Stand By The Union

by Oliver Optic

  CHAPTER XXX

  THE ATTACK UPON THE FORT

  The Confederate officer was evidently of French descent; at any rate, hewas very polite. He expressed his obligations to the supposed physicianfor the service he had rendered in very earnest terms. Mr. Pennant hadbeen able to see that there were no guns in the casemates of the fort,and this was really all he wanted to know.

  "All your guns seem to be mounted outside," said the naval officer as hehalted on the parade.

  "Yes, sir; most of the guns have been removed to points where they canbe used to greater advantage than here. The few we have are twenty-fourpounders, mounted _en barbette_," replied Lieutenant Fourchon. "The fortis practically abandoned; and in a short time will be entirely so, forthe enemy's ships of war can do no harm here, and there is not waterenough above to permit their passage into the Mississippi."

  "But the fort can protect your vessels in the bay," suggested thelieutenant of the Bronx.

  "The shoal water is the best protection for the small steamers that plyon these inside waters; and the Yankee gunboats can take all others asthey come out. The entrance to the bay has not been regularly blockaded,for there has been little occasion to do so thus far."

  Mr. Pennant had learned all he wanted to know, and from the parade hecould see even in the darkness that only four guns were mounted on theworks. He began to feel in a hurry to carry out the remainder of theprogramme assigned to him. He took the hand of the Confederate officerwhen he reached the point where Uncle Job was waiting for him, bade himgood-morning, and left the fort.

  "How's de sick man, Massa Gumboat?" asked the old negro, chuckling asthough he appreciated the stroke of strategy made by his companion.

  "He is better; in fact, he was about well when I left him," repliedthe practitioner. "But I have no more time to waste," added he, as hequickened his pace, moving in the direction of the shore.

  The day was beginning to break in the east, and he was afraid thecommander of the Bronx would become uneasy in regard to him. Thequarters of the soldiers were passed, though they were not in use, andthe shore reached. The lieutenant thanked the guide for the service hehad rendered, and told him he could go back to his cabin, and finish hisnight's sleep.

  "No, sar; see you frou, Massa Gumboat," replied Job.

  "Do you wish to leave this place, Uncle Job?" asked the officer.

  "No, sar; I want to be free, but I'm not gwine away, I want to see degumboat."

  "You shall see it, and go on board of it if you wish; but we may have abattle with the fort."

  "Don't care for de fight, sar; Job isn't 'feered o' noffin'."

  It was less than halt a mile to the cutter, and they soon reached it.The Russian was standing on the shore, and most of the men were asleepon the thwarts, though Vincent was wide awake. Mike recognized the formof the old negro, and reported that the lieutenant was coming.

  "Now burn your roman candle, and let us get off as soon as possible,"said Mr. Pennant. "Bowman, help this man to a seat in the stern sheets;"and he assisted Uncle Job to get in himself.

  The men passed him along over the thwarts, and seated him in the stern.Vincent burned the red candle himself, and it cast a fiery glare overthe scene, which must have astonished the occupants of the fort if theysaw it. As soon as it had burned out, the quartermaster leaped over thestem of the cutter, and made his way to the stern, where he jumped overthe backboard, and took his place at the tiller ropes. The cutter wasbacked off the ground, and out into the deeper water.

  "Up oars! Let fall!" said Mr. Pennant. "Stern, all! Give way!"

  The cutter backed rapidly from the shore, and was then brought about.The lieutenant stood up in his place, and could just distinguish theBronx, a mile and a half distant, in the gloom of the early morning. Hewatched her a few minutes and soon saw her swing around, and head to thesouth-east.

  "Make the course about south, Vincent," said the officer, as soon as hediscovered that the steamer was in motion.

  "South, sir," replied the quartermaster.

  "Now, give way with a will, my men!" called Mr. Pennant in brisk tones,"for we shall soon have a twenty-four pound shot chasing us out."

  When the cutter was about half a mile from the shore, making it aboutthree-quarters of a mile from the fort, the peal of a cannon was heard,and a puff of smoke could be seen as it rose on the clear, starred sky,for the clouds had rolled away during the night. The shot dropped intothe water a short distance abreast of the cutter.

  "Good!" exclaimed Mr. Pennant; and this was the first time he had everbeen under fire, though he had imagined it enough to feel entirely athome.

  Another shot followed the first, and dropped into the water; and if ithad gone fifty feet farther, it would have struck the boat.

  "Good again!" exclaimed the lieutenant. "I think that is about the rangeof those guns."

  A third shot fell a little nearer the cutter; but it was evident enoughthat it was out of the reach of the feeble guns of the fort. The firingcontinued but a few minutes longer, for it was as plain to LieutenantFourchon as to Lieutenant Pennant that the shots were harmless to theboat. The commander on shore could see by this time, if he had notbefore, that a gunboat was in the offing, and that he might soon havea better use for his powder than wasting it upon the boat.

  The lieutenant had closely watched the movements of the Bronx. He hadmade the signal that the fort was not very dangerous to the well-beingof the gunboat, and he understood her present movement. The light wasincreasing, and the Bronx could be distinctly seen, headed to thesouth-east, or in other words, making for the deep water outside thebar. Mr. Pennant still kept the cutter headed to the south.

  The steamer went off till she looked very much smaller, and then changedher course to the south-west. The lieutenant in the cutter ordered thebowman to sound with the small hand lead, after he had brought the boatto a full stop. The man reported eight feet. The head of the boat wasthen turned to the west, and the crew ordered to give way. In a quarterof an hour more the course was checked, and the bowman directed to soundagain. Sixteen feet was reported.

  Mr. Pennant stood up in the stern sheets, and gazed in the direction ofthe fort. On the shore of the Grand Pass, above the fort, were threebuildings, formerly occupied by mechanics and laborers. The sailingdirections for entering the bay were to bring the fronts of thesestructures in range, and proceed for a time on the course indicated.Mr. Pennant had obtained this bearing after he had backed the boat a fewfeet. The depth of water then informed him that he was in the channel.

  But he had no intention of again approaching the fort, and he headed theboat to the south-east, or nearly so, and then ordered the men to giveway. He called the attention of the coxswain to the range, and directedhim to keep it. The bowman was required to keep the lead going all thetime.

  "Ten and a half feet!" reported the bowman.

  "That is the shoalest we shall get," added the officer.

  The crew had been ordered to ease off, and the cutter moved very slowly.A quarter of an hour later the sounding was ten and three-quarters feet.The next report was fourteen feet, and then no bottom at twenty feet.The Bronx was approaching the boat with full steam, and stopped herscrew a short distance from the cutter. In a few moments more the boatwas at the davits, and the commander of the expedition reported toCaptain Passford.

  "What have you here, Mr. Pennant?" asked the commander with a smile,as he pointed to Uncle Job, who seemed to be as bashful as a young girl,and utterly confounded by what he saw on the deck of the Bronx.

  "That is Uncle Job, Captain Passford," replied the lieutenant. "He hasbeen of very great service to me, and he enables me to make a very fullreport to you, sir. This is the captain of the gunboat, Uncle Job," headded to the negro.

  The old man had no hat to touch or take off, for the mass of hair was asufficient protection to his head; but he bowed almost to the deck, andwas too timid to say a single word.

  "I am very glad to see you, Uncle Job," said Christy, taking the
hand ofthe venerable colored person. "I thank you for the service rendered tomy officer. Now, Mr. Pennant, you will come to my cabin and make yourreport. Bring Uncle Job with you."

  As soon as he reached the cabin, Christy brought from his stateroomtwenty dollars in gold, which he presented to the old negro, whoaccepted the gift with many thanks.

  "Dave," called the captain.

  "Here, sir," replied the steward, coming into the cabin and gazing withastonishment at the negro. "This man has done a good work; take care ofhim, give him a good breakfast, and see that no one insults him."

  As soon as the steward had taken him to the steerage, Mr. Pennantmade his report in full, even to the number and calibre of the guns atthe fort, and including the cure he had wrought upon the Confederatesoldier. Christy was amused at this last part of the narrative; but hehad no time to waste in conversation.

  The screw of the Bronx was started again. Though the Russian was a pilotover the bar, his services were not needed as such. The first cutter hadkept the range of the buildings on the island, and Mr. Flint had alreadypicked it up. The steamer proceeded at less than half speed, but thetide was at its highest. By this time it was seven o'clock in themorning, for a great deal of the time had been used up in moving thecutter and the steamer. Breakfast had been served to all hands, andChristy had fortified his stomach for a busy forenoon. As the Bronxproceeded on her course, the lead going all the time, making not morethan two knots an hour, the report of a gun was heard from the fort.

  "They are awake there," said Christy with a smile to the firstlieutenant, and both of them watched for the fall of the shot, whichstruck the water at least a quarter of a mile ahead of the vessel. "Beatto quarters, Mr. Flint."

  The strength of the Bronx was mainly in her heavy midship gun. Thecommander had ascertained the range of the twenty-four pounder barbetteguns of the fort, and made his calculations accordingly. He could batterdown the masonry of the works at his leisure, if he chose to waste histime and ammunition in that way; but the Confederates proposed toabandon the fort, and it would not pay to destroy it.

  "Fourteen and a half feet!" shouted the leadsman.

  "That will do, Mr. Flint; stop her, and let go the anchor. Get out aspring astern and make it fast to that buoy," said the commander.

  In ten minutes more the Bronx quivered under the discharge of the greatmidship gun, and a cloud of smoke rose above her deck.

  "Good for you, Mr. Ambleton!" exclaimed Christy, a few seconds later,when he saw the wreck of one of the twenty-four pounders on the fort.

  This result was followed by emphatic cheers from the forty-five men ondeck.

  "I can do that again, Captain Passford," replied the gunner, who was incharge of the piece.

  "Do it, then," added Christy.

  He did not do quite as well every time, but in two hours there was not agun in place on the barbette of the fort.