We were all sea-swallowed, though some cast again, And by
that destined to perform an act, Whereof what's past is
prologue.--TEMPEST.
On Sunday evening, May 3d, accompanied by Mr. Richard T. Colburn, of
_The New York World_, I reached Milliken's Bend, on the Mississippi
River, twenty-five miles above Vicksburg. Grant's head-quarters were
at Grand Gulf, fifty-five miles below Vicksburg. Fighting had already
begun.
[Sidenote: RUNNING THE VICKSBURG BATTERIES.]
We joined my associate, Mr. Junius H. Browne, of _The Tribune_, who
for several days had been awaiting us. The insatiate hunger of the
people for news, and the strong competition between different journals,
made one day of battle worth a year of camp or siege to the war
correspondent. Duty to the paper we represented required that we should
join the army with the least possible delay.
We could go over land, down the Louisiana shore, and, if we safely
ran the gauntlet of Rebel guerrillas, reach Grand Gulf in three days.
But a little expedition was about to run the Vicksburg batteries. If
it survived the fiery ordeal, it would arrive at Grant's head-quarters
in eight hours. Thus far, three-fourths of the boats attempting to run
the batteries had escaped destruction; and yielding to the seductive
doctrine of probabilities, we determined to try the short, or water
route. It proved a very long one.
[Sidenote: EXPEDITION BADLY FITTED OUT.]
At ten o'clock our expedition started. It consisted of two great barges
of forage and provisions, propelled by a little tug between them. For
some days, Grant had been receiving supplies in this manner, cheaper
and easier than by transportation over rough Louisiana roads.
The lives of the men who fitted out the squadron being as valuable
to them as mine to me, I supposed that all needful precautions for
safety had been adopted. But, when under way, we learned that they
were altogether inadequate. Indeed, we were hardly on board when we
discovered that the expedition was so carelessly organized as almost to
invite capture.
The night was one of the lightest of the year. We had only two buckets,
and not a single skiff. Two tugs were requisite to steer the unwieldy
craft, and enable us to run twelve or fifteen miles an hour. With one
we could accomplish only seven miles, aided by the strong Mississippi
current.
There were thirty-five persons on board--all volunteers. They
consisted of the tug's crew, Captain Ward and Surgeon Davidson of the
Forty-Seventh Ohio Infantry, with fourteen enlisted men, designed to
repel possible boarders, and other officers and citizens, _en route_
for the army.
For two or three hours, we glided silently along the glassy waters
between banks festooned with heavy, drooping foliage. It was a scene
of quiet, surpassing beauty. Captain Ward suddenly remembered that he
had some still Catawba in his valise. He was instructed to behead the
bottle with his sword, that the wine might not in any event be wasted.
From a soldier's cup of gutta-percha we drank to the success of the
expedition.
[Sidenote: INTO THE JAWS OF DEATH.]
At one o'clock in the morning, on the Mississippi shore, a rocket shot
up and pierced the sky, signaling the Rebels of our approach. Ten
minutes later, we saw the flash and heard the boom of their first gun.
Much practice on similar expeditions had given them excellent range.
The shell struck one of our barges, and exploded upon it.
We were soon under a heavy fire. The range of the batteries covered the
river for nearly seven miles. The Mississippi here is very crooked,
resembling the letter S, and at some points we passed within two
hundred yards of ten-inch guns, with point-blank range upon us. As we
moved around the bends, the shots came toward us at once from right and
left, front and rear.
Inclination had joined with duty in impelling us to accompany the
expedition. We wanted to learn how one would feel looking into the
craters of those volcanoes as they poured forth sheets of flame and
volleys of shells. I ascertained to my fullest satisfaction, as we lay
among the hay-bales, slowly gliding past them. I thought it might be a
good thing to do once, but that, if we survived it, I should never feel
the least desire to repeat the experiment.
We embraced the bales in Bottom's belief that "good hay, sweet hay hath
no fellow."
Discretion was largely the better part of my valor, and I cowered
close in our partial shelter. But two or three times I could not resist
the momentary temptation to rise and look about me. How the great
sheets of flame leaped up and spread out from the mouths of the guns!
How the shells came screaming and shrieking through the air! How they
rattled and crashed, penetrating the sides of the barges, or exploding
on board in great fountains of fire!
[Sidenote: A MOMENT OF SUSPENSE.]
The moment hardly awakened serene meditations or sentimental memories;
but every time I glanced at that picture, Tennyson's lines rang in my
ears:--
"Cannon to right of them,
Cannon to left of them,
Cannon in front of them
Volleyed and thundered;
Stormed at by shot and shell,
Boldly they rode and well,
Into the jaws of death,
Into the mouth of hell
Rode the six hundred!"
"Junius" persisted in standing, all exposed, to watch the coming shots.
Once, as a shell exploded near at hand, he fell heavily down among the
hay-bales. Until that moment I never knew what suspense was. I could
find no voice in which to ask if he lived. I dared not put forth my
hand in the darkness, lest it should rest on his mutilated form. At
last he spoke, and relieved my anxiety. He had only slipped and fallen.
Each time, after being struck, we listened for the reassuring puff!
puff! puff! of our little engine; and hearing it, said: "Thus far, at
least, we are all right!"
Now we were below the town, having run five miles of batteries. Ten
minutes more meant safety. Already we began to felicitate each other
upon our good fortune, when the scene suddenly changed.
A terrific report, like the explosion of some vast magazine, left us
breathless, and seemed to shake the earth to its very center. It was
accompanied by a shriek which I shall never forget, though it seemed
to occupy less than a quarter of the time consumed by one tick of the
watch. It was the death-cry wrung from our captain, killed as he stood
at the wheel. For his heedlessness in fitting out the expedition, his
life was the penalty.
[Sidenote: DISABLED AND DRIFTING HELPLESSLY.]
We listened, but the friendly voice from the tug was hushed. We were
disabled, and drifting helplessly in front of the enemy's guns!
For a moment all was silent. Then there rose from the shore the shrill,
sharp, ragged yell so familiar to the ears of every man who has been in
the front, and clearly distinguishable from the deep, full, chest-tones
in which our own men were wont to give their cheers. Many times had I
heard that Rebel yell, but never when it was vociferous and exultant as
now.
Seeing fire among the hay-bales about us, Colburn and myself carefully
extinguished it with our gloved hands, lest the barge should be burnt.
Then, creeping out of our refuge, we discovered the uselessness of our
care.
That shot had done wonderful execution. It had killed the captain,
exploded the boiler, then passed into the furnace, where the shell
itself exploded, throwing up great sheets of glowing coals upon
both barges. At some stage of its progress, it had cut in twain the
tug, which went down like a plummet. We looked for it, but it had
disappeared altogether. There was some _débris_--chairs, stools, and
parts of machinery, buoyed up by timbers, floating upon the surface;
but there was no tug.
The barges, covered with bales of dry hay, had caught like tinder, and
now, at the stern of each, a great sheet of flame rose far toward the
sky, filling the night with a more than noonday glare.
Upon the very highest bale, where the flames threw out his pale face
and dark clothing in very sharp relief, stood "Junius," in a careless
attitude, looking upon the situation with the utmost serenity. My first
thought was that the one thing he required to complete the picture
was an opera-glass. To my earnest injunction to leave that exposed
position, he replied that, so far as safety was concerned, there now
was little choice of places.
Meanwhile, we were under hotter fire than at any previous moment. In
the confusion caused by our evolutions in the eddies, I had quite lost
the points the of compass, and asked:--
"In which direction is Vicksburg?"
"There," replied "Junius," pointing out into the lurid smoke.
"I think it must be on the other shore."
"Oh, no! wait here a moment, and you will see the flash of the guns."
Just then I did see the flash of more guns than I coveted, and four or
five shots came shrieking toward us.
Colburn and myself instinctively dropped behind the nearest hay-bales.
A moment after, we were amused to observe that we had sought shelter on
the wrong side of the bales--the side facing the Rebel guns. Our barge
was so constantly changing position that our geographical ideas had
become very confused.
[Sidenote: BOMBARDING, SCALDING, BURNING, DROWNING.]
It does not often happen to men, in one quarter of an hour, to see
death in as many forms as confronted us--by bombarding, scalding,
burning, and drowning. It was uncomfortable, but less exciting than one
might suppose. The memory impresses me far more deeply than did the
experience. I remember listening, during a little cessation of the din,
for the sound of my own voice, wondering whether its tones were calm
and equable. There was hurrying to and fro, and groans rent the air.
"I suppose we can surrender," cried a poor, scalded fellow.
"Surrender--the devil!" replied Colburn. "I suppose we will fight them!"
It was very creditable to the determination of our _confrère_; but, to
put it mildly, our fighting facilities just then were somewhat limited.
[Sidenote: TAKING TO A HAY-BALE.]
My comrades assisted nearly all wounded and scalded men down the sides
of the barge to the water's edge, and placed them carefully upon
hay-bales. Remaining there, we had every thing to lose and nothing to
gain, and I urged--
"Let us take to the water."
"Oh, yes," my friends replied, "we will after awhile."
Soon, I repeated the suggestion, and they repeated the answer. It was
no time to stand upon forms. I jumped into the river--twelve or fifteen
feet below the top of our barge. They rolled over a hay-bale for me.
I climbed upon it, and found it a surprisingly comfortable means of
navigation. At last, free from the instinctive dread of mutilation by
splinters, which had constantly haunted me, I now felt that if wounded
at all it must, at least, be by a clean shot. The thought was a great
relief.
With a dim suspicion--not the ripe and perfect knowledge afterward
obtained--that clothing was scarce in the Southern Confederacy, I
removed my boots, tied them together with my watch-guard, and fastened
them to one of the hoops of the bale. Taking off my coat, I secured it
in the same manner.
[Sidenote: OVERTURNED BY A SHOT.]
I was about swimming away in a vague, blundering determination not to
be captured, when, for the first time in my life, I saw a shot coming
toward me. I had always been sceptical on this point. Many persons had
averred to me that they could see shots approaching; but remembering
that such a missile flying toward a man with a scream and a rush would
not quicken his vision, and judging from my own experience, I supposed
they must be deceived.
Now, far up the river I saw a shot coming with vivid distinctness.
How round, smooth, shining, and black it looked, ricochetting along,
plunging into the water, throwing up great jets of spray, bounding like
a schoolboy's ball, and then skimming the river again! It struck about
four feet from my hay-bale, which was now a few yards from the burning
barge.
The great sheet of water which dashed up quite obscured me from Colburn
and "Junius," who, upon the bows of the barge, were just bidding me
adieu. At first they thought the shot an extinguisher. But it did me
no greater harm than partially to overturn my hay-bale and dip me into
the river. A little more or less dampness just then was not of much
consequence. It was the last shot which I saw or heard. The Rebels now
ceased firing, and shouted--
"Have you no boats?"
Learning that we had none, they sent out a yawl. I looked about for
a plank, but could find none adapted to a long voyage. Rebel pickets
were on both sides of the river, and Rebel batteries lined it ten or
twelve miles below, at a point which, by floating, one could reach at
daylight. Surrender seemed the only alternative.
At Memphis, two days before, I had received a package of letters,
including two or three from the _Tribune_ office, and some which
treated of public men, and military strength, movements, and prospects,
with great freedom. One of them, from Admiral Foote, containing some
very kind words, I sorely regretted to lose; but the package was quite
too valuable to be submitted to the scrutiny of the enemy. I kept it
until the last moment, but when the Rebel yawl approached within twenty
feet, tore the letters in pieces and threw them into the Mississippi.
[Illustration: THE CAPTURE, WHILE RUNNING THE REBEL BATTERIES, AT
VICKSBURG.]
[Sidenote: RESCUED FROM THE RIVER.]
The boat was nearly full. After picking me up, it received on board two
scalded men who were floating near, and whose groans were heart-rending.
We were deposited on the Mississippi shore, under guard of four or five
soldiers in gray, and the yawl went back to receive the remainder.
Among the saved I found Surgeon Davidson. He was unable to swim, but
some one had carefully placed him upon a hay-bale. On reaching the
shore, he sat down upon a stool, which he had rescued from the river,
spread his overcoat upon his knee, and deposited his carpet-sack
beside him. It was the first case I ever knew of a man so hopelessly
shipwrecked, who saved all his baggage, and did not even wet his feet.
The boat soon returned. To my infinite relief, the first persons who
sprang to the shore were "Junius" and Colburn. Sartorially they had
been less fortunate than I. One had lost his coat, and the other was
without shoes, stockings, coat, vest, or hat.
There, in the moonlight, guarded by Rebel bayonets, we counted the
rescued, and found that just sixteen--less than half our number--were
alive and unharmed. All the rest were killed, scalded, or wounded.
Some of the scalded were piteous spectacles. The raw flesh seemed
almost ready to drop from their faces; and they ran hither and thither,
half wild from excruciating pain.
None of the wounded were unable to walk, though one or two had broken
arms. The most had received slight contusions, which a few days would
heal.
[Sidenote: THE KILLED, WOUNDED, AND MISSING.]
The missing numbered eight or ten, not one of whom was ever heard of
afterward. It was impossible to obtain any correct list of their names,
as several of them were strangers to us and to each other; and no
record had been made of the persons starting upon the expedition.
We were two miles below the city, whither the lieutenant of our guard
now marched us.