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The fire started late in the evening on December 11, near the wharf on the east side of the city, on a night with a stiff wind. You can see where the efforts of slaves, sailors, freemen, women, and old men (most of the city's young white men were off playing war) nearly stopped the blaze by razing much of East Bay Street, where the path takes a sharp southern turn. Alas, the fire ate its way around the rubble. By moring, it had burned clear across the Charleston Peninsula. In Ella Wood, my heroine finds herself in the thick of things. It was one of the hardest passages I've ever had to write.
The fire completely devastated the city. Post-war images of Charleston like those below were proudly circulated in the North and the damage erroneously credited to the Union military. But the bombardment didn't start until nearly two years after the fire. And the balls, lobbed from so far out in the harbor, reached only the southernmost points of the city, doing little damage. By that time, the city was virtually a ghost town anyway. No, it was the Great Fire that did what the Yankees could not, driving the "seat of the rebellion" to its knees. Over a century would pass before Charleston would fully recover.
You can experience the Great Fire for yourself in book one of my trilogy, Ella Wood, available FREE on all major vendors.
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