The colony was first broken by the death of Francis E. Barnard, at St. Helena Island, October 18th, 1862.  He was devoted, enthusiastic,—­and though not fitted, as it at first appeared, for the practical duties of a superintendent, yet even in this respect disappointing me entirely.  He was an evangelist, also, and he preached with more unction than any other the gospel of freedom,—­always, however, enforcing the duties of industry and self-restraint.  He was never sad, but always buoyant and trustful.  He and a comrade were the first to be separated from the company, while at Hilton Head, and before the rest went to Beaufort,—­being assigned to Edisto, which had been occupied less than a month, and was a remote and exposed point; but he went fearlessly and without question.  The evacuation of Edisto in July, the heat, and the labor involved in bringing away and settling his people at the village on St. Helena Island, a summer resort of the former residents, where were some fifty vacant houses, were too much for him.  His excessive exertions brought on malarious fever.  This produced an unnatural excitement, and at mid-day, under a hot sun, he rode about to attend to his people.  He died,—­men, women, and children, for whom he had toiled, filling the house with their sobs during his departing hours.  His funeral was thronged by them, his coffin strewn with flowers which they and his comrades had plucked, and then his remains were borne to his native town, where burial-rites were again performed in the old church of Dorchester.  Read his published journal, and find how a noble youth can live fourscore years in a little more than one score.  One high privilege was accorded to him.  He lived to hear of the immortal edict of the twenty-second of September, by which the freedom of his people was to be secured for all time to come.

Samuel D. Phillips was a young man of much religions feeling, though he never advertised himself as having it, and a devout communicant of the Episcopal Church.  He was a gentleman born and bred, inheriting the quality as well as adding to it by self-discipline.  He had good business-capacity, never complained of inconveniences, was humane, yet not misled by sentiment, and he gave more of his time, otherwise unoccupied, to teaching than almost any other superintendent.  I was recently asking the most advanced pupils of a school on St. Helena who first taught them their letters, and the frequent answer was, “Mr. Phillips.”  He was at home in the autumn for a vacation, was at the funeral of Barnard in Dorchester, and though at the time in imperfect health, he hastened back to his charge, feeling that the death of Barnard, whose district was the same as his own, rendered his immediate return necessary to the comfort of his people.  He went,—­but his health never came back to him.  His quarters were in the same house where Barnard had died, and in a few days, on the 5th of December, he followed him.  He was tended in his sickness by the negroes, and one day, having asked that his pillow might be turned, he uttered the words, “Thank God,” and died.  There was the same grief as at Barnard’s death, the same funeral-rites at the St. Helena Church, and his remains were borne North to bereaved relatives.