WORK OF THE GULF SQUADRON. -- THE FIGHT AT THE PASSES OF THE
MISSISSIPPI. -- DESTRUCTION OF THE SCHOONER "JUDAH." -- THE
BLOCKADE OF GALVESTON, AND CAPTURE OF THE "HARRIET LANE."
The naval forces of the United States during the war may be roughly
classified as the Atlantic fleets, the river navy, and the Gulf
squadron. The vessels comprising the latter detachment enjoyed some
light service during the opening months of the war; but, as the time
went on, the blue-jackets of the Gulf squadron found that they had no
reason to congratulate themselves on securing an easy berth. Their
blockading duty was not so arduous as that of their brothers along the
rugged Atlantic coast; but they were harassed continually by
Confederate rams, which would make a dash into the fleet, strike heavy
blows, and then fly up some convenient river far into the territory of
the Confederacy. One such attack was made upon the squadron blockading
the Mississippi in October, 1861.
Some eighty miles below New Orleans, the Mississippi divides into
three great channels, which flow at wide angles from each other into
the Gulf of Mexico. These streams flow between low marshy banks hardly
higher than the muddy surface of the river, covered with thick growths
of willows, and infested with reptiles and poisonous insects. The
point from which these three streams diverge is known as the "Head of
the Passes," and it was here that the blockading squadron of four
vessels was stationed. The ships swung idly at their moorings for
weeks. The pestilential vapors from the surrounding marshes were
rapidly putting all the crews in the sick bay, while the clouds of
gnats and mosquitoes that hung about made Jack's life a wretched one.
They did not even have the pleasurable excitement of occasionally
chasing a blockade-runner, for the wary merchants of New Orleans knew
that there was absolutely no hope of running a vessel out through a
river so effectually blockaded. And so the sailors idled away their
time, smoking, singing, dancing to the music of a doleful fiddle,
boxing with home-made canvas gloves that left big spots of black and
blue where they struck, and generally wishing that "Johnny Reb" would
show himself so that they might have some excitement, even if it did
cost a few lives.
But while the blue-jackets at the mouth of the river were spending
their time thus idly, the people in the beleaguered city higher up
were vastly enraged at being thus cooped up, and were laying plans to
drive their jailers away. Occasionally they would take a small fleet
of flat boats, bind them together, and heap them high with tar, pitch,
and light wood. Then the whole would be towed down the river, set on
fire, and drifted down upon the fleet. The light of the great fire
could be seen far off, and the warships would get up steam and dodge
the roaring mass of flames as it came surging down on the swift
current. So many trials of this sort failed, that finally the people
of the Crescent City gave up this plan in disgust.
Their next plan seemed for a time successful. It was at four o'clock
one October morning that the watch on the sloop-of-war "Richmond"
suddenly saw a huge dark mass so close to the ship that it seemed
fairly to have sprung from the water, and sweeping down rapidly. The
alarm was quickly given, and the crew beat to quarters. Over the water
from the other ships, now fully alarmed, came the roll of the drums
beating the men to their guns. The dark object came on swiftly, and
the word was passed from man to man, "It's a Confederate ram." And
indeed it was the ram "Manassas," which the Confederates had been hard
at work building in the New Orleans shipyards, and on which they
relied to drive the blockading squadron from the river. As she came
rushing towards the "Richmond," two great lights higher up the river
told of fire-rafts bearing down upon the fleet, and by the fitful
glare three smaller gunboats were seen coming to the assistance of the
"Manassas." Clearly the Confederates were attacking in force.
The first volley from the fleet rattled harmlessly from the iron-clad
sides of the "Manassas;" and, not heeding it, she swept on and plunged
into the side of the "Richmond." The great iron prow cut deep into the
wooden sides of the Union vessel. Heavy oaken timbers were splintered
like laths, and the men were violently hurled to the deck. As the ram
drew away, the blue-jackets sprang to their guns and gave her a
volley. Some of the shots must have penetrated her armor, for she
became unmanageable. But the darkness prevented the officers of the
"Richmond" from seeing how much damage they had done, and they did not
follow up their advantage. The strange panic that the sight of a ram
so often brought upon sailors of the old school fell on the officers
of this squadron, and they began hastily getting their ships out of
the river. By this time four more Confederate steamers had come to the
aid of the ram, and were cannonading the Northern fleet at long range.
In their hurried attempt to escape, the "Richmond" and the "Vincennes"
had run aground. The captain of the latter vessel, fearing capture,
determined to fire his vessel and escape with his crew to the
"Richmond." Accordingly he laid a slow-match to the magazine, lighted
it, and then, wrapping his ship's colors about his waist in the most
theatrical manner, abandoned his ship. But the plan was not altogether
a success. As he left the ship, he was followed by a grizzled old
sailor, who had seen too much fighting to believe in blowing up his
own ship; and, when he saw the smoking slow-match, he hastily broke
off the lighted end, and without saying a word threw it into the
water. No one observed the action, and the crew of the "Vincennes"
watched mournfully for their good ship to go up in a cloud of smoke
and flame. After they had watched nearly an hour, they concluded
something was wrong, and returned to their old quarters. By this time
the enemy had given up the conflict, and the United States navy was
one ship ahead for the old sailor's act of insubordination. The
Confederate flotilla returned to New Orleans, and reported that they
had driven the blockaders away. There was great rejoicing in the city:
windows were illuminated, and receptions were tendered to the officers
of the Confederate fleet. But, while the rejoicing was still going on,
the Union ships came quietly back to their old position, and the great
river was as securely closed as ever.
[Illustration: Fort Pensacola.]
About a month before the fight with the "Manassas," the blue-jackets
of the North scored for themselves a brilliant success in the harbor
of Pensacola. The frigate "Colorado" was lying outside the harbor of
that city, within clear view of the city front. For some weeks the
sailors had been greatly interested in watching the activity of people
on shore around a small schooner that was lying in a basin near the
navy-yard. With a harbor so thoroughly blockaded as was that of
Pensacola, there seemed really no need of new vessels; and the haste
of the Confederates seemed inexplicable, until they saw through their
glasses men at work mounting a heavy pivot-gun amidships. That made it
clear that another privateer was being fitted out to ravage the seas
and burn all vessels flying the United States flag. The gallant tars
of the "Colorado" determined to go in and burn the privateer before
she should have a chance to escape. It was an undertaking of great
peril. The schooner was near the navy-yard, where one thousand men
were ready to spring to her assistance at the first alarm. On the dock
fronting the navy-yard were mounted a ten-inch columbiad and a
twelve-pounder field-piece, so placed as to command the deck of the
schooner and the wharf to which she was moored. Fort Pensacola, not
far distant, was full of Confederate troops. But the Union sailors
thought that the destruction of the privateer was of enough importance
to warrant the risk, and they determined to try the adventure.
[Illustration: Destruction of the Schooner "Judah."]
Accordingly, on the first dark night, four boats, containing one
hundred officers, sailors, and marines, put off from the side of the
"Colorado," and headed for the town. All was done with the most
perfect silence. The tholes of the oars were wrapped in cloth to
deaden their rattle in the rowlocks. No lights were carried. Not a
word was spoken after the officers in muffled tones had given the
order, "Give way." Through the darkness of the night the heavy boats
glide on. Every man aboard has his work laid out for him, and each
knows what he is to do. While the main body are to be engaged in
beating back the guards, some are to spike the guns, and others to
fire the schooner in several places. When within a hundred yards of
the schooner, they are discovered by the sentry. As his ringing hail
comes over the water, the sailors make no reply, but bend to the oars,
and the boats fairly leap toward the wharf. Bang! goes the sentry's
rifle; and the men in the hold of the schooner come rushing up just as
the two boats dash against her side, and the sailors spring like cats
over the bulwarks. One man was found guarding the guns on the wharf,
and was shot down. Little time is needed to spike the guns, and then
those on the wharf turn in to help their comrades on the schooner.
Here the fighting is sharp and hand to hand. Nearly a hundred men are
crowded on the deck, and deal pistol-shots and cutlass-blows right and
left. Several of the crew of the schooner have climbed into the tops,
and from that point of vantage pour down on the attacking party a
murderous fire. Horrid yells go up from the enraged combatants, and
the roar of the musketry is deafening. The crew of the schooner are
forced backward, step by step, until at last they are driven off the
vessel altogether, and stand on the wharf delivering a rapid fire. The
men from the navy-yard are beginning to pour down to the wharf to take
a hand in the fight. But now a column of smoke begins to arise from
the open companionway; and the blue-jackets see that their work is
done, and tumble over the side into their boats. It is high time for
them to leave, for the Confederates are on the wharf in overwhelming
force. As they stand there, crowded together, the retiring sailors
open on them with canister from two howitzers in the boats. Six
rounds of this sort of firing sends the Confederates looking for
shelter; and the sailors pull off through the darkness to their ship,
there to watch the burning vessel, until, with a sudden burst of
flame, she is blown to pieces.
Considering the dashing nature of this exploit, the loss of life was
wonderfully small. Lieut. Blake, who commanded one of the boats, was
saved by one of those strange accidents so common in war. As he was
going over the side of the "Colorado," some one handed him a metal
flask filled with brandy, to be used for the wounded. He dropped it
into the lower pocket of his overcoat, but, finding it uncomfortable
there, changed it to the side pocket of his coat, immediately over his
heart. When the boats touched the side of the schooner, Blake was one
of the first to spring into the chains and clamber aboard. Just as he
was springing over the gunwale, a Confederate sailor pointed a pistol
at his heart, and fired it just as Blake cut him down with a savage
cutlass-stroke. The bullet sped true to its mark, but struck the
flask, and had just enough force to perforate it, without doing any
injury to the lieutenant.
The first death in the fight was a sad one. A marine, the first man to
board the schooner, lost his distinguishing white cap in his leap. His
comrades followed fast behind him, and, seeing that he wore no cap,
took him for one of the enemy, and plunged their bayonets deep in his
breast, killing him instantly. He was known to his comrades as John
Smith, but on searching his bag letters were found proving that this
was not his own name. One from his mother begged him to return home,
and give up his roving life. He proved to be a well-educated young
man, who through fear of some disgrace had enlisted in the marines to
hide himself from the world.
[Illustration: Capture of the "Harriet Lane."]
Another dashing event occurred on the Gulf Coast some months later,
although in this instance the Confederates were the assailants and the
victors. Galveston had for some time been in the hands of the Union
forces, and was occupied by three regiments of United States troops.
In the harbor lay three men-of-war, whose cannon kept the town in
subjection. It had been rumored for some time that the Confederates
were planning to recapture the city, and accordingly the most vigilant
lookout was kept from all the ships. On the 1st of January, 1863, at
half-past one A.M., as the lookout on the "Harriet Lane" was thinking
of the new year just ushered in, and wondering whether before the
end of that year he could see again his cosey Northern home and wife
and friends, he saw far up the river a cloud of black smoke, that rose
high in the air, and blotted from sight the shining winter stars. He
rubbed his eyes, and looked again. There was no mistake: the smoke was
there, and rapidly moving toward him. Clearly it was a steamer coming
down the river; but whether an armed enemy or a blockade-runner, he
could not say. He gave the alarm; and in a moment the roll of the
drums made the sailors below spring from their hammocks, and, hastily
throwing on their clothes, rush on deck. The drums beat to quarters,
and the crew were soon at their guns. Over the water came the roll of
the drums from the other ships, and from the troops on shore, now all
aroused and in arms. For thirty hours the Federals had been expecting
this attack, and now they were fully prepared for it.
The attacking vessels came nearer, and the men on the Union ships
strained their eyes to see by the faint starlight what manner of craft
they had to meet. They proved to be two large river-steamships, piled
high with cotton-bales, crowded with armed men, and provided with a
few field pieces. Clearly they were only dangerous at close quarters,
and the "Lane" at once began a rapid fire to beat them back. But the
bad light spoiled her gunners' aim, and she determined to rush upon
the enemy, and run him down. The Confederate captain managed his helm
skilfully, and the "Lane" struck only a glancing blow. Then, in her
turn, the "Lane" was rammed by the Confederate steamer, which plunged
into her with a crash and a shock which seemed almost to lift the
ships out of water. The two vessels drifted apart, the "Lane" hardly
injured, but the Confederate with a gaping wound in his bow which sent
him to the bottom in fifteen minutes. But now the other Confederate
came bearing down under a full head of steam, and crashed into the
"Lane." Evidently the Confederates wanted to fight in the old style;
for they threw out grappling-irons, lashed the two ships side to side,
and began pouring on to the deck of the Federal ship for a
hand-to-hand conflict. Cries of anger and pain, pistol-shots, cutlass
blows, and occasional roars from the howitzers rose on the night air,
and were answered by the sounds of battle from the shore, where the
Confederates had attacked the slender Union garrison. The sinking
steamer took up a position near the "Lane," and poured broadside after
broadside upon the struggling Union ship. But where were the other
three Union vessels all this time? It seemed as though their
commanders had lost all their coolness; for they ran their vessels
here and there, now trying to do something to help their friends on
shore, now making an ineffectual attempt to aid the "Harriet Lane."
But on board that vessel matters were going badly for the Federals.
The Confederates in great numbers kept pouring over the bulwarks, and
were rapidly driving the crew from the deck. Capt. Wainwright lay dead
at the door of the cabin. Across his body stood his young son, his
eyes blazing, his hair waving in the wind. He held in his right hand a
huge revolver, which he was firing without aim into the tossing mass
of struggling men before him, while he called on his dead father to
rise and help him. A stray bullet cut off two of his fingers, and the
pain was too much for the little hero only ten years old; and,
dropping the pistol, he burst into tears, crying, "Do you want to kill
me?" The blue-jackets began to look anxiously for help toward the
other vessels. But, even while they looked, they saw all hope of help
cut off; for with a crash and a burst of flame the "Westfield" blew
up. It turned out later, that, finding his ship aground, the captain
of the "Westfield" had determined to abandon her, and fire the
magazine; but in fixing his train he made a fatal error, and the ship
blew up, hurling captain and crew into the air. The men on the
"Harriet Lane" saw that all hope was gone, and surrendered their ship.
When the captains of the two remaining gunboats saw the stars and
stripes fall from the peak, they turned their vessels' prows toward
the sea, and scudded out of danger of capture. At the same moment,
cheers from the gray-coats on shore told that the Confederates had
been successful both by land and sea, and the stars and bars once more
floated over Galveston.