rm an additional
attraction to boys and soldierly-minded men. Nobody knew their calibre;
the policemen who watched them could not say; the idlers who gathered
about them disputed upon it: they were eighteen pounders; they were
twenty-fours; they were thirty-sixes. Nobody could tell what they were
there for. They were aimed at Fort Sumter, but would not carry half way
to it. They could hit Fort Pinckney, but that was not desirable. The
policeman could not explain; neither could the idlers; neither can I.
At last it got reported about the city that they were to sink any boats
which might come down the river to reinforce Anderson; though how the
boats were to get into the river, whether by railroad from Washington,
or by balloon from the Free States, nobody even pretended to guess.
Standing on this side of the Ashley, and looking across it, you
naturally see the other side. The long line of nearly dead level, with
its stretches of thin pine-forest and its occasional glares of open
sand, gives you an idea of nearly the whole country about Charleston,
except that in general you ought to add to the picture a number of noble
evergreen oaks bearded with pendent, weird Spanish moss, and occasional
green spikes of the tropical-looking Spanish bayonet. Of palmettos there
are none that I know of in this immediate region, save the hundred or
more on Sullivan's Island and the one or two exotics in the streets
of Charleston. In the middle of the Ashley, which is here more than a
quarter of a mile wide, lies anchored a topsail schooner, the nursery
of the South Carolina navy. I never saw it sail anywhere; but then my
opportunities of observation were limited. Quite a number of boys are on
board of it, studying maritime matters; and I can bear witness that they
are sufficiently advanced to row themselves ashore. Possibly they are
moored thus far up the stream to guard them from sea-sickness, which
might be discouraging to young sailors. However, I ought not to talk on
this subject, for I am the merest civilian and land-lubber.

My first conversation in Charleston on Secession was with an estimable
friend, Northern-born, but drawing breath of Southern air ever since he
attained the age of manhood. After the first salutation, he sat down,
his hands on his knees, gazing on the floor, and shaking his head
soberly, if not sadly.

"You have found us in a pretty fix,--in a pretty fix!"

"But what are you going to do? Are you really going out