Lehigh University
The Vault at PfaffsAn Archive of Art and Literature by the Bohemians of Antebellum New York
Previous Issue Next Issue
Previous Page Next Page
0 matches

Text for Page 060 [01-11-1861]

              51
	Letter to the �Post�
ed with the remark   �You�ll all be in h__l
in a minute.�  �I didn�t say that!� he told me, with
a chuckle.           He wouldn�t have let �that other fel-
low� meaning W. Waud, into the Fort, to sketch
for Frank Leslie�s.        He left me to talk to an

[newspaper clipping: first column]
Conjectures and Rumors in Charleston�An Excur-
  sion to Sullivan�s Island�The Garrison of Castle
  Pinckney�View of Fort Sumter�Interior of Fort
  Moultrie�Condition of the Fortress.
			����
     {From an Occasional Correspondent}
	CHARLESTON, S. C., January 12, 1861.
  A United States war steamer, generally be
lieved to be the Brooklyn, has appeared outside
our harbor, has boarded a small vessel, presuma-
bly for information, and incontinently departed, it
is supposed, for Norfolk, Virginia.  Such was the
news which passed from mouth to mouth over
Charleston breakfast-tables this morning, with here
and there some wilder accompaniments by way of
rumor, as that she would lay to outside until rein-
forced by the arrival of the Harriet Lane, the Ma-
cedonian, the Powhatan, and perhaps half-a-dozen
others, when a vigorous blockade of Charleston
might be expected, to which South Carolina would
respond by issuing letters of marque to all who ap-
plied for them, inviting Yankee skippers to hoist
the Palmetto flag for the enjoyment of the honora-
ble privileges of privateering and piracy at the ex-
pense of their countrymen.  This, and yesterday
afternoon�s visit of the Hon. A. G. Magrath, our Se-
cretary of State, and the Hon. D. F. Jamison, Se-
cretary of War, to Fort Sumter, under a flag of
truce, with a message of unknown purport from the
Governor to Major Anderson, has afforded as mat-
ter for conversation and conjecture throughout the
forenoon�what the remainder of the day may
bring, heaven knows.  I may mention, by-the-bye,
that Major Anderson is popularly reported to have
recently shot two or three or four Irishmen be-
longing to his garrison for mutiny, or attempts at
desertion�a story which seems to rest upon no bet-
ter foundation than the asserted visit of a Catholic
priest to Fort Sumter.
  Pending more exciting subjects, I shall tell you
of an excursion I made yesterday to Sullivan�s
Island.
  The ferry-boat Osiris (which I have before inci-
dentally libelled, by describing it as a nautical hy-

[newspaper clipping: second column]
brid between a Mississippi and a Hudson river
steamer, with a dash of the New York tug and ferry-
boat thrown in) plies between the city of Charles-
ton and the Island of Sullivan twice a day, going
and coming that number of times.  With unexpect-
ed and commendable punctuality it started yesterday
morning not later than ten minutes after its adver-
tised hour of departure, presenting a very busy and
bustling spectacle at that time.
  There were a good many young fellows aboard in 
military uniforms complete and partial, most of
them slim and spare in figure, some tall, generally
with straight black hair, worn longer than becomes
a soldier.  They had on blue coats, gray coats, or-
dinary frock-coats, felt hats, military caps with
golden palmetto trees embroidered in front, or the
initial letters designating their corps, and were
armed indiscriminately with muskets and swords�
some sporting a Colt, or Adams, or Lindsay re-
volver, placed rather conspicuously in a belt in
ront.  Their talk was patriotic and decidedly bel-
ligerent.
  The lower deck of the vessel displayed a score or
so of wheel-barrows, trusses of hay, crates full of 
turnips, cabbages, potatoes, bedding, a keg of gun-
powder, cannon balls, a large hog with its feet tied
together, a horse or two, a wagon, and many �boys�
in charge of the property.  With this miscellaneous
cargo, animate and inanimate, we left the long
wharf at the foot of Market street, and steamed
towards the island of Shute�s Folly�a mile�s dis-
tance�reaching Castle Pinckney in about twenty 
minutes.
  Castle Pinckney is a little fort and not much to 
look at, appropriately pink in color, at present doing
its best to assume a martial appearance, with piles 
of sand bags between the cannon on its ramparts,
and, of course, the Palmetto flag flying�a white
tree on a red ground.  Our arrival produced a scene
of much animation.  A corps of military young
gentlemen advanced at a brisk Zouave trot, and
formed in line on the little pier, their discipline
not being so strict as to forbid their interchanging               
  •  
Loading content ...