their city, and prepared to die if need be, in their homes. Before Paris
was cut off from the outside world by the siege, part of the governing
force retired to Tours. It became necessary for Gambetta, in October, to
visit this city for conference, and to accomplish this he started in a
balloon, which was just grazed by the Prussian guns as he passed over
the lines. It was a hazardous step; but the balloon landed in a forest
near Amiens, and he was safe. When he arrived in Tours there was not a
soldier in the place; in a month, by superhuman energy, and the most
consummate skill and wisdom, he had raised three armies of eight
hundred thousand men, provided by loan for their maintenance, and
directed their military operations. One of the prominent officers on the
German side says, "This colossal energy is the most remarkable event of
modern history, and will carry down Gambetta's name to remote
posterity."
He was now in reality the Dictator of France, at thirty-two years of
age. He gave the fullest liberty to the press, had a pleasant "Bon jour,
mon ami" for a workman, no matter how overwhelmed with cares he might
be, and a self-possession, a quickness of decision, and an indomitable
will that made him a master in every company and on every occasion. He
electrified France by his speeches; he renewed her courage, and revived
her patriotism. Even after the bloody defeat of Bazaine at Gravelotte,
and his strange surrender of one hundred and seventy thousand men at
Metz, Gambetta did not despair of France being able, at least, to demand
an honorable peace.
But France had grown tired of battles. Paris had endured a siege of four
months, and the people were nearly in a starving condition. The
Communists, too, were demanding impossible things. Therefore, after
seven months of war, the articles of peace were agreed upon, by which
France gave to Germany fourteen hundred million dollars, to be paid in
three years, and ceded to her the provinces of Alsace and Lorraine.
Gambetta could never bring himself to consent to these humiliating
conditions, and on the day on which the terms were ratified, he and his
colleagues from these two sections of the country, left the assembly
together. Just as they were passing out, the venerable Jean Kuss, mayor
of Strasburg, staggered up to Gambetta, saying, "Let me grasp your
patriot's hand. It is the last time I shall shake it. My heart is
broken. Promise to redeem brave Strasburg." He fell to the floor, and
died almost immediately. Gambetta retired to Spain, till recalled by the
elections of the following July.
He now began again his heroic labors, speaking all through France,
teaching the people the true principles of a republic; not communism,
not lawlessness, but order, prudence, and self-government. He urged
free, obligatory education, and the scattering of books, libraries, and
institutes everywhere. When Thiers was made the first President,
Gambetta was his most important and truest ally, though the former had
called him "a furious fool"; so ready was the Great Republican to
forgive harshness.
In 1877 he again saved his beloved Republic. The Monarchists had become
restless, and finally displaced Thiers by Marshal MacMahon, a strong
Romanist, and a man devoted to the Empire. It seemed evident that
another coup d'etat was meditated. Gambetta stirred the country to
action. He declared that the President must "submit or resign," and for
those words he was sentenced to three months' imprisonment and a fine of
four hundred dollars, which sentence was never executed. MacMahon seeing
that the Republic was stronger than he had supposed, soon after resigned
his position, and was succeeded by M. Grevy. Gambetta was made President
of the Assembly, and doubtless, if he had lived, would have been made
President of the Republic.
There were not wanting those who claimed that he was ambitious for the
supreme rule; but when death came from the accidental discharge of a
pistol, producing a wound in the hand, all calumny was hushed, and
France beheld her idol in his true light,--the incarnation of
republicanism. Two hours before his death, at his plain home just out of
Paris at Ville d'Avray, he said, "I am dying; there is no use in denying
it; but I have suffered so much it will be a great deliverance." He
longed to last till the New Year, but died five minutes before midnight,
Dec. 31, 1882. The following day, fifteen thousand persons called to see
the great statesman as he lay upon his single iron bedstead.
Afterward the body lay in state at the Palais Bourbon, the guard
standing nearly to their knees in flowers. Over two thousand wreaths
were given by friends. Alsace sent a magnificent crown of roses. No
grander nor sadder funeral was ever seen in France. Paris was urgent
that he be buried in Pere la Chaise, but his father would not consent;
so the body was carried to Nice to lie beside his mother, who died a
year before him, and his devoted aunt, who died five years previously.
Every day Joseph Gambetta lays flowers upon the graves of his dear ones.
Circumstances helped to make the great orator, but he also made
circumstances. True, his opportunity came at the trial, after the Baudin
demonstration, but he was ready for the opportunity. He had studied the
history of an empire under the Caesars, and he knew how republics are
made and lost. When in the Corps Legislatif a leader was needed, he was
ready, for he had carefully studied men. When at Tours he directed the
military, he knew what he was doing, for he was conversant with the
details of our civil war. When others were sauntering for pleasure along
the Champs Elysees, he had been poring over books in an attic opposite
the Sorbonne. He died early, but he accomplished more than most men who
live to be twice forty-five. When, in the years to come, imperialists
shall strive again to wrest the government from the hands of the people,
the name of Leon Gambetta will be an inspiration, a talisman of victory
for the Republic.
[Illustration: D. G. FARRAGUT.
(From his Life, published by D. APPLETON & CO.)]
DAVID GLASGOW FARRAGUT.
The possibilities of American life are strikingly illustrated by the
fact that the two names at the head of the army and navy, Grant and
Farragut, represent self-made men. The latter was born on a farm near
Knoxville, Tennessee, July 5, 1801. His mother, of Scotch descent, was a
brave and energetic woman. Once when the father was absent in the Indian
wars, the savages came to their plain home and demanded admittance. She
barred the door as best she could, and sending her trembling children
into the loft, guarded the entrance with an axe. The Indians thought
discretion the better part of valor, and stole quietly away.
When David was seven years old, the family having moved to New Orleans,
as the father had been appointed sailing master in the navy, the noble
mother died of yellow fever, leaving five children, the youngest an
infant. This was a most severe blow. Fortunately, soon after, an act of
kindness brought its reward. The father of Commodore Porter having died
at the Farragut house, the son determined to adopt one of the
motherless children, if one was willing to leave his home. Little David
was pleased with the uniform, and said promptly that he would go.
Saying good-bye forever to his father, he was taken to Washington, and
after a few months spent in school, at the age of nine years and a half,
was made a midshipman. And now began a life full of hardship, of
adventure, and of brave deeds, which have added lustre to the American
navy, and have made the name of Farragut immortal.
His first cruise was along the coast, in the _Essex_, after the war of
1812 with Great Britain had begun. They had captured the _Alert_ and
other prizes, and their ship was crowded with prisoners. One night when
the boy lay apparently asleep, the coxswain of the _Alert_ came to his
hammock, pistol in hand. David lay motionless till he passed on, and
then crept noiselessly to the cabin, and informed Captain Porter.
Springing from his cot, he shouted, "Fire! fire!" The seamen rushed on
deck, and the mutineers were in irons before they had recovered from
their amazement. Evidently the boy had inherited some of his mother's
fearlessness.
His second cruise was in the Pacific Ocean, where they encountered a
fearful storm going round Cape Horn. An incident occurred at this time
which showed the mettle of the lad. Though only twelve, he was ordered
by Captain Porter to take a prize vessel to Valparaiso, the captured
captain being required to navigate it. When David requested that the
"maintopsail be filled away," the captain replied that he would shoot
any man who dared to touch a rope without his orders, and then went
below for his pistols. David called one of the crew, told him what had
happened, and what he wanted done. "Aye, aye, sir!" responded the
faithful sailor, as he began to execute the orders. The young midshipman
at once sent word to the captain not to come on deck with his pistols
unless he wished to go overboard. From that moment the boy was master of
the vessel, and admired for his bravery.
The following year,--1814,--while the _Essex_ was off the coast of
Chili, she was attacked by the British ships _Phoebe_ and _Cherub_.
The battle lasted for two hours and a half, the _Phoebe_ throwing
seven hundred eighteen-pound shots at the _Essex_.
"I shall never forget," Farragut said years after, "the horrid
impression made upon me at the sight of the first man I had ever seen
killed. It staggered and sickened me at first; but they soon began to
fall so fast that it all appeared like a dream, and produced no effect
upon my nerves.... Soon after this some gun-primers were wanted, and I
was sent after them. In going below, while I was on the ward-room
ladder, the captain of the gun directly opposite the hatchway was struck
full in the face by an eighteen-pound shot, and fell back on me. We
tumbled down the hatch together. I lay for some moments stunned by the
blow, but soon recovered consciousness enough to rush up on deck. The
captain seeing me covered with blood, asked if I was wounded; to which I
replied, 'I believe not, sir.' 'Then,' said he, 'where are the primers?'
This brought me completely to my senses, and I ran below again and
carried the primers on deck."
When Porter had been forced to surrender, David went below to help the
surgeon in dressing wounds. One brave young man, Lieutenant Cowell,
said, "O, Davy, I fear it is all up with me!" He could have been saved,
had his leg been amputated an hour sooner; but when it was proposed to
drop another patient and attend to him, he said, "No, Doctor, none of
that; fair play is a jewel. One man's life is as dear as another's; I
would not cheat any poor fellow out of his turn."
Many brave men died, saying, "Don't give her up! Hurrah for liberty!"
One young Scotchman, whose leg had been shot off, said to his comrades,
"I left my own country and adopted the United States to fight for her. I
hope I have this day proved myself worthy of the country of my adoption.
I am no longer of any use to you or to her; so good-bye!" saying which
he threw himself overboard.
When David was taken a prisoner on board the _Phoebe_, he could not
refrain from tears at his mortification.
"Never mind, my little fellow," said the captain; "it will be your turn
next, perhaps."
"I hope so," was the reply.
Soon David's pet pig "Murphy" was brought on board, and he immediately
claimed it.
"But," said the English sailor, "you are a prisoner and your pig also."
"We always respect private property," the boy replied, seizing hold of
"Murphy"; and after a vigorous fight, the pet was given to its owner.
On returning to Captain Porter's house at Chester, Pa., David was put at
school for the summer, under a quaint instructor, one of Napoleon's
celebrated Guard, who used no book, but taught the boys about plants and
minerals, and how to climb and swim. In the fall he was placed on a
receiving-ship, but gladly left the wild set of lads for a cruise in the
Mediterranean. Here he had the opportunity of visiting Naples, Pompeii,
and other places of interest, but he encountered much that was harsh and
trying. Commodore C---- sometimes knocked down his own son, and his
son's friend as well,--not a pleasant person to be governed by.
In 1817, Chaplain Folsom of their ship was appointed consul at Tunis. He
loved David as a brother, and begged the privilege of keeping him for a
time, "because," said he to the commodore, "he is entirely destitute of
the aids of fortune and the influence of friends, other than those whom
his character may attach to him." For nearly nine months he remained
with the chaplain, studying French, Italian, English literature, and
mathematics, and developing in manliness and refinement. The Danish
consul showed great fondness for the frank, ardent boy, now sixteen, and
invited him to his house at Carthage. Failing in his health, a horseback
trip toward the interior of the country was recommended, and during the
journey he received a sunstroke, and his eyes were permanently weakened.
All his life, however, he had some one read to him, and thus mitigate
his misfortune.
The time came to go back to duty on the ship, and Chaplain Folsom
clasped the big boy to his bosom, fervently kissing him on each cheek,
and giving him his parting blessing mingled with his tears. Forty years
after, when the young midshipman had become the famous Admiral, he sent
a token of respect and affection to his old friend.
For some years, having been appointed acting lieutenant, he cruised in
the Gulf of Mexico, gaining knowledge which he was glad to use later,
and in the West Indies, where for two years and a half, he says, "I
never owned a bed, but lay down to rest wherever I found the most
comfortable berth." Sometimes he and his seamen pursued pirates who
infested the coast, cutting their way through thornbushes and cactus
plants, with their cutlasses; then burning the houses of these robbers,
and taking their plunder out of their caves. It was an exciting but
wearing life.
After a visit to his old home at New Orleans,--his father had died, and
his sister did not recognize him,--he contracted yellow fever, and lay
ill for some time in a Washington hospital. Perhaps the sailor was
tired of his roving and somewhat lonely life, and now married, at
twenty-two, Miss Susan Marchant of Norfolk, Virginia.
For sixteen years she was an invalid, so that he carried her often in
his arms like a child. Now he took her to New Haven for treatment, and
improved what time he could spare by attending Professor Silliman's
lectures at Yale College. Now he conducted a school on a receiving-ship,
so as to have her with him. "She bore the sickness with unparalleled
resignation and patience," says Farragut in his journal, "affording a
beautiful example of calmness and fortitude." One of her friends in
Norfolk said, "When Captain Farragut dies, he should have a monument
reaching to the skies, made by every wife in the city contributing a
stone to it." How the world admires a brave man with a tender heart!
Farragut was now nearly forty years of age; never pushing himself
forward, honors had come slowly. Three years later, having been made
commandant, he married Miss Virginia Royall, also of Norfolk, Va. At the
beginning of the Mexican War, he offered his services to the Government,
but from indifference, or the jealousy of officials, he was not called
upon. The next twelve years were spent, partly in the Norfolk Navy Yard,
giving weekly lectures on gunnery, preparing a book on ordnance
regulations, and establishing a navy yard on the Pacific Coast. Whatever
he did was done thoroughly and faithfully. When asked by the Navy
Department to express a preference about a position, he said, "I have no
volition in the matter; your duty is to give me orders, mine to obey....
I have made it the rule of my life to ask no official favors, but to
await orders and then obey them."
And now came the turning-point of his life. April 17, 1860, Virginia, by
a vote of eighty-eight to fifty-five, seceded from the United States.
The next morning, Farragut, then at Norfolk, expressed disapproval of
the acts of the convention, and said President Lincoln would be
justified in calling for troops after the Southerners had taken forts
and arsenals. He was soon informed "that a person with those sentiments
could not live in Norfolk."
"Well then, I can live somewhere else," was the calm reply.
Returning home, he announced to his wife that he had determined to
"stick to the flag."
"This act of mine may cause years of separation from your family; so you
must decide quickly whether you will go North or remain here."
She decided at once to go with him, and, hastily collecting a few
articles, departed that evening for Baltimore. That city was in
commotion, the Massachusetts troops having had a conflict with the mob.
He finally secured passage for New York on a canal-boat, and with
limited means rented a cottage at Hastings-on-the-Hudson, for one
hundred and fifty dollars a year. He loved the South, and said, "God
forbid that I should have to raise my hand against her"; but he was
anxious to take part in the war for the Union, and offered his services
to that end.
The Government had an important project in hand. The Mississippi River
was largely in the control of the Confederacy, and was the great highway
for transporting her supplies. New Orleans was the richest city of the
South, receiving for shipment at this time ninety-two million dollars
worth of cotton, and more than twenty-five million dollars worth of
sugar yearly. If this city could be captured, and the river controlled
by the North, the South would be seriously crippled. But the lower
Mississippi was guarded by the strongest forts, Jackson and St. Philip,
which mounted one hundred and fifteen guns, and were garrisoned by
fifteen hundred men. Above the forts were fifteen vessels of the
Confederate fleet, including the ironclad ram, _Manassas_, and just
below, a heavy iron chain across the river bound together scores of
cypress logs thirty feet long, and four or five feet in diameter, thus
forming an immense obstruction. Sharpshooters were stationed all along
the banks.
Who could be entrusted with such a formidable undertaking as the capture
of this stronghold? Who sufficiently daring, skilful, and loyal? Several
naval officers were considered, but Gideon Welles, Secretary of the
Navy, said, "Farragut is the man." The steam sloop-of-war, _Hartford_,
of nineteen hundred tons burden, and two hundred twenty-five feet long,
was made ready as his flag-ship. His instructions were, "The certain
capture of the city of New Orleans. The Department and the country
require of you success.... If successful, you open the way to the sea
for the Great West, never again to be closed. The rebellion will be
riven in the centre, and the flag, to which you have been so faithful,
will recover its supremacy in every State."
With a grateful heart that he had been thought fitting for this high
place, and believing in his ability to win success, at sixty-one years
of age he started on his mission, saying, "If I die in the attempt, it
will only be what every officer has to expect. He who dies in doing his
duty to his country, and at peace with his God, has played the drama of
life to the best advantage." He took with him six sloops-of-war, sixteen
gunboats, twenty-one schooners, and five other vessels, forty-eight in
all, the fleet carrying over two hundred guns.
April 18, 1862, they had all reached their positions and were ready for
the struggle. For six days and nights the mortars kept up a constant
fire on Fort Jackson, throwing nearly six thousand shells. Many persons
were killed, but the fort did not yield. The Confederates sent down the
river five fire-rafts, flat-boats filled with dry wood, smeared with tar
and turpentine, hoping that these would make havoc among Farragut's
ships; but his crews towed them away to shore, or let them drift out to
sea.
Farragut now made up his mind to pass the forts at all hazards. It was
a dangerous and heroic step. If he won, New Orleans must fall; if he
failed--but he must not fail. Two gunboats were sent to cut the chain
across the river. All night long the commander watched with intense
anxiety the return of the boats, which under a galling fire had
succeeded in breaking the chain, and thus making a passage for the
fleet.
At half past three o'clock on the morning of April 24, the fleet was
ready to start. The _Cayuga_ led off the first division of eight
vessels. Both forts opened fire. In ten minutes she had passed beyond
St. Philip only to be surrounded by eleven Confederate gunboats. The
_Varuna_ came to her relief, but was rammed by two Southern boats, and
sunk in fifteen minutes. The _Mississippi_ encountered the enemy's ram,
_Manassas_, riddled her with shot, and set her on fire, so that she
drifted below the forts and blew up.
Then the centre division, led by the _Hartford_, passed into the
terrific fire. First she grounded in avoiding a fire-raft; then a
Confederate ram pushed a raft against her, setting her on fire; but
Farragut gave his orders as calmly as though not in the utmost peril.
The flames were extinguished, and she steamed on, doing terrible
execution with her shells. Then came the last division, led by the
_Sciota_, and Commander Porter's gunboats. In the darkness, lighted only
by the flashes of over two hundred guns, the fleet had cut its way to
victory, losing one hundred and eighty-four in killed and wounded.
"In a twinkling the flames had risen
Half-way to maintop and mizzen,
Darting up the shrouds like snakes!
Ah, how we clanked at the brakes!
And the deep steam-pumps throbbed under
Sending a ceaseless glow.
Our top-men--a dauntless crowd--
Swarmed in rigging and shroud;
There ('twas a wonder!)
The burning ratlins and strands
They quenched with their bare hard hands.
But the great guns below
Never silenced their thunder.
"At last, by backing and sounding,
When we were clear of grounding,
And under headway once more,
The whole Rebel fleet came rounding
The point. If we had it hot before,
'Twas now, from shore to shore,
One long, loud thundering roar,--
Such crashing, splintering, and pounding
And smashing as you never heard before.
"But that we fought foul wrong to wreck,
And to save the land we loved so well,
You might have deemed our long gun-deck
Two hundred feet of hell!
For all above was battle,
Broadside, and blaze, and rattle,
Smoke and thunder alone;
But down in the sick-bay,
Where our wounded and dying lay,
There was scarce a sob or a moan.
"And at last, when the dim day broke,
And the sullen sun awoke,
Drearily blinking
O'er the haze and the cannon-smoke,
That even such morning dulls,
There were thirteen traitor hulls
On fire and sinking!"
--_Henry Howard Brownell_
* * * * *
"Thus," says the son of Farragut, in his admirable biography, "was
accomplished a feat in naval warfare which had no precedent, and which
is still without a parallel except the one furnished by Farragut
himself, two years later, at Mobile. Starting with seventeen wooden
vessels, he had passed with all but three of them, against the swift
current of a river but half a mile wide, between two powerful earthworks
which had long been prepared for him, his course impeded by blazing
rafts, and immediately thereafter had met the enemy's fleet of fifteen
vessels, two of them ironclads, and either captured or destroyed every
one of them. And all this with a loss of but one ship from his
squadron."
The following day, he wrote:--
"My dearest wife and boy,--I am so agitated that I can scarcely write,
and shall only tell you that it has pleased Almighty God to preserve my
life through a fire such as the world has scarcely known. He has
permitted me to make a name for my dear boy's inheritance, as well as
for my comfort and that of my family."
The next day, at eleven o'clock in the morning, by order of Farragut,
"the officers and crews of the fleet return thanks to Almighty God for
His great goodness and mercy in permitting us to pass through the events
of the last two days with so little loss of life and blood."