Although the Civil War furnished many instances of conspicuous gallantry,
so many that most of them remain to-day comparatively unknown, none
was more notable than the torpedo exploit of Lieutenant William Barker
Cushing. There have been several similar expeditions in our naval
history. Before Tripoli, Richard Somers made the ill-fated attempt
with the “Intrepid,” and in the war with Spain, Richmond Hobson sunk
the “Merrimac.” There is no question that the personal and sentimental
aspects of these three hazardous enterprises are similar. All three men
were young, and each one knew that he took his life in his hands. Somers,
rather than be captured with his powder, destroyed both his ship and
himself. Hobson sunk the “Merrimac,” but did not succeed in getting her
athwart the channel. Cushing, in a torpedo-launch, went under the guns of
the enemy, and escaped both death and imprisonment. On the enemy the moral
effect of all three exploits must have been the same. Professionally,
Cushing’s exploit has just this distinction: he was successful. Like
Decatur in the recapture of the “Philadelphia,” he carried out in every
detail the plans he had made. And upon his success the way was opened
for the Union fleet, and the hopes of the Confederates fled, for only two
seaports in the South--Charleston and Wilmington--remained open to them.
After the great success of the “Merrimac” in Hampton Roads, the
Confederates determined to construct a vessel of similar design for use
in the Southern rivers and sounds. Under great difficulties they built
the “Albemarle” on the Roanoke River, and carried her into action almost
before the last rivet was driven. She was a formidable craft in those
days, and the shots from the vessels of the Northern fleet went harmlessly
against her iron sides to break and fly into a thousand pieces. On the
5th of May the “Albemarle” had another fight with a larger fleet of Union
vessels, which had gathered to hem in and disable her. During the action
the “Sassacus” saw an opportunity to ram her, and, going ahead at full
speed, struck the ram a terrific blow amidships. The bow of the “Sassacus”
was literally torn to pieces by the impact, and the “Albemarle,” though
heeling over and in danger of sinking for a time, finally righted and
pulled out of the action uninjured, but by no means disabled. All of the
vessels of the squadron kept up a heavy fire upon her, but she went on to
her anchorage up the river, where a few repairs made her as good as ever.
It looked to the Unionists as though the story of the “Merrimac” with
the “Congress” and the “Cumberland” was about to be repeated; that the
“Albemarle” in course of time would come down at her leisure and destroy
all Northern vessels in those waters. To make matters worse, the Unionists
learned that another vessel of a similar type was nearly completed, and
that the two vessels would attack at the same time,--a combination which,
with their consorts, seemed irresistible. Something had to be done if the
command of the sounds of the Carolinas was to remain with the navy of the
North.
But during the summer of 1864 two steam launches rigged up as
torpedo-boats, the invention of Engineer J. L. Long, were fitted out at
New York and brought down through the canals to Albemarle Sound. The bows
of the boats were cut under and decked over, and the engines were so built
that when covered and moving at a low rate of speed they made little or
no noise. A spar ten or fifteen feet long, which carried a torpedo and a
firing attachment, projected forward over the bow, and a small howitzer
was also mounted forward where it would be useful to repel attack.
The government had decided to make a night attempt on the “Albemarle,”
and the honor of the command of the expedition was bestowed on Lieutenant
Cushing, who had half a dozen times before received the thanks of the
secretary of the navy for gallantry in action off Cape Fear River.
The expedition was favored by the inactivity of the Confederates. The
“Albemarle” lay alongside the dock at Plymouth awaiting the completion of
her sister-ship, but this needless delay gave Cushing the opportunity he
wanted.
The Confederates were fully aware of the plans of the Unionist’s navy, and
a thousand soldiers remained to guard the “Albemarle” from land attack as
well as to act as sentries for a distance along the river bank. To provide
against torpedoes, a line of great cypress logs was boomed off her sides
at a distance of twenty to thirty feet, so that it seemed impossible to
come within striking distance. Besides this, the smaller guns of the ram
were trained up and down the river,--which here was but one hundred and
fifty yards wide,--to sweep the entire area over which the attacking party
had to pass.
But Cushing, like Decatur, rejoiced at obstacles. He was only twenty-one,
but he carried a man’s head on his broad shoulders, and the planning
of such an expedition down to the smallest detail was a task which he
entered into with judgment and enthusiasm, ingredients as rare as they
are necessary in such a desperate enterprise.
After a week spent in preparation and experiment, the gunboat “Otsego”
brought the launch to the mouth of the river, where Cushing cast off and
pointed his bow toward Plymouth, towing a cutter full of armed men, who
were to capture, if possible, a Confederate guard,--which had been set
in a schooner near the sunken “Southfield,”--to prevent their giving the
alarm. But the expedition started badly, for the launch ran aground on
a bar. Before Cushing could float her again it was too late to make the
attempt. Cushing and his boat’s crews then returned to the “Otsego.”
The next night was black and squally, with occasional showers of rain.
They could only make out the loom of the shore by straining their eyes
into the darkness. Cushing was as cool as though taking shore-liberty. As
he shook hands with the “Otsego’s” officers he paused at the gangway to
say, with a laugh,--
“Well, here goes for another stripe or a coffin.”
They crept slowly up the river, keeping close to the bank, under the
shadow of the reeds and trees. The little engine, covered with tarpaulins,
made so little sound that the men in the cutter towing astern could hardly
hear it. There was not a sound except the plashing of the gusts of rain
and the ripple of the water as the little craft moved steadily on. Cushing
knew he must be passing some of the pickets now, so not a word even in
whispers was spoken. Every man had his duty and knew when to do it. Acting
Ensign William Howarth was aft at Cushing’s side. Acting Master’s Mate
John Woodman, who knew the river, was next to him. The other officers were
Acting Master’s Mate Thomas S. Gay, Acting Assistant-Paymaster Francis H.
Swan, and Acting Third-Assistant-Engineers Charles L. Steever and William
Stotesbury.
By half-past two A.M., about a mile below Plymouth, where the “Albemarle”
lay, they came upon the submerged “Southfield,” and could just make out
the lines of the guard-schooner. The machinery of the launch was slowed,
almost stopped, for Cushing had decided to get by her if he could without
a fight. It was a moment of utmost anxiety, and every man was prepared for
the attack. But there was no sign of discovery from the schooners, and in
ten minutes the little expedition had passed up the river in safety.
But only the first danger of discovery was over. Between the “Southfield”
and Plymouth the bank was guarded by a double line of sentries, and the
men in the boats, now moving more quickly, could see the red glare of
the smouldering fires reaching all the way to town. As they came to the
point beyond which the ram was lying, they found, to their delight, that
the fires which should have been brightly burning were smouldering in
the rain. There was no sign of a man to be made out anywhere, and Cushing
pushed on directly for the “Albemarle,” which he could now see plainly as
she lay at the wharf, grim and menacing, but without a sign of life.
Suddenly from the shore there came the sharp bark of a dog. To the ears
of Cushing and his men in the deep silence and anxiety of the moment it
sounded like the report of a Dahlgren. There was a cry from a sentry and a
challenge, followed by a musket-shot, and the bullet flew over the boats
and struck the water fifty feet away with a vicious _ping_ that sounded
not less loud than the report itself. There was another challenge, and in
a moment the cries came from everywhere. Other dogs began barking, and it
seemed as though the whole town was aroused. The sentries on both sides
of the stream threw inflammable material on the smouldering fires, and in
a moment the river was as bright as day.
Realizing that further concealment was useless, Cushing himself cast off
the towline of the cutter, and telling the men in her to row for their
lives, gave the engineer the order, “Four bells, ahead full speed,”
setting the nose of the launch directly for the ram. The sparks flew up
from her stack, and the dark water churned up in masses of foam under her
stern, as like a sentient thing she leaped forward on her deadly mission.
It was then that Cushing discovered for the first time the line of torpedo
booms which guarded the ram. In facing the musketry-fire and the great
guns of their enormous adversary the task of getting close enough to reach
her seemed impossible.
Cushing knew that if he was to get over the log booms he must strike
them fair; then perhaps he could slide over within striking distance. He
shifted his helm, and making a wide sweep out into the stream, gathered
all the headway he could and came down into the very jaws of the great
monster. A tremendous volley from the shot-guns and muskets of the
sentries greeted them, and Paymaster Swan was wounded. Cushing received
a charge of buckshot in the back of his coat and had the sole of his shoe
torn off, but these were the only shots which took effect.
Cushing here shouted, in a loud voice, “Leave the ram; we’re going to blow
you up!” hoping to create a panic. But the Confederates continued firing,
and succeeded in getting in two howitzer-shots, one of which felled a
man by Cushing’s side. At this moment, Gay, up forward in the launch,
took careful aim with the howitzer, and sent a charge in the midst of the
Confederate crew. Then with a slight jar the sled-like bow rose on the
boom. She balanced a second, and slid over within the enclosure, half full
of water, but within reaching distance.
One of the great guns of the “Albemarle,” a hundred-pounder, protruded
from a broadside port directly in front of them, and they could see the
gun-crew frantically training the gun and trying to depress the muzzle
enough to bear on them. It was a matter of seconds now. Who would fire
first? Cushing had lowered the torpedo-spar, and as soon as he had it well
under the overhang he detached it, then waited until he heard the torpedo
strike the hull, when he pulled the trigger-line. He was not a fraction
of a second too soon, for the two concussions were almost simultaneous.
There was a muffled roar from below the great vessel, and a column of
water shot out from under her as she lifted on the wave. The shock of the
hundred-pounder was terrific, and it seemed as if the frail launch had
been blown to pieces. But Cushing had been too quick for them. The charge
of canister passed a few feet over their heads and scattered in the river
beyond.
The work of the gallant crew was done. Cushing had made a hole in the
“Albemarle” large enough to have driven a wagon through. The great
wave of the torpedo rose and went completely over the launch, swamping
her alongside and throwing her men into the water. All of them got to
the booms safely. Here Cushing paused a moment to throw off his outer
clothing, while the Confederates on the banks were shouting to the men to
surrender. Several of them, being unable to swim, did so; but Cushing,
calling to the others to follow him, plunged boldly into the water and
struck off down the stream. He was a powerful swimmer, but the night was
cold, and he knew that he could not keep up very long. But he swam for
half an hour, and he came upon Woodman in the middle of the stream, almost
exhausted. Though almost entirely fagged out himself, he tried to help the
mate towards the shore. Finding that he was being pulled down and unable
to save the other, Cushing struggled on, and reached the shoal water more
dead than alive. Here he lay among the reeds until dawn, when he learned
from a negro how complete had been his success. At last, after almost
twenty-four hours’ exposure, he succeeded in finding one of the enemy’s
deserted picket-skiffs, and managed under cover of the second night to
pull off to the Federal “Valley City,” which he reached at eleven o’clock
at night, and was hauled aboard completely exhausted from his labor and
exposure. Only one other of his crew reached a place of safety. Woodman
and Samuel Higgins, the fireman, were drowned. The others went ashore and
surrendered or were captured.
This service, because of the great benefit to the Union cause and the
daring manner in which it had been performed, made Cushing the hero of
the year. Congress passed a vote of thanks and promoted him to the rank
of lieutenant-commander, which he held until 1872, when he became a
commander.
He did not long enjoy his honors, for two years later he died of brain
fever, in Washington, at the age of thirty-two. Had he lived he would have
been but fifty-six years of age at the outbreak of the war with Spain,
and would have been one of the ranking officers in active service of the
new navy.