The Cor­re­spon­dent, William Rus­sell of the Lon­don Times, found him­self in the midst of a his­toric and tense moment on Thurs­day, April 11, when he dined at the home of Gen­er­al Win­field Scott, who com­mand­ed the mil­i­tary forces in Wash­ing­ton. Upon his arrival, Rus­sell was greet­ed by sol­diers on horse­back patrolling the streets, set­ting the tone for what would be an evening of con­sid­er­able polit­i­cal and mil­i­tary sig­nif­i­cance. Inside, the din­ner was attend­ed by influ­en­tial fig­ures, includ­ing William Seward, the U.S. Sec­re­tary of State, and Attor­ney Gen­er­al Edward Bates, along­side Major George W. Cul­lum, an Army engi­neer with a for­mi­da­ble rep­u­ta­tion for for­ti­fy­ing key loca­tions, includ­ing Fort Sumter itself.

The din­ner, though pleas­ant, became charged with polit­i­cal ten­sion when, as the meal was under­way, an order­ly deliv­ered an urgent dis­patch from Pres­i­dent Abra­ham Lin­coln. Gen­er­al Scott read the dis­patch, which con­tained crit­i­cal instruc­tions regard­ing Fort Sumter, but quick­ly hand­ed it over to Seward, who seemed vis­i­bly dis­turbed upon read­ing its con­tents. This was no ordi­nary piece of cor­re­spon­dence, as both Seward and Bates, after read­ing it, exhib­it­ed signs of deep con­cern. To allow for pri­vate dis­cus­sion of the dis­patch’s con­tents, Rus­sell excused him­self and stepped out­side with Major Cul­lum into the gar­den. There, he observed the height­ened secu­ri­ty sur­round­ing Scot­t’s res­i­dence, which sug­gest­ed the grav­i­ty of the sit­u­a­tion that was unfold­ing just beyond the walls.

As the din­ner came to a close, Rus­sell rejoined the group inside, learn­ing that the dis­patch had con­tained a dire warn­ing: the South Car­oli­na bat­ter­ies had been ordered to open fire on Fort Sumter unless Major Robert Ander­son, the Union com­man­der, agreed to sur­ren­der. The news marked a turn­ing point, fore­shad­ow­ing the onset of open con­flict. The impli­ca­tions were clear—an all-out war seemed increas­ing­ly like­ly, with the South’s deci­sion to esca­late ten­sions through mil­i­tary action sig­nal­ing a cru­cial shift in the polit­i­cal land­scape. After the din­ner, Seward escort­ed Rus­sell back to the Willard Hotel, where they passed through the eeri­ly qui­et streets of Penn­syl­va­nia Avenue, a reminder of the loom­ing threat from Vir­ginia and rumors of a pos­si­ble mil­i­tary plot against Lin­coln and his cab­i­net. Seward, though admit­ting that Wash­ing­ton was “almost defense­less,” believed both the North and South were, at that point, ill-pre­pared for mil­i­tary aggres­sion.

The fol­low­ing day, Rus­sell set out for Charleston, intend­ing to reach Bal­ti­more first. Despite the heavy rain­storm, his deter­mi­na­tion to under­stand the unfold­ing events brought him to Eutaw House, his hotel, where he was greet­ed by rumors claim­ing that the bom­bard­ment of Fort Sumter had already begun. How­ev­er, Rus­sell remained cau­tious, know­ing how mis­in­for­ma­tion could spread in such uncer­tain times, espe­cial­ly after encoun­ter­ing numer­ous false reports in recent days. At the hotel bar, he found the patrons buzzing with spec­u­la­tion about the sit­u­a­tion at Sumter, reveal­ing how lit­tle actu­al infor­ma­tion was avail­able. Rus­sell, who was sup­posed to be a source of reli­able infor­ma­tion him­self, found him­self caught in the same uncer­tain­ty, with no more clar­i­ty than those around him who sought his insight.

This chap­ter exem­pli­fies the fog of war and the chal­lenge of obtain­ing reli­able infor­ma­tion in times of nation­al cri­sis. Russell’s expe­ri­ence sheds light on the con­fu­sion and con­flict­ing reports that sur­round­ed the open­ing moments of the Civ­il War. Even though he was an expe­ri­enced war cor­re­spon­dent, he too was caught off-guard by the rapid­ly unfold­ing events. This illus­trates the dif­fi­cul­ty of report­ing on an event as momen­tous as the Civ­il War at its incep­tion, where the lines between fact and spec­u­la­tion often blurred. It also under­scores the fragili­ty of com­mu­ni­ca­tion dur­ing wartime, as news was often delayed, dis­tort­ed, or mis­in­ter­pret­ed, leav­ing both lead­ers and cit­i­zens alike scram­bling to under­stand the true nature of the cri­sis at hand.