On Saturday morning, August 30th, I went to my business on "Little Edisto" as usual, and on arriving I remarked to Mr. Whaley (my employer) how promising the crops were looking, and the bright prospects of a fine harvest. His answer was "Yes; but I am afraid a storm is brewing, and one of unusual severity, too, because the signs of the last few days have been ominous of such, and I feel very uneasy." I, being young and skeptical, of course took no heed of his prophetic words, and alas, only a few hours more convinced me that something of unusual magnitude was upon us. I retired that night, and on awaking next morning (Sunday) took breakfast, and parted from Mr. W. to spend the day at "Brick House," promising him to return that evening and remain all night. But circumstances intervened (which prevented me from doing so for several days later) so appalling that even as I write them now, a cold shudder comes over me, and all the horrors of that awful time come back. Sunday morning dawned dull and hazy with a stiff breeze blowing from the east and in crossing the creek, I remarked to my companion that we would have bad weather, and on reaching "Brick House" we all began speculating on the approaching storm (no one ever dreaming such a storm was coming), etc., etc., and so the day wore on, the wind rising higher and higher every moment, and towards afternoon the trees began to bend and sway in a terrible manner, branches and limbs flying in all directions. By sunset we were all thoroughly alarmed and moved over to the previously mentioned "Brick House," deeming that the safest place to pass the night, and in a few hours' time the whole population of the village was gathered under its protecting roof, all feeling thankful a safe shelter was provided for us. How we passed that night of terror, only God knows, for the winds blew, the rain fell, and the tide rose, until towards midnight it seemed as if everything was lost; but the old house stood and carried us through until dawn of another day, and then what a sight met our anxious eyes. What had been a smiling pretty village, was nothing but a pile of wreckage and a mass of ruins, some houses having been washed away completely, and those that remained, so badly damaged as to be uninhabitable. To make matters worse even our food had been swept away, and there we were, cut off from the island on this point of land, wrecked, desolate and hungry, some of us with only the clothing on our backs, all the balance gone; and as far as the eye could reach there was nothing to see but water, and those spots from which the tide had receded, covered with portions of houses, trunks of clothing broken open and scattered, drowned poultry, and every crop ruined and prostrated. After a little while we found some grist that had been saved by a colored man, and cooking this with some saltwater and "drowned" chicken, we subsisted till evening, when help came in the shape of water and food.