Huge cannon were pounded into fragments, hills of sand ripped open, deep crevasses blown in the ground by exploding shells, wooden buildings reduced to kindling-wood, etc.

The ground was literally paved with fragments of shot and shell, which, now red with rust from the corroding salt air, made the interior of the fort resemble what one of our party likened it to "an old brickyard." Whichever way we looked along the shores we saw abundant evidence of the greatness of the business which gave the place its importance.

In all directions, as far as the eye could reach, the beach was dotted with the bleaching skeletons of blockade-runners--some run ashore by their mistaking the channel, more beached to escape the hot pursuit of our blockaders.
Directly in front of the sea face of the fort, and not four hundred yards from the savage mouths of the huge guns, the blackened timbers of a burned blockade-runner showed above the water at low tide.

Coming in from Nassau with a cargo of priceless value to the gasping Confederacy, she was observed and chased by one of our vessels, a swifter sailer, even, than herself.

The war ship closed rapidly upon her.