al
desire; but the fleet had been compelled to stand idly by and witness
the bloodless reduction of Sumter. Later--when strengthened armaments
threatened constant attack--Lee and Beauregard had used every resource
to strengthen defenses of the still open port. What success they had,
is told by the tedious and persistent bombardment--perhaps unexampled
in the history of gunnery; surely so in devices to injure non-combatant
inhabitants.

On the 30th January, '63, the two slow, clumsy and badly-built rams,
under Captain Ingraham--of Martin Koszta fame--attacked the blockading
squadron and drove the Union flag completely from the harbor; but
re-enforced by iron-clads, it returned on the 7th of April. Again,
after a fierce battle with the fort, the Federal fleet drew off,
leaving the "Keokuk" monitor sunk; only to concentrate troops and build
heavy batteries, for persistent attempt to reduce the devoted city. The
history of that stubborn siege and defense, more stubborn still; of the
woman-shelling "swamp-angel" and the "Greek-fire;" of the deeds of
prowess that gleamed from the crumbling walls of Charleston--all this
is too familiar for repetition. Yet, ever and again--through wooden
mesh of the blockade-net and its iron links, alike--slipped a fleet,
arrowy little blockader into port. And with what result has just been
seen!

Wilmington--from long and shoal approach to her proper port--was more
difficult still to seal up effectually. There--long after every other
port was closed--the desperate, but wary, sea-pigeon would evade the
big and surly watcher on the coast. Light draught, narrow, low in the
water, swift and painted black--these little steamers were commanded by
men who knew every inch of coast; who knew equally that on them
depended life and death--or more. With banked fires and scarce-turning
wheels, they would drop down the Cape Fear, at night, to within a
hundred yards of the looming blockade giant. Then, putting on all
steam, they would rush by him, trusting to speed and surprise to elude
pursuit and distract his aim--and ho! for the open sea.

This was a service of keen excitement and constant danger; demanding
clear heads and iron nerves. Both were forthcoming, especially from
navy volunteers; and many were "the hair-breadth 'scapes" that made the
names of Maffit, Wilkinson and their confreres, household words among
the rough sea-dogs of Wilmington.

Savannah suffered least of the fair Atlantic sisterho