OPERATIONS ABOUT CHARLESTON. -- THE BOMBARDMENT, THE SIEGE, AND
THE CAPTURE.
We have now reached the period at which the rapid decline in the
prospects of the Confederacy had become apparent, not only to its
enemies, but to its friends. Throughout the South the stars and bars
floated over only three strongholds of any importance,--Charleston,
Mobile, and Wilmington. One after the other these were destined to
fall, and their final overthrow was to be the work of the navy. It was
no easy task in any one of the three instances to dislodge the
Confederates from their positions; for though beaten in the Middle
States, driven from the Mississippi, and with their very citadel at
Vicksburg in the hands of the Federals, they still fought with a
courage and desperation that for a long time baffled the attacks of
the Unionists.
From the very opening of the war, Charleston Harbor had been the scene
of naval hostilities. The Confederates, looking upon their mouldering
wharves, and vessels tugging idly at their chains, then looking out to
sea past Fort Sumter, could see the ships of the blockading-squadron
maintaining the watchful guard that was slowly reducing the city to
penury. What wonder that the blood of the good people of Charleston
boiled, and that they built, and hurled against their hated enemy,
weird naval monsters, shapeless torpedo-boats running beneath the
water, or huge rams that might even batter in the heavy walls of Fort
Sumter!
One attack so made was successful to a certain extent. It was in
February, 1864, that an inventive genius in the beleaguered city
brought out a steam torpedo-boat. The craft was about twenty-five feet
long, shaped like a cigar, built of boiler iron, and propelled by a
screw. She had no smokestack, and her deck barely rose above the
surface of the water. Running out from her bow was a stout spar
fifteen feet long, bearing at its end a huge torpedo charged with two
hundred pounds of powder. Just before nine o'clock one night, the
lookout on the deck of the frigate "Housatonic" saw this strange
object approaching the ship. It was a bright night, with no sea on. As
yet torpedoes were hardly known, so the lookout took it for a large
fish, and simply watched with interest its playful movements. Not
until it came so close that no guns could be brought to bear, did any
suspicion of danger enter the lookout's mind. Then there was the roll
of the alarm-drums; while the men rushed to the side, and poured a
fierce fire from small-arms on the mysterious object. The "Housatonic"
started her engines, and tried to escape; but, before any headway
could be gained, the launch dashed alongside, and a slight jar was
felt. Then, with a tremendous roar, a huge column of water was thrown
high in air, washing away men and boats from the deck of the warship.
A hole large enough to drive a horse through was rent in the hull of
the ship. Great beams were broken in twain, the heaviest guns were
dismounted, and men were hurled fifty feet into the air. In five
minutes the ship had gone to the bottom, and boats from other vessels
were picking up the crew. The launch escaped in the excitement.
The Union sailor-boys did not let the Confederates outdo them in dash
and pluck. One of the cleverest bits of work in the whole war was done
by four boat-crews from two men-of-war on the Charleston station. Word
had been brought to the blockaders, that, far up a little deep and
narrow creek, a large steamship was loading with cotton, expecting to
reach the ocean through the labyrinth of inlets that fairly honeycomb
the South Carolina coast. Should she once get into that network of
waterways, it would require a whole fleet to catch her; for there was
no telling at what point she might emerge.
It was at once determined to try to capture her as she lay at her
deck, and four boats' crews of picked men were sent out on the
expedition. It was early evening when they set out; and all through
the dark night they pulled away, threading the mazes of the tidal
inlets. Just as the eastern horizon was beginning to grow gray with
the coming dawn, they came in sight of their destination. Sure enough,
there on the bank of the river was a little Southern village, changed
into a prosperous town by the blockade-runners that had evidently been
making this place a harbor for some time.
All was dark and silent as the grave. Confident in their fancied
security, the blockade-runners had all turned in, leaving no one on
guard. The steamer was loaded, and ready to sail in the morning; and
the thin wreaths of smoke rising from her smokestack told that the
fires were up. Stealthily the sailors pulled alongside, and clambered
on deck. Without a word they stole below, put the crew under guards,
and rushed into the engine-room, where they found the engineer dozing
on his stool. He was ordered to get under way at once; and, though he
looked rather dazed, he obeyed the order. And in fifteen minutes the
steamer was speeding down-stream, leaving the old town still asleep.
One man alone of all the townspeople had seen the capture. A negro,
hiding behind a pile of lumber on the dock, had watched the whole
affair, and, as if struck dumb with astonishment, failed to give the
alarm until the steamer was out of sight down the winding stream. The
blue-jackets took their capture safely out of the enemy's lines, and
the next day it was sent to New York as a prize.
While the navy was keeping the port of Charleston sealed, and every
now and then beating back the improvised gunboats that the
Confederates sent out in the forlorn hope of breaking through the
blockade, the armies of the North were closing in upon the doomed
city. All the North cried aloud for the capture of Charleston. It was
the city which fired the first gun of the war. Let it be reduced! On
every available point of land a Union battery was built. Far out in
the swamps back of the city, where it was thought no living thing save
reptiles could exist, the soldiers of the North had raised a battery,
mounting one two-hundred-pound gun. When a young lieutenant was
ordered to build this battery, he looked the ground over, and reported
the thing impossible. "There is no such word as impossible," sternly
answered the colonel. "Set to work, and call for whatever you need to
secure success."
[Illustration: Cutting out a Blockade-Runner.]
The next day the lieutenant, who was a bit of a wag, made a
requisition on the quarter-master for one hundred men eighteen feet
high, to wade through mud sixteen feet deep. Pleasantry is not
appreciated in war; and the officer was arrested, but soon secured his
release, and built the battery with men of ordinary height.
[Illustration: War-ships off Charleston Harbor.]
In April, 1862, Admiral Du Pont had lined his iron-clads and monitors
up before the beetling walls of Fort Sumter, and had hurled solid shot
for hours, with only the effect of breaking away sharp corners and
projecting edges of the fort, but leaving it still as powerful a work
of defence as ever. The little monitors exposed to the terrible fire
from the guns of Sumter were fairly riddled; and, when the signal was
finally made to withdraw from the action, the humblest sailor knew
that Charleston would only fall after a siege as protracted and
wearisome as that of Vicksburg.
The investment of Charleston lasted from the date of that first attack
upon Fort Sumter until 1865. From time to time the war-vessels would
throw a few shells into the city, as a reminder to the inhabitants
that they were under surveillance. Early in the siege the Swamp Angel,
as the big gun back in the swamp was called, began sending hourly
messages, in the form of two-hundred-pound shells, into the city. In
one quarter, where the shells fell thickest, a severe fire was
started, which raged fiercely, driving people from their homes, and
reducing whole blocks to ashes; while the deadly shells aided in the
work of destruction. But the life of the Swamp Angel, whose shells
were the most destructive, was but short; for, after a few days' work,
it burst, scattering the sand-bags, of which the battery was built,
far and wide over the swamp.
The officers of the army, who were bringing their troops nearer and
nearer to the city, expected the iron-clad vessels to steam boldly up
the harbor, and compel a surrender of the city; but the naval officers
dared not, owing to the torpedoes with which the channel was thickly
planted. If Sumter could only be captured, the torpedoes could be
searched out and easily removed; and, with this thought in mind, a
number of bold sailors fitted out an expedition to attack the fort.
Thirty boats, filled with armed men, made their way to the base of the
shattered walls of the fort. As they came up, not a sign of life was
to be seen about the huge black monster that had so long kept the
iron-clads at bay. Rapidly and silently the men swarmed from their
boats, and, led by three brave officers, began the ascent of the
sloping walls. "The Johnnies are asleep," they whispered to each
other: "we have the fort this time." But the Johnnies were wide awake,
and waiting behind those grim bastions until the proper moment should
arrive. Higher and higher climbed the blue-jackets; and they were just
about to spring over the last barrier, when there rose before them a
wall of men and a deadly fire of musketry, and a storm of
hand-grenades cut their ranks to pieces. Around the corner of the fort
steamed a small gunboat, which opened fire on the assailants. The
carnage was terrible; and the sailors were driven back to their
boats, leaving two hundred dead and wounded, and three stands of
colors, as trophies for the garrison.
[Illustration: Charleston bombarded.]
After that grapple with the giant fortress, the Federals did not again
try to come to close quarters; but, keeping at a distance, maintained
a steady fire upon the fort, which drove its defenders from the guns,
and enabled the Union troops to throw up batteries upon all the
neighboring islands. The fleet then remained on blockading-service
until Feb. 18, 1865, when the Confederates evacuated the city, and
left the fort to the victorious Federals. Five years after the date
when Major Anderson with his little band of soldiers had marched out
of Sumter, leaving the fort to the enemy, the same gallant officer
returned, and with his own hand hoisted the same tattered flag over
the almost ruined fortress, amid salvos of artillery and the cheers of
a victorious army and navy.