sed the fleet at
anchor, manned and decked most gallantly, there was a scene of
indescribable enthusiasm; guns were booming, bands playing triumphal
marches, bells ringing and whistles sounding, while everybody was
shouting and cheering at the highest pitch of patriotic exultation.
This continued unabated till we reached the landing of Fort Sumter.
Disembarking we passed between two files of soldiers, black men on the
right, and white men on the left, rivalling each other in soldierly
bearing. Ascending a flight of fifty steps we reached the parapet of
the fort, where we found the Rhode Island boys of Company B, Third
Artillery, Lieutenant J.E. Burroughs commanding, in charge of six
pieces of artillery. Captain J.M. Barker and his men, of Company D,
were on duty on Morris Island; and our comrade, Charles H. Williams,
with a detachment of Company B, were on Sullivan's Island, in charge
of Fort Moultrie and Battery Bee. As I stood there on the parapet of
Sumter, and looked out over the battered and crumbled fortress, I
realized how it had become, even in ruins, well nigh impregnable. The
upper, or barbette walls, had fallen on the outside, and lay packed
solidly against the lower walls, choking the entrances to the
shattered casemates; numberless great guns, whose thunder had long
been the voice of battle, lay dismounted and half buried in the sand,
while the immense volume of shot and shell which had been hurled
against the fort had served only to solidify and strengthen the entire
mass. The fort was further protected from a scaling party by _cheveaux
de frise_ of pointed pickets, while along the base of the wall, near
the water line, was a barrier of interlaced wire fence, invisible at
the distance of a few feet, and which effectively resisted the advance
of our naval forces on the night of September 8, 1863.

In the interior of the fort, packed tier above tier against the walls,
were layers of tall wicker baskets filled with sand. In the centre
stood the new flag-staff, nearly one hundred and fifty feet high,
while here and there, at considerable intervals, were piled pyramids
of solid shot.

But the grim aspect of war had been somewhat softened by the floral
decorations, which, I was informed, were the combined taste of six
Union ladies of Charleston. Near the flag-staff, a graceful arched
canopy had been erected, draped with the American flag, and handsomely
trimmed with evergreens and myrtle. On the stage beside t