raordinary powers of
endurance to beware of a summer on the Sea Islands.

Notwithstanding the heat, we determined to celebrate the Fourth of July
as worthily as we could. The freed people and the children of the
different schools assembled in the grove near the Baptist Church. The
flag was hung across the road, between two magnificent live-oaks, and
the children, being grouped under it, sang "The Star-Spangled Banner"
with much spirit. Our good General could not come, but addresses were
made by Mr. P.,--the noble-hearted founder of the movement for the
benefit of the people here, and from first to last their stanch and
much-loved friend,--by Mr. L., a young colored minister, and others.
Then the people sang some of their own hymns; and the woods resounded
with the grand notes of "Roll, Jordan, roll." They all afterward partook
of refreshments, consisting of molasses and water,--a very great luxury
to them,--and hardtack.

Among the visitors present was the noble young Colonel Shaw, whose
regiment was then stationed on the island. We had met him a few nights
before, when he came to our house to witness one of the people's shouts.
We looked upon him with the deepest interest. There was something in his
face finer, more exquisite, than one often sees in a man's face, yet it
was full of courage and decision. The rare and singular charm of his
manner drew all hearts to him. He was deeply interested in the singing
and appearance of the people. A few days afterwards we saw his regiment
on dress-parade, and admired its remarkably fine and manly appearance.
After taking supper with the Colonel we sat outside the tent, while some
of his men entertained us with excellent singing. Every moment we became
more and more charmed with him. How full of life and hope and lofty
aspirations he was that night! How eagerly he expressed his wish that
they might soon be ordered to Charleston! "I do hope they will give _us_
a chance," he said. It was the desire of his soul that his men should do
themselves honor,--that they should prove themselves to an unbelieving
world as brave soldiers as though their skins were white. And for
himself, he was like the Chevalier of old, "without reproach or fear."
After we had mounted our horses and rode away, we seemed still to feel
the kind clasp of his hand,--to hear the pleasant, genial tones of his
voice, as he bade us good-bye, and hoped that we might meet again. We
never saw him afterward. In two short