o the rattle of firecrackers on the fourth of
July.

To her surprise it proved to be a negro. He tied his boat and
deliberately unloaded his supply of vegetables. His stolid, sphinx-like
face showed neither fear nor interest.

"Weren't you afraid of Anderson's cannon, uncle?" Jennie asked.

"Nobum--nobum--"

"You might have been blown to pieces--"

"Nobum--Marse Anderson daresn't hit me!"

"Why not?"

"He knows my marster don't 'low nuttin like dat--I'se too val'eble er
nigger. Nobum, dey ain't none ob 'em gwine ter pester me, an' I ain't
gwine ter meddle wid dem--dey kin des fight hit out twixt 'em--"

Through the long night the steady boom of cannon, and the scream of
shells from the shore.

At one o'clock next day the flagstaff was cut down by a solid shot, and
Sumter was silent.

At three o'clock a mob surged up the street following Senator Barton,
who had just come from the harbor. He was on his way to Beauregard's
headquarters.

Anderson had surrendered.

A strange quiet held the city. There was no jubilation, no bonfires, no
illuminations to celebrate the victory. A sigh of relief for deliverance
from a great danger that had threatened their life--that was all.

The Southern flag was flying now from the battered walls, and the people
were content. They were glad that Beauregard had given old Bob Anderson
the privilege of saluting his flag and marching out with the honors of
war. All they asked was to be let alone.

And they were doubly grateful for the strange Providence that had saved
every soldier's life while the walls of the Fort had been hammered into
a shapeless mass. No blood had yet been spilled on either side. The
President of the Confederacy caught the wonderful news from the wires
with a cry of joy.

"Peace may yet be possible!" he exclaimed excitedly. "No blood has been
spilled in actual conflict--"

His joy was short lived. A rude awakening was in store.

Dick Welford strolled along the brilliantly lighted "Battery" that night
with Jennie's little hand resting on his arm.

"I tell you, Jennie, I was scared!" he was saying with boyish
earnestness. "You see a fellow never knows how he's going to come out of
a close place like that till he tries it. I had a fine uniform and I'd
learned the drill and all that--but I had not smelled brimstone at short
range. I didn't know how I'd do under fire. Now I know I'm a worthy
descendant of my old Scotch-Irish ancestor who held a British of