THE NAVY IN THE INLAND WATERS. -- THE MISSISSIPPI SQUADRON. --
SWEEPING THE TENNESSEE RIVER.
We will now leave for a time the blue-water sailors, whose battles,
triumphs, and defeats we have been considering, and look at the work
done by the tars of both North and South on the great waterways which
cut up the central portion of the United States, known as the Valley
of the Mississippi. It was in this section that the navy of the North
did some of its most effective work against the Confederacy, and it
was there that the sailor boys of the South did many deeds of the most
desperate valor. There is much of romance about service on the blue
ocean which is not to be found in routine duty along the yellow muddy
streams that flowed through the territory claimed by King Cotton. The
high, tapering masts, the yards squared and gracefully proportioned,
the rigging taut, and with each rope in its place, of an
ocean-frigate, are not seen in the squat, box-like gunboats that
dashed by the batteries at Vicksburg, or hurled shot and shell at each
other in the affair at Memphis. But Farragut, stanch old sea-dog as he
was, did much of his grandest fighting on the turbid waters of the
Mississippi; and the work of the great fleet at Port Royal was fully
equalled by Porter's mortar-boats below New Orleans.
Let us follow the fortunes of the Union fleet on their cruises about
the great rivers of the interior, and first discover what the work was
that they set out to perform.
The rivers making up the Mississippi system flow for the greater part
of their length through the States that had joined the new
Confederacy. The northern Confederate battle-line was along the south
bank of the Ohio River, and there they had erected batteries that
controlled the passage of that river. South of the mouth of the Ohio,
every river was lined with Confederate batteries, and bore on its
placid bosom fleets of Confederate gunboats. At Columbus on the
Mississippi, not far south of the mouth of the Ohio, were strong
batteries over which floated the stars and bars of the Confederacy.
Farther down was Island Number 10, bearing one of the most powerful
fortifications the world has ever seen. Then came Fort Pillow,
guarding the city of Memphis; then at Vicksburg frowned earthworks,
bastions, and escarpments that rivalled Gibraltar for impregnability.
Lower down were fortifications at Grand Gulf, Port Hudson, and Baton
Rouge. Fort Henry guarded the Tennessee River, and Fort Donelson the
Cumberland, and both of these rivers were very important as waterways
for the transportation of supplies to the Union armies marching into
Tennessee. It was absolutely necessary that all these fortifications
should be swept away, and the rivers opened for navigation down to the
Gulf of Mexico. It was necessary that the work should be done from
above; for the forts below New Orleans were thought to be impassible,
and Farragut's passage of them late in the war made all the world ring
with his name.
It became evident, very early in the war, that no great progress could
be made in the task of crushing the powerful insurrection until
telling blows had been struck at the Confederate control of the inland
waterways. When the attention of the war department was turned in that
direction, they found but little to encourage them in the prospect.
Along the thousands of miles of the banks of the Mississippi and its
tributaries, there was not one gun mounted belonging to the United
States, not one earthwork over which floated the starry flag of the
Union. The Confederate positions on this great chain of waterways
were, as we have seen, of great strength. To attack them, the armies
of the North must first fight their way through whole States populated
by enemies. Obviously, the war department alone could not complete so
gigantic a task, and the services of the navy were called into
requisition. So energetically did the navy department prosecute its
task, that, by the end of the war, over one hundred Federal
war-vessels floated on those streams, on which, three years before, no
craft dared sail under the American flag. It was a strange navy in
looks, but in actions it showed itself worthy of the service in which
it was enlisted.
Many of the steamers built for the river marine were wooden gunboats,
hastily remodelled from the hulks of old craft. They were seldom
plated with iron, and their machinery was feebly protected by coal
bunkers, while their oaken sides were barely thick enough to stop a
musket-ball. But the true iron-clad war-vessel made its appearance on
the rivers even before it was to be seen in the ocean squadrons.
It was as early in the war as July, 1861, that the
quarter-master-general advertised for bids for the construction of
iron-clad gunboats for service on the Mississippi and tributary
rivers. The contract was given to James B. Eads, an engineer, who
during the war performed much valuable service for the United States
Government, and who in later years has made himself a world-wide fame
by the construction of the jetties at the mouth of the Mississippi
River, by which the bar at the mouth of the great stream is swept away
by the mighty rush of the pent-up waters. Mr. Eads was instructed to
build seven iron-clad gunboats with all possible expedition. They were
to be plated two and a half inches thick, and, though of six hundred
tons burden, were not to draw more than six feet of water. They were
to carry thirteen heavy guns each.
[Illustration: A River-Gunboat.]
These river-gunboats, like the little "Monitor," had none of the grace
and grandeur of the old style of sailing-frigate, in which Paul Jones
fought so well for his country. The tapering masts of the mighty
frigate, the spidery cordage by which the blue-jackets climbed to
loosen the snowy sheets of canvas--these gave way in the gunboat to a
single slender flagstaff for signalling, and two towering smoke-stacks
anchored to the deck by heavy iron cables, and belching forth the
black smoke from roaring fires of pitch-pine or soft coal. Instead of
the gracefully curved black sides, with two rows of ports, from which
peeped the muzzles of great cannon, the gunboat's sides above water
sloped like the roof of a house, and huge iron shutters hid the cannon
from view. Inside, all was dark and stuffy, making battle-lanterns
necessary even in daylight fights. The broad white gun-deck, scrubbed
to a gleaming white by hollystone and limejuice, on which the
salt-water sailors gathered for their mess or drill, was replaced by a
cramped room, with the roof hardly high enough to let the jolly tars
skylark beneath without banging their skulls against some projecting
beam. Truly it may be said, that, if the great civil war made naval
architecture more powerful, it also robbed the war-vessels of all
their beauty.
It is hard to appreciate now the immense difficulty experienced in
getting those first seven river-gunboats built by the appointed time.
The war had just begun, and a people accustomed to peace had not yet
found out that those not actually at the seat of war could continue
their usual course of life unmolested. Rolling-mills, machine-shops,
founderies, saw-mills, and shipyards were all idle. Working-men were
enlisting, or going to the Far West, away from the storm of war that
was expected to sweep up the Mississippi Valley. The timber for the
ships was still standing in the forests. The engines that were to
drive the vessels against the enemy were yet to be built. Capt. Eads's
contract called for the completion of the seven vessels in sixty-five
days, and he went at his work with a will. His success showed that not
all the great services done for a nation in time of war come from the
army or navy. Within two weeks four thousand men were at work getting
the gunboats ready. Some were in Michigan felling timber, some in the
founderies and machine-shops of Pittsburg, and others in the shipyards
at St. Louis, where the hulls of the vessels were on the stocks. Day
and night, weekdays and Sundays, the work went on; and in forty-five
days the first vessel was completed, and christened the "St. Louis."
The others followed within the appointed time. Before the autumn of
1861, the river navy of the United States numbered nearly a score of
vessels, while nearly forty mortar-boats were in process of
construction. Of this flotilla, Capt. A. H. Foote, an able naval
officer, was put in command, and directed to co-operate with the land
forces in all movements.
The first service to which the gunboats were assigned was mainly
reconnoitring expeditions before the front of the advancing Union
armies. They were stationed at the junction of the Ohio and
Mississippi Rivers; and the country about Cairo was occupied by a
large body of Union troops under the command of Gen. Grant, then a
young officer little known. The opening fight of the river campaign
was little more than a skirmish; but it proved the superiority of the
gunboats over a land-force for the purpose of opening the river. One
bright day in September, the "Lexington" and "Conestoga" were ordered
to proceed down the river eight or ten miles, and dislodge a
Confederate battery that had taken a position on Lucas Point. The two
vessels steamed cautiously down the stream, without encountering any
resistance until within easy range of the battery, when the
Confederates opened with sixteen cannon. The shot and shells fell all
about the vessels; but neither was hit, showing that the Confederate
gunners were not yet used to firing at a moving mark. But the fire of
the gunboats was admirably directed; the shells falling among the
Confederates, dismounting the guns, and driving the gunners from their
pieces. It was too hot a spot for any man to hold; and a cavalry corps
quickly attached their horses to the guns, and drew them down the
river to the shelter of the Confederate works at Columbus. Then the
defeated party sent up the gunboat "Yankee" to attack the two victors,
but this vessel was quickly disposed of. She opened fire at long
range, but without success. The first shot from the "Conestoga" struck
the water a few feet from the "Yankee," and, ricochetting, plunged
into her hull. The discomfited vessel immediately put about, and
started down stream, followed by a heavy fire from the two Northern
ships. Just as she was passing out of range, an eight-inch shell from
the "Lexington" struck her starboard wheel-house, and shattered the
paddle-wheel, totally disabling the vessel, so that she drifted
sidelong to her anchorage like a wounded duck.
On the return of the Northern vessels up the river, they first
encountered the form of warfare that proved the most perilous for the
sailors of the river navy. Confederate sharp-shooters lined the banks,
perched in the trees, or hidden in the long, marshy grass; and any
unwary tar who showed his head above the bulwarks was made a target
for several long rifles in the hands of practised shots.
The next active service performed by the gunboats was at the battle of
Belmont, directly opposite the Confederate batteries at Columbus. The
Union troops, landing in force, had driven the Confederates from their
camp, and were engaged in securing the spoils, when the gunners at
Columbus, seeing that the camp was in the hands of the enemy, turned
their heavy guns on it, and soon drove out the Yankees. The
Confederates had rallied in the woods, and now came pouring out, in
the hope of cutting off the Union retreat to the boats. On all sides
the dark gray columns could be seen marching out of the woods, and
pouring down upon the retreating army of the North. Batteries were
wheeling into position, and staff-officers in travelling carriages
were dashing to and fro carrying orders. It seemed a black day for
the three or four thousand Unionists who were making for their
transports with all possible speed. But now was the time for the
gunboats to take a hand in the fight. Three of them dropped into
position, and began a deadly fire upon the Confederate line. The huge
shells ploughed their way through whole platoons of men. Bursting,
they would mow down soldiers like saplings before a cyclone. One shell
exploded directly beneath an officer's carriage, and threw horses,
carriage, and men high in the air. The Confederates hastened to get
their field-batteries into position, and replied to the deadly fire
from the ships, but to no avail. Their light artillery was of no
effect upon the plated sides of the gunboats, and they saw their
cannon dismounted or shattered by the solid shot from the big guns of
the iron-clads. They fought bravely, but the conflict was unequal. It
was sheer madness for any body of men, with muskets and light
artillery, to stand against the fire of the gunboats. The gunboats
saved the day. The retreat of the Union army was unchecked; and,
covered by the war-vessels, the transports returned safely to Cairo.
On the Tennessee River, near the northern boundary of Tennessee, the
Confederates had thrown up certain earthworks to which they gave the
name of Fort Henry. This, with Fort Donelson, situated near by, formed
the principal Confederate strongholds in Tennessee. Gen. Grant
determined to strike a heavy blow by capturing these two forts; and
Commodore Foote, with his seven gunboats, was ordered to co-operate
with the land-forces in the expedition. They started from Cairo on
Feb. 2, 1862. When a few miles below the fort, the troops were landed
and ordered to proceed up the back country, and attack the fort in the
rear, while Foote should engage it from the river with his gunboats.
While the troops were being landed, Gen. Grant boarded the "Essex,"
and went up the river to get a view of the fort they were about to
attack. Had it been completed in accordance with the plans of the
engineers, it would have been most formidable. Time, however, had been
short, and the earthworks were far from being completed. There were
many points on the river or on the opposite bank, from which a
well-directed artillery fire would make them untenable. The
Confederate commander, Gen. Tilghman, fully appreciated this fact,
and, at the approach of the gunboats, had sent four-fifths of his
garrison across the country to Fort Donelson, being determined to
sacrifice as few men as possible in the defence of so untenable a
position. While Grant and Foote were examining the works through their
field-glasses, the sullen boom of a great gun came over the waters,
and a heavy rifled shot crashed through the stateroom of Capt. Porter
on the "Essex." The two commanders concluded that the Confederate
gunners, though new to war, understood something of artillery
practice; and the "Essex" was accordingly taken down the river, out of
range.
The following night was chill and rainy; and the Union forces,
bivouacking on shore, grumbled loudly over their discomforts. The
morning dawned dark; but soon the sun came out, and the preparations
for battle were begun. The troops were first despatched on their
cross-country march; and, as they departed, Commodore Foote remarked
coolly, that his gunboats would have reduced the fort before the land
forces came within five miles of it. This proved to be the fact.
The gunboats formed in line of battle, and advanced up the river. The
four iron-clads led, steaming abreast. About a mile in the rear, came
the three wooden vessels. The fort was soon in range; but both parties
seemed anxious for a determined conflict, and no shot was fired on
either side as the gunboats came sullenly on. How different must have
been the feelings of the two combatants! Tilghman, with his handful of
men, hardly able to work eight of the eleven guns mounted in his fort,
and knowing that his defeat was a mere question of time; Foote, with
his iron-clads and supporting gunboats, his seventy-two guns, and his
knowledge that six thousand men were marching upon the rear of the
Confederate works. On the one side, all was absolute certainty of
defeat; on the other, calm confidence of victory.
When the flotilla was within a third of a mile of the fort, the fire
began. The gunners on the ships could see the muzzles of the
Confederate guns, the piles of shells and cannon-balls, and the men at
their work. The firing on both sides was deliberate and deadly. The
Confederates were new to the work, but they proved themselves good
marksmen. The first shot was fired from the shore, and, missing the
"Essex" by but a few feet, plumped into the water, so near the next
ship in line as to throw water over her decks. Within five minutes,
the "Essex" and the "Cincinnati" were both hit. The armor of the
gunboats proved no match for the shots of the Confederates, and in
many cases it was penetrated. In some instances, shells, entering
through the portholes, did deadly damage.
On the shore, the shells from the gunboats were doing terrible work.
Banks of solid earth, eight feet thick, were blown away by the
terrible explosions. One, bursting in front of a ten-inch columbiad,
filled that powerful gun with mud almost to the muzzle, disabling it
for the remainder of the fight. A shot from the "Essex" struck the
muzzle of a great gun, ripped off a splinter of iron three feet long,
and crushed a gunner to pulp. The gun was just about to be fired, and
burst, killing or wounding every man of the crew. At the same moment a
shell crashed through the side of the "Essex," killing men right and
left: took off the head of a sailor standing by Capt. Porter, wounded
the captain, and plunged into the boiler. In an instant the ship was
filled with scalding steam. The men in the pilot-house were
suffocated. Twenty men and officers were killed or scalded. The ship
was disabled, and drifted out of the fight. While withdrawing, she
received two more shots, making twenty in all that had fallen to her
share in this hot engagement. But by this time the fort was very
thoroughly knocked to pieces. The big twenty-four pounder was
dismounted, and five of its crew killed. Gun after gun was keeled
over, and man after man carried bleeding to the bomb-proofs, until
Gen. Tilghman himself dropped coat and sword, and pulled away at a gun
by the side of his soldiers. Receiving ten shots while they could only
fire one, this little band held out for two long hours; and only when
the crew of the last remaining piece threw themselves exhausted on the
ground, did the flag come fluttering down. Gen. Tilghman went to the
fleet and surrendered the fort to Commodore Foote, and Grant's army
came up more than an hour after the battle was over. To the navy
belongs the honor of taking Fort Henry, while to Gen. Tilghman and his
plucky soldiers belongs the honor of making one of the most desperate
fights under the most unfavorable circumstances recorded in the
history of the civil war.
The fall of Fort Henry opened the way for the Union advance to Fort
Donelson, and marked the first step of the United States Government
toward regaining control of the Mississippi. It broke the northern
battle-line of the Confederacy, and never again was that line
re-established.
With Fort Henry fallen, and Gen. Tilghman and his little garrison
prisoners on the Union gunboats, Grant's soldier-boys and Foote's
blue-jackets began active preparations for continuing the conquest of
Tennessee by the capture of Fort Donelson. No time was lost. The very
night that the stars and stripes were first hoisted over the bastion
of Fort Henry saw three of Foote's gunboats steaming up the river on a
reconnoitring expedition. Before them the Confederates fled in every
direction. After several hours' advance, they came to a heavy
railroad-bridge spanning the river, and effectually preventing further
progress. Beyond the bridge were several Confederate steamers, black
with men, and heavily laden with valuable military stores. With all
steam on, they were dashing up stream, and rapidly leaving the
gunboats behind. Enraged at seeing such valuable prizes slipping
through their hands, the Union gunners sent shell after shell
shrieking after the flying boats, but to no avail. A party was hastily
landed for the purpose of swinging the draw of the bridge, but found
the machinery broken, and the ways on which the bridge swung twisted
and bent out of shape. An hour's hard work with axes and crowbars, and
the draw was swung far enough to let pass the "Conestoga" and the
"Lexington." They dashed forward like greyhounds slipped from the
leash; and, after several hours' hard steaming, a smoke over the
tree-tops told that the Confederate fugitives were not far ahead. Soon
a bend in the river was passed; and there, within easy range, were two
of the flying steamers. A commotion was visible on board, and boat
after boat was seen to put off, and make for the shore; on reaching
which the crews immediately plunged into the woods, and were out of
sight before the gunboats could get within range. Soon light blue
smoke curling from the windows of the steamers told that they had been
fired; and as the last boats left each vessel, she ceased her onward
course, and drifted, abandoned and helpless, down the stream. When
within about a thousand yards of the two gunboats, the deserted
steamers blew up with such force, that, even at that great distance,
the glass was shattered in the "Conestoga," and her woodwork seriously
damaged.
The two gunboats leisurely continued their excursion into the heart of
the enemy's country. Little or no danger was to be feared. At that
time, the Confederates had not learned to plant torpedoes in their
rivers, to blow the enemy's vessels into fragments. There was no
artillery stationed in that section to check their progress, and the
only resistance found was an occasional rifle-shot from some concealed
sharp-shooter in the bushes on the shore. On the 7th of February the
gunboats reached Cerro Gordo, Tenn.; and here they made a valuable
capture. The Confederates had been at work for weeks converting the
steamer "Eastport" into an iron-clad ram; and, as the Union vessels
came up, they found her almost completed, and absolutely without
defence. Besides the new vessel, there was in the shipyard a large
quantity of lumber and ship-timber, which was of the greatest value to
the builders of the river navy. The two gunboats promptly captured all
this property; and waiting until the "Tyler," which had been detained
at the drawbridge, came up, they left her in charge, and continued
their raid into the enemy's country. Little incident occurred until
they reached the head of navigation of the river, where they found all
the Confederate vessels which had been flying before them for two
days. These were burned, and the two gunboats started back down the
river, stopping for the "Eastport" on the way. The captured vessel was
afterwards completed, and served the cause of the Union for two years,
when she was blown up on the Red River.
When the raiding expedition reached Cairo, the officers found Foote
getting his squadron together for the attack on Fort Donelson. This
fortification was one strongly relied upon by the Confederates for the
maintenance of their northern line of battle. It was on the bank of
the Cumberland River, nearly opposite the site of Fort Henry on the
Tennessee. A garrison of at least fifteen thousand men manned the
works, and were commanded by no less than three generals; and the fact
that there were _three_ generals in command had much to do with the
fall of the fort. Its strength was rather on its river-front. Here the
river winds about between abrupt hillsides, and on the front of one of
these hills stood Fort Donelson. The water-batteries were made up of
heavy guns, so mounted as to command the river for miles. On the
landward side were heavy earthworks, abatis, and sharp pointed
_chevaux-de-frise_.
Against this fortification marched Grant with an army of eighteen
thousand men, and Foote with his flotilla of gunboats. The Sunday
before the start, Foote, who was a descendant of the old Puritans, and
ever as ready to pray as to fight, attended church in a little
meeting-house at Cairo. The clergyman did not appear on time; and the
congregation waited, until many, growing weary, were leaving the
church. Then the bluff old sailor rose in his pew, and, marching to
the pulpit, delivered a stirring sermon, offering thanks for the
victories of the Union arms, and imploring divine aid in the coming
struggles. The next day he was on his way to hurl shot and shell at
the men in the trenches of Fort Donelson.
While the capture of Fort Henry was a feather in the caps of the
sailor-boys of the North, Fort Donelson must be credited to the valor
of the soldiers. Against the heavy wall of the water-batteries, the
guns of Foote's little flotilla pounded away in vain, while the heavy
shells from the Confederate cannon did dreadful work on the thinly
armored gunboats. It was on the 13th of April that the assault was
opened by the "Carondelet." This vessel had reached the scene of
action before the rest of the flotilla, and by order of the army
commander tested the strength of the fort by a day's cannonade. She
stationed herself about a mile from the batteries, at a spot where she
would be somewhat protected by a jutting point, and began a deliberate
cannonade with her bow-guns. One hundred and thirty shots went
whizzing from her batteries against the front of the Confederate
batteries, without doing any serious damage. Then came an iron ball
weighing one hundred and twenty pounds, fired from a heavy gun, which
burst through one of her portholes, and scattered men bleeding and
mangled in every direction over the gun-deck. She withdrew a short
distance for repairs, but soon returned, and continued the fire the
remainder of the day. When evening fell, she had sent one hundred and
eighty shells at the fort, with the result of killing one man. This
was not promising.
The next day the attack was taken up by all the gunboats. The distance
chosen this time was four hundred yards, and the fight was kept up
most stubbornly. It was St. Valentine's Day; and as the swarthy
sailors, stripped to the waist, begrimed with powder, and stained with
blood, rammed huge iron balls down the muzzles of the guns, they said
with grim pleasantry, "There's a valentine for the gray-coats." And
right speedily did the gray-coats return the gift. Shot and shell from
the batteries came in volleys against the sides of the gunboats. In
the fort the condition of affairs was not serious. The shells chiefly
fell in the soft earth of the hilltop above, and embedded themselves
harmlessly in the mud. One of the gunners after the fight said: "We
were more bothered by flying mud than any thing else. A shell bursting
up there would throw out great clots of clay, that blocked up the
touch-holes of our guns, spoiled the priming of our shells, and
plastered up the faces of our men. Of course, now and then a bit of
shell would knock some poor fellow over; but, though we were all green
hands at war, we expected to see lots more blood and carnage than the
Yankee gunboats dealt out to us."
The gunboats, however, had put themselves in a hot place. Twenty heavy
guns on the hillside high above were hurling solid shot down on the
little fleet. The sailors stuck to their work well; and though the
vessels were in a fair way of being riddled, they succeeded in driving
the enemy from his lower battery. But the upper battery was
impregnable; and the gunners there, having got the correct range, were
shooting with unpleasant precision. Two of the vessels were disabled
by being struck in the steering-chains. On the "Carondelet" a piece
burst, hurling its crew bleeding on the deck. No vessel escaped with
less than twenty wounds, while the flagship was hit fifty-nine times.
Commodore Foote was wounded in the foot by a heavy splinter; a wound
from which he never fully recovered, and which for some years debarred
him from service afloat.
That afternoon's bombardment showed clearly that Fort Donelson could
never be taken by the navy. When Foote ordered his gunboats to cease
firing and drop back out of position, the Confederates swarmed back
into the lower battery that they had abandoned; and, after a few
hours' work, the fort was as strong as before the fight. It was the
first case in the history of the war in which the navy had failed to
reduce the fortifications against which it had been ordered. The
Hatteras forts, the works at Roanoke Island and at Hilton Head, Fort
Henry--all had fallen before the cannon of the Union sailors; and
Foote may well be pardoned if he yielded to Gen. Grant with great
reluctance the honor of reducing Fort Donelson. For two days Grant's
army invested the fort, and kept up a constant cannonade; then the
defenders, despairing of escape, and seeing no use of further
prolonging the defence, surrendered.
The capture of Fort Donelson was an important success for the Union
arms. In addition to the large number of prisoners, and the great
quantity of munitions of war captured, the destruction of the fort
left the Cumberland River open to the passage of the Union gunboats,
and the Confederate battle-line was moved back yet another point. But
now was to come a most heroic test of the power of the river-navy and
the army of the North.
Some sixty miles below Cairo, the rushing, tawny current of the mighty
Mississippi turns suddenly northward, sweeping back, apparently,
toward its source, in a great bend eight or ten miles long. At the
point where the swift current sweeps around the bend, is a low-lying
island, about a mile long and half a mile wide. This is known as
Island No. 10; and at the opening of the war, it was supposed to hold
the key to the navigation of the Mississippi River. Here the
Confederates had thrown up powerful earthworks, the heavy guns in
which effectually commanded the river, both up and down stream. The
works were protected against a land bombardment by the fact that the
only tenable bit of land, New Madrid, was held by Confederate troops.
The shores of the Mississippi about Island No. 10 present the
dreariest appearance imaginable. The Missouri shore is low and swampy.
In 1811 an earthquake-shock rent the land asunder. Great tracts were
sunk beneath the water-level of the river. Trees were thrown down, and
lie rotting in the black and miasmatic water. Other portions of the
land were thrown up, rugged, and covered with rank vegetation, making
hills that serve only as places of refuge for water-moccasons and
other noxious reptiles. Around this dreary waste of mud and water, the
river rushes in an abrupt bend, making a peninsula ten miles long and
three wide. Below this peninsula is New Madrid, a little village in
the least settled part of Missouri; here the Confederates had
established an army-post, and thrown up strong intrenchments. It was
not, however, upon the intrenchments that they relied, but rather upon
the impassable morasses by which they were surrounded on every side.
In New Madrid were posted five or six thousand men; a small fleet of
Confederate gunboats lay in the stream off the village; and higher up
the river was Island No. 10, with its frowning bastions and rows of
heavy siege-guns, prepared to beat back all advances of the Union
troops.
[Illustration: Mortar Boats at Island No. 10.]
In planning for the attack of this stronghold, the first difficulty
found by Commodore Foote lay in the fact that his gunboats were above
the batteries. In fighting down stream in that manner, the ships must
be kept at long range: for, should a shot from the enemy injure the
engine or boiler of a gunboat, the vessel is doomed; for the rapid
current will rush her down under the enemy's guns, and her capture is
certain. But the peril of running the batteries so as to carry on the
fight from below seemed too great to be ventured upon; and besides,
even with Island No. 10 passed, there would still be the batteries of
New Madrid to cope with, and the gunboats of the Confederates to
take the ships in the rear. So it was determined that the navy should
begin a bombardment of the Confederate works, while the army under
Gen. Pope should attend to New Madrid. Accordingly, on March 15, the
whiz of a rifled shell from the flagship "Benton" announced to the
Confederates that the North wanted the Mississippi opened for travel.
In this engagement use was made for the first time of a new style of
vessel known as mortar-boats, which in later conflicts on the rivers
did great service. These boats were simple floats, heavily built, and
calculated to stand the most terrible shocks. On the float was raised
a sort of sheet-iron fort or wall, about five feet high; and in the
centre stood one thirteen-inch mortar. The mortar is the earliest of
all forms of cannon, and was in use in Europe in 1435. Its name is
derived from its resemblance to an ordinary druggist's mortar. The
great thirteen-inch mortars used in the civil war weighed seventeen
thousand pounds, and threw a shell thirteen inches in diameter. These
shells were so heavy that it took two men to bring them up to the
cannon's mouth. In the river-service, the mortar-boats were moored to
the bank, and a derrick was set up in such a position that the shells
could be hoisted up, and let fall into the yawning iron pot below.
Foote had fourteen of these monsters pounding away at the
Confederates, and the roar was deafening.
A correspondent of the "Chicago Times," who was with the fleet at the
time of the bombardment, thus describes the manner of using these
immense cannon: "The operation of firing the mortars, which was
conducted when we were near by, is rather stunning. The charge is from
fifteen to twenty-two pounds. The shell weighs two hundred and thirty
pounds. For a familiar illustration, it is about the size of a large
soup-plate. So your readers may imagine, when they sit down to dinner,
the emotions they would experience if they happened to see a ball of
iron of those dimensions coming toward them at the rate of a thousand
miles a minute. The boat is moored alongside the shore, so as to
withstand the shock firmly, and the men go ashore when the mortar is
fired. A pull of the string does the work, and the whole vicinity is
shaken with the concussion. The report is deafening, and the most
enthusiastic person gets enough of it with two or three discharges.
There is no sound from the shell at this point of observation, and no
indication to mark the course it is taking; but in a few seconds the
attentive observer with a good glass will see the cloud of smoke that
follows its explosion, and then the report comes back with a dull
boom. If it has done execution, the enemy may be seen carrying off
their killed and wounded."
And so from mortar-boats and gunboats, the iron hail was poured upon
the little island, but without effect. When Foote with his flotilla
first opened fire, he thought that the Confederate works would be
swept away in a day or two. His ordnance was the heaviest ever seen on
the Mississippi, and in number his guns were enough to have battered
down a mountain. But his days grew to weeks, and still the flag of the
Confederacy floated above Island No. 10. The men on the mortar-boats
were giving way under the tremendous shocks of the explosions. Many
were rendered deaf for days at a time. The jar of the explosions
brought to the surface of the river hundreds of old logs and roots
that had lain rotting in the soft ooze of the bottom. When all the
mortars were engaged, the surface of the river was covered with foam
and bubbles; and men by the thousand went about with their ears
stuffed with tow, to protect them against the sound. Yet, after weeks
of such firing, Gen. Beauregard telegraphed to Richmond, that the
Yankees had "thrown three thousand shells, and burned fifty tons of
gunpowder," without injuring his batteries in the least.
The Confederates remained passive in their trenches. They had no guns
that would carry far enough to reply to Foote's mortars, and they did
not wish to waste powder. It was galling to stand fire without
replying; but, fortunately for them, the fire was not very deadly, and
but few were injured. When, however, a shell did fall within the
works, it made work enough to repair damages, as by its explosion a
hole as large as a small house would be torn in the ground. But for
every one that fell within the batteries, twenty fell outside. Some
strange freaks are recorded of the shells. One fell on a cannon,
around which eight or ten men were lying. The gun-carriage was blown
to pieces, but not a man was hurt. Another fell full on the head of a
man who was walking about distributing rations, and not so much as a
button from his uniform was ever found.
But while the navy was thus playing at bowls with great guns, the army
had marched through the interior, captured New Madrid, and obtained a
foothold below Island No. 10. Thus the Confederates were surrounded;
and the very impassability of the land, that had been an advantage to
them, now told against them, for it cut off all hope of
re-enforcements. Gen. Pope's position was such that he could not get
at the island, nor secure a commanding position, without aid from the
navy. He begged Foote to try to run the batteries; but the commodore
replied, that the risk was greater than the prospective gain, and
continued his cannonade. Then a new idea was broached. By cutting a
canal through the bayous, swamps, and woods of the peninsula, the
lighter vessels could be taken by the fort without risk, and Foote
would then dare the dangers of a dash by in the gunboats. Every one
said that such a canal was impossible; but the men of the North were
given to doing impossible things in those days, and while Foote's
mortar-boats continued their thunder, fifteen hundred men were set to
work cutting a way through the noisome swamps. A channel forty feet
wide must be made. First gangs of men with axes and saws, working in
three feet of water, went ahead, cutting down the rank vegetation. As
fast as a little space was cleared, a small steamer went in, and with
dredge and steam-capstan hauled out the obstructions. In some places
the surveyed channel was so filled with drift-wood, fallen trees, and
tangled roots, that the labor of a thousand men for a day seemed to
make no impression. When the canal was pretty well blocked out, the
levee was cut; and the rush of the waters from the great river
undermined trees, and piled up new obstacles for the steamers to tow
away. Amid the foulest vapors the men worked, and more than a thousand
were sent to the hospital with chills and fever, and rheumatism. The
most venomous snakes lurked in the dark recesses of the swamp; on
cypress-stumps or floating logs the deadly water-moccason lay
stretched out, ready to bite without warning. Wherever there was a bit
of dry ground, the workers were sure to hear the rattle of the
rattlesnake. Sometimes whole nests of these reptiles would be
uncovered.
The work was continued day and night. When the failing daylight ceased
to make its way through the thickly intwined branches of trees and
climbing vines, great torches would be lighted, and by their fitful
glare the soldiers and sailors worked on in the water and mud. The
light glared from the furnaces of the steamers, lighting up the
half-naked forms of the stokers. Now and then some dry vine or tree
would catch a spark from a torch, and in an instant would be
transformed into a pillar of fire. After eight days of work the canal
was finished, and was found to be of sufficient depth for the passage
of the transports. And now Commodore Foote saw that the time had come
when he must attempt to run his gunboats past the forts, be the danger
what it might.
On April 1, Foote ordered a reconnoissance of the batteries, and this
order evoked one of the most daring deeds in the history of the war.
The night was pitchy dark, and heavy clouds were driven across the sky
by a strong, damp wind, that told of a coming storm. In five boats a
party of fifty sailors and fifty soldiers put off from the fleet,
prepared to go down and beard the Confederate lion in his den. Hardly
had they started on their perilous expedition, when the rain began
falling in sheets, and now and again flashes of lightning made the
dark shores visible for an instant, then the black night hid every
thing again from view. It was midnight, and the fierceness of the wind
added to the terror of the moment. On the banks, the great
forest-trees were bending and groaning before the blast, while the
broad surface of the river was lashed into foaming billows. Under
cover of the darkness the little band passed rapidly down the river;
past the shore-batteries and past the Confederate picket-boats, they
sped unseen. When they were within a few feet of the shore, a flash of
lightning revealed them for just an instant to the sentries. Then all
was black, save for the quick flashes of the sentries' guns as they
gave the alarm and fell back. The Federals landed rapidly, and drove
the confused Confederates from the battery. Then began the work of
spiking the guns. Every fifth man carried a number of rat-tail files,
which were to be driven into the vents of the cannon, and then broken
off. While the raiders were engaged in this work, the Confederates
rallied, and soon drove back the blue-jackets to their boats, with a
slight loss in killed and captured. How many guns they had disabled,
it is hard to say. In the excitement and glory of successful
adventure, the reports were much exaggerated. Histories of that date
depict the men as calmly spiking _every_ gun, and then retiring
deliberately. One writer claims that only one gun was spiked. However,
testimony from Confederates on duty in the batteries goes to show that
four guns were totally disabled. But the true value of the adventure
to the Union forces was the dash and valor it disclosed, and the
encouragement the people received from its success.
The next day after this successful exploit, a gunboat, the
"Carondelet," was made ready to try the dash past the batteries of
Island No. 10. Again the weather was favorable to the plans of the
Federals, for the night was as dark and wild as the one before. The
day had been clear, and the night opened with so bright a moon that
for a time it was thought that the project would have to be abandoned;
but toward ten o'clock a heavy thunder-storm came up, and soon the
black sky, the wildly waving tree-tops, and the sheets of rain
scudding across the river, gave promise of a suitable night.
All day the sailors on the "Carondelet" had been working busily,
getting their vessel in trim for the trip. Heavy planks were laid
along the deck, to ward off plunging shot. Chain cables were coiled
about all weak points, cord-wood was piled around the boilers, and the
pilot-house was wrapped round and about with heavy hawsers. On the
side toward the battery was tied a large barge, piled high with
cotton-bales. When the time for starting drew nigh, all lights were
extinguished. The guns were run in, and the ports closed. The sailors,
heavily armed, were sent to their stations. Muskets, revolvers, and
sabres were in the racks. Down in the boiler-room the stokers were
throwing coal upon the roaring fires; and in the engine-room the
engineer stood with his hand on the throttle, waiting for the signal
to get under way.
Towards eleven o'clock the time seemed propitious for starting. The
storm was at its height, and the roll of the thunder would drown the
beat of the steamer's paddles. The word was given; and the
"Carondelet," with her two protecting barges, passed out of sight of
the flotilla, and down towards the cannon of the enemy. For the first
half-mile all went well. The vessel sped along silently and unseen.
The men on the gun-deck, unable to see about, sat breathlessly,
expecting that at any moment a cannon-ball might come crashing through
the side into their midst. Suddenly from the towering smoke-stacks,
burst out sheets of flame five feet high, caused by the burning soot
inside, and lighting up the river all about. Quickly extinguished,
they quickly broke out again; and now from the camp of the alarmed
enemy came the roll of the drum, and the ringing notes of the bugle
sounding the alarm. A gunboat was bearing down on the works, and the
Confederates sprang to their guns with a will. The men on the
"Carondelet" knew what to expect, and soon it came. Five signal
rockets rushed up into the sky, and in an instant thereafter came the
roar of a great gun from one of the batteries. Then all joined in, and
the din became terrible. With volley after volley the Confederates
hurled cannon-balls, shells, musket, and even pistol-bullets at the
flying ship, that could only be seen an instant at a time by the
fitful flashes of the lightning. On the "Carondelet" all was still as
death. The men knew the deadly peril they were in, and realized how
impossible it was for them to make any fight. In the black night,
threading the crooked and ever-changing channel of the Mississippi
River, it was impossible to go more than half-speed. In the bow men
were stationed casting the lead, and calling out the soundings to the
brave old Capt. Hoel, who stood on the upper deck unprotected from the
storm of bullets, and repeated the soundings to Capt. Walker. So
through the darkness, through the storm of shot and shell, the
"Carondelet" kept on her way. Past the land-batteries, past the rows
of cannon on the island, and past the formidable floating battery, she
swept uninjured. Heavy and continuous as was the fire of the
Confederates, it was mainly without aim. The hay-barge was hit three
times, but not a scar was on the gunboat when she stopped before the
water-front of New Madrid after twenty minutes' run through that
dreadful fire.
And now the roar of the great guns had died away, and the men on the
vessels of the flotilla up the river were all anxiety to know what had
been the fate of their gallant comrades on the "Carondelet." All the
time the battle raged, the decks of the ships at anchor were crowded
with sailors looking eagerly down the river, and trying to make out by
the blinding flashes of the cannon the dark form of a gunboat speeding
by the hostile camp. Now all is silent; the roar of battle is over,
the flash of gunpowder no more lights up the night. But what has
become of the gallant men who braved that tempest of steel and iron?
Are they floating down the troubled waters beneath the wreck of their
vessel? It was a moment of suspense. After a few minutes' silence,
there comes through the strangely quiet air the deep boom of a heavy
gun. It had been agreed, that, if the "Carondelet" made the passage of
the batteries safely, she should fire six heavy guns. The old tars on
the decks say softly to themselves, "One." Then comes another, and a
third, and still more, until suddenly a ringing cheer goes up from the
flotilla, louder than the thunder itself. Men dance for joy; grizzled
tars fall into each other's arms, sing, shout, cry. An answering
salute goes booming back, rockets scud up into the clouds; and
Commodore Foote, with a heart too full for talking, goes down into his
cabin to be alone.
That night's work by the "Carondelet" terminated Confederate domain on
Island No. 10. The next night another gunboat came down, and the two
set to work carrying the troops across the river, protecting
artillerymen engaged in erecting batteries, and generally completing
the investment of the island. In two days every loop-hole of escape
for the Confederates is closed,--gunboats above and below them,
batteries peering down from every bluff, and regiments of infantry,
all prepared to move upon the works. They made one or two ineffectual
but plucky attempts to ward off capture. One private soldier swam
ashore, skulked past the Union pickets, and made his way to one of the
Union mortar-boats. He succeeded in getting to the mortar, and
successfully spiked it, thus terminating its usefulness. A second
Confederate succeeded in reaching the deck of the mortar-boat, but
while making his way across the deck tripped and fell. The rat-tail
file he was carrying was driven into his side, making a wound from
which he died in two hours. A third man, reckless of life, set out in
a canoe to blow up a gunboat. He carried with him a fifty-pound keg of
gunpowder, which he proposed to strap on the rudder-post of the
vessel. He succeeded in getting under the stern of the vessel; but the
gleam of his lighted match alarmed the sentry, who fired, hitting him
in the shoulder. The Confederate went overboard, and managed to get
ashore; while his keg of powder, with the fuse lighted, went drifting
down stream. Soon it exploded, throwing up an immense column of water,
and showing that it would have sent the stoutest vessel to the bottom
had it been properly placed.
But such struggles as these could not long avert the impending
disaster. The Confederates were hemmed in on every side. It was true
that they had a strong position, and could make a desperate
resistance; but they were separated from their friends, and their
final downfall was but a question of time. Appreciating this fact,
they surrendered two days after the "Carondelet" had passed the
batteries; and Foote made his second step (this time one of sixty
miles) toward the conquest of the Mississippi.
To-day nothing remains of the once extensive island, save a small
sand-bank in the middle of the great river. The rushing current of the
Father of Waters has done its work, and Island No. 10 is now a mere
tradition.