encement of the bombardment of Sumter, with the exception of those
troops enlisted for six months, now under Gregg at Charleston, and a
few volunteer companies of cavalry and artillery.

The writer was preparing to enter school in a neighboring county when
the first wave of patriotism struck him. Captain Walker's Company,
from Newberry, of which I was a member, had been ordered to Charleston
with Gregg, and was stationed at Morris' Island before I could get
off. Two of my brothers and myself had joined the company made,
up from the Thirty-ninth Battalion of State militia, and which
afterwards formed a part of the Third S.C. Volunteers (Colonel
Williams). But at that time, to a young mind like mine, the war looked
too remote for me to wait for this company to go, so when on my way to
school I boarded a train filled with enthusiasts, some tardy soldiers
on their way to join their companies, and others to see, and if need
be, "take old Anderson out of his den." Nothing on the train could be
heard but war, war--"taking of Sumter," "Old Anderson," and "Star
of the West." Everyone was in a high glee--palmetto cockades, brass
buttons, uniforms, and gaudy epaulettes were seen in every direction.
This was more than a youthful vision could withstand, so I directed my
steps towards the seat of war instead of school. By this time the city
of Charleston may be said to have been in a state of siege--none could
leave the islands or lands without a permit from the Governor or the
Adjutant and Inspector General. The headquarters of Governor Pickens
and staff were in the rooms of the Charleston Hotel, and to that
place I immediately hied and presented myself before those "August
dignitaries," and asked permission to join my company on Morris'
Island, but was refused. First, on account of not having a permit of
leave of absence from my captain; secondly, on account of my youth (I
then being on the rise of 15); and thirdly, having no permission from
my parents. What a contrast with later years, when boys of that age
were pressed into service. The city of Charleston was ablaze with
excitement, flags waved from the house tops, the heavy tread of
the embryo soldiers could be heard in the streets, the corridors of
hotels, and in all the public places. The beautiful park on the water
front, called the "Battery," was thronged with people of every age and
sex, straining their eyes or looking through glasses out at Sumter,
whose bristling front wa