Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 1.

[324] now the buoys had been removed, ships laden with stones had been sunken therein, and a blinding storm was prevailing.

The battery on Cummings's Point became very formidable in the after-noon. The guns were rifled. A Blakely cannon, already mentioned, was specially mischievous, and heavy shot, aimed accurately at the embrasures, were extremely destructive and annoying. The gunners in Sumter on that side were frequently stunned, or otherwise injured, by splinters of the masonry. In every part of the fort in which they were engaged they worked without intermission, and received food and drink at their guns. As

Blakely gun.1

the hours wore away, they became very weary. The supply of cartridges began to fail, and before sunset all the guns were abandoned but six. These were worked continually, but not rapidly, until dark, when the port-holes were closed, and the little garrison was arranged for alternate repose, and work, and watching. Several men had been wounded, but not one was mortally hurt. So closed the first day of actual war between the servants of the Oligarchy and those of the people.

The night of the 12th was dark and stormy, with high wind and tide. The telegraph was not yet silenced, and it had carried tidings of the fight all over the land before sunset. Thousands of anxious heads, hundreds of miles away from Sumter, were laid upon their pillows that night, and thousands of prayers went up to the Almighty for the salvation of the Republic. In Charleston and in its harbor there was but little sleep. All night long the mortars of the insurgents kept up a slow bombardment of the fort, sufficient to deprive the wearied garrison of all but intermittent slumbers. Anderson continually expected an attack from armed men in boats, and was prepared for their reception. He hoped to welcome other boats filled with friends and stores. He was disappointed in all his expectations. The naval commanders outside did, as we have observed, take measures to send in relief, but the storm kept them from performing their errand of mercy until it was too late.²

The storm ceased before the dawn.

April 12, 1861.

Only a few vanishing clouds flecked the morning sky. The sun rose in splendor. Already the cannonade and bombardment had been renewed with increased vigor and additional terrors. Red-hot shot were hurled into the fort. One passed along the course of a water-pipe through the wall that masked the magazine for fixed ammunition. Fortunately, it did not penetrate the inner wall. By that shield the fiery demon was foiled. Four times