The Sun.
London, England, 1864-07-04 00:00:00

Shelled out at Charleston,

On the 21st of August, at half-past 1 a,m,, I was lying on
my bed in the Charleston Hotel, unable to sleep from the
excessive heat, and listening to the monotonous sound of
cannonade kept up on the enemy's position from the batte-
ries on James Island. Restless and weary of the night, I
had lighted a candle in defiance of mosquitos, and sought to
pass away the time with a volume of "Les Miserables."
It happened to be the one containing the account of the
cattle of Waterloo ; and while deeply interested in the ci-
scription of the rushing squadrons of cuirassiers, I was
startled by a noise that, from connection with my reading,
resembled the whirr of a phantom brigade of cavalry gallop-
ing in mid-air. My first feeling was that of utter astonish-
ment; but a crash, succeeded by a deafening explosion in
the very street in which my apartment was situate, brought
me with a bound into the centre of the room. Looking from
the window, I saw smoke and fire issuing from a house in
which were stored the drugs of the medical purveyor. A
watchman was running frantically down the street, and
when he reached the corner just below me, commenced
striking with his staff against the kerb ; a signal of alarm
practised among the Charleston police. At first I
thought a meteor had fallen ; but another awtul rush
and whirr right over the hotel, and another explosion
beyond, settled any doubts I might have had—the city
was shelled. People are not generally given to laugh-
ing under such circumstances, but I will defy any one
who witnessed what I witnessed on leaving my room, not
to have given way to mirth in moderation. The hotel was
crowded with speculators who had been attracted to the city
by the sale of some blockade cargoes, and the corridors were
filled with these terrified gentlemen rushing about in the
scantiest of costumes and the wildest alarm. One perspiring
individual of portly dimensions was trotting too and fro
with one boot on and other in his hand, and this was nearly
all the dress he could boast ot. In his excitement and terror
ho had forgotten the number of his room, from which he
had hastened at the first alarm, and his distress was ludi-
crous to behold. Another, in a sirni-state of nudity with a
portion of his garments on his arm, barked the shins of
every one in his way in his efforts to dreg an enormous
trunk to the staircase. On reaching the hall I found a
motley crowd, some ot whom with the bigeest words were
cursing the Federal commanders. Whirr I came another
shell over the roof, and down on their faces went every man
of them into tobacco-juice and cigar ends and clattering
among the spitoons. I need not say that this is a class of
men from whom the Confederacy hopes nothing; on the
contrary, by their extortion, practised on a suffering people,
they have made themselves execrat: d. if a shell could have
fallen in their midst and exterminated the whole race of
hucksters, it wend have been of great benefit to the South.
The population was now aroused, the streets filled with
womt n ana children making their way to the upper part of
the city, where they would find comparative Emery. Tho
volunteer fire brigade brought outtheir engines, and parties
of the citizen reserves were organised rapidly and quietly,
to be in readiness to give assistance where required. The
first engine that reached the house struck by the first shell
was one belonging to a negro company, and at it they went
with a will, subduing the fire in a marvellously short time.
At every successive whirr above them the niggers shouted
quaint invectives against "cussed bobotitionists," scatter-
ing for shelter until the danger was past. Through the
streets I went, and down to the Battery promenade, meet-
ing on my way sick and bed-ridden people carried from
their homes on mattresses,and mothers with infants in their
arms running they knew not whither. Reaching the
promenade, I cast my eyes towards the Federal position,
and presently beyond James Island, across the marsh
that separates it from Morris Island, came a flash, then
a dull report, and, after an interval of some seconds, a
frightful rushing sound above me told me the path the shell
had taken ; its flight must have been fire miles I—Cornhill
Magazine.