It is now past meridian of the second day. Pulaski still fires her heaviest guns; but at greater intervals. The batteries from Tybee have obtained so exact a range that nearly every shot does execution. At length a breach is made in the vicinity of the magazine. The fate of the fort and all its inmates is now suspended upon a single, well-directed shot. There is but a step between the besieged and death, and as all hope of raising the siege is abandoned, the rebel flag is hauled down, and a white flag of submission waves in its stead. Pulaski falls, and the day is ours. The hope of Georgia is gone. In vain did the citizens of Savannah offer a prize of one hundred thousand dollars for the relief of the fort. Had that sum been increased to a million, it would have been quite as unavailing. The same inevitable doom awaits all the other forts and intrenchments of the rebel confederacy. With some of these, the event may be delayed; but the day of doom will come, and the broad flag of the Union will float over every inch of territory from the hills of the Aroostook to the waters of the Rio Grande.
Just as the fort struck her flag, an incident occurred which was somewhat remarkable. A sloop, which had been at anchor in Tybee harbor, was broken from her moorings by the violence of the wind, and driven by wind and tide, she floated up the Savannah river. With her Union down, she passed immediately in front of Pulaski, and turned into Wright river, where she was run ashore. Twenty minutes earlier, and she would have been blown to atoms by the guns of the fort.
An almost incredible amount of work has been done by our investing army, in accomplishing this glorious result. Rivers and creeks had to be sounded, obstructions removed, roads made through swamps on marshy islands, where our officers and men had to work day and night, often up to their waists in mud and water; heavy Parrotts and columbiads had to be carried by hand across these swamps, and erected on platforms inundated by rising tides; dykes and ditches had to be made, while all the time our men were exposed to the fire of the rebel fleet. When all this was accomplished, and communication was cut off from Pulaski, then the nearest points on Tybee were reached by our forces located on that island, and four or five batteries were planted, which, in turn, have done their work, and the result shows how wise were the plans and how successful was the execution. The stars and stripes now float over Pulaski, and may they never again be polluted by the touch of traitor hands.
Those persons who 'collect' street literature (there be such) may be pleased with the following:
PORTENTOUS PLACARDS.
New-York, May, 1862.
Since the publication of the 'Bill-Poster's Dream,' and of the extracts from Richmond papers containing the prophecies of the handwriting on the wall relative to the accomplice States of America, few things have so generally attracted pedestrian attention in our down-town streets as two enormous placards. The first bore the following legend:
there's
A TEMPEST
BREWING.
Persons given to cryptical studies were inclined to consider this an esoteric form of advertisement, intended to convey to the initiated the information that A. STORM had gone into the beer business. But conjecture was set at naught by its fellow which appeared at its side on the day after its posting, in this shape: