- Joined
- Aug 27, 2011
- Location
- Central Massachusetts
Since shortly after midnight on the morning of April 12, 1861, New York Times correspondent George H. C. Salter (who wrote under the name “Jasper”), had been perched atop a cotton bale on Adger Pier, opera-glass in hand, awaiting the opening guns of the bombardment of Fort Sumter. He had been in South Carolina some three months, telegraphing almost daily reports to New York, about the gathering crisis. He had developed some sympathy for the southern point of view, to the extent that letters to the Times had insisted that he be fired, and the N.Y. Daily Tribune correspondent Charles Brigham, had openly accused him of being a secessionist. A more friendly writer noted only that his reports were “as favorable to the secessionists as a regard for truth permitted.”
For weeks, correspondents of northern papers had been under surveillance as possible spies. With his somewhat sympathetic pen, Salter might have hoped for more favorable treatment. But it was not to be so. As soon as the bombardment began (at 6:30 a.m.), the telegraph offices were all closed to reporters, and the trains were held at the stations to prevent anyone from leaving. Roving bands of armed “Vigilants” began scouring the city with order to arrest the suspect Yankee “scribblers.”
For six hours, Salter watched the effects of the firing on the distant fort, and also on the people of the city around him, shocked out of their peaceful beds by the sudden din. He had been awake and alert for nearly 36 hours, and at 10:30 decided to go to his King Street rooming house for a late breakfast, and, perhaps, a brief nap.
The following is from “Jasper’s” own account of the ensuing events.
I left Adger Pier at half-past 10 o’clock and proceeded to my rooms in King street to obtain a little refreshment before returning to my labors. While thus employed, I heard the hurried tread of armed men on the stairs, and then a hasty knock; when I opened the door I saw a crowd of ten rough customers, armed with revolvers, which protruded from their coats. On asking what this meant, and by what authority they acted, they pointed to their six-shooters as sufficient warrant for their proceedings. They evidently had fortified their courage with copious glasses of whiskey, and expected a terrific combat with that peaceable gentleman, the Times’ correspondent.
To gain time for thought, I incited them all in, and requested them to partake of the hospitalities of my private locker. -- Abashed at my quiet manner, they seemed inclined to back out, and all but one went down stairs. He informed me that I was arrested by order of the government of South Carolina, being suspected of furnishing information to the Federal Government at Washington, and that I must go to the guard-house. He would not permit me to call on friends who could effectually disabused of this false charge, but hurried me off.
To be continued....
For weeks, correspondents of northern papers had been under surveillance as possible spies. With his somewhat sympathetic pen, Salter might have hoped for more favorable treatment. But it was not to be so. As soon as the bombardment began (at 6:30 a.m.), the telegraph offices were all closed to reporters, and the trains were held at the stations to prevent anyone from leaving. Roving bands of armed “Vigilants” began scouring the city with order to arrest the suspect Yankee “scribblers.”
For six hours, Salter watched the effects of the firing on the distant fort, and also on the people of the city around him, shocked out of their peaceful beds by the sudden din. He had been awake and alert for nearly 36 hours, and at 10:30 decided to go to his King Street rooming house for a late breakfast, and, perhaps, a brief nap.
The following is from “Jasper’s” own account of the ensuing events.
I left Adger Pier at half-past 10 o’clock and proceeded to my rooms in King street to obtain a little refreshment before returning to my labors. While thus employed, I heard the hurried tread of armed men on the stairs, and then a hasty knock; when I opened the door I saw a crowd of ten rough customers, armed with revolvers, which protruded from their coats. On asking what this meant, and by what authority they acted, they pointed to their six-shooters as sufficient warrant for their proceedings. They evidently had fortified their courage with copious glasses of whiskey, and expected a terrific combat with that peaceable gentleman, the Times’ correspondent.
To gain time for thought, I incited them all in, and requested them to partake of the hospitalities of my private locker. -- Abashed at my quiet manner, they seemed inclined to back out, and all but one went down stairs. He informed me that I was arrested by order of the government of South Carolina, being suspected of furnishing information to the Federal Government at Washington, and that I must go to the guard-house. He would not permit me to call on friends who could effectually disabused of this false charge, but hurried me off.