Benson J. Lossing, Pictorial Field Book of the Civil War. Volume 1.

[134] carriage. “Where are you from?” he asked. “New York,” she replied. “Where are you going?” “To Charleston.” “Where else?” “Don't know; get me a carriage to go to the Mills House.” “There are none.” “I know better.” “I can't get one.” “Then give me a piece of paper that I may write a note to Governor Pickens; he will send me one.” The man yielded at the mention of the Governor's name. He supposed she must be some one of importance; and a few minutes afterward, she and Hart were in a carriage, on their way to the Mills House. There the parlor into which she was ushered was filled with excited people of both sexes, who were exasperated because of her husband's movements. His destruction of the old flagstaff at Moultrie was considered an insult to the South Carolinians that might not be forgiven. Their language was extremely violent.

Mrs. Anderson met her brother at the Mills House. On the following morning he procured from Governor Pickens a permit for her to go to Fort Sumter. She sought one for Hart. The Governor could not allow a man to be added to the Sumter garrison, he said; he would be held responsible to the Commonwealth of South Carolina for any mischief that might ensue in consequence! Mrs. Anderson did not conceal the scorn which the suggestion and excuse elicited. The State of South Carolina-now claiming to, be a sovereign power among the nations of the earth — endangered by the addition of one man to a garrison of seventy or eighty, while thousands of armed hands were ready and willing to strike them! Pickens was her father's old friend. “Tell him,” she said, “that I shall take Hart to the fort, with or without a pass.” Her words of scorn and her demand were repeated to the Governor. He saw the absurdity of his conduct, and gave a pass for Hart, but coupled the permission with a requirement that her messenger should obtain from Major Anderson a pledge that he should not be enrolled as a soldier! The pledge was exacted, given, and faithfully kept. Peter Hart served his country there better than if he had been a mere combatant.

At ten o'clock on Sunday morning, the 6th of January, Mrs. Anderson, with Hart and a few personal friends then in Charleston, started in a small boat for Sumter, carrying with her a mail-bag for the garrison, which had lately been often kept back. It was a most charming morning. The air was balmy and the bosom of the bay was unrippled. Nature invited to delicious enjoyment; but the brave woman, absorbed in the work of her holy mission of love and patriotism, heeded not the invitation. Everywhere were seen strange banners. Among them all was not a solitary Union flag. She felt like an exile from her native land. Presently, as the boat shot around a point of land, some one exclaimed,

Mrs. Anderson.

claimed, “There's Sumter!” She turned, and saw the national ensign floating gently over it. It seemed, as it waved languidly in the almost still air, like a signal of distress over a vessel in the midst of terrible breakers. “The dear old flag!” she exclaimed, and burst into tears. For the first time since she left New York, Emotion had conquered the Will.