Farragut returned to the Norfolk Navy Yard when the program ended in August 1854. Following several weeks of detailed discussions in Washington, he was sent to San Francisco, California (the state had joined the Union four years earlier), to establish a Navy Yard to service naval vessels assigned to the Pacific Ocean. The Farragut family traveled to California by first taking a steamer to Nicaragua, which they crossed by a combination of wagons and small lake craft, then boarding a steamer on the Pacific coast for the final leg of the journey. They left New York on August 19 and arrived at San Fransisco on September 14. It was an arduous trip through a beautiful, wild country they would not soon forget.
The site chosen for the navy’s first repair and supply facility on the Pacific coast was Mare Island, a half-mile-wide, three-mile-long Island in San Pablo Bay, some thirty miles from San Francisco. In less than four years, a great navy yard was constructed under the personal supervision of the yard’s commandant, Captain David Farragut. Farragut had been promoted to captain on October 8, 1855, thirteen months after arriving at Mare Island. On August 20, 1858, after four productive years, he left the Mare Island Navy Yard and returned east. The yard was a monument to his abilities as a commander and his talents for getting important tasks done, and was one of the high points of his career to date.
Through his performance in overseeing the construction of a navy yard equal to, or better than, the best yards the navy had on the East Coast, Farragut left an indelible impression on an extremely important and influential man in the naval service, Commodore Joseph Smith, chief of the Bureau of Yards and Docks. In just a few years, Smith would be instrumental in obtaining for Farragut the command that offered him the opportunity to demonstrate his abilities as a wartime fleet commander.
The Farraguts - David, Virginia, and Loyall, who was now a strapping fourteen-year-old - returned to Norfolk early in December 1858. Before their arrival, Captain Farragut had received orders from the secretary of the navy to take command of a newly constructed steam-powered sloop-of-war, the twenty-four-gun Brooklyn. The Brooklyn was a new type of ship and one of the fastest in the navy. The introduction of steam engines had begun transforming the look of naval vessels, but because the engines remained less than completely reliable, ships of war like the Brooklyn were built with both a steam-driven screw and a full rigging of sails.
For the next two years, Farragut commanded the Brooklyn, spending a majority of that period in the Gulf of Mexico. On board a great deal of that time was Robert M. McLane, U.S. Minister to Mexico. At the time, Mexico was in the throes of a revolution. Supporters of Benito Juárez, who was the elected president, were fighting General Miguel Miramón, who had seized control of the government in Mexico City by military force. Since the United States recognized Juárez as the legal president, it was to him at his Veracruz headquarters that McLane presented his credentials when he arrived on the Brooklyn.
Farragut played an essential role in transporting McLane to various coastal cities to visit U.S. representatives, and in conveying Juárez himself so that the president could muster support among his countrymen.
On October 20, 1860, Captain David Farragut turned over command of the Brooklyn to Captain W. S. Walker. It was the last time that he would have command of an individual ship. Farragut returned to Norfolk following a brief visit to Loyall, who was attending a school in Poughkeepsie, New York.
While he had been away serving his country along the Mexican coast, the United States had been gradually splitting into opposing camps over the issues of slavery and states’ rights. The election that year of Abraham Lincoln of Illinois had been the last straw for many southerners, and on December 20, the state of South Carolina voted to withdraw from the Union. Secession fever spread throughout the South, and Farragut soon found himself the object of interest to those forces determined to create a new nation out of the former Southern states. They recognized that this new nation would require its own navy, and who better to head it than a naval captain who was not only a southerner but had nearly fifty years of experience?
DAVID FARRAGUT WAS born in the South. Although he had not resided in his birth state since his childhood, the United States Navy Register continued to list him as a citizen of Tennessee. Norfolk, Virginia, was the only place that had served him as a hometown since he first joined the naval service a half century earlier. He had married two daughters of the Commonwealth of Virginia, and most of his friends and acquaintances, both on land and in the navy, were southerners. His own sisters lived near the great southern port of New Orleans, and his father was buried in southern soil. So, it was not without some justification that many of those who knew him, personally or by reputation, especially southerners, expected him to join the cause of the emerging Confederate States of America.
What they didn’t realize was that for nearly fifty of his fifty-nine years, Farragut had served aboard ships that proudly flew the American flag. He had stood at attention when that flag had been saluted by ships of other great nations, and watched tearfully as she was taken down before the guns of a mighty enemy warship off Valparaiso. He had also watched with horror the devastation and misery caused by civil war in places like Argentina and Mexico, and knew that secession would lead the nation down the road to just such a war. When it came time for Farragut to take a stand, he did not feel the emotional and sentimental attachment to Virginia and the South that forced other men to renounce their oaths of allegiance to the Union. Many were sorely disappointed in him. Many men, including some who had been close to him, would never forgive him for that disappointment, even long after the war ended.
Norfolk was predominantly a navy town. Naval officers were almost always present at social functions, some on active duty in the nearby yards, others from ships visiting the yards, and still others, like Captain Farragut at the time, waiting for orders. A majority of them were southerners by birth, or by family connection through marriage to Southern women. As the news came that more states were debating secession or had actually seceded, a number of these men began the practice of gathering at a Norfolk general store. They came to hear the latest news and to discuss and debate its implications for themselves, their states, and their country.
The sentiment among most of these men was in favor of the South. Farragut was one of the few who held out hope that somehow the Union would be preserved. He told his fellow naval officers that he feared that secession would result in a bloody civil war, but for the most part they laughed at his dire prediction and called him a “croaker.”
Matters grew worse when a Virginia state convention gathered to discuss the issue of secession. Its members, mostly pro-Union men, were compelled by a mob to vote for a resolution supporting the right of a state to secede, and to lay down guidelines under which Virginia would be justified in seceding herself. The most important guideline stated that Virginia would be within her rights in seceding from the Union if the Federal government adopted military measures to recapture forts that had been occupied by militia forces of the seceding states. The implication was clear: If the government in Washington attempted to use the national army to take back possession of those forts, Virginia would secede. Of course, if the national government did nothing about the loss of those forts, it was obvious that more would be taken, along with navy yards and other Federal facilities located within those states.
Farragut revealed his inner conflict when he told several officers, “God forbid I should have to raise my hand against the South.” But he also would not turn his back on the nation to which he had sworn allegiance, and which he had faithfully served for so many years.
Loyall Farragut later described his father’s position at this time as having been that if the country were amicably divided, and such division was accomplished at the will of the people, both North and South, he would remain in Virginia among his friends and relatives. But, Loyall wrote, “he felt he owed his first allegiance to the United States government.”
The confused situation in Virginia was
demonstrated during the first week of April 1861, when the state convention soundly rejected a proposal to secede. Farragut was heartened by what he felt was a vote that accurately reflected the will of the people of Virginia. Then matters turned decidedly worse. On April 12, forces of the state of South Carolina attacked the small garrison of Federal troops stationed at Fort Sumter in Charleston harbor, after the commanding officer, Major Robert Anderson, refused a demand to surrender and evacuate the fort. Two days later, the fort fell.
On the fifteenth, President Lincoln issued a proclamation calling for the formation of an army of 75,000 men, drawn mostly from state militias. The army’s objective was to retake Fort Sumter and the other Federal facilities “seized from the Union” by rebel forces, and “to cause the laws to be duly executed.”
The gauntlet had been thrown down by one side and accepted by the other. The war of words was coming to an end, to be replaced by a war of shot and shell. Two days later, the Virginia state convention approved, by a vote of eighty-eight to fifty-five, an ordinance of secession, and the streets of Richmond and Norfolk were crowded with soldiers of the state militia who had already begun parading in anticipation of the vote. There wasn’t an American flag to be seen. As word of the vote spread, volleys of muskets were fired in the air in celebration.
The following day, Farragut arrived as usual at the store where he and his friends and fellow officers met. On his arrival, he quickly understood that he was no longer welcome in their company. Most had already submitted their resignations to the Navy Department, although a few might have done so with some regret. It was made clear to him that if his loyalty remained with the Federal government, he would no longer be welcome in Norfolk. He told the group that he believed President Lincoln’s actions were justified, and that “I can live somewhere else.” He also told the assembled former navy officers, “You fellows will catch the devil before you get through with this business.”
As he rushed back to his home on Duke Street, Farragut could sense the growing level of violence in the city. Undisciplined militiamen roamed the streets firing their weapons and playing at searching out traitors. He knew it might be only a matter of hours before the great navy yard, stripped of its defenses by the resignation of so many officers, would be the target of the rebellious forces. He was determined to leave the city before the yard was attacked, to prevent from being called on to fire guns at the citizens of Norfolk.
Upon arriving home, he related to his wife what had occurred, and told her the time for the decision they had already discussed had come. He explained that his decision to “stick with the flag” would in all likelihood mean a prolonged separation from her family, one that could last for years. Whether she left with him or stayed to be with her family was her decision to make. Without hesitation, she chose to leave and accompany her husband to whatever fate awaited him.
That evening, amid rumors that Farragut would soon be arrested, and following tearful farewells to members of the Loyall family, David, Virginia, and Loyall Farragut quietly slipped away from the little frame house that had been their home. Traveling with them was one of Virginia’s sisters, Mrs. R. R Ashe, and her two young children. Mrs. Ashe was going as far as New York City, where she had booked passage on a ship that would return her to San Francisco and her husband. Mrs. Ashe and her children had been visiting the Loyall family.
They boarded a steamer headed for Baltimore, and not a moment too soon, for the Virginia state forces were already moving batteries to vital points along the shore to give them control over the harbor. On April 20, with state militiamen forcing their way into the Norfolk Navy Yard, the aged Captain Charles Stewart McCauley, commander of the yard, made a failed attempt to destroy the installation and the warships in it by putting the place to the torch. The loss of the multimillion-dollar facility to the rebels raised a public outcry against the sixty-eight-year-old McCauley, effectively ending his career.
Arriving at Baltimore on the afternoon of April 19, the Farragut party found the city in chaos. Earlier that day, Southern sympathizers had attacked Pennsylvania and Massachusetts militia units making their way to a railroad station to board a train to Washington, where they were to help defend the city against a rumored attack by rebel forces. Four militiamen and twelve civilians were killed in the melee. Finally, city police stepped in and held back the crowd to allow the soldiers to board their train.
Farragut’s original plan had been to take the railroad from Baltimore to Philadelphia, and then continue by coach to New York City, but arsonists had destroyed the railroad bridge over the Susquehanna River, severing the connection to Philadelphia. The captain was lucky enough to be able to find passage north on a canal boat. With more than 300 people crowded on the boat, many of them refugees like the Farraguts, it was not a pleasant voyage. From Philadelphia, the little party continued on as planned to New York.
Having seen Mrs. Ashe and her children off aboard the San Fransisco steamer, the Farraguts spent a few days in the city, which was preoccupied with war preparations. From there they moved north to Westchester County, New York, and settled into a rented six-room cottage in the picturesque little riverside village of Hastings-on-Hudson. The village would remain his home throughout the war.
Now, a few months short of his sixtieth birthday, Captain David Farragut waited patiently for his government to call on his services. At five foot six and one-half inches and weighing about 150 pounds, Farragut retained the athletic figure of his youth. But his age was showing in other respects. Years of exposure to the elements had turned his face leathery, and his previously black hair was quickly turning gray. A bald spot was increasingly consuming the crown of his head despite efforts to hide it by combing hair over it. His poor eyesight had contributed to making him nearsighted, yet he refused to wear eyeglasses.
Although many predicted a short, victorious war, Farragut agreed with General Winfield Scott’s assessment that it would be a long, bloody conflict. He was convinced that the navy would need him, even if there was nothing for him to do at the moment. This in large part resulted from a shortage of warships: Rebel forces had seized dozens of Federal warships tied to wharves or anchored in the harbors of Southern ports. On May 1, 1861, Farragut wrote to Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles, informing him of his change of residence and explaining that his sudden departure from Norfolk had resulted from the fact that the position of a United States officer was “rendered uncomfortable” in that city by the secession of Virginia.
Time passed slowly for Farragut as he waited for orders. In mid-July, he traveled to Washington and met with the assistant to the chief of the Bureau of Detail in the Navy Department, Captain Charles Henry Davis. Although there is no record of the subject of their conversation, it is likely that Farragut requested command of a fast ship in order to carry out a plan he had for capturing the Sumter, a notorious Confederate commerce raider that was causing great loss among ships bound for Northern ports. The Sumter was commanded by Captain Raphael Semmes, who would gain lasting fame as the captain of another rebel commerce raider, the Alabama. However, no assignment came directly from this meeting.
Farragut was in an unusual position. He was a Southern-born officer, married to a Southern woman, who had declared for the Union. The government bureaucracy, including that in the Navy Department, was unsure and generally distrustful of all southerners. There was a strong current of feeling against giving command of a Union warship to a southerner, no matter how loyal he claimed to be. But, in time, the government and country would turn to this quiet, rather unassuming man whose naval career, while not spectacular in the sense of great accomplishments, had demonstrated he was a naval officer of uncommon courage, and a man who could be relied on to carry out virtually any task entrusted to him.
When the Civil War erupted, General Winfield Scott, hero of both the War of 1812 and the Mexican War, was the general-in-chief of the United States Army, a post he had held since 1841. Born in 1786, and inevitably described by contemporari
es as “a year older than the federal constitution,” Scott was far too advanced in age, and in poor health, to continue in his position during an active war. He recognized this himself more than did anyone else and retired from active service in November 1861, giving Lincoln enough time to select a replacement.
While others were proclaiming that Jefferson Davis, President of the Confederacy, would be strung up from a lamppost before July 4, 1861, and the Northern press was proclaiming “On to Richmond!” it was Scott who recognized that the war would last for at least several years, and submitted a plan for its successful execution. He proposed that the Confederacy be isolated from all outside contacts and supplies, and virtually starved into submission. A great strategist who husbanded his own resources and relied on maneuvering rather than on the grand stroke, Scott urged a naval blockade of the entire Confederate coast along the Atlantic and the Gulf of Mexico. He recommended that General George McClellan, who would replace him later in the year, use between 60,000 and 80,000 soldiers stationed along the Mississippi River from Cairo, Illinois, to the Gulf coast to close that river to enemy use. They would be supported by gunboats patrolling the river. When word of his plan leaked out, Scott’s critics in the press jeered. Instead, they urged quick action against the Confederacy, something the Union was not then capable of performing. They called Scott’s proposal the Anaconda Plan, after the snake that wraps itself around its victim and gradually smothers it.
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