ant
lot, a silent crowd shouldering, pushing, surging back and forth,
swarming far out along the dimly lighted avenue.

"There's a bulletin posted there," whispered Ailsa. "Could you
lift me in your arms?"

Her brother-in-law stooped, clasped her knees, and lifted her high
up above the sea of heads. Kerosene torches flickered beyond,
flanking a poster on which was printed in big black letters:

"WASHINGTON, April 13, 1861, 6 A.M.
"At half-past four o'clock this morning fire was
opened on Fort Sumter by the rebel batteries in the
harbour. Major Anderson is replying with his
barbette guns."

"8 A.M.
"A private despatch to the N. Y. Herald says that
the batteries on Mount Pleasant have opened on
Sumter. Major Anderson has brought into action two tiers
of guns trained on Fort Moultrie and the Iron Battery."

"3 P.M.
"The fire at this hour is very heavy. Nineteen
batteries are bombarding Sumter. The fort replies
briskly. The excitement in Charleston is intense."

"LATER.
"Heavy rain storm. Firing resumed this evening.
The mortar batteries throw a shell into the fort every
twenty minutes. The fort replies at intervals."

"LATEST.
"The fort is still replying. Major Anderson has
signalled the fleet outside."

All this she read aloud, one hand resting on Craig's shoulder as he
held her aloft above the throng. Men crowding around and striving
to see, paused, with up-turned faces, listening to the emotionless
young voice. There was no shouting, no sound save the trample and
shuffle of feet; scarcely a voice raised, scarcely an exclamation.

As Craig lowered her to the pavement, a man making his way out said
to them:

"Well, I guess that ends it."

Somebody replied quietly: "I guess that _begins_ it."

Farther down the avenue toward the City Hall where the new marble
court house was being built, a red glare quivered incessantly
against the darkness; distant hoarse rumours penetrated the night
air, accented every moment by the sharper clamour of voices calling
the _Herald's_ extras.

"Curt?"

"Yes, dear."

"If he surrenders----"

"It makes no difference what he does now, child."

"I know it. . . . They've dishonoured the flag. This is war,
isn't it?"

"Yes."

"Will it be a long war?"

"I think not."

"Who will go?"

"I don't know. . . . Soldiers."

"I didn't suppose we had enough. Where are we going to get more?"

"The people--" he sa