THE POTOMAC FLOTILLA. -- CAPTURE OF ALEXANDRIA. -- ACTIONS AT
MATTHIAS POINT. -- BOMBARDMENT OF THE HATTERAS FORTS.
In petty skirmishes and in general inactivity the forces of both
contestants idled away the five months following the fall of Fort
Sumter. The defeat of the Union armies at Bull Run had checked active
operations along the Potomac. On either side of the river the hostile
armies were drilling constantly to bring the raw recruits down to the
efficiency of trained soldiers. Four hundred thousand men lay in
hostile camps within sight of each other. From the national Capitol at
Washington the stars and bars of the Confederate flag could be seen
floating over the camp at Arlington. Occasionally the quiet would be
broken by the crack of a rifle, as some straggler, on one side or the
other, took a casual shot at the sentry pacing on the other side of
the broad stream. Sometimes a battery would come driving down to the
shore, select an advantageous spot, and begin an afternoon's target
practice at the hostile camp; but the damage done was immaterial, and
after wasting much powder and shot the recruits would limber up their
guns and return to their camp. It would have been easy, at almost any
time, for either army to have crossed the Potomac and invaded the
territory of the enemy; but each hung back in apparent dread of taking
the first decisive step. Abraham Lincoln at this time illustrated the
existing condition of affairs, by one of those stories which have made
him celebrated as a raconteur. A number of politicians, calling at the
White House, spoke of the apparent inactivity of the army authorities,
and demanded that some decisive move should be made; some powerful
preparations to beat back the enemy should he attempt to cross the
Potomac. "Gentlemen," said Lincoln, with the twinkle in his eye that
always foretold a story, "when I was a boy I saw an incident which I
have always recollected, and which seems to me to resemble very much
the attitude now assumed by the parties in this impending war. My
father owned a dog,--a particularly vicious, aggressive, and
pugnacious bull-terrier,--one of these fellows with heavy, short
necks, and red, squinting eyes, that seem ever to be on the lookout
for a fight. Next door to us lived a neighbor who likewise rejoiced in
the possession of a canine of appearance and habits of mind similar to
our pet. From the date of their first meeting these dogs had been
deadly enemies, and had growled and yelped at each other through the
picket-fence separating the two yards, until we were forced to keep at
least one dog chained continually. The strained relations between the
dogs became a matter of general interest, and speculations were rife
among the neighbors as to the probable outcome of a hostile meeting.
Those were the times when a lively dog-fight would draw the merchant
from his counter, and the blacksmith from his anvil; and it is even on
record that an honorable judge once hurriedly adjourned his court at
the premonitory sounds of snarling in the court-house square. Well,
the knowledge that two dogs, pining for a fight, were being forcibly
restrained, was too much to be borne by the people of the village; and
a plot was concocted for bringing about a fight. One night two pickets
were surreptitiously removed from the fence, leaving an opening of
ample size to permit a dog to pass. In the morning our dog was sunning
himself in the yard, when the neighbor's dog rushed to his side of
the fence, and made remarks not to be borne by any self-respecting
canine. Then began the usual performance of snarls and barks, and
baring of white teeth, as the dogs made frantic efforts to get at each
other. The neighbors assembled in a crowd, and the knowing ones
predicted a lively time when those two dogs found the hole in the
fence. Down the line of the fence the two curs walked, their eyes
glaring, their jaws snapping, their tongues out, and dropping foam.
The racket was tremendous. At each place where the pickets were a
little spread, they redoubled their efforts to clinch. They approached
the opening. The interest of the spectators redoubled. Now they
reached the spot; sprung at each other; their jaws touched,--and each,
dropping his tail, slunk away to his kennel. Gentlemen, the attitude
of these armies reminds me of that dog-fight."
[Illustration: Flag of the Confederacy.]
While the armies of the two contestants were thus idly resting upon
their arms, the navy was obliged to discharge duties, which, while
they brought some danger, did not gain glory for either officers or
men. The joys of Washington society were not for the naval officers.
The applicant for promotion, who, when asked by an examiner, "Where is
the post of a colonel when his regiment is drawn up for battle?"
responded promptly, "In Washington," had been serving in the army, and
not with the naval corps. Besides the duties of the officers detailed
upon the blockading service, there remained to the navy the arduous
task of patrolling the Potomac River, and preventing as far as
possible communication between the shores.
This work, as may be readily understood, demanded the most untiring
vigilance and the most unflagging energy. The shores on each side of
the Potomac are indented with bays and tributary streams in which a
sloop or large row-boat can easily be concealed during the day. At
night it was impossible to prevent boats laden with contraband goods,
or conveying the bearers of secret despatches, slipping across the
river from the northern side, and running into the concealment
afforded by the irregularity of the Virginia shore-line. Even at this
early period of the war, the vigorous blockade of the Confederate
seaports had created a great lack of many necessaries in the Southern
States. Particularly did the lack of quinine afflict the people of
those malarial sections comprised within the limits of the South
Atlantic and Gulf States. So great was the demand for this drug, that
the enormous sums offered for it led many a speculative druggist north
of Mason and Dixon's line to invest his all in quinine, and try to run
it through the Potomac blockade. Of course, as the traffic was carried
on in small boats, it was impossible to break it up altogether; though
by the efforts of the navy it was almost destroyed.
Briefly stated, the duties of the Potomac flotilla may be said to have
been to patrol the river from Washington to its mouth, to inspect both
sides _daily_ if possible, and to observe whether any preparations for
batteries were being made at any point, and watch for any transports
with troops or provisions, and convoy them to Washington. The flotilla
consisted of small vessels, lightly armed; the "Pawnee," the heaviest
of the fleet, being a sloop of less than thirteen hundred tons, with a
battery of fifteen guns, none of long range. Clearly such an armada as
this could be of but little avail against the earthworks which the
Virginians were busily erecting on every commanding bluff.
Toward the later part of May, 1861, the Federal Government determined
to send troops across the river and occupy the city of Alexandria. The
"Pawnee" had for some days been lying off the town, completely
covering it with her batteries. She had held this position without
making any offensive movement; as her commander understood, that, even
should he compel the town to surrender, he had not the men necessary
for holding the position. On the morning of the 24th, Commander Rowan
saw two steamers coming down the river, laden with Federal troops. He
at once sent a boat ashore, and demanded the surrender of the city,
which was immediately evacuated by the Virginian troops. When the army
of occupation landed, it proved to be Ellsworth's famous Zouave
Regiment, made up largely of the firemen and "Bowery boys" of New York
City. Ellsworth, while marching through the streets at the head of his
command, saw a Confederate flag floating from a mast on top of a
dwelling. With two of his men he proceeded to enter the house, go on
the roof, and tear down the flag. As he came down the stairs, a man
carrying a gun stepped from a doorway, and demanded what he did there.
"This is my trophy," cried Ellsworth, flourishing the bit of striped
bunting. "And you are mine," responded the man, quickly bringing his
gun up, and discharging it full into Ellsworth's breast. The two
Zouaves, maddened at the death of their commander, shot the slayer
through the brain, and plunged their bayonets into his body before he
fell. Ellsworth's death created the greatest excitement in the North,
as it was almost the first blood shed in the war. While the capture of
Alexandria was in itself no great achievement, it was of importance as
the first move of the Northern armies into Virginia.
Had the efforts of the navy towards keeping the Potomac clear of
hostile batteries been supplemented by a co-operating land force, an
immense advantage would have been gained at the very outset. As it
was, all that could be done was to temporarily check the exertions of
the enemy. A battery silenced by the guns from the ships in the
daytime could be, and usually was, repaired during the night, and
remained a constant menace to the transports going to or from
Washington. Under such circumstances, the work of the Potomac flotilla
could only be fatiguing and discouraging. Much of it had to be
performed in row-boats; and the crews of the various vessels were kept
rowing up and down the banks of the river, making midnight excursions
up creeks to examine suspected localities, and lying in wait for
smugglers, and the mail-carriers and spies of the enemy. They were in
continual danger of being opened upon by masked batteries and
concealed sharp-shooters. The "prize money," the hope of which cheers
up the man-o'-wars-man in his dreariest hours, amounted to nothing;
for their prizes were small row-boats and worthless river-craft. The
few engagements with the enemies' batteries brought little glory or
success. In one battle on the 29th of May, 1861, a flotilla,
consisting of the "Thomas Freeborn" (a paddle-wheel steamer, carrying
three guns), the "Anacostia," and the "Resolute" (a little craft of
ninety tons and two guns), engaged the batteries at Aquia Creek, and
pounded away with their pygmy guns for two hours, without doing any
visible damage. Two days later the bombardment was renewed, and two of
the vessels were slightly damaged. A more serious event occurred at
Matthias Point in the latter part of June. Matthias Point was one of
the chief lurking-places of the Confederate guerrillas, who, concealed
in the dense undergrowth along the banks of the Potomac, could pour a
destructive fire into any vessels that passed. Commander J. H. Ward of
the "Freeborn" planned to break up this ambush, sending a landing
party to cut away the trees and undergrowth. The landing party,
commanded by Lieut. Chaplin, was to be covered by the guns of the
"Freeborn" and "Reliance." It was late in the afternoon when they
pushed off for the shore. All seemed quiet; and the bursting of the
shells, which were occasionally dropped into the woods, seemed to have
driven the enemy away. Hardly, however, had the sailors begun the work
of hewing down the undergrowth, when from all quarters a hot fire was
begun, driving them to their boats in a rout. The decks of the two
vessels were swept by the storm of lead. Commander Ward, while
sighting the bow-gun of the "Freeborn," was struck in the abdomen by a
bullet, and died in a few minutes. On the shore the sailors were
hurrying into the boats and pushing off to avoid capture. Lieut.
Chaplin acted with great bravery, and succeeded in getting all his men
away, with their muskets. The last man left on the shore was unable to
swim; and Chaplin, taking him on his shoulders, bore him safely to the
boat. Though the fire of the enemy was concentrated on the two,
neither was hurt, although a minie-ball passed through the
lieutenant's cap.
Two months later this same locality was the scene of another bloody
disaster to the Union arms. On the 16th of August the "Resolute" and
the "Reliance" were ordered to make a reconnoissance of the
neighborhood of Matthias Point. After steaming about the shore for
some time, and noticing nothing of a suspicious character, a boat was
seen on the Virginia shore, and an officer and five men despatched to
capture her. They had just reached her, and were in the act of making
fast, when a volley of musketry was fired from the bushes not more
than five yards away, and three of the crew were instantly killed, and
one wounded. The watchers on the war-vessels, lying in the river,
sprang to their guns, and threw several rounds of shell into the cover
that sheltered the enemy, soon driving them away. The two uninjured
men in the boat succeeded in getting her away with her load of dead
and dying.
It is easy to understand how exasperating, how infuriating, such
service as this must have been to the officers and men of the navy.
For a man to risk his life in the heat and excitement of a battle, is
as nothing to the feeling that one may be at any time caught in a
death-trap, and slaughtered in cold blood.
[Illustration: Naval Patrol on the Potomac.]
A more successful expedition was organized in October, by Lieut.
Harrill of the steamer "Union." He had been informed that a large
schooner was lying in Quantico Creek, and that the Confederates were
massing a number of troops there for the purpose of crossing the
river. He at once determined to destroy the schooner. Accordingly he
manned three boats at half-past two in the morning, and in the
darkness proceeded, with muffled oars, toward the mouth of the creek.
Here some difficulty was experienced, as the entrance is narrow and
obstructed by sandbars; but working energetically, and in perfect
silence, the sailors overcame all obstacles. Once in the creek, they
pulled rapidly along within pistol-shot of the shore, until the tall
masts of the schooner could be descried in the darkness. One sentry
was on guard, who fled wildly as he saw the mysterious boat emerge
from the darkness of the night. The grappling-irons were thrown
aboard, and the jackies swarmed nimbly up the sides, and began the
work of destruction. A huge pile of combustibles was made in the
cabin, and hastily set on fire. The flames spread rapidly; and, though
they insured the destruction of the schooner, they also lighted up the
creek, showing the boats with the sailors bending to their oars to
escape the storm of bullets that they knew must follow. The glare of
the burning schooner, the reflection of the flames on the water, the
flash of the rifles from the shores made a wild picture. Occasionally
a flash from the river was followed by a deep boom, as a heavy shot
left the muzzle of a cannon on the steamers. But through it all, the
men escaped; and the projected invasion of the Confederates was
abandoned, owing to the loss of their schooner.
All through the war this untiring patrol of the Potomac was continued.
Among miasmatic vapors and clouds of noxious insects on mud-flats, in
narrow channels whose densely wooded banks might conceal legions of
hostile sharp-shooters, the river navy kept up its work. Earning but
little glory, though in the midst of constant peril, the officers and
men kept up their work, and contributed not a little to the final
outcome of the great conflict.
All this time the officers of the naval vessels, riding at anchor in
Hampton Roads, were chafing under the enforced idleness. Even the
occasional artillery duels with which their army brethren whiled away
the time were denied to the wistful blue-jackets. Beyond an occasional
chase, generally useless, after a fleet blockade-runner, the sailors
had absolutely no employment. At last, however, the opportunity came.
The first great naval expedition of the war was set under way.
From Cape Henry, at the mouth of the James River, the coast of
Virginia and North Carolina sweeps grandly out to the eastward, like a
mammoth bow, with its lower end at Beaufort, two hundred miles south.
Along this coast-line the great surges of mighty ocean, rolling with
unbroken course from the far-off shore of Europe, trip and fall with
unceasing roar upon an almost uninterrupted beach of snowy sand, a
hundred and more miles long. Near the southern end of this expanse of
sand stands a lighthouse, towering solitary above the surrounding
plain of sea and sand. No inviting beacon giving notice to the weary
marines of safe haven is this steady light that pierces the darkness
night after night. It tells of treacherous shoals and roaring
breakers; of the loss of many a good ship, whose ribs, half buried in
the drifting sand, lie rotting in the salt air; of skies ever
treacherous, and waters ever turbulent. It is the light of Hatteras.
Some twenty miles below Cape Hatteras light occurs the first great
opening in the stretch of sand that extends south from Cape Henry.
Once he has passed through this opening; the mariner finds himself in
the most peaceful waters. The great surges of the Atlantic spend
themselves on the sandy fringe outside, while within are the quiet
waters of Pamlico and Albemarle Sounds, dotted with fertile islands,
and bordering a coast rich in harbors. The wary blockade-runner,
eluding the watchfulness of the United States blockaders cruising
outside, had but to pass the portals of Hatteras Inlet, to unload at
his leisure his precious cargo, and load up with the cotton which grew
in great abundance on the islands and fertile shores of the sound.
Recognizing the importance of this harbor, the Confederates had early
in the war fortified the point north of Hatteras Inlet. Shortly after
the fall of Fort Sumter, a Yankee skipper, Daniel Campbell,
incautiously running his schooner the "Lydia Francis" too near the
stormy cape, was wrecked, and sought shelter among the people at the
inlet. When, some days after, he proposed to leave, he was astounded
to find that he had been delivered from the sea only to fall a prey to
the fortunes of war. He was kept a prisoner for three months; and on
his release, going directly to Fortress Monroe, he proved that he had
kept his eyes open to some purpose. He reported to flag-officer
Stringham that the Confederates had two batteries,--one of ten, the
other of five guns,--known as Fort Hatteras and Fort Clark. With these
two forts the Confederates claimed that they could control the
entrance to Albemarle Sound.
[Illustration: The Fleet off Hatteras.]
As soon as this information was received, an expedition for the
destruction of these forts was organized. It was necessarily chiefly
naval, although a land force under Gen. Butler went with the fleet. On
Aug. 25, 1861, Hampton Roads presented a scene of the greatest
activity. The fleet seemed to have awakened from a long sleep. Every
vessel was being hastily prepared for sailing. Two transports, the
"George Peabody" and the "Adelaide," were crowded with the soldiers of
Gen. Butler's command. From the mainmast of the flagship "Minnesota"
waved the signal-flags, changing constantly as different orders were
sent to the commanders of the other warships. At two o'clock three
balls of bunting were run up to the truck, and catching the breeze
were blown out into flags, giving the order, "Get under way at once."
From the surrounding men-of-war came the shrill pipe of the
boatswains' whistle, and the steady tramp of the men at the capstan
bars as they dragged the anchors to the cat-heads. The nimble
blue-jackets, climbing about the shrouds and yards, soon had the snowy
clouds of canvas set. The wind was fresh; and with bands playing, and
cheers of blue-jackets and soldiers, the stately squadron sailed down
the bay.
But none on board, save the superior officers, knew whither the fleet
was bound. Hardly were they fairly on the Atlantic, when the course
was shaped to the southward, and that much was settled. But whether
New Orleans, Charleston, or Beaufort was the point to be attacked, the
sailors did not know.
The squadron which sailed from Hampton Roads consisted of the
war-vessels "Minnesota," "Wabash," "Pawnee," "Monticello," and
"Harriet Lane;" the transports "George Peabody" and "Adelaide;" and
the tug "Fanny." Soon after rounding Cape Henry, the vessels became
separated; and when the other vessels reached Hatteras, on the 27th,
the "Minnesota" and "Wabash" were nowhere to be seen. As these were
the most powerful frigates of the fleet, great fears were felt for the
success of the expedition; but at last they appeared on the horizon. A
place for landing was selected, and the vessels withdrew into the
offing to spend the night. It was determined to begin the attack early
the next day.
The morning dawned clear, with a calm sea. At four o'clock the men
were summoned to breakfast. At seven the operation of landing the
troops was begun. All the surf-boats, barges, and lifeboats in the
fleet were put to the work. The great war-vessels moved into position,
and prepared to cover with a terrific fire the landing of the troops.
The first shot was fired by the "Wabash," and the cannonading was at
once taken up by the rest of the fleet. The vessels were placed so
that a whole broadside could be discharged at once. Thousands of
pounds of iron balls were thrown into the forts. Under cover of the
cannonading, the disembarkation of the troops began.
But the opposition of the enemy was not the only difficulty to be met.
During the time consumed in getting ready to land, heavy banks of
clouds had been crawling up from the horizon, and the soft wind of
morning had grown into a steady blow. Cape Hatteras was true to its
reputation. On the shelving beach, where the troops must land, the
great rollers were breaking in torrents of foam. The first lifeboats
that attempted the landing were swamped, and the soldiers reached the
land wet and chilled through. The surf-boats were stove in. The
barges, which had been relied upon to land men in large numbers,
proved unmanageable, and were towed away by the "Harriet Lane." When
the attempt to land the troops was given up, it was found that but
three hundred and twenty men had been landed. This was too small a
party to storm the forts, and the issue of the battle depended upon
the great guns of the navy.
[Illustration: Attack on the Hatteras Forts.]
By this time the gunners on the ships had calculated the exact range,
and were firing with fearful effect. Broadside followed broadside,
with the regularity of machinery. It was war without its horrors for
the blue-jackets, since bad marksmanship or poor powder prevented the
Confederate gunners doing any damage. On the gun-deck of the superb
frigate "Minnesota," the jackies were working their guns as coolly as
though they were on drill. The operations of loading and firing were
gone through with like clock-work. The officers could watch the course
of the shells until they struck, and instruct the men, without
undergoing any danger.
But in the forts the scene was one of terror. As soon as the gunners
of the fleet had secured the range, the shells began crashing into the
fort, bewildering the untried soldiers, and driving them from their
guns. A shell falling in the fort, and bursting, would sweep clean a
space thirty feet square. It was madness to try to work the guns. All
sought refuge in the bomb proofs, and an occasional shot was all that
showed the presence of any defenders in the forts. Soon the
Confederates decided to abandon Fort Clark, the smaller of the two,
and mass their forces in Fort Hatteras. As a ruse, to check the
bombardment of the ships, the flags on both forts were hauled down.
This was, of course, taken as a token of surrender; and as the
cannonading stopped, and the clouds of gray gunpowder-smoke lifted,
the shrouds of the bombarding squadron were filled with men, and cheer
upon cheer rang out in honor of the victory. Soon the troops occupied
the deserted battery, and the "Monticello" was ordered into the inlet
to take possession of Fort Hatteras. She had proceeded only a little
way, however, when suddenly a heavy fire was opened upon her from the
fort, and at the same time a large body of re-enforcements was seen
approaching from the south. The gunners came down from the shrouds,
stopped cheering, and began their work again. For a time the
"Monticello" was in a dangerous position. In a narrow and unknown
channel, she was forced to retreat slowly, under heavy fire from the
fort, being hit eight times. The heavy fire of the other vessels,
however, soon drove the Confederate gunners from their guns. The
sailors worked untiringly, and seemed enraged by the deceit practised
by the enemy. One man, while sponging out a gun, preparatory to
reloading it, dropped his sponge overboard. Quick as thought he
vaulted the gunwale, and re-appeared on the surface of the water
swimming for the sponge. Recovering it, he in a few moments crawled
dripping through a porthole, to report respectfully to the captain of
the gun: "Just come aboard, sir."
The fort abandoned by the Confederates had been occupied by the troops
that had been landed; and, under cover of the furious bombardment, the
work of landing was vigorously prosecuted. Night came, and with it a
gale so heavy that the vessels had to desert their stations, and
withdraw into the offing. When the morning broke, however, the sea had
calmed sufficiently to allow the gunners to again set about their
terrible work.
The second day's firing was even more accurate than that of the first;
and the gray-coats were soon compelled to retire to the bomb-proofs,
and abandon all attempt to return the fire of the ships. Soon three
shells in rapid succession burst close to the magazine of the fort,
telling plainly to the affrighted defenders that nothing was left for
them but surrender. A white flag was raised, and Commodore Barron went
off to the fleet to formally surrender the forts and the eight hundred
men of his command. When the terms were concluded, the defeated
soldier turned to flag-officer Stringham, and asked if the loss of
life on the ships had been very large. "Not a man has been injured,"
was the response. "Wonderful!" exclaimed the questioner. "No one could
have imagined that this position could have been captured without
sacrificing thousands of men." But so it was. Without the loss of a
man, had fallen a most important post, together with cannon,
provisions, and nearly seven hundred men.