The formalities at Sumter quickly ended, Pryor repaired to Battery Johnson, met the young Captain of artillery in command and presented his order.
With a shout the Captain threw his arms around the messenger and with streaming eyes cried:
"Your wonderful speech last night made this glorious thing possible! You shall have the immortal honor of firing the first gun!"
And then a strange revulsion of fooling—or was it a flash of foreboding from the hell-lit, battle-scorched future! The orator hesitated and turned pale. It was an honor he could not now decline and yet he instinctively shrank from it.
He mopped the perspiration from his brow and looked about in a helpless way. His eye suddenly rested on a grey-haired, stalwart sentinel passing with quick firm tread. He recognized him immediately as a distinguished fellow Virginian, a man of large wealth and uncompromising opinions on Southern rights.
When Virginia had refused to secede, he cursed his countrymen as a set of hesitating cowards, left the State and moved to South Carolina. He had volunteered among the first and carried a musket as a private soldier in spite of his snow-white hairs.
Pryor turned to the Commandant:
"I appreciate, sir, the honor you would do me, but I could not think of taking it from one more worthy than myself. There is the man whose devotion to our cause is greater than mine."
He introduced Edmund Ruffin and gave a brief outline of his career. The boyish Commandant faced him:
"Will you accept the honor of firing the first shot, sir?"