erected 11 batteries for guns and mortars. Their job was made
particularly difficult because the last mile of the shore, on which
seven of the major batteries had to be established, was an open marsh
in full view of the fort and within effective range of its guns. Here
all work was performed at night. The men were not allowed to speak
above a whisper and were guided by the notes of a whistle. Before dawn
each morning evidence of the night’s work was concealed by camouflage.
When the batteries were ready, the guns were hauled across the marsh on
sling carts. These loads were so extraordinarily heavy that it was
often necessary to harness 250 men to a cart. Even on the last night
before the bombardment the work continued. In the flickering light of
lanterns men filled cartridge bags, cut paper fuses, and whittled
wooden fuse plugs.
[Illustration: _Guns were hauled by manpower._ From _Harper’s Pictorial
History of the War of 1861_.]
The final armament comprised 36 pieces placed at various distances from
the fort as shown in the following table:
1. Battery, Stanton, 3 heavy 13-inch Mortars, at 3,400 yds
2. “ Grant, 3 heavy 13-inch Mortars, “ 3,200 “
3. “ Lyon, 3 heavy 10-inch Columbiads, “ 3,100 “
4. “ Lincoln, 3 heavy 8-inch Columbiads, “ 3,045 “
5. “ Burnside, 1 heavy 13-inch Mortar, “ 2,750 “
6. “ Sherman, 3 heavy 13-inch Mortar, “ 2,650 “
7. “ Halleck, 2 heavy 13-inch Mortar, “ 2,400 “
8. “ Scott, 3 10-in. Columbiads, } “ 1,740 “
Scott, 1 8-in. Columbiads, }
9. “ Sigel, 5 30-pdr. Parrott, } “ 1,670 “
Sigel, 1 48-pdr. James, (old 24 pdr.) }
10. “ McClellan, 2 84-pdr. James, (old 42 pdr.) } “ 1,650 “
McClennan, 2 64-pdr. James, (old 32 pdr.) }
11. “ Totten 2 10-inch Siege Mortars, “ 1,650 “
_Eve of Battle_
On March 31, when preparations for the bombardment were almost
complete, General Sherman was relieved of his command, and
responsibility for the campaign in the Department of the South was
turned over to Maj. Gen. David Hunter. While this move undoubtedly led
to greater harmony of action between Army and Navy leaders, Sherman
deserves much of the credit for the successful operations against
Pulaski. Neither General Hunter nor Brig. Gen. Henry W. Benham, whom he
had placed in command of the Northern District of the Department,
suggested a single change in the siege works under construction on
Tybee, and Gillmore was retained to conduct the bombardment. On the
afternoon of April 9, everything was in readiness to open fire. General
orders were issued, the Navy alerted, and the battle set for the
following morning.
On Cockspur Island, meanwhile, the Confederates were engaged in making
final arrangements to defend Fort Pulaski. The garrison had worked long
hours, and the men were weary and apprehensive. In accord with the
instructions of General Lee they tore down the light veranda in front
of the officers’ quarters and replaced it with a traverse or covered
passage made of timbers and earth. They piled sandbags between the guns
on the ramparts and dug “rat holes” in the terreplein for the
protection of the gunners. To prevent round shot and shell from
rolling, they cut the entire parade ground into wide traps and trenches.
In Savannah, on the eve of the battle for Pulaski, a large audience
unaware of the impending event, was entertained by Blind Tom, famous
Negro pianist, who played his original composition, “The Battle of
Manassas.”
[Illustration: _Confederates prepare Fort Pulaski for battle._
Contemporary drawing made after bombardment for _Harper’s Pictorial
History of the War of 1861_.]
_Bombardment_
Morning on the 10th of April 1862, broke clear and cold. A fresh
easterly wind whipped the red waters of the Savannah River into
whitecaps, and the brown and purple marshes were showing the green of
early spring. Soon after sunrise, a lieutenant on duty on the ramparts
of Fort Pulaski reported that suspicious changes in the landscape had
been made during the night on Tybee Island near the mouth of Tybee
Creek. Several old chimneys had been torn down; the top of the ridge
had been leveled; brush and trees had been removed; and there were dark
objects visible that looked as though they might be guns.
While Olmstead and his officers discussed these ominous signs, they saw
a small boat put out from the shore of Tybee under a flag of truce and
head up the South Channel. Word spread quickly through the fort and men
swarmed up to the parapet to watch. Soon the small boat landed at the
south wharf. It brought Lt. J. H. Wilson, of the Topographical
Engineers, to Cockspur Island with a formal demand to surrender.
Colonel Olmstead retired to his quarters, where, after a brief time, he
composed his reply:
Sir, I have to acknowledge receipt of your communication of this
date, demanding the unconditional surrender of Fort Pulaski.
In reply I can only say, that I am here to defend the Fort, not to
surrender it.
Now that the time had come to fight, the men experienced a great sense
of relief. They joked and laughed among themselves as they cleaned up
the parade ground, carried ammunition to the guns, and prepared for
action.
At 10 minutes past 8 o’clock a single 13-inch mortar shell rose from
Battery Halleck with a muffled roar. It traveled slowly in a high arc
over the fort and exploded in the air beyond. The second mortar shell,
from Battery Stanton, fell short, exploding in the marsh east of the
fort. And now the line of fire rolled along Tybee Beach, extending
itself to right and left as battery after battery unmasked mortars,
guns, and columbiads.
For some minutes Pulaski was silent; then, four casemate guns were
fired in rapid succession. Almost immediately the guns on the barbette
joined in the action directing their fire toward the rifle batteries at
King’s Landing on Tybee Island.
The first shots on both sides went wide of their marks as the gunners
attempted to box their targets. One of the barbette guns of the fort
recoiled completely off its chassis, while similar accidents on Tybee
put four 10-inch columbiads out of the fight. Despite these early
mishaps, the fire from each side was soon rapid and increasingly
accurate.
Early in the day the men in the fort learned that they had little to
fear from the Federal mortars. Most of the 10-inch and 13-inch mortar
shells exploded high in the air or fell outside. The few that dropped
on the parade buried themselves in the ground and, on exploding, threw
up harmless geysers of mud. Whenever a ponderous solid shot from a
columbiad landed squarely on the wall, however, the whole fort quivered
and shook. About 2 hours after the fight began, one of these solid
shots entered an embrasure and dismounted the casemate gun. Several
members of the gun crew were wounded, one so severely that it was
necessary to amputate his arm immediately. At 11 o’clock the halyards
on the flag pole were cut by a fragment of shell and the flag swooped
down within the fort. Lt. Christopher Hussey of the Montgomery Guards
and Pvt. John Latham of the German Volunteers sprang upon the parapet
and carried the flag under fire to the northeast angle where they
raised it again on the ramrod of a cannon.
At noon observers on Tybee counted 47 scars on the south flank,
pancoupe, and southeast face of the fort, and it was already obvious
that several of the embrasures were considerably enlarged. During the
afternoon the fire slackened on both sides, and after sunset not more
than 7 or 8 shells an hour were thrown until daylight the next morning.
At the end of the day to observers on Tybee, the fort, notwithstanding
its dents and scars, looked nearly as solid and capable of resistance
as when fire was opened in the morning. There was a general feeling
among the Union soldiers that the day’s work had not greatly hastened
the surrender. The mortars had proved a disappointment and the effect
of the breaching fire could not be definitely determined. Although
there had been many narrow escapes, no one had been hurt in the Federal
batteries.
Had Gillmore been able to inspect the fort at the end of the first day,
he would have had reason to rejoice. The place was in shambles. Nearly
all of the barbette guns and mortars bearing upon Tybee had been
dismounted and only two of the five casemate guns were in order. At the
southeast angle, the whole wall from the crest of the parapet to the
moat was flaked away to a depth of from 2 to 4 feet.
_Surrender_
On Friday morning, at daylight, the bombardment reopened with fresh
vigor on both sides. Pulaski had repaired some of her guns during the
night and now directed her barbette fire with considerable precision
and rapidity. From Tybee, Gillmore’s gunners resumed the work of
breaching with determination, and the effect was almost immediately
apparent in the enlargement of the two embrasures on the left of the
southeast face of the fort. Pulaski’s fire was far less accurate than
that of the Federals. The batteries on Tybee were nearly all masked
behind a low sand ridge and were also protected by heavy sandbag
revetments. Most of the Confederate shot and shell buried themselves in
the beach or traveled completely over the Federal batteries and
trenches. About 9 o’clock the besiegers received their only casualty. A
solid shot from Pulaski entered a gun embrasure in Battery McClellan
striking a private soldier and wounded him so severely that he died
soon after.
During the morning, the naval gunboat, _Norwich_, began to fire against
the northeast face of the fort, but the range was too great and her
shots struck only glancing blows on the brick walls. A battery on Long
Island opened up at long range from the west, and shots were landing on
the south wall from guns located on a barge in Tybee Creek.
[Illustration: _Mortar Battery Stanton in action, April 10, 1862._
Sketch by W. T. Crane in Supplement to _Frank Leslie’s Illustrated
Weekly_, May 3, 1862.]
At noon, a considerable part of the Federal fire was directed against
the guns on the ramparts of the fort and within half an hour these guns
were silenced. By now, two great holes had been opened through the
walls and the inside of the fort was visible from Tybee. The interior
arches had been laid bare, and a barbette gun on the parapet was
tottering, ready to fall. It was plain that the whole east angle would
soon be in ruins. General Benham gave orders to prepare to take Fort
Pulaski by direct assault.
At the fort, when all men were ordered from the ramparts to allow the
guns to cool, Pvt. L. W. Landershine thought that “things looked blue.”
One man had been mortally wounded, another had had his foot taken off
by the recoil of a gun, and a dozen others had been struck by fragments
of shell. Projectiles from the rifle batteries were passing completely
through the breach, sweeping across the parade, and striking against
the walls of the north magazine in which 40,000 pounds of black powder
was stored.
The moment had come for Olmstead to make a decision. There were only
two courses open. He could fight on against overwhelming odds, or he
could admit defeat. It must have been a difficult choice for the
gallant 25-year-old colonel to make. Impressed by the utter
hopelessness of the situation and believing the lives of the garrison
to be his next care, he gave the order for surrender.
Says Private Landershine, who was at this time discussing the state of
affairs with his comrades, “About 2-12 p. m. I seen Col. Olmstead and
Capt. Sims go past with a rammer and a sheet, we all knew that it was
over with us and we would have to give up.”
The Confederate flag was lowered half way and a final gun was fired
from a casemate. Then the flag was hauled down and the white sheet took
its place. An old era in coastal fortifications had come to an end.
On Tybee there was wild rejoicing. Men danced together on the beach,
shook hands, and cheered General Gillmore as he rode along the line. At
King’s Landing, Gillmore embarked on a small boat with his aides. The
passage up the South Channel was rough, the skiff ran aground and was
nearly swamped by the heavy seas. Soaked with the salt tides of the
Savannah, the party landed at Cockspur Island and advanced toward the
fort under a flag of truce. Colonel Olmstead was waiting at the
entrance. He showed the way to his quarters, and, during an hour alone
with General Gillmore, the terms of the capitulation were settled.
After inspecting the fort, the general took leave.
In Colonel Olmstead’s quarters by the half-light of candles, the
officers of the fort gave up their swords to General Hunter’s
representative, Maj. Charles G. Halpine. The weapons were laid on a
table, and each officer, according to his rank, advanced in turn,
mentioned his name and title, and spoke a few words appropriate to the
occasion. Said Colonel Olmstead, “I yield my sword, but I trust I have
not disgraced it.”
The men of the garrison were formed by companies on the parade, stacked
their arms, and marched to quarters for the night. The Stars and
Stripes was then raised over the ramparts, and Pulaski again became
part of the possessions, as well as the property, of the Union.
Terms of the surrender were unconditional.
_Significance of the Siege_
In its relation to the total strategy of the Civil War, the reduction
of Fort Pulaski was important. The blockade directed against the South
was materially strengthened by the acquisition of this fortress in the
mouth of the Savannah River. After the surrender, Northern troops
occupied the fort and commanded the entrance to the principal port of
Georgia. It thus served as one of the many pincers that throttled the
economic life of the South.
When viewed in larger perspective, however, an even greater
significance may be attached to the battle for the once-great fort.
“The result of this bombardment,” General Hunter declared in his report
to the Secretary of War, “must cause a change in the construction of
fortifications as radical as that foreshadowed in naval architecture by
the conflict between the _Monitor_ and _Merrimac_. No works of stone or
brick can resist the impact of rifled artillery of heavy calibre.”
Subsequent events verified this prophetic statement, and the Fort
Pulaski incident may be considered one of the many mileposts in
history. The strategy that had guided military experts had to be
revised to meet the threat of a new weapon of war, and Fort Pulaski,
because of the consequent changes, has become an interesting relic of
another age.
In the 2 days of battle, 5,275 shot and shell were fired against the
fort, but the breach through the walls was largely the result of three
guns—two 84-pounder and one 64-pounder James rifles. Solid projectiles
from these guns at a distance of 1,640 yards penetrated the brickwork
from 20 to 25 inches with shattering lateral effect. Shots from the
other rifles were erratic in flight—some wabbling, some turning
end-over-end—and did little damage when they slammed into the wall of
the fort. Explosive shells from the rifles also played an important
part in reducing the work.
The guns and mortars in the Federal batteries were served by
detachments from the 7th Connecticut Volunteers, the 3rd Rhode Island
Volunteer Artillery, the 46th New York State Volunteers, and the 8th
Maine Volunteers. On the second day of the bombardment 100 sailors from
the frigate _Wabash_ manned four of the 30-pounder Parrott rifles in
Battery Sigel. The accuracy of fire achieved by the gunners in the
2-day battle is remarkable in view of the fact that none of them,
except the sailors, had had previous experience in firing.
[Illustration: _Third Rhode Island Artillery at Fort Pulaski._ From
_The Photographic History of the Civil War_.]
The quick reduction of Fort Pulaski took the world by surprise, and,
until the details of the battle were available, many people regarded
the surrender with suspicion. In the circumstances, however, Olmstead’s
decision was wise. Nothing but glory could have been obtained by
prolonging the battle, and many additional lives might have been lost.
When the Confederates gave up Tybee Island, they abandoned Pulaski to
its fate, for they presented the Union forces with the only possible
battery sites from which the fort could have been reduced. When
Olmstead raised the white flag, the Federals were already preparing an
assault, and within 24 hours they could have thrown more than 10,000
troops against the fort. Opposed by such odds, the handful of men on
Cockspur, no matter how brave they might have been, could have staged
but a brief and pointless resistance.
Pulaski’s captured garrison was sent North to Governor’s Island in New
York Harbor, where the officers were confined in Fort Columbus; the
men, in Castle Williams. Three months later the officers were
transferred to Johnson’s Island near Sandusky, Ohio, and the men, to
Fort Delaware. Many of the prisoners died of pneumonia or typhoid fever
and a considerable number of the privates, because of family
connections in the Northern States or lack of sympathy with the
Confederate cause, took the oath of allegiance to the United States. In
August, most of the men were exchanged at Aiken’s Landing on the James
River, 12 miles from Richmond, Va., and were soon back in Savannah. The
officers were exchanged in September at Vicksburg, Miss.
[Illustration: _Review of the 48th New York Volunteers on Fort Pulaski
parade ground._ From _History of the 48th Regiment New York Volunteers
in the War for the Union, 1861-1865_.]
The honor of being the first Federal troops to garrison Fort Pulaski
after the surrender was given to the 7th Connecticut Regiment, one
company of the 3rd Rhode Island Heavy Artillery, and a detachment of
the Volunteer Engineers. On June 1 the 7th Connecticut was relieved by
the 48th New York, which remained on Cockspur until May 31, 1863. The
so-called honor of garrison duty was tempered with hard work, for,
during the months following the battle, the troops were detailed to
repair the damage caused by the bombardment. The batteries on Tybee
Island were dismantled and some of the guns were added to the armament
of the fort. To ease the tedium of life on a small island, the 48th New
York organized a baseball team, a band, and a dramatic association, and
the wives of some of the officers came to live on Cockspur.
[Illustration: “_No works of stone or brick can resist the impact of
rifled artillery of heavy calibre._” From _The Photographic History of
the Civil War_.]
The war continued actively on other fronts, slowly turning against the
South. Weeks, months, and years passed. In June 1863 Pulaski’s garrison
was reduced to a holding force. Great battles were fought
elsewhere—Vicksburg, Gettysburg, Chickamauga, Chattanooga, Lookout
Mountain, Missionary Ridge, the Wilderness, Spotsylvania, and Kennesaw
Mountain. In September 1864, Gen. William Tecumseh Sherman took Atlanta
after a long and bloody siege and prepared to march to Savannah through
the breadbasket of the Confederate States.
“_The Immortal Six Hundred_”
Late in October 1864, Fort Pulaski became involved in one of the most
barbaric episodes of the Civil War when more than 500 prisoners of
war—Confederate officers of rank from lieutenant to lieutenant
colonel—were brought to Cockspur from a stockade on Morris Island in
Charleston Harbor. These officers, captured in battle and representing
every Southern State and the border States of Missouri, Maryland, and
Kentucky, were the victims of a cruel policy of retaliation and are
known in Southern history as “The Immortal Six Hundred.”
The dismal story began at Charleston when Confederate Gen. Samuel
Jones, in an attempt to lift the bombardment of that city, adopted a
dangerous stratagem of using prisoners of war as a shield. On June 13,
1864, Jones notified Union Gen. J. G. Foster, Commandant of the
Department of the South, that 5 generals and 45 field officers of the
U. S. Army had been quartered in a part of the city which for many
months had been exposed night and day to the fire of Federal guns.
Foster immediately retaliated by requesting that 55 Confederate
Officers of equal rank be sent from the prison at Fort Delaware to be
placed in a stockade on Morris Island under the guns of Fort Sumter.
This ugly situation was ended by a general exchange of the officers on
August 3, but on that day Jones placed 600 more Federal officers in the
residential section of Charleston, which was under bombardment. Federal
reaction was prompt. Six hundred additional Confederate officers were
sent down from Fort Delaware and this time they were placed in the
stockade on Morris Island under the guns of Fort Sumter.
What benefit Jones really expected to derive from his strategy is
certainly not clear. There is evidence that he soon regretted the game
he was playing and made every effort possible to have the Federal
officers moved out of Charleston, but, due to the fortunes of war,
Jones was powerless to stop the chain of events he had started. He
could not get rid of his unwelcome guests, and, as General Sherman,
poised for his march through Georgia, threatened the security of the
Confederate prison at Andersonville, Ga., hundreds of new Federal
prisoners sent from that place began to arrive in Charleston every day.
In October, Fate intervened. Yellow fever, which had been smoldering in
Charleston for many weeks, became epidemic, and the acute danger from
this source gave Jones the excuse to remove the prisoners without
authority from his superiors. He sent the officers to Columbia and the
men to Florence. On learning of this move, Foster ordered the
Confederate prisoners from Morris Island to Fort Pulaski.
When the “Immortal Six Hundred” arrived at Cockspur Island, they
presented a forlorn picture. Uniforms in tatters, barefooted, suffering
from diarrhea and hacking coughs, their ranks had already been reduced
to 520. Forty-nine were in hospitals, 4 had escaped, 2 had been
exchanged, and 2 had taken the oath of allegiance. Six were in a
convict prison on Hilton Head Island for attempted escape, 13 were
unaccounted for, and 4 were buried in the sands of Morris Island.
At Fort Pulaski, Col. Philip P. Brown, Jr., commandant of the post,
greeted the prisoners and promised to make the fort the model military
prison of the United States. He said that he had already requisitioned
blankets and clothing, full army rations, and plenty of fuel.
Colonel Brown, 157th New York Volunteers, was a completely humane man
and won the respect of his Confederate prisoners, but he could not
carry out the promises he had made. His requisitions were ignored. In
consequence, he could issue neither blankets nor clothing. Out of his
garrison supplies he fed the prisoners as well as he could, but fuel on
Cockspur was scarce and fires in the cookstoves could be lighted but
once a day. When the weather turned cold there was neither wood nor
coal to heat the prison casemates. Because of his attitude of humanity,
Brown drew upon himself the censure of his commanding general.
On December 15, Brown was ordered to impose a starvation ration
composed of one-quarter pound of bread, 10 ounces of cornmeal, and
one-half pint of pickles daily, and 1 ounce of salt every 5 days. Under
this new order prisoners were permitted to secure additional food from
sutlers, but since they had no money and were not allowed to receive
funds from the Confederate States, they could purchase no food.
For 43 days in the coldest months of an unusually severe winter, the
prisoners at Pulaski subsisted on this cornmeal and pickle diet. Cats
and dogs that strayed through the prison bars were immediately cooked
and eaten. But day by day the men grew weaker. At night, with no
blankets and no warming fires, they had to keep moving about or freeze.
By mid-January 1865, scurvy began to take its toll.