Daniel Bowe was an alumnus of Yale College, and a student of the Andover Theological Seminary, not yet graduated when he turned from his professional studies at the summons of Christian duty.  He labored faithfully as a superintendent, looking after the physical, moral, and educational interests of his people.  He had a difficult post, was overburdened with labor, and perhaps had not the faculty of taking as good care of himself as was even consistent with his duties.  He came home in the summer, commended the enterprise and his people to the citizens and students of Andover, and returned.  He afterwards fell ill, and, again coming North, died October 30th, a few days after reaching New York.  The young woman who was betrothed to him, but whom he did not live to wed, has since his death sought this field of labor; and on my recent visit I found her upon the plantation where he had resided, teaching the children whom he had first taught, and whose parents he had guided to freedom.  Truly, the age of Christian romance has not passed away!

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On the first of July, 1862, the administration of affairs at Port Royal having been transferred from the Treasury to the War Department, the charge of the freedmen passed into the hands of Brigadier-General Rufus Saxton, a native of Massachusetts, who in childhood had breathed the free air of the valley of the Connecticut, a man of sincere and humane nature; and under his wise and benevolent care they still remain.  The Sea Islands, and also Fernandina and St. Augustine in Florida, are within our lines in the Department of the South, and some sixteen or eighteen thousand negroes are supposed to be under his jurisdiction.

The negroes of the Sea Islands, when found by us, had become an abject race, more docile and submissive than those of any other locality.  The native African was of a fierce and mettlesome temper, sullen and untamable.  The master was obliged to abate something of the usual rigor in dealing with the imported slaves.  A tax-commissioner, now at Port Royal, and formerly a resident of South Carolina, told me that a native African belonging to his father, though a faithful man, would perpetually insist on doing his work in his own way, and being asked the threatening question, “A’n’t you going to mind?” would answer, with spirit, “No, a’n’t gwine to!” and the master desisted!  Severe discipline drove the natives to the wilderness, or involved a mutilation of person which destroyed their value for proprietary purposes.  In 1816, eight hundred of these refugees were living free in the swamps and everglades of Florida.  There the ancestors of some of them had lived ever since the early part of the eighteenth century, rearing families, carrying on farms, and raising cattle.  They had two hundred and fifty men fit to bear arms, led by chiefs brave and skilful.  The story of the Exiles of Florida is one of painful interest.  The testimony of officers