THE BATTLE OF FORT SUMTER.
Paper READ BEFORE THE FRANKLIN (TENN.) CHAPTER, U. D. C., By Mrs. Susie Penna Beaty.
Among all her fields of historic interest, America has no 'spot fraught with more suggestive memories than the city, harbor, and environs of Charleston, S. C. Here sounded the first keynote of the Civil War, here the storm clouds that had been gathering for forty years first discharged their thunderbolts, and here began that exhibition of skill, bravery, and endurance which astonished the civilized world. The month of April, 1861, witnessed the first clash of arms.
The election of Lincoln, the secession of South Carolina, the failure of the commissioners to obtain peaceable possession of the property claimed by the State, the midnight removal of Major Anderson from Fort Moultrie to Fort Sumter, the endeavors of the United States government to provision that stronghold, the firing on the Star of the West, the departure from New York of a fleet of armed vessels to menace Charleston—these and other incidents had stirred the blood of the people to fever heat. Charleston was thronged, business was practically suspended, and anxious groups were congregated from morning until night to gather news from the telegrams flitting between Charleston and Montgomery, the then Confederate capital. A great amount of military enthusiasm prevailed. Not to be a soldier or in some way identified with the cause was to be an object of scorn or suspicion. From pulpit, court, and schoolroom, from library and workshop, from barren sand hills and populated cities thousands poured forth to vie with each other in a desire to fight for the cause.
Without uniforms, wearing no insignia save the palmetto tree, crescent, or cockade, marching with irregular steps, graybeards and youths, grandsires and children—such were the people who dared to cross lances in mortal combat with the legions of the North. General Beauregard, of New Orleans, was in command. Looking from the city down the harbor could be seen the then comely shape of Fort Sumter, the only resting place of the stars and stripes in South Carolina. Opposite to the fort was the battery on Morris Island; to the north of Fort Sumter, only seventeen hundred yards distant, was Fort Moultrie, on Sullivan's Island, mounting thirty-eight guns—in fact, the whole coast was lined with protective and defensive works hastily equipped. On the 8th of April President Lincoln sent a messenger to Governor Pickens informing him that provisions would be sent to Fort Sumter, "peaceably if possible, forcibly if necessary." General Beauregard was instructed to demand the evacuation of the fort, and in case of refusal to resort to arms.
The formal request was made on the 11th of April; the expected refusal was received, and then Beauregard notified Major Anderson, the United States officer in command of the Federal troops in Fort Sumter, that at 4:30 o'clock on the morning of the 12th he would "open fire." The bloody line was drawn. The utmost activity prevailed, cannon rumbled through the streets, co panies of troops from the interior of the State arrived on ev-ry train, the students of the South Carolina University at Columbia, the Citadel Cadets of the South Carolina Military Academy, the "West Point of the South," along with student bodies from other schools over the State, arrived to take part in the fray.
Charleston slumbered lightly on the night of the rith. There was no noise, no commotion, no confusion; everything was arranged for the battle of the morrow. The gas jets burned low in the homes, and many a pillow was wet with
the tears of gentlewomen praying in the stillness of the night for the loved ones sleeping at the guns. The morn of April 12 arrived. The hour of action was at hand. As the curtains of the night were drawn aside and the bells of the city struck one, two, three, four, a group of soldiers gathered around a cannon in Fort Johnson, on Morris Island. Watch in hand, the officer in command awaited the approach of the half hour when the signal gun was to sound the tocsin of civil war; and as the last second of the last minute was recorded, there was a flash of light, the thunder of a gun, an eleven-inch shell traced its way toward Fort Sumter, quickly followed by others, and the battle was begun. The first gun was discharged by Capt. George S. Jones and the second by Lieut. Hampton Gibbs.
The population of Charleston, startled by the roar of the guns, leaped from their beds and rushed to the water front. Grave citizens, dressing as they ran, gave vent to their enthusiasm by wild hurrahs. Men without coats, women without crinoline, and children in their nightgowns were grouped in a heterogeneous mass on the beautiful "battery," the fashionable promenade.
For two hours the Confederate batteries pounded the walls of Fort Sumter without a response. Then as the sun rose from parapet and casemate poured a rain of iron hail. Fort Sumter had opened fire! The battle raged with fury, and the fiery messengers from both sides followed each other with spiteful fury. All day the cannonade continued, and by sunset Fort Sumter was badly disabled.
Through the night the Confederate batteries fired only at intervals of twenty minutes each; but Major Anderson and his men were so exhausted that they did not return the fire. Among the distinguished men present were Col. Thomas Sumter, the grandson of the "game cock of the Revolution," after whom the fort was named, and the venerable Edmund Ruffin, who had journeyed from Virginia to take part in the battle, and was therefore allowed to fire the first shot against Fort Sumter from the iron battery.
All night fires were kept burning in the harbor to detect the launches of the distant fleet should they attempt to relieve the Federal garrison. Side by side, smoke-begrimed and working the heavy guns, stood the elegant South Carolina gentlemen of wealth and leisure and the poorer class of whites from the hills, clergymen and their deacons, rich wholesale merchants and_ their wealthy planters, journalists, judges, Legislators, public officials of town and country—all proud to serve as soldiers in the ranks. While the light from the fires illumined the darkness for miles around, the rain fell in torrents, the wind howled weirdly and drearily among the sandhills, and so ended the first day of real war.
The second day of the battle, April 13, 1861, dawned clear, balmy, and refreshing. The flags of each of the combatants were still flying in stately defiance, and the first sunbeams were greeted by the thundering intonations of heavy artillery engaged in the strife. The effect of the first day's bombardment of Fort Sumter could be distinctly seen. The parapet was cut away, guns disabled, and the general outline of the fort badly damaged. Within the fort the last of the rice and pork had been cooked that morning, and the larder was bare.
At seven o'clock the battle broke out with renewed fury, and gun answered gun spitefully. Outside of Fort Sumter across the bar eight United States war vessels, manned by thirteen hundred and eighty men, lay at anchor. The firing continued steadily until eight o'clock, when it was observed that the fort was on fire. The cannonade from Fort Sumter
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now became slow and irregular, for the men within were busily fighting the flames. About twelve o'clock the flames seemed to abate, but all the morning Major Anderson had continued to fire at intervals; and so impressed were the Confederates with his pluck and daring that at every flash from the niuzzle of his guns they would leap on the breastworks and send up cheer on cheer for the gallant Federal officer. Three times the flag had been lowered as a signal of distress to the Federal fleet; but there was no response, and it was left to General Beauregard to render the assistance for which a call had been made. Col. Stephen D. Lee, Col. William Porcher Miles, and Col. Roger A. Pryor were promptly dispatched to the fort. Meanwhile a singular episode occurred. Between twelve and one o'clock a shot from Sullivan's Island severed the flagstaff and brought down the stars and stripes. Ten or fifteen minutes elapsed before the flag reappeared, and then Private Hart. from New York, with great daring replaced it on the north wall.
General PReauregard, thinking Major Anderson did not 1ntend to raise the flag again, sent a committee under a flag of truce to offer terms of surrender. These terms Major Anderson accepted, as the fort was in flames and the men about to suffocate. Accordingly at five minutes past one o'clock on April 13, 1861, the stars and stripes were lowered, and Fort Sumter passed into possession of the Southern Confederacy.
Beauregard immediately dispatched a steamer with several officers who were to arrange the terms of surrender, which were: That all proper facilities for removing Major Anderson and his command, together with company arms and property and ail private property, should be furnished by the Confederates; that the Federal flag he had so bravely defended should be saluted by the vanquished on taking it down; that Major Anderson should be allowed to fix the time of surrender, to take place the next day, Sunday.
During the bombardment no lives were lost on either side. All arrangements for the evacuation being completed, it was decided that the garrison should take their departure on one of the United States war vessels, the Isabelle. As the Isabelle steamed up to the fort, the garrison, dressed in full uniform and wearing side arms, marched out. The Isabelle fired a salute of fifty guns in honor of the Federal flag, still flying; and as the echo of the last discharge died away, the stars and stripes slowly descended.
The assembled multitude upon the shores and the water craft in the harbor all combined in one great shout and screech of whistle to show that the authority of the United Stares upon Carolina soil was, for a time at least, withdrawn.
As the band on the Isabelle played "Yankee Doodle" the garrison, Major Anderson commanding, marched on board. The State flag was raised on the fort by Franklin J. Moses, Jrv., and J. L. Dearing, of Governor Pickens's staff, and then the Confederate flag by Captain Ferguson, of General Beauregard's staff. The former had been presented to the State authorities by several ladies, with the injunction: "This flag shall be unfurled only on the walls of Fort Sumter." The fire in the fort raged all night, and was not extinguished until morning. Thus ended two of the most fateful and memorable days in the history of the United States of America—days which were followed by bloodshed, pillage, and carnage, which for four long years devastated the Southland, leaving it impoverished and downtrodden, but with the spirit of '76 still alive in the hearts of its people.:
[The foregoing paper was read several months ago and has been held over from press for space.—Ep.]