearing we had been drowned. At daybreak, Sarah had sent Jim and Uncle Jack in search of us. Soon George arrived. He could not wait for the others to return. We had a fine escort as we went back to the place where we had left the horse and cart. A little higher up the creek was a raft on which we crossed.

Robert came to borrow money to buy a “shoat.” Three dollars for the pig and “a little more,” if we could spare it. As Rhoda, his woman, is to work for us this summer, we lent him five dollars.

Phoebe said Louisa was going to have some friends for tea—would we contribute the sugar? They were going to have a Praise Meeting in the yard, but Jim asked permission to have it on the back piazza if it would not disturb us. We consented, and told him we should like to be present. An Elder who could read, led the singing. George held for him a lighted candle, which we supplied. The leader read one or two lines from the hymn-book; then they all sang, each man for himself. After the singing, the Elder prayed. He asked the blessed Lord to raise the window curtains this blessed night and let the poor sinners look in, and if it was the blessed Lord's will, would he this blessed evening send down his angels with a hammer and knife and knock at every sinner's heart, for many there are this blessed evening, weeping and tearing their hair and searching for religion, and not knowing how to get it. They sang again, then the sisters walked round in a circle with short, quick steps, swinging their arms and singing, “Oh! Lord, don't be offended. Oh! Lord, don't judge me hard,” and much more of the same strain. They kept this up a long time; the meeting lasted till long after midnight. One song was “Sister, you come too late, the Devil came and shut the gate and carried home the keys.” Another, “When Gabriel blow his horn for Massa Jesus would he please blow a little louder?”

When the man came with his wagon, we doubted if the horses could carry us three miles, they were such skeletons, and the man said they could not drag a heavy load. We put in our most desirable articles and started the load off about ten o'clock, Jim and Uncle Jack walking. Cuffee came to sell watermelons in a nice cart, with a seat and a back to it, and we offered him two dollars to take us to the bay. We waited for Jim to get back because we were determined to have all our possessions moved before night. He did not get here until three o'clock because the horses could not pull the load through the sand, and the trunks and everything had to be “toted” on the men's heads across the creek and up the beach to the house. Then another load was put on the cart, and we packed ourselves and what we most needed into Cuffee's wagon and started. Cuffee walked. Emily held the strings, and I, the tin pail, box, etc.

They carried the things across a broken bridge, a shorter way than by the ford; and we were glad to be in our summer home by the sea.

A beautiful morning, fresh and cool. Our friends soon took their departure for the island. We were sorry to part with them.

Soon some soldiers appeared, inquiring for the house which is to be occupied by Mr. Alden, the Government Superintendent of Edisto Island, who is to arrive to-day.

Such a morning and such surf never were known. New life has been given us. We ought to have come here a month ago. We were surprised this morning by receiving a quart of new milk from Mr. Alden's house, with the request that we send for it every morning. Such luxury—the first milk we have seen since leaving Charleston. As for bread, we have forgotten how it looks. We have corn-meal (white), which stirred up with water and an egg makes a very nice cake.

Received a letter from Mr. Blake in Beaufort, saying that the Government has stopped our rations, and that we must either supply ourselves, or the society, by which we are employed, must do so. He advised us to go north, but we have decided to remain for the summer, at least; it is too warm now to take the long journey.

Our house is pleasant and comfortable, though minus a front door and some of the windows. We have taken two lower rooms; one looking on the water, for our sleeping and living-room, and, the other for the dining-room. The kitchen is across the yard, which is deep with sand, washed up by the creek. At high tide we are wholly surrounded by water. Besides Rhoda and “her man,” Robert, we have George, who sleeps across the threshold where the door should be; so we feel safe.