REDUCTION OF NEWBERN. -- EXPLOITS OF LIEUT. CUSHING. --
DESTRUCTION OF THE RAM "ALBEMARLE."
After the destruction of the Confederate flotilla at Elizabeth City,
and the affair at Winton, the Union fleet remained quietly at anchor
off Roanoke Island, or made short excursions up the little rivers
emptying into the sounds. Over a month passed in comparative inaction,
as the ships were awaiting supplies and particularly ammunition. When
finally the transports from New York arrived, and the magazines of the
war-vessels were filled with shot and shell and gunpowder, they again
turned their attention to the enemy. The victories already won had
almost driven the Confederates from that part of North Carolina which
borders on the sounds. Roanoke Island, Elizabeth City, Edenton, and
Plymouth had one after the other yielded to the persuasive eloquence
of the ship's cannon, and there was left to the Confederates only one
fort,--Newbern, on the River Neuse. As a city Newbern is
insignificant; but as a military post it was of a good deal of
importance, and the Confederates had made active preparations for its
defence.
It was on the 12th of March, 1862, that Commander Rowan started from
Hatteras Inlet with a flotilla of thirteen vessels, and army
transports bearing three thousand men. The long column steamed down
the placid waters of Pamlico Sound, and, turning into the Neuse
River, anchored about fifteen miles below the city. Although the night
before the battle, and within sight of the white steeples of the
menaced city, all was quiet and peaceful. The banks of the broad
stream were densely wooded, and from them could be heard at times the
cry of the whip-poor-will, or the hoot of the night-owl. The vessels
were anchored far out in the middle of the stream, so as to avoid the
deadly bullets of any lurking sharp-shooters. The lookouts kept a
close watch for floating torpedoes; while the sailors off duty spun
their yarns in the forecastle, and bet pipes and tobacco on the result
of the coming battle. The jolly tars of the Burnside expedition had
hardly yet learned that war was a serious matter. They had met with
but little serious resistance, had captured powerful forts without
losing a man, had chased and destroyed the Confederate fleet without
any serious damage to their own, and felt, accordingly, that war was a
game in which it was their part always to win, and the part of the
enemy to run away. Certainly the fight at Newbern did nothing to
dispel this idea.
When morning broke, the shrill piping of the boatswain's whistle
brought the crew to their places on deck. Breakfast was served, and
leisurely eaten; for it is one of the established theories of the
navy, that sailors can't fight on empty stomachs. Breakfast over, the
work of landing the troops was begun. The point chosen was a broad
beach fringed with woods near the anchorage of the vessels. Before
landing the troops, the ships threw a few shells into the woods, to
make certain that they concealed no ambuscade, as in the disastrous
affair at Matthias Point. After two dozen shells had burst, mowing
down trees, and driving out frightened animals in plenty, but no
sharp-shooters, the long-boats put off from the transports bearing the
soldiers for the land attack. As soon as six or seven hundred were
landed, they formed in column, and moved rapidly up the beach. The
others followed as rapidly as they could be put on shore. The gunboats
steamed slowly up the river, keeping abreast of the troops, and
throwing shells into the woods ahead of the attacking column. Had any
Confederates prepared to resist the march, they must have been driven
out of the forest before the Federals came within musket-range. Not an
atom of resistance was made. The plans of the invaders seemed
irresistible. About half-past four in the afternoon, a puff of smoke
rose from the river-bank far ahead of the leading vessel, and in a few
seconds a heavy shell plunged into the water a hundred yards ahead of
the flotilla. The enemy was getting awake to the situation. The
gunboats soon returned the fire, and the cannonading was continued at
long range, without damage to either side, until sundown, when the
troops went into camp, and the vessels chose an anchorage near by.
At daylight the next morning, the advance was resumed. The day was so
foggy that the usual signals between the vessels could not be seen,
and orders from the flagship had to be carried by boat. The fleet
proceeded up the river; and, when the fog lifted, the ramparts of Fort
Dixie--the one that had fired on them the night before--were visible.
A vigorous bombardment was at once begun; but the fort failed to
reply, and a storming-party sent ashore found it empty. Hoisting the
stars and stripes above the deserted bastions, the ships went on. Soon
they reached Fort Ellis. Here the firing was sharp on both sides. The
fort was a powerful earthwork, well armed with rifles ranging from
thirty-two to eighty pounders. The Confederates did but little damage
with their guns; their aim being bad for want of practice, and their
powder of poor quality. Still, they fought on with great courage until
a shell from the "Delaware" burst in the magazine, firing the powder
there, and hurling the fort, with large numbers of its brave
defenders, high in the air. This ended the fight with Fort Ellis, and
the fleet continued its way up the river.
[Illustration: Flag of South Carolina.]
Shortly after passing Fort Ellis, two rows of obstructions were met in
the channel. The lower barrier was composed of a series of piles
driven into the river-bottom, and cut off below the water; back of
these came a row of pointed and iron tipped piles pointing down stream
at such an angle as to be likely to pierce the hull of any vessel that
should run upon them. Entwined about these piles was a cable
connecting with thirty powerful torpedoes. That any vessel could
pierce such a barrier seems almost incredible; yet all the vessels of
the flotilla passed, and but two were seriously injured. One of the
sharp iron piles drove through the bottom of the "Barney," sending the
crew to the pumps, and the carpenter down into the hold with his
felt-covered plugs. But her damages were quickly repaired, and she
went on with the rest of the fleet. Right under the guns of Fort
Thompson the second line of obstructions was encountered. It consisted
of a line of sunken vessels closely massed, and a _cheval-de-frise_ of
stakes and logs, that blocked the entire river, save a small passage
close in shore under the guns of the battery. Here was more hard work
for the sailors; but they managed to creep through, and ranging up in
line, broadside to Fort Thompson, they opened a vigorous cannonade
upon that work. The condition of the garrison of the fort was
desperate. The troops that had marched up the beach abreast of the
vessels began a vigorous attack on the landward face of the fort,
while the vessels in the river kept up a vigorous fire on the
water-front. Soon the gunners of the fort were called away from the
river-front to meet the hot assault of the soldiers on the land; and,
as the conflict grew close, the ships ceased firing, lest their shell
should mow down foe and friend alike. Leaving the enemy to the
attention of the soldiery, the ships proceeded up the river past two
deserted forts that gave no answer to vigorous shelling. Just as the
last vessel was passing Fort Thompson, the attacking troops, with a
cheer, rushed upon the ramparts; and in a minute the stars and stripes
were fluttering from the flagstaff. This was the last resistance
encountered, and at two P.M. the victors were in full possession of
the city. The war ships sped up the river after three Confederate
steamers that were endeavoring to escape, and soon captured them. One
was run ashore and burned, while the other two were added to the
conquering fleet. As a last resort, the flying enemy sent down a huge
fire-raft, in the hope of burning some of the Union vessels; but this
was stopped by the piers of a railroad bridge, and, burning that,
effectually cut off Newbern's communication with the world. During the
entire two days' engagement, the navy did not lose a man on the ships.
Two of a small landing-party were killed, and eleven, wounded; while
of the soldiers there were killed eighty-eight, and wounded three
hundred and fifty-two. This victory gave to the United States the
entire control of the North Carolina sounds and tributary navigable
waters.
For years after this, the sounds were occupied by a small squadron of
the United States navy, mainly blockading cruisers. It was during
these three years of occupation that Lieut. W. B. Cushing performed
those wonderfully daring deeds that made him a name and fame apart
from all other war-records. These feats so particularly belong to
Cushing's record, rather than to the history of any years of the war,
that they may well be considered together here. The wonderful
exhibitions of daring by which this young officer earned his promotion
to the rank of a commander, while still hardly more than a boy, were
the ascent of New River Inlet in the steamer "Ellis," for the purpose
of destroying the enemy's salt-works, and a blockade-runner at New
Topsail Inlet; and finally, the great achievement of his life, the
destruction of the ram "Albemarle" in the Roanoke River.
Lieut. Cushing entered the navy during the first year of the civil war,
being himself at that time but nineteen years old. A comrade who served
with him at the time of the destruction of the "Albemarle" describes him
as about six feet high, very slender, with a smooth face, and dark wavy
hair. Immediately upon his joining the navy, he was assigned to duty
with the blockading squadron on the Atlantic coast. He distinguished
himself during the first year of the war, at a time when the
opportunities of the service were not very brilliant, by unfailing
vigilance, and soon won for himself the honor of a command. In November,
1862, he was put in command of the steamer "Ellis," and ordered to
preserve the blockade of New River Inlet on the North Carolina coast,
not far from the favorite port of the blockade-runners, Wilmington. The
duties of a blockading man-of-war are monotonous, at best. Lying at
anchor off the mouth of the blockaded harbor, or steaming slowly up and
down for days together, the crew grow discontented; and the officers are
at their wits' end to devise constant occupation to dispel the
turbulence which idleness always arouses among sailors. Inaction is the
great enemy of discipline on board ship, and it is for this reason that
the metal and trimmings aboard a man-of-war are so continually being
polished. A big brass pivot-gun amidships will keep three or four
jackies polishing an hour or two every day; and petty officers have been
known to go around secretly, and deface some of the snowy woodwork or
gleaming brass, when it seemed that surfaces to be polished were
becoming exhausted. It is no unusual thing to set a gang of sailors to
work rubbing away with polish on the flukes of the great anchors, merely
to give them work. But while this sort of occupation may drive dull care
away from the heart of Jack, his officers are not so easily entertained;
and the dull routine of blockading duty at an unfrequented port is most
wearisome to adventurous spirits. Particularly was this the case with
Lieut. Cushing, and he was constantly upon the lookout for some perilous
adventure. One day late in November, information was brought to him that
the enemy had established large salt-works at Jacksonville, thirty-five
miles up the river. Even thus early in the war, the vigorous blockade
was beginning to tell upon the supplies of the Confederates; and one of
the articles of which the Southern armies were in the greatest need was
salt. The distress caused by the lack of it was great. Many of the
soldiers were in the habit of sprinkling gunpowder upon their food to
give it a flavor approaching that of salt. In olden days, particularly
in the British navy about the end of the eighteenth century, it was the
custom for the captains to issue to their crews, before going into
battle, large cups of grog with gunpowder stirred in. It was believed
that this mixture made the men fight more desperately. But this theory
of the doughty sea-dogs of past generations no longer finds any support,
and doubtless the soldiers of the Confederacy felt they could fight
better upon salt than on their enforced seasoning of gunpowder. At
Manassas Junction, when the Confederate army by a rapid movement
captured a large provision train, the rush of the soldiers for two or
three cars laden with salt was so great that a strong guard had to be
stationed to beat back pilferers, and secure a proper division of the
much-prized seasoning.
The officers of the Union navy were well informed of this scarcity of
salt throughout the South, and accordingly made it a point to destroy
all salt-works along the coast. The officers of the Gulf squadron were
constantly employed in raiding establishments of this character, of
which there were numbers along the coast of Louisiana, Alabama, and
Mississippi. Cushing, on hearing of the existence of salt-works in the
district over which he stood guard, determined to destroy them. But to
do this was a matter of no small peril. Jacksonville was thirty-five
miles up a small stream, in the heart of a country teeming with
Confederate troops and their guerrilla sympathizers. The densely
wooded shores could conceal sharp-shooters, who could easily pick off
every man stationed on the steamer's deck. At any point of the entire
distance a masked battery might be stationed, that could blow the
invading craft out of water, and leave none of her crew uncaptured to
tell the tale. Nevertheless, the intrepid young commander determined
to make the attempt. His vessel was a small steamer, mounting one
heavy gun amidships and two smaller cannon on each side. Without any
mishap the "Ellis" and her crew reached the town about noon. On the
way up the river a dense column of black smoke appeared ahead, rising
above the forest. All thought that the Confederates, hearing of their
approach, had evacuated the town, firing it as they retreated. All
possible steam was put on, and the little gunboat dashed up the river
in the hope of saving some of the property of the inhabitants. But, on
rounding an abrupt curve in the river, the mystery was solved by the
appearance of a fine schooner, loaded with cotton and turpentine, and
drifting helplessly, a mass of crackling flames, down the stream. She
was clearly a blockade-runner, freighted with the chief products of
the country, and had been waiting a chance to slip out past the
blockader, and run for some friendly port. Cushing's bold move up the
river had entrapped her neatly, and her owners had fired her and fled.
The fire was a magnificent sight. The inflammable cargo, the tarry
ropes and cordage, fed the flames, which leaped from hull to
main-truck. The cotton burned sullenly, giving forth immense clouds of
dense, black smoke. To save her was hopeless, and the "Ellis" kept out
of the way of the flying fire-brands and continued on. The expected
salt-works were not found, however; and the only trophies to be
obtained at the town were about twenty-five stand of arms and two
schooners, evidently blockade-runners. The post-office was also
visited, and a large mail captured and removed, in the hope of finding
therein some valuable information regarding the movements of the
enemy. The town itself was one of the sleepy little Southern villages,
with wide streets, grass-grown and lined with live-oaks. Children, and
boys too young to have been drafted into the Southern army, followed
the sailors and marines curiously as they strolled up and down the
silent streets. The war had robbed the little city of its men; the
blockade had robbed it of its little coasting-trade. Such an air of
quiet and desolation hung about the place, that the inhabitants
probably welcomed the advent of even the hostile sailors as being
something to break the monotony. After a stoppage of an hour and a
half, the "Ellis" started down the river. The quiet of the upward
voyage had dispelled any thoughts of danger, but about five o'clock
suspicions were re-awakened by the sight of a small encampment on the
bank. A few shells thrown over the tents quickly sent the campers
scurrying into the woods; and, as the camps seemed to have no
artillery, the "Ellis" continued without further hostilities. A short
distance down the stream the Confederates opened upon them with two
guns mounted on a lofty bluff. Cushing, ever ready for a skirmish,
stopped his engine, and cleared away the big pivot-gun for action. The
battle-flag was hoisted at the fore, and the crew, with three cheers,
set about the work. About an hour of artillery practice followed,
when, the enemy being driven from his guns, the "Ellis" proceeded on
her way. It was now growing dark, and the tide was rapidly falling.
The two pilots on the steamer agreed that daylight and high tide were
necessary to get the vessel safely out of the river. With great
reluctance Cushing ordered the anchor to be let fall, and proceeded to
make preparations for the night. On both banks of the river could be
seen the flash of lanterns, proving that the Confederates were aware
of the steamer's presence, and were contemplating an attack. To resist
such an attack if made in force during the night, seemed almost
hopeless; yet the sailors went cheerfully about the work of
preparation, getting out cutlasses and revolvers, and putting up the
boarding-nettings over the sides. In watchful anxiety the hours wore
away. No sound escaped the vigilant ear of the men on duty. But the
enemy evidently had abandoned the attack, and when morning broke none
were to be seen. With light hearts, and feeling that the worst was
past, the little party continued their way, only to find that the
worst was yet to come. Soon after daylight, the pilot, mistaking the
channel, ran the ship so solidly aground that there was clearly no
hope of extricating her. All this time she had been towing one of the
captured schooners; and Cushing, with quick decisiveness, ordered that
every thing should be removed from the "Ellis" to the schooner. This
was quickly done, leaving nothing but the great pivot-gun aboard.
But even when so greatly lightened, the ship would not float, and
Cushing saw that all was lost. As a final expedient he sent a boat's
crew back after the cannon that the enemy had abandoned the day
before, intending to construct a land-battery with them, and so keep
his ship. But the Confederates had already removed the guns, so this
forlorn hope failed. Orders were then given for the crew to take the
schooner, and drop down the river for a mile or two. The young captain
expressed his intention of remaining aboard his craft, and asked for
six volunteers to help him fight the pivot-gun. They were quickly
found; and, while the remainder of the crew dropped down the river in
the schooner, the devoted little band calmly awaited the beginning of
the attack. They did not have long to wait. Soon a cannon boomed from
the bank, and a heavy shell whizzed over their heads. Then another,
from another direction, and a third, and a fourth, each from a
distinct battery. They were hopeless odds, yet Cushing and his command
fought on until the gunners, getting the range, dropped shot after
shot into the doomed vessel. Then fire broke out in three or four
places. This was too much; and the seven daring men took to a small
boat, and rowed to the schooner. First, however, they loaded the long
gun, and turned it on the enemy, in order, as Cushing said, "that she
might fight for herself when we could do so no longer." Once in the
schooner, they sailed rapidly down the river; and just as they reached
the sound a deep boom announced that the fire had reached the
magazine, and the "Ellis" was blown into a million pieces. Daring as
this adventure was, Cushing was much distressed at its termination;
and in his official report he asks for a general court of inquiry, to
determine whether he had properly upheld the honor of the nation's
flag.
Another daring expedition was undertaken by Cushing when in command of
the "Monticello." This was in February, 1864. He was cruising off Cape
Fear River. At Smithville, a small town some distance up the river,
was a Confederate army-post. Cushing's plan was to proceed up the
river in row-boats, burn any vessels that might be at the dock,
capture the commanding officers, and escape before the enemy could
recover from the surprise. It was a rash and rather useless
expedition, but Cushing successfully carried it out. With two boats
and twenty men, he went quietly past the guns of the fort, concealed
by the blackness of a cloudy night, ascended the river to the town,
and landed directly in front of the hotel. A high bank concealed the
party from view, and lying in ambush here they managed to capture some
negroes, from whom the desired information was obtained. Then with two
officers and a seaman, Cushing walked from the deck to Gen. Herbert's
headquarters in so open a manner as to disarm suspicion. Entering the
house they met an engineer officer, who tried to raise an alarm, but
was quickly captured and gagged. The adjutant-general, never dreaming
that any enemy could be so near him, supposed it was a mutiny, and
fled hastily, half dressed, to the woods, not even calling out the
garrison. Cushing then with his speechless prisoner walked calmly back
before the long barracks that sheltered a thousand hostile soldiers,
and within a few yards of the sentry on the wharf. Only when the
affrighted adjutant-general returned from his hasty trip to the woods
did the Confederates know that an enemy had been in their midst. Then
there was great excitement, arresting of sentries, calling out of
guards, and signalling to the fort that hostile boats were in the
harbor. But all too late. Cushing's coolness, courage, dash, and
invincible luck had carried him scot-free through another dare-devil
adventure.
From the "Monticello" Cushing made yet another dangerous excursion
into the enemy's country. On this occasion he had a more adequate
purpose for his perilous errand. It was believed that the Confederate
ram "Raleigh" was in the Cape Fear River above the town of Smithville,
the scene of the last adventure. Cushing obtained permission from his
superior officer to ascend the river, and try to blow up the ram with
a torpedo. On the night of the 23d of June he started, taking with him
Jones and Howarth, the officers who had been with him in the previous
trip, and fifteen men. The night was pitchy dark, and all went well as
they passed the fort and the little town of Smithville. Fifteen miles
from the river's mouth, they saw the moon suddenly break through the
clouds; and the surface of the river suddenly became bright, revealing
to the sentries on shore the Yankee boat fifteen miles within
Confederate territory. Quickly the boats turned about, and headed down
the river; but this was a mere feint, as Cushing doubled as soon as he
reached the shadow of the opposite bank, and continued his course into
the hostile territory. Toward morning, when within about seven miles
of Wilmington, a very stronghold of the Confederates, he landed, and
hid his boat in a neighboring swamp. The men lay in hiding all day;
and, just as they were about to start out again, they captured two
boats with a Wilmington fishing-party. During the second night Cushing
crept cautiously up to within three miles of Wilmington, closely
examining the defences of the town and the obstructions in the river.
At daybreak he rowed up one of the creeks until he found the road
between Fort Fisher and Wilmington. Here he crouched by a hedge until
a mounted mail-carrier came by from the fort. The soldier was captured
and dismounted, vastly astonished at the sight of a blue-jacket in
that region. Presently, along came the carrier from the town, on the
way to the fort. He too was astonished at the sight, but flung back a
scornful answer to the demand that he surrender, and galloped hastily
away. In an instant Cushing was on the back of the captured horse, and
after him; but the fugitive was too well mounted, and escaped. Matters
were now becoming very serious. The runaway would doubtless give the
alarm everywhere. Immediate flight was imperative. The men had been
away from the boat for some hours, and were famished. Food must be
had. But how to get it? Cushing's solution of the problem was
characteristic. Having captured some other prisoners, he learned that
a store was to be found about two miles off. A prisoner about
Howarth's size was ordered to strip, and Howarth put on his clothing.
The change from the trim blue uniform of a Yankee naval officer to the
slouchy jeans jumper and overalls of a North Carolina "cracker" was
somewhat amusing, but the disguise was complete. Mounting the captured
horse, Howarth rode off in the character of a "poor-white" farmer come
in to do his marketing. He chatted freely with the people he met along
the road, and securing his provision, returned to the boat without
arousing the least suspicion. Snugly ensconced in the thick bushes,
the party then proceeded to sup, and after the meal amused themselves
in cutting telegraph-wires, and at dark returned to the boat. This was
the third night in the river, and Cushing prepared to return.
Embarking with his prisoners, he pulled up to the "Raleigh," and found
that she would not need his attentions, as she was already a total
wreck. Then he began the descent of the river. When a little way down
the prisoners were set adrift, with neither sails nor oars in order
that they might not report the occurrence too soon. The blue-jackets
continued their pull down the river. Just as they reached the mouth
the moon shone out, and a quick hail came from a guard-boat. Cushing
made no answer, but in a low voice urged his men on, intending to
attack the enemy. But in an instant more three boats came out of the
shadow, and at the same instant five appeared on the other side. One
opening seemed left for the beleaguered boat to dash through. At it
they went, but a schooner filled with troops suddenly appeared
blockading this last exit. It looked as though all was up, and those
in the boat saw before them the cheerful prospect of execution as
spies. But Cushing's pluck and self-possession, which had never yet
failed, still stood by him. He resorted to strategy, and, like the
hunted fox, threw his pursuers off the track by doubling. He made a
dash so rapid and determined towards the western bar, that all the
boats of the enemy rushed to block that point. For an instant his own
was in the shadow of a cloud. In that instant he had turned, and
headed at full speed for New Inlet. His men were as cool as he. With a
few vigorous pulls the boat shot out into the breakers where the enemy
dared not follow it, and soon after the cutter was hoisted to the
davits of the "Monticello," uninjured, after a stay of three nights in
the heart of the enemy's country.
It was near the end of the great war that Cushing performed the
greatest feat of daring of his adventurous career; and, as on the
previous occasions, the scene of the exploit was in the waters
tributary to the North Carolina sounds. Early in the spring of 1863 it
became evident to the officers of the Union squadron in the sounds,
that the Confederates were making arrangements to drive the Yankee
ships from those waters, and to re-open the coasting-trade to the
people of North Carolina. The chief source of alarm to the fleet was a
heavy iron-clad which was reported to be building on the Roanoke River
above Plymouth. Full descriptions of this vessel were in the hands of
the Union officers; and they saw clearly that, should she be
completed, no vessel of the sound squadron, nor perhaps the entire
navy, would be able to do battle against her successfully. The river
was too shallow for the war-vessels to go up to the point where the
ram was being built, and the channel at Hatteras Inlet was not deep
enough for iron-clads to be brought in to compete with the enemy when
finished. The naval authorities repeatedly urged the army to send an
expedition to burn the boat; but Major-Gen. Foster, in command of the
department of North Carolina, declared it was of no importance, as the
Confederates would never put it to any use. Time showed a very
different state of affairs. In April, 1864, the ram was completed, and
named the "Albemarle." Her first work was to co-operate with ten
thousand Confederate troops in the recapture of Plymouth, which was
accomplished with very little difficulty. Lieut. Flusser was at
Plymouth with four small gunboats, and remained bravely at his post
as he saw the powerful ram bearing down upon him. It was half-past
three in the morning, and the chill, gray dawn was just breaking over
the earth. Above the river hung a mist, through which the great body
of the ram could be seen coming doggedly down to the conflict. The
"Miami" and "Southfield" were lashed together; and, at the order of
Commander Flusser, they started to meet the iron-clad, firing quickly
and with good aim. The "Albemarle" came on silently, disdaining to
fire a gun. With a crash she struck the "Miami" a glancing blow on the
port-bow, gouging off two great planks. Sliding past the wounded
craft, she plunged into the "Southfield," crushing completely through
her side, so that she began to settle at once. The lashings between
the gunboats parted, and the "Southfield" sank rapidly, carrying part
of her crew with her. As the "Albemarle" crashed into the two vessels,
she fired her bow-gun several times, killing and wounding many of the
Union sailors, and killing Lieut. Flusser. When she turned and made a
second dash for the "Miami," the latter fled down the stream, knowing
that to dare the power of the enemy was mere madness. The "Albemarle"
steamed back to Plymouth, and by her aid the town was easily
recaptured by the Confederates.
The squadron in the sounds was now in a state of the greatest anxiety.
At any moment the impregnable monster might descend the river and
destroy the frail wooden gunboats at her leisure. Preparations were
made for a desperate battle when the time should come. Captains were
instructed to bring their ships to close quarters with the enemy and
to endeavor to throw powder or shells down her smokestack. Every
possible means by which a wooden steamer might cope with an iron-clad
was provided.
[Illustration: Destruction of the "Albemarle."]
On the 5th of May the ram put in an appearance, steaming down the
river. Deliberately she approached within easy range, then let fly a
shot at the "Mattabesett" which knocked her launch to pieces and
wounded several men. The "Mattabesett" ran up to within one hundred
and fifty yards of the "Albemarle," and gave her a broadside of solid
shot from nine-inch Dahlgrens and one hundred-pounder rifles. When
these shot struck a sloping place on the ram's armor, they glanced
off. Those that struck full on the plating simply crumbled to pieces,
leaving no dent to tell of the blow. One beautifully aimed shot struck
the muzzle of one of the cannon on the ram and broke it. The gun
was used throughout the fight, however, as the "Albemarle" carried but
two and could not spare one of them. The "Sassacus" followed in line
of battle. She delivered her broadside in passing. The ram rushed
madly at her, but was evaded by good steering. Then the "Sassacus" in
turn rushed at the ram at full speed, thinking to run her down. She
struck amidships at right angles, and with the crash of the collision
came a hundred-pound shot from the ram, that passed through the wooden
ship from end to end. Still the engines of the "Sassacus" were kept
going, in the hope of pushing the "Albemarle" beneath the water. The
iron-clad careened slowly, the water washed over her after-deck; the
crew of the "Sassacus," far out on the bow, tried vainly to drop
shells and packages of powder down the ram's smoking chimneys. It was
a moment of intense excitement. But the ram was too much for her
assailant. Recovering from the shock of the collision, she slowly
swung around until her bow-gun could be brought to bear on her
tormentor, when she let fly a ponderous bolt. It crashed through the
side of the steamer and plunged into her boiler. In an instant hot,
scalding steam filled the engine-room and spread over the whole ship.
Cries of agony arose on every side. Twenty-one of the crew were
terribly scalded. Nothing remained but retreat; and the "Sassacus"
steamed away from her enemy, after making one of the bravest fights in
naval history. In the mean time the other gunboats were pounding away
at the ram. The "Miami" was trying in vain to get an opportunity to
discharge a large torpedo. Two other vessels were spreading nets about
the great ship, trying to foul the propeller. The action continued
until dark, when the ram withdrew, uninjured and without losing a man.
She had fought alone for three hours against six ships, and had
seriously damaged every one of her adversaries. It must also be
remembered that she carried but two guns.
The "Albemarle" lay for a long time idle at her moorings in Roanoke
River, feeling sure that at her own pleasure she could go into the
sounds, and complete the destruction of the fleet. Lieut. Cushing,
then twenty-one years old, begged permission to attempt to destroy
her. The authority was gladly granted by the navy department, and
Cushing began making his plans for the adventure. His first plan was
to take a squad of men, with two steam-launches, up the Roanoke, and
blow the ram up by means of a torpedo. The launches were sent from
New York, but one was swamped while crossing Delaware Bay.
Cushing, however, was not the man to be balked by an accident: so,
cutting down his force one-half, he prepared for the start. Thirteen
officers and men made up the little party which seemed bound to
certain death. The spirit which animated the blue-jackets during the
war may be imagined from the fact that many sailors tried to purchase
the privilege of going on this perilous expedition, by offering their
month's pay to those who had been selected. To understand what a
forlorn hope the little boat-load of men were cherishing, we must
understand what were the defences of the "Albemarle." She lay at a
broad wharf, on which was encamped a large guard of soldiers as well
as her crew. Above and below her, great fires were kept burning on the
shores, to prevent any boat approaching unseen. She was surrounded by
a boom, or "water-fence," of floating logs, about thirty feet from her
hull, to keep off any torpedo-boats. From the mouth of the Roanoke to
her moorings was about eight miles; the shores being lined on either
side by pickets, and a large picket-station being established in
mid-stream about one mile below Plymouth.
To attempt to penetrate this network of defences seemed to be
foolhardy. Yet Cushing's record for dash and courage, and his
enthusiasm, inspired his comrades with confidence; and they set out
feeling certain of success. On the night of the 27th of October, the
daring band, in their pygmy steamer, steamed rapidly up the river. No
word was spoken aboard. The machinery was oiled until it ran
noiselessly; and not a light shone from the little craft, save when
the furnace-door was hastily opened to fire up. The Confederate
sentries on the bank saw nothing of the party; and, even when they
passed the picket schooners near the wreck of the "Southfield," they
were unchallenged, although they could see the schooners, and hear the
voices of the men, not more than twenty yards away. Not until they
came into the fitful glare of the firelight were they seen, and then
quick hails came from the sentries on the wharf and the "Albemarle's"
decks. But the light on the shore aided the adventurers by showing
them the position of the ram. They dashed up alongside, amid a shower
of bullets that seemed to fill the air. On the decks of the ram all
was confusion, the alarm rattles were sprung, the bell rung violently.
The launch running alongside came into contact with the row of logs,
and sheered off to make a dash over it. Cushing, who on these
dangerous expeditions was like a schoolboy on a holiday, answered with
ridicule all hails. "Go ashore for your lives," "Surrender yourselves,
or I shall sink you," he cried, as the gunners on the ram trained a
heavy gun on the little launch. Now she was headed straight for the
ram, and had a run of thirty yards before striking the boom. She
reached, and dashed over. Cushing, standing in the stern, held in one
hand the tiller ropes, in the other the lanyard of the torpedo. He
looked up, saw the muzzle of a heavy gun trained directly on his boat:
one convulsive pull of the rope, and with a roar the torpedo exploded
under the hull of the "Albemarle," just as a hundred-pound shot
crashed through the bottom of his boat. In a second the launch had
disappeared; her crew were struggling in the waves, or lying dead
beneath them, and the "Albemarle" with a mortal wound was sinking to
the bottom.
Cushing swam to the middle of the river, and headed down stream. Most
of his companions were killed, captured, or drowned. In the middle of
the stream he met Woodman, who had followed him on previous
expeditions. Woodman was almost exhausted. Cushing supported him as
long as he was able, but was forced to leave him, and the sailor sank
to the bottom. The young lieutenant floated down the river until at
last he reached the shore, exhausted and faint from a wound in his
wrist. He lay half covered with water in a swamp until daylight. While
there he heard two Confederate officers who passed say that the
"Albemarle" was a total wreck. That news gave him new energy, and he
set about getting safely away. Through the thick undergrowth of the
swamp he crawled for some hours, until he found a negro who gave him
shelter and food. Then he plunged again into the swamp, and walked on
until he captured a skiff from a Rebel picket; and with this he safely
reached the fleet,--the only one of the thirteen who set out two days
before. So ended the most wonderful adventure of the war.