On board the Hartford, where the enemy gunners appeared to be aiming with great effect, the decks were awash with blood and body fragments so thick “that it was difficult to stand on the deck.”
As the fleet made its slow progress, the firing filled the channel with thick, acrid smoke. Unable to see what was happening, Farragut began climbing the flagship’s rigging until he had reached a point some forty feet above the deck. From his perch, he could shout to his pilot, Freeman, who was also high up in the rigging. Using the same voice tube Farragut had installed at Port Hudson, the pilot could communicate with the ship’s commander, Captain Drayton. By shouting, the admiral could issue orders to Lieutenant Commander Jouett, who stood atop the Metacomet’s wheelhouse.
Captain Drayton watched as his sixty-three-year-old admiral climbed higher and higher, until he was almost obscured by the smoke. Fearing for his safety, for he easily could have been thrown overboard or flung to the deck if the ship suddenly shuddered, as often occurred under heavy fire, the captain could watch no more. He called Quartermaster Knowles to his side and pointed out Farragut’s position. Drayton told him to find a way to secure the admiral to the rigging. “I went up with a piece of lead line,” Knowles later wrote, “and made it fast to one of the forward shrouds, and then took it around the admiral to the after shroud, making it fast there. The admiral said: ‘Never mind, I am all right’; but I went ahead and obeyed orders, for I feared he would fall overboard… .”
Two army signal officers had been stationed aboard the Hartford. At Farragut’s orders, they were to remain belowdecks, out of harm’s way, until required. They were instructed by the ship’s executive officer, Lieutenant Commander Lewis A. Kimberly, to provide whatever assistance they could to the ship’s medical staff while they were below. One of the officers, Lieutenant John C. Kinney, later described what it was like waiting belowdecks while the battle raged above their heads. “Presently one or two of our forward guns opened, and we could hear the distant sound of the guns of the fort in reply. Soon the cannon-balls began to crash through the deck above us, and then the thunder of our whole broadside of Dahlgren guns kept the vessel in a quiver.”
Over the roar of the guns and the explosions of enemy shells, the cry was heard, “Send up an army signal officer immediately, the Brooklyn is signaling.” Kinney sprinted up the ladderway and was on deck in an instant. The army officer made his way through the noise, chaos, and death of the deck toward the forecastle, where he was able to read the signal being sent by one of the signal officers stationed aboard the Brooklyn, despite the ever-thickening, acrid smoke that was quickly engulfing the ship.
From the sloop just ahead came the message that the monitors were almost directly in front of the great wooden ship and that she could not proceed without passing them. The original plan called for the speedy monitors to pull ahead of the fleet and engage the enemy vessels, especially the ram Tennessee. This would give the line of ships greater safety in entering the bay. The message was relayed to Farragut, who sent a reply that the Brooklyn should proceed into the bay, regardless of what the monitors did. Farragut feared that the Brooklyn, which was already slowing down because of the monitors, would block the passage of the following ships, leaving the entire line of vessels motionless under the guns of Fort Morgan. As stationary targets, they would surely face destruction from enemy gunners who would quickly find the correct range and elevation.
Meanwhile, Admiral Buchanan’s small rebel flotilla steamed out from behind the fort and proceeded to execute the classic naval maneuver of “crossing the T.” In this instance, the Federal fleet formed the upright portion of a capital T, while the Confederate vessels formed the crossbar. By this tactic the Union ships, which were in a more or less straight line, would come under fire from the rebels one pair at a time. All the Confederate vessels would then be able to concentrate their fire on one pair of enemy ships, and receive return fire from only that pair. In such a stratagem, a smaller enemy could engage a larger fleet without fear of being outnumbered at any point, since most of the following enemy vessels were unable to fire at them until the preceding vessels were out of the way. Farragut’s plan called for the monitors to attack the rebels when they crossed the T. If successful, the monitors would sink or scatter at least the gunboats, leaving the Tennessee alone to face the entire fleet.
As the monitors drew closer to the enemy flotilla, the officers and men of the leading ships could see the captain of the double-turreted Winnebago, Commander Thomas H. Stevens, calmly walking back and forth between the turrets, giving orders to the gun crews inside.
And then suddenly it happened, the worst nightmare of every sailor.
On board the first monitor, the Tecumseh, Captain Craven watched as the giant ram moved across the entrance. Fearing that the Tennessee was about to escape, Craven ordered the pilot to cross the channel from the eastern side to the western and pursue the enemy. The monitor quickly picked up speed and a few moments later crossed the edge of the minefield. She was on the wrong side of the signal buoy. Almost instantly, a great roar filled the air. It was louder than any of the guns then firing and was heard by every man on both sides. Thinking that the monitors had struck the Tennessee a fatal blow, Federal gunners stopped firing at the fort and gave a loud cheer. In the smoke, they were unable to see that the roar had come from the Tecumseh. Having struck an enemy torpedo, the monitor stood virtually on end, with her bow straight down. From the turret of the following monitor, Manhattan, comes this description of the fate of the Tecumseh: “[Her] stern lifted high in the air with the propeller still revolving, and the ship pitched out of sight like an arrow twanged from a bow.”
Within seconds, the monitor had disappeared from view into the over sixty feet of water in the channel. On board the Tennessee, gunners, who had been prepared to fire at the monitor seconds before, stopped and gazed silently through their gun ports at the frightful sight. Every man knew that a similar fate awaited him should his own vessel strike a torpedo. Being enclosed inside the iron vessel was as near as many wanted to get to being inside a coffin. Now, before their eyes, an entire ship’s company of men were about to die, locked alive inside their own coffin.
Aboard the sinking vessel, Captain Craven pushed the pilot, John Collins, through an escape hatch in the turret, but failed to follow. Inside the iron vessel, ninety-three officers and men lost their lives. Of the twenty-one who somehow managed to escape the down-rushing ship, four swam to shore below the fort and were taken prisoner, and seven climbed inside of one of the Tecumseh’s boats that had broken lose from the ironclad and managed to stay afloat. The remaining ten were rescued by a boat sent by Admiral Farragut.
From his perch high above the action, Farragut watched in disbelief as the monitor vanished in less than thirty seconds. He shouted an order down to Lieutenant Commander Jouett to send a boat to rescue survivors. Rapidly, one of the Metacomet’s, boats was lowered and, under the command of Acting Master Henry C. Nields, made its way through the smoke to the scene of the disaster, some 500 yards from the flagship.
High above them, General Page saw the small boat on its mission of mercy, and quickly ordered Fort Morgan’s gunners not to fire on her. Aboard the Tennessee, the same order was passed down the line, although it was not necessary, because every man watching the scene knew he might be awaiting just such a rescue boat any minute.
The explosion that sank the Tecumseh so stunned everyone - Yankee and rebel - that the firing slackened slightly for a few moments, but it quickly resumed its intensity.
Stunned by the sinking of the monitor, less than 100 yards away, Captain Alden slowed the Brooklyn to a crawl, and then reversed engines. He feared suffering the same fate as the Tecumseh and was determined to avoid coming too close to the minefield. He was unaware that the monitor had actually passed on the port side of the signal buoy and entered the danger area. As the Brooklyn slowed, the morning current sweeping into the bay caught her stern and swung the ship around, so that her bo
w faced toward Fort Morgan. Farragut, who had earlier feared that the Brooklyn would stop the entire fleet when she first slowed down, realized the sloop was about to accomplish the same. She was now blocking a large portion of the channel.
In an attempt to turn his ship back around, Alden reversed engines. The Brooklyn immediately began to straighten and back toward Hartford. “What is the matter with Brooklyn?” Farragut asked pilot Freeman, who was just above him. “She must have plenty of water there.” Watching the Brooklyn swing back toward them, Freeman replied, “Plenty to spare, Admiral.”
Looking around the channel, Farragut saw that his entire fleet was quickly bunching up behind him. Such a state of confusion was developing that captains of great warships had no idea what was going on ahead of them. Meanwhile, the gunners of Fort Morgan kept up their deadly firing into the ships. Had it not been for Farragut’s instructions to run in close to the fort and keep up a rapid fire of grape and shrapnel, the fleet would have been decimated. Only the firing of broadsides loaded with grape and shrapnel could drive the rebel gunners away from their guns and into safety.
For Admiral Farragut, the moment of monumental decision had arrived. Should he go on despite the beating his ships were taking, or should he signal them to turn and run? Like so many other great battlefield commanders before and since, he knew the only decision was to go forward. Although it might cost him several ships and, more important, hundreds of lives, if he could get enough ships into the bay, Mobile would be closed forever. Later he said that he had calculated he might lose some of his ships, but that he couldn’t lose them all. He would go forward, and true to his own beliefs, he would lead the way. If another ship was to suffer the fate of the Tecumseh, he was willing to allow that ship to be the one flying his flag.
Reaching up, he grabbed the pilot’s foot and tugged. “I shall lead,” he shouted to Freeman. The order was passed via the speaking tube. The engine room poured in the coal, and the Hartford quickly moved forward. Behind her, the rest of the fleet did likewise. Farragut was no longer sure about the location of the enemy torpedoes, but he decided that most of them had probably been in the water so long that they were harmless. It was a gamble, but a gamble he believed worth taking, even if losing meant the end of his own life.
As the flagship passed on the port side of the Brooklyn, Farragut shouted down to her, “What’s the trouble?” “Torpedoes,” was the shouted reply.
“Damn the torpedoes,” responded Farragut.
Then, calling down to the captain of his flagship, he shouted, “Four bells, Captain Drayton.”
Then he bellowed to the commander of the gunboat lashed to the flagship’s side, “Go ahead, Jouett, full speed.”
Time eroded Farragut’s orders to simply, “Damn the torpedoes, full speed ahead.” It became a naval battle cry that has stirred sailors on to battle for over a hundred years.
The Hartford swept beyond the Brooklyn as the latter struggled to right herself. Those below the Hartford’s decks could hear the primers snapping off the torpedoes beneath them as the flagship crossed the corner of the minefield. Not one exploded. Farragut’s gamble that they were disabled by too long a time in the water had paid off. Within minutes the entire fleet, including Captain Alden’s errant vessel, was inside Mobile Bay, beyond the reach of Fort Morgan’s guns. The Tecumseh was the only vessel lost in the passage, although most, especially the larger ships, had suffered badly. The Oneida had suffered a shot that disabled her engine, causing her cohort, the Galena, to drag her along, which she did with great success.
Aboard the Tennessee, Buchanan saw the admiral’s blue pennant flying from the Hartford and aimed his ram directly at her. Unable to gain sufficient speed to ram the wooden sloop, the ram turned, and the two vessels passed alongside each other, exchanging a raking fire. The remaining rebel vessels kept up a terrible fire, until Farragut ordered the Metacomet cut loose, and she rushed at the enemy with her guns ablaze.
The Tennessee attacked each of the following pairs of Union vessels, causing damage to several, and killing a large number of sailors. Each in turn fired broadsides and chase guns at the ram, which, due to its weak power plant, was unable to ram any of them. When the three remaining Federal monitors, which had been covering the passage of the wooden ships, joined the action against the Tennessee, Buchanan withdrew from a battle that was leading his ship into a trap surrounded by the enemy.
Meanwhile, the Metacomet chased down the rebel gunboat Selma and sank her. Soon the remaining Federal gunboats, freed from their positions lashed to the larger ships, entered the battle against the two remaining rebel gunboats. The Itasca, the Kennebec, and the Port Royal fired into the enemy. The Gaines received two shots below the waterline, causing her to begin sinking. Fearing for the lives of his crew, Lieutenant Commander Bennett ran his vessel onto the beach behind Fort Morgan and ordered his men to abandon her. Pursued by a relentless enemy, Commander Harrison took the Morgan to safety under the guns of the fort.
Later that night the Morgan slipped away and rushed past several Union gunboats. She sped across the shoals and returned to Mobile.
The Tennessee had also sought the safety offered by Fort Morgan’s guns. Admiral Buchanan surveyed the situation, and while his crewmen took a brief break to eat hardtack and take great swallows of warm water to slake their universal thirst, he planned his next action. The ram had less than six hours of coal to burn, and Buchanan knew that once darkness blinded the fort’s gunners, Farragut’s monitors would attack and quite likely destroy her. He was determined not to be forced to surrender without putting up the best fight he could.
Grim-faced, the Confederate admiral watched as the enemy fleet gathered together three miles inside the bay. He decided he would do as much damage to them as possible, even though his chances of victory were nonexistent. Turning to Captain Johnston, he quietly ordered, “Follow them up, Johnston, we can’t let them off that way.” It was a few minutes after 9:00 a.m.
Buchanan’s estimate of Farragut’s plans had been correct. The Federal admiral told Captain Drayton that he planned to move his flag temporarily to the monitor Manhattan after dark, take the three monitors in under the fort’s guns, and attack and possibly board the Tennessee. He realized that the costly victory his fleet had attained would count for little if the mighty ram was left to help Fort Morgan defend against attack.
As the two officers watched the ram, it began to move forward. At first, Drayton thought it might be heading out of the bay to attack the gunboats stationed offshore. “No,” replied Farragut, watching through his glass. “Buck’s coming here. Get under way, we must be ready for him.” The signal was sent from ship to ship, “Run down the ram!”
Suddenly, anchor chains clanged and smoke belched from smokestacks, and virtually every ship in the fleet sprang to life. Everyone wanted his ship to be the one that sank or captured the infamous ram. The first to reach the approaching Tennessee was the Monongahela. The sloop struck the ironclad amidships with such force that most of the men on both vessels were knocked off their feet. But the ram suffered no visible damage. Instead, the Monongahela had her reinforced iron prow torn completely off. She then fired a broadside as the ram passed, but her shells simply rolled off the rebel’s casement. Buchanan was heading for the Hartford and had little time or patience with other ships, so, except for a few shots that penetrated the sloop’s hull above the water, he ignored her.
Next came the Lackawanna. She too rammed the Tennessee and also suffered damage to her forward section, again doing little damage to the enemy. In the collision, both ships were swung around, so they were side by side. Rebel gunners opened their ports and began calling obscenities at the Union sailors. The insults brought a round of small-arms fire. Sailors without handguns or muskets simply picked objects up off the deck and threw them at the enemy. These included a holystone and a spittoon. The former struck a taunting Confederate square in the face, knocking him to the deck. As the two vessels drew apart, they began firing
directly into each other. A small fire was begun on the wooden ship but was quickly brought under control. The Tennessee suffered a damaged gun port, which prevented that gun from being used. Still the ram continued on in an almost straight line for the Hartford. The monitors began to close in and fire, although they had to be especially careful, because so many Federal ships were now steaming around the ram that they might hit one of their own.
Finally, in the midst of wild firing and ramming, the Tennessee reached her target. Suddenly it became a battle of the two admirals. The Hartford turned on her attacker and sped up with full intention to ram her. The Tennessee, unable to get up much speed to begin with, was slowed even more by several debilitating shots to her smokestack. The two flagships faced off, and for a few seconds it looked as if they would meet head-on, a collision in which both ships would go down. At the last second, Buchanan turned ever so slightly to starboard. The two vessels scraped alongside each other, their guns almost touching as they fired broadsides into each other. Fortunately for the Federal ship, the Confederate gunners suffered a string of bad primers, so most of their guns were unable to fire. Even with all the noise and screaming around them, the surprised Union sailors could hear the loud clicking sounds as the primers snapped and failed to blow. Farragut jumped into the rigging and swung out to get a better view. At one point, he was actually standing above the enemy ram and could have stepped down onto her if he had been moved to do Small-arms fire and flung objects landed on the enemy ships. One Union sailor was stabbed by a bayonet jabbed at him by a Confederate engineer, who was shot in the shoulder by another sailor for his trouble.
The chaos and confusion of this short but horrendous battle is exemplified by the accidental ramming of the Hartford by the Lackawanna. Both ships suffered damage in the collision. An irritated Farragut turned to an army signal officer standing nearby and asked “Can you say ‘For God’s sake’ by signal?” When the man responded in the affirmative, the admiral told him to signal the Lackawanna, “For God’s sake, get out of our way and anchor!” The signal was either never received or ignored in the heat of the battle.
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