stillness pervaded the air.  There was some apprehension lest the fleet might come in during the night, land an army on Morris’ Island in small boats, and take the forts by surprise.  Men watched with breathless interest the hands on the dials as they slowly moved around to the hour of four, the time set to open the fire.  At that hour gunners stood with lanyards in their hands.  Men peered through the darkness in the direction of Sumter, as looking for some invisible object.  At half past four Captain James, from Fort Johnston, pulled his lanyard; the great mortar belched forth, a bright flash, and the shell went curving over in a kind of semi-circle, the lit fuse trailing behind, showing a glimmering light, like the wings of a fire fly, bursting over the silent old Sumter.  This was the signal gun that unchained the great bull-dogs of war around the whole circle of forts.  Scarcely had the sound of the first gun died away, ere the dull report from Fort Moultrie came rumbling over the waters, like an echo, and another shell exploded over the deserted parade ground of the doomed fort.  Scarcely had the fragments of this shell been scattered before General Stevens jerked the lanyard at the railroad battery, and over the water gracefully sped the lighted shell, its glimmering fuse lighting its course as it, too, sped on in its mission of destruction.  Along the water fronts, and from all the forts, now a perfect sheet of flame flashed out, a deafening roar, a rumbling deadening sound, and the war was on.  The men as a whole were alive to their work; shot after shot was fired.  Now a red-hot solid shot, now a shell, goes capering through the air like a shower of meteors on a frolic.  The city was aroused.  Men, women, and children rush to the housetops, or crowd each other along the water front of the battery.

But Sumter remained silent, grim, defiant.  All there seemed to be in peaceful, quiet slumber, while the solid shot battered against her walls, or the shells burst over their heads and in the court yard below.  Round after round is fired.  The gunners began to weary of their attempt to arouse the sleeping foe.  Is the lion so far back in his lair as not to feel the prods of his tormentors? or is his apathy or contempt too great to be aroused from his slumber by such feeble blows?  The grey streaks of morning came coursing from the east, and still the lion is not angry, or is loath to take up the struggle before he has had his morning meal.  At seven o’clock, however, if there had been any real anxiety to rouse his temper, it was appeased.  The stars and stripes ran up the flag staff, and from out the walls of the grim old stronghold burst a wreath of smoke—­then a report, and a shot comes whizzing through the air, strikes the iron battery, and ricochets over in the sand banks.  He then pays his respects to Moultrie.  From the casements and barbette guns issue a flame and smoke, while the air is filled with flying shot.  The battle is general and grand.  Men spring upon