Indeed, nothing was more touching, in all that I saw in Savannah, than the almost painful effort of the rebels, from Generals down to privates, to conduct themselves so as to evince respect for our soldiers, and to bring no severer punishment upon the city than it had already received. There was a brutal scene at the hotel, where a drunken sergeant, with a pair of tailors’ shears, insisted on cutting the buttons from the uniform of an elegant gray-headed old Brigadier, who had just come in from Johnston’s army; but he bore himself modestly and very handsomely through it. His staff was composed of fine-looking, stalwart fellows, evidently gentlemen, who appeared intensely mortified at such treatment—wholly unmerited, by the way, since they had no clothes save their Rebel uniforms, and had, as yet, had no time to procure others—but they avoided disturbance, and submitted to what they might, with some propriety, and with the general approval of our officers, have resented. What these men may become, under a lax rein, can not be said; but, supposing themselves under a tight rein, they are now behaving, in the main, with very marked propriety.
Half a dozen pretty women were keeping up a busy chatter, all to themselves, in an ice-cream saloon, where we sat down for a few moments. “I’m going North, in a few days,” said one, “to buy some clothes.” “But, Laura, you musn’t do that; you’ll have to take the oath to get a pass; and, you know, you’re just as much of a Rebel as ever you were.” “Yes, of course,” with a pretty shrug of the aforesaid Laura’s pretty shoulders, “but, then, one must have clothes, you know!” Of old, it was discovered that sermons might be found in running brooks. May not Generals and higher authorities, who believe in hard swearing as a means of grace, take a lesson in statesmanship from an ice-cream saloon?
[20]. General Carl Schurz, who subsequently examined these contracts critically, said they substantially renewed the slavery of the freedmen who entered into them
CHAPTER XV.
Florida Towns and Country—A Florida Senator.
On our return from Savannah to Hilton Head, a few hours were spent in sending letters home, and preparing finally to cut loose from any Northern communications till we should reach New Orleans. General Gillmore decided to accompany the party through the whole of his Department. There was a final plunge in the bracing surf; a good-bye to the Dominie, who declared he couldn’t stay longer away from his congregation, and so went back on the “Arago;” a parting dinner, at which we were regaled with the sayings, doings and endurings of Jeff. Davis and party. It seems that the Sea Island negroes heard of General Gillmore’s dispatch, which mentioned Mr. Davis’ capture and coming, and so were prepared for his arrival. They lined the shore in vast numbers, and, as soon as his vessel had approached within what they supposed to be hearing distance, the affectionate creatures—otherwise known, while in slavery, as the happiest people on the face of the earth—of their own motion struck up the song—
“We’ll hang Jeff. Davis on a sour apple tree,”
with such a thunderous volume of sound, that there was no possibility of Mr. Davis’ remaining ignorant of their amiable intention toward the one whom they regarded as typifying the whole race of their kind and benevolent masters.
When we had all mustered on deck, next morning, the ancient town of Fernandina, Florida, was rising from the water on our right, with the quaint old fort beside it, and the new town in the distance. A medium-sized, plain frame house was pointed out as the residence of Senator Yulee, and, among the rambling, forsaken-looking wooden buildings of the place, it really had a Senatorial look. Fernandina, Florida, had always sounded in the North like a name of consequence. I find that it means a straggling village, which, in New York or Ohio, might have a post-office, but certainly could not aspire to the dignity of a county-seat.
But it has, according to the pilots and to the Coast Survey, the best harbor on the whole Atlantic coast, south of Fortress Monroe. There are over twenty feet on the bar, and the anchorage is safe and ample. Whenever the country back of it becomes anything, Fernandina must be a considerable place.