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Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 4, Chapter 1: no union with non-slaveholders!—1861. (search)
rough a contest of the will and an unjust decision of the Supreme Court, this last provision was subsequently annulled, in consequence of which a daughter of Mr. Jackson (Mrs. Eliza F. Eddy) twenty years later bequeathed over $50,000 for the same object, as her protest against the violation of her father's will. More fortunate than Hovey, he survived to see the beginning of the end, and to know that the sum of all villanies was fast tottering to its fall. By the capture of Port Royal and Beaufort in November, and the immediate emancipation thus effected of the thousands of slaves in the Sea Islands of South Carolina, the problem of the education and civilization of the degraded blacks of the rice and cotton belt of that section was presented to the consideration of the philanthropic people of the North, and a few weeks later it was seriously accepted and grappled with; but the last weeks of the year were absorbed in exultation over the victory on the Carolina coast and the seizure o
Francis Jackson Garrison, William Lloyd Garrison, 1805-1879; the story of his life told by his children: volume 4, Chapter 5: the Jubilee.—1865. (search)
n the face of rotten eggs and brickbats. Behold, you end it at Charleston on a bed of roses! The intended journey to Florida was rudely interrupted by the news of President Lincoln's assassination, which April 14, 1865. reached the party at Beaufort. To quote Mr. Beecher: We had returned to Beaufort, and were on the eve of going Lib. 35.84. upon shore to enjoy a social interview, before setting out for Savannah, when a telegram came to Senator Wilson from Gen. Gillmore. As the boy Beaufort, and were on the eve of going Lib. 35.84. upon shore to enjoy a social interview, before setting out for Savannah, when a telegram came to Senator Wilson from Gen. Gillmore. As the boy that brought it passed me, I jocosely asked him some questions about it. Presently Senator Wilson came out of his cabin, much agitated, and said, Good God! The President is killed! and read the dispatch. It was not grief, it was sickness that I felt. In one half-hour we had wheeled upon our keel, and were plowing our way back to Hilton Head, whither we had telegraphed to have steam raised upon the Suwo Nada, that we might leave immediately for the North. We could see no more sights. We