The Crossing | Page 8

the ocean. Then came the rain, in great billows, as though the
ocean itself were upon us.
The next day we crossed a ferry on the Ashley River, and rode down

the sand of Charlestown neck. And my most vivid remembrance is of
the great trunks towering half a hundred feet in the air, with a tassel of
leaves at the top, which my father said were palmettos. Something lay
heavy on his mind. For I had grown to know his moods by a sort of
silent understanding. And when the roofs and spires of the town shone
over the foliage in the afternoon sun, I felt him give a great sigh that
was like a sob.
And how shall I describe the splendor of that city? The sandy streets,
and the gardens of flower and shade, heavy with the plant odors; and
the great houses with their galleries and porticos set in the midst of the
gardens, that I remember staring at wistfully. But before long we came
to a barricade fixed across the street, and then to another. And presently,
in an open space near a large building, was a company of soldiers at
drill.
It did not strike me as strange then that my father asked his way of no
man, but went to a little ordinary in a humbler part of the town. After a
modest meal in a corner of the public room, we went out for a stroll.
Then, from the wharves, I saw the bay dotted with islands, their white
sand sparkling in the evening light, and fringed with strange trees, and
beyond, of a deepening blue, the ocean. And nearer,--greatest of all
delights to me,--riding on the swell was a fleet of ships. My father
gazed at them long and silently, his palm over his eyes.
"Men-o'-war from the old country, lad," he said after a while. "They're
a brave sight."
"And why are they here?" I asked.
"They've come to fight," said he, "and take the town again for the
King."
It was twilight when we turned to go, and then I saw that many of the
warehouses along the wharves were heaps of ruins. My father said this
was that the town might be the better defended.
We bent our way towards one of the sandy streets where the great

houses were. And to my surprise we turned in at a gate, and up a path
leading to the high steps of one of these. Under the high portico the
door was open, but the house within was dark. My father paused, and
the hand he held to mine trembled. Then he stepped across the
threshold, and raising the big polished knocker that hung on the panel,
let it drop. The sound reverberated through the house, and then stillness.
And then, from within, a shuffling sound, and an old negro came to the
door. For an instant he stood staring through the dusk, and broke into a
cry.
"Marse Alec!" he said.
"Is your master at home?" said my father.
Without another word he led us through a deep hall, and out into a
gallery above the trees of a back garden, where a gentleman sat
smoking a long pipe. The old negro stopped in front of him.
"Marse John," said he, his voice shaking, "heah's Marse Alec done
come back."
The gentleman got to his feet with a start. His pipe fell to the floor, and
the ashes scattered on the boards and lay glowing there.
"Alec!" he cried, peering into my father's face, "Alec! You're not dead."
"John," said my father, "can we talk here?"
"Good God!" said the gentleman, "you're just the same. To think of
it--to think of it! Breed, a light in the drawing-room."
There was no word spoken while the negro was gone, and the time
seemed very long. But at length he returned, a silver candlestick in each
hand.
"Careful," cried the gentleman, petulantly, "you'll drop them."
He led the way into the house, and through the hall to a massive door of
mahogany with a silver door-knob. The grandeur of the place awed me,

and well it might. Boy-like, I was absorbed in this. Our little mountain
cabin would almost have gone into this one room. The candles threw
their flickering rays upward until they danced on the high ceiling.
Marvel of marvels, in the oval left clear by the heavy, rounded cornice
was a picture.
The negro set down the candles on the marble top of a table. But the air
of the room was heavy and close, and the gentleman went to a window
and flung it open. It came down instantly with a crash, so that the panes
rattled again.
"Curse these Rebels," he shouted, "they've taken our window weights
to make