BRAVE OLD SALT.
The most extensive and careful preparations were in progress for the
events which, a few days later, astonished the world even more than the
splendid achievements of the fleet below New Orleans. The squadron off
the mouth of Mobile Bay had been actively employed for several days in
sending down top-masts, superfluous spars, and rigging. Chain cables had
been extended over the sides of the ships where the machinery was
exposed to injury from the shot and shell of the fort. Chains and sand
bags were placed on the decks where plunging shot might disable the
engines. Boats were removed from the starboard to the port sides, for
the fleet was to go in with Fort Morgan on the right, and close aboard
of them.
The preparations were advancing when Somers reported on board of the
Chatauqua, and of course he at once experienced the inspiration of
coming events. If there was any man in the navy whom he admired and
reverenced, that man was Admiral Farragut. It is true, he was not
singular in this respect, for every man in the fleet was equally devoted
to him. The "Old Salamander," who seemed never to be happier than when
in the midst of the hottest fire which the engines of modern warfare
could produce, was the idol of both officers and seamen. He was an
honest, just, and humane man, one who involuntarily won the respect of
every person with whom he came into contact.
We were never more thoroughly impressed by the honesty, justice, and
humanity of a man, than when we took the hand of this "Brave Old Salt."
His expressive eye, and his gentle, but dignified bearing, spoke more
truly and forcibly of what he was, than the most elaborate biography
which the pen of genius could produce. It almost passes belief that men
can stand up and work and fight as officers and seamen worked and fought
between Forts Jackson and St. Philip, and at Mobile Bay; but we can
think of no better inspiration than the leadership of such a man as
Admiral Farragut.
He was born in Tennessee--a southern state; his home was in Virginia--a
southern state--at the breaking out of the rebellion. With all the
motives which actuated Lee and Johnston, Tatnall and Hollins, to induce
him to abandon the old flag under which he had fought in early youth,
and served through all his manhood, he remained true to his country in
the hour of her severest trial. Neither bribes nor threats could move
him, and not for one instant did he falter in his devotion to the flag
he had sworn to sustain against all foes. Glory, honor, and immortality
in the hearts of his countrymen to the noble Admiral!
As a naval commander, he has no rival in the past or the present, in
this or in any country. He has achieved, once, twice, thrice, what any
board of naval officers that could have been convened from the boldest
and most skilful naval heroes of the united nations, would have solemnly
pronounced impossible. Chance might have given him the Lower
Mississippi--it did not; but it could not have given him that and Mobile
Bay, and the brilliant exploits up the Great River. Chance is
capricious; it never metes out uniform success.
Admiral Farragut is not simply a brave and skilful seaman, for the
stroke of genius shines out in all his battle plans, in all his
preparations, and in all his movements, whether on the silent river, as
his majestic ship leads in the van to the conflict, or under the most
deadly and destructive fire that ever was rained down on a wooden hull.
"Brave Old Salt" in the main rigging of the Hartford, as she breasted
the storm of shot and shell from Fort Morgan, is a spectacle more
sublime than can be presented in the annals of any other nation. The
position he chose for himself on that momentous occasion, more truly
indicates the key to his marvellous success than any other fact in
connection with the battle. He was not there to expose himself
needlessly to deadly peril; he was there to see and take advantage of
the issues of the battle.
His position was a symbol of the intelligence and bravery which won the
great battle. He saw with his own eyes--not with others; while his
glorious personal devotion was a type for every other man, which was
imitated from commodores down to powder-boys. We read of a general who
could not remember where he was during one of the severest and most
destructive fights of the war. If he had been in a position
corresponding to that of the doughty old admiral, it would have been
difficult for him to forget it. But personal bravery alone does not win
the battle on the sea or the land. The admiral's victories are due even
more to his genius--to his persevering industry in the elaboration of
preparatory details.
"Brave Old Salt," as Somers always called him, was our young officer's
beau-ideal of a naval commander. "Brave" he certainly was, and "Old
Salt," to a sailor, means something more than a long experience at sea.
It conveys to the nautical mind an idea of skill which no "lubber" can
possess. It was bravery, seamanship, and those peculiar qualities which
an "old salt" possesses, that made him great on the quarter deck, in
command of a squadron.
Somers's admiration for the commander-in-chief of the fleet off Mobile
Bay was of no recent origin. Since he had first known him as "Flag
Officer Farragut" at Ship Island, before the grade of Rear and Vice
Admiral had been created in our navy, he had reverenced him as a
superior man, and looked up to him with an almost superstitious awe. He
could hardly realize that they were both of the same earthly mould, with
the like human hopes and aspirations. Though, for a young man of his
age, Somers regarded his rank of master as very high, it did not permit
him to abate one jot or tittle of the distance which lay between him and
the admiral. He did not feel any better entitled to tread the same deck
with the glorious old hero, as a master, than he did as an ordinary
seaman.
Somers returned to active duty as soon as he had reported to the first
lieutenant of the Chatauqua, and he had the deck in the first dog watch
on the day of his arrival. During the afternoon watch he had had plenty
of time to report the incidents of his cruise in the Ben Nevis. Mr.
Hackleford had immediately communicated to the captain the facts
concerning Pillgrim's letter, and the recreant lieutenant's papers had
been carefully overhauled in search of anything which would shed a ray
of light upon the statements of the strange letter.
The only document which looked at all hopeful was a note written in
cipher, to which there was no key among the papers. If the communication
had been in Chinese or Chaldaic, there might have been a chance of
unravelling it; as it was, the note was written in arbitrary characters,
which were as cabalistic and unintelligible as the Egyptian
hieroglyphics. Somers was annoyed and discomfited, for he had
confidently reckoned upon finding some letter which contained a hint to
guide him. There was nothing but this note in cipher.
To add to his chagrin, Mr. Hackleford was utterly sceptical in regard to
Pillgrim's letter--did not believe the first word of it--called it
"gas," and declared that it would be stupid and childish to pay the
least attention to the document. Captain Cascabel fully concurred with
him in this opinion, and both of them laughed at Somers for bestowing a
second thought upon it.
"Nonsense! Mr. Somers!" exclaimed the first lieutenant. "There isn't a
single scintillation of truth in the story. If there were even a
glimmering of reality in the thing, I would look into it."
"But Mr. Pillgrim told me some truth in regard to the Ben Nevis," argued
Somers.
"That is the best reason in the world for believing he has not done so
in this instance," said Mr. Hackleford.
"I suppose I must give up the idea, then."
"You must, indeed. If you don't, I am afraid your reputation for common
sense and good judgment will suffer."
"Will you allow me to take this letter in cipher, and keep it till
to-morrow?" asked Somers.
"Certainly."
Somers took the letter, and put it into his pocket until he had an
opportunity to study its mystic characters. He was mortified by the
rebuff he had received, but his faith, though somewhat shaken, was not
destroyed. He was officer of the deck from four till six. Just before he
was relieved, he ordered the side to be manned to receive the captain,
who was just returning from a visit to the flag-ship.
As he touched his cap to Captain Cascabel, he noticed a smile on his
commander's face, which seemed to relate to him, and he blushed beneath
the pleasant, but expressive glance bestowed upon him.
"Mr. Somers," said the captain.
The officer of the deck stepped forward, and saluted the commander
again.
"You are invited to dine with Admiral Farragut to-morrow afternoon."
"I, sir!" exclaimed Somers, completely overwhelmed by this remarkable
declaration.
"Rear Admiral Farragut presents his compliments to Mr. Somers, and would
be happy to see him at dinner to-morrow, on board the Hartford."
The captain passed on to the companion-way, leading to his cabin,
leaving Somers as bewildered as though he had been invited to dine with
Queen Victoria, Louis Napoleon, and the Emperor of Russia; indeed, he
regarded it as a much greater honor to dine with "Brave Old Salt," than
to put his feet under the mahogany of the mightiest crowned head of the
world. It was evident that somebody had been talking to the admiral
about him; the captain and the first lieutenant of the Chatauqua
certainly felt kindly enough towards him to do so.
To dine with Admiral Farragut! That was glory enough for a lifetime; or
at least to be deemed worthy of such a distinction. Our friend Somers
was no snob; he "looked up" to great people, especially to those who
were really great. He pretended to no familiarity with his superiors,
though some of the officers were dying with envy at the notice taken of
him by the captain and first lieutenant of the ship. He did not assume
to be familiar with men who had won a deathless fame in defending their
country's cause. Perhaps there was not an officer in the fleet who would
so highly appreciate such a compliment as that of which he was now the
happy recipient.
When he was relieved from the deck, and went down into the ward-room,
the news had gone before him, and the "idlers" there congratulated him
upon his rising fame. But Somers broke away from them as soon as he
could decently do so, and shut himself up in his state-room. He was
actually dizzy at the idea of sitting down at the table with "Brave Old
Salt" in the cabin of the Hartford; and though he took the cabalistic
note of Mr. Pillgrim from his pocket, at least half an hour was wasted
before he could apply his mind undividedly to the difficult problem
before him. Finally, the hope of making a grand revelation to the
admiral on the morrow fired his zeal to such a pitch that the work
looked like play to him.
Somers opened the mysterious document and spread it out on the desk, at
which he seated himself. It looked dark and hopeless, with its dots and
dashes, its horizontals and perpendiculars, its curves and crosses. We
present the note in full, that our readers may be able to appreciate the
difficulty of the task he had undertaken.
[Illustration]
If Somers had been a student of the occult sciences, he might have been
more hopeful. An hour's hard study brought a gleam of light. He thought
the note must be signed by Langdon. There were seven letters in the
signature. This was his first ray of hope. He then placed all the
letters of the alphabet in a column, and against each made the character
that represented it in the cipher. Six letters were thus interpreted.
The next step was to place each of the letters thus discovered over its
sign in the note. The second and third words of the epistle then stood,
the eights being for undiscovered letters, as follows: 88nxlo8ond.
"Ben Lomond!" exclaimed Somers, as he gave a smart rap on the desk to
indicate his joy at the discovery.
Three more letters were gained, and the oblique cross was only a mark to
divide the words. The three letters before Ben Lomond must be, t h e.
The solution began to be easy, though it required a long time to reach
it. At midnight, when he was called to take the mid watch, he had it
written out as follows:--
_Washington, Twentieth of June._
_The Ben Lomond is at Mobile, fitting out. Mallory gives you the
command. The forts will be attacked by the first of August. You must get
her out before that time._
_LANGDON._