siege were not there. The attempt ended in failure. When night
came, a string of rowboats each carrying a huge torch kept watch
along the bar to guard against surprise from the sea.

On that Friday night the harbor was swept by storm. But in spite
of torrents of rain East Battery and the rooftops were thronged.
"The wind was inshore and the booming was startlingly distinct."
At the height of the bombardment, the sky above Sumter seemed to
be filled with the flashes of bursting shells. But during this
wild night Sumter itself was both dark and silent. Its casements
did not have adequate lamps and the guns could not be used except
by day. When morning broke, clear and bright after the night's
storm, the duel was resumed.

The walls of Sumter were now crumbling. At eight o'clock Saturday
morning the barracks took fire. Soon after it was perceived from
the shore that the flag was down. Beauregard at once sent offers
of assistance. With Sumter in flames above his head, Anderson
replied that he had not surrendered; he declined assistance; and
he hauled up his flag. Later in the day the flagstaff was shot in
two and again the flag fell, and again it was raised. Flames had
been kindled anew by red-hot shot, and now the magazine was in
danger. Quantities of powder were thrown into the sea. Still the
rain of red-hot shot continued. About noon, Saturday, says the
Courier, "flames burst out from every quarter of Sumter and
poured from many of its portholes...the wind was from the
west driving the smoke across the fort into the embrasures where
the gunners were at work." Nevertheless, "as if served with a new
impulse," the guns of Sumter redoubled their fire. But it was not
in human endurance to keep on in the midst of the burning fort.