"Ah, what is this! The silent and shattered walls of Wagner all at once burst forth into a blinding sheet of vivid light, as though they had suddenly been transformed by some magic power into the living, seething crater of a volcano! Down came the whirlwind of destruction along the beach with the swiftness of lightning! How fearfully the hissing shot, the shrieking bombs, the whistling bars of iron, and the whispering bullet struck and crushed through the dense masses of our brave men! I never shall forget the terrible sound of that awful blast of death, which swept down, shattered or dead, a thousand of our men. Not a shot had missed its aim. Every bolt of steel, every globe of iron and lead, tasted of human blood.
"'Forward!' shouted the undaunted Putnam, as the column wavered and staggered like a giant stricken with death.
"'Steady, my boys!' murmured the brave leader, General Strong, as a cannon-shot dashed him, maimed and bleeding, into the sand.
"In a moment the column recovered itself, like a gallant ship at sea when buried for an instant under an immense wave.
"The ditch is reached; a thousand men leap into it, clamber up the shattered ramparts, and grapple with the foe, which yields and falls back to the rear of the fort. Our men swarm over the walls, bayoneting the desperate rebel cannoneers. Hurrah! the fort is ours!
"But now came another blinding blast from concealed guns in the rear of the fort, and our men went down by scores. Now the rebels rally, and, re-enforced by thousands of the chivalry, who have landed on the beach under cover of darkness, unmolested by the guns of the fleet. They hurl themselves with fury upon the remnant of our brave band. The struggle is terrific. Our supports hurry up to the aid of their comrades, but as they reach the ramparts they fire a volley which strikes down many of our men. Fatal mistake! Our men rally once more; but, in spite of an heroic resistance, they are forced back again to the edge of the ditch. Here the brave Shaw, with scores of his black warriors went down, fighting desperately. Here Putnam met his death wound, while cheering and urging on the overpowered Phalanx men.
"What fighting, and what fearful carnage! Hand to hand, breast to breast! Here, on this little strip of land, scarce bigger than the human hand, dense masses of men struggled with fury in the darkness; and so fierce was the contest that the sands were reddened and soaked with human gore.
"But resistance was vain. The assailants were forced back again to the beach, and the rebels trained their recovered cannon anew upon the retreating survivors.
"What a fearful night was that, as we gathered up our wounded heroes, and bore them to a place of shelter! And what a mournful morning, as the sun rose with his clear beams, and revealed our terrible losses! What a rich harvest Death had gathered to himself during the short struggle! Nearly two thousand of our men had fallen. More than six hundred of our brave boys lay dead on the ramparts of the fatal fort, in its broad ditch, and along the beach at its base. A flag of truce party went out to bury our dead, but General Beauregard they found had already buried them, where they fell, in broad, deep trenches."