THE BATTLE OF MOBILE BAY.
DEFENCES--ADMIRAL FARRAGUT'S PREPARATIONS--PASSING THE FORTS--LOSS OF
THE "TECUMSEH"--FIGHT WITH THE RAM "TENNESSEE"--COST OF THE
VICTORY--CRAVEN'S CHIVALRY--OFFICIAL REPORT OF ADMIRAL
FARRAGUT--POETIC DESCRIPTION OF THE BATTLE BY A POET WHO PARTICIPATED
IN THE CONFLICT.
The capture of Mobile had long been desired, both because of its
importance as a base of operations, whence expeditions could move
inland, and communication be maintained with the fleet, and because
blockade-running at that port could not be entirely prevented by the
vessels outside. Grant and Sherman had planned to have the city taken
by forces moving east from New Orleans and Port Hudson; but everything
had gone wrong in that quarter.
[Illustration: REAR-ADMIRAL DAVID G. FARRAGUT.]
The principal defences of Mobile Bay were Fort Morgan on Mobile Point,
and Fort Gaines, three miles northwest of it, on the extremity of
Dauphin Island. The passage between these two works was obstructed by
innumerable piles for two miles out from Fort Gaines, and from that
point nearly to Fort Morgan by a line of torpedoes. The eastern end of
this line was marked by a red buoy, and from that point to Fort Morgan
the channel was open, to admit blockade-runners.
Farragut's fleet had been for a long time preparing to pass these
forts, fight the Confederate fleet inside (which included a powerful
iron-clad ram), and take possession of the bay. But he wanted the
coöperation of a military force to capture the forts. This was at last
furnished, under Gen. Gordon Granger, and landed on Dauphin Island,
August 4th. Farragut had made careful preparations, and, as at New
Orleans, had given minute instructions to his captains. The attacking
column consisted of four iron-clad monitors and seven wooden
sloops-of-war. To each sloop was lashed a gunboat on the port (or
left) side, to help her out in case she were disabled. The heaviest
fire was expected from Fort Morgan, on the right, or starboard, side.
Before six o'clock in the morning of the 5th all were under way, the
monitors forming a line abreast of the wooden ships and to the right
of them. The _Brooklyn_ headed the line of the wooden vessels, because
she had an apparatus for picking up torpedoes. They steamed along in
beautiful style, coming up into close order as they neared the fort,
so that there were spaces of but a few yards from the stern of one
vessel to the bow of the next. The forts and the Confederate fleet,
which lay just inside of the line of torpedoes, opened fire upon them
half an hour before they could bring their guns to answer. They made
the _Hartford_, Farragut's flagship, their especial target, lodged a
hundred-and-twenty-pound ball in her mainmast, sent great splinters
flying across her deck, more dangerous than shot, and killed or
wounded many of her crew. One ball from a Confederate gunboat killed
ten men and wounded five. The other wooden vessels suffered in like
manner as they approached; but when they came abreast of the fort they
poured in rapid broadsides of grape-shot, shrapnel, and shells, which
quickly cleared the bastions and silenced the batteries.
The captains had been warned to pass to the east of the red buoy; but
Captain T. A. M. Craven, of the monitor _Tecumseh_, eager to engage
the Confederate ram _Tennessee_, which was behind the line of
torpedoes, made straight for her. The consequence was that his vessel
struck a torpedo, which exploded, and she went down in a few seconds,
carrying with her the captain and most of the crew. The _Brooklyn_
stopped when she found torpedoes, and began to back. This threatened
to throw the whole line into confusion while under fire, and defeat
the project; but Farragut instantly ordered more steam on his own
vessel and her consort, drew ahead of the _Brooklyn_, and led the line
to victory. All this time he was in the rigging of the _Hartford_, and
a quartermaster had gone up and tied him to one of the shrouds, so
that if wounded he should not fall to the deck. As the fleet passed
into the bay, several of the larger vessels were attacked by the ram
_Tennessee_ and considerably damaged, while their shot seemed to have
little effect on her heavy iron mail. At length she withdrew to her
anchorage, and the order was given from the flagship, "Gunboats chase
enemy's gunboats," whereupon the lashings were cut and the National
gunboats were off in a flash. In a little while they had destroyed or
captured all the Confederate vessels save one, which escaped up the
bay, where the water was too shallow for them to follow her.
But as the fleet was coming to anchor, in the belief that the fight
was over, the _Tennessee_ left her anchorage and steamed boldly into
the midst of her enemies, firing in every direction and attempting to
ram them. The wooden vessels stood to the fight in the most gallant
manner, throwing useless broadsides against the monster, avoiding her
blows by skilful manoeuvring, and trying to run her down till some of
them hammered their bows to splinters. The three monitors pounded at
her to more purpose. They fired one fifteen-inch solid shot that
penetrated her armor; they jammed some of her shutters so that the
port-holes could not be opened; they shot away her steering-gear, and
knocked off her smoke-stack, so that life on board of her became
intolerable, and she surrendered. Her commander, Franklin Buchanan,
formerly of the United States navy, had been seriously wounded.
This victory cost Farragut's fleet fifty-two men killed and one
hundred and seventy wounded, besides one hundred and thirteen that
went down in the _Tecumseh_. Knowles, the same old quartermaster that
had tied Farragut in the rigging, says he saw the admiral coming on
deck as the twenty-five dead sailors of the _Hartford_ were being laid
out, "and it was the only time I ever saw the old gentleman cry, but
the tears came into his eyes like a little child." The Confederate
fleet lost ten men killed, sixteen wounded, and two hundred and eighty
prisoners. The loss in the forts is unknown. They were surrendered
soon afterward to the land forces, with a thousand men.
Of the four iron-clads that went into this fight, two--the _Tecumseh_
and the _Manhattan_--had come from the Atlantic coast, while the
_Chickasaw_ and the _Winnebago_, which had been {392} built at St.
Louis by James B. Eads, came down the Mississippi. Much doubt had been
expressed as to the ability of these two river-built monitors to stand
the rough weather of the Gulf, and Captain Eads had visited the Navy
Department, and offered to bear all the expenses in case they failed.
It is agreed by all authorities, that in the fight with the ram
_Tennessee_, which was a much more serious affair than passing the
forts, the best work was done by the monitor _Chickasaw_. The
commander of this vessel, George H. Perkins, and his lieutenant,
William Hamilton, had received leave of absence and were about to go
North, when they learned that the battle was soon to take place, and
volunteered to remain and take part in it. They were then at New
Orleans and were assigned to the _Chickasaw_. As this vessel passed
thence down the Mississippi on her way to Mobile, she took a pilot for
the navigation of the river. It often happened that the National
vessels were obliged to take Southern men as pilots in the Southern
waters, and they were not always to be trusted. In this instance,
Captain Perkins, being called away from the pilot-house for a few
minutes, observed that his vessel's course was at once changed and she
was heading for a wreck. Rushing back to the pilot-house, he seized
the wheel and gave her the proper direction, after which he drew his
pistol and told the pilot that if the ship touched ground or ran into
anything, he would instantly blow out his brains. The pilot muttered
something about the bottom of the river being lumpy, and the best
pilots not always being able to avoid the lumps. But Captain Perkins
told him he could not consider any such excuse, and if he touched a
single lump he would instantly lose his life. There was no more
trouble about the piloting.
[Illustration: BREVET MAJOR-GENERAL W. P. BENTON.]
[Illustration: BRIGADIER-GENERAL F. M. COCKRELL, C. S. A.]
The _Chickasaw_ was a double-turreted monitor, carrying two
eleven-inch guns in each turret, and she was the only iron-clad that
remained in perfect condition throughout the fight. This, perhaps, was
owing to the fact that Captain Perkins, who was young, enthusiastic,
and ambitious, personally inspected everything on the ship while she
was in preparation and before she went into action. The place of the
ships in line was determined by the rank of their commanders, and the
_Chickasaw_ came last of the monitors. In the fight with the
_Tennessee_, she fired solid shot, most of them striking her about the
stern. The pilot of the _Tennessee_ said after the battle: "The
_Chickasaw_ hung close under our stern; move where we would, she was
always there, firing the two eleven-inch guns in her forward turret
like pocket pistols, so that she soon had the plates flying in the
air." Captain Perkins himself says: "When the _Tennessee_ passed my
ship first, it was on my port side. After that she steered toward Fort
Morgan. Some of our vessels anchored, others kept under way, and when
the _Tennessee_ approached the fleet again, she was at once attacked
by the wooden vessels, but they made no impression upon her. An order
was now brought from Admiral Farragut to the iron-clads, by Dr.
Palmer, directing them to attack the _Tennessee_; but when they
approached her, she moved off toward the fort again. I followed
straight after her with the _Chickasaw_, and, overtaking her, I poured
solid shot into her as fast as I could, and after a short engagement
forced her to surrender, having shot away her smoke-stack, destroyed
her steering-gear, and jammed her after-ports, rendering her guns
useless, while one of my shots wounded Admiral Buchanan. I followed
her close, my guns and turrets continuing in perfect order in spite of
the strain upon them. When Johnston came on the roof of the
_Tennessee_, and showed the white flag as signal of surrender, no
vessel of our fleet, except the _Chickasaw_, was within a quarter of a
mile. But the _Ossipee_ was approaching, and her captain was much
older than myself. I was wet with perspiration, begrimed with powder,
and exhausted with constant and violent exertion; so I drew back and
allowed Captain LeRoy to receive the surrender, though my first
lieutenant, Mr. Hamilton, said at the time, 'Captain Perkins, you are
making a mistake.'"
Admiral Farragut says in his official report: "As I had an elevated
position in the main rigging near the top, I was able to overlook not
only the deck of the _Hartford_, but the other vessels of the fleet. I
witnessed the terrible effects of the enemy's shot, and the good
conduct of the men at their guns; and although no doubt their hearts
sickened, as mine did, when their shipmates were struck down beside
them, yet there was not a moment's hesitation to lay their comrades
aside, and spring again to their deadly work.... I must not omit to
call the attention of the department to the conduct of Acting Ensign
Henry C. Nields, of the _Metacomet_, who had charge of the boat sent
from that vessel, when the _Tecumseh_ sunk. He took her under one of
the most galling fires I ever saw, and succeeded in rescuing from
death ten of her crew within six hundred yards of the fort." Commodore
Foxhall A. Parker, in his very accurate account of this battle,
describes more particularly the exploit of Ensign Nields: "Starting
from the port quarter of the _Metacomet_, and steering the boat
himself, this mere boy pulled directly under the battery of the
_Hartford_, and around the _Brooklyn_, to within a few hundred yards
of the fort, exposed to the fire of both friends and foes. After he
had gone a little distance from his vessel, he seemed suddenly to
reflect that he had no flag flying, when he dropped the yoke-ropes,
picked up a small ensign from the bottom of the boat, and unfurling it
from its staff, which he shipped in a socket made for it in the
stern-sheets, he threw it full to the breeze, amid the loud cheers of
his men. 'I can hardly describe,' says an officer of the _Tennessee_,
'how I felt at witnessing this most gallant act. The muzzle of our gun
was slowly raised, and the bolt intended for {393} the _Tecumseh_ flew
harmlessly over the heads of that glorious boat's crew, far down in
the line of our foes.' After saving Ensign Zelitch, eight men, and the
pilot, Nields turned, and, pulling for the fleet, succeeded in
reaching the _Oneida_, where he remained until the close of the
action."
In a memorandum discovered among Admiral Farragut's papers he said:
"General orders required the vessels to pass inside the buoys next to
Fort Morgan. When the _Tecumseh_ reached that point, it looked so
close that poor Craven said to the pilot, 'The admiral ordered me to
go inside that buoy, but it must be a mistake.' He ran just his
breadth of beam too far westward, struck a torpedo, and went down in
two minutes. Alden saw the buoys ahead, and stopped his ship. This
liked to have proved fatal to all of us. I saw the difficulty, and
ordered the _Hartford_ ahead, and the fleet to follow. Allowing the
_Brooklyn_ to go ahead was a great error. It lost not only the
_Tecumseh_, but many valuable lives, by keeping us under the fire of
the forts for thirty minutes; whereas, had I led, as I intended to do,
I would have gone inside the buoys, and all would have followed me.
The officers and crews of all the ships did their duty like men. There
was but one man who showed fear, and he was allowed to resign. This
was the most desperate battle I ever fought since the days of the old
_Essex_."
[Illustration: CAPTAIN TUNIS A. M. CRAVEN.]
[Illustration: REAR-ADMIRAL THORNTON A. JENKINS.]
[Illustration: CAPTAIN PERCIVAL DRAYTON.]
The thorough discipline and devotion of the crews is illustrated by an
incident on the _Oneida_. A shot penetrated her starboard boiler, and
the escaping steam scalded thirteen men. At this one gun's-crew shrank
back for a moment, but when Captain Mullany shouted, "Back to your
quarters, men!" they instantly returned to their guns. Soon afterward,
Captain Mullany lost an arm and received six other wounds. Craven's
chief engineer in the _Tecumseh_, C. Farron, was an invalid in the
hospital at Pensacola when the orders were given to sail for Mobile,
but he insisted on leaving his bed and going with his ship, with which
he was lost.
A Confederate officer who was in the water battery at Fort Morgan
expressed unbounded admiration at the manoeuvring of the vessels when
the _Brooklyn_ stopped and the _Hartford_ drew ahead and took the
lead. "At first," he says, "they appeared to be in inextricable
confusion, and at the mercy of our guns; but when the _Hartford_
dashed forward, we realized that the grand tactical movement had been
accomplished."
An officer of the _Hartford_ wrote in his private journal: "The order
was, to go 'slowly, slowly,' and receive the fire of Fort Morgan. At
six minutes past seven the fort opened, having allowed us to get into
such short range that we apprehended some snare; in fact, I heard the
order passed for our guns to be elevated for fourteen hundred yards
some time before one was fired. The calmness of the scene was sublime.
No impatience, no irritation, no anxiety, except for the fort to open;
and, after it did open, full five minutes elapsed before we answered.
In the mean time the guns were trained as if at a target, and all the
sounds I could hear were, 'Steady, boys, steady! Left tackle a
little--so! so!' Then the roar of a broadside, and an eager cheer as
the enemy were driven from their water battery. Don't imagine they
were frightened; no man could stand under that iron shower; and the
brave fellows returned to their guns as soon as it lulled, only to be
driven away again."
Farragut, who was a man of deep religious convictions, fully realized
the perils of the enterprise upon which he was entering, and did not
half expect to survive it. In a letter to his wife, written the
evening before the battle, he said: "I am going into Mobile Bay in the
morning, if God is my leader, as I hope he is, and in him I place my
trust. If he think it is the proper place for me to die, I am ready to
submit to his will in that as in all other things." In spite of the
universal sailor superstition, he fought this battle on Friday.
One incident of this battle suggests the thought that many of the
famous deeds of Old-World chivalry have been paralleled in American
history. When the _Tecumseh_ was going down, Captain Craven and his
pilot met at the foot of the ladder that afforded the only escape, and
the pilot stepped aside. "After you, pilot," said Craven, drawing
back, for he knew it was by his own fault, not the pilot's, that the
vessel was struck. "There was nothing after me," said the pilot, in
telling the story; "for the moment I reached the deck the vessel
seemed to drop from under me, and went to the bottom."
{394} [Illustration: ON BOARD THE "HARTFORD," BATTLE OF MOBILE BAY.
(From a painting by W. H. Overend.)]
{395} [Illustration: GUN PRACTICE ON A NATIONAL WAR-SHIP. (From a
war-time photograph.)]
In all the literature of our language there is but one instance of the
poetical description of a battle by a genuine poet who was a
participator in the conflict. This instance is Brownell's "Bay Fight."
Drayton's fine "Ballad of Agincourt" has long been famous, but that
battle was fought a century and a half before Drayton was born.
Campbell witnessed the battle of Hohenlinden, famous through his
familiar poem, but only from the distant tower of a convent. Byron's
description of the battle of Waterloo is justly admired, but Byron was
not at Waterloo. Tennyson's "Charge of the Light Brigade at
Balaklava," which every schoolboy knows, is another hearsay poem, for
Tennyson was never within a thousand miles of Balaklava. Henry Howard
Brownell, a native of Providence, R. I., when a young man taught a
school in Mobile, Ala. Afterward he practised law in Hartford, Conn.,
but left it for literature, and at the age of twenty-seven published a
volume of poems that attracted no attention. During the war he made
numerous poetical contributions to periodicals, some of which were
widely copied. One of these, a poetical version of Farragut's General
Orders at New Orleans, attracted the admiral's attention and led to a
correspondence. Brownell wrote that he had always wanted to witness a
sea-fight, and Farragut, answering that he would give him an
opportunity, procured his appointment as acting ensign on board the
_Hartford_. During the battle of Mobile, Brownell was on deck
attending to his duties, for which he was honorably mentioned in the
admiral's report, and at the same time taking notes of the picturesque
incidents. The outcome was his unique and powerful poem entitled "The
Bay Fight." Oliver Wendell Holmes, in an article in the _Atlantic
Monthly_, said: "New modes of warfare thundered their demand for a new
poet to describe them; and Nature has answered in the voice of our
battle laureate, Henry Howard Brownell." From Mr. Brownell's poem we
take the following stanzas:
Three days through sapphire seas we sailed;
The steady trade blew strong and free,
The northern light his banners paled,
The ocean stream our channels wet.
We rounded low Canaveral's lee,
And passed the isles of emerald set
In blue Bahama's turquoise sea.
By reef and shoal obscurely mapped,
And hauntings of the gray sea-wolf,
The palmy Western Key lay lapped
In the warm washing of the gulf.
{396}
But weary to the hearts of all
The burning glare, the barren reach
Of Santa Rosa's withered beach,
And Pensacola's ruined wall.
And weary was the long patrol,
The thousand miles of shapeless strand,
From Brazos to San Blas, that roll
Their drifting dunes of desert sand.
Yet, coast-wise as we cruised or lay,
The land-breeze still at nightfall bore,
By beach and fortress-guarded bay,
Sweet odors from the enemy's shore,
Fresh from the forest solitudes,
Unchallenged of his sentry lines--
The bursting of his cypress buds,
And the warm fragrance of his pines.
Our lofty spars were down,
To bide the battle's frown,
(Wont of old renown)--
But every ship was drest
In her bravest and her best,
As if for a July day.
Sixty flags and three,
As we floated up the bay;
Every peak and mast-head flew
The brave red, white, and blue--
We were eighteen ships that day.
On, in the whirling shade
Of the cannon's sulphury breath,
We drew to the line of death
That our devilish foe had laid--
Meshed in a horrible net,
And baited villanous well,
Right in our path were set
Three hundred traps of hell!
And there, O sight forlorn!
There, while the cannon
Hurtled and thundered--
(Ah! what ill raven
Flapped o'er the ship that morn!)--
Caught by the under-death,
In the drawing of a breath,
Down went dauntless Craven,
He and his hundred!
A moment we saw her turret,
A little heel she gave,
And a thin white spray went o'er it,
Like the crest of a breaking wave.
In that great iron coffin,
The channel for their grave,
The fort their monument,
(Seen afar in the offing),
Ten fathom deep lie Craven,
And the bravest of our brave.
Trust me, our berth was hot;
Ah, wickedly well they shot!
How their death-bolts howled and stung!
And their water batteries played
With their deadly cannonade
Till the air around us rung.
So the battle raged and roared--
Ah! had you been aboard
To have seen the fight we made!
Never a nerve that failed,
Never a cheek that paled,
Not a tinge of gloom or pallor.
There was bold Kentucky's grit,
And the old Virginian valor,
And the daring Yankee wit.
There were blue eyes from turfy Shannon,
There were black orbs from palmy Niger;
But there, alongside the cannon,
Each man fought like a tiger.
And now, as we looked ahead,
All for'ard, the long white deck
Was growing a strange dull red;
But soon, as once and again
Fore and aft we sped
(The firing to guide or check),
You could hardly choose but tread
On the ghastly human wreck,
(Dreadful gobbet and shred
That a minute ago were men)!
Red, from main-mast to bitts!
Red, on bulwark and wale--
Red, by combing and hatch--
Red, o'er netting and rail!
And ever, with steady con,
The ship forged slowly by;
And ever the crew fought on,
And their cheers rang loud and high.
Fear? A forgotten form!
Death? A dream of the eyes!
We were atoms in God's great storm
That roared through the angry skies.
A league from the fort we lay,
And deemed that the end must lag;
When lo! looking down the bay,
There flaunted the rebel rag--
The ram is again under way
And heading dead for the flag!
Steering up with the stream,
Boldly his course he lay,
Though the fleet all answered his fire,
And, as he still drew nigher,
Ever on bow and beam
Our monitors pounded away--
How the _Chickasaw_ hammered away!
Quickly breasting the wave,
Eager the prize to win,
First of us all the brave
_Monongahela_ went in,
Under full head of steam--
Twice she struck him abeam,
Till her stem was a sorry work.
(She might have run on a crag!)
The _Lackawanna_ hit fair--
He flung her aside like cork,
And still he held for the flag.
Heading square at the hulk,
Full on his beam we bore;
But the spine of the huge sea-hog
Lay on the tide like a log--
He vomited flame no more.
By this he had found it hot.
Half the fleet, in an angry ring,
Closed round the hideous thing,
Hammering with solid shot,
And bearing down, bow on bow--
He has but a minute to choose;
Life or renown?--which now
Will the rebel admiral lose?
Cruel, haughty, and cold,
He ever was strong and bold--
Shall he shrink from a wooden stem?
He will think of that brave band
He sank in the _Cumberland_--
Ay, he will sink like them!
Nothing left but to fight
Boldly his last sea-fight!
Can he strike? By Heaven, 'tis true!
Down comes the traitor blue,
And up goes the captive white!
Ended the mighty noise,
Thunder of forts and ships,
Down we went to the hold--
Oh, our dear dying boys!
How we pressed their poor brave lips
(Ah, so pallid and cold!)
And held their hands to the last
(Those that had hands to hold)!
O motherland, this weary life
We led, we lead, is 'long of thee!
Thine the strong agony of strife,
And thine the lonely sea.
Thine the long decks all slaughter-sprent,
The weary rows of cots that lie
With wrecks of strong men, marred and rent,
'Neath Pensacola's sky.
And thine the iron caves and dens
Wherein the flame our war-fleet drives--
The fiery vaults, whose breath is men's
Most dear and precious lives.
Ah, ever when with storm sublime
Dread Nature clears our murky air,
Thus in the crash of falling crime
Some lesser guilt must share!
To-day the Dahlgren and the drum
Are dread apostles of His name;
His kingdom here can only come
By chrism of blood and flame.
Be strong! already slants the gold
Athwart these wild and stormy skies;
From out this blackened waste behold
What happy homes shall rise!
And never fear a victor foe--
Thy children's hearts are strong and high;
Nor mourn too fondly--well they know
On deck or field to die.
Nor shalt thou want one willing breath,
Though, ever smiling round the brave,
The blue sea bear us on to death,
The green were one wide grave.
{397}