f the bay which forms the harbor of Charleston extends
a long line of shoals, on which the breakers are continually dashing.
These shoals are intersected by narrow channels, through which vessels
of moderate draught may pass at high water with a smooth sea. The
principal channel, or main passage, for ships over the bar is narrow,
and never attempted without a pilot. About three miles from the bar is
the lighthouse, which stands on a low, sandy shore. Indeed, the whole
coast is low and sandy, abounding in mosquitoes, sandflies, and oysters.
Inside the bar there is good anchorage, but the tide at certain periods
ebbs and flows with great velocity.

We crossed the bar, and, without anchoring, proceeded to the city. We
passed Sullivan's Island on the right a long, low, sandy island, which
is the summer residence of many of the inhabitants of Charleston. On
this island Fort Moultrie is situated, which commands the passage to the
city, about four miles distant. This fort proved an awkward obstacle to
the capture of Charleston, when that feat was rashly attempted by Sir
Peter Parker, during the revolutionary war.

On all the surrounding objects I gazed with a deep and intense interest,
which was not relaxed until the Dolphin dropped anchor off the wharves
of this celebrated city.

Chapter VI. SCENES IN CHARLESTON

Soon after the Dolphin arrived in Charleston the crew were discharged,
with the exception of one of the seamen and myself. We retained our
quarters in the brig. Mr. Thompson, the mate, took passage in a vessel
for Boston, and not long afterwards sailed from Portsmouth in command of
a ship. Captain Tilton took up his residence at a fashionable boarding
house, and I seldom had any communication with him. I supposed, as a
matter of course, that he would soon enter on another voyage, and I
should go with him. In the meantime, having provided me with a temporary
home, he left me to associate with whom I pleased, and struggle
single-handed against the many temptations to which a young sailor in a
strange maritime city is always exposed.

About a week after our arrival in Charleston, as I was passing through
one of the principal streets, clad in strict sailor costume, I met a
good-looking gentleman, who, to my surprise, accosted me with great
politeness, his pleasant features lighted up with a benevolent smile,
and inquired if I had not recently returned from a voyage to sea. Upon
being assured that such was the