Although it was December, there was little to remind anyone of winter. The air was soft and clear, the sun shone brightly, and only a little westerly breeze ruffled the blue waters of the harbor.
Negroes were at work on the wharf loading bales of cotton on a big ship. They were singing as they worked, and Sylvia resolved to remember the words of the song:
"De big bee flies high,
De little bee makes de honey,
De black man raise de cotton,
An' de white man gets de money."
She repeated it over and then Grace sang it, with an amused laugh at her friend's interest in "nigger songs."
Mr. Fulton came to meet them and helped them on board the boat. As the Butterfly made its way out into the channel the little girls looked back at the long water-front, where lay many vessels from far-off ports. In the distance they could see the spire of St. Philip's, one of the historic churches of Charleston, and everywhere fluttered the palmetto flag.
Sylvia sat in the stern beside her father, and very soon the tiller was in her hand and she was shaping the boat's course toward the forts. Grace watched her admiringly.
"I believe you could steer in the dark," she declared.
"Of course she could if she had a compass and was familiar with the stars," said Mr. Fulton; and he called Grace's attention to the compass fastened securely near Sylvia's seat, and explained the rules of navigation.
"Is that the way the big ships know how to find their harbors?" asked Grace, when Mr. Fulton told her of the stars, and how the pilots set their course.
"Yes, and if Sylvia understood how to steer by the compass she could steer the Butterfly as well at night as she can now."