Hearts Touched by Fire

by Harold Holzer

  Soon after the fight began, Admiral Farragut, finding that the low-hanging smoke from the guns interfered with his view from the deck, went up the rigging of the mainmast as far as the futtock-shrouds, immediately below the maintop. The pilot, Martin Freeman, was in the top directly overhead, and the fleet-captain was on the deck below. Seeing the admiral in this exposed position, where, if wounded, he would be killed by falling to the deck, Fleet-Captain Drayton ordered Knowles, the signal-quartermaster, to fasten a rope around him so that he would be prevented from falling.

  Finding that the Brooklyn failed to obey his orders, the admiral hurriedly inquired of the pilot if there was sufficient depth of water for the Hartford to pass to the left of the Brooklyn. Receiving an affirmative reply, he said: “I will take the lead,” and immediately ordered the Hartford ahead at full speed.6 As he passed the Brooklyn a voice warned him of the torpedoes, to which he returned the contemptuous answer, “Damn the torpedoes.” This is the current story, and may have some basis of truth. But as a matter of fact, there was never a moment when the din of the battle would not have drowned any attempt at conversation between the two ships, and while it is quite probable that the admiral made the remark it is doubtful if he shouted it to the Brooklyn.7

  Then was witnessed the remarkable sight of the Hartford and her consort, the Metacomet, passing over the dreaded torpedo ground and rushing ahead far in advance of the rest of the fleet, the extrication of which from the confusion caused by the Brooklyn’s halt required many minutes of valuable time.8 The Hartford was now moving over what is called the “middle ground,” with shallow water on either side, so that it was impossible to move except as the channel permitted. Taking advantage of the situation, the Confederate gun-boat Selma kept directly in front of the flag-ship and raked her fore and aft, doing more damage in reality than all the rest of the enemy’s fleet. The other gun-boats, the Gaines and the Morgan, were in shallow water on our starboard bow, but they received more damage from the Hartford’s broadsides than they were able to inflict. Meanwhile the ram Tennessee, which up to this time had contented herself with simply firing at the approaching fleet, started for the Hartford, apparently with the intention of striking her amidships. She came on perhaps for half a mile, never approaching nearer than a hundred yards, and then suddenly turned and made for the fleet, which, still in front of the fort, was gradually getting straightened out and following the Hartford. This change of course on the part of the ram has always been a mystery. The captain of the ram, in papers published since the war, denies that any such move was made, but it was witnessed by the entire fleet, and is mentioned by both Admiral Farragut and Fleet-Captain Drayton in their official reports.

  The Hartford had now run a mile inside the bay, and was suffering chiefly from the raking fire of the Selma, which was unquestionably managed more skillfully than any other Confederate vessel. Captain (now Admiral) Jouett, commanding the Hartford’s escort, the Metacomet, repeatedly asked permission of the admiral to cut loose and take care of the Selma, and finally, at five minutes past eight, consent was given. In an instant the cables binding the two vessels were cut, and the Metacomet, the fastest vessel in the fleet, bounded ahead. The Selma was no match for her, and, recognizing her danger, endeavored to retreat up the bay. But she was speedily overhauled, and when a shot had wounded her captain and killed her first lieutenant she surrendered. Before this the Gaines had been crippled by the splendid marksmanship of the Hartford’s gunners, and had run aground under the guns of the fort, where she was shortly afterward set on fire, the crew escaping to the shore. The gun-boat Morgan, after grounding for a few moments on the shoals to the east of Navy Cove, retreated to the shallow water near the fort, whence she escaped the following night to Mobile. The Hartford, having reached the deep water of the bay, about three miles north of Dauphine Island, came to anchor.

  UNITED STATES STEAMSHIP “MONONGAHELA,” SHOWING INJURIES RECEIVED IN THE FIGHT. FROM A SKETCH MADE AFTER THE BATTLE OF MOBILE.

  Let us now return to the other vessels of the fleet, which we left massed in front of Fort Morgan by the remarkable action of the Brooklyn in stopping and refusing to move ahead. When the ram Tennessee turned away from the Hartford, as narrated, she made for the fleet, and in their crowded and confused condition it seemed to be a matter of no difficulty to pick out whatever victims the Confederate commander (Admiral Franklin Buchanan) might desire, as he had done in 1861 when commanding the Merrimac in Hampton Roads. Before he could reach them the line had become straightened, and the leading vessels had passed the fort. Admiral Jenkins, who commanded the Richmond during the fight, writing of this part of the fight, for the use of the present writer, says:

  “During the delay under the guns of Fort Morgan and the water-battery by the backing of the Brooklyn, the vessels astern had remained apparently stationary, so that the nearest one to the Richmond was about half a mile off, and some of them paid very dearly, for the men of the water-battery, who had been driven away from their guns and up the sand hills by the fire of the Richmond and Chickasaw, had time to return and attack them. When the Hartford ‘cut adrift’ from the Brooklyn and Richmond—the only safe thing possible to do—the Tennessee and the three gun-boats pursued her. That is, the Tennessee, after getting above the lines of torpedoes, turned into the main ship-channel and followed the Hartford, while the gun-boats were in shallow water to the northward, where our heavy vessels could not go after them. When the Tennessee was within probably half a mile of the Hartford, she suddenly turned her head toward the Brooklyn and Richmond (both close together). As she approached, every one on board the Richmond supposed that she would ram the Brooklyn; that, we thought, would be our opportunity, for if she struck the Brooklyn the concussion would throw her port side across our path, and being so near to us, she would not have time to ‘straighten up,’ and we would strike her fairly and squarely, and most likely sink her.

  “The guns were loaded with solid shot and heaviest powder charge; the forecastle gun’s crew were ordered to get their small-arms and fire into her gun-ports; and as previously determined, if we came in collision at any time, the orders were to throw gun charges of powder in bags from the fore and main yard-arms down her smoke-stack (or at least try to do so). To our great surprise, she sheered off from the Brooklyn, and at about one hundred yards put two shot or shells through and through the Brooklyn’s sides (as reported), doing much damage.

  “Approaching, passing, and getting away from the Richmond, the ram received from us three full broadsides of 9-inch solid shot, each broadside being eleven guns. They were well aimed and all struck, but when she was examined next day, no other indications were seen than scratches. The musketry fire into the two ports prevented the leveling of her guns, and therefore two of her shot or shell passed harmlessly over the Richmond, except the cutting of a ratline in the port main-shroud, just under the feet of the pilot, while the other whistled unpleasantly close to Lieutenant Terry’s head. The Tennessee passed toward the Lackawanna, the next vessel astern, and avoided her—wishing either to ram Captain Strong’s vessel (Monongahela), or cross his bow and attack McCann’s vessel (the Kennebec, Strong’s consort). Strong was ready for her, and, anticipating her object, made at her, but the blow (by the quick manœuvring of the Tennessee) was a glancing one, doing very little damage to either Strong’s or McCann’s vessel. Thence the Tennessee, after firing two broadsides into the Oneida, proceeded toward the fort, and for a time entirely disappeared from our sight. During this time the three gun-boats were proceeding, apparently, up the bay, to escape. The Hartford was closely watched with our glasses, and soon after the Tennessee had left Strong the Metacomet (Jouett) was seen to cast off; and divining the purpose, the Port Royal (Gherardi) was ordered to cast off from the Richmond and go in chase of the enemy, pointing in the direction of the three gun-boats of the enemy. George Brown (in the Itasca) cast off from the Ossipee and (I believe) McCann did also, and steered for the enemy. By this time Jouett had come up with
the Selma, and the fight commenced. A very few minutes after Gherardi had left the side of the Richmond, and the other small vessels had left their consorts, a thick mist, with light rain (just enough to wet the deck), passed over the Richmond, obscuring from sight every object outside the vessel; indeed, for a few minutes the bowsprit of the Richmond could not be seen from the poop-deck. This mist and rain, in a cloudless sunshiny day, were slowly wafted over the waters toward the fort and pilot town, enabling John W. Bennett, commanding one of the enemy’s gun-boats, and George W. Harrison, commanding the other, to shape their courses for safety, in shoal water, and finally under Fort Morgan. Gherardi in the Port Royal (as soon as he could see) saw only the Selma and Metacomet, and continued his course for them.”

  Whatever damage was done by the Tennessee to the fleet in passing the fort was by the occasional discharge of her guns. She failed to strike a single one of the Union vessels, but was herself run into by the Monongahela, Captain Strong, at full speed.9 The captain says in his report:

  CAPTURE OF THE CONFEDERATE GUN-BOAT “SELMA” BY THE “METACOMET.” FROM A WAR-TIME SKETCH.

  “After passing the forts I saw the rebel ram Tennessee head on for our line. I then sheered out of the line to run into her, at the same time ordering full speed as fast as possible. I struck her fair, and swinging around poured in a broadside of solid 11-inch shot, which apparently had little if any effect upon her.”

  This modest statement is characteristic of the gallant writer, now dead, as are so many others of the conspicuous actors in that day’s work. The Monongahela was no match for the Tennessee, but she had been strengthened by an artificial iron prow, and being one of the fastest—or rather, least slow—of the fleet, was expected to act as a ram if opportunity offered. Captain Strong waited for no orders, but seeing the huge ram coming for the fleet left his place in the line and attacked her, as narrated. It was at this time that the Monongahela’s first lieutenant, Roderick Prentiss, a brave and gifted young officer, received his death wound, both legs being shattered.

  At last all the fleet passed the fort, and while the ram ran under its guns the vessels made their way to the Hartford and dropped their anchors, except the Metacomet, Port Royal, Kennebec, and Itasca. After the forts were passed, the three last named had cut loose from their escorts and gone to aid the Metacomet in her struggle with the Selma and Morgan.10

  The thunder of heavy artillery now ceased. The crews of the various vessels had begun to efface the marks of the terrible contest by washing the decks and clearing up the splinters. The cooks were preparing breakfast, the surgeons were busily engaged in making amputations and binding arteries, and under canvas, on the port side of each vessel, lay the ghastly line of dead waiting the sailor’s burial. As if by mutual understanding, officers who were relieved from immediate duty gathered in the ward-rooms to ascertain who of their mates were missing, and the reaction from such a season of tense nerves and excitement was just setting in when the hurried call to quarters came and the word passed around, “The ram is coming.”

  The Tennessee, after remaining near Fort Morgan while the fleet had made its way four miles above to its anchorage,—certainly as much as half an hour,—had suddenly decided to settle at once the question of the control of the bay. Single-handed she came on to meet the whole fleet, consisting now of ten wooden vessels and the three monitors. At that time the Tennessee was believed to be the strongest vessel afloat, and the safety with which she carried her crew during the battle proved that she was virtually invulnerable. Fortunately for the Union fleet she was weakly handled, and at the end fell a victim to a stupendous blunder in her construction—the failure to protect her rudder-chains. The spectacle afforded the Confederate soldiers, who crowded the ramparts of the two forts,—the fleet now being out of range,—was such as has very rarely been furnished in the history of the world. To the looker-on it seemed as if the fleet was at the mercy of the ram, for the monitors, which were expected to be the chief defense, were so destitute of speed and so difficult to manœuvre that it seemed an easy task for the Tennessee to avoid them and sink the wooden vessels in detail. Because of the slowness of the monitors, Admiral Farragut selected the fastest of the wooden vessels to begin the attack. While the navy signals for a general attack of the enemy were being prepared, the Monongahela (Captain Strong) and the Lackawanna (Captain Marchand) were ordered by the more rapid signal system of the army to “run down the ram,” the order being immediately repeated to the monitors.

  The Monongahela, with her prow already somewhat weakened by the previous attempt to ram, at once took the lead, as she had not yet come to anchor. The ram from the first headed for the Hartford, and paid no attention to her assailants, except with her guns. The Monongahela, going at full speed, struck the Tennessee amidships—a blow that would have sunk almost any vessel of the Union navy, but which inflicted not the slightest damage on the solid iron hull of the ram. (After the surrender it was almost impossible to tell where the attacking vessel had struck.) Her own iron prow and cutwater were carried away, and she was otherwise badly damaged about the stern by the collision. The Lackawanna was close behind and delivered a similar blow with her wooden bow, simply causing the ram to lurch slightly to one side. As the vessels separated the Lackawanna swung alongside the ram, which sent two shots through her and kept on her course for the Hartford, which was now the next vessel in the attack. The two flag-ships approached each other, bow to bow, iron against oak. It was impossible for the Hartford, with her lack of speed, to circle around and strike the ram on the side; her only safety was in keeping pointed directly for the bow of her assailant. The other vessels of the fleet were unable to do anything for the defense of the admiral except to train their guns on the ram, on which as yet they had not the slightest effect.

  It was a thrilling moment for the fleet, for it was evident that if the ram could strike the Hartford the latter must sink. But for the two vessels to strike fairly, bows on, would probably have involved the destruction of both, for the ram must have penetrated so far into the wooden ship that as the Hartford filled and sank she would have carried the ram under water. Whether for this reason or for some other, as the two vessels came together the Tennessee slightly changed her course, the port bow of the Hartford met the port bow of the ram, and the ships grated against each other as they passed. The Hartford poured her whole port broadside against the ram, but the solid shot merely dented the side and bounded into the air. The ram tried to return the salute, but owing to defective primers only one gun was discharged. This sent a shell through the berth-deck, killing five men and wounding eight. The muzzle of the gun was so close to the Hartford that the powder blackened her side.

  The admiral stood on the quarter-deck when the vessels came together, and as he saw the result he jumped on to the port-quarter rail, holding to the mizzen-rigging, a position from which he might have jumped to the deck of the ram as she passed. Seeing him in this position, and fearing for his safety, Flag-Lieutenant Watson slipped a rope around him and secured it to the rigging, so that during the fight the admiral was twice “lashed to the rigging,” each time by devoted officers who knew better than to consult him before acting. Fleet-Captain Drayton had hurried to the bow of the Hartford as the collision was seen to be inevitable, and expressed keen satisfaction when the ram avoided a direct blow.

  The Tennessee now became the target for the whole fleet, all the vessels of which were making toward her, pounding her with shot, and trying to run her down. As the Hartford turned to make for her again, we ran in front of the Lackawanna, which had already turned and was moving under full headway with the same object. She struck us on our starboard side, amidships, crushing half-way through, knocking two port-holes into one, upsetting one of the Dahlgren guns, and creating general consternation. For a time it was thought that we must sink, and the cry rang out over the deck: “Save the admiral! Save the admiral!” The port boats were ordered lowered, and in their haste some of the sailors cut the “falls,�
� and two of the cutters dropped into the water wrong side up, and floated astern. But the admiral sprang into the starboard mizzen-rigging, looked over the side of the ship, and, finding there were still a few inches to spare above the water’s edge, instantly ordered the ship ahead again at full speed, after the ram. The unfortunate Lackawanna, which had struck the ram a second blow, was making for her once more, and, singularly enough, again came up on our starboard side, and another collision seemed imminent. And now the admiral became a trifle excited. He had no idea of whipping the rebels to be himself sunk by a friend, nor did he realize at the moment that the Hartford was as much to blame as the Lackawanna. Turning to the writer he inquired, “Can you say ‘For God’s sake’ by signal?” “Yes, sir,” was the reply. “Then say to the Lackawanna, ‘For God’s sake get out of our way and anchor!’ ” In my haste to send the message, I brought the end of my signal flag-staff down with considerable violence upon the head of the admiral, who was standing nearer than I thought, causing him to wince perceptibly. It was a hasty message, for the fault was equally divided, each ship being too eager to reach the enemy, and it turned out all right, by a fortunate accident, that Captain Marchand never received it. The army signal officer on the Lackawanna, Lieutenant Myron Adams (now pastor of Plymouth Congregational Church in Rochester, N.Y.), had taken his station in the foretop, and just as he received the first five words, “For God’s sake get out”—the wind flirted the large United States flag at the mast-head around him, so that he was unable to read the conclusion of the message.