Southern Historical Society Papers, Volume 10.
Reverend J. William Jones, Ed.

“ [185] will you try? The Ironsides is farthest out and until she moves in you must work on the closest.” Elliott watched the other. “I shall not hunt the field for a Harold, Colonel; any one of them is worth the attempt.” Hamilton made his rendezvous at the “hundred pines,” and avoided all noonday movements; yet it is supposed that spies in the city sent word of his intentions, in bottles floated down to the fleet. After one or two attempts made, the Ironsides was rafted around with fenders which kept off the torpedoes. I am not sure that she had not been shocked by one torpedo. A few days later, however, and Lieutenant Hamilton while reconnoitering after night in a small boat was thrown into the sea and remained there for about an half hour. This brought on a congestion, and he was ordered away to recruit. He sank rapidly, and while trying to walk down a flight of steps in Columbia, he fell, burst a blood vessel and died. Just before dying he beckoned to his brother: “What says the doctor?” The sad reply was given, “No hope, dear Jim.” “I am too young to die; however, if it is God's will, Amen I” Turning to his servant he said, “Israel, square me on the pillow.” This done, he dressed his shoulders as if in ranks, “Good-bye brother;” and the man of iron nerve took his long furlough. He died at thirty-four. While lying in uniform awaiting transportation, a brother officer of another command came in, and kissed the dead man's forehead. The writer advanced and enquired “why this affection?” “There is one,” he replied, “who saved my life and reputation. I was once flanked by the enemy; he that sleeps there was fighting his guns at my left as busy as he could be. I crossed over and said, Lieutenant, I am to be captured. Forward; he called to his section — forward they went. Fall back; he said to me as he unlimbered in my front. I fell back, he broke the enemy's charge and I escaped.”

A distinctive modesty stamped both Elliott and his Lieutenant. The senior a bluff, dashing, handsome, well-bred soldier; his Lieutenant a slim, well knit, modest but determined man, whom his leader trusted in any emergency. “Elliott is a paragon,” said the younger to me; “Jim is a faithful fighter,” said the Colonel. Yemassee, hot, bloody, victorious Yemassee, was fought. It was an all-day fight, and the Confederates had laid out twice their number that day. On the field, at night, some of the officers were enjoying a refreshment of good things; a toast was offered by one amid that scene of slaughter, “Hamilton, the hero of the day.” It was drank all round, but the subject of the toast was, meanwhile, snoring soundly with his head pillowed on a root a few yards away. He cared naught for sentiment; he was a man for work. The torpedoes which Elliott used were his own invention; they consisted of two cans, one empty to float, the other which held