“Torpedoes.”
“Damn the torpedoes!” shouted the admiral. “Four bells. Captain Drayton,
go ahead. Jouett, full speed.”
And the “Hartford” dashed forward, passed the “Brooklyn,” and assumed the
head of the column.
Over the line of mines they flew at full speed, and the men below could
hear them as they scraped along the hull. It was the one way out of the
difficulty, and a second’s hesitation would have closed even this escape
from a frightful calamity. The admiral looked astern at the manœuvring
of his vessels with a smile of satisfaction. It was a magnificent sight.
At first they appeared to be fouling each other in dire confusion, at the
mercy of the guns which still belched forth a merciless fire. But as the
“Hartford” dashed forward, one by one, as if by magic, they took their
places. And he knew a grand tactical movement had been accomplished.
Nor did he forget the poor men of the “Tecumseh,” struggling in the water
where their ship had gone down, but, going down the rigging, ordered
Jouett to lower a boat immediately and pick up the survivors.
The “Hartford” was nearly a mile ahead before the line could be
straightened, and single-handed she fought the batteries and the gunboats,
making straight for Buchanan’s invincible ram, the “Tennessee.” Amid the
fire of shot and bursting shell the admiral walked calmly back to his
quarter-deck, giving a word of advice here and an order there. But soon
the other vessels were able to pour in a storm of shot and shell that
completely silenced the batteries.
One by one he saw the gunboats sink, until only the “Tennessee” had to be
accounted for. The admiral tried to ram her, and the solid shot of his
broadsides rolled down her iron sides; but she slipped away, pouring in
a terrific fire at close range. She riddled the “Brooklyn,” “Richmond,”
and “Monongahela,” all three of which dashed at her, bows on, at fearful
speed. The admiral again struck her a fearful blow, but apparently with
no effect whatever.
The ram had one great advantage: she was surrounded by enemies and could
fire continually, while the Union vessels had to use the utmost care not
to fire into or collide with one another. An accident of this kind now
happened to Farragut’s ship. The “Hartford” and the “Lackawanna” were both
making at full speed for the ram. The “Hartford” had the better position;
and the “Lackawanna,” sheering off to avoid another ship, ran into the
quarter of the flagship, just where the admiral was standing, cutting her
down nearly to the water’s edge. The shock of the impact nearly took him
off his feet, but in a moment he was climbing over the side to see what
damage had been done.
His crew thought he was looking out for himself. Immediately there was a
cry, “Get the admiral out of the ship.” The whole thought of his crew,
unmindful of themselves, was to get him to a place of safety. It was a
mere sudden impulse. But Farragut was not the man to look to himself.
Having satisfied himself that the “Hartford” could last, he again gave
the order, “Full speed,” and set his prow again for the “Tennessee.”
But in the meanwhile the monitors had been hammering away at her with
their heavy shot. Her rudder and smoke-stack were shot away, and her
shutters jammed, and as the “Hartford” bore down upon her for the third
time she showed her white flag and surrendered.
The “Hartford” was greatly cut up,--twenty-five killed and twenty-eight
wounded,--but the admiral had not a scratch to show for his deadly
encounters. He came on deck just as the poor fellows who had been killed
were being carefully laid out on the port side of the quarter-deck.
“It was a great victory, Drayton,” said he, sadly, “but----”
And the men saw him turn aside, tears coursing down his cheeks.
In truth, “there is nothing half so melancholy as a battle lost, except
a battle won.”