night. He followed the walls until he reached
the main gate, and then, taking an opposite direction
from his former route, proceeded along the street
until he came to a lantern, shedding its feeble light
upon the murky objects at the corner of a narrow lane.
Here he stood for several minutes, not knowing which
way to proceed: the street he was in continued
but a few steps farther, and turn which ever way he
would, darkness and obstacles rose to impede his progress.
At length he turned down the lane, and proceeded until
he came to another junction of streets; taking one
which he thought would lead him in the right direction,
he wandered through it and into a narrow, circuitous
street, full of little, wretched-looking houses.
A light glimmered from one of them, and he saw a female
passing to and fro before the window. He approached
and rapped gently upon the door. Almost simultaneously
the light was extinguished. He stood for a few
minutes, and again rapped louder than before; all
was silent for some minutes. A drenching shower
had commenced, adding to the already gloomy picture;
and the rustling leaves on a tree that stood near
gave an ominous sound to the excited feelings of the
child. He listened at the door with anxiety and
fear, as he heard whispers within; and as he was about
to repeat his rapping, a window on the right hand
was slowly raised. The female who had been pacing
the floor protruded her head with a caution that bespoke
alarm. Her long, black hair hanging about her
shoulders, and her tawny, Indian countenance, with
her ghost-like figure dressed in a white habiliment,
struck him with a sort of terror that wellnigh made
him run.
“Who is that, at this time of night?”
inquired the woman, in a low voice.
“It’s only me. I’m lost, and
can’t find my way to our vessel,” said
Tommy, in a half-crying tone.
“Mother,” said the woman, shutting the
window, “it’s only a little sailor-boy,
a stranger, and he’s wet through.”
She immediately unbarred and opened the door, and
invited him to come in. Stepping beyond the threshold,
she closed the door against the storm, and placing
a chair at the fire, told him to sit down and warm
himself. They were mulatto half-breeds, retaining
all the Indian features which that remnant of the
tribe now in Charleston are distinguished by a family
well known in the city, yet under the strictest surveillance
of the police. Every thing around the little
room denoted poverty and neatness. The withered
remnant of an aged Indian mother lay stretched upon
a bed of sickness, and the daughter, about nineteen
years old, had been watching over her, and administering
those comforts, which her condition required.
“Why, mother, it’s a’most twelve
o’clock. I don’t believe he’ll
come to-night.”
She awaited her friend, or rather he whose mistress
she had condescended to be, after passing from several
lords. The history of this female remnant of
beautiful Indian girls now left in Charleston, is
a mournful one. The recollection of their noble
sires, when contrasted with their present unhappy associations,
affords a sad subject for reflection. and this little
boy can stop till morning in our room up-stairs,”
said she, looking up at an old Connecticut clock that
adorned the mantel-piece.