Its message was
fierce, direct, electric. It was summed up in a single sentence:
"Strike the first armed blow in defense of Southern rights and within
one hour by Shrewsbury clock, old Virginia will stand, her battle flags
flying, by your side!"
On the morning of the 11th General Beauregard sent Pryor as a special
messenger to Major Anderson demanding the surrender of Fort Sumter, and
on his refusal, which was a matter of course, instructed him to go at
once to the nearest battery and order its Commander to open fire.
The formalities at Sumter quickly ended, Pryor repaired to Battery
Johnson, met the young Captain of artillery in command and presented his
order.
With a shout the Captain threw his arms around the messenger and with
streaming eyes cried:
"Your wonderful speech last night made this glorious thing possible! You
shall have the immortal honor of firing the first gun!"
And then a strange revulsion of fooling--or was it a flash of foreboding
from the hell-lit, battle-scorched future! The orator hesitated and
turned pale. It was an honor he could not now decline and yet he
instinctively shrank from it.
He mopped the perspiration from his brow and looked about in a helpless
way. His eye suddenly rested on a grey-haired, stalwart sentinel passing
with quick firm tread.
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