ntion to Moultrie. Early in the forenoon the smoke
began to rise from within the walls of Sumter; "the tort was on fire."
Shots now rain upon the walls of the burning fort with greater fury
than ever. The flag was seen to waver, then slowly bend over the
staff and fall. A shout of triumph rent the air from the thousands of
spectators on the islands and the mainland. Flags and handkerchiefs
waved from the hands of excited throngs in the city, as tokens of
approval of eager watchers. Soldiers mount the ramparts and shout in
exultation, throwing their caps in the air. Away to the seaward the
whitened sails of the Federal fleet were seen moving up towards
the bar. Anxiety and expectation are now on tip-toe. Will the fleet
attempt the succor of their struggling comrades? Will they dare to run
the gauntlet of the heavy dahlgreen guns that line the channel sides?
From the burning fort the garrison was fighting for their existence.
Through the fiery element and hail of shot and shell they see the near
approach of the long expected relief. Will the fleet accept the gauge
of battle? No. The ships falter and stop. They cast anchor and remain
a passive spectator to the exciting scenes going on, without offering
aid to their friends or battle to their enemies.

General Beauregard, with that chivalrous spirit that characterized all
true Southerners, when he saw the dense curling smoke and the flames
that now began to leap and lick the topmost walls of the fort, sent
three of his aids to Major Anderson, offering aid and assistance in
case of distress. But the brave commander, too proud to receive aid
from a generous foe when his friends are at hand yet too cowardly to
come to the rescue, politely refused the offer. But soon thereafter
the white flag was waving from the parapets of Fort Sumter. Anderson
had surrendered; the battle was over; a victory won by the gallant
troops of the South, and one of the most miraculous instances of a
bloodless victory, was the first battle fought and won. Thousands of
shots given and taken, and no one hurt on either side.

A remarkable instance of Southern magnanimity was that of W.T.
Wigfall, a volunteer aide to General Beauregard. As he stood watching
the progress of the battle from Cummings' Point and saw the great
volume of black smoke curling and twisting in the air--the storm of
shot and shell plunging into the doomed walls of the fort, and the
white flag flying from its burning parapets--his g