d the country round
about, once dotted with handsome plantation homes, now seems a very
wilderness, save where Northerners have erected for themselves winter
homes on the Sea Islands.

[Illustration: Fortress Monroe.]

It was late in October, 1861, when the final determination to attack
the forts at Port Royal was reached. For weeks before, the squadron
lying at Hampton Roads had been making preparations for a great naval
movement, and all the newspapers of the North were filled with wise
speculations as to its objective point. Reporters, correspondents, and
editors were alike baffled in their efforts to secure accurate
information; and even the commanders of the men-of-war were ignorant
of their destination. But it seems that the Confederates were warned
by some of their sympathizers in Washington, and the destination of
the fleet was better known south of Mason and Dixon's line than in the
North. On Tuesday, Oct. 29, the squadron was all ready for the voyage.
It was by far the most powerful fleet ever gathered under the flag of
the United States. Twenty-five vessels laden with coal had sailed the
day before. On the placid waters of the bay, under the frowning walls
of Fortress Monroe, floated fifty men-of-war and transports. The day
was clear, and the breeze brisk, and the hearts of the jolly jack-tars
bounded within them as they thought of escaping from the long
inactivity of a season in port. Long-boats bearing despatches rowed
from ship to ship; hucksters from the shore came off in dories,
dingies, and all variety of queer craft, to drive a farewell bargain
with the sailors. The transport vessels were crowded with soldiers in
the gay uniforms of militia commands. (It was early in the war then,
and they had not learned that a man could fight as well in dingy
rags.) The "Wabash" was flagship, and aboard her was Admiral DuPont.
When she made the signal for getting under way, all was bustle and
animation on all the other vessels of the fleet, and on all sides
could be heard the noise of preparation for the start. The boatswains
piped away cheerily; and a steady tramp, tramp, from the deck of each
ship, and the clicking of the capstan catches, told that the anchors
were coming up. Soon from the black funnels of the steamers clouds of
smoke began to pour, and in the rigging of the sail frigates were
crowds of nimble sailors. The commands "All ready! Let fall!" rang
sharply over the water from the ships. Broad sheets of