which might enter
the opening; so that, on the whole, they ran very little risk. Had they
used the guns on the parapet, the number of casualties would have been
greatly increased, but our missiles would have been much more effective.

When William Porcher Miles was about to enter the boat to return to
Charleston, he told our commander that none of the secession soldiers
were injured by our fire. Anderson raised his hands and ejaculated,
"Thank God for that!" As the object of our fighting was to do as much
damage as possible, I could see no propriety in thanking Heaven for the
small amount of injury we had inflicted. I have since had reason to
suspect, from several circumstances, that the contest was not as
bloodless as it was represented to be at the time. The coxswain of the
boat that brought Miles over heard him make the remark that no one was
hurt on the rebel side. The man stared at him for a moment in
undisguised amazement, and then stepped aside behind an angle of the
work, where he could indulge in a hearty fit of laughter. His whole
action was that of one who thought his chief had been indulging in
romance. Of course Miles believed the assertion, or he would not have
made it.

The fact is, Fort Moultrie was all slivered and knocked to pieces; and
as I heard so much in reference to the narrow escapes of officers and
soldiers there, I concluded that, if no one was hurt, a miracle must
have taken place. The rebel who carried dispatches between Fort Moultrie
and Mount Pleasant in a small boat was in a position to know, and he
told Peter Hart, some years after the war, that a schooner, to his
certain knowledge, came from Charleston during the battle, and took off
a number of killed from Fort Moultrie, who were taken to Potter's Field,
on Cooper River, and buried there on Saturday, at 4.30 A.M. I had
previously seen the same story published as coming from Charleston. A
similar statement was made, on his arrival in New York, by the mate of
the schooner _D.B. Pitts_, and it purported to be founded on his own
observation.

When we left Fort Sumter for New York, a man of my company, named
Fielding, was seriously injured by an explosion, and left behind in the
hospital at Charleston. He was frequently visited there by an old
comrade, named Galloway, who was one of our discharged soldiers.
Galloway laughed at the idea that no one had been injured, and told
Fielding that he himself had served in Fort Moultrie during the