SECESSION HALL, CHARLESTON, SCENE OF THE PASSAGE OF THE ORDINANCE OF SECESSION. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH.
Fort Sumter did not respond with her guns till 7:30 A.M. The firing from this fort, during the entire bombardment, was slow and deliberate, and marked with little accuracy. The firing continued without intermission during the 12th, and more slowly during the night of the 12th and 13th. No material change was noticed till 8 A.M. on the 13th, when the barracks in Fort Sumter were set on fire by hot shot from the guns of Fort Moultrie. As soon as this was discovered, the Confederate batteries redoubled their efforts, to prevent the fire being extinguished. Fort Sumter fired at little longer intervals, to enable the garrison to fight the flames. This brave action, under such a trying ordeal, aroused great sympathy and admiration on the part of the Confederates for Major Anderson and his gallant garrison; this feeling was shown by cheers whenever a gun was fired from Sumter. It was shown also by loud reflections on the “men-of-war” outside the harbor.2
About 12:30 the flag-staff of Fort Sumter was shot down, but it was soon replaced. As soon as General Beauregard heard that the flag was no longer flying, he sent three of his aides, William Porcher Miles, Roger A. Pryor, and myself, to offer, and also to see if Major Anderson would receive or needed, assistance, in subduing the flames inside the fort. Before we reached it, we saw the United States flag again floating over it, and began to return to the city. Before going far, however, we saw the Stars and Stripes replaced by a white flag. We turned about at once and rowed rapidly to the fort. We were directed, from an embrasure, not to go to the wharf, as it was mined, and the fire was near it. We were assisted through an embrasure and conducted to Major Anderson. Our mission being made known to him, he replied, “Present my compliments to General Beauregard, and say to him I thank him for his kindness, but need no assistance.” He further remarked that he hoped the worst was over, that the fire had settled over the magazine, and, as it had not exploded, he thought the real danger was about over. Continuing, he said, “Gentlemen, do I understand you come direct from General Beauregard?” The reply was in the affirmative. He then said, “Why! Colonel Wigfall has just been here as an aide too, and by authority of General Beauregard, and proposed the same terms of evacuation offered on the 11th instant.” We informed the major that we were not authorized to offer terms; that we were direct from General Beauregard, and that Colonel Wigfall, although an aide-de-camp to the general, had been detached, and had not seen the general for several days. Major Anderson at once stated, “There is a misunderstanding on my part, and I will at once run up my flag and open fire again.” After consultation, we requested him not to do so, until the matter was explained to General Beauregard, and requested Major Anderson to reduce to writing his understanding with Colonel Wigfall, which he did. However, before we left the fort, a boat arrived from Charleston, bearing Major D. R. Jones, assistant adjutant-general on General Beauregard’s staff, who offered substantially the same terms to Major Anderson as those offered on the 11th, and also by Colonel Wigfall, and which were now accepted.
Thus fell Fort Sumter, April 13th, 1861. At this time fire was still raging in the barracks, and settling steadily over the magazine. All egress was cut off except through the lower embrasures. Many shells from the Confederate batteries, which had fallen in the fort and had not exploded, as well as the hand-grenades used for defense, were exploding as they were reached by the fire. The wind was driving the heat and smoke down into the fort and into the case-mates, almost causing suffocation. Major Anderson, his officers, and men were blackened by smoke and cinders, and showed signs of fatigue and exhaustion, from the trying ordeal through which they had passed.
JEFFERSON DAVIS, PRESIDENT OF THE CONFEDERATE STATES OF AMERICA. FROM A PHOTOGRAPH.
It was soon discovered, by conversation, that it was a bloodless battle; not a man had been killed or seriously wounded on either side during the entire bombardment of nearly forty hours. Congratulations were exchanged on so happy a result. Major Anderson stated that he had instructed his officers only to fire on the batteries and forts, and not to fire on private property.
The terms of evacuation offered by General Beauregard were generous, and were appreciated by Major Anderson. The garrison was to embark on the 14th, after running up and saluting the United States flag, and to be carried to the United States fleet. A soldier killed during the salute was buried inside the fort, the new Confederate garrison uncovering during the impressive ceremonies. Major Anderson and his command left the harbor, bearing with them the respect and admiration of the Confederate soldiers.3 It was conceded that he had done his duty as a soldier holding a most delicate trust.
VIEW OF CUMMING’S POINT. FROM A SKETCH MADE AFTER THE BOMBARDMENT.
This first bombardment of Sumter was but its “baptism of fire.” During subsequent attacks by land and water, it was battered by the heaviest Union artillery. Its walls were completely crushed, but the tons of iron projectiles imbedded in its ruins added strength to the inaccessible mass that surrounded it and made it impregnable. It was never taken, but the operations of General Sherman, after his march to the sea, compelled its evacuation, and the Stars and Stripes were again raised over it, April 14th, 1865.4
FORT SUMTER AFTER THE BOMBARDMENT. FROM A SKETCH MADE IN APRIL, 1861.
* * *
1 When the Star of the West arrived, on the 9th of January, the first shot, aimed across her bow, was fired by G. E. Haynsworth, and the second, aimed directly at her, by Cadet Horlbeek. It is claimed that before this date a hostile shot from a 4-pounder had been fired from Vicksburg by Horace Miller at a passing United States vessel, supposed to be carrying a supply of arms and ammunition to New Orleans. —EDITORS.
2 These vessels, part of the second expedition for the relief of Fort Sumter, were the Baltic (no guns), the Pawnee (8 9-inch guns), and the Harriet Lane (1 8-inch gun and 4 32-pounders). The Pocahontas did not arrive till the afternoon of the 13th. The expedition was in charge of Captain Gustavus V. Fox (afterward Assistant Secretary of the Navy), who had visited the fort on the 21st of March. It had been understood between Secretary Welles and Captain Fox that the movement should be supported by the Powhatan (1 11-inch and 10 9-inch guns); but, unknown to Mr. Welles, and perhaps without full understanding of this plan, President Lincoln had consented to the dispatch of the ship to the relief of Fort Pickens, for which destination it had sailed from New York, April 6th, under command of Lieutenant David D. Porter. This conflict of plans deprived Captain Fox of the ship which he calls the “fighting portion” of his fleet; and to this circumstance he attributed the failure of the expedition. —EDITORS.
3 The officers, under General Beauregard, of the batteries surrounding Fort Sumter were:
SULLIVAN’S ISLAND, Brigadier-General R.G.M. Dunovant commanding, Lieutenant-Colonel Roswell S. Ripley, commanding the artillery: Fire-gun Battery (east of Fort Moultrie), Captain S. Y. Tupper; Maffit Channel Battery (2 guns) and Mortar Battery No. 2 (2 10-inch mortars), Captain William Butler, Lieutenant T. A. Hugnenin; Fort Moultrie (30 guns), Captain W. R. Calhoun: consisting of Channel Battery, Lieutenants Thomas M. Wagner, Preston, and Sitgreaves, Sumter Battery, Lieutenants Alfred Rhett and John C. Mitchell, and Oblique Battery, Lieutenant C. W. Parker; Mortar Battery No. 1 (2 10-inch mortars) and Enfilade Battery (4 guns), Captain James H. Hallonquist, Lieutenants D. G. Fleming, Jacob Valentine, and B. S. Burnet; the Point Battery (1 9-inch Dahlgren) and the Floating Iron-clad Battery (2 42-pounders and 2 32-pounders), Captain John R. Hamilton and Lieutenant Joseph A. Yates; the Mount Pleasant Battery (2 10-inch mortars), Captain Robert Martin, Lieutenant George N. Reynolds.
MORRIS ISLAND, Brigadier-General James Simons commanding, Lieutenant-Colonel Wilmot G. De Saussure, commanding the artillery: Major P. F. Stevens, commanding Cumming’s Point Battery (Blakely gun, which arrived from Liverpool April 9th, Captain J. P. Thomas; 2 42-pounders, Lieutenant T. Sumter Brownfield; and 3 10-inch mortars, Lieutenants C. R. Holmes and N. Armstrong) and the Stevens I
ron-clad Battery (3 8-inch columbiads), Captain George B. Cuthbert, Lieutenant G. L. Buist; Trapier Battery (3 10-inch mortars), Captain J. Gadsden King, Lieutenants W.D.H. Kirkwood, J. P. Strohecker, A. M. Huger, and E. L. Parker.
JAMES ISLAND, Major N. G. Evans commanding; Fort Johnson (battery of 24-pounders), Captain George S. James; Mortar Battery, Lieutenants W. H. Gibbes, H. S. Farley, J. E. McP. Washington, and T. B. Hayne; Upper Battery (2 10-inch mortars), Lower Battery (2 10-inch mortars), Captain S. C. Thayer. —EDITORS.
4 Under an order from Secretary Stanton, the same flag that was lowered, April 14th, 1861, was raised again over Sumter, by Major (then General) Anderson, on April 14th, 1865, the day President Lincoln was shot. Of Major Anderson’s former officers, Generals Abner Doubleday and Norman J. Hall and Chaplain Matthias Harris were present. The Rev. Henry Ward Beecher delivered an oration, and other prominent anti-slavery men attended the ceremony.—EDITORS.
CHAPTER 3
WAR PREPARATIONS IN THE NORTH.
Jacob D. Cox, Major-General, U.S.V.
EX-GOVERNOR OF OHIO, EX-SECRETARY OF THE INTERIOR.
The wonderful outburst of national feeling in the North in the spring of 1861 has always been a thrilling and almost supernatural thing to those who participated in it. The classic myth that the resistless terror which sometimes unaccountably seized upon an army was the work of the god Pan might seem to have its counterpart in the work of a national divinity rousing a whole people, not to terror, but to a sublime enthusiasm of self-devotion. To picture it as a whole is impossible. A new generation can only approximate a knowledge of the feelings of that time by studying in detail some separate scenes of the drama that had a continent for its stage. The writer can only tell what happened under his eye. The like was happening everywhere from Maine to Kansas. What is told is simply a type of the rest.1
On Friday, the twelfth day of April, 1861, the Senate of Ohio was in session, trying to go on in the ordinary routine of business, but with a sense of anxiety and strain which was caused by the troubled condition of national affairs. The passage of “ordinances of secession” by one after another of the Southern States, and even the assembling of a provisional Confederate government at Montgomery, had not wholly destroyed the hope that some peaceful way out of our troubles would be found; yet the gathering of an army on the sands opposite Fort Sumter was really war, and if a hostile gun were fired, we knew it would mean the end of all effort at arrangement. Hoping almost against hope that blood would not be shed, and that the pageant of military array and of a secession government would pass by, we tried to give our thoughts to business; but there was no heart in it, and the “morning hour” lagged, for we could not work in earnest, and we were unwilling to adjourn.
THE AWKWARD SQUAD.
Suddenly a senator came in from the lobby in an excited way, and, catching the chairman’s eye, exclaimed, “Mr. President, the telegraph announces that the secessionists are bombarding Fort Sumter!” There was a solemn and painful hush, but it was broken in a moment by a woman’s shrill voice from the spectators’ seats, crying, “Glory to God!” It startled every one, almost as if the enemy were in the midst. But it was the voice of a radical friend of the slave, Abby Kelly Foster, who, after a lifetime of public agitation, believed that only through blood could his freedom be won, and who had shouted the fierce cry of joy that the question had been submitted to the decision of the sword. With most of us, the gloomy thought that civil war had begun in our own land overshadowed everything else; this seemed too great a price to pay for any good,—a scourge to be borne only in preference to yielding what was to us the very groundwork of our republicanism, the right to enforce a fair interpretation of the Constitution through the election of President and Congress.
The next day we learned that Major Anderson had surrendered, and the telegraphic news from all the Northern States showed plain evidence of a popular outburst of loyalty to the Union, following a brief moment of dismay. That was the period when the flag—The Flag—flew out to the wind from every housetop in our great cities, and when, in New York, wildly excited crowds marched the streets demanding that the suspected or the lukewarm should show the symbol of nationality as a committal to the country’s cause. He that is not for us is against us, was the deep, instinctive feeling.
Judge Thomas M. Key of Cincinnati,2 chairman of the Judiciary Committee, was the recognized leader of the Democratic party in the Senate, and at an early hour moved an adjournment to the following Tuesday, in order, as he said, that the senators might have the opportunity to go home and consult their constituents in the perilous crisis of public affairs. No objection was made to the adjournment, and the representatives took a similar recess. All were in a state of most anxious suspense,—the Republicans to know what initiative the Administration at Washington would take, and the Democrats to determine what course they should follow if the President should call for troops to put down the insurrection.
Before we met again, Mr. Lincoln’s proclamation and call for 75,000 men for three months’ service had been issued, and the great mass of the people of the North, forgetting all party distinctions, answered with an enthusiasm that swept politicians off their feet. When we met again on Tuesday morning, Judge Key, taking my arm and pacing the floor outside the railing, broke out impetuously, “Mr. Cox, the people have gone stark mad!”—“I knew they would if a blow were struck against the flag,” said I, reminding him of some previous conversations we had had on the subject. He, with most of the politicians of the day, partly by sympathy with the overwhelming current of public opinion, and partly by the reaction of their own hearts against the theories which had encouraged the secessionists, determined to support the war measures of the Government and to make no factious opposition to such State legislation as might be necessary to sustain the Federal Administration.
The attitude of Mr. Key is only a type of many others, and marks one of the most striking features of the time. On the 8th of January the usual Democratic convention and celebration of the battle of New Orleans had taken place, and a series of resolutions had been passed, in which, professing to speak in the name of “200,000 Democrats of Ohio,” the convention had very significantly intimated that this vast organization of men would be found in the way of any attempt to put down secession until the demands of the South in respect to slavery were complied with. A few days afterward I was returning to Columbus from my home in Trumbull county, and meeting upon the railway train with David Tod, then an active Democratic politician, but afterward one of our loyal “war governors,” the conversation turned on the action of the convention which had just adjourned. Mr. Tod and I were personal friends and neighbors, and I freely expressed my surprise that the convention should have committed itself to what must be interpreted as a threat of insurrection in the North, if the Administration should, in opposing secession by force, follow the example of Andrew Jackson in whose honor they had assembled. He rather vehemently reasserted the substance of the resolution, saying that we Republicans would find the 200,000 Ohio Democrats in front of us, if we attempted to cross the Ohio River. My answer was, “We will give up the contest if we cannot carry your 200,000 over the heads of you leaders.”
The result proved how hollow the party assertions had been, or, perhaps, I should say, how superficial was the hold of such doctrines upon the mass of men in a great political organization. At the first shot from Beauregard’s guns in Charleston Harbor these men crowded to the recruiting stations to enlist for the defense of the national flag and the national union. It was a popular torrent which no leaders could resist; but many of these should be credited with the same patriotic impulse, and it made them nobly oblivious of party consistency. A few days after the surrender of Sumter, Stephen A. Douglas passed through Columbus on his way to Washington, and, in response to the calls of a spontaneous gathering of people, spoke to them from the window of his bedroom in the hotel. There had been no thought for any of the common surroundings of a public meeting. There were
no torches, no music. A dark mass of men filled full the dimly lit street, and called for Douglas with an earnestness of tone wholly different from the enthusiasm of common political gatherings. He came half-dressed to his window, and, without any light near him, spoke solemnly to the people upon the terrible crisis which had come upon the nation. Men of all parties were there: his own followers to get some light as to their duty; the Breckinridge Democrats ready, most of them, repentantly to follow a Northern leader now that their Southern associates were in armed opposition to the Government; the Republicans eager to know whether so potent an influence was to be unreservedly on the side of the nation. I remember well the serious solicitude with which I listened to his opening sentences as I leaned against the railing of the State House park, trying in vain to see more than a dim outline of the man as he stood at the unlighted window. His deep, sonorous tones rolled down through the darkness from above us, an earnest, measured voice, the more solemn, the more impressive, because we could not see the speaker, and it came to us literally as “a voice in the night,”—the night of our country’s unspeakable trial. There was no uncertainty in his tone; the Union must be preserved and the insurrection must be crushed; he pledged his hearty support to Mr. Lincoln’s administration in doing this; other questions must stand aside till the national authority should be everywhere recognized. I do not think we greatly cheered him,—it was, rather, a deep Amen that went up from the crowd. We went home breathing more freely in the assurance we now felt that, for a time at least, no organized opposition to the Federal Government and its policy of coercion could be formidable in the North.
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