How inspiring to hear the music of the band, to behold the numerous vessels of the fleet decorated from bowsprit to yardarm and topmast with flags and streamers, to recall the heroic sacrifices of those who had fought through the weary years, to know that Sumter, Moultrie, the city, and the State were redeemed from the worst system of vassalage, that our country was still a nation, renewed and regenerated by its baptism of fire and blood, that truth and right were vindicated before the world; and to look down the coming years, and know that Freedom was secured to all beneath the folds of the flag that had withstood the intrigues of cabals and the shock of battle, and that Christianity and civilization, twin agents of human progress, had received an impetus that would forever keep us in the van of nations.
For our Flag.
Looking at that flag, involuntarily I repeated the words of the song which I heard when the shadows of night fell upon the gory field of Antietam, sung by our wounded in one of the hospitals:—
"Our flag is there! our flag is there!
We hail it with three loud huzzas!
Our flag is there! our flag is there!
Behold the glorious stripes and stars!
Stout hearts have fought for that bright flag,
Strong hands sustained it masthead high,
And O, to see how proud it waves,
Brings tears of joy to every eye!"
CHAPTER XXIX.
CHARLESTON.
Feb., 1865.
A city of ruins,—silent, mournful, in deepest humiliation. It was early morning when we reached the wharf, piled with merchandise, not busy with commercial activity as in other days, but deserted, its timbers rotting, its planks decayed, its sheds tumbling in and reeling earthward. The slips, once crowded with steam and sailing vessels, were now vacant, except that an old sloop with a worm-eaten gunwale, tattered sails, and rigging hanging in shreds, alone remained.
A few fishermen's dories only were rocking on the waves, tethered to the wharves by rotten ropes, where the great cotton Argosies in former years had shipped or landed their cargoes.