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[624] duty of the soldier, the construction of the cannon, the harness of the horses, the cleanliness of camp and person, were a daily round. His captain and friend, Stephen Elliott, often put some little detail out of place only to see it remedied promptly by the man he learned to rely upon. When the company was in charge of Fort Beauregard at Bay Point a steamer arrived off the beach bringing shell and shot for the fort. The surf was violent, but the shallow draft boat came within fifty yards of the shore. ‘How are the shell to be taken out?’ inquired the captain. Hamilton had solved the matter already. Wading in to his breast, he reached the side of the steamer as she rolled, a shell was put in his hands, and he turned for the shore with the shell above his head. A hundred stout fellows ran in with a yell and the unloading was soon over. At the battle of Port Royal he was second at the only rifle gun in battery. This piece and two forty-twos were the only effective guns, the twenty-fours not being able to reach the ships. One shell from the rifle had been landed in the stern of the Wabash, causing her to go to sea for repairs and to put out the flames. All of the fire of this gun was reserved for the big game, as the shells were few and in bad shape—the leaden collars all requiring rasping before use. Hamilton had gone to the shell-room to push the artificer and on his return found the rifle choked, the shell being jammed only half way. An enfilade of twenty gunboats and frigates was sweeping the fort, and the sand in front of the fort jetted in clouds as the iron ploughed around. Hamilton got two pieces of scantling and rigged a lever. Plunging the end of a scantling into the gun he bent to the lever with several men and jerked the shell down to place. Again the rifle spoke out. A huge shell from a steamer dropped under a twenty-four in the fort and lifted the squad from the casemate, dropping one man over the rampart. None were killed. Now the boats are fighting as they run by in an ellipse. It was like shooting on the wing. Again the rifle fouled, but the gunner had failed to report it. ‘Ready?’ ‘Ready,’ replied the gunner. Elliott stood near. ‘Have you a good bead on her?’ he asked. ‘Yes; fire.’ The rifle flew to a thousand bits, eighteen of the small fragments entering Hamilton's body. The entire squad was put hors de combat. The fort was now untenable. The young

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James A. Hamilton (3)
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