Palmetto Past & Present: Fort Sumter’s Two Surrenders

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There was little to laugh about in the atrocity that was the War Between the States. By the time the guns fell silent 160 years ago this month, more than 650,000 men were dead (with modern research suggesting the actual number was over 700,000). Another 1.1 million were injured, with many of them maimed for life.

Yet, there were a few laughable incidents amid the carnage. One happened in South Carolina exactly 164 years ago today. And it was a native South Carolinian’s doing, too. Here’s how it happened.

Abraham Lincoln’s election as president on November 6, 1860, set in motion a schism that had been brewing for 50 years. South Carolina seceded from the Union on December 20 of that year. By the time Lincoln was inaugurated on March 4, 1861, six other Deep South states had followed – and formed the Confederate States of America. 

The new nation decreed all federal property within its borders was now property of the Confederacy. That included a brand new fortification sitting in the middle of Charleston Harbor. Fort Sumter was a three-story brick bulwark garrisoned with 85 U.S. soldiers commanded by Major Robert Anderson.  

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The C.S.A. demanded the fort be handed over to it. The U.S.A. said, “no dice.” And so, the two sides were on a collision course. Everyone, North and South alike, realized Fort Sumter would be the flashpoint that would start the war people had dreaded for so long. The only question was when it would start.

The atmosphere in Charleston that late winter and early spring was akin to a carnival. The newly formed Southern army rushed forces there and put up powerful batteries around the harbor. Many newspaper reporters were on hand. Hundreds upon hundreds of Southerners flooded the city, waiting for the big moment to arrive. There was a seemingly endless round of parties.

The fun came to a crashing halt at 4:30 on Friday morning, April 12, 1861. A shot from a 10-inch mortar gave the signal. Soon, 43 artillery pieces were pounding away at the masonry fort, firing in a clockwise position. 

In the city, Charleston residents ran to their rooftops and watched in wonder a lethal fireworks display like nothing they had ever seen before.

Inside for fort, a limited supply of ammunition meant Anderson’s men had to conserve what they had. As the guns roared, Federal soldiers frantically produced cloth cartridges. They were so desperate they were pouring powder into Anderson’s own socks to fire the big guns.

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For 36 straight hours, the barrage roared on (apart from a brief rain shower that passed through Friday night). By the end, the Federal artillerists were firing back with decreasing frequency as their ammunition supply rapidly dwindled.

At 1:00 p.m. Saturday, a cannonball struck Sumter’s flagpole. The Confederates wondered what the U.S. flag’s sudden disappearance meant. Was Anderson trying to surrender? The Southern commander, the dashing Creole General Pierre Gustave Toutant Beauregard, ordered his men to stop firing as he and his commanders sorted out the situation.   

At which point Louis T. Wigfall wandered into the story.

Of the countless colorful characters to come out of South Carolina over the years, Wigfall ranks in the top tier. Born in Edgefield, in college, Wigfall had challenged a student he felt had insulted him to a duel. Though that incident was resolved without gunfire, it set the tone for the rest of Wigfall’s life. He was a haughty hothead, quarrelsome, a belligerent drunk, a windbag full of both hot air and himself. He was, in short, a born politician.

Wigfall married his second cousin, ran up sky-high debts, drank, and dabbled in politics – usually with his fists. He was eventually shot through both thighs in a duel with fellow hothead Preston Brooks (click here to read about his later run-in with a Massachusetts senator.)

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Having worn out his welcome in the Edgefield District, he struck off for Texas. His rough-and-tumble approach to politics was better received there, culminating in his election to the U.S. Senate in 1859. But that didn’t last long. Out of work 16 months later, when Texas left the Union, he showed up in Charleston calling himself “Colonel Wigfall,” though nobody seems to know how that “colonelcy” had mysteriously originated. He more or less attached himself to Beauregard’s staff. (The latter likely placated the VIP nuisance to keep Wigfall out of his hair amid the looming crisis.) Noted diarist and South Carolina socialite Mary Boykin Chestnut described him as “the only thoroughly happy person I see” during the runup to the bombardment.

Which brings us back to the sudden disappearance of the federal flag over Fort Sumter. Grandstander par excellence that he was, Wigfall spotted an opportunity.

While Beauregard and his actual staff officers were pondering the situation, Wigfall injected himself into matters.

Without authorization or even bothering to tell anyone (Wigfall and Beauregard hadn’t talked for two days), the former senator hopped into a tiny boat and rowed to Fort Sumter. The scene that greeted him must have resembled Dante’s Inferno. The door had been blown off. Although the fort’s walls were brick, there were many wooden structures inside, and several were on fire. The devastation was immense.

Wigfall found a soldier and demanded to be taken to Anderson. With great sadness, he reluctantly surrendered the fort.  

Wigfall hopped back into his little boat and rowed off to deliver the good news.

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Yet, at the same, another boat was approaching the fort from a different direction. It contained James Chestnut, former U.S. senator from South Carolina, a genuine colonel who really did serve on Beauregard’s staff, and who had officially been dispatched on this mission.

Upon arriving, he likewise asked to see Anderson, explaining he had come to request the fort’s surrender.  

Anderson said (and I’m paraphrasing here), “I just surrendered to that other guy.”

Told about Wigfall’s visit, Chestnut essentially said, “I don’t know anything about that. You’ll have to surrender to me to make it official.”

Having endured 36 hours of intense shelling and little sleep, Anderson was nearing complete exhaustion. Furious at the indignity of having to surrender not once but twice, he threatened to throw Chestnut out of the fort and resume the battle. 

Anderson’s officers pulled him aside, reminded him the situation was dire, and calmed him to the point where he accepted the humiliation of having to surrender all over again.

Wigfall’s interference had come dangerously close to needlessly extending the war’s first military action.

The story was widely reported in newspapers at the time, then quickly forgotten. Today, it teaches us two important lessons.

Nothing good ever comes from sticking your nose where it doesn’t belong. And the more times change, the more people stay the same.

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR…

J. Mark Powell is an award-winning former TV journalist, government communications veteran, and a political consultant. He is also an author and an avid Civil War enthusiast. Got a tip or a story idea for Mark? Email him at mark@fitsnews.com.

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