THE CAPTURE OF NEW ORLEANS. -- FARRAGUT'S FLEET PASSES FORT ST.
PHILIP AND FORT JACKSON.
While Commodore Foote, with his flotilla of gunboats and mortar-boats,
was working his way down the Mississippi River, making occasional
dashes into the broad streams that flow from either side into the
father of waters, Admiral Farragut, with his fleet of tall-sparred,
ocean-going men-of-war, was laying his plans for an expedition
up-stream. But Farragut's first obstacle lay very near the mouth of
the broad, tawny river that flows for a thousand miles through the
centre of the United States. New Orleans, the greatest city of the
Confederacy, stands on the river's bank, only ninety miles from the
blue waters of the Gulf of Mexico. The Confederate authorities knew
the value of this great city to their cause, and were careful not to
let it go unprotected. Long before any thought of civil war disturbed
the minds of the people of the United States, the Federal Government
had built below the Crescent City two forts, that peered at each other
across the swift, turbid tide of the Mississippi River. Fort St.
Philip and Fort Jackson they were called, the latter being named in
honor of the stubborn old military hero who beat back the British
soldiers at the close of the war of 1812 on the glorious field of
Chalmette near New Orleans. Fort Jackson was a huge star of stone and
mortar. In its massive walls were great cavernous bomb-proofs in which
the soldiers were secure from bursting shells. It stood back about a
hundred yards from the levee, and its casemates just rose above the
huge dike that keeps the Mississippi in its proper channel. When the
river was high from the spring floods of the north, a steamer floating
on its swift tide towered high above the bastions of the fort. In the
casemates and on the parapets were mounted seventy-five guns of all
calibres. By its peculiar shape and situation on a jutting point of
land, the fort was able to bring its guns to bear upon the river in
three directions.
When the storm of civil war burst upon the country, the Confederates
of New Orleans were prompt to seize this and Fort St. Philip, that
stood on the other side of the river. They found Fort Jackson in the
state of general decay into which most army posts fall in times of
peace, and they set at work at once to strengthen it. All over the
parapet, bomb-proofs, and weak points, bags of sand were piled five or
six feet deep, making the strongest defence known in war. Steamers
plied up and down the river, bringing provision, ammunition, and new
cannon, and soon the fort was ready to stand the most determined
siege. Fort St. Philip, across the river, though not so imposing a
military work, was more powerful. It was built of masonry, and heavily
sodded over all points exposed to fire. It was more irregular in shape
than Fort Jackson, and with its guns seemed to command every point on
the river. Both were amply protected from storming by wide, deep moats
always filled with water.
In these two forts were stationed troops made up of the finest young
men of New Orleans. For them it was a gay station. Far removed from
the fighting on the frontier, and within an easy journey of their
homes, they frolicked away the first year of the war. Every week gay
parties of pleasure-seekers from New Orleans would come down; and the
proud defenders would take their friends to the frowning bastions, and
point out how easily they could blow the enemy's fleet out of water if
the ships ever came within range of those heavy guns. But the ships
did not come within range of the guns for many months. They contented
themselves with lying at the Head of the Passes, and stopping all
intercourse with the outer world, until New Orleans began to get
shabby and ragged and hungry, and the pleasure-parties came less often
to the forts, and the gay young soldiers saw their uniforms getting
old and tattered, but knew not where to get the cloth to replace them.
[Illustration: Levee at New Orleans before the War.]
In the city no rumble of commerce was heard on the streets. Grass grew
on the deserted levee, where in times of peace the brown and white
cotton-bales were piled by the thousand, waiting for strong black
hands to seize and swing them upon the decks of the trim Liverpool
packets, that lay three or four deep along the river front. The huge
gray custom-house that stood at the foot of Canal Street no longer
resounded with the rapid tread of sea-captains or busy merchants. From
the pipes of the cotton-presses, the rush of the escaping steam, as
the ruthless press squeezed the great bale into one-third its original
size, was no longer heard. Most of the great towering steamboats that
came rushing down the river with stores of cotton or sugar had long
since been cut down into squat, powerful gunboats, or were tied up
idly to the bank. Across the river, in the shipyards of Algiers, there
seemed a little more life; for there workmen were busy changing
peaceful merchant vessels into gunboats and rams, that were, the
people fondly hoped, to drive away the men-of-war at the river's mouth
and save the city from starvation. From time to time the streets of
the city resounded with the notes of drum and fife, as one after the
other the militia companies went off to the front and the fighting.
Then the time came when none were left save the "Confederate Guards,"
old gray-haired men, judges, bankers, merchants, gentlemen of every
degree, too old for active service at the front, but too young not to
burn for the grasp of a gun or sword while they knew that their sons
and grandsons were fighting on the bloodstained soil of Virginia and
Tennessee.
But, while the city was gradually falling into desolation and decay,
preparations were being made by the Federal navy for its capture. On
the 2d of February, 1862, Admiral Farragut sailed from Hampton Roads
in his stanch frigate the "Hartford," to take command of a naval
expedition intended to capture New Orleans. The place of rendezvous
was Ship Island, a sandy island in the Gulf of Mexico. Here he
organized his squadron, and started for his post in the Mississippi,
below the forts. The first obstacle was found at the mouth of the
river, where the heavy war-vessels were unable to make their way over
the bar. Nearly two weeks were occupied in the work of lightening
these ships until they were able to pass. The frigate "Colorado" was
unable to get over at all. The "Pensacola" was dragged through the mud
by the sheer strength of other vessels of the expedition. While they
were tugging at her, a huge hawser snapped with a report like a
cannon, and the flying ends killed two men and seriously wounded five
others. But at last the fleet was safely past all obstacles, and
Admiral Farragut found himself well established in the lower
Mississippi, with a force of twenty-five men-of-war, and twenty
mortar-schooners; one of the most powerful armadas ever despatched
against an enemy. Farragut lost no time in getting his ships prepared
for the baptism of fire which was sure to come. While he was
diligently at work on his preparations, he was visited by some French
and English naval officers, who had carefully examined the defences of
the Confederates, and came to warn him that to attack the forts with
wooden vessels, such as made up his fleet, was sheer madness, and
would only result in defeat. "You may be right," answered the brave
old sailor, "but I was sent here to make the attempt. I came here to
reduce or pass the forts, and to take New Orleans, _and I shall try it
on_." The foreigners remarked that he was going to certain
destruction, and politely withdrew.
In the mean time, the tars on the mortar-fleet were working
industriously to get their ships in fighting-trim. The topmasts were
stripped of their sails, and lowered; the loose and standing rigging
strapped to the masts; the spars, forebooms, and gaffs unshipped, and
secured to the outside of the vessels to avert the danger from
splinters, which, in naval actions, is often greater than from the
shots themselves. From the main-deck every thing was removed that
could obstruct the easy handling of the tremendous mortars; and the
men were drilled to skill and alertness in firing the huge engines of
death. The work was hastened on the mortar-schooners, because the plan
was to rush them into position, and let them harass the Confederates
with a steady bombardment, while the ships-of-war were preparing for
their part in the coming fight.
The mortar-fleet was under command of Admiral Porter, an able and
energetic officer. He soon had his ships ready, and began moving them
into position along the banks of the river, out of sight of the forts.
To further conceal them from the gunners in the forts, he had the
masts and rigging wrapped with green foliage; so that, lying against
the dense thickets of willows that skirt that part of the river, they
were invisible. Other boats that were in more exposed positions had
their hulls covered with grass and reeds, so that they seemed a part
of the swamp that bordered the river. After the line of fire had been
obtained by a careful mathematical survey, Porter got all his
mortar-boats into position, and began his bombardment. The gunners on
the mortar-boats could not see the forts; but the range had been
calculated for them, and they merely fired mechanically. A lookout,
perched on the masthead, could see over the low willow-forest, and
watch the course of the shells as they rushed high into the air, and
then, falling with a graceful curve, plunged into the forts. The
firing was begun on the 16th of April, and was kept up with a will.
The twenty huge mortars keeping up a constant fire, made a deafening
roar that shook the earth, and could be heard far up the river at New
Orleans, where the people poured out into the streets, and gayly
predicted defeat for any enemy who should attack "the boys in the
forts." The forts were not slow in returning the fire; but as the
mortar-vessels were hidden, and did not offer very large marks, their
fire was rather ineffective. Parties of Confederates, old
swamp-hunters, and skilled riflemen, stole down through the dense
thickets, to pick off the crews of the mortar-schooners. They managed
to kill a few gunners in this way, but were soon driven away by the
point-blank fire of the supporting gunboats. But all this time the
shells were falling thick and fast, driving the soldiers to the
bomb-proofs, and tearing to pieces every thing unprotected. One shell
set fire to some wooden structures that stood on the parade-ground in
Fort Jackson; and, as the smoke and flames rose in the air, the
gunners down the river thought that the fort was burning, and cheered
and fired with renewed vigor. The shells that burst upon the levee
soon cut great trenches in it, so that the mighty Mississippi broke
through with a rush, and flooded the country all about. But the forts
seemed as strong and unconquered as ever.
While the soldiers were crowded together in the bomb-proofs to escape
the flying bits of shell, the sailors on the little fleet of
Confederate vessels anchored above them were busily engaged in getting
ready a fire-raft which was to float down the river, and make havoc
among the vessels of the Union fleet. Two such rafts were prepared;
one of which, an immense affair, carrying cords of blazing pine-wood,
was sent down in the early morning at a time when the vessels were
utterly unprepared to defend themselves. Luckily it grounded on a
sandbar, and burned and crackled away harmlessly until it was
consumed. This warned Commander Porter of the danger in which his
mortar-vessels were of a second attack of the same nature; and
accordingly he put in readiness one hundred and fifty small boats
with picked crews, and well supplied with axes and grapnels, whose
duty it was to grapple any future rafts, and tow them into a harmless
position. They did not have long to wait. At sundown that night,
Commander Porter reviewed his little squadron of row-boats as they lay
drawn up in line along the low marshy shores of the mighty river. The
sun sank a glowing red ball beneath the line at which the blue waters
of the gulf and the blue arch of heaven seemed to meet. The long
southern twilight gradually deepened into a black, moonless night. The
cries of frogs and seabirds, and the little flashes of the fireflies,
were silenced and blotted out by the incessant roar and flash of the
tremendous mortars that kept up their deadly work. Suddenly in the
distance the sky grows red and lurid. "The fort is burning!" cry the
men at the guns; but from the masthead comes the response, "No, the
fire is on the river. It is another fire-raft." The alarm was
instantly given to all the vessels of the fleet. Bright colored
signal-lights blazed on the decks, and the dark, slender cordage stood
out against the brilliant red and green fires that flickered strangely
upon the dark wooded banks of the river. Rockets rushed high into the
air, and, bursting, let fall a shower of party-colored lights that
told the watchers far down the river that danger was to be expected.
Then the signal-lights went out, and all was dark and silent save
where the lurid glare of the great mass of fire could be seen floating
in the great curves of the tortuous river toward the crowded ships. It
was a time of intense suspense. The little flotilla of fire-boats,
organized by Commander Porter that day, was on the alert; and the
blue-jackets bent to their oars with a will, and soon had their boats
ranged along a bend far above the fleet. Here they waited to catch the
fiery monster, and save the ships. The danger came nearer fast.
Rapidly the flames increased in volume, until the whole surrounding
region was lighted up by the glare; while from the floating fire, a
huge black column of smoke arose, and blended with the clouds that
glowed as though they themselves were on fire. When the raft came into
view around a point, it was seen to be too big for the boats to handle
unaided, and two gunboats slipped their cables, and started for the
thing of terror. From every side the row-boats dashed at the raft.
Some grappled it, and the sailors tugged lustily at their oars,
seeking to drag the mass of flames toward the shore. Then the
"Westfield," under full head of steam, dashed furiously against the
raft, crashing in the timbers and sending great clouds of sparks
flying high in the air. From her hose-pipes she poured floods of water
on the crackling, roaring, blazing mass; while all the time, with her
powerful engines, she was pushing it toward the shore.
In the mean time, the sailors from the fleet of small boats were
swarming upon the raft wherever they could find a foothold free from
flame. Some carrying buckets dashed water upon the flames, some with
axes cut loose flaming timbers, and let them float harmlessly down the
river. It was a fight in which all the men were on one side; but it
was a grand sight, and was eagerly watched by those on the imperilled
vessels. The immediate arena of the conflict was bright as day, but
all around was gloom. At last the pluck and determination of the men
triumph over the flames. The raft, flaming, smouldering, broken, is
towed out of the channel, and left to end its life in fitful flashes
on a sandy point. The returning boats are greeted with cheers, and
soon darkness and silence fall upon the scene. The mortars cease their
thunderous work for the night; and ere long the only sounds heard are
the rush of the mighty waters, or the faint cry of the night birds in
the forest. The sentinel pacing the deck peers in vain through the
gloom. War gives way for a time to rest.
[Illustration: Fire-raft at Forts of the Mississippi.]
Hardly had the gray dawn begun to appear, when the roll of the drums
on the decks of the ships was heard; and, soon after, the roar of the
opening gun was heard from one of the mortar-schooners. Again the
bombardment was opened. The twenty boats in the mortar-fleet were
divided into three divisions, each of which fired for two hours in
succession, and then stopped for a time to allow the great cannon to
cool. Thus a continuous bombardment was kept up, and the soldiers in
the forts were given no time to repair the damages caused by the
bursting shells. Every mortar was fired once in five minutes; so that
one shell was hurled towards the fort about every minute, while
sometimes three shells would be seen sweeping with majestic curves
through the air at the same time. The shells weighed two hundred and
fifteen pounds; and when they were hurled into the air by the
explosion of twenty pounds of powder, the boat bearing the mortar was
driven down into the water six or eight inches, and the light railings
and woodwork of buildings at the Balize, thirty miles away, were
shattered by the concussion. The shells rose high in the air, with an
unearthly shriek, and after a curve of a mile and a half fell into
or near the forts, and, bursting, threw their deadly fragments in all
directions. Day after day, and night after night, this went on. If the
men on the mortar-schooners showed bravery and endurance in keeping up
so exhausting a fire so steadily, what shall we say for the men in the
forts who bore up against it so nobly? Before noon of the first day of
the bombardment, the soldiers of Fort Jackson saw their barracks
burned, with their clothing, bedding, and several days' rations.
Shells were pouring in upon them from vessels that they could not see.
The smooth-bore guns mounted in the embrasures would hardly send a
shot to the nearest of the hostile gunboats. Then the river broke
through its banks, and half the fort was transformed into a morass. An
officer in Fort Jackson said, after the surrender, that in two hours
over one hundred shells had fallen upon the parade-ground of that
work, tearing it up terribly. For six days this terrible fire was
endured; and during the latter half of the bombardment the water stood
knee deep on the gun-platforms, and the gunners worked at their guns
until their shoes, soaked for days and days, fairly fell from their
feet. For bed and bedding they had the wet earth, for rations raw meat
and mouldy bread. If there were glory and victory for the Union
sailors, let there at least be honor and credit granted the soldiers
of the gray for the dogged courage with which they bore the terrible
bombardment from Porter's flotilla.
While the mortars were pounding away through those six long days and
nights, Farragut was getting ready to take his ships past the forts.
Union scouts and spies had travelled over every foot of land and water
about the forts; and the exact strength of the Confederates, and the
difficulties to be overcome, were clearly known to the Federal
admiral. One of the chief obstructions was a chain of rafts and old
hulks that stretched across the channel by which the fleet would be
obliged to ascend the river. Under cover of a tremendous fire from all
the mortars, two gunboats were sent up to remove this obstruction. The
night was dark and favorable to the enterprise, and the vessels
reached the chain before they were discovered. Then, under a fierce
cannonade from the forts, Lieut. Caldwell put off in a row-boat from
his vessel, boarded one of the hulks, and managed to break the chain.
The string of hulks was quickly swept ashore by the swift current, and
the channel was open for the ascent of the Union fleet.
[Illustration: Breaking the Chain.]
On the 23d of April, Farragut determined that his fleet should make
the attempt to get past the forts the following day. He knew that
the enemy must be exhausted with the terrible strain of Porter's
bombardment, and he felt that the opportunity had arrived for him to
make a successful dash for the upper river. The fleet was all prepared
for a desperate struggle. Many of the captains had daubed the sides of
their vessels with the river mud, that they might be less prominent
marks for the Confederate gunners. The chain cables of all the vessels
were coiled about vulnerable parts, or draped over the sides amidships
to protect the boilers. Knowing that it was to be a night action, the
gun-decks had been whitewashed; so that even by the dim, uncertain
light of the battle lanterns, the gunners could see plainly all
objects about them. Hammocks and nettings were stretched above the
decks to catch flying splinters from the spars overhead. Late at night
the admiral in his longboat was pulled from ship to ship to view the
preparations made, and see that each captain fully understood his
orders.
It was two o'clock on the morning of the 24th of April, when the
Confederates on the parapets of their forts might have heard the
shrill notes of fifes, the steady tramp of men, the sharp clicking of
capstans, and the grating of chain cables passing through the
hawse-holes on the ships below. Indeed, it is probable that these
sounds were heard at the forts, and were understood, for the
Confederates were on the alert when the ships came steaming up the
river.
They formed in a stately line of battle, headed by the "Cayuga." As
they came up the stream, the gunners in the forts could see the
mastheads over the low willow thickets that bordered the banks of the
stream. The line of obstructions was reached and passed, and then the
whole furious fire of both forts fell upon the advancing ships.
Gallantly they kept on their way, firing thunderous broadsides from
each side. And, while the ships were under the direct fire of the
forts, the enemy's fleet came dashing down the river to dispute the
way. This was more to the taste of Farragut and his boys in blue. They
were tired of fighting stone walls. In the van of the Confederate
squadron was the ram "Manassas," that had created such a panic among
the blockading squadron a month before. She plunged desperately into
the fight. The great frigate "Brooklyn" was a prominent vessel in the
Union line, and at her the ram dashed. The bold hearts on the grand
old frigate did not seek to avoid the conflict, and the two vessels
rushed together. The ram struck the "Brooklyn" a glancing blow; and
the shot from her one gun was returned by a hail of cannon-balls from
the frigate's tremendous broadside, many of which broke through the
iron plating. Nothing daunted, the ram backed off and rushed at the
frigate again. This time she struck full on the frigate's side. The
shock was terrible. Men on the gun-deck of the ram were hurled to the
deck, with the blood streaming from their nostrils. The frigate keeled
over farther and farther, until all thought that she would be borne
beneath the water by the pressure of the ram. All the time the
spiteful bow-gun of the iron monster was hurling its bolts into her
hull. But the blow of the ram had done no damage, for she had struck
one of the coils of chain that had been hung down the "Brooklyn's"
side. The two vessels slowly swung apart; and, after a final broadside
from the "Brooklyn," the "Manassas" drifted away in the pitchy
darkness to seek for new adversaries. She was not long in finding one;
for as the gray dawn was breaking she suddenly found herself under the
very bows of the "Mississippi," which was bearing down upon her and
seemed sure to run her down. The captain of the "Manassas" was an able
steersman, and neatly dodged the blow; but in this quick movement he
ran his vessel ashore, and she lay there under the guns of the
"Mississippi," and unable to bring any of her own guns to bear. The
captain of the frigate was not slow in taking advantage of this chance
to be revenged for all the trouble she had given the Union fleet; and
he took up a good position, and pounded away with his heavy guns at
the iron monster. The heavy shots crashed through the iron plating and
came plunging in the portholes, seeking every nook and cranny about
the vessel. It was too much for men to stand, and the crew of the
"Manassas" fled to the woods; while their vessel was soon set on fire
with red-hot shots, and blew up with a tremendous report soon after.
[Illustration: Ram "Tennessee" at Mobile Bay.]
In the mean time, the ships of the Union fleet were doing daring work,
and meeting a determined resistance. The flagship "Hartford" was met
by a tug which pushed a huge burning fire-raft against her sides.
There the flaming thing lay right up against the portholes, the flames
catching the tarred rigging, and running up the masts. Farragut walked
his quarter-deck as coolly as though the ship was on parade. "Don't
flinch from that fire, boys," he sang out, as the flames rushed in the
portholes, and drove the men from their guns. "There's a hotter fire
than that for those who don't do their duty. Give that rascally
little tug a shot, and don't let her go off with a whole coat." But
the tug did get away, after all; and no one can feel sorry that men
plucky enough to take an unarmed tug into a terrible fight of frigates
and iron-clads should escape with their lives. The men on the
"Hartford" fought the flames with hose and buckets, and at last got
rid of their dangerous neighbor. Then they saw a steamer crowded with
men rushing toward the flagship without firing a shot, and evidently
intending to board. Capt. Broome, with a crew of marines, was working
a bow-gun on the "Hartford." Carefully he trained the huge piece upon
the approaching steamer. He stepped back, stooped for a last glance
along the sights, then with a quick pull of the lanyard the great gun
went off with a roar, followed instantly by a louder explosion from
the attacking steamer. When the smoke cleared away, all looked eagerly
for the enemy; but she had vanished as if by magic. That single shot,
striking her magazine, had blown her up with all on board.
Much of the hardest fighting was done by the smaller vessels on either
side. The little Confederate "cotton-clad" "Governor Moore" made a
desperate fight, dashing through the Union fleet, taking and giving
broadsides in every direction. The Union vessel "Varuna" also did
daring work, and naturally these two ships met in desperate conflict.
After exchanging broadsides, the "Governor Moore" rammed her
adversary, and, while bearing down on her, received a severe raking
fire from the "Varuna." The "Governor Moore" was in such a position
that none of her guns could be brought to bear; but her captain
suddenly depressed the muzzle of his bow-gun, and sent a shot crashing
through _his own_ deck and side, and deep into the hull of the
"Varuna." The vessels soon parted, but the "Varuna" had received her
death-wound, and sank in shallow water. The "Governor Moore" kept on
her way, but was knocked to pieces by the fire from the heavy guns of
the frigates shortly after.
And so the battle raged for five hours. To recount in full the deeds
of valor done, would be to tell the story of each ship engaged, and
would require volumes. Witnesses who saw the fight from the start were
deeply impressed by the majesty of the scene. It was like a grand
panorama. "From almost perfect silence,--the steamers moving through
the water like phantom ships,--one incessant roar of heavy cannon
commenced, the Confederate forts and gunboats opening together on the
head of our line as it came within range. The Union vessels returned
the fire as they came up, and soon the hundred and seventy guns of our
fleet joined in the thunder which seemed to shake the very earth. A
lurid glare was thrown over the scene by the burning rafts; and, as
the bombshells crossed each other and exploded in the air, it seemed
as if a battle were taking place in the heavens as well as on the
earth. It all ended as suddenly as it commenced."
While this gigantic contest was going on in the river abreast of the
forts, the people of New Orleans were thronging the streets, listening
to the unceasing roar of the great guns, and discussing, with pale
faces and anxious hearts, the outcome of the fight. "Farragut can
never pass our forts. His wooden ships will be blown to pieces by
their fire, or dashed into atoms by the 'Manassas,'" people said. But
many listened in silence: they had husbands, sons, or brothers in that
fearful fight, and who could tell that they would return alive? By and
by the firing ceased. Only an occasional shot broke the stillness of
the morning. Then came the suspense. Had the fleet been beaten back,
or was it above the forts, and even now sullenly steaming up to the
city? Everybody rushed for the housetops to look to the southward,
over the low land through which the Mississippi winds. An hour's
waiting, and they see curls of smoke rising above the trees, then
slender dark lines moving along above the tree-tops. "Are they our
ships?" every one cries; and no one answers until the dark lines are
seen to be crossed by others at right angles. They are masts with
yard-arms, masts of seagoing vessels, the masts of the invader's
fleet. A cry of grief, of fear, of rage, goes up from the housetops.
"To the levee!" cry the men, and soon the streets resound with the
rush of many feet toward the river. "The river is crooked, and its
current swift. It will be hours before the Yankees can arrive: let us
burn, destroy, that they may find no booty." Let one who was in the
sorrowful city that terrible April day tell the story. "I went to the
river-side. There, until far into the night, I saw hundreds of drays
carrying cotton out of the presses and yards to the wharves, where it
was fired. The glare of those sinuous miles of flame set men and women
weeping and wailing thirty miles away, on the farther shore of Lake
Pontchartrain. But the next day was the day of terrors. During the
night, fear, wrath, and sense of betrayal, had run through the people
as the fire had run through the cotton. You have seen, perhaps, a
family fleeing, with lamentations and wringing of hands, out of a
burning house; multiply it by thousands upon thousands: that was New
Orleans, though the houses were not burning. The firemen were out; but
they cast fire on the waters, putting the torch to the empty ships and
cutting them loose to float down the river.
[Illustration: New Orleans on Approach of Fleet.]
"Whoever could go was going. The great mass that had no place to go
to, or means to go with, was beside itself. 'Betrayed! betrayed!' it
cried, and ran in throngs from street to street, seeking some vent,
some victim for its wrath. I saw a crowd catch a poor fellow at the
corner of Magazine and Common Streets, whose crime was that he looked
like a stranger and might be a spy. He was the palest living man I
ever saw. They swung him to a neighboring lamp-post; but the Foreign
Legion was patrolling the town in strong squads, and one of its
lieutenants, all green and gold, leaped with drawn sword, cut the
rope, and saved the man. This was one occurrence; there were many like
it. I stood in the rear door of our store, Canal Street, soon after
re-opening it. The junior of the firm was within. I called him to look
toward the river. The masts of the cutter 'Washington' were slowly
tipping, declining, sinking--down she went. The gunboat moored next
her began to smoke all over and then to blaze. My employers lifted up
their heels and left the city, left their goods and their affairs in
the hands of one mere lad--no stranger would have thought I had
reached fourteen--and one big German porter. I closed the doors, sent
the porter to his place in the Foreign Legion, and ran to the levee to
see the sights.
"What a gathering!--the riff-raff of the wharves, the town, the
gutters. Such women! such wrecks of women! and all the juvenile
rag-tag. The lower steamboat-landing, well covered with sugar, rice,
and molasses, was being rifled. The men smashed; the women scooped up
the smashings. The river was overflowing the top of the levee. A
rain-storm began to threaten. 'Are the Yankee ships in sight?' I asked
of an idler. He pointed out the tops of their naked masts as they
showed up across the huge bend of the river. They were engaging the
batteries at Camp Chalmette, the old field of Jackson's renown.
Presently that was over. Ah, me! I see them now as they come slowly
round Slaughterhouse Point, into full view: silent, so grim and
terrible, black with men, heavy with deadly portent, the long banished
stars and stripes flying against the frowning sky. Oh for the
'Mississippi,' the 'Mississippi!' Just then she came down upon them.
But how? Drifting helplessly, a mass of flames.
"The crowds on the levee howled and screamed with rage. The swarming
decks answered never a word; but one old tar on the 'Hartford,'
standing with lanyard in hand, beside a great pivot-gun, so plain to
view that you could see him smile, silently patted its big black
breech and blandly grinned."
As the masts of the fleet came up the river, a young man stepped out
upon the roof of the City Hall, and swiftly hoisted the flag of the
State of Louisiana. When the ships came up, two officers were sent
ashore to demand the surrender of the city; and shoulder to shoulder
the two old sailors marched through a howling, cursing mob to the City
Hall. The mayor refused to surrender the city, saying that Farragut
already had captured it. The officers went back to their ships, and
the flag still floated. Two days later the officers, with a hundred
sailors and marines, returned and demanded that the flag be hauled
down. No one in the city would tear it down, and the Federals went up
to the roof to lower it themselves. The street and surrounding
housetops were crowded with a hostile people, all armed. No one could
tell that the fall of the flag would not be followed by a volley from
the undisciplined populace. The marines in front of the building stood
grouped about two loaded howitzers that bore upon the darkly muttering
crowd. Violence was in the air. As the two officers rose to go to the
roof, the mayor, a young Creole, left the room and descended the
stairs. Quietly he stepped out into the street, and without a word
stood before one of the howitzers, his arms folded, eying the gunner,
who stood with lanyard in hand, ready to fire at the word of command.
The flag fell slowly from the staff. Not a sound arose from the crowd.
All were watching the mayor, who stood coldly looking on death. The
Federal officers came down carrying the flag. A few sharp commands,
and the marines tramped away down the street, with the howitzers
clanking behind them. The crowd cheered for Mayor Monroe and
dispersed, and New Orleans became again a city of the United States.