Hearts Touched by Fire

by Harold Holzer

  “Torpedoes are not so agreeable when used on both sides; therefore, I have reluctantly brought myself to it. I have always deemed it unworthy a chivalrous nation, but it does not do to give your enemy such a decided superiority over you.”

  In the same letter he speaks of the discouraging news just received of Banks’s defeat, and adds:

  “I see by the rebel papers Buchanan is advertised to raise the blockade as soon as he is ready. As I have before informed the department, if I had the military force … and one or two iron-clads, I would not hesitate to run in and attack him; but if I were to run in and in so doing get my vessels crippled, it would be in his power to retire to the shoal water with his iron-clads (in fact, all their vessels draw much less water than ours), and thus destroy us without our being able to get at him. But if he takes the offensive and comes out of port, I hope to be able to contend with him. The department has not yet responded to my call for the iron-clads in the Mississippi.”

  After the Red River disaster, General Grant decided that the majority of the fighting men of the army could be used to better advantage in Virginia, and the force in the Department of the Gulf was largely reduced. It was not until the latter part of July, 1864, that General Canby could make his arrangements to coöperate with Farragut at Mobile Bay. On the 3d of August a division of troops, under General Gordon Granger, landed on the west end of Dauphine Island and began preparations for a siege of Fort Gaines. Meantime, also, three monitors had arrived and a fourth was daily expected, and at last the time, for which Admiral Farragut had so long been praying, arrived.

  On the morning of August 4th a detachment of army signal officers, under command of the late Major Frank W. Marston, arrived by tug from New Orleans. They were distributed among the principal vessels of the fleet, for the purpose of communicating with General Granger’s force after the entrance into the bay had been effected, and it was the good fortune of the writer to be assigned to duty on the Hartford. In the afternoon of the same day Admiral Farragut, with the commanding officers of the different vessels, made a reconnoissance on the steam-tender Cowslip, running inside of Sand Island, where the three monitors were anchored, and within easy range of both the forts. On the left, some three miles distant, was Fort Gaines, a small brick and earth work, mounting a few heavy guns, but too far away from the ship channel to cause much uneasiness to the fleet. Fort Morgan was on the right, one of the strongest of the old brick forts, and greatly strengthened by immense piles of sand-bags, covering every portion of the exposed front. The fort was well equipped with three tiers of heavy guns, one of the guns, at least, of the best English make, imported by the Confederates. In addition, there was in front a battery of seven powerful guns, at the water’s edge on the beach. All the guns, of both fort and water-battery, were within point-blank range of the only channel through which the fleet could pass. The Confederates considered the works impregnable, but they did not depend solely upon them. Just around the point of land, behind Fort Morgan, we could see that afternoon three saucy-looking gun-boats and the famous ram Tennessee. The latter was then considered the strongest and most powerful iron-clad ever put afloat. She looked like a great turtle; her sloping sides were covered with iron plates six inches in thickness, thoroughly riveted together, and she had a formidable iron beak projecting under the water. Her armament consisted of six heavy Brooke rifles, each sending a solid shot weighing from 95 to 110 pounds—a small affair compared with the heavy guns of the present time, but irresistible then against everything but the turrets of the monitors. In addition to these means of resistance, the narrow channel to within a few hundred yards of the shore had been lined with torpedoes. These were under the water, anchored to the bottom. Some of them were beer-kegs filled with powder, from the sides of which projected numerous little tubes containing fulminate, which it was expected would be exploded by contact with the passing vessels, but the greater part were tin cones fitted with caps.

  THE “RICHMOND” AND THE “LACKAWANNA” STRIPPED FOR THE FIGHT. FROM A WAR-TIME SKETCH.

  FORT MORGAN. FROM WAR-TIME PHOTOGRAPHS.

  1. Light-house, Mobile Point. 2. The south-east bastion. 3. The citadel, from the north side.

  NOTE.—The Tecumseh, the leading monitor, moved from the position shown on the map under Fort Morgan, to the left toward the right of the line marked “Torpedoes,” where she was blown up. The distance traversed by the Metacomet, after casting off from the Hartford and until she came up with the Selma, is estimated by Admiral Jouett at nine miles. The time elapsed, as noted in the various reports, sustains this estimate. Owing to the limited size of the page, the map fails to show this distance, but it indicates the direction of the course of the gun-boats. The capture of the Selma, as well as the grounding of the Morgan, occurred some distance to the north-east of the edge of the map.—EDITORS.

  Except for what Farragut had already accomplished on the Mississippi, it would have been considered a foolhardy experiment for wooden vessels to attempt to pass so close to one of the strongest forts on the coast; but when to the forts were added the knowledge of the strength of the ram and the supposed deadly character of the torpedoes, it may be imagined that the coming event impressed the person taking his first glimpse of naval warfare as decidedly hazardous and unpleasant. So daring an attempt was never made in any country but ours, and was never successfully made by any commander except Farragut, who, in this, as in his previous exploits in passing the forts of the Mississippi, proved himself one of the greatest naval commanders the world has ever seen. It was the confidence reposed in him, the recollection that he had not failed in his former attempts, and his manifest faith in the success of the projected movement, that inspired all around him.

  The scene on the Cowslip that afternoon of the 4th of August was a notable one, as she steamed within range of the forts. The central figure was the grand old admiral, his plans all completed, affable with all, evidently not thinking of failure as among the possibilities of the morrow, and filling every one with his enthusiasm. He was sixty-three years old, of medium height, stoutly built, with a finely proportioned head and smoothly shaven face, with an expression combining overflowing kindliness with iron will and invincible determination, and with eyes that in repose were full of sweetness and light, but, in emergency, could flash fire and fury.

  Next in prominence to the admiral was the tall, commanding form of Fleet-Captain Percival Drayton, the man of all men to be Farragut’s chief-of-staff, gentlemanly and courteous to all, but thoughtful and reserved, a man of marked intellect and power, in whose death, a few years later, our navy lost one of its very brightest stars, and the cause of liberty and human rights a most devoted friend. I have digressed to this extent to pay my humble tribute to one of the bravest and most patriotic men I ever met, and to a native South Carolinian of bluest blood, and proud of his ancestry, who in his love of country had learned to look beyond State lines and to disregard the ties of kinship.

  As we steamed slowly along inside Sand Island, inspecting every hostile point, a Confederate transport landed at Fort Gaines, and began discharging cargo. At a signal from the admiral, one of the monitors, by way of practice, opened fire at long range, and, as the huge fifteen-inch shell dropped uncomfortably near, the work of unloading was stopped, and the transport suddenly left—the last Confederate transport that ever crossed the bay.

  After the reconnoissance the final council of war was held on board the Hartford, when the positions of the various vessels were assigned, and the order of the line was arranged. Unfortunately Captain (now Rear-Admiral) Thornton A. Jenkins was absent, his vessel, the Richmond, having been unavoidably delayed at Pensacola, whither she had gone for coal and to escort the monitor Tecumseh. Had he been present he certainly would have been selected to take the lead, in which event the perilous halt of the next day would not have occurred. Much against his own wish Admiral Farragut yielded to the unanimous advice of his captains and gave up his original determination of placing his flagship i
n the advance, and, in the uncertainty as to the arrival of the Richmond, assigned the Brooklyn, Captain Alden, to that position.2

  A few hours later, just before sunset, the Richmond arrived with the Tecumseh, and the cause of her delay was satisfactorily explained, but the admiral decided to make no change in the order of the line, which was settled upon as follows: Brooklyn and Octorara, Hartford and Metacomet, Richmond and Port Royal, Lackawanna and Seminole, Monongahela and Kennebec, Ossipee and Itasca, Oneida and Galena. The first-named of each pair was on the starboard or more exposed side.

  The four monitors were to go a little in advance, and on the right flank of the wooden vessels. The Tecumseh and Manhattan were single-turreted, each with two 15-inch guns. The Winnebago and Chickasaw were of lighter draught, with two turrets each, and four 11-inch guns.

  Before attempting to narrate the events of the next day, it may be well to give an idea of the situation. Mobile Bay gradually widens from the city to the gulf, a distance of thirty miles. The entrance is protected by a long, narrow arm of sand, with Fort Morgan on the extreme western point. Across the channel from Fort Morgan, and perhaps three miles distant, is Dauphine Island, a narrow strip of sand with Fort Gaines at its eastern end. Further to the west is little Fort Powell, commanding a narrow channel through which light-draught vessels could enter the bay. Between Dauphine Island and Fort Morgan, and in front of the main entrance to the bay, is Sand Island, a barren spot, under the lee of which three of our monitors were lying. The army signal officers were sent on board the fleet, not with any intention of having their services used in passing the forts, but in order to establish communication afterward between the fleet and the army, for the purpose of coöperating in the capture of the forts. The primary objects of Admiral Farragut in entering the bay were to close Mobile to the outside world, to capture or destroy the Tennessee, and to cut off all possible means of escape from the garrisons of the forts. Incidentally, also, he desired to secure the moral effect of a victory, and to give his fleet, which had been tossed on the uneasy waters of the Gulf for many months, a safe and quiet anchorage. There was no immediate expectation of capturing the city of Mobile, which was safe by reason of a solid row of piles and torpedoes across the river, three miles below the city. Moreover, the larger vessels of the fleet could not approach within a dozen miles of the city, on account of shallow water. But the lower bay offered a charming resting-place for the fleet, with the additional attraction of plenty of fish and oysters, and an occasional chance to forage on shore.

  At sunset the last orders had been issued, every commander knew his duty, and unusual quiet prevailed in the fleet. The sea was smooth, a gentle breeze relieved the midsummer heat, and the night came on serenely and peacefully, and far more quietly than to a yachting fleet at Newport. For the first hour after the candles were lighted below the stillness was almost oppressive. The officers of the Hartford gathered around the ward-room table, writing letters to loved ones far away, or giving instructions in case of death. As brave and thoughtful men, they recognized the dangers that they did not fear, and made provision for the possibilities of the morrow. But this occupied little time, and then, business over, there followed an hour of unrestrained jollity. Many an old story was retold and ancient conundrum repeated. Old officers forgot, for the moment, their customary dignity, and it was evident that all were exhilarated and stimulated by the knowledge of the coming struggle. There was no other “stimulation,” for the strict naval rules prevented. Finally, after a half-hour’s smoke under the forecastle, all hands turned in. The scene on the flag-ship was representative of the night before the battle throughout the fleet.

  It was the admiral’s desire and intention to get under way by daylight, to take advantage of the inflowing tide; but a dense fog came on after midnight and delayed the work of forming line.

  It was a weird sight as the big ships “balanced to partners,” the dim outlines slowly emerging like phantoms in the fog. The vessels were lashed together in pairs, fastened side by side by huge cables. All the vessels had been stripped for the fight, the top-hamper being left at Pensacola, and the starboard boats being either left behind or towed on the port side. The admiral’s steam-launch, the Loyall, named after his son,3 steamed alongside the flag-ship on the port side.

  THE BATTLE OF MOBILE. FROM A WAR-TIME SKETCH.

  It was a quarter of six o’clock before the fleet was in motion. Meantime a light breeze had scattered the fog and left a clear, sunny August day. The line moved slowly, and it was an hour after starting before the opening gun was fired. This was a 15-inch shell from the Tecumseh, and it exploded over Fort Morgan. Half an hour afterward the fleet came within range and the firing from the starboard vessels became general, the fort and the Confederate fleet replying. The fleet took position across the entrance to the bay and raked the advance vessels fore and aft, doing great damage, to which it was for a time impossible to make effective reply. Gradually the fleet came into close quarters with Fort Morgan, and the firing on both sides became terrific. The wooden vessels moved more rapidly than the monitors, and as the Brooklyn came opposite the fort, and approached the torpedo line, she came nearly alongside the rear monitor. To have kept on would have been to take the lead, with the ram Tennessee approaching and with the unknown danger of the torpedoes underneath. At this critical moment the Brooklyn halted and began backing and signaling with the army signals. The Hartford was immediately behind and the following vessels were in close proximity, and the sudden stopping of the Brooklyn threatened to bring the whole fleet into collision, while the strong inflowing tide was likely to carry some of the vessels to the shore under the guns of the fort.

  On the previous night the admiral had issued orders that the army signal officers were not to be allowed on deck during the fight, but were to go into the cockpit, on the lower deck, and assist the surgeons. The reason assigned was that these officers would not be needed during the passage of the forts, but would be wanted afterward to open communication with the army, and that therefore it would be a misfortune to have any of them disabled. The two army signal officers on the Hartford disrelished this order exceedingly, and, after consulting together, decided that in the confusion of the occasion their presence on deck would probably not be noticed, and that they would evade the command if possible. In this they were successful until shortly before passing Sand Island and coming within range of Fort Morgan. Then the executive officer, Lieutenant-Commander Lewis A. Kimberly, who never allowed anything to escape his attention, came to them very quietly and politely, and told them the admiral’s order must be obeyed. We were satisfied from his manner that the surgeons had need of us, and, without endeavoring to argue the matter, made our way to the stifling hold, where Surgeon Lansdale and Assistant-Surgeon Commons, with their helpers, were sitting, with their paraphernalia spread out ready for use.

  Nearly every man had his watch in his hand awaiting the first shot. To us, ignorant of everything going on above, every minute seemed an hour, and there was a feeling of great relief when the boom of the Tecumseh’s first gun was heard. 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 nine Dahlgren guns kept the vessel in a quiver. But as yet no wounded were sent down, and we knew we were still at comparatively long range. In the intense excitement of the occasion it seemed that hours had passed, but it was just twenty minutes from the time we went below, when an officer shouted down the hatchway: “Send up an army signal officer immediately; the Brooklyn is signaling.” In a moment the writer was on deck, where he found the situation as already described. Running on to the forecastle, he hastily took the Brooklyn’s message, which imparted the unnecessary information, “The monitors are right ahead; we cannot go on without passing them.” The reply was sent at once from the admiral, “Order the monitors ahead and go on.” But still the Brooklyn halted, while, t
o add to the horror of the situation, the monitor Tecumseh, a few hundred yards in the advance, suddenly careened to one side and almost instantly sank to the bottom, carrying with her Captain Tunis A. M. Craven and the greater part of his crew, numbering in all 114 officers and men.4 The pilot, John Collins, and a few men who were in the turret jumped into the water and were rescued by a boat from the Metacomet, which, under charge of Acting Ensign Henry C. Nields, rowed up under the guns of the fort and through a deadly storm of shot and shell and picked them up.5 Meantime the Brooklyn failed to go ahead, and the whole fleet became a stationary point-blank target for the guns of Fort Morgan and of the rebel vessels. It was during these few perilous moments that the most fatal work of the day was done to the fleet.

  THE BATTLE OF MOBILE, LOOKING SOUTH AND EASTWARD. FROM A WAR-TIME SKETCH.

  Owing to the Hartford’s position, only her few bow guns could be used, while a deadly rain of shot and shell was falling on her, and her men were being cut down by scores, unable to make reply. The sight on deck was sickening beyond the power of words to portray. Shot after shot came through the side, mowing down the men, deluging the decks with blood, and scattering mangled fragments of humanity so thickly that it was difficult to stand on the deck, so slippery was it. The old expressions of the “scuppers running blood,” “the slippery deck,” etc., give but the faintest idea of the spectacle on the Hartford. The bodies of the dead were placed in a long row on the port side, while the wounded were sent below until the surgeons’ quarters would hold no more. A solid shot coming through the bow struck a gunner on the neck, completely severing head from body. One poor fellow (afterward an object of interest at the great Sanitary Commission Fair in New York) lost both legs by a cannon-ball; as he fell he threw up both arms, just in time to have them also carried away by another shot. At one gun, all the crew on one side were swept down by a shot which came crashing through the bulwarks. A shell burst between the two forward guns in charge of Lieutenant Tyson, killing and wounding fifteen men. The mast upon which the writer was perched was twice struck, once slightly, and again just below the foretop by a heavy shell, from a rifle on the Confederate gun-boat Selma. Fortunately the shell came tumbling end over end, and buried itself in the mast, butt-end first, leaving the percussion-cap protruding. Had it come point first, or had it struck at any other part of the mast than in the reënforced portion where the heel of the topmast laps the top of the lower mast, this contribution to the literature of the war would probably have been lost to the world, as the distance to the deck was about a hundred feet. As it was, the sudden jar would have dislodged any one from the crosstrees had not the shell been visible from the time it left the Selma, thus giving time to prepare for it by an extra grip around the top of the mast. Looking out over the water, it was easy to trace the course of every shot, both from the guns of the Hartford and from the Confederate fleet. Another signal message from the Brooklyn told of the sinking of the Tecumseh, a fact known already, and another order to “go on” was given and was not obeyed.