April 8, 1863, The Charleston Mercury
At last, the long period of doubt and delay is at an end; and this goodly city, girdled with the fiery circle of its batteries, stands confronted with the most formidable Armada that the hands of man have ever put afloat.
The first scene in the novel drama of the war, which, we trust, is to add new lustre to the fame of Charleston, has closed. Let us render thanks to the Lord of Hosts that the result, thus far, has been one of proud triumph to our country. As yet, however, we have but entered upon the ordeal. It will be for the next few days to tell the tale of our sad disaster, or complete success.
In view of the reticence which (for reasons of military policy) has heretofore marked our allusions to the presence of the iron clad fleet, a brief review of the events of the week will not be out of place. About noon on Sunday last the first intelligence was flashed to the city from Fort Sumter, that the turrets of the far-famed Monitor gunboats were looming up against the southeastern horizon. During the afternoon the entire fleet hove in sight. Eight Monitors, besides the frigate Ironsides and twenty-seven wooden war vessels, took up their position just beyond the bar. As the news became bruited about the city, very many of our non-combatant population (previously incredulous of danger) made hasty preparations to depart; and every train that has left the city since has gone heavily laden with the eleventh-hour refugees and their effects.
Sunday night passed quietly by. Monday morning brought us reports of the movements of transports up the Stono River, and the debarkation of a considerable force of Yankee troops on Cole’s Island. But throughout Monday and Monday night, the armored fleet held its position beyond the bar. On Tuesday morning it was observed that another Monitor had arrived, making a force of no less than ten iron clad vessels, including the Ironsides.
At two o’clock on Tuesday afternoon a despatch from Fort Sumter announced that these ten vessels had crossed the bar, and were cautiously steaming inward – the foremost one having at that time reached a point about three thousand yards from the Fort. The next news was brought to us, an hour later, by the dull detonation of the first gun from Fort Moultrie, which was immediately answered by a heavy report and a cloud of white smoke from the turret of one of the Monitors. At ten minutes after three, the enemy having come within range, Fort Sumter opened her batteries, and, almost simultaneously, the white smoke could be seen puffing from the low sand hills of Morris and Sullivan’s Islands, indicating that the Beauregard Battery on the left, and Battery Wagner on the extreme right, had become engaged. Five of the iron-clads, forming in line of battle in front of Fort Sumter, maintained a very rapid return fire, occasionally hurling their 15 inch shot and shell against Fort Moultrie and the minor batteries, but all directing their chief efforts against the cast face of Fort Sumter. Gradually, but visibly, the distance between the attacking vessels and the Fort was lessened, and as the enemy drew nearer the firing became hot and almost continuous.
About half-past four o’clock the battle became fierce and general. The scene at that hour, as viewed from the Battery promenade, was truly grand. Battery Bee had now mingled the hoarse thunder of its guns in the universal din, and the whole expanse of the harbor entrance, from Sullivan’s Island to Cumming’s Point, became enveloped in the smoke and constant flashes of the conflict. The iron-clads kept constantly shifting their position, but, which ever way they went, their ports, always turned towards the battlements of Sumter, poured forth their terrible projectiles against the walls of that famous stronghold. Ever and anon, as the huge shot went ricocheting towards the mark, the water was dashed up in vast sheets of spray, towering far above the parapet of the Fort, while the wreaths of smoke constantly ascending from the barbette guns showed how actively the artillerymen of the post were discharging their duties. In the foreground, our own staunch little iron-clads, the Palmetto State and Chicora, could be seen steaming energetically up and down their chosen fighting position, evidently impatient to participate in the fray.
Up to this time the frigate Ironsides had born a very conspicuous part in the fight. Her long hull lay at the distance, apparently, of a mile from our batteries, and her tremendous broadsided were more than once fully answered by broadsides from the Fort. It soon became apparent that she was unable to stand the severe fire directed against her. Steaming rapidly southward, she gave Fort Sumter a few parting shots and withdrew from the action. The Keokuk, a double turretted Monitor, soon after followed her example; and before five o’clock the firing had evidently begun to slacken. The remaining Monitors, however, sill kept up the bombardment and our forts and batteries replied with undiminished alacrity. At quarter after five, p.m., the Monitors began to retire, and at half past five the enemy fired the last shot of the engagement.
Gratifying as were the general results of the fight, the late hour at which it closed precluded the possibility of our receiving the full details from the Forts. A despatch from Fort Sumter informs us that the Ironsides and Keokuk were both very roughly handled, and retired seriously injured. The Keokuk had her flag shot down, her boat shot away, three holes in her smoke stack and a portion of her bow shot off. The practice of our gunners was most creditable. Nearly every shot struck some one of the iron clads, but with what effect is not known. Fort Sumter was struck thirty-four times. One of our guns was dismounted, but otherwise the Fort is in good condition. Fort Moultrie was uninjured. The casualties at Fort Sumter were a drummer boy, named AHRENS, mortally wounded; two men severely wounded, and three others slightly injured. At For Moultrie, one man was accidentally hurt by a fall from the flagstaff, on which he was replacing our flag, which had been shot away. We learn that he afterwards died. Two small houses on the back beach of Sullivan’s Island were demolished by the enemy’s fire.
After their withdrawal from the action, the enemy iron-clads anchored off Morris Island where they now lie. Many think that the fight will be renewed at daybreak this morning; but up to the time at which we write (3 a.m.) all is quiet. The reports we get from the Stono River say that the enemy transports still remain in the stream. Doubtless the Yankee Generals intend, before venturing upon a land attack, to await the issue of the struggle between their ships and our batteries.