long the bar
to guard against surprise from the sea.

On that Friday night the harbor was swept by storm. But in spite of
torrents of rain East Battery and the rooftops were thronged. "The wind
was inshore and the booming was startlingly distinct." At the height
of the bombardment, the sky above Sumter seemed to be filled with the
flashes of bursting shells. But during this wild night Sumter itself was
both dark and silent. Its casements did not have adequate lamps and
the guns could not be used except by day. When morning broke, clear and
bright after the night's storm, the duel was resumed.

The walls of Sumter were now crumbling. At eight o'clock Saturday
morning the barracks took fire. Soon after it was perceived from
the shore that the flag was down. Beauregard at once sent offers of
assistance. With Sumter in flames above his head, Anderson replied that
he had not surrendered; he declined assistance; and he hauled up his
flag. Later in the day the flagstaff was shot in two and again the flag
fell, and again it was raised. Flames had been kindled anew by red-hot
shot, and now the magazine was in danger. Quantities of powder were
thrown into the sea. Still the rain of red-hot shot continued. About
noon, Saturday, says the Courier, "flames burst out from every quarter
of Sumter and poured from many of its portholes... the wind was from the
west driving the smoke across the fort into the embrasures where the
gunners were at work." Nevertheless, "as if served with a new impulse,"
the guns of Sumter redoubled their fire. But it was not in human
endurance to keep on in the midst of the burning fort. This splendid
last effort was short. At a quarter after one, Anderson ceased firing
and raised a white flag. Negotiations followed ending in terms of
surrender--Anderson to be allowed to remove his garrison to the fleet
lying idle beyond the bar and to salute the flag of the United States
before taking it down. The bombardment had lasted thirty-two hours
without a death on either side. The evacuation of the fort was to take
place next day.

The afternoon of Sunday, the 14th of April, was a gala day in the
harbor of Charleston. The sunlight slanted across the roofs of the city,
sparkled upon the sea. Deep and rich the harbor always looks in the
spring sunshine on bright afternoons. The filmy atmosphere of these
latitudes, at that time of year, makes the sky above the darkling,
afternoon sea a pale but luminous turquoise. Th