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Waves crashed on the shore, making the sand and gravel rumble as backwash dragged at them.
The dawn's early light was still pinking the clouds far out over the Atlantic, providing only enough contrast to let Joseph P. Buckley (gunner, 2nd South Carolina militia artillery) make his way up the last few steps onto the parapet of Fort Gregg.
Yawning, Buckley looked to his left at Charleston itself. There were a few lamps visible, even at this distance, as the men of one of the great Confederate cities started the day early - earlier than usual - and more could be seen from the forts covering both sides of Charleston Harbour, and especially from the nearby Fort Sumter.
Buckley remembered when Sumter had been a normal fort, then a hated bastion of the Union, then the spark that lit the fire of independence, then a normal fort again - treasured as a site of national victory for the nascent Confederacy.
Now it was a bastion of the Confederacy against the uppity British.
Sipping at his steaming coffee, Buckley turned to look out to sea - and nearly dropped the mug.
Riding there on the swell, made visible by the dawn's light, was a whole forest of masts - dozens of ships, from sleek gunboats to the great hulking ships of the line to at least one almost unthinkably enormous paddle steamer which made the two-decker in front of it look small.
Buckley stared at that, then there was a sudden puff of white smoke and a shoom, moments later, which teased his ears.
The gunner took a moment to locate the source of the smoke, and the sight made him blink in surprise - not only did that not sound like a cannon, not from that distance, but the ship it had come from was facing almost directly at him - and her broadsides weren't facing any of the other forts.
Recovering his nerve, Buckley called down the steps. "Looks like they're firin'."
"Them Royal Navy fellers?" someone called up. "At us?"
"Damned if I know," Buckley answered, frowning. "Not like they'll hit anything at..."
Memory finally percolated. That didn't sound like a cannon... but it did sound like a mortar.
Reflexively, Buckley looked up - and dove for cover.
It didn't help. The one-ton shell landed almost on top of him after a flight of nearly half a minute, dug right through the earth glacis of Fort Gregg, and four seconds later five hundred pounds of powder detonated.
It was hardly a comfort to Buckley that it was the only direct hit HMS Superb would score the whole morning.