In the passage of Port Hudson by Admiral Farragut, on the night of the
14th of March, 1863, out of a fleet of eight vessels which attempted to
run the batteries, only the two foremost ones, the "Hartford" and the
"Albatross," succeeded in doing so. The "Hartford" was a regular steam
sloop-of-war, which the admiral had chosen for his flag-ship; while the
"Albatross" was a rather small propeller which had been purchased by the
navy department, officered, manned, and put in as complete fighting trim
as her proportions would admit of. These two vessels, lashed together,
with the "Albatross" on the port side, headed the procession up the
Mississippi River. Each of the three other large vessels which followed
had a smaller one lashed to her port side. The object of this was that,
in case either of the large vessels got aground, her companion of less
draught might pull her off. It proved to be a most fortunate precaution;
for while under the severest fire the "Hartford" grounded, and was
doubtless saved from total destruction by the strenuous exertions of her
little consort. This the admiral stated to be his conviction at the
time.
The relative positions of the two vessels were such that the "Albatross"
could only work her bow gun, and with the exception of plunging shots
from the upper batteries, the men who served here were the most exposed
to the enemy's fire.
Charley Reck was sponger of the parrot-gun on the forecastle, and fully
realized the danger and responsibility of his position. He was a
well-built, noble-looking young Frenchman, but could understand and
speak English quite well. His intelligence, activity, and good temper,
made him a general favorite on board, and attracted the notice of the
captain, who appointed him his steward and gave him many privileges,
allowing him time for reading and correspondence, of which he was
exceedingly fond.
Down the river at Plaquemine, there was an excellent bakery kept by an
old Frenchman and his three beautiful daughters. For a long time during
the preparations for an advance up the river, we had frequently come to
anchor opposite this little town, and never omitted to supply ourselves
with fresh bread from this bakery, and enjoy a friendly chat with the
three charming sisters. They were very affable, and there was an
artlessness about them, combined with self-respect, which was very
fascinating. In his daily visits to supply the captain's larder, and
probably in part on account of like nationality, Charley Reck lost his
heart. Louise, the youngest daughter, and the most beautiful of the
three, captured it completely. Theirs was a sincere and honest
attachment, and the sequel discloses how tender must have been their
parting when the order came to proceed up the river, and face the
uncertain issues of mortal combat.
On the 14th of March, early in the morning, we were at the head of
Prophet's Island, a short distance below Port Hudson, and there the
vessels of the fleet, one after another, assembled. Then came the order
to be in readiness to run the batteries at a given signal at night. I
had never been under fire, and my bump of curiosity probably saved me on
this occasion from much of the anxiety which otherwise I might have
felt, but the unusual seriousness which seemed to pervade the whole
ship's company during that day did not escape my notice, and was, in
some degree, contagious.
The officers, when not on duty, kept mostly in their staterooms, and
there was no hilarity among the men.
In the captain's storeroom there was a nook where Charley Reck was in
the habit of spending his leisure moments, and during that afternoon he
had been closeted there longer than was his wont. Just before sunset he
came out, and approaching me with the customary salute, he handed me a
neat little package, and said, "Doctor, when you go down the river, will
you please give this to Louise?" Not understanding him, I replied, "Are
you going to leave us, Charley; aren't you going to stick by the ship?"
Very sadly he answered, "This is my last day; I shall die to-night!" I
tried to rally him by saying, "Nonsense! you are just as likely to come
out all right as any of the rest of us!" But he only replied, "Please
take it, Doctor; I am sponger of that gun, and I shall do my duty; but I
shall be killed to-night!" Then I took the package and locked it in my
desk, thinking as I did so that I would return it to him on the morrow,
and have a good laugh at his expense.
The story of that fearful night has long since been published, and I
shall not attempt to repeat it, further than relates to the subject of
this sketch. I had arranged the ward-room for my "cock-pit," and in the
midst of the awful conflict I heard a voice call down the companion-way,
"Doctor, here's a man with his arm shot off!" and I shouted back, "Bring
him down, quick!"
We laid him on the table, unconscious. His right arm was shattered
midway between the shoulder and elbow. I thought he had fainted from
loss of blood, but the next moment I saw plainly enough that he was
dead.
A shell had exploded near him, and sent a large fragment clear through
his lungs and heart, killing him instantly.