As the first light of Sun­rise illu­mi­nat­ed the bat­tered walls of Fort Sumter on April 12, Cap­tain Dou­ble­day and his fel­low offi­cers braced them­selves for the long-await­ed con­fronta­tion. The men gath­ered in the mess hall, hasti­ly con­sum­ing a mea­ger break­fast of salt pork, fari­na, and rice, know­ing it might be their last meal before exhaus­tion took over. Despite the ten­sion, a qui­et sense of duty filled the room as the offi­cers final­ized their strate­gies and pre­pared their men for the bar­rage that was sure to come. Dou­ble­day led the first squad to their des­ig­nat­ed posts, posi­tion­ing their guns toward the Con­fed­er­ate Iron Bat­tery on Mor­ris Island. Though aware that the ene­my had supe­ri­or posi­tion­ing and fire­pow­er, he felt a deep sense of resolve, under­stand­ing that this bat­tle would mark a defin­ing moment in Amer­i­can his­to­ry. The fort’s defend­ers were not just fight­ing to hold a piece of land—they were fight­ing for the very sur­vival of the Union and its ideals.

Major Ander­son, stand­ing atop the fort’s para­pet, gave the long-await­ed com­mand at pre­cise­ly six-thir­ty, ini­ti­at­ing the first Union coun­ter­fire. The open­ing vol­ley from Sumter struck the Iron Bat­tery but failed to cause sub­stan­tial dam­age. Con­fed­er­ate artillery quick­ly respond­ed with over­whelm­ing force, launch­ing a relent­less bom­bard­ment that echoed across Charleston Har­bor. The sheer force of the Con­fed­er­ate shells shook the walls of Sumter, send­ing shards of brick and debris fly­ing through the air. The defend­ers strug­gled to return fire, as the enemy’s well-coor­di­nat­ed assault left them scram­bling for cov­er between each coun­ter­strike. Dou­ble­day not­ed that the Con­fed­er­ate bat­ter­ies appeared to be adjust­ing their aim with increas­ing pre­ci­sion, hon­ing in on key defen­sive posi­tions inside the fort. With each impact, the Union sol­diers grew increas­ing­ly aware that their ammu­ni­tion and sup­plies would not last for­ev­er.

As the bat­tle inten­si­fied, the sit­u­a­tion inside Fort Sumter grew increas­ing­ly dire. Con­fed­er­ate mor­tars rained incen­di­ary shells down upon the wood­en bar­racks, ignit­ing fires that rapid­ly spread through the fort. Smoke bil­lowed into the sky as men rushed to extin­guish the flames, all while main­tain­ing their defen­sive posi­tions under heavy ene­my fire. The grow­ing infer­no forced Major Ander­son to order a dras­tic action—several bar­rels of gun­pow­der had to be thrown into the sea to pre­vent a cat­a­stroph­ic explo­sion. Mean­while, Cap­tain Sey­mour, known for his quick wit even in the face of dan­ger, attempt­ed to light­en the mood with an off­hand remark about the can­non fire, momen­tar­i­ly dis­tract­ing the men from their grim real­i­ty. Yet, the humor was fleet­ing, as the Union sol­diers under­stood that their sit­u­a­tion was becom­ing increas­ing­ly unsus­tain­able. The ene­my’s relent­less bar­rage showed no sign of stop­ping, and the very struc­ture of the fort was begin­ning to crum­ble under the pres­sure.

Across the har­bor, Con­fed­er­ate forces watched their assault unfold with grow­ing con­fi­dence. The gun­ners on Mor­ris Island devel­oped an effi­cient rhythm, coor­di­nat­ing their fire to max­i­mize dam­age while min­i­miz­ing their own expo­sure to return fire. Some sol­diers, in a moment of reck­less brava­do, even chased after rolling can­non­balls, treat­ing the chaos of bat­tle with an air of play­ful com­pe­ti­tion. Despite their enthu­si­asm, the Union resis­tance remained stead­fast, and Major Anderson’s men refused to sur­ren­der eas­i­ly. The Con­fed­er­ate forces, rec­og­niz­ing the sheer deter­mi­na­tion of Sumter’s defend­ers, began to cheer each time the Union can­nons returned fire, a strange dis­play of respect amidst the vio­lence. The bat­tle had evolved into a bru­tal yet odd­ly the­atri­cal con­test, where both sides under­stood the grav­i­ty of the con­flict but could not ignore the pecu­liar mix of fear and admi­ra­tion that filled the air.

As the relent­less exchange of fire con­tin­ued, a new cri­sis emerged—at pre­cise­ly 12:48 PM, a Con­fed­er­ate shell struck the fort’s flag­pole, send­ing the Amer­i­can flag crash­ing to the ground. A deaf­en­ing cheer erupt­ed from the Con­fed­er­ate lines, mis­tak­ing the fall­en flag as a sign of sur­ren­der. Inside Fort Sumter, how­ev­er, the Union troops refused to accept defeat. Deter­mined to main­tain morale, Pri­vate Peter Hart, a for­mer New York City police offi­cer, risked his life to retrieve the flag and reat­tach it using a makeshift pole. His act of defi­ance momen­tar­i­ly lift­ed the spir­its of the Union sol­diers, who con­tin­ued to fight despite over­whelm­ing odds. The sight of the tat­tered but still-stand­ing flag became a sym­bol of resilience, remind­ing every­one inside the fort that they were not just defend­ing a position—they were defend­ing the very idea of the Union itself.

As the sun began its descent, Fort Sumter stood bat­tered but unbro­ken. Fires still raged with­in the walls, and ammu­ni­tion was run­ning dan­ger­ous­ly low. Yet, the men inside remained res­olute, know­ing that sur­ren­der was not yet an option. The night would bring lit­tle respite, as Con­fed­er­ate can­nons con­tin­ued their assault under the cov­er of dark­ness. Dou­ble­day, exhaust­ed but deter­mined, sur­veyed the dam­age and braced for the next day’s inevitable tri­als. Though vast­ly out­gunned and iso­lat­ed, the defend­ers of Fort Sumter remained unwa­ver­ing, stand­ing as a tes­ta­ment to the resilience of those who refused to let the Union fall.