A Most Unusual Passage
Copyright© 2026 by J&J
Chapter 50
Henry had invited me to go on a civil war tour this morning, and I had accepted with pleasure. Apparently, it was a walking tour he was particularly fond off. In deference to my knees, he had arranged instead for a private tour by car. We picked up our guide at the Mills House, a well-known downtown hotel. Jack Thomson proved to be both knowledgeable and enthusiastic about the history he shared on his tour. Jack carried a large notebook filled with pictures of Charleston made during and immediately after the war. He would take us to the exact spot where the photographer stood to make the original image. Our first stop was right across the street, looking back at the hotel itself.
“The Mills House predates the war, being originally built in 1853,” Jack explained, holding up a picture of the building that looked little different from the present day. “The hotel has been rebuilt, but with the original balconies and windows. The outside appearance is virtually identical.”
“The building looks little changed,” I said, looking at the image. “But the buildings all around were destroyed. Is that as a result of the war?”
“All the buildings up to the Mills were destroyed in the great fire of December 1861. The Mills marks the very edge of the burnt district. Robert E. Lee helplessly watched the fire from the balcony. He couldn’t save the city, but his suggestion to the owner of the Mills to hang out wet blankets and send people to the roof to stamp out sparks saved the hotel.”
We walked to our next stop, because it was less than a block away.
“This intersection of Broad and Meeting streets has always been the heart of the city. The images will show you how little it has changed.”
I looked around and thought I recognized this place. “Isn’t this called the Four Corners of Law?”
Jack grimaced. “That’s what all the guide books say, but the name is just an invention of Ripley’s Believe It or Not and seized on by public relations people. The name comes from the fact that the four corners are occupied by institutions of city, state, nation and church, which stand together in a juxtaposition unique to Charleston, according to Ripley’s anyway. The church is St. Michael’s Protestant Episcopal Church. It is the oldest church building in the city and one of the finest Georgian churches in the United States. St. Michael’s was begun in 1752 and completed in 1761.
“The imposing gray building is a post office, as well as a federal courthouse. Not completed until after the war, it is the youngest of the four buildings and recognizes the youngest form of government.”
“The corner on which we stand is the site of the first South Carolina State House, built in 1752 and destroyed by fire in 1788. A year later, construction of the Charleston County Courthouse began on the same foundation, with the old walls and doorways.
“The Robert Adams style building across the street has been Charleston City Hall since 1818.”
“Amazing,” I declared; “I can see why such an arrangement is extremely rare. It’s like having the entire social history of the city in one spot.”
“By the way,” Henry interrupted; “I had been meaning to tell the two of you that you have something in common. You’re both planning to write historical books about your hometowns. Jack is working on a pictorial then and now book about Charleston in the civil war. Marcus is working on the history of the Colorado high plains.”
“I’m delighted to hear you’re doing a book with all of these wonderful pictures. I would really like to have a copy when it’s finished.”
“It’s going to be several years, I’m afraid. But you’ll be welcome to a copy when it’s finished. I will trade you for a copy of your book.”
“I would be most happy to accept,” I said. “But I’m afraid it you might feel cheated. Your book is about grand events that altered the nation’s history. For the most part, my history will be a story of individual families and small groups of people; you probably won’t find it all that exciting.”
“I would have to disagree,” Jack responded. “Ultimately, all history is made up of the actions of many individuals who each play some small role. One thing I have learned from giving this tour for many years is that people find it much easier to relate to the story of an individual than the dry account of places and dates. In fact, I use that very technique here. Let me introduce Gus Smythe.”
I glanced around but saw no one had joined the three of us.
Jack smiled. “I’m afraid Gus passed away many years ago. Fortunately, he carried on an active correspondence with the two women in his life, his mother and his fiancée Miss Lou. Most important, his descendants carefully preserved this wonderful record of a soldier, not writing to justify himself or with any axe to grind; they’re the words he wrote to those closest to him.
“Eighteen year old Gus was in the balcony and witnessed the signing of the Ordnance of Secession. He even swiped the blotting paper and pen used in the signing to keep as a souvenir. He joined the Washington Light Infantry, a unit that survives even today as a private society. In 1862 Gus fought on James Island at Secessionville in a battle that stopped the Federals from coming overland. We’ll visit the site later today.
“He was transferred to the Signal Corps in Charleston during the federal shelling. His family had evacuated, but Gus was able to give them a complete description from his post in St. Michael’s steeple, where he had a unique birds-eye view of the siege. Even through that trying time, Gus kept his sense of humor. Witnessing a shell striking his uncle’s home, he wrote him ‘You can render your house historic by having it run through by a Yankee shell.’”
“What happened to Gus? Did he survive the war?” I asked.
“Gus survived the war, married ‘Miss Lou’ and lived a long and full life, as a distinguished Charleston attorney and successful upstate cotton mill entrepreneur. His descendents still live in the Low Country, and they have carefully preserved the letters and photos. Here is a 1910 photo showing him with Lou and two grandchildren.”
Jack held up a photograph showing a smiling, dapper white-haired gentleman with a bushy white mustache, sitting in a massive throne-like chair with a smiling grandchild on each arm. A friendly-looking, matronly Lou is at his side.
Henry turned to me. “Marcus, did you notice how you asked about the fate of this one individual, not the number of people killed in the whole siege?”
“Well, yes, I guess I was interested, because now I know a little about him, and can relate to him.”
“Exactly,” Jack said. “People respond to people they can relate to. Almost no one ever asks me what happened to General Beauregard or General Gilmore. Very seldom does anyone ask about the total casualties of the siege. These are abstractions. Gus Smythe is a person with a mother and a girlfriend. People relate to real people, not to abstractions.”
Jack took us to many more places that day, not just downtown but away from the city to the outer ring of defenses. We visited the site of Secessionville, where Jack explained that the Union general launched the attack to take Charleston by land without orders.
“The 6,000 Union troops encountered a fortified position of some 2,000 Confederate defenders. The Federal force was routed with heavy casualties. It was a small battle, as far as the number of troops involved, but it was huge for boosting the morale of the besieged Confederates in Charleston. It was the only attempt to take the city overland.”
“Interesting name,” I commented. “Named after the Ordinance of Secession, I suppose.”
“Surprisingly, the name actually predates the war. It got its name because some young people wanted more freedom. You see, all of the planters sought refuge each summer to avoid ‘country fever,’ what we know of as malaria. About forty families stayed at Fort Johnson. Some of the younger planters found the social life too stodgy for their taste. They set up a new community here and were accused of secession by the others. Their response was to name the new community Secessionville.”
Our last stop of the day was Breach Inlet, which divides Sullivan’s Island and the Isle of Palms. Jack told me that the Confederate submarine Hunley sailed from here to conduct the first successful submarine attack, sinking the USS Housatonic.
“After the attack, a guard on Sullivan’s Island reported seeing a blue light, which was the agreed upon signal. But the Hunley never returned, nor has it ever been found, although many have looked.”
“It would be an incredible find, one of the most important historic naval vessels of all time. Someday it will be found. It has to be out there somewhere,” Henry said almost wistfully.
“Well, Henry,” said Jack. “You’re an expert. Where do you think it is?”
“If I were hunting for her, I would look to seaward of the Housatonic.”
“But why would they head away from safety and go further out?” I asked.
Henry shrugged. “I can’t answer that, but it’s the only place that’s never been searched. As Sherlock Holmes said, ‘Once you eliminate the impossible, whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth.””
On the way home, I remembered that comment and couldn’t resist asking.
“You quoted Sherlock Holmes today, and it’s not the first time. Those stories must be favorites of yours.”
Henry laughed out loud, “Guilty as charged; I practically know them by heart. It’s odd, though, because I read very little fiction as a rule, and I don’t care for other mysteries. Let me guess; is this a case of it takes one to know one?”
“Eyup, been reading them since I could look a gopher in the eye. My dad and I used to read them together; they just became kinda special to me.”
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