Abner Doubleday (1819-1893), an officer in the US Army during the American Civil War, is famous today for two events – neither of which actually happened:
- Firing the first shot from Fort Sumter on 12 April 1861
- Inventing the game of baseball in Cooperstown, New York, in 1839
Doubleday never claimed to have fired the first shot at the Battle of Fort Sumter – he claimed to have aimed the first gun. The soldier who fired that gun was James Gibbons. Somehow, Doubleday aiming the first gun turned into "fired the first gun" – a claim still repeated in print and online.
Doubleday also never claimed to have invented baseball. He was nowhere near Cooperstown, New York, in 1839; he was a cadet at West Point Military Academy from 1838 to 1842. He was said to have invented the game by the Mills Commission in 1907 – the committee formed in 1905 to determine the origin of baseball and prove it was an American invention.
They chose Doubleday as the "Father of Baseball" on the strength of a letter from one Abner Graves, who claimed to have played the game with Doubleday in Cooperstown as a five-year-old child in 1839 – and because Doubleday, as a Union Civil War hero, was "all-American." Baseball developed from earlier games, but the "Knickerbocker Rules" – essentially what one would call "baseball" today – were codified by Alexander Cartwright in 1845.
Abner Doubleday is rightfully famous for aiming the first gun fired at Fort Sumter, however, as well as for his conduct on the first day of the Battle of Gettysburg, 1 July 1863. He is also well-respected for his memoirs – Reminiscences of Forts Sumter and Moultrie in 1860-`61 – part of which he used to write the article later known as "I aimed the first gun."
In the following account, Doubleday addresses the move from Fort Moultrie to Fort Sumter on 26 December 1860 and the Battle of Fort Sumter on 12-13 April 1861. His conduct during the move, between that move and the Battle of Fort Sumter, and afterwards, is more than enough for his name to be remembered without additional, and fictitious, ornamentation.
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In 1876, Doubleday published his Reminiscences of Forts Sumter and Moultrie in 1860-61 and, a few years later, was asked to contribute an essay to Century Magazine. He reworked parts of his earlier book into the article, From Moultrie to Sumter, which was published circa 1885 in Century Magazine. That article was included in an anthology of American Civil War accounts, the four-volume Battles and Leaders of the Civil War, edited by Ned Bradford, published by R. U. Johnson and C. C. Buel in 1887-1888. At that time, the title of Doubleday's piece was changed to I aimed the first gun. The four-volume set was later published by E. P. Dutton as a single volume.
The following is taken from that volume, pages 3-9. Ellipses indicate text that has been omitted due to considerations of space. Doubleday's account provides an interesting perspective on what it was like to be a Union soldier in the harbor of Confederate Charleston, South Carolina, between December 1860 and April 1861.
As senior captain of the 1st Regiment of United States Artillery, I had been stationed at Fort Moultrie, Charleston Harbor, two or three years previous to the outbreak of 1861. There were two other forts in the harbor. Of these, Fort Sumter was unoccupied, being in an unfinished state, while Castle Pinckney was in charge of a single ordnance sergeant.
The garrison of Fort Moultrie consisted of 2 companies that had been reduced to 65 men, who with the band, raised the number in the post to 73. Fort Moultrie had no strength; it was merely a sea battery. No one ever imagined it would be attacked by our own people; and, if assailed by foreigners, it was supposed that an army of citizen-soldiery would be there to defend it.
It was very low, the walls having about the height of an ordinary room. It was little more, in fact, than the old fort of Revolutionary time of which the father of Major Robert Anderson had been a defender. The sand had drifted from the sea against the wall, so that cows would actually scale the ramparts.
In 1860, we applied to have the fort put in order, but the quartermaster-general, afterward the famous Joseph E. Johnston, said the matter did not pertain to his department. We were then apprehending trouble, for the signs of the times indicated that the south was drifting toward secession, though the Northern people could not be made to believe this, and regarded our representation to this effect as nonsense…
November 15th, 1860, [our former commander was relieved and replaced by] Major Robert Anderson of Kentucky, who was a regular officer…Anderson was a Union man and, in the incipiency, was perfectly willing to chastise South Carolina in case she should attempt any revolutionary measures. His feeling as to coercion changed when he found that all the Southern States had joined South Carolina, for he looked upon the conquest of the South as hopeless.
Soon after his arrival, Anderson wanted the sand removed from the walls of Moultrie and urged that it be done. Suddenly, the Secretary of War seemed to adopt this view. He pretended there was danger of war with England, with reference to Mexico, which was absurd; and under this pretext was seized with a sudden zeal to put the harbor of Charleston in condition – to be turned over to the Confederate forces.
There was not much to be made out of Fort Moultrie, with all our efforts, because it was hardly defensible; but Major Anderson strove to strengthen it. He put up heavy gates to prevent Charleston secessionists from entering and made a little manhole through which visitors had to crawl in or out.
We could get no additional ammunition, but Colonel Gardner had managed to procure a six months' supply of food from the North before the trouble came. The Secretary of War would not let us have a man in the way of reinforcement, the plea being that reinforcements would irritate the people.
The secessionists could hardly be restrained from attacking us, but the leaders kept them back, knowing that our workmen were laboring in their interests, at the expense of the United States. When Captain Truman Seymour was sent with a party to the United States arsenal in Charleston to get some friction primers and a little ammunition, a crowd interfered and drove his men back.
It became evident, as I told Anderson, that we could not defend the fort, because the houses around us on Sullivan's Island looked down into Moultrie and could be occupied by our enemies.
At last, it was rumored that two thousand riflemen had been detailed to shoot us down from the tops of those houses. I proposed to anticipate the enemy and burn the dwellings, but Anderson would not take so decided a step at a time when the North did not believe there was going to be war.
It was plain that the only thing to be done was to slip over the water to Fort Sumter, but Anderson said he had been assigned to Fort Moultrie, and that he must stay there. We were then in a very peculiar position.
It was commonly believed that we would not be supported even by the North, as the Democrats had been bitterly opposed to the election of Lincoln; that at the first sign of war, twenty thousand men in sympathy with the South would rise in New York. Moreover, the one to whom we soldiers always looked up as to a father – the Secretary of War – seemed to be devising arrangements to have us made away with.
We believed that, in the event of an outbreak from Charleston, few of us would survive; but it did not greatly concern us, since that risk was merely a part of our business, and we intended to make the best fight we could. The officers, upon talking the matter over, thought they might control any demonstration at Charleston by throwing shells into the city from Castle Pinckney. But, with only sixty-four soldiers and a brass band, we could not detach any force in that direction.
Finally, Captain Foster, who had misapprehended the whole situation, and who had orders to put both Moultrie and Sumter in perfect order, brought several hundred workmen from Baltimore. Unfortunately, these were nearly all in sympathy with the Charlestonians, many even wearing secession badges.
Bands of secessionists were now patrolling near us by day and night. We were so worn out with guard duty – watching them – that, on one occasion, my wife and Captain Seymour's relieved us on guard, all that was needed being someone to give the alarm in case there was an attempt to break in.
Foster thought that, out of his several hundred workmen, he could get a few Union men to drill at the guns as a garrison in Castle Pinckney, but they rebelled the moment they found they were expected to act as artillerists and said that they were not there as warriors. It was said that, when the enemy took possession of the castle, some of these workmen were hauled from under beds and from other hiding places.
The day before Christmas, I asked Major Anderson for wire to make an entanglement in front of my part of the fort, so that anyone who should charge would tumble over the wires and could be shot at our leisure…When I asked Anderson for the wire, he said I should have a mile of it, with a peculiar smile that puzzled me for the moment.
He then sent for Hall, the post quartermaster, bound him to secrecy, and told him to take three schooners and some barges which had been chartered for the purpose of taking the women and children and six months' supply of provisions to Fort Johnson, opposite Charleston. He was instructed, when the secession patrols ask what this meant, to tell them we were sending off the families of the officers and men to the North because they were in the way.
The excuse was plausible, and no one interfered. We were so closely watched that we could make no movement without demands being made as to the reason of it.
On the day we left – the day after Christmas – Anderson gave up his own mess and came to live with me as my guest. In the evening of that day, I went to notify the major that tea was ready. Upon going to the parapet for that purpose, I found all the officers there, and noticed something strange in their manner.
The problem was solved when Anderson walked up to me and said: "Captain, in twenty minutes you will leave this fort with your company for Fort Sumter." The order was startling and unexpected, and I thought of the immediate hostilities of which the movement would be the occasion.
I rushed over to my company quarters and informed my men so that they might put on their knapsacks and have everything in readiness. This took me about ten minutes. Then I went to my house, told my wife that there might be fighting, and that she must get out of the fort as soon as she could and take refuge behind the sand-hills. I put her trunks out of the sally-port, and she followed them.
Then I started with my company to join Captain Seymour and his men. We had to go a quarter of a mile through the little town of Moultrieville to reach the point of embarkation. It was about sunset, the hour of the siesta, and fortunately the Charleston militia were taking their afternoon nap.
We saw nobody, and soon reached a low line of seawall under which were hidden the boats in charge of the three engineers…The boats had been used in going back and forward in the work of construction, manned by ordinary workmen, who now vacated them for our use…
When my thirty men were embarked, I went straight for Fort Sumter. It was getting dusk. I made slow work in crossing over, for my men were not expert oarsmen. Soon I saw the lights of the secession guard-boat coming down on us. I told the men to take off their coats and cover up their muskets and I threw my own coat open to conceal my buttons. I wished to give the impression that it was an officer in charge of laborers. The guard ship stopped its paddles and inspected us in the gathering darkness, but concluded we were all right and passed on. My party was the first to reach Fort Sumter.
We went up the steps of the wharf in the face of an excited band of secession workmen, some of whom were armed with pistols. One or two Union men among them cheered, but some of the others said, angrily, "What are these soldiers doing here? What is the meaning of this?"
Ordering my men to charge bayonets, we drove the workmen into the center of the fort. I took possession of the guard room, commanding the main entrance, and placed sentinels. Twenty minutes after, Seymour arrived with the rest of the men. Meantime, Anderson had crossed in one of the engineer boats.
As soon as the troops were all in, we fired a cannon, to give notice of our arrival to the quartermaster, who had anchored at Fort Johnson with the schooners carrying the women and children. He immediately sailed up the wharf and landed his passengers and stores. Then the workmen of secession sympathies were sent aboard the schooners to be taken ashore…
The next morning, Charleston was furious. Messengers were sent out to ring every doorbell and convey the news to every family. The governor sent two or three of his aides to demand that we return to Moultrie. Anderson replied, in my hearing, that he was a Southern man, but that he had been assigned to the defense of Charleston Harbor and intended to defend it…
From December 26th until April 12th, we busied ourselves in preparing for the expected attack, and our enemies did the same on all sides of us. Anderson apparently did not want reinforcements, and he shrank from civil war. He endured all kinds of hostile proceedings on the part of the secessionists, in the hope that Congress would make some compromise that would save slavery and the Union together…
The attack on Fort Sumter began on 12 April 1861 at 4:30 am]
I aimed the first gun on our side in reply to the attack on Fort Sumter…When it was fully light, we took our breakfast leisurely before going to the guns, our food consisting of pork and water.
The first night after the bombardment, we expected that the naval vessels outside would take advantage of the darkness to send a fleet of boats with reinforcements of men and supplies of provisions, and as it was altogether probable that the enemy would also improvise a fleet of small boats to meet those of [our] navy, it became an interesting question, in case parties came to us in this way, to decide whether we were admitting friends or enemies. However, the night passed quietly without any demonstration.
As the fire against us came from all directions, a shot from Sullivan's Island struck near the lock of the magazine, and bent the copper door, so that all access to the few cartridges we had there was cut off. Just previous to this, the officers had been engaged, amid a shower of shells, in vigorous efforts to cut away the woodwork which was dangerously close to the magazine.
After the surrender, we were allowed to salute our flag with a hundred guns before marching out, but it was very dangerous and difficult to do so; for, owing to the recent conflagration, there were fire and sparks all around the cannon, and it was not easy to find a safe place of deposit for the cartridges.
It happened that some flakes of fire had entered the muzzle of one of the guns after it was sponged. Of course, when the gunner attempted to ram the cartridge down, it exploded prematurely, killing Private Daniel Hough instantly, and setting fire to a pile of cartridges underneath, which also exploded, seriously wounding five men. Fifty guns were fired in the salute.
With banners flying, and with drums beating "Yankee Doodle," we marched on board the transport that was to take us to the steamship Baltic, which drew too much water to pass the bar and was anchored outside. We were soon on our way to New York.
With the first shot against Sumter, the whole North became united. Mobs went about New York and made every doubtful newspaper and private house display the Stars and Stripes. When we reached that city, we had a royal reception. The streets were alive with banners. Our men and officers were seized and forced to ride on the shoulders of crowds wild with enthusiasm. When we purchased anything, merchants generally refused all compensation.
