Of much greater danger to Farragut’s vessels were the batteries at Grand Gulf. In anticipation of the Hartford’s return, three heavy guns had been moved down from Vicksburg. The Confederates had full intentions of sinking the ship and perhaps even capturing America’s first rear admiral. During the night of March 31, the three Union vessels sped down the river under the Grand Gulf bluffs. The Hartford fired several broadsides at the enemy and succeeded in forcing a number of gun crews to cease fire and seek cover. The flagship was hit by one shell, which caused little damage to the vessel, but killed one sailor. The ram Switzerland was hit by two shots, but suffered only minor damage. The Albatross got through unscathed, even though her speed was reduced by the coal and provisions barges she had in tow.
On April 2, the three arrived at the mouth of the Red River. Along the way, they had sunk a large number of Confederate flatboats loaded with supplies of various description and had burned stacks of provisions awaiting transportation at several levees. Anxious for news of his fleet below Port Hudson, Farragut left the gunboat and the ram on blockade duty and steamed downriver to Port Hudson. He arrived within sight of the formidable bluffs on April 6.
Several attempts were made to establish contact with the Federal vessels below the batteries. Signal flags were hoisted to the Hartford’s mast during the day, to no avail. Timed gunfire also failed to elicit a response, as did signal rockets launched during the night. Despairing of making contact, Farragut reluctantly agreed to an idea put forth by his daredevil secretary, Edward C. Gabaudan, a man who had previously demonstrated his dauntless spirit. After arriving below Vicksburg, Farragut had sent Gabaudan across the Young’s Point peninsula with instructions to deliver a letter to Porter. Discovering that Porter was not at his headquarters, Gabaudan had borrowed a horse and ridden through miles of rebel-infested country to reach Porter at Steele’s Bayou.
Now the secretary proposed to hide himself inside a narrow dugout canoe resembling a log, and, covered with branches and twigs, float downriver until he reached the Federal fleet. Such sights were common on the river, and it was hoped that rebel gunners would not decide to use this particular “log” for target practice. The admiral gave him several dispatches for the fleet and one for General Banks. Accompanied by an escaped slave who had also volunteered for the mission, Gabaudan was concealed inside the “log” and set adrift in the current. The voyage appeared to be going well until the dugout was swept too close to the east bank, where it attracted the attention of several soldiers on guard duty. Although unable to see, Gabaudan and his companion could clearly hear the men discussing the unusually large object floating nearby. Several rebels pushed a small boat into the water and rowed close to Gabaudan, who clutched his pistol close to his chest, determined to fight if discovered. Luckily the soldiers quickly tired of the venture and called to those waiting on the shore that it was “only a large log.” Two hours later, the two men pushed the concealing branches into the water and revealed their presence to the first vessel they saw. To their surprise, they had actually drifted past the Federal gunboats patrolling the river below Port Hudson and floated all the way down to Baton Rouge. The ship that hauled them in was the Richmond. Several hours later, the Richmond’s boats uncovered a similar fake log with two former slaves aboard, bearing additional dispatches from Farragut. They had left the Hartford a little over a half hour after Gabaudan. Two signal rockets fired from several miles below Port Hudson were the prearranged sign that the manned “logs” had survived their journey.
The next day the Hartford steamed up the Mississippi and returned to blockading the Red River. Along the way, the sloop gave chase to two Confederate steamers found attempting to cross the river. Although one escaped capture, the other was driven directly at the Albatross, which was on routine patrol. Found aboard the captured steamer, the J. D. Clarke, was a Major Howard, who was assigned to the Confederate Army Commissary Department. A few days later, a rebel boat carrying mail was taken. Among the official Confederate government documents found was information about a plan to attack the Hartford with several small boats and board her. Farragut immediately ordered additional steps to increase the measures he had already taken to fend off boarders. Logs and chains hung from the Hartford’s side made it virtually impossible for an enemy boat to get within twenty feet of her.
Farragut had arranged with Gabaudan to meet him at the same place in which he was set adrift, north of Port Hudson, on April 15. Dropping anchor within sight of the Port Hudson bluffs, Farragut found that the west bank had been cleared of all Confederate troops by General Banks’s actions on that side of the river. The Richmond had moved upriver and anchored just out of range of the batteries. By placing a small platform atop the sloop’s gallantmast, signal officer Eaton was able to communicate with the Richmond.
The admiral’s secretary soon arrived, with four army officers and the former slaves who had floated downriver with him. The following day, five men trekked across the marshy land to bring Farragut and his crew the mail they had been holding for them. Following a conference with the army officers, Farragut once again returned to the Red River, where he remained for the following two weeks. The Red River was now effectively closed to enemy shipping, although it was impossible for Farragut to control any sizable length of the Mississippi with only three vessels. By constant patrols, numerous rebel steamers were destroyed, and tons of supplies and provisions were prevented from reaching the Confederate troops at Port Hudson, where hunger became their biggest enemy.
While Farragut had been conducting his business within sight of Port Hudson, Navy Secretary Gideon Welles was growing increasingly irritated with Acting Rear Admiral David Porter. Glowing reports crammed with useless information appeared at times to be compensating for his lack of aggressive action, or the failure of some of his actions, such as the Steele’s Bayou expedition. Both Welles and Fox were anxious to get Farragut back to New Orleans, where he could resume personal command of the Blockading Squadron. Washington had been receiving intelligence that Confederate admiral Franklin Buchanan might any day burst out of Mobile Bay with his new ironclad fleet and attack the wooden Federal ships on blockade duty.
The U.S. Navy Department was not about to forget that Buchanan had been the captain of the ironclad Virginia (the rebuilt Union ship Merrimack) on March 8, 1862, when she swept into Hampton Roads and destroyed two Federal warships, the frigate Congress and the sloop Cumberland. A serious wound had prevented Buchanan from remaining in charge of the ironclad when she fought the Union ironclad Monitor the following day. Both Welles and Fox knew that if Buchanan attacked the blockading ships outside Mobile Bay with his new ironclads, that waterway, so vital to the Confederacy, would open to commerce runners like a floodgate. Farragut had to get out of the Mississippi River and back in personal command of the blockade, but he could not leave until Porter got below Vicksburg and took command of the entire river to New Orleans.
Welles believed the reason Porter had not yet moved below Vicksburg was his “great vanity and great jealousy” concerning command. While he remained above Vicksburg, the commander of the Mississippi Squadron was the senior naval officer on the scene. Such men as Grant and Sherman were obliged to deal with him in all matters requiring navy participation. Once he went below that Confederate bastion, Farragut, the hero of New Orleans, would be senior naval officer. Judging by his later actions, especially his self-serving history of the war, Welles was probably correct. What Porter failed to take into consideration was that Farragut was anxious to get out of the river as quickly as possible, and leave the entire region north of New Orleans to Porter. New Orleans itself had been designated as the base of the blockading squadron and would, therefore, remain under Farragut’s naval command.
On April 15, 1863, Welles sent a secret telegram to Porter with instructions to move below Vicksburg “so that Admiral Farragut may return to his station.” The shove from Welles was not needed, for General Grant had already obtained Porter’s agreement to take a
number of his boats below Vicksburg. The following day, Porter moved seven ironclad gunboats, one ram, one tug, and three empty troop transports south as part of Grant’s new plan to capture Vicksburg. The rest of his squadron remained north of the city to protect army communication lines.
Convinced that Vicksburg would never be taken from the north, Grant decided to march down the Louisiana side of the river, opposite Vicksburg, recross the river to the Mississippi side, and attack the city from the south. The army would be forced to sever all communications with its supply bases north of Vicksburg, and live off the land. Credit for this maneuver is usually given to Grant himself, although some historians claim it was first suggested by his chief of staff, General John A. Rawlins.
The plan called for first sending a large body of troops down the western side of the river with equipment and tools to repair roads and rebuild bridges destroyed by the retreating Confederates. This would permit the bulk of Grant’s army to march unimpeded as far south as New Carthage, Louisiana, twenty-five miles south of Vicksburg, from which point Porter’s troop transports, protected by his gunboats, all of which were to run past the Vicksburg batteries, would ferry them to the Mississippi side of the river Shortly after 9:00 p.m. on the sixteenth, Porter’s boats left their moorings just below the mouth of the Yazoo River and began steaming down the Mississippi toward Vicksburg. General Grant, along with his staff, his wife, and their children, watched as the line of boats slowly steamed past them. The army commander had a front-row seat for what proved to be an impressive fireworks display. Porter had prepared his boats well for the trip. Logs and bales of cotton were tied to every available space to reduce damage from enemy shelling. Knowing that the waters opposite Vicksburg were swept by eddies from the western shore that caused whirlpools and other hazards to navigation, he ordered the boats to travel at slow speed below the batteries. While this might make them better targets for enemy gunners, it would help their pilots maintain control over the vessels. Since Porter intended to come as close to the Vicksburg side of the river as possible, hoping to be too close for many of the higher batteries to fire down at them, control of the boats was paramount. The last thing he wanted was for his boats to lose control in the swirling eddies and begin crashing into each other. Each transport and gunboat was to maintain a fifty-yard gap between itself and the preceding boat. Except for the gunboat carrying Porter’s flag, each gunboat and transport had a coal barge tied to her starboard or “off” side, leaving open to her guns the port side, facing Vicksburg. Each barge was loaded with 10,000 bushels of coal to help maintain the fleet while it operated below Vicksburg.
First in line was Porter’s flagship, the Benton. Because she was a rather sluggish vessel, the sixteen-gun ironclad had the tug Ivy lashed to her starboard side. Behind her came the brand-new eight-gun ironclad Lafayette, with the ram General Price lashed to the off side of her coal barge. Fifty yards behind was the twelve-gun Louisville, followed by the Mound City with fourteen guns, then the Pittsburg with thirteen guns, and the Carondelet with eleven guns. Next came the transports Silver Ware, Henry Clay, and Forest Queen. Empty of troops, they were loaded with supplies for the army and fodder for its horses. Last in line was the new five-gun Tuscumbia. Her commander, Jim Shirk, an officer with long experience, was responsible for helping keep the transports, manned by green volunteer crews, safely in line.
Just before ten o’clock, as they neared the bend above the first batteries, the Benton flashed two lights, the signal for all boats to cut their engines. Porter’s plan called for the little fleet to drift downriver in silence until discovered by the enemy. They drifted quietly, until someone on shore spotted them and set signal fires to alert the gunners.
Once the enemy knew his boats were passing, Porter gave the signal to restart their engines, and the noisy ironclads clanged to life. The boats moved only a little faster than they had when powered solely by the current, since the coal-laden barges dragged heavily on them. The Benton, with Porter on board, was the first to come under fire. The ironclad’s bow gun returned fire first with percussion shells, followed quickly by broadsides of grape and shrapnel. The Benton first targeted enemy guns in the lower batteries with her broadsides. Once she was opposite the town itself, she poured nearly eighty shells into Vicksburg, doing considerable damage to numerous buildings, including the Washington Hotel. In the process, she took four direct hits and was spun completely around once by the rushing eddies.
The Benton was followed by the small fleet, each boat in turn receiving enemy fire. The transport Henry Clay was set ablaze by rebel shelling and had to be abandoned. In the confusion of fire and smoke, vessels were turned first in one direction and then another by the water rushing from the eddies. At one point, the crews of the two remaining transports, finding their vessels swung around with their bows facing north, attempted to flee the scene for safety. Aboard the Tuscumbia, Commander Shirk, conscious that the success of the campaign rested on getting the transports below Vicksburg, used the bow of his ironclad to nudge the two reluctant transports around and shove them back into line.
Once out of range of the enemy’s guns, the boats dropped anchor to assess their damage. A few coal barges had broken loose during the battle, but they had been recovered. Except for the Henry Clay, the fleet had suffered no significant damage. No lives were lost, including those aboard the sunken transport, who were all rescued. Fourteen sailors were wounded, including two aboard the Benton, each of whom lost a leg to a rebel shot that pierced her armor.
Cheered by Porter’s passing of the batteries, Grant sent six more transports downriver on the night of April 22, five of which survived the passing. The Mississippi River was now completely in the hands of the Union, with Federal naval forces steaming on patrol its entire length. “I regard the navigation of the Mississippi River as shut out from us now,” wrote General John C. Pemberton.
Grant planned to ferry 30,000 men across the river. But with only a handful of transports, this operation would take too long, allowing Confederate forces to attack troops as they disembarked on the Mississippi side of the river. What he needed was a place on the eastern shore where the men could disembark and quickly establish a defensive perimeter against possible attack. When New Carthage offered no such opportunity, Grant marched farther south to Hard Times, Louisiana, five miles above Grand Gulf, Mississippi, on the opposite shore.
Grant and Porter met at Hard Times on April 28. After reviewing other options with Porter, Grant decided that Grand Gulf, a busy river port during peacetime, was an ideal place to which he could ferry his troops. Before that could be done, however, the rebel batteries there had to be silenced. Farragut had passed Grand Gulf twice that year, once steaming up to Vicksburg with only the Hartford and the Albatross, and again returning to blockade the Red River, with the ram Switzerland. The Confederates, anxious to remove the Hartford from the river, had greatly reinforced the Grand Gulf batteries in anticipation of her making another pass upriver. Farragut, however, saw his primary mission as sealing up the Red River, so he never returned to Grand Gulf. It was Porter who received the brunt of the improved rebel batteries.
General Grant asked Porter to reduce the Grand Gulf batteries so that the troops could cross the river at that place. On the morning of April 29, Porter’s gunboats attacked the batteries, but were severely damaged in the battle that ensued. The reinforced batteries now comprised one 100-pounder, two sixty-four-pounders, two seven-inch rifled guns, three thirty-pounder Parrott rifles, two twenty-pounders, and one ten-pounder Parrott rifle. The battle raged for nearly five hours. Porter himself was wounded, the Benton’s steering mechanism was severely damaged, and she was swept downriver, spinning like a top until her crew could regain control. The Tuscumbia’s engines were so badly damaged that she was forced out of the battle and drifted downriver until her crew could force her aground on the Louisiana shore.
Porter returned to Hard Times, where Grant had been watching the battle from the deck of the tug Ivy. The
y both agreed that the batteries were too high up to be effectively attacked from the river. Grant ordered his troops to continue their march south, deciding to cross the river below Grand Gulf. Porter was able to bring his gunboats and the transports below the batteries that night with minimal damage. Shortly after dawn on April 30, Federal troops began crossing the mighty river from Louisiana to the undefended town of Bruinsburg, Mississippi. Porter used his gunboats as transports to help ferry the men across as quickly as possible.
The move across the river south of Grand Gulf caught the Confederate forces by surprise. The wily Grant had planned a number of actions, both upriver of Vicksburg and to her rear, that served to draw the attention of rebel commanders away from the troops marching south on the Louisiana side of the river. Once across the river, Grant’s force, now effectively cut off from all communications with the north, and without supply lines, fought its way north. First to fall was a small Confederate garrison at Port Gibson, a few miles south of Grand Gulf. When word reached Grand Gulf of the approach of such a large Federal force, the garrison was abandoned. And so began the campaign that led to Grant’s victory at Vicksburg. After failing to take the heavily fortified city by storm, Grant settled down to a protracted siege on May 22. Sealed off from the outside world, the 20,000 Confederate troops and the city’s civilian population were reduced to disease and starvation. Daily bombardment from army artillery and Porter’s boats forced many to spend days inside caves or bomproofed basements. Finally, with no hope of escape or relief, General Pemberton was forced to surrender Vicksburg “unconditionally” to Grant on July 4, 1863.
Meanwhile, Farragut kept the Red River closed to enemy traffic, sinking an occasional boat that attempted to break his blockade. By remaining on station, he prevented food and supplies from reaching both Port Hudson and Vicksburg, contributing to their ultimate collapse. He also prevented reinforcements from Mississippi coming to the assistance of Confederate General Richard Taylor’s army fighting in western Louisiana.
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