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Title: The Naval History of the United States
       Volume 2 (of 2)

Author: Willis J. Abbot

Illustrator: H. W. McVicar
             W. C. Jackson

Release Date: August 24, 2008 [EBook #26416]

Language: English

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other inconsistencies are as in the original. The author's spelling
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                         THE NAVAL HISTORY

                               OF THE

                            UNITED STATES


                                 BY

                           WILLIS J. ABBOT


                       With Many Illustrations
                 BY H. W. McVICAR AND W. C. JACKSON



                             _VOLUME TWO_




                               NEW YORK:
                    PETER FENELON COLLIER, PUBLISHER.




CHAPTER XII.

     CAPTURE OF THE "SURVEYOR." -- WORK OF THE GUNBOAT FLOTILLA. --
     OPERATIONS ON CHESAPEAKE BAY. -- COCKBURN'S DEPREDATIONS. --
     CRUISE OF THE "ARGUS." -- HER CAPTURE BY THE "PELICAN." -- BATTLE
     OF THE "ENTERPRISE" AND "BOXER." -- END OF THE YEAR 1813 ON THE
     OCEAN.


With the capture of the "Chesapeake" in June, 1813, we abandoned our
story of the naval events along the coast of the United States, to
follow Capt. Porter and his daring seamen on their long cruise into
far-off seas. But while the men of the "Essex" were capturing whalers
in the Pacific, chastising insolent savages at Nookaheevah, and
fighting a gallant but unsuccessful fight at Valparaiso, other
blue-jackets were as gallantly serving their country nearer home. From
Portsmouth to Charleston the coast was watched by British ships, and
collisions between the enemies were of almost daily occurrence. In
many of these actions great bravery was shown on both sides.
Noticeably was this the case in the action between the cutter
"Surveyor" and the British frigate "Narcissus," on the night of June
12. The "Surveyor," a little craft manned by a crew of fifteen men,
and mounting six twelve-pound carronades, was lying in the York River
near Chesapeake Bay. From the masthead of the "Narcissus," lying
farther down the bay, the spars of the cutter could be seen above the
tree-tops; and an expedition was fitted out for her capture. Fifty
men, led by a veteran officer, attacked the little vessel in the
darkness, but were met with a most determined resistance. The
Americans could not use their carronades, but with their muskets they
did much execution in the enemy's ranks. But they were finally
overpowered, and the little cutter was towed down under the frigate's
guns. The next day Mr. Travis, the American commander, received his
sword which he had surrendered, with a letter from the British
commander, in which he said, "Your gallant and desperate attempt to
defend your vessel against more than double your number, on the night
of the 12th inst., excited such admiration on the part of your
opponents as I have seldom witnessed, and induced me to return you the
sword you had so nobly used, in testimony of mine.... In short, I am
at a loss which to admire most, the previous arrangement on board the
'Surveyor,' or the determined manner in which her deck was disputed,
inch by inch."

During the summer of 1813, the little gunboats, built in accordance
with President Jefferson's plan for a coast guard of single-gun
vessels, did a great deal of desultory fighting, which resulted in
little or nothing. They were not very seaworthy craft, the heavy guns
mounted amidships causing them to careen far over in even a sailor's
"capfull" of wind. When they went into action, the first shot from the
gun set the gunboat rocking so that further fire with any precision of
aim was impossible. The larger gunboats carried sail enough to enable
them to cruise about the coast, keeping off privateers and checking
the marauding expeditions of the British. Many of the gunboats,
however, were simply large gallies propelled with oars, and therefore
confined in their operations to bays and inland waters. The chief
scene of their operations was Chesapeake Bay.

This noble sheet of water had been, since the very opening of the year
1813, under the control of the British, who had gathered there their
most powerful vessels under the command of Admiral Cockburn, whose
name gained an unenviable notoriety for the atrocities committed by
his forces upon the defenceless inhabitants of the shores of
Chesapeake Bay. Marauding expeditions were continually sent from the
fleet to search the adjacent country for supplies. When this method of
securing provisions failed, Cockburn hit upon the plan of bringing his
fleet within range of a village, and then commanding the inhabitants
to supply his needs, under penalty of the instant bombardment of the
town in case of refusal. Sometimes this expedient failed, as when
Commodore Beresford, who was blockading the Delaware, called upon the
people of Dover to supply him at once with "twenty-five large bullocks
and a proportionate quantity of vegetables and hay." But the sturdy
inhabitants refused, mustered the militia, dragged some old cannon
down to the water-side, and, for lack of cannon-balls of their own,
valiantly fired back those thrown by the British, which fitted the
American ordnance exactly.

Soon after this occurrence, a large party from Cockburn's fleet landed
at Havre de Grace, and, having driven away the few militia, captured
and burned the town. Having accomplished this exploit, the marauders
continued their way up the bay, and turning up into the Sassafras
River ravaged the country on both sides of the little stream. After
spreading distress far and wide over the beautiful country that
borders Chesapeake Bay, the vandals returned to their ships, boasting
that they had despoiled the Americans of at least seventy thousand
dollars, and injured them to the amount of ten times that sum.

By June, 1813, the Americans saw that something must be done to check
the merciless enemy who had thus revived the cruel vandalism, which
had ceased to attend civilized warfare since the middle ages. A fleet
of fifteen armed gallies was fitted out to attack the frigate of
Cockburn's fleet that lay nearest to Norfolk. Urged forward by long
sweeps, the gunboats bore down upon the frigate, which, taken by
surprise, made so feeble and irregular a response that the Americans
thought they saw victory within their grasp. The gunboats chose their
distance, and opened a well-directed fire upon their huge enemy, that,
like a hawk attacked by a crowd of sparrows, soon turned to fly. But
at this moment the wind changed, enabling two frigates which were at
anchor lower down the bay to come up to the aid of their consort. The
American gunboats drew off slowly, firing as they departed.

This attack infused new energy into the British, and they at once
began formidable preparations for an attack upon Norfolk. On the 20th
of June they moved forward to the assault,--three seventy-four-gun
ships, one sixty-four, four frigates, two sloops, and three
transports. They were opposed by the American forces stationed on
Craney Island, which commands the entrance to Norfolk Harbor. Here the
Americans had thrown up earthworks, mounting two twenty-four, one
eighteen, and four six pound cannon. To work this battery, one hundred
sailors from the "Constellation," together with fifty marines, had
been sent ashore. A large body of militia and a few soldiers of the
regular army were also in camp upon the island.

The British set the 22d as the date for the attack; and on the morning
of that day, fifteen large boats, filled with sailors, marines, and
soldiers to the number of seven hundred, put off from the ships, and
dashed toward the batteries. At the same time a larger force tried to
move forward by land, but were driven back, to wait until their
comrades in the boats should have stormed and silenced the American
battery. But that battery was not to be silenced. After checking the
advance of the British by land, the Americans waited coolly for the
column of boats to come within point-blank range. On they came,
bounding over the waves, led by the great barge "Centipede," fifty
feet long, and crowded with men. The blue-jackets in the shore battery
stood silently at their guns. Suddenly there arose a cry, "Now, boys,
are you ready?" "All ready," was the response. "Then fire!" And the
great guns hurled their loads of lead and iron into the advancing
boats. The volley was a fearful one; but the British still came on
doggedly, until the fire of the battery became too terrible to be
endured. "The American sailors handled the great guns like rifles,"
said one of the British officers, speaking of the battle. Before this
terrific fire, the advancing column was thrown into confusion. The
boats, drifting upon each other, so crowded together that the oars-men
could not make any headway. A huge round shot struck the "Centipede,"
passing through her diagonally, leaving death and wounds in its track.
The shattered craft sunk, and was soon followed by four others. The
order for retreat was given; and, leaving their dead and some wounded
in the shattered barges that lay in the shallow water, the British
fled to their ships. Midshipman Tatnall, who, many years later, served
in the Confederate navy, waded out with several sailors, and, seizing
the "Centipede," drew her ashore. He found several wounded men in
her,--one a Frenchman, with both legs shot away. A small terrier dog
lay whimpering in the bow. His master had brought him along for a run
on shore, never once thinking of the possibility of the flower of the
British navy being beaten back by the Americans.

So disastrous a defeat enraged the British, who proceeded to wreak
their vengeance upon the little town of Hampton, which they sacked and
burned, committing acts of shameful violence, more in accordance with
the character of savages than that of civilized white men. The story
of the sack of Hampton forms no part of the naval annals of the war,
and in its details is too revolting to deserve a place here. It is a
narrative of atrocious cruelty not to be paralleled in the history of
warfare in the nineteenth century.

Leaving behind him the smoking ruins of Hampton, Cockburn with his
fleet dropped down the bay, and, turning southward, cruised along the
coast of the Carolinas. Anchoring off Ocracoke Inlet, the British sent
a fleet of armed barges into Pamlico Sound to ravage the adjoining
coast. Two privateers were found lying at anchor in the sound,--the
"Anaconda" of New York, and the "Atlas" of Philadelphia. The British
forces, eight hundred in number, dashed forward to capture the two
vessels. The "Atlas" fell an easy prey; but the thirteen men of the
"Anaconda" fought stoutly until all hope was gone, then, turning their
cannon down upon the decks of their own vessel, blew great holes in
her bottom, and escaped to the shore. After this skirmish, the British
landed, and marched rapidly to Newbern; but, finding that place well
defended by militia, made their way back to the coast, desolating the
country through which they passed, and seizing cattle and slaves. The
latter they are said to have sent to the West Indies and sold. From
Pamlico Sound Cockburn went to Cumberland Island, where he established
his winter quarters, and whence he continued to send out marauding
expeditions during the rest of the year.

Very different was the character of Sir Thomas Hardy, who commanded
the British blockading fleet off the New England coast. A brave and
able officer, with the nature and training of a gentleman, he was as
much admired by his enemies for his nobility, as Cockburn was hated
for his cruelty. It is more than possible, however, that the
difference between the methods of enforcement of the blockade on the
New England coast and on the Southern seaboard was due to definite
orders from the British admiralty: for the Southern States had entered
into the war heart and soul; while New England gave to the American
forces only a faint-hearted support, and cried eagerly for peace at
any cost. So strong was this feeling, that resolutions of honor to the
brave Capt. Lawrence were defeated in the Massachusetts Legislature,
on the ground that they would encourage others to embark in the
needless war in which Lawrence lost his life. Whatever may have been
the cause, however, the fact remains, that Hardy's conduct while on
the blockade won for him the respect and admiration of the very people
against whom his forces were arrayed.

[Illustration: Blue-Jackets at the Guns.]

On June 18 the British blockaders off New York Harbor allowed a little
vessel to escape to sea, that, before she could be captured, roamed at
will within sight of the chalk cliffs of England, and inflicted
immense damage upon the commerce of her enemy. This craft was the
little ten-gun brig "Argus," which left New York bound for France. She
carried as passenger Mr. Crawford of Georgia, who had lately been
appointed United States minister to France. After safely discharging
her passenger at L'Orient, the "Argus" turned into the chops of the
English Channel, and cruised about, burning and capturing many of the
enemy's ships. She was in the very highway of British commerce; and
her crew had little rest day or night, so plentiful were the ships
that fell in their way. It was hard for the jackies to apply the torch
to so many stanch vessels, that would enrich the whole crew with
prize-money could they but be sent into an American port. But the
little cruiser was thousands of miles from any American port, and no
course was open to her save to give every prize to the flames. After
cruising for a time in the English Channel, Lieut. Allen, who
commanded the "Argus," took his vessel around Land's End, and into St.
George's Channel and the Irish Sea. For thirty days he continued his
daring operations in the very waters into which Paul Jones had carried
the American flag nearly thirty-five years earlier. British merchants
and shipping owners in London read with horror of the destruction
wrought by this one vessel. Hardly a paper appeared without an account
of some new damage done by the "Argus." Vessels were kept in port
to rot at their docks, rather than fall a prey to the terrible Yankee.
Rates of insurance went up to ruinous prices, and many companies
refused to take any risks whatever so long as the "Argus" remained
afloat. But the hue and cry was out after the little vessel; and many
a stout British frigate was beating up and down in St. George's
Channel, and the chops of the English Channel, in the hopes of falling
in with the audacious Yankee, who had presumed to bring home to
Englishmen the horrors of war.

It fell to the lot of the brig-sloop "Pelican" to rid the British
waters of the "Argus." On the night of the thirteenth of August, the
American vessel had fallen in with a British vessel from Oporto, and
after a short chase had captured her. The usual result followed. The
prisoners with their personal property were taken out of the prize,
and the vessel was set afire. But, before the torch was applied, the
American sailors had discovered that their prize was laden with wine;
and their resolution was not equal to the task of firing the prize
without testing the quality of the cargo. Besides treating themselves
to rather deep potations, the boarding-crew contrived to smuggle a
quantity of the wine into the forecastle of the "Argus." The prize was
then fired, and the "Argus" moved away under easy sail. But the light
of the blazing ship attracted the attention of the lookout on the
"Pelican," and that vessel came down under full sail to discover the
cause.

Day was just breaking, and by the gray morning light the British saw
an American cruiser making away from the burning hulk of her last
prize. The "Pelican" followed in hot pursuit, and was allowed to come
alongside, although the fleet American could easily have left her far
astern. But Capt. Allen was ready for the conflict; confident of his
ship and of his crew, of whose half-intoxicated condition he knew
nothing, he felt sure that the coming battle would only add more
laurels to the many already won by the "Argus." He had often declared
that the "Argus" should never run from any two-master; and now, that
the gage of battle was offered, he promptly accepted.

At six o'clock in the morning, the "Pelican" came alongside, and
opened the conflict with a broadside from her thirty-two pound
carronades. The "Argus" replied with spirit, and a sharp cannonade
began. Four minutes after the battle opened, Capt. Allen was struck
by a round shot that cut off his left leg near the thigh. His officers
rushed to his side, and strove to bear him to his cabin; but he
resisted, saying he would stay on deck and fight his ship as long as
any life was left him. With his back to a mast, he gave his orders and
cheered on his men for a few minutes longer; then, fainting from the
terrible gush of blood from his wound, was carried below. To lose
their captain so early in the action, was enough to discourage the
crew of the "Argus." Yet the officers left on duty were brave and
skilful. Twice the vessel was swung into a raking position, but the
gunners failed to seize the advantage. "They seemed to be nodding over
their guns," said one of the officers afterward. The enemy, however,
showed no signs of nodding. His fire was rapid and well directed, and
his vessel manoeuvred in a way that showed a practised seaman in
command. At last he secured a position under the stern of the "Argus,"
and lay there, pouring in destructive broadsides, until the Americans
struck their flag,--just forty-seven minutes after the opening of the
action. The loss on the "Argus" amounted to six killed and seventeen
wounded.

No action of the war was so discreditable to the Americans as this. In
the loss of the "Chesapeake" and in the loss of the "Essex," there
were certain features of the action that redounded greatly to the
honor of the defeated party. But in the action between the "Argus" and
the "Pelican," the Americans were simply outfought. The vessels were
practically equal in size and armament, though the "Pelican" carried a
little the heavier metal. It is also stated that the powder used by
the "Argus" was bad. It had been taken from one of the prizes, and
afterwards proved to be condemned powder of the British Government. In
proof of the poor quality of this powder, one of the American officers
states that many shot striking the side of the "Pelican" were seen to
fall back into the water; while others penetrated the vessel's skin,
but did no further damage. All this, however, does not alter the fact
that the "Argus" was fairly beaten in a fair fight.

While the British thus snapped up an American man-of-war cruising at
their harbors' mouths, the Americans were equally fortunate in
capturing a British brig of fourteen guns off the coast of Maine. The
captor was the United States brig "Enterprise," a lucky little vessel
belonging to a very unlucky class; for her sister brigs all fell a
prey to the enemy. The "Nautilus," it will be remembered, was captured
early in the war. The "Vixen" fell into the hands of Sir James Yeo,
who was cruising in the West Indies, in the frigate "Southampton;" but
this gallant officer reaped but little benefit from his prize, for
frigate and brig alike were soon after wrecked on one of the Bahama
Islands. The "Siren," late in the war, was captured by the
seventy-four-gun ship "Medway," and the loss of the "Argus" has just
been chronicled. Of all these brigs, the "Argus" alone was able to
fire a gun in her own defence, before being captured; the rest were
all forced to yield quietly to immensely superior force.

In the war with Tripoli, the "Enterprise" won the reputation of being
a "lucky" craft; and her daring adventures and thrilling escapes
during the short naval war with France added to her prestige among
sailors. When the war with England broke out, the little brig was put
in commission as soon as possible, and assigned to duty along the
coast of Maine. She did good service in keeping off privateers and
marauding expeditions from Nova Scotia. In the early part of
September, 1813, she was cruising near Penguin Point, when she sighted
a brig in shore that had the appearance of a hostile war-vessel. The
stranger soon settled all doubts as to her character by firing several
guns, seemingly for the purpose of recalling her boats from the shore.
Then, setting sail with the rapidity of a man-of-war, she bore down
upon the American vessel. The "Enterprise," instead of waiting for the
enemy, turned out to sea, under easy sail; and her crew were set to
work bringing aft a long gun, and mounting it in the cabin, where one
of the stern windows had been chopped away to make a port. This action
rather alarmed the sailors, who feared that their commander, Lieut.
Burrows, whose character was unknown to them, intended to avoid the
enemy, and was rigging the long gun for a stern-chaser. An impromptu
meeting was held upon the forecastle; and, after much whispered
consultation, the people appointed a committee to go aft and tell the
commander that the lads were burning to engage the enemy, and were
confident of whipping her. The committee started bravely to discharge
their commission; but their courage failed them before so mighty a
potentate as the commander, and they whispered their message to the
first lieutenant, who laughed, and sent word forward that Mr. Burrows
only wanted to get sea-room, and would soon give the jackies all the
fighting they desired.

[Illustration: The Fight with the "Boxer."]

The Americans now had leisure to examine, through their
marine-glasses, the vessel which was so boldly following them to the
place of battle. She was a man-of-war brig, flying the British ensign
from both mastheads and at the peak. Her armament consisted of twelve
eighteen-pound carronades and two long sixes, as against the fourteen
eighteen-pound carronades and two long nines of the "Enterprise." The
Englishman carried a crew of sixty-six men, while the quarter-rolls of
the American showed a total of one hundred and two. But in the battle
which followed the British fought with such desperate bravery as to
almost overcome the odds against them.

For some time the two vessels fought shy of each other, manoeuvring
for a windward position. Towards three o'clock in the afternoon, the
Americans gained this advantage, and at once shortened sail, and edged
down toward the enemy. As the ships drew near, a sailor was seen to
climb into the rigging of the Englishman, and nail the colors to the
mast, giving the lads of the "Enterprise" a hint as to the character
of the reception they might expect. As the vessels came within range,
both crews cheered lustily, and continued cheering until within
pistol-shot, when the two broadsides were let fly at almost exactly
the same moment. With the first fire, both commanders fell. Capt.
Blyth of the English vessel was almost cut in two by a round shot as
he stood on his quarter-deck. He died instantly. Lieut. Burrows was
struck by a canister-shot, which inflicted a mortal wound. He refused
to be carried below, and was tenderly laid upon the deck, where he
remained during the remainder of the battle, cheering on his men, and
crying out that the colors of the "Enterprise" should never be struck.
The conflict was sharp, but short. For ten minutes only the answering
broadsides rung out; then the colors of the British ship were hauled
down. She proved to be the sloop-of-war "Boxer," and had suffered
severely from the broadsides of the "Enterprise." Several shots had
taken effect in her hull, her foremast was almost shot away, and
several guns were dismounted. Three men beside her captain were
killed, and seventeen wounded. But she had not suffered these injuries
without inflicting some in return. The "Enterprise" was much cut up
aloft. Her foremast and mainmast had each been pierced by an
eighteen-pound ball. Her captain lay upon the deck, gasping in the
last agonies of death, but stoutly protesting that he would not be
carried below until he received the sword of the commander of the
"Boxer." At last this was brought him; and grasping it he cried, "Now
I am satisfied. I die contented."

The two shattered brigs were taken into Portland, where the bodies of
the two slain commanders were buried with all the honors of war. The
"Enterprise" was repaired, and made one more cruise before the close
of the war; but the "Boxer" was found to be forever ruined for a
vessel of war, and she was sold into the merchant-service. The fact
that she was so greatly injured in so short a time led a London
paper, in speaking of the battle, to say, "The fact seems to be but
too clearly established, that the Americans have some superior mode of
firing; and we cannot be too anxiously employed in discovering to what
circumstances that superiority is owing."

[Illustration: The Surrender of the "Boxer."]

This battle practically closed the year's naval events upon the ocean.
The British privateer "Dart" was captured near Newport by some
volunteers from the gunboats stationed at that point. But, with this
exception, nothing noteworthy in naval circles occurred during the
remainder of the year. Looking back over the annals of the naval
operations of 1813, it is clear that the Americans were the chief
sufferers. They had the victories over the "Peacock," "Boxer," and
"Highflyer" to boast of; but they had lost the "Chesapeake," "Argus,"
and "Viper." But, more than this, they had suffered their coast to be
so sealed up by British blockaders that many of their best vessels
were left to lie idle at their docks. The blockade, too, was growing
stricter daily, and the outlook for the future seemed gloomy; yet, as
it turned out, in 1814 the Americans regained the ground they had lost
the year before.




CHAPTER XIII.

     ON THE LAKES. -- CLOSE OF HOSTILITIES ON LAKES ERIE AND HURON. --
     DESULTORY WARFARE ON LAKE ONTARIO IN 1813. -- HOSTILITIES ON
     ONTARIO IN 1814. -- THE BATTLE OF LAKE CHAMPLAIN. -- END OF THE
     WAR UPON THE LAKES.


In considering the naval operations on the Great Lakes, it must be
kept in mind, that winter, which checked but little naval activity on
the ocean, locked the great fresh-water seas in an impenetrable
barrier of ice, and effectually stopped all further hostilities
between the hostile forces afloat. The victory gained by Commodore
Perry on Lake Erie in September, 1813, gave the Americans complete
command of that lake; and the frozen season soon coming on, prevented
any attempts on the part of the enemy to contest the American
supremacy. But, indeed, the British showed little ability, throughout
the subsequent course of the war, to snatch from the Americans the
fruits of the victory at Put-in-Bay. They embarked upon no more
offensive expeditions; and the only notable naval contest between the
two belligerents during the remainder of the war occurred Aug. 12,
1814, when a party of seventy-five British seamen and marines
attempted to cut out three American schooners that lay at the foot of
the lake near Fort Erie. The British forces were at Queenstown, on
the Niagara River; but by dint of carrying their boats twenty miles
through the woods, then poling down a narrow and shallow stream, with
a second portage of eight miles, the adventurers managed to reach Lake
Erie. Embarking here, they pulled down to the schooners. To the hail
of the lookout, they responded, "Provision boats." And, as no British
were thought to be on Lake Erie, the response satisfied the officer of
the watch. He quickly discovered his mistake, however, when he saw his
cable cut, and a party of armed men scrambling over his bulwarks. This
first prize, the "Somers," was quickly in the hands of the British,
and was soon joined in captivity by the "Ohio," whose people fought
bravely but unavailingly against the unexpected foe. While the
fighting was going on aboard the vessels, they were drifting down the
stream; and, by the time the British victory was complete, both
vessels were beyond the range of Fort Erie's guns, and safe from
recapture. This successful enterprise certainly deserves a place as
the boldest and best executed cutting-out expedition of the war.

[Illustration: On the Way to Lake Erie.]

Long before this occurrence, Capt. Arthur Singleton, who had succeeded
to Perry's command, despairing of any active service on Lake Erie, had
taken his squadron of five vessels into Lake Huron, where the British
still held the supremacy. His objective point was the Island of
Michilimackinac (Mackinaw), which had been captured by the enemy early
in the war. On his way, he stopped and burned the British fort and
barracks of St. Joseph. At Mackinaw he was repulsed, with the loss of
seventy men; after which he returned to Lake Erie, leaving two
vessels, the "Scorpion" and "Tigress," to blockade the Nattagawassa
River. The presence of these vessels irritated the British, and they
at once set about preparations for their capture. On the night of the
3d of September the "Tigress" was captured after a sharp struggle,
which, as the British commanding officer said, "did credit to her
officers, who were all severely wounded." At the time of the attack,
the "Scorpion" was several miles away, and knew nothing of the
misfortune of her consort. Knowing this, the British sent their
prisoners ashore, and, hoisting the American flag over the captured
vessel, waited patiently for their game to come to them. They were not
disappointed in their expectations. On the 5th the "Scorpion" came up,
and anchored, unsuspectingly, within two miles of her consort. At
early dawn the next morning the "Tigress" weighed anchor; and, with
the stars and stripes still flying, dropped down alongside the
unsuspecting schooner, poured in a sudden volley, and, instantly
boarding, carried the vessel without meeting any resistance.

With these two skirmishes, the war upon Lake Erie and Lake Huron was
ended. But on Lake Ontario the naval events, though in no case
comparable with Perry's famous victory, were numerous and noteworthy.

In our previous discussion of the progress of the war upon Lake
Ontario, we left Commodore Chauncey in winter quarter at Sackett's
Harbor, building new ships, and making vigorous efforts to secure
sailors to man them. His energy met with its reward; for, when the
melting ice left the lake open for navigation in the spring of 1813,
the American fleet was ready for active service, while the best
vessels belonging to the British were still in the hands of the
carpenters and riggers. The first service performed by the American
fleet was aiding Gen. Pike in his attack upon York, where the
Americans burned an almost completed twenty-four-gun ship, and
captured the ten-gun brig "Gloucester." The land forces who took part
in this action were terribly injured by the explosion of the
powder-magazine, to which the British had applied a slow-match when
they found they could no longer hold their position. This battle was
fought April 27, 1813. One month later, the naval forces co-operated
with the soldiery in driving the British from Fort George, on the
Canada side of the Niagara River, near Lake Ontario. Perry came from
Lake Erie to take part in this action, and led a landing party under
the fire of the British artillery with that dashing courage which he
showed later at the battle of Put-in-Bay. The work of the sailors in
this action was cool and effective. Their fire covered the advance of
the troops, and silenced more than one of the enemy's guns. "The
American ships," writes a British historian, "with their heavy
discharges of round and grape, too well succeeded in thinning the
British ranks."

But by this time the British fleet was ready for sea, and left
Kingston on the 27th of May; while Chauncey was still at the extreme
western end of the lake. The enemy determined to make an immediate
assault upon Sackett's Harbor, and there destroy the corvette "Gen.
Pike," which, if completed, would give Chauncey supremacy upon the
lake. Accordingly the fleet under Sir James Lucas Yeo, with a large
body of troops under Sir George Prescott, appeared before the harbor
on the 29th. Although the forces which rallied to the defence of the
village were chiefly raw militia, the British attack was conducted
with so little spirit that the defenders won the day; and the enemy
retreated, leaving most of his wounded to fall into the hands of the
Americans. Yeo then returned to Kingston; and the American fleet came
up the lake, and put into Sackett's Harbor, there to remain until the
completion of the "Pike" should give Chauncey control of the lake.
While the Americans thus remained in port, the British squadron made
brief incursions into the lake, capturing a few schooners and breaking
up one or two encampments of the land forces of the United States.

Not until the 21st of July did the Americans leave their anchorage. On
that day, with the formidable corvette "Pike" at the head of the
line, Chauncey left Sackett's Harbor, and went up to Niagara. Some
days later, Yeo took his squadron to sea; and on the 7th of August the
two hostile fleets came in sight of one another for the first time.
Then followed a season of manoeuvring,--of challenging and
counter-challenging, of offering battle and of avoiding
it,--terminating in so inconclusive an engagement that one is forced
to believe that neither commander dared to enter the battle for which
both had been so long preparing. The American squadron consisted
largely of schooners armed with long guns. In smooth weather these
craft were valuable adjuncts to the larger vessels, while in rough
weather they were useless. Yeo's squadron was mostly square-rigged,
and was therefore equally serviceable in all kinds of weather. It
seems likely, therefore, that the Americans strove to bring on the
conflict in smooth weather; while the British were determined to wait
until a heavy sea should lessen the force of their foes. In this
dilemma several days passed away.

On the night of the 7th of August the wind came up to blow, and the
rising waves soon demonstrated the uselessness of schooners for
purposes of war. At early dawn a fierce gust of wind caused the
schooners "Hamilton" and "Scourge" to careen far to leeward. Their
heavy guns broke loose; then, crashing down to the submerged beams of
the schooners, pulled them still farther over; and, the water rushing
in at their hatches, they foundered, carrying with them to the bottom
all their officers, and all but sixteen of the men. This loss reduced
Chauncey's force to more of an equality with that of the British; yet
for two days longer the manoeuvring continued, without a shot being
fired. On the night of the 10th the two squadrons formed in order of
battle, and rapidly approached each other. At eleven o'clock a
cannonade was begun by both parties, and continued for about an hour;
though the shot did little material damage on either side. At midnight
the British, by a quick movement, cut out and captured two American
schooners, and sailed away, without suffering any damage.

A month then intervened before the next hostile meeting. In his
despatches to his superior authorities, each commander stoutly affirms
that he spent the time in chasing the enemy, who refused to give him
battle. Whether it was the British or the Americans that avoided the
battle, it is impossible to decide; but it seems reasonable to
believe, that, had either party been really determined upon bringing
matters to an issue, the other could have been forced into giving
battle.

On the 11th of September, the enemies met near the mouth of the
Genesee River, and exchanged broadsides. A few of the British vessels
were hulled, and, without more ado, hauled off into the shallow waters
of Ambert Bay, whither the Americans could not follow them. Then
ensued another long period of peace, broken at last by a naval action
in York Bay, on the 28th, in which the British were worsted and
obliged to fly, though none of their ships were destroyed or captured.
On Oct. 2, Chauncey accomplished a really important work, by capturing
five British transports, with two hundred and sixty-four men, seven
naval and ten army officers. With this achievement, the active work of
the Ontario squadron ended for the year, as Chauncey remained
blockading Yeo at Kingston, until the approach of winter rendered that
precaution no longer necessary.

The navigable season of 1814 opened with the British first upon the
lake. The long winter had been employed by the belligerents in adding
to their fleets; a work completed first by Yeo, who put out upon the
lake on the 3d of May, with eight square-rigged vessels, of which two
were new frigates. The Americans had given up their unseaworthy
schooners, and had a fleet of eight square-rigged vessels nearly
ready, but still lacking the cordage and guns for the three new craft.
Yeo thus had the lake to himself for a time, and began a vigorous
campaign by an attack upon Oswego, aided by a large body of British
troops. Succeeding in this enterprise, he set sail for Sackett's
Harbor, and, taking up his position just outside the bar, disposed his
vessels for a long and strict blockade. This action was particularly
troublesome to the Americans at that time; for their new frigates were
just ready for their guns and cables, which could not be brought
overland, and the arrival of which by water was seemingly prevented by
the blockade. It was in this emergency that the plan, already
described, for transporting the great cable for the "Niagara"
overland, on the backs of men, was decided upon. Yeo remained on guard
at the mouth of the harbor until the 6th of June, then raised the
blockade, and disappeared down the lake. For six weeks the Americans
continued working on their fleet, to get the ships ready for service.
During this time the British gunboat "Black Snake" was brought into
the harbor, a prize to Lieut. Gregory, who had captured it by a
sudden assault, with a score of sailors at his back. On the 1st of
July, the same officer made a sudden descent upon Presque Isle, where
he found a British vessel pierced for fourteen guns on the stocks,
ready for launching. The raiders hastily set fire to the ship, and
retreated before the enemy could get his forces together.

It was July 31 before Chauncey set sail from Sackett's Harbor. He now
had under his command a squadron of eight vessels, two of which were
frigates, two ship sloops-of-war, and eight brig-sloops of no mean
power. Yeo had, to oppose this force, a fleet of no less respectable
proportions. Yet, for the remainder of the year, these two squadrons
cruised about the lake, or blockaded each other in turn, without once
coming to battle. As transports, the vessels were of some service to
their respective governments; but, so far as any actual naval
operations were concerned, they might as well never have been built.
The war closed, leaving the two cautious commanders still waiting for
a satisfactory occasion for giving battle.

Such was the course of the naval war upon the Great Lakes; but the
thunder of hostile cannon and the cheers of sailors were heard upon
yet another sheet of fresh water, before the quarrel between England
and the United States was settled. In the north-east corner of New
York State, and slightly overlapping the Canada line, lies Lake
Champlain,--a picturesque sheet of water, narrow, and dotted with
wooded islands. From the northern end of the lake flows the Richelieu
River, which follows a straight course through Canada to the St.
Lawrence, into which it empties. The long, navigable water-way thus
open from Canada to the very heart of New York was to the British a
most tempting path for an invading expedition. By the shore of the
lake a road wound along; thus smoothing the way for a land force,
whose advance might be protected by the fire of the naval force that
should proceed up the lake. Naturally, so admirable an international
highway early attracted the attention of the military authorities of
both belligerents; and, while the British pressed forward their
preparations for an invading expedition, the Americans hastened to
make such arrangements as should give them control of the lake. Her
European wars, however, made so great a demand for soldiers upon Great
Britain, that not until 1814 could she send to America a sufficient
force to undertake the invasion of the United States from the north.
In the spring of that year, a force of from ten thousand to fifteen
thousand troops, including several thousand veterans who had served
under Wellington, were massed at Montreal; and in May a move was made
by the British to get control of the lake, before sending their
invading forces into New York. The British naval force already in the
Richelieu River, and available for service, consisted of a brig, two
sloops, and twelve or fourteen gunboats. The American flotilla
included a large corvette, a schooner, a small sloop, and ten
gunboats, or galleys, propelled with oars. Seeing that the British
were preparing for active hostilities, the Americans began to build,
with all possible speed, a large brig; a move which the enemy promptly
met by pushing forward with equal energy the construction of a
frigate. While the new vessels were on the stocks, an irregular
warfare was carried on by those already in commission. At the opening
of the season, the American vessels lay in Otter Creek; and, just as
they were ready to leave port, the enemy appeared off the mouth of the
creek with a force consisting of the brig "Linnet" and eight or ten
galleys. The object of the British was to so obstruct the mouth of the
creek that the Americans should be unable to come out. With this end
in view, they had brought two sloops laden with stones, which they
intended to sink in the narrow channel. But, luckily, the Americans
had thrown up earthworks at the mouth of the river; and a party of
sailors so worked the guns, that, after much manoeuvring, the British
were forced to retire without effecting their purpose.

About the middle of August, the Americans launched their new brig, the
"Eagle;" and the little squadron put out at once into the lake, under
command of Capt. Thomas Macdonough. Eight days later, the British got
their new ship, the "Confiance," into the water. She possessed one
feature new to American naval architecture,--a furnace in which to
heat cannon-balls.

By this time (September, 1814), the invading column of British
veterans, eleven thousand strong, had begun its march into New York
along the west shore of the lake. Two thousand Americans only could be
gathered to dispute their progress; and these, under the command of
Brigadier-Gen. Macomb, were gathered at Plattsburg. To this point,
accordingly, Macdonough took his fleet, and awaited the coming of the
enemy; knowing that if he could beat back the fleet of the British,
their land forces, however powerful, would be forced to cease their
advance. The fleet that he commanded consisted of the flagship
"Saratoga," carrying eight long twenty-four-pounders, six
forty-two-pound and twelve thirty-two-pound carronades; the brig
"Eagle," carrying eight long eighteens, and twelve thirty-two-pound
carronades; schooner "Ticonderoga," with eight long twelve-pounders,
four long eighteen-pounders, and five thirty-two-pound carronades;
sloop "Preble," with seven long nines; and ten galleys. The commander
who ruled over this fleet was a man still in his twenty-ninth year.
The successful battles of the War of 1812 were fought by young
officers, and the battle of Lake Champlain was no exception to the
rule.

The British force which came into battle with Macdonough's fleet was
slightly superior. It was headed by the flagship "Confiance," a
frigate of the class of the United States ship "Constitution,"
carrying thirty long twenty-fours, a long twenty-four-pounder on a
pivot, and six thirty-two or forty-two pound carronades. The other
vessels were the "Linnet," a brig mounting sixteen long twelves; and
the "Chubb" and "Finch" (captured from the Americans under the names
of "Growler" and "Eagle"),--sloops carrying respectively ten
eighteen-pound carronades and one long six; and six eighteen-pound
carronades, four long sixes, and one short eighteen. To these were
added twelve gunboats, with varied armaments, but each slightly
heavier than the American craft of the same class.

The 11th of September had been chosen by the British for the combined
land and water attack upon Plattsburg. With the movements of the land
forces, this narrative will not deal. The brunt of the conflict fell
upon the naval forces, and it was the success of the Americans upon
the water that turned the faces of the British invaders toward Canada.

The village of Plattsburg stands upon the shore of a broad bay which
communicates with Lake Champlain by an opening a mile and a half wide,
bounded upon the north by Cumberland Head, and on the south by Crab
Island. In this bay, about two miles from the western shore,
Macdonough's fleet lay anchored in double line, stretching north and
south. The four large vessels were in the front rank, prepared to meet
the brunt of the conflict; while the galleys formed a second line in
the rear. The morning of the day of battle dawned clear, with a brisk
north-east wind blowing. The British were stirring early, and at
daybreak weighed anchor and came down the lake. Across the low-lying
isthmus that connected Cumberland Head with the mainland, the
Americans could see their adversaries' topmasts as they came down to
do battle. At this sight, Macdonough called his officers about him,
and, kneeling upon the quarter-deck, besought Divine aid in the
conflict so soon to come. When the little group rose from their knees,
the leading ship of the enemy was seen swinging round Cumberland Head;
and the men went to their quarters to await the fiery trial that all
knew was impending.

The position of the American squadron was such that the British were
forced to attack "bows on," thus exposing themselves to a raking fire.
By means of springs on their cables, the Americans were enabled to
keep their broadsides to the enemy, and thus improve, to the fullest,
the advantage gained by their position. The British came on gallantly,
and were greeted by four shots from the long eighteens of the "Eagle,"
that had no effect. But, at the sound of the cannon, a young game-cock
that was running at large on the "Saratoga" flew upon a gun, flapped
his wings, and crowed thrice, with so lusty a note that he was heard
far over the waters. The American seamen, thus roused from the painful
revery into which the bravest fall before going into action, cheered
lustily, and went into the fight, encouraged as only sailors could be
by the favorable omen.

Soon after the defiant game-cock had thus cast down the gage of
battle, Macdonough sighted and fired the first shot from one of the
long twenty-four pounders of the "Saratoga." The heavy ball crashed
into the bow of the "Confiance," and cut its way aft, killing and
wounding several men, and demolishing the wheel. Nothing daunted, the
British flagship came on grandly, making no reply, and seeking only to
cast anchor alongside the "Saratoga," and fight it out yard-arm to
yard-arm. But the fire of the Americans was such that she could not
choose her distance; but after having been badly cut up, with both her
port anchors shot away, was forced to anchor at a distance of a
quarter of a mile. But her anchor had hardly touched bottom, when she
suddenly flashed out a sheet of flames, as her rapid broadsides rung
out and her red-hot shot sped over the water toward the American
flagship. Her first broadside killed or wounded forty of the
Americans; while many more were knocked down by the shock, but
sustained no further injury. So great was the carnage, that the
hatches were opened, and the dead bodies passed below, that the men
might have room to work the guns. Among the slain was Mr. Gamble, the
first lieutenant, who was on his knees sighting a gun, when a shot
entered the port, split the quoin, drove a great piece of metal
against his breast, and stretched him dead upon the deck without
breaking his skin. By a singular coincidence, fifteen minutes later a
shot from one of the "Saratoga's" guns struck the muzzle of a
twenty-four on the "Confiance," and, dismounting it, hurled it against
Capt. Downie's groin, killing him instantly without breaking the skin;
a black mark about the size of a small plate was the sole visible
injury.

In the mean time, the smaller vessels had become engaged, and were
fighting with no less courage than the flag-ships. The "Chubb" had
early been disabled by a broadside from the "Eagle," and drifted
helplessly under the guns of the "Saratoga." After receiving a shot
from that vessel, she struck, and was taken possession of by
Midshipman Platt, who put off from the flagship in an open boat,
boarded the prize, and took her into Plattsburg Bay, near the mouth of
the Saranac. More than half her people were killed or wounded during
the short time she was in the battle. The "Linnet," in the mean time,
had engaged the "Eagle," and poured in her broadsides with such effect
that the springs on the cables of the American were cut away, and she
could no longer bring her broadsides to bear. Her captain therefore
cut his cables, and soon gained a position from which he could bring
his guns to bear upon the "Confiance." The "Linnet" thereupon dashed
in among the American gunboats, and, driving them off, commenced a
raking fire upon the "Saratoga." The "Finch," meanwhile, had ranged
gallantly up alongside the "Ticonderoga," but was sent out of the
fight by two broadsides from the American. She drifted helplessly
before the wind, and soon grounded near Crab Island. On the island was
a hospital, and an abandoned battery mounting one six-pound gun. Some
of the convalescent patients, seeing the enemy's vessel within range,
opened fire upon her from the battery, and soon forced her to haul
down her flag. Nearly half her crew were killed or wounded. Almost at
the same moment, the United States sloop "Preble" was forced out of
the fight by the British gunboats, that pressed so fiercely upon her
that she cut her cables and drifted inshore.

[Illustration: Hiram Paulding fires the Guns.]

The "Ticonderoga" fought a gallant fight throughout. After ridding
herself of the "Finch," she had a number of the British gunboats to
contend with; and they pressed forward to the attack with a gallantry
that showed them to be conscious of the fact, that, if this vessel
could be carried, the American line would be turned, and the day won
by the English. But the American schooner fought stubbornly. Her
gallant commander, Lieut. Cassin, walked up and down the taffrail,
heedless of the grape and musket-balls that whistled past his head,
pointing out to the gunners the spot whereon to train the guns, and
directing them to load with canister and bags of bullets when the
enemy came too near. The gunners of the schooner were terribly
hampered in their work by the lack of matches for the guns; for the
vessel was new, and the absence of these very essential articles was
unnoticed until too late. The guns of one division were fired
throughout the fight by Hiram Paulding, a sixteen-year-old
midshipman, who flashed his pistol at the priming of the guns as soon
as aim was taken. When no gun was ready for his services, he rammed a
ball into his weapon and discharged it at the enemy. The onslaught of
the British was spirited and determined. Often they pressed up within
a boat-hook's length of the schooner, only to be beaten back by her
merciless fire. Sometimes so few were left alive in the galleys that
they could hardly man the oars to pull out of the fight. In this way
the "Ticonderoga" kept her enemies at bay while the battle was being
decided between the "Saratoga" and the "Confiance."

For it was upon the issue of the conflict between these two ships,
that victory or defeat depended. Each had her ally and satellite.
Under the stern of the "Saratoga" lay the "Linnet," pouring in raking
broadsides. The "Confiance," in turn, was suffering from the
well-directed fire of the "Eagle." The roar of the artillery was
unceasing, and dense clouds of gunpowder-smoke hid the warring ships
from the eyes of the eager spectators on shore. The "Confiance" was
unfortunate in losing her gallant captain early in the action, while
Macdonough was spared to fight his ship to the end. His gallantry and
activity, however, led him to expose himself fearlessly; and twice he
narrowly escaped death. He worked like a common sailor, loading and
firing a favorite twenty-four-pound gun; and once, while on his knees,
sighting the piece, a shot from the "Confiance" cut in two the
spanker-boom, a great piece of which fell heavily upon the captain's
head, stretching him senseless upon the deck. He lay motionless for
two or three minutes, and his men mourned him as dead; but suddenly
his activity returned, and he leaped to his feet, and was soon again
in the thick of the fight. In less than five minutes the cry again
arose, that the captain was killed. He had been standing at the breach
of his favorite cannon, when a round shot took off the head of the
captain of the gun, and dashed it with terrific force into the face of
Macdonough, who was driven across the deck, and hurled against the
bulwarks. He lay an instant, covered with the blood of the slain man;
but, hearing his men cry that he was killed, he rushed among them, to
cheer them on with his presence.

And, indeed, at this moment the crew of the "Saratoga" needed the
presence of their captain to cheer them on to further exertion. The
red-hot shot of the "Confiance" had twice set fire to the American
ship. The raking fire from the "Linnet" had dismounted carronades and
long guns one by one, until but a single serviceable gun was left in
the starboard battery. A too heavy charge dismounted this piece, and
threw it down the hatchway, leaving the frigate without a single gun
bearing upon the enemy. In such a plight the hearts of the crew might
well fail them. But Macdonough was ready for the emergency. He still
had his port broadside untouched, and he at once set to work to swing
the ship round so that this battery could be brought to bear. An
anchor was let fall astern, and the whole ship's company hauled in on
the hawser, swinging the ship slowly around. It was a dangerous
manoeuvre; for, as the ship veered round, her stern was presented to
the "Linnet," affording an opportunity for raking, which the gunners
on that plucky little vessel immediately improved. But patience and
hard pulling carried the day; and gradually the heavy frigate was
turned sufficiently for the after gun to bear, and a gun's crew was at
once called from the hawsers to open fire. One by one the guns swung
into position, and soon the whole broadside opened with a roar.

Meanwhile the "Confiance" had attempted the same manoeuvre. But her
anchors were badly placed; and, though her people worked gallantly,
they failed to get the ship round. She bore for some time the
effective fire from the "Saratoga's" fresh broadside, but, finding
that she could in no way return the fire, struck her flag, two hours
and a quarter after the battle commenced. Beyond giving a hasty cheer,
the people of the "Saratoga" paid little attention to the surrender of
their chief enemy, but instantly turned their guns upon the "Linnet."
In this combat the "Eagle" could take no part, and the thunder of her
guns died away. Farther down the bay, the "Ticonderoga" had just
driven away the last of the British galleys; so that the "Linnet" now
alone upheld the cause of the enemy. She was terribly outmatched by
her heavier foe, but her gallant captain Pring kept up a desperate
defence. Her masts and rigging were hopelessly shattered; and no
course was open to her, save to surrender, or fight a hopeless fight.
Capt. Pring sent off a lieutenant, in an open boat, to ascertain the
condition of the "Confiance." The officer returned with the report
that Capt. Downie was killed, and the frigate terribly cut up; and as
by this time the water, pouring in the shot-holes in the "Linnet's"
hull, had risen a foot above the lower deck, her flag was hauled
down, and the battle ended in a decisive triumph for the Americans.

Terrible was the carnage, and many and strange the incidents, of this
most stubbornly contested naval battle. All of the prizes were in a
sinking condition. In the hull of the "Confiance" were a hundred and
five shot-holes, while the "Saratoga" was pierced by fifty-five. Not a
mast that would bear canvas was left standing in the British fleet;
those of the flagship were splintered like bundles of matches, and the
sails torn to rags. On most of the enemy's vessels, more than half of
the crews were killed or wounded. The loss on the British side
probably aggregated three hundred. Midshipman William Lee of the
"Confiance" wrote home after the battle, "The havoc on both sides was
dreadful. I don't think there are more than five of our men, out of
three hundred, but what are killed or wounded. Never was a shower of
hail so thick as the shot whistling about our ears. Were you to see my
jacket, waistcoat, and trousers, you would be astonished to know how I
escaped as I did; for they are literally torn all to rags with shot
and splinters. The upper part of my hat was also shot away. There is
one of the marines who was in the Trafalgar action with Lord Nelson,
who says it was a mere flea-bite in comparison with this."

The Americans, though victorious, had suffered greatly. Their loss
amounted to about two hundred men. The "Saratoga" had been cut up
beyond the possibility of repair. Her decks were covered with dead and
dying. The shot of the enemy wrought terrible havoc in the ranks of
the American officers. Lieut. Stansbury of the "Ticonderoga" suddenly
disappeared in the midst of the action; nor could any trace of him be
found, until, two days later, his body, cut nearly in two by a round
shot, rose from the waters of the lake. Lieut. Vallette of the
"Saratoga" was knocked down by the head of a sailor, sent flying by a
cannon-ball. Some minutes later he was standing on a shot-box giving
orders, when a shot took the box from beneath his feet, throwing him
heavily upon the deck. Mr. Brum, the master, a veteran man-o'-war's
man, was struck by a huge splinter, which knocked him down, and
actually stripped every rag of clothing from his body. He was thought
to be dead, but soon re-appeared at his post, with a strip of canvas
about his waist, and fought bravely until the end of the action. Some
days before the battle, a gentleman of Oswego gave one of the sailors
a glazed tarpaulin hat, of the kind then worn by seamen. A week later
the sailor re-appeared, and, handing him the hat with a semi-circular
cut in the crown and brim, made while it was on his head by a
cannon-shot, remarked calmly, "Look here, Mr. Sloane, how the damned
John Bulls have spoiled my hat!"

The last British flag having been hauled down, an officer was sent to
take possession of the "Confiance." In walking along her gun-deck, he
accidentally ran against a ratline, by which one of her starboard guns
was discharged. At this sound, the British galleys and gunboats, which
had been lying quietly with their ensigns down, got out oars and moved
off up the lake. The Americans had no vessels fit for pursuing them,
and they were allowed to escape. In the afternoon the British officers
came to the American flagship to complete the surrender. Macdonough
met them courteously; and, on their offering their swords, put them
back, saying, "Gentlemen, your gallant conduct makes you worthy to
wear your weapons. Return them to their scabbards." By sundown the
surrender was complete, and Macdonough sent off to the Secretary of
the Navy a despatch, saying, "_Sir,_--The Almighty has been pleased to
grant us a signal victory on Lake Champlain, in the capture of one
frigate, one brig, and two sloops-of-war of the enemy."

Some days later, the captured ships, being beyond repair, were taken
to the head of the lake, and scuttled. Some of the guns were found to
be still loaded; and, in drawing the charges, one gun was found with a
canvas bag containing two round shot rammed home, and wadded, without
any powder; another gun contained two cartridges and no shot; and a
third had a wad rammed down before the powder, thus effectually
preventing the discharge of the piece. The American gunners were not
altogether guiltless of carelessness of this sort. Their chief error
lay in ramming down so many shot upon the powder that the force of the
explosion barely carried the missiles to the enemy. In proof of this,
the side of the "Confiance" was thickly dotted with round shot, which
had struck into, but failed to penetrate, the wood.

The result of this victory was immediate and gratifying. The land
forces of the British, thus deprived of their naval auxiliaries,
turned about, and retreated to Canada, abandoning forever their
projected invasion. New York was thus saved by Macdonough's skill and
bravery. Yet the fame he won by his victory was not nearly
proportionate to the naval ability he showed, and the service he had
rendered to his country. Before the popular adulation of Perry,
Macdonough sinks into second place. One historian only gives him the
pre-eminence that is undoubtedly his due. Says Mr. Theodore Roosevelt,
in his admirable history, "The Naval War of 1812," "But Macdonough in
this battle won a higher fame than any other commander of the war,
British or American. He had a decidedly superior force to contend
against, and it was solely owing to his foresight and resource that we
won the victory. He forced the British to engage at a disadvantage by
his excellent choice of position, and he prepared beforehand for every
possible contingency. His personal prowess had already been shown at
the cost of the rovers of Tripoli, and in this action he helped fight
the guns as ably as the best sailor. His skill, seamanship, quick eye,
readiness of resource, and indomitable pluck are beyond all praise.
Down to the time of the civil war, he is the greatest figure in our
naval history. A thoroughly religious man, he was as generous and
humane as he was skilful and brave. One of the greatest of our sea
captains, he has left a stainless name behind him."




CHAPTER XIV.

     ON THE OCEAN. -- THE WORK OF THE SLOOPS-OF-WAR. -- LOSS OF THE
     "FROLIC." -- FRUITLESS CRUISE OF THE "ADAMS." -- THE "PEACOCK"
     TAKES THE "ÉPERVIER." -- THE CRUISE OF THE "WASP." -- SHE
     CAPTURES THE "REINDEER." -- SINKS THE "AVON." -- MYSTERIOUS END
     OF THE "WASP."


The opening of the year 1814 found the American coast still rigidly
blockaded by the British men-of-war. Two or three of the enemy lay off
the mouth of every considerable harbor, and were not to be driven from
their post by the icy winds and storms of midwinter on the American
coast. It was almost impossible for any American vessel to escape to
sea, and a matter of almost equal difficulty for such vessels as were
out to get into a home port. The frigate "President" had put to sea
early in December, 1813, and after a cruise of eight weeks, during
which the traditional ill-luck of the ship pursued her remorselessly,
managed to dash into New York Harbor past the blockading squadron. At
Boston the blockade was broken by the "Constitution." She left port on
the 1st of January, ran off to the southward, and cruised for some
weeks in the West Indies. Here she captured the British man-of-war
schooner "Pictou," fourteen guns, and several merchant-vessels. She
also fell in with the British thirty-six-gun frigate "Pique," which
fled, and escaped pursuit by cutting through a narrow channel during a
dark and squally night. The "Constitution" then returned to the coast
of the United States, and narrowly escaped falling into the clutches
of two British frigates. She managed to gain the shelter of Marblehead
Harbor, and there remained until the latter part of the year.

But, while the larger vessels were thus accomplishing little or
nothing, two or three small sloops-of-war, of a class newly built,
slipped through the enemy's lines, and, gaining the open sea, fought
one or two notable actions. Of these, the first vessel to get to sea
was the new sloop-of-war "Frolic;" but her career was short and
inglorious, for she had been at sea but a few weeks when she fell in
with the enemy's frigate "Orpheus" and the schooner "Shelburne." A
chase ensued, in which the American vessel threw overboard her guns
and anchors, and started the water; but to no avail, for she was
overhauled, and forced to surrender. Her service afloat was limited to
the destruction of a Carthagenian privateer, which sunk before her
guns, carrying down nearly a hundred men.

The "Adams," a vessel that had suffered many vicissitudes,--having
been built for a frigate, then cut down to a sloop-of-war, and finally
been sawed asunder and converted into a corvette,--put to sea on the
18th of January, under the command of Capt. Charles Morris, formerly
of the "Constitution." She laid her course straight to the eastward,
and for some time cruised off the western coast of Africa and the
Canary Isles. She met with but little success in this region,
capturing only three brigs,--the cargo of one of which consisted of
wine and fruit; and the second, of palm-oil and ivory. Abandoning the
African coast, the corvette turned westward along the equator, and
made for the West Indies. A large Indiaman fell in her way, and was
brought to; but, before the Americans could take possession of their
prize, a British fleet of twenty-five sail, with two men-of-war, hove
in sight, and the "Adams" was forced to seek safety in flight. She put
into Savannah for provisions and water, but, hearing that the enemy
was in force near by, worked out to sea, and made sail for another
cruise. Capt. Morris took up a position on the limits of the Gulf
Stream, near the Florida coast, in the expectation of cutting out an
Indiaman from some passing convoy. The expected fleet soon came, but
was under the protection of a seventy-four, two frigates, and three
brigs,--a force sufficient to keep at bay the most audacious of
corvettes. Morris hung about the convoy for two days, but saw no
chance of eluding the watchful guards. He then crossed the Atlantic to
the coast of Ireland. Here the "Adams" narrowly escaped capture; for
she was sighted by a frigate, which gave chase, and would have
overhauled her, had not the Americans thrown overboard some small
cannon, and cut away their anchors. Thus lightened, the corvette sped
away, and soon left her pursuers behind.

Continued ill-fortune now reduced the spirits of the sailors of the
"Adams" to very low ebb. They were forced to struggle unceasingly
against the fierce gales which in winter sweep the Atlantic. Their
stock of food and water was giving out; and, to add to their distress,
scurvy, the sailors' worst enemy, began to show itself in the ship.
They had boldly run into the very waters in which the "Argus" had won
so rich a reward, yet not a sail gladdened the eyes of the lookout on
the "Adams." It was then with great disappointment that the jackies
saw the prow of the corvette turned homeward, after a cruise that
would bring them neither honor nor prize-money. The passage homeward
was quickly made, and on the 16th of August the vessel was in
soundings off the coast of Maine. Night fell, with a dense fog
concealing all landmarks from view. Through the darkness the corvette
sped on at a pace of eleven miles an hour, until, just as day was
breaking, the cry of "Breakers ahead!" was followed by a heavy blow,
indicating that the ship had struck. The force of the blow had not
been sufficient to stave in the bottom,--a fortunate fact, for the
hold was full of prisoners. Nevertheless, she was hard and fast
aground, on a ledge of rock that lifted her bow six feet above her
stern. Morris, who had rushed upon deck at the first alarm, was unable
to make out the ship's position, and feared that they were on Cashes
Ledge, a reef so far from the land that it would have been impossible
to save in the boats more than half the crew. He had determined,
however, to instantly lower the boats and send them off in search of
land, when a gust of wind, blowing away the fog, showed a beetling
cliff not a hundred yards away. Rugged and inhospitable as was the
coast thus exposed, it was better than an expanse of ocean; and at
once Morris set to work landing his prisoners, and the sick, of whom
the "Adams" had nearly sixty. With spare sails, tents were put up on
the beach; and, stores having been landed, the comfort of all was
assured, in case the ship should go to pieces. What the desolate shore
was to which they were thus forced to turn for shelter, no one knew.

All hands now turned to at the capstan, in the hopes of getting the
vessel off; and about noon, the tide having reached its flood, she
gradually slid off the ledge into deep water. After trying the pumps,
to see if any serious leak had been started, the difficult task of
taking the ship out of the labyrinth of reefs in which she lay was
begun. For more than two miles their course lay through a narrow and
tortuous channel, bordered on either side with jagged reefs; but the
corvette safely threaded her way between the rocks, and soon lay
floating in deep water. The next morning the fog blew away; and the
voyagers discovered to their astonishment that they were off Mount
Desert, instead of near Portsmouth as they had expected.

To return into the cluster of reefs after the little colony of
invalids and prisoners that had been left behind, would have been mere
folly: so sending two fishing-boats to search out the shore party, and
carry them to the nearest village, the "Adams" continued her course,
intending to put into the Penobscot River. While making for this
point, a sail was sighted, which proved to be the British brig-sloop
"Rifleman." The corvette gave chase, but the Englishman kept well in
the offing; and, as the condition of the American crew was such that
to lead them into action would have been imprudent, Morris abandoned
the pursuit, and, putting into the Penobscot, dropped anchor off
Hampden. Here, for the present, we will leave the "Adams."

The "Peacock"--a second of the new sloops-of-war, bearing the name of
a captured British vessel--put out from New York in March, and made
her way to the southward, selecting as her cruising station the waters
off the coast of Florida. For some time it seemed that the exertions
of the sailors were to be of no avail. Not a sail was to be seen, and
the chances for prize-money seemed to be small indeed. But on the 29th
of March three merchant-vessels were made out in the offing; while a
heavy-built, square-rigged, trim-looking craft that hovered about them
was evidently a man-of-war. The strangers seemed to have sighted the
American vessel; for the merchantmen were seen to hastily haul up and
run off to the north-east, while the man-of-war edged away for the
American ship.

The stranger was His British Majesty's brig sloop-of-war "Epervier,"
of eighteen guns, and carrying a crew of one hundred and twenty-eight
men. The "Peacock" was a ship-sloop of twenty-two guns, with a crew of
one hundred and sixty-six men. The advantage, therefore, lay with the
Americans; but, in the battle that ensued, the damage they inflicted
upon the enemy was out of any proportion to their excess of strength.

The two ships bore down gallantly upon each other, and at a little
after ten in the morning passed, exchanging heavy broadsides. The shot
of each took effect in the rigging; but the "Peacock" suffered the
more, having her foreyard totally disabled,--an injury that compelled
her to run large during the rest of the action, and forego all
attempts at manoeuvring. The two vessels having passed each other, the
"Epervier" eased off, and returned to the fight, running on a parallel
course with the American ship. The interchange of broadsides then
became very rapid; but the British marksmanship was poor, and few of
their shot took effect. The "Epervier," on the contrary, suffered
severely from the American fire, which took effect in her hull,
dismounting several guns, and so injuring the brig that a British
naval officer, writing of the action some years later, said, "The most
disgraceful part of the affair was that our ship was cut to pieces,
and the enemy hardly scratched."

The injury aloft which both vessels sustained caused the battle to
take on the character of an action at long range. Under such
conditions, the victory was assured to the side showing the best
gunnery. For a moment only did it seem that the vessels were likely to
come to close quarters, and the English captain seized that occasion
to call up his boarders. But they refused, saying, "She's too heavy
for us." And a few minutes later the Englishman hauled down his flag,
having lost nine killed or mortally wounded, and fourteen wounded. The
Americans had suffered but little; only two men being injured, and
these but slightly. The shot of the enemy had passed through the
rigging of the "Peacock," while the "Epervier" had been hulled
forty-five times.

The "Epervier" proved to be a valuable prize. In her hold specie to
the amount of one hundred and eighteen thousand dollars was found;
and, when the brig was sold to the United States Government, she
brought fifty-five thousand dollars: so that the prize-money won by
that action kept the sailors in good-humor for many months to come.
But, before the prize could be safely carried into an American port,
she had a gantlet to run, in which she narrowly escaped capture. After
the wreck of battle had been cleared away, the brig and her captor
made for Savannah, but were sighted and chased by two British
frigates. The "Peacock," in the hope of drawing away the pursuers,
left her prize, and headed out to sea. One frigate only followed her,
and the other pressed on hotly after the "Epervier," which, to avoid
capture, was forced to run into shallow water, whither the heavy
frigate could not follow her. But she was not to escape so easily; for
the boats of the frigate were lowered, filled with armed men, and set
out in pursuit of the brig, which moved but slowly before the light
breeze then blowing. The boats soon overhauled the fugitive, and
escape seemed hopeless; for the "Epervier" was manned by a prize-crew
of only sixteen men. But Lieut. Nicholson, who was in command,
determined to try the effect of bluster. Accordingly he leaped upon
the taffrail, with a speaking-trumpet in his hand, and shouted out
orders as if calling a huge crew to quarters. The British, who were
within easy range, stopped their advance, and, fearing a destructive
broadside from the brig's guns, turned and fled precipitately. The
"Epervier" continued her course, and reached Savannah in safety on the
1st of May. The "Peacock" reached the same port four days later.

At the moment when the captured "Epervier," flying the stars and
stripes, was proudly making her way up the harbor of Savannah amid the
plaudits of the people of the little city, there sailed from
Portsmouth, N.H., a vessel that was destined to fight a good fight for
the honor of that starry banner; and, after winning a glorious
victory, to disappear forever from the face of the ocean, carrying to
some unknown grave a crew of as brave hearts as ever beat under
uniforms of navy blue.

This was the new sloop of war "Wasp," named after the gallant little
craft that had been taken by the British after her capture of the
"Frolic." She was a stanch three-master, carrying eleven guns to a
broadside. Her crew was purely American, not a foreigner among them;
but all trained seamen from the seaboard villages and towns of New
England,--the homes at that time of probably the hardiest seafaring
population in the world. Capt. Blakely, who commanded the vessel, had
been attached to the "Enterprise" for some time, but had been ordered
to the command of the "Wasp" a few days before the former vessel
fought her successful battle with the "Boxer." Blakely, while in
command of the "Enterprise," had greatly desired to meet an enemy
worthy of his metal. Great, then, was his chagrin, when the
"Enterprise," two weeks after he quitted her, fought her gallant
battle. In a letter written in January, 1814, he says, "I shall ever
view as one of the most unfortunate events of my life having quitted
the 'Enterprise' at the moment I did. Had I remained in her a
fortnight longer, my name might have been classed with those who stand
so high. I cannot but consider it a mortifying circumstance that I
left her but a few days before she fell in with the only enemy upon
this station with which she could have creditably contended. I confess
I felt heartily glad when I received my order to take command of the
'Wasp,' conceiving that there was no hope of doing any thing in the
'Enterprise.' But when I heard of the contest of the latter ship, and
witnessed the great delay in the equipment of the former, I had no
cause to congratulate myself. The 'Peacock' has ere this spread her
plumage to the winds, and the 'Frolic' will soon take her revels on
the ocean; but the 'Wasp' will, I fear, remain for some time a dull,
harmless drone in the waters of her country."

Notwithstanding his impatience, Blakely was forced to endure the
restraints of Portsmouth navy-yard for nearly three months, while the
"Wasp" was fitting out; but when she did finally get to sea, on May 1,
1814, she proved herself to be far from a "dull, harmless drone."
Slipping unobserved through the British blockading line, the "Wasp"
made straight for the European coast before a fresh wind, and was soon
cruising in the chops of the English channel, where the "Argus" had
won her laurels and met with her defeat. Many English merchantmen were
captured and burned, and the terror that spread in English shipping
circles recalled the days of the "Argus."

At daylight on the 28th of June, the "Wasp" sighted two merchantmen,
and straightway gave chase. Soon a third vessel was discovered on the
weather-beam; and, abandoning the vessels first sighted, the American
bore down upon the stranger. She proved to be the "Reindeer," a
British brig-sloop of eighteen guns, carrying a crew of one hundred
and eighteen men. Although the British vessel was by no means a match
in weight of metal for the "Wasp," her captain, William Manners,
brought her into action with a cool gallantry which well justified his
reputation as one of the bravest men in the British navy.

[Illustration: Boarding the "Reindeer."]

At ten o'clock in the morning the ships were near enough to each other
to exchange signals, but several hours were spent in manoeuvring for
the weather-gage; so that it was not until after three in the
afternoon that the action fairly opened. The day was admirably
suitable for a naval battle. Light clouds floated across the sky, and
the gentle breeze that was blowing had sufficient strength to propel
the ships without careening them. The surface of the ocean was
unusually calm for that quarter, in which a rather choppy sea is
usually running. Before the light breeze the "Wasp" came down upon her
foe, bows on, with her decks cleared for action, and the men at their
quarters. On the top-gallant forecastle of the "Reindeer" was mounted
a twelve-pound carronade, and the action was opened by the discharge
of this piece. In the position she then held, the "Wasp" was unable to
reply; and her crew had to bear five effective shots from this gun
without being able to fire a shot in return,--an ordeal that less
well-disciplined crews might not have endured. For nine minutes the
Americans returned not a shot; but then the "Wasp" luffed up, firing
the guns from aft forward as they bore. The two ships were now lying
broadside to broadside, not twenty yards apart, and every shot told.
For ten minutes this position was held, and the two crews worked like
Furies in loading and firing the great guns. The roar of the cannon
was incessant, and the recoil of the heavy explosions deadened what
little way the ships had on when fire was opened. Capt. Manners was
too old an officer not to know, that, in an artillery duel of that
kind, the victory would surely rest with the side that carried the
heaviest guns: so he ran his vessel aboard the "Wasp" on the starboard
quarter, intending to board and carry the day with the stubborn,
dashing gallantry shown by British seamen when once led to an enemy's
deck. At the ringing notes of the bugle, calling up the boarders, the
British gathered aft, their faces begrimed with gunpowder, their arms
bare, and their keen cutlasses firmly clutched in their strong right
hands. The Americans took the alarm at once, and crowded forward to
repel the enemy. The marines, whose hard duty it is in long-range
fighting to stand with military impassiveness, drawn up in line on
deck, while the shot whistle by them, and now and then cut great gaps
in their straight lines,--the marines came aft, with their muskets
loaded and bayonets fixed. Before them were sailors with sharp-pointed
boarding-pikes, ready to receive the enemy should he come aboard;
while close under the bulwarks were grouped the boarders, ready with
cutlass and pistol to beat back the flood of men that should come
pouring over the side. The grating of the ships' sides told that the
vessels were touching; and the next instant the burly British seamen,
looming up like giants, as they dashed through the dense murkiness of
the powder-smoke, were among the Americans, cutting and firing right
and left. From the deck of the "Reindeer" the marines kept up a
constant fire of musketry, to which the sea-soldiers of the "Wasp"
responded vigorously. Marksmen posted in the tops of each vessel
picked off men from their enemy's decks, choosing generally the
officers.

[Illustration: The Captain of the "Reindeer."]

Sharp and bloody though the British attack was, the boarders could
make no way against the stubborn stand of the Americans. Capt.
Manners, seeing his men beaten back, sprang forward to rally them. He
was desperately wounded. A gun-shot had passed through his thighs, and
a grape-shot had cut across the calves of his legs; but, maimed and
bleeding to death as he was, he leaped into the rigging, and, cheering
and waving his sword, called to his men to follow him to the decks of
the Yankee. The Britons rallied nobly under the encouragement of their
brave captain, and again advanced to the assault. But the figure of
the daring officer, as he stood thus before his men, waving his sword
and calling on them to come on, caught the eye of one of the men in
the "Wasp's" maintop; and the next instant a ball crashed into the
captain's brain, and he fell heavily to the deck, with his dying eyes
turned upwards toward the flag in whose service he had given his life.

Seeing the British captain fall and the men waver, Capt. Blakely with
a cheer called up the boarders of the "Wasp;" and in an instant a
stream of shouting sailors, cutlass in hand, was pouring over the
hammock-nettings, and driving the foe backward on his own decks. The
British still fought stubbornly; but their numbers were terribly
thinned, and their officers had fallen one by one, until now the
captain's clerk was the highest officer left. Seeing his men falling
back before the resistless torrent of boarders, this gentleman finally
struck the flag; and the battle ended, twenty-seven minutes after the
"Reindeer" had fired the opening gun, and eighteen after the "Wasp"
had responded.

[Illustration: The End of the "Reindeer."]

The execution and damage done on the "Reindeer" by the "Wasp's" shot
were appalling. Of her crew of one hundred and eighteen men,
thirty-three were killed or fatally wounded, and thirty-four were
wounded. The havoc wrought among her officers has already been
mentioned. Evidence of the accuracy and skill of the American gunners
was to be seen in the fact that the brig was completely cut to pieces
in the line of her ports. Her decks were swept clean of boats, spars,
and rigging. Her masts were badly shattered, and her foremast soon
went by the board. The "Wasp" had suffered severely, but was in much
better condition than her captured adversary. Eleven of her crew were
killed or mortally wounded, and fifteen were wounded severely or
slightly. She had been hulled by six round and many grape shot, and
her foremast had been cut by a twenty-four-pound shot. A few hours'
work cleared from her decks all trace of the bloody fight, and she was
in condition for another action. But it would have been folly to try
to get the crippled "Reindeer" to port from that region, swarming with
British cruisers: so Capt. Blakely took the prisoners on the "Wasp,"
put a few of the wounded on a neutral vessel that happened to pass,
and, burning the prize, made his way to the harbor of L'Orient. He had
fought a brave fight, and come out victor after a desperate contest.
But, though defeated, the plucky British might well boast of the
gallant manner in which they engaged an enemy so much their superior
in strength. History nowhere records a more gallant death than that of
the British captain, who fell leading his men in a dashing but vain
attempt to retrieve the day by boarding. In its manoeuvring, in the
courage and discipline of the crews, and in the gallantry of the two
captains, the action of the "Wasp" and the "Reindeer" may well go down
to history as a model naval duel of the age of sails.

The "Wasp" remained in port for several weeks, occupying the time in
refitting, and filling the gaps in her crew by enlistment from the
American privateers which then were to be seen occasionally in every
port of the world. She then put out to sea, and soon fell in with a
convoy of ten British merchantmen, under the protection of the
seventy-four "Armada." Though he had no intention of giving battle to
the line-of-battle ship, Blakely determined to capture one of the
merchantmen; and to this end the "Wasp" hung upon the skirts of the
convoy, making rapid dashes now at one vessel, then at another, and
keeping the seventy-four in constant anxiety. Finally the swift little
cruiser actually succeeded in capturing one of the vessels, and
escaping before the heavy seventy-four could get to the scene of the
conflict. The prize proved to be a valuable one, for she was laden
with iron and brass cannon and military stores.

Towards nightfall of the same day, Sept. 1, 1814, four more sail were
sighted; and the "Wasp" at once made off in chase of the most
weatherly. At eight o'clock the "Wasp" had gained so rapidly upon the
chase, that the latter began firing with her stern chaser, and soon
after opened with one of her lee guns. All the time the enemy kept up
a vigorous signalling with rockets, lanterns, and guns. By half-past
nine the "Wasp" was within hailing-distance, and an officer posted on
the bow hailed the stranger several times; but as she returned no
satisfactory answer, and refused to heave to, the "Wasp" opened upon
her with a twelve-pound carronade, and soon after poured a broadside
into her quarter. The two ships ploughed through the black water,
under full sail, side by side. The Americans had no idea of the
identity of their assailant, but, by the flashes of the guns, could
see that she was a heavy brig. Her ports gleamed brightly with
battle-lanterns; and the crowds of sailors in the tops, and the
regularity of her fire, showed that she was a man-of-war with a
well-disciplined crew, and no mere marauding privateer. For a time
this running fight continued at such short range that the only
American injured was struck by a wad from the enemy's cannon. The
British gunners were poor marksmen, and the "Wasp" suffered but
little; but it was evident that the American fire was taking effect,
for gun after gun on the enemy was silenced. At ten o'clock the
Americans, receiving no response to their carronade, stopped firing;
and Capt. Blakely, seizing a speaking-trumpet, shouted across the
water, "Have you struck?" No answer came, and the enemy began a feeble
fire. The "Wasp" let fly another broadside, and Blakely repeated the
question. This time an affirmative response came through the darkness;
and the "Wasp" stopped firing, and made preparations to take
possession of her prize. Just as the boat was being lowered from the
davits, the lookout's cry of "Sail, ho!" checked the proceedings.
Through the black night a cloud of canvas could be seen far astern,
denoting the presence of another ship, probably an enemy. The drums of
the "Wasp" beat fiercely; and the men trooped back to their quarters,
ready for a second battle. But in the mean time two more sail hove in
sight, and there remained to the "Wasp" nothing but flight. She
accordingly made off into the darkness, receiving one broadside from
one of the newly arrived men-of-war as she departed. So suddenly was
she forced to fly, that she was unable to learn the name and condition
of the vessel she had forced to surrender.

It became known in the United States later that the "Wasp's" adversary
in the battle in the darkness was the British sloop-of-war "Avon," of
eighteen guns. She was badly cut up by the fire of the American
gunners, losing her mainmast early in the action. At the time she
surrendered, she was in a sinking condition; and, had it not been for
the timely arrival of the brig-sloop "Castilian" and the "Tartarus,"
both British, the crew of the "Avon" would have been prisoners on the
"Wasp," or carried to the bottom in the shattered hulk of their own
ship. The loss on the "Avon" was ten killed and thirty-two wounded,
while on the "Wasp" but three men were injured.

Of all this the gallant Capt. Blakely was ignorant; and, indeed, it is
probable that he never knew with whom he had fought his last battle.
For the subsequent history of the "Wasp" is more tragic in its
unfathomable mystery than is the fate of the bravest ship ever sent to
the bottom by the broadsides of an enemy. What was the end of the
"Wasp," and where her bones now lie, no one knows. For some little
time after her battle with the "Avon," her movements can be traced.
Sept. 12, she captured the British brig "Three Brothers," and scuttled
her; two days later, the brig "Bacchus" met the same fate at her
hands. Sept. 21, she took the brig "Atlanta," eight guns; and, this
being a valuable prize, Midshipman Geisinger of the "Wasp" was put on
board, and took her safely to Savannah. He brought the last news that
was heard of the ill-fated cruiser for many years. Months passed, and
lengthened into years; and still the "Wasp" came not into port, nor
could any trace of her whereabouts be found. As time passed on, the
attempts to account for her delay changed into theories as to the
cause of her total disappearance. All sorts of rumors were afloat.
According to one account, the ship was wrecked on the African coast,
and her gallant lads were ending their weary lives as slaves to the
turbaned Moors of Barbary. Another theory was based on the rumor that
an English frigate went into Cadiz much crippled, and with her crew
severely injured, and reported that she had been engaged with a heavy
American corvette, which had so suddenly disappeared that she was
thought to have sunk with all on board. But, as time passed on, the
end of the "Wasp" was forgotten by all save a few whose hearts ached
for some of the gallant lads thus blotted from the face of the earth.

Years after, the fate of the daring cruiser was again brought into
remembrance by fresh news curiously found. When the officers and crew
of the "Essex," after that vessel's gallant battle with the "Phoebe"
and "Cherub," were sent to the United States under parole, two
officers remained at Valparaiso, to give testimony before the
prize-court. These gentlemen were Lieut. McKnight, and Mr. Lyman a
master's mate. After going to Brazil in the "Phoebe," the two officers
took passage in a Swedish brig bound for England. Months passed; and,
nothing being heard from them, their friends became alarmed for their
safety. In that time, before the day of the telegraph and steam
transportation, many things might have easily detained the two
officers for a year or more, and nothing be heard of them. But, when
two years had passed, inquiries began to be made as to their fate,
both by their friends and the naval authorities. The first step was to
find the vessel upon which they had left Brazil. This was a work of
time; so that it was many years after the disappearance of the
officers when the brig was found lying at a London dock. She was the
brig "Adonis," and the master proved to be the same who had commanded
her when the two officers had taken passage. He readily recalled the
circumstance, but claimed that the two passengers had left him in
mid-ocean to go aboard an American man-of-war; and in proof of this he
brought out the log-book, and, turning back to the year 1814, pointed
out the following entries:--

[Illustration: The End of the "Wasp."]

     "AUG. 23.--Left Rio de Janeiro; Stephen Decatur McKnight and
     James Lyman, passengers for England.

     "OCT. 9.--At eight o'clock in the morning discovered a strange
     sail giving chase to us, and fired several guns; she gaining very
     fast. At half-past ten o'clock hove to, and was boarded by an
     officer dressed in an English doctor's uniform; the vessel also
     hoisted an English ensign. The officer proceeded to examine my
     ship's papers, etc., likewise the letter-bags, and took from one
     of them a letter to the victualling office, London. Finding I had
     two American officers as passengers, he immediately left the
     ship, and went on board the sloop-of-war. He shortly after
     returned, took the American gentlemen with him, and went a second
     time on board the ship. In about half an hour he returned, with
     Messrs. McKnight and Lyman; and they informed me that the vessel
     was the United States sloop-of-war 'Wasp,' commanded by Capt.
     Blakely, or Blake, last from France, where she had refitted; had
     lately sunk the 'Reindeer,' English sloop-of-war, and another
     vessel, which sunk without their being able to save a single
     person, or learn the vessel's name; that Messrs. McKnight and
     Lyman had now determined to leave me and go on board the 'Wasp;'
     paid me their passage in dollars, at 5_s._ 9_d._; and, having
     taken their luggage on board, the 'Wasp' made sail to the
     southward. Shortly after they had left, I discovered that Lieut.
     McKnight had left his writing-desk behind; and I immediately made
     signal for the 'Wasp' to return, and stood towards her. They,
     observing my signal, stood back, came alongside, and sent their
     boat on board for the writing-desk; after which they sent me a
     log-line and some other presents, and made all sail in a
     direction for the line, and, I have reason to suppose, for the
     convoy that passed on Thursday previous."

And so the "Wasp," with her ill-fated crew thus re-enforced, passed
forever from the sight of man. What was her course after leaving the
"Adonis," none may ever know. Whether some chance spark, touching the
deadly stores of her magazine, sent vessel and crew to a sudden but
merciful death; or whether, after gallantly battling with some fierce
tropical hurricane, she drifted about the trackless ocean a helpless
hulk, with a slowly dying crew, carried hither and yon before the
winds and the currents, until her timbers, rotting asunder, gave a
watery sepulchre to her crew of lifeless bodies, must remain a mystery
until the day when the sea shall give up its dead. But, until that day
comes, the gallant deeds done by vessel and crew for the flag under
which they served should keep the names of the "Wasp" and her men ever
memorable in the annals of the great nation whose infancy they so
gallantly protected.




CHAPTER XV.

     OPERATIONS ON THE NEW ENGLAND COAST. -- THE BOMBARDMENT OF
     STONINGTON. -- DESTRUCTION OF THE UNITED STATES CORVETTE "ADAMS."
     -- OPERATIONS ON CHESAPEAKE BAY. -- WORK OF BARNEY'S BARGE
     FLOTILLA. -- ADVANCE OF THE BRITISH UPON WASHINGTON. --
     DESTRUCTION OF THE CAPITOL. -- OPERATIONS AGAINST BALTIMORE. --
     BOMBARDMENT OF FORT McHENRY.


The remaining work of the British blockading squadrons along the
Atlantic Coast demands some attention, and some account must be given
of certain land actions which were inseparably connected with the
course of naval events. This narrative can well be divided into two
parts, each dealing with the operations of one section of the
blockading fleet; thus tracing the course of events up to the close of
the war on the New England coast, before taking up the proceedings on
the Chesapeake station.

It will be remembered that Decatur had been checked in his attempt to
break the blockade at the eastern end of Long Island Sound, and was
forced to take the frigates "United States" and "Macedonian," and the
sloop-of-war "Hornet," into New London Harbor. Early in December,
1813, he determined to try to slip out; and choosing a dark night,
when wind and tide were in his favor, he dropped down the bay, and was
about to put to sea, when bright blue lights blazed up on either side
of the harbor's mouth, and the plan was exposed by the treachery of
some party never detected. After this failure, the two frigates
returned up the river, where they remained until the end of the war.
The "Hornet" managed to get to sea, and did good service before peace
was declared.

In April, 1814, the British blockaders on the New England coast began
active operations by sending an expedition up the Connecticut River to
Pautopaug Point, where the invaders landed, spiked the guns of a small
battery, and destroyed twenty-two vessels. Thence they proceeded down
the river, burning a few more craft on the way, and escaped safely to
their ships; although a party of militia, and sailors and marines from
Decatur's vessels, attempted to cut them off. Shortly after this
occurrence, a fleet of American gunboats attacked the blockading
squadron off New London, and succeeded in inflicting serious damages
upon the enemy.

In June, the enemy's depredations extended to the Massachusetts coast.
The little village of Wareham was the first sufferer. A sudden descent
made by boats' crews from the frigates "Superb" and "Nimrod" so
completely surprised the inhabitants, that the enemy burned the
shipping at the wharves, set fire to a factory, and retreated before
the villagers fully comprehended the blow that had fallen upon them.
Like occurrences took place at other coastwise towns; and, in every
case, the militia proved powerless to check the enemy. All up and down
the New England coast, from Maine to the mouth of the Connecticut
River, the people were panic-stricken; and hardly a night passed
without witnessing the flames of some bonfire kindled by the British
out of American property.

[Illustration: The Descent on Wareham.]

In August, 1814, Commodore Hardy appeared off Stonington with a fleet
of several vessels, headed by the seventy-four "Ramillies." Casting
anchor near shore, he sent to the mayor and selectmen the following
curt note: "Not wishing to destroy the unoffending inhabitants
residing in the town of Stonington, one hour is granted them, from the
receipt of this, to remove out of town." This message naturally caused
great consternation; and, while messengers were sent in all directions
to call together the militia, the answer was returned to the fleet:
"We shall defend the place to the last extremity. Should it be
destroyed, we will perish in its ruins." And, having thus defied the
enemy, the farmers and fishermen who inhabited the town set about
preparing for its defence. The one battery available for service
consisted of two eighteen-pounders and a four-pounder, mounted behind
earth breastworks. The gunners were put under the command of an old
sailor, who had been impressed into the British navy, where he served
four years. The skill he thus acquired in gunnery, he now gladly used
against his former oppressors. It was near nightfall when the British
opened fire; and they kept up a constant cannonade with round shot,
bombs, Congreve rockets, and carcasses until near midnight, without
doing the slightest damage. The bursting shells, the fiery rockets,
and the carcasses filled with flaming chemicals, fairly filled the
little wooden village with fire; but the exertions of the people
prevented the spread of the flames. The fleet ceased firing at
midnight, but there was no peace for the villagers. Militia-men were
pouring in from the country round about, laborers were at work
throwing up breastwork, carriers were dashing about in search of
ammunition, and all was activity, until, with the first gleam of
daylight, the fire of the ships was re-opened. The Americans promptly
responded, and soon two eighteen-pound shot hulled the brig
"Despatch." For an hour or two a rapid fire was kept up; then, the
powder giving out, the Americans spiked their largest gun, and,
nailing a flag to the battery flagstaff, went in search of more
ammunition. The British did not land; and the Americans, finding six
kegs of powder, took the gun to a blacksmith, who drilled out the
spike, and the action continued. So vigorous and well directed was the
fire of the Americans, that the "Despatch" was forced to slip her
cables and make off to a place of safety. That afternoon a truce was
declared, which continued until eight the next morning. By that time,
the Americans had assembled in sufficient force to defeat any landing
party the enemy could send ashore. The bombardment of the town
continued; but the aim of the British was so inconceivably poor, that,
during the three days' firing, no damage was done by their shot. A
more ludicrous fiasco could hardly be imagined, and the Americans were
quick to see the comical side of the affair. Before departing, the
British fired over fifteen tons of lead and iron into the town. A
quantity of this was picked up by the Americans, and offered for sale.
In a New York paper appeared the advertisement,--

     "Just received, and offered for sale, about three tons of round
     shot, consisting of six, nine, twelve, eighteen, twenty-four, and
     thirty-two pounds; very handsome, being a small proportion of
     those which were fired from His Britannic Majesty's ships on the
     unoffending inhabitants of Stonington, in the recent _brilliant_
     attack on that place. Likewise a few carcasses, in good order,
     weighing about two hundred pounds each. Apply," etc.

A popular bard of the time set forth in rollicking verse the exploits
of the British gunners:--

  "They killed a goose, they killed a hen,
  Three hogs they wounded in a pen;
  They dashed away,--and pray what then?
      That was not taking Stonington.

  "The shells were thrown, the rockets flew;
  But not a shell of all they threw--
  Though every house was full in view--
      Could burn a house in Stonington."

With this affair, in which the British expended ammunition to the
amount of fifty thousand dollars, and lost twenty men killed and fifty
wounded, active offensive operations along the Connecticut coast
ended. Farther north, however, the British still raided towns and
villages, showing more spirit in their attacks than did Hardy at
Stonington. Eastport, Me., was captured in July, and converted into a
veritable British colony. The inhabitants who remained in the town
were forced to take an oath of allegiance to Great Britain;
fortifications were thrown up, and an arsenal established; King
George's officials were placed in the custom-house, and thenceforward
until the end of the war the town was virtually British. Encouraged by
this success, the enemy undertook a more difficult task. A formidable
fleet of men-of-war and transports, bearing almost ten thousand
troops, was fitted out at Halifax for the purpose of reducing to
British rule all that part of Maine lying between Passamaquoddy Bay
and the Penobscot River. This expedition set sail from Halifax on the
26th of August, bound for Machias; but on the voyage down the coast of
Maine the brig "Rifleman" was encountered, and from her the presence
of the United States corvette "Adams" in the Penobscot River was
learned. It will be remembered that the "Adams," before entering the
river, had chased the British brig. Upon learning this, the British
naval commander, Admiral Griffiths, pressed forward to the mouth of
the Penobscot, and, anchoring there, despatched a land and naval
expedition up the river for the capture of the corvette.

When the news of this advancing force reached Capt. Morris, the
"Adams" was partially out of water, dismantled, and in the hands of
the ship carpenters, who were repairing the injuries she had received
on the rocks off Mount Desert. The ship herself was utterly
defenceless, but Morris made strenuous attempts to collect a land
force to defend her. He managed to rally a few hundred militia-men,
who, with the sailors and marines, were routed by the enemy on the
night of the 3d of September. Finding that the enemy's forces were not
to be driven back by so small a body of men, Morris retreated, first
setting fire to the corvette, which was totally destroyed before the
British came up.

The retreating sailors were then forced to march over rugged roads to
Portsmouth, N.H.; and, as walking was an exercise they were little
accustomed to, many suffered severely from the unusual exertion. The
difficulty of getting provisions along the road led the men to
separate into several parties; but, notwithstanding the opportunities
thus afforded for desertion, all who were not broken down by the long
march ultimately reported for duty at the Portsmouth navy-yard.

Along the Southern seaboard the course of the war was even more
disastrous to the Americans. Intelligence which reached the national
authorities in the spring of 1814 led them to believe that the British
were planning an expedition for the capture of Washington. Grave as
was the danger, the authorities were slow to move; and though in July
the Government called for fifteen thousand troops, and gave their
command to Gen. Winder, yet the actual defensive force about the
national capital consisted of but a few hundred militia. The naval
defence was intrusted to the veteran Commodore Barney, who had served
with distinction in the Revolution, and during the early years of the
second war with Great Britain had commanded the Baltimore privateer
"Rossie." The force put under Barney's command consisted of twenty-six
gunboats and barges, manned by nine hundred men. Chiefly by his own
energetic exertions, this force was ready for service in April; and by
June the crews were drilled and disciplined, and the commanders
schooled in the tactics of squadron evolutions. On the 1st of that
month occurred the first brush with the enemy. The American flotilla
was then lying in Chesapeake Bay, a little below the mouth of the
Patuxent; and, a portion of the enemy's squadron coming within range,
Barney ordered out his forces in chase. The British, outnumbered, fled
down the bay; but, though Barney was rapidly overhauling them, he saw
his hopes of victory shattered by the sudden appearance of His
Britannic Majesty's seventy-four gun ship "Dragon." Thus re-enforced,
it became the turn of the British to pursue; and the Americans
retreated, firing constantly as they fled. The British continuing
their advance, Barney was forced to take shelter in the Patuxent
River; and he was gradually forced up that stream as far as the mouth
of St. Leonard's Creek. The enemy then, feeling certain that the
Americans were fairly entrapped, anchored at the mouth of the river,
and awaited re-enforcements. These soon arrived; and on the 8th of the
month the enemy's forces, consisting of a frigate, brig, and two
schooners, moved up the river to the mouth of the creek. Farther they
could not go, owing to shoal-water; but they fitted out a small
flotilla of barges, and sent them on up the creek. With this enemy
Commodore Barney was ready to come to close quarters; and he moved
down upon the British, who quickly retreated to the shelter of their
ships. Two or three such sham attacks were made by the enemy, but not
until the 10th of the month did they actually give battle to the
Americans.

On the morning of that day the British advanced in force to the
attack; and the peaceful little creek was ablaze with flags and bright
uniforms, and the wooded shores echoed back the strains of martial
music. Twenty-one barges, one rocket-boat, and two schooners formed
the British column of attack, which moved grandly up the creek, with
the bands playing patriotic airs, and the sailors, confident of
victory, cheering lustily. Eight hundred men followed the British
colors. Against this force Barney advanced with but five hundred
sailors. His sloop and gun-vessels he left at anchor, as being too
unwieldy for the narrow shoal-waters of St. Leonard's Creek; and he
met the enemy's flotilla with but thirteen barges. The enemy opened
the action at long range with rockets and howitzers. The former were
terrible missiles in an action of this character, corresponding to the
shells of modern naval warfare. Some idea of their destructiveness may
be derived from the fact, that one of them, fired at long range,
exploded and set fire to a boat, after having first passed through the
body of one of her crew. Barney had no rockets; and, as the combat at
long range was telling upon his men, he at once dashed forward into
the midst of the enemy. Soon the barges were engaged in desperate
hand-to-hand conflicts. The sailors, grappling with their adversary's
craft, fought with pistol and cutlass across the gunwales. Barney, in
a small barge with twenty men, dashed about, now striking a blow in
aid of some overmatched American boat, then cheering on some laggard,
or applauding some deed of gallantry that occurred in his sight. Major
William Barney, son of the commodore, saw an American barge on fire,
and deserted by her crew who feared the explosion of her magazine.
Running his boat alongside, he jumped into the flaming craft; and by
dint of bailing in water, and rocking her from side to side, he
succeeded in saving the barge. For more than an hour the action raged,
both sides fighting with great vigor and gallantry; but the Americans
having pierced the British line, the enemy, falling into confusion,
turned, and strained every muscle to gain the protection of their
ship's guns. The Americans followed in hot pursuit; but their
course was abruptly checked at the mouth of the creek by a British
schooner, whose eighteen guns commanded respect. For a moment the
pursuing barges fell back; then, choosing advantageous positions, they
opened fire upon the schooner with such effect that she soon turned to
escape. She succeeded in getting under the protecting guns of the
frigate and sloop-of-war, but was so cut to pieces in the short action
that she was run aground and abandoned. The larger vessels now opened
fire upon Barney's forces; and the flotilla, after a few shots of
defiance, returned to its quarters up the creek.

[Illustration: The Battle of the Barges.]

For the next two weeks all was quiet along the shores of the Patuxent
and St. Leonard's Creek. The enemy had learned wisdom from their late
defeat, and contented themselves with blockading the mouth of the
creek, and leaving Barney undisturbed in his retreat. But the doughty
commodore had no idea of being thus confined, and during the time of
quiet made preparations for an attempt to break the blockade. Land
forces from Washington were sent down to aid in this attempt; and two
pieces of artillery were to be mounted on a hill at the mouth of the
creek, and thence throw red-hot shot into the enemy's ships. The land
forces, however, rendered not the slightest assistance; and a too
cautious colonel posted the battery at such a point that no shot could
reach the enemy without first passing through a hill. Accordingly,
when Barney led his flotilla gallantly down to the attack, he found
that the issue of the conflict rested upon the sailors alone. From the
battery, which was expected to draw the enemy's fire, not a single
effective shot was fired. The sailors fought nobly, using their heavy
long twelves and eighteens with great effect. But they were sadly
hampered by their position; for the mouth of the creek was so narrow
that but eight barges could lie abreast, and the others coming down
from above soon packed the little stream from shore to shore, giving
the enemy a mark that the poorest gunner could hardly miss. Against
the storm of grape and canister that the British poured upon them, the
sailors had absolutely no protection. The barges were without
bulwarks, and the blue-jackets at the guns and at the oars were
exposed to the full force of the British fire. Yet in this exposed
situation the gallant fellows kept up the fight for nearly an hour,
only withdrawing when the last ray of hope for help from the shore
battery had vanished. Shortly after the Americans abandoned the
attack, the blockading squadron got under way and stood down the bay.
From the way in which one of the frigates was working her pumps, the
Americans saw that their fire had not been entirely without effect.

Barney's flotilla had now given the British so much trouble that they
determined to destroy it without delay; and an expedition of more than
five thousand men--composed of regulars, marines, and a few
negroes--was carried up the Patuxent, and landed at Benedict, where an
armed brig had been stationed to cover the disembarkation. It was
early dawn when the signal to land was given, and the river was
covered in an instant with a well-manned and warlike flotilla. It was
hard work for the British sailors, for a strong current was running;
but by three o'clock in the afternoon the whole army was landed, and
encamped in a strong position on a hill overlooking the village.
Though no American troops were anywhere in the vicinity, the landing
was conducted with the utmost caution. As the prow of each boat grated
on the sand, the soldiers leaped on the beach, and instantly drew up
in line, ready to repel any attack. After the infantry was landed,
about a hundred artillerymen followed, and the same number of sailors
dragging howitzers.

It is easily understood that this powerful force was not organized
solely to destroy Barney's pitiful little flotilla. The real purpose
of the British commander was to press on into the interior, and
capture Washington, which the Americans had foolishly left without any
defences whatever. It came to Barney's ears that Admiral Cockburn had
boasted that he would destroy the American flotilla, and dine in
Washington the following Sunday. This news the American commodore sent
off to the authorities at the capital, and they then began to make
futile preparations to repel the invader. In the mean time the British
commenced their march up the shores of the Patuxent, meeting with no
opposition. Barney, knowing that the defence of the national capital
was of far greater importance than the fate of his flotilla, landed
with four hundred men, and hastened to the American lines before
Washington. He left the barges under the command of the second
lieutenant, Mr. Frazier, with instructions to set fire to every boat
on the appearance of the enemy, and then join the commodore with all
the men left under his charge. Accordingly, when the invading column
reached Nottingham, Mr. Frazier took the flotilla still higher up the
creek,--a move that vastly disconcerted the British, who saw their
prey eluding them. "But in the main object of our pursuit we were
disappointed," wrote a British officer. "The flotilla which had been
stationed opposite to Nottingham retired, on our approach, higher up
the stream; and we were consequently in the situation of a huntsman
who sees his hounds at fault, and has every reason to apprehend that
his game will escape." But the game never fell into the hands of the
ardent hunters; for the next day Mr. Frazier fulfilled his orders by
setting fire to every barge, and, after seeing several of the larger
boats blow up, mustered his men, and cut across the country, to join
his superior officer. The British naval forces soon after reached Pig
Point, the scene of this destruction, and there remained; while the
land forces immediately turned away from the river, and marched upon
Washington.

[Illustration: Sharp-Shooters.]

It is not necessary to give in detail the incidents of the series of
skirmishes by which the British fought their way to the American
capital. They were opposed by raw militia, and the few sailors and
marines under Barney. The former fled with promptitude at the very
first fire, but the sailors and marines fought gallantly. The fighting
was sharpest at Bladensburg; and here Barney's blue-jackets won praise
from everybody, even from the enemy whose advance they disputed.
Barney himself led the Americans, and sighted a favorite gun of the
sailors' battery, until he fell desperately wounded. This battery
commanded the road by which the main column of British advanced; and
by its hail of grape and canister it beat back the advancing
regiments, and for some time checked their further progress. The
British thereupon opened with rockets, and sent out sharp-shooters to
pick off the Yankee gunners. One of these riflemen was observed by the
Americans to deliberately build for himself a small redoubt of stones
from an old wall; and, lying down behind it, he began a deliberate
fire upon the Americans. His first bullet went through the cap of one
of the sailors, and the second sent a poor fellow to his long account.
The marines answered with their muskets; but the fellow's stone
rampart saved him, and he continued his fire. Barney vowed to put an
end to that affair, and, carefully sighting one of his cannon, pulled
the lanyard. The heavy round shot was seen to strike the
sharp-shooter's defence, and stones and man disappeared in a cloud of
dust. Meantime, the enemy had thrown out flanking parties under cover
of the woods, and had nearly surrounded the little band of sailors. A
musket-ball struck Barney in the thigh, and he began to grow faint
with loss of blood; and, finding that the militia had fled, and the
sailors were becoming exhausted, the commodore ordered a retreat. The
blue-jackets left the field in good order; but their gallant commander
had gone but a few steps, when the pain of his wound forced him to lie
down under a tree, and await the coming of the enemy. The British soon
came up, led by Gen. Ross and Capt. Wainwright of the navy. After
learning Barney's rank, and courteously offering to secure surgical
aid, the general turned to his companion, and, speaking of the
stubborn resistance made by the battery, said, "I told you it was the
flotilla men."--"Yes. You were right, though I could not believe you,"
was the response. "They have given us the only fighting we have had."

Meanwhile, the British, having routed the Americans at every point,
pressed on to Washington. The inhabitants fled before them, and the
town was almost deserted when the British marched in with banners
flying and bands playing. The enemy held the city for only a day; but
in that time they did such deeds of vandalism, that even the people
and the press of London cried out in indignation. The President's
house, the Capitol, all the public buildings except the Patent
Office, were burned to the ground. The navy-yard, with the uncompleted
ships on the stocks, was likewise burned; but in this the enemy only
acted in accordance with the rules of war. It was their destruction of
the public buildings, the national archives, and the Congressional
library, that aroused the wrathful indignation of all fair-minded
people, whether Americans or Europeans. "Willingly," said one London
newspaper, "would we throw a veil of oblivion over our transactions at
Washington. The Cossacks spared Paris, but we spared not the capital
of America." A second English journal fitly denounced the proceedings
as "a return to the times of barbarism."

[Illustration: The March on Washington.]

But, if the invaders are rightly to be blamed for the useless
vandalism they encouraged, the American authorities are still more
culpable for their neglect of the most ordinary precautions of war.
That a national capital, close to the sea, should be left virtually
unprotected while the enemy was massing his forces only a few miles
away, seems almost unbelievable. But so it was with Washington; for
five hundred flotilla men were forced to bear the brunt of the attack
of five thousand British. True it is that the military authorities had
massed seven thousand militia-men for the defence of the city; but
such was the trepidation of these untrained soldiers, that they fled
before the main body of the British had come into the fight. That the
sailors and marines fought bravely, we have the testimony of the
British themselves. Mr. Gleig, a subaltern in the attacking army,
writes, "Of the sailors, however, it would be injustice not to speak
in the terms which their conduct merits. They were employed as
gunners; and not only did they serve their guns with a quickness and
precision which astonished their assailants, but they stood till some
of them were actually bayonneted with fuses in their hands; nor was it
till their leader was wounded and taken, and they saw themselves
deserted on all sides by the soldiers, that they quitted the field."
Therefore, in the battle of Bladensburg, the blue-jackets won nothing
but honor, though the results of the battle were so mortifying to the
national pride of the people of the United States.

On the 25th of August the British left the smoking ruins of Washington
behind them, and made for their fleet lying in the Patuxent. They
feared that the outraged nation would rise upon them, and turn their
march into a bloody retreat, like that of the British soldiery from
the historic field of Lexington. Accordingly their departure was by
night, immediately after a furious storm of rain and wind. Strict
orders were issued to all the Americans in Washington, warning them,
under penalty of death, not to leave their houses until the sun rose
the next morning. Then the British stealthily marched out of the town.
"No man spoke above his breath," says subaltern Gleig. "Our very steps
were planted lightly, and we cleared the town without exciting
observation." A two days' march brought them to Benedict, where the
fleet lay in waiting for their reception.

[Illustration: The Burning of Washington.]

In the mean time, a portion of the British fleet had ascended the
Potomac as far as Alexandria, and, finding that town defenceless,
proceeded to dictate to the inhabitants the terms upon which they
could save their village from desolation. The British demanded that
all naval stores and ordnance, all the shipping and its furniture, all
merchandise, and all provisions in the town should be surrendered.
Several vessels had been scuttled, to prevent their falling into the
hands of the enemy; these, the British demanded, should be raised,
repaired, and delivered to them Time, however, did not permit the
fulfilment of this condition; but to the others, harsh and humiliating
though they were, the inhabitants were forced to accede. Heavy laden
with the spoils of the village, the pillagers weighed anchor and
started down the Potomac. But they were not destined to carry away
their booty unmolested. News of the expedition reached Baltimore, and
a large party of the sailors at the navy-yard were sent to the banks
of the Potomac to cut off the enemy's retreat. They were officered by
four men famous in American naval annals,--Perry, Rodgers, Porter, and
Creighton. At Indian Head, just below Mount Vernon, the Potomac River
narrows and flows swiftly between densely wooded bluffs. At this point
the Americans threw up redoubts, and, mounting all the cannon that
could be gathered on such short notice, prepared to dispute the
enemy's passage. When the British fleet hove in sight, they were
greeted with a storm of shot from the unsuspected batteries; and they
recoiled in confusion. Practised American hunters lined the woody
shores, and picked off the British sailors with musket-balls. For some
time the fleet was thus checked in its progress. Finally the admiral
determined that only by a bold dash could he escape; and accordingly,
massing his vessels and concentrating his fire on the chief battery,
he dashed past, and rejoined his superior officer, Cockburn, not
without paying dearly for his exploit at Alexandria.

While the British were thus devastating the shores of Chesapeake Bay,
they cast more than one longing look toward the thriving city of
Baltimore, which, by its violent patriotism, had done much to urge on
the war. From the shipyards of Baltimore came more than one stout
naval vessel that had forced the enemy to haul down his colors. But
that which more than any thing else aroused the hatred of the British
was the share Baltimore took in fitting out and manning those swift
privateers, concerning whose depredations upon British commerce we
shall have something to say in a later chapter. "It is a doomed town,"
said Vice-admiral Warren. "The truculent inhabitants of Baltimore must
be tamed with the weapons which shook the wooden turrets of
Copenhagen," cried the editor of a great London paper. But,
nevertheless, Baltimore did not fall before the invader, although for
some time the army and navy of the enemy were united in the attempt to
bring desolation upon the obnoxious city.

[Illustration: Planning the Attack.]

After the fall of Washington, the depredations of the British along
the shores of Chesapeake Bay redoubled, and the marauding expeditions
thus employed were really feelers thrown out to test the strength of
the defenses of Baltimore. That the marauders found some opposition,
is evident from a passage in the journal of a British officer. "But
these hasty excursions, though generally successful, were not always
performed without loss to the invaders." On one of these expeditions,
Sir Peter Parker, captain of the frigate "Menelaus," lost his life. He
had been ordered down to the mouth of the bay just after the fall of
Washington. "I must first have a frolic with the Yankees," said he.
And accordingly, after a jovial dinner aboard his frigate, he led a
night expedition of sailors and marines ashore, expecting to surprise
a small body of Maryland militia stationed at Moorfields. Sir Peter's
frolic turned out disastrously; for the Marylanders were on the watch,
and received the invaders with a fierce volley. Sir Peter was
gallantly cheering on his men, when a musket-ball cut the main artery
in his thigh. "They have hit me, Pearce," he said faintly to his
lieutenant; "but it's nothing. Push on, my brave boys, and follow me."
But even thus cheering, he fell back, the words died away in his
throat, and he bled to death before a surgeon could be found. It is
but right to say, that, though he sailed in Cockburn's command, he had
none of the cruel brutality which his admiral too often showed.

On the 12th of September a more serious assault was made upon
Baltimore. The British naval and military forces united in the attack,
which was made by land and sea. A force of nine thousand men,
including two thousand marines and two thousand sailors, was landed
fifteen miles from Baltimore, and under the command of Gen. Ross and
Admiral Cockburn marched gayly inland, never doubting that they would
find the Americans unprepared, and repeat their exploits at
Washington. In this expectation they were sadly disappointed; for the
Maryland militia, aided by a few regulars and seamen, outfought the
British at every point, and checked their farther advance. Among the
slain was Gen. Ross, who was shot down as he was leading the advance
of the British skirmishers. In the mean time, the British fleet had
been taking its share in the engagement by attempting to reduce Fort
McHenry. A large flotilla of frigates, schooners, sloops, and
bomb-ketches entered the Patapsco River on the morning of the 12th,
and, casting anchor out of the reach of the fort's guns, opened a
furious fire. The fort was manned by militia-men and a large
detachment of the gallant sailors from Barney's flotilla. When the
continual falling of shells within the fort told that the enemy had
come within range, the guns of Fort McHenry opened in response. But,
to the intense chagrin of the Americans, it was found that their works
mounted not a single gun that would carry to the enemy's fleet. There
then remained to the garrison only the trying duty of holding their
post, and enduring without response a galling fire from the enemy. All
the garrison stood to the guns without flinching; while the shrieking
shells fell on all sides, and, exploding, scattered deadly missiles in
all directions. One shell struck and dismounted one of the
twenty-four-pounders, killing and wounding several of its men. Admiral
Cochrane, who commanded the attacking fleet, saw this incident, and
ordered three of his bomb-vessels to move up nearer to the fort. This
gave the Americans the opportunity for which they had been longing,
and instantly every gun in the fort opened upon the three luckless
ketches. Half an hour of this fire sufficed to drive the three vessels
back to their original station.

Night fell, but brought no cessation of the bombardment. But the
enemy, while never slackening his fire, had determined to take
advantage of the darkness to send out a landing party to take two
small batteries on the banks of the Patapsco, and then assault Fort
McHenry from the rear. Twelve hundred and fifty men, with
scaling-ladders and fascines, left the fleet in barges, and moved up
the Patapsco towards Fort Covington and the City Battery. But their
plan, though well laid, was defeated by the vigilance and courage of
the garrisons of the two threatened positions,--sailors all, and many
of them men from Barney's flotilla, a training-school which seems to
have given to the region about Chesapeake Bay its most gallant
defenders. Just as the storming party turned the prows of the barges
towards the shore, they were discovered; and from McHenry, Covington,
and the City Battery burst a thunderous artillery-fire, that shook the
houses in Baltimore, and illumined the dark shores of the river with a
lurid glare. Bold as the British sailors were, they could advance no
farther under so terrible a fire. Two of the barges were shot to
pieces, leaving their crews struggling in the water. A ceaseless hail
of grape and canister spread death and wounds broadcast among the
enemy; and, after wavering a moment, they turned and fled to their
ships. Cochrane, seeing his plan for taking the American positions by
assault thus frustrated, redoubled the fury of his fire; hoping that,
when daybreak made visible the distant shore, nothing but a heap of
ruins should mark the spot where Fort McHenry stood the night before.

A night bombardment is at once a beautiful and a terrible spectacle.
The ceaseless flashing of the great guns, lighting up with a lurid
glare the dense clouds of smoke that hang over the scene of battle;
the roar of the artillery; the shriek of the shell as it leaves the
cannon's mouth, slowly dying into a murmur and a dull explosion, as,
with a flash of fire, the missile explodes far away,--combine to form
a picture, that, despite the horrors of wounds and death, rouses the
enthusiasm and admiration of the beholder. When viewed from the deck
of one of an attacking fleet, the scene is even more impressive. At
each discharge of the great guns, the vessel reels and trembles like a
huge animal in agony. The surging waters alongside reflect in their
black depths the flash of the cannon and the fiery trail of the flying
shell. Far in the distance can be seen the flashes of the enemy's
guns, each of which may mean the despatch of a missile bringing death
and pain in its track. One who has witnessed such a spectacle can
readily understand the fascination which men find in the great game of
war.

[Illustration: The Star Spangled Banner.]

Pacing the deck of the one of the British vessels was a young
American, whose temperament was such that he could fully appreciate
all the beauties of the scene, even though harassed by anxious fears
lest the British should be successful. This man was Francis S. Key,
who had visited the fleet with a flag of truce, but was unable to get
away before the bombardment began. When the sun set on the evening of
the 13th, Key saw his country's flag waving proudly over the ramparts
at which the British guns had been so furiously pounding. Would that
flag still be there when the sun should rise again? That was the
question which Key asked himself as he anxiously walked the deck
throughout the night, striving to pierce the darkness, and make out,
by the lurid lightnings of the cannon, whether the flag was still
there. As the night wore on, Key took an old letter from his pocket,
and on the blank sheet jotted down the lines of the immortal national
song, "The Star Spangled Banner." Its words merely voice the writer's
thoughts; for often during that night he looked anxiously shorewards,
to see if

       "the rockets' red glare, the bombs bursting in air,
  Gave proof, through the night, that our flag was still there."

When the anxiously awaited daylight came, Fort McHenry still stood;
and over it waved defiantly the starry folds of the United States
flag. The British saw that, by land and sea, their attack had failed;
and early in the morning the fleet, after taking on board the remnant
of the land forces, sailed suddenly away, and left Baltimore safe.
They had bombarded Fort McHenry for twenty-five hours, throwing nearly
two thousand shells. Yet, wonderful as it may appear, only four of the
Americans were killed, and twenty-four wounded. With this failure the
British ended their chief offensive operations along the shores of the
Chesapeake. The greater part of the fleet and the soldiery then moved
southward, to take part in the operations along the Gulf coast, that
culminated in the disastrous defeat of the invaders at New Orleans.




CHAPTER XVI.

     DESULTORY HOSTILITIES ON THE OCEAN. -- ATTACK UPON FORT BOWYER.
     -- LAFITTE THE PIRATE. -- BRITISH EXPEDITION AGAINST NEW ORLEANS.
     -- BATTLE AT THE RIGOLETS. -- ATTACK ON NEW ORLEANS, AND DEFEAT
     OF THE BRITISH. -- WORK OF THE BLUE-JACKETS. -- CAPTURE OF THE
     FRIGATE "PRESIDENT." -- THE "CONSTITUTION" TAKES THE "CYANE" AND
     "LEVANT." -- THE "HORNET" TAKES THE "PENGUIN." -- END OF THE WAR.


The naval incidents of the latter part of 1814 conferred little honor
upon either of the belligerents. Seldom did the meetings between
hostile ships rise to the dignity of battles. One or two small
American brigs fell a prey to British frigates; but in every instance
the disparity of force was so great that the weaker surrendered
without striking a blow. Such was the case with the sixteen-gun brig
"Rattlesnake," which escaped from one British frigate by throwing
overboard all her guns, only to immediately fall a prey to the
"Leander." In July of the same year, the United States brig "Siren"
was captured by the British frigate "Medway," off the coast of Africa,
after a long chase, during which the American hove overboard every
thing movable on the brig. Not all these petty encounters ended so
favorably for the enemy. Off New York a cutting-out party of
volunteers surprised and captured the British tender "Eagle," a small
craft carrying one thirty-two-pound howitzer, and fourteen men. Ten
days later, the frigate "Tenedos," which had done such good service on
the blockade, suffered the loss of her tender, which was gallantly
carried away by the crew of a Yankee gunboat. Some very desperate
combats between American privateers and British naval vessels were
fought about this time, and will be duly noted in detail in the
chapter treating of the exploits of the private armed navy.

As the autumn came on, the British naval forces began to rendezvous in
the Gulf of Mexico, preparatory to the campaign before New Orleans. On
Sept. 14, a squadron of four British sloops-of-war appeared off
Mobile, and opened fire upon Fort Bowyer, which guarded the entrance
to Mobile Bay. The attack was vigorous, and the defence determined. A
British land expedition moved upon the fort from the landward side;
and the little garrison found itself surrounded by enemies, many of
whom were Indians, whose savage assistance the British had accepted
from the very opening of the war. A small force, only, defended the
fort. Percy, the British admiral, knew the weakness of the garrison;
and, thinking of the ninety-two guns he could bring to bear against
the twenty worked by the Americans, announced proudly, that he would
give the garrison just twenty minutes to surrender. The twenty minutes
passed quickly, and still the fort responded savagely to the fire of
its assailants. The flag of the British ship "Hermes" was shot away;
and soon after, a round shot cut her cable, and she drifted upon a
sand-bank, and lay helpless, and exposed to a raking fire. Her
captain, having set her afire, abandoned her; and she soon blew up.
The other vessels kept up the attack gallantly for a time. The
flagstaff of the fort was shot away; but the flag soon re-appeared,
waving from a sponge-staff. The Americans then redoubled their fire,
which soon told so severely upon the British ships that they were
forced to withdraw. In the mean time, the assault of the Indians and
troops had been checked, and the forces driven back in disorder, thus
leaving the victory to the Americans.

It is not within the province of this work to treat of the military
operations that led up to the battle of New Orleans. But the last
months of 1814 witnessed a series of naval incidents trivial in
themselves, but deriving importance from their connection with Gen.
Jackson's great victory. Over certain incidents in the preparations of
the Americans for repelling the invasion hangs a shade of romance.

To the southward of the quaint, rambling, rose-covered city of New
Orleans, the tawny flood of the Mississippi winds towards the gulf in
huge serpentine curves. The shores between which it flows rise scarce
higher than the surface of the river itself; and a slight increase in
the volume of water, or a strong wind, will serve to turn the whole
region into a great, watery marsh. From the mouth of the great river,
the whole coast of Louisiana, extending north and west, is a grassy
sea, a vast expanse of marsh-grass, broken here and there by inlets of
the Mexican Gulf, and sluggish, winding bayous that lead up into the
higher lands of the State,--waterways that lead even to the back door
of the Crescent City herself, but known only to oyster-gatherers, or
in 1814 to the adventurous men who followed the banner of Lafitte the
Baratarian pirate.

Pirate he was called then; but it is doubtful whether his misdeeds
ever exceeded smuggling, or, at worst, privateering under the
protecting flag of some belligerent nation. When all nations were
warring, what was easier than for a few gallant fellows, with
swift-sailing feluccas, to lurk about the shores of the gulf, and now
under the Spanish flag, now under the French, or any colors which
suited the case, sally out and capture the richly laden Indiamen that
frequented those summer seas? And when a power known as the United
States Government, that had its quarters more than a thousand miles
from the country of the Creoles, passed an outrageous law known as the
embargo, what was more natural than that the Baratarians, knowing the
mysterious waterways that led up to the Crescent City, should utilize
their knowledge to take ships and cargoes in and out without the
formality of a custom-house examination? Such were the times that led
to the formation and growth of the "piratical" colony of Barataria.
Its leaders and rulers were John and Pierre Lafitte; one of whom lived
in New Orleans in the character of a prosperous merchant, while the
other led the expeditions which brought in merchandise to stock the
former's stores. Under the influence of the warlike state of Europe,
the trade of these worthies throve, and their settlement at Grande
Isle took on the appearance of a prosperous colony and naval station.
Storehouses and dwellings stood close to the sea. The fertile face of
the island was cut up into fruitful plantations and orange-groves.
Breastworks, well dotted with the muzzles of cannon, commanded the
approach by sea. More than once, from behind those ramparts, the
Baratarians had proved that they could fight, and that they
acknowledged the authority of no flag. The Creoles of New Orleans
looked indulgently upon the conduct of the outlaws; but the few
Americans in the city were highly incensed to see the authority of the
United States thus set aside, and vowed that when the war was over the
audacious adventurers should be crushed. However, the end came even
sooner.

On the 3d of September, a British armed brig anchored near the
buccaneers' retreat, and sent a flag of truce ashore. Lafitte, with
great dignity, received the envoys in his tent, and assured them of
his protection, though the whole village was up in arms clamoring for
the death of the intruders. The British officer then announced that he
had come to secure the aid of Lafitte and his followers in the
campaign against New Orleans. He offered the pirate captain
forgiveness for all piracies committed against the British
flag,--whereat the chief smiled sardonically,--also thirty thousand
dollars in cash, a captain's commission in the British navy, and lands
for himself and his followers. It was a tempting bribe; for at that
moment Lafitte's brother lay in the _calaboza_ at New Orleans awaiting
trial for piracy, and the Americans were preparing rapidly for a
descent upon the Baratarian stronghold. But, little as he liked the
American flag, Lafitte liked the British still less: so, asking the
Englishman to wait a few days for his answer, he sent a report of the
occurrence to the New Orleans authorities, and offered to co-operate
with the Americans, if he could be assured of pardon for all offences
committed against the government. This document caused some hesitation
at New Orleans; but the military authorities determined to refuse the
offer, and break up the outlaws' nest. Accordingly, a few days later,
the war schooner "Carolina," six gunboats, a tender, and a launch,
dropped down the Mississippi, and, rounding into the deep blue waters
of the gulf, headed for Barataria. Lafitte had too many friends in New
Orleans not to know of the force thus sent against him; and, when the
Americans reached Grande Terre, they found the pirates at their
batteries, and the Baratarian flotilla drawn up in order of battle.
The contest was sharp, but ended in the rout of the Baratarians. Their
village was burned, their fortifications razed; and, when the
triumphant Americans returned to New Orleans, they brought in their
train ten armed prizes and a number of prisoners, although Lafitte was
not to be found among the latter. Thereafter, the Baratarians, as an
organization, vanished from history. Lafitte was afterwards
occasionally heard of as a desperado on the more western shores of the
Mexican Gulf; and it is further noticeable, that two guns were served
by Baratarians under their old lieutenant, Dominique Yon, on that
bloody day when Packenham's forces were beaten back on the field of
Chalmette.

Early in December the movement of the British upon New Orleans took
definite shape. On the 8th of that month, the calm waters of the Gulf
of Mexico, off the Chandeleur Islands, were the scene of a grand
rendezvous of British naval and military forces. All the vessels of
Cockburn's Chesapeake fleet were there, with other men-of-war,
transports, and schooners, to the number of fifty vessels. At the head
was the towering two-decker "Tonnant," carrying the Admiral's flag.
Frigates, corvettes, and sloops-of-war came trooping in the rear; and
the transports bore seven thousand men for the capture of the Southern
city. The British were in high good-humor as the anchors were let fall
and the ships swung round with their heads to the tide. The voyage
across the gulf from the rendezvous at Jamaica had been like a holiday
trip. The weather had been fine, and the sea smooth; and the soft air
of that semi-tropical region was a never-ending source of delight to
sailors who had been suffering the hardships of a Northern station.

The point at which the British fleet had come to anchor lay about
fifty miles due east of New Orleans. In that day of sailing-vessels,
no enemy could breast the waters of the rolling Mississippi and crush
the resistance of the city's defenders, as did Farragut in 1862.
Knowing that they could not hope to take their ships up to the levee
of the city, the enemy determined to cast anchor near the entrance of
Lake Borgne, and send through a chain of lakes and bayous a mammoth
expedition in barges, to a point within ten miles of the city. But
this well-laid plan had been betrayed to the Americans by Lafitte; and
a little band of American sailors, under the command of Lieut. Catesby
Jones, had taken up a position at the Rigolets, and were prepared to
dispute the farther progress of the invading forces. Five gunboats,
and one hundred and eighty-five men, constituted the American force,
which for a time held the British in check. Finally, the enemy,
finding that the swift American cutters could easily evade the
lumbering war-vessels, fitted out a fleet of forty-five barges, manned
by a thousand veteran British sea-dogs, who had seen service in half
a dozen naval wars. The Americans had news of the contemplated attack,
and made skilful preparations to meet it. The gunboats were moored in
a fore and aft line, at a point near the Rigolets. Their broadsides
bore upon the enemy, and the shallowness of the water was such that by
no means could they be surrounded. The sailors were prepared for a
desperate conflict, and spent the night before the battle in tricing
up the boarding-nettings, sharpening cutlasses, and getting small-arms
in good trim. In the morning the British came on to the attack. It was
a long pull from the fleet to the place of battle: so their commander
brought his flotilla to anchor just out of range of the American guns;
and there the grim old veterans devoured their dinners, and took their
rations of grog, with appetites undisturbed by the thought of the
coming conflict. Dinner over, the enemy weighed anchor, and dashed
forward, with long, swift strokes, into the very flashes of the
Americans' cannon. The Americans knew that their one chance of victory
was to keep the overwhelming forces of their foe out of boarding
distance, and they worked their guns with a rapidity born of
desperation. Musket-bullets, grape-shot, and canister poured in a
murderous fire upon the advancing boats. But the sturdy old British
veterans knew that the best way to stop that fire was to get at the
base of it; and they pressed on undauntedly, responding vigorously,
meanwhile, with their bow guns. Soon they were up to the gunwales of
the American flotilla, and the grappling-irons were fixed; then, with
sharp blows of cutlasses, deadly play of the pikes, and a ceaseless
rattle of small-arms, they poured upon the decks of the Americans. The
boarding-nettings could not long check so furious a foe, and fell
before the fierce slash of the cutlasses. The decks once gained, the
overpowering numbers of the Englishmen crushed all further resistance;
and the flotilla was finally taken, after about one hundred of the
enemy and fifty Americans had fallen.

The American flotilla being thus shattered, there remained no further
obstacle to prevent the landing of the invading army. Of the advance
of that brilliant body of veteran troops over sands and marshes, and
through sluggish bayous and canals half-full of stagnant water, until
they emerged on the bank of the river, nine miles below New Orleans,
it is not my purpose to speak further. Nor does an account of Gen.
Jackson's vigorous measures of defence and glorious victory come
within the province of this narrative. The interesting story of
Jackson's creation of an army from leather-shirted Kentucky riflemen,
gay Creoles from the Creole Quarter of the Crescent City, swarthy
Spaniards and mulattoes, nondescript desperadoes from the old band of
Lafitte, and militia and regulars from all the Southern States, forms
no part of the naval annals of the war. It is enough to say that the
flower of the British army, led by a veteran of the Peninsula,
recoiled before that motley crew of untrained soldiers, and were
beaten back, leaving their gallant leader and thousands of their brave
men dead upon the field. The navy was not without some share in this
glorious triumph. On the 23d of December the schooner "Carolina"
dropped down from New Orleans, and opened fire upon the enemy. "Now,
then, for the honor of America, give it to them!" sung out her
commander, as the first broadside was fired. The attack, unexpected as
it was, created a panic in the British camp. A feeble reply was made
with rockets and musketry; but even this was soon discontinued, and
the enemy took refuge under the steep bank of the levee, whither the
plunging shot could not follow them. All night the "Carolina" kept up
her fire; and, when at daybreak she moved away, she left the camp of
the enemy in confusion. During the day she renewed the attack, and
persisted in her fire until the British threw up a heavy battery on
the river's bank, and replied. The lads of the "Carolina" promptly
accepted the challenge thus offered, and for a time a spirited combat
was maintained. But the battery threw red-hot shot, and the schooner
was soon set on fire and destroyed. Meanwhile the corvette "Louisiana"
had come down to the scene of action, and in the subsequent
engagements did some effective work. When the final onslaught of the
British was made, on Jan. 7, 1815, the guns of the "Louisiana" were
mounted on the opposite bank of the river, and the practised sailors
worked them with deadly effect, until the flight of the American
militia on that side exposed the battery to certain capture. The
sailors then spiked their guns, and marched off unmolested. The
sailors of the "Carolina," on that day of desperate fighting, were in
the centre of Jackson's line, between the Creoles and the swarthy
Baratarians under Dominique Yon. Here they worked their howitzers, and
watched the scarlet lines of the enemy advance and melt away before
that deadly blaze; advance and fall back again in hopeless rout. And
among the many classes of fighting men whom Jackson had rallied before
that British line, none did battle more valiantly for the honor of
the nation and the safety of the flowery city of New Orleans than did
those blue-jackets ashore.

It is a fitting commentary upon the folly of war, that the battle of
New Orleans was fought after the two warring nations had signed a
treaty of peace. The lives of some hundreds of brave Englishmen and
Americans were needlessly sacrificed in a cause already decided. Far
across the Atlantic Ocean, in the quaint old Dutch city of Ghent,
representatives of England and the United States met, and, after some
debate, signed the treaty on the 24th of December, 1814. But there was
then no Atlantic cable, no "ocean greyhounds" to annihilate space and
time; and it was months before the news of the treaty reached the
scene of war. In the mean time, the hostilities were continued by land
and sea.

The year 1815 found the American navy largely increased by new
vessels, though the vigilance of the British blockaders kept most of
these close in port. The "Constitution" was at sea, having run the
blockade at Boston. In New York Harbor were the "President,"
"Peacock," "Hornet," and "Tom Bowline," awaiting a chance to slip out
for a cruise to the East Indies. It was decided that the vessels
should run out singly, and the "President" was selected to make the
first attempt. The night of the 14th of January was dark and foggy,
and the blockading fleet was nowhere to be seen. Then, if ever, was
the time for escape; and the Yankee tars weighed anchor and started
out through the Narrows. In the impenetrable darkness of the night,
baffled by head-winds and perplexing currents, the pilots lost their
reckoning, and the orders to the man at the wheel were quick and
nervous, until an ominous grating of the ship's keel, followed by the
loss of headway, told that the frigate was aground. For a time the
ship lay helpless, straining all her timbers as each wave lifted her
slightly, and then let the heavy hull fall back upon the shoal. By ten
o'clock the rising tide floated her off; but, on examination, Capt.
Decatur found that she was seriously injured. To return to port was
impossible with the wind then blowing: so all sail was crowded on, in
the hopes of getting safely away before the blockading squadron should
catch sight of the ship. As luck would have it, the blockaders had
been forced from their posts by the gale of the day before, and the
"President" had laid her course so as to infallibly fall into their
clutches. Before daylight the lookout reported two sail in sight, and
at daybreak the ship was fairly surrounded by the enemy's vessels. All
at once gave chase to the luckless American; and a few hours were
enough to show that her sailing qualities were so seriously injured by
her pounding on the bar, that the enemy was rapidly overhauling her.
Decatur adopted every known expedient to increase his ship's speed,
but to no avail. After she had been lightened by starting the water,
cutting away boats and anchors, chopping up and heaving overboard the
ponderous cables, together with spars and provisions, the enemy still
gained; and the foremost pursuer, a razee, opened fire. The
"President" responded with her stern-chasers, but her shot had no
effect. "It is said that on this occasion," writes Cooper, "the shot
of the American ship were observed to be thrown with a momentum so
unusually small, as to have since excited much distrust of the quality
of her gunpowder. It is even added, that many of these shot were
distinctly seen, when clear of the smoke, until they struck." At six
o'clock in the evening, the frigate "Endymion" led the British
squadron in chase, and had gained a position so close upon the
American's beam that her broadsides were rapidly crippling the
fugitive. Thereupon Decatur determined upon a desperate expedient,
that sounds like some of his reckless exploits in the war with
Tripoli. His plan was to bring the "President" about, and run boldly
alongside the enemy. Every thing was to be sacrificed to the end of
getting to close quarters. When once the two ships had grappled, the
Americans were to board, carry the British ship in a hand-to-hand
battle, and then, abandoning the crippled "President," escape in the
captured frigate. So desperate a plan needed the cordial co-operation
of every man: so it was first presented to the commissioned officers,
who gladly embraced the desperate project. The sailors were then sent
aft, and Decatur addressed them from the quarter-deck.

"My lads," said he, "that ship is coming up with us. As our ship won't
sail, we'll go on board of theirs, every man and boy of us, and carry
her into New York. All I ask of you is to follow me. This is a
favorite ship of the country. If we allow her to be taken, we shall be
deserted by our wives and sweethearts. What, let such a ship as this
go for nothing! 'Twould break the heart of every pretty girl in New
York."

[Illustration: "President" and "Endymion."]

With hearty cheers, the jackies returned to their guns. All were ready
for the coming struggle. Over the main hatch was mounted a howitzer,
with its black muzzle peering down into the hold, ready to scuttle the
ship when the boarders should spring upon the enemy's deck. The sun,
by this time, had sunk below the horizon, and the darkness of night
was gathering over the ocean. The two ships surged toward each
other,--great black masses, lighted up on either side by rows of open
ports, through which gleamed the uncertain light of the
battle-lanterns. On the gun-deck the men stood stern and silent; their
thoughts fixed upon the coming battle, or perhaps wandering back to
the green fields and pleasant homes they had so recently left, perhaps
forever. The gray old yeoman of the frigate, with his mates, walked
from gun to gun, silently placing a well-sharpened cutlass, a dirk,
and a heavy leather boarding-cap at each man's side. The marines were
drawn up in a line amidships; their erect, soldierly air and rigid
alignment contrasting with the careless slouchiness of the sailors.
Butts for the sailors' ridicule as they were during a cruise, the
marines knew that, in hand-to-hand conflicts, their part was as
dashing as that of their tormentors of the forecastle.

When the "President" had come within a quarter of a mile of her
adversary, Decatur perceived that his enemy was determined to decide
the contest at long range. As the "President" hauled down nearer, the
"Endymion" sheered off, keeping up meanwhile a vigorous cannonade. To
this the Americans responded in kind; and so much superior was the
gunnery of the Yankee tars, that the rigging of the enemy was seen to
be fast going to pieces, while her guns were being silenced one by
one. But her fire did sad havoc among the men of the "President," and
particularly among the officers. The first broadside carried away
Decatur's first lieutenant, Mr. Babbitt, who was struck by a
thirty-two-pound shot, which cut off his right leg below the knee, and
hurled him through the wardroom hatch to the deck below, fracturing
his wounded leg in two places. Shortly after, Decatur was knocked to
the deck by a heavy splinter. For some time he lay unconscious; then
opening his eyes, and seeing a throng of anxious seamen about him, he
ordered them to their stations, and resumed his duties. The fire of
the "Endymion" then slackened; and she lay upon the water, with her
sails cut from the yards. At that moment Lieut. Howell turned to a
midshipman standing at his side, and said gayly, "Well, we have
whipped that ship, at any rate." A flash from the bow of the
Englishman followed; and he added, "No: there she is again." The
midshipman turned to reply, and saw Howell stretched dead at his feet,
killed by the last shot of the battle.

[Illustration: The "President" tries to escape.]

The enemy was now helpless, and it would have been easy enough for the
"President" to choose her position and compel her adversary to strike;
but the presence of two more Englishmen, rapidly coming up astern,
forced the Americans to abandon their prey and continue their flight.
It was then late in the evening, and the night was dark and starless.
Every light was extinguished on the American frigate, in the hope that
by so doing she might slip away under cover of the night. But the
British lookouts were sharp-eyed; and by eleven o'clock two frigates
had closed in on the crippled ship, and a third was rapidly coming up
astern. All were pouring in rapid broadsides, and the dark waters were
lighted up like a fiery sea by the ceaseless flashing of the guns.
Thus surrounded and overpowered, there remained open to the Americans
no course but to surrender; and at eleven o'clock at night the
"President" made signal that she had struck. Her fate, like that of
the "Chesapeake," had accorded with the superstitious sailors' notion
that she was an unlucky ship. In the long running fight, neither the
Americans nor the British had escaped without severe loss. On the
"President" were twenty-four killed and fifty-six wounded; the first,
second, and third lieutenants being among the slain. The "Endymion"
had eleven men killed and fourteen wounded. The two frigates were
ordered to proceed to Bermuda; but the "President's" bad luck seemed
to follow her, for on the way she encountered a terrific gale, by
which her masts were carried away, and her timbers so strained that
all the upper-deck guns had to be thrown overboard to save the ship.

The loss of the "President," at the very mouth of the New York Harbor,
was certainly a most inauspicious opening for the naval operations of
1815. The people of New York and Philadelphia, to whom had come
neither the news of peace nor of the glorious success of the American
arms at New Orleans, were plunged into despondency. "Now that Great
Britain is at peace with Europe," thought they, "she can exert all her
power in the task of subjugating America;" and mournful visions of a
return to British rule darkened their horizon. But, even while they
were thus saddened by Decatur's defeat, a gallant vessel--the monarch
of the American navy--was fighting a good fight for the honor of the
nation; and out of that fight she came with colors flying and two
captive men-of-war following in her wake.

It will be remembered that the "Constitution" left Boston in December,
1814, for an extended cruise. The gallant frigate, always a favorite
among man-o'-war's men, carried with her on this cruise a full crew of
native Americans,--thorough seamen, and as plucky fighters as ever
pulled a lanyard or carried a cutlass. Her course lay due east; and in
January, 1815, she was in the Bay of Biscay, where she fell in with,
and captured, two prizes. After this she cruised about for a month,
without encountering an enemy. American privateers and cruisers had
fairly driven British merchantmen from the seas, and the tars of the
"Constitution" found their time hanging heavily on their hands. The
captain was an able and considerate officer, and much freedom was
allowed the jackies in their amusements. With boxing, broadsword, and
single-stick play, drill and skylarking, the hours of daylight were
whiled away; and by night the men off duty would gather about the
forecastle lantern to play with greasy, well-thumbed cards, or warble
tender ditties to black-eyed Susans far across the Atlantic.
Patriotic melodies formed no small part of Jack's musical
_repertoire_. Of these, this one, written by a landsman, was for a
long time popular among the tuneful souls of the forecastle, and was
not altogether unknown in the wardroom.

  "Now coil up y'r nonsense 'bout England's great navy,
    And take in y'r slack about oak-hearted tars;
  For frigates as stout, and as gallant crews have we,
    Or how came their "Macedon" decked with our stars?
  Yes, how came her "Guerriere," her "Peacock," and "Java,"
    All sent broken-ribbed to old Davy of late?
  How came it? Why, split me, than Britons we're braver;
    And that they shall feel, too, whenever we meet.
              Then charge the can cheerily,
              Send it round merrily:
  Here's to our country, and captains commanding;
              To all who inherit
              Of Lawrence the spirit
  Disdaining to strike while a stick is left standing."

Many were the verses of this notable production; for, to be popular in
the forecastle, a song must play a lengthy part in "teasing time." One
verse, however, is enough to show the manly, if perhaps unreasoning,
pride the blue-jackets took in the triumphs of the navy.

But the time of the sailors on this closing cruise of the war was not
destined to be spent in sport and singing alone. The noble frigate was
not to return to the stagnation of a season of peace in port, without
adding yet another honor to her already honorable record. On the
morning of the 20th of February, as the ship was running aimlessly
before a light wind, some inexplicable impulse led Capt. Stewart to
suddenly alter his course and run off some sixty miles to the
south-west. Again the "Constitution's" good luck seemed to justify the
sailors' belief, for at noon she ran into a group of vessels. The
first vessel was sighted on the larboard bow, and, as the frigate
overhauled her, proved to be a full-rigged ship. Soon after a second
sail, also a ship, was sighted; and a few minutes more sufficed to
show that both were men-of-war. The one first sighted was the
frigate-built corvette "Cyane," of thirty-four guns; and the second
was the sloop-of-war "Levant," of twenty-one guns. For either of
these vessels singly, the "Constitution," with her fifty-two guns and
crew of four hundred and fifty men, was more than a match. Yet to
attack the two was a bold movement, and this Stewart determined to
undertake. Hardly had the character of the strangers been made out,
when the corvette was seen making signals to the sloop; and the two
vessels, then about ten miles apart, made all sail to get together
before the enemy should overhaul them. This juncture was precisely
what Stewart wished to prevent; and in a trice the shrill notes of the
boatswain's whistle sent the sailors in swarms into the rigging, and
the frigate was as if by magic clothed with a broad expanse of canvas.
Quickly she felt the effect, and bounded through the water after the
distant ships like a dolphin chasing a school of flying-fish. The old
tars on the forecastle looked knowingly over the side at the foamy
water rushing past, and then cast approving glances aloft where every
sail was drawing. But their complacency was shattered by a loud crash
aloft, which proved to be the main royal-mast which had given way
under the strain. Another spar was rigged speedily, and shipped by the
active tars, and soon the snowy clouds aloft showed no signs of the
wreck. At sundown the three vessels were so near each other that their
colors could be seen. Stewart ran up the stars and stripes, to which
the strangers responded by setting the British flag at their
mastheads.

The purpose of the enemy was to delay the opening of the action until
night should give him opportunity to manoeuvre unobserved; but the
"Constitution," suspecting this, pressed forward hotly, and opened
fire a few minutes after six o'clock. By skilful seamanship Stewart
kept the windward gage of both enemies; and the fight opened with the
"Cyane" on the port-quarter, and the "Levant" on the port-bow of the
American frigate. Fifteen minutes of fierce cannonading followed, the
combatants being within musket-shot most of the time. Every gun was
engaged; and the heavy broadsides shook the ships, and thundered far
over the placid surface of the ocean, which was now faintly illumined
by the rising moon. The triangular space between the ships was filled
with the dense sulphurous smoke of the burning powder; so that the
gunners could see nothing of the enemy at whom they were hurling their
ponderous iron bolts. The men in the tops could now and again catch a
glimpse of the top hamper of the enemy's ships, but those on the
gun-deck were working almost at random. After a few minutes of rapid
firing, the fire of the enemy slackened; and Stewart directed his
gunners to cease until the smoke should have cleared away. At this
command a silence, almost oppressive after the heavy cannonading,
ensued, broken only by the occasional report of a gun from the unseen
enemy, sounding like minute-guns of distress. Anxiously Stewart waited
for the smoke to blow away. When it did so, the "Cyane" was seen
luffing up, to come under the frigate's stern, and get in a raking
broadside. The movement was discovered just in time to be checked.
Stewart gave a heavy broadside to the "Levant;" then, bracing back his
topsails, backed his ship down abreast of the "Cyane," pouring in
rapid broadsides, before which the fire of the corvette died away. Two
raking broadsides that crashed into the stern of the "Levant" sent
that craft out of the action, to refit. The frigate then pressed down
upon the "Cyane," and with a few heavy broadsides forced her to
strike.

Capt. Douglass of the "Levant" then proved his bravery by standing by
his captured consort; although he could have escaped easily, while the
"Constitution" was taking possession of her prize. No thought of
flight seems to have occurred to the gallant Briton, though he must
have known that there was but little hope of his coming out of the
combat victorious. Still he gallantly came back into the fight,
meeting the "Constitution" ploughing along on the opposite tack.
Broadsides were exchanged at such close range that the Yankee gunners
could hear the ripping of the planks on the enemy's decks as the solid
shot crashed through beam and stanchion. Having passed each other, the
ships wore, and returned to the attack; but the weight of the
American's metal told so severely upon the "Levant" that her flag was
hauled down, and, firing a gun to leeward, she gave up the fight.

As an exhibition of seamanship, this action is unrivalled in naval
annals. For Stewart to have taken his ship into action with two
hostile vessels, and so handle her as not only to escape being raked,
but actually rake his enemies, was a triumph of nautical skill. The
action was hard fought by both parties. The loss upon the British
vessels has never been exactly determined; but it was undoubtedly
large, for the hulls were badly cut up by the American's fire. The
"Constitution" had but three men killed, and twelve wounded. The
officers all escaped unhurt.

After a few hours' pause to repair damages, Stewart took his prizes
into Porto Praya in the Cape Verde Islands, where they arrived on the
10th of March. The day after the ships reached port, a heavy fog
settled over the water, cutting off vision in all directions. As the
first lieutenant of the "Constitution" was walking the quarter-deck,
he heard a young midshipman among the prisoners suddenly exclaim,
"There's a large ship in the offing." The lieutenant peered about on
every side, but could see nothing, until, looking upward, he saw the
top-gallant sails of a large ship moving along above the fog-bank.
Capt. Stewart was quickly notified; and, coolly remarking that the
stranger was probably a British frigate, he ordered that the men be
sent to quarters, and the ship prepared for action. The lieutenant
hastened on deck to execute the orders, but had hardly reached his
station when he saw the sails of two more ships gliding along above
the fog-bank. Hastily he returned to the captain's cabin with the
report. Stewart showed no emotion or alarm, although he knew well that
the fact that he was in a neutral port would be no protection against
the British, should they once discover his presence. The affair of the
"Essex" was still fresh in his mind. Calmly he ordered the lieutenant
to make sail and take the ship to sea, signalling to the two prizes to
follow. The orders were given quietly on deck; and in fifteen minutes
the "Constitution," under full press of sail, was making her way out
of Porto Praya roads. On the shore were more than a hundred prisoners
whom Stewart had landed under parole. Regardless of the dictates of
honor, these men rushed to a Portuguese battery, and opened fire on
the ships as they passed out. Hearing the cannonade, the lookouts on
the enemy's vessels looked eagerly for its cause, and caught sight,
above the fog, of the rapidly receding topsails of the fugitives. At
this sight the British set out in pursuit; and the fog soon clearing
away revealed to the Americans two ships-of-the-line and a frigate
following fast in their wake. The "Constitution" and the "Cyane"
easily kept out of reach of their pursuers; but the "Levant" dropped
behind, and finally, at a signal from Stewart, tacked, and stood back
for Porto Praya. The enemy then abandoned the pursuit of the two
foremost vessels, and followed the "Levant," but failed to overhaul
her before she entered the harbor. This, however, checked the British
not a whit. For the laws of nations and the authority of the
Portuguese flag that floated over the little town, they cared nothing.
On they came, and opened fire on the "Levant," which had dropped
anchor under what was supposed to be a neutral battery. The Americans
soon discovered their error. Not only did the British disregard the
neutrality of the port, but the paroled prisoners on shore took
possession of the battery, and opened fire upon the beleaguered craft.
Thus caught between two fires, no hope remained to the Americans; and,
after a few minutes' gallant but useless defence, the flag of the
"Levant" was hauled down, and she passed again into the hands of the
British.

It was late in May before the "Constitution" reached New York. Peace
had then been declared; but none the less were Stewart and his men
feasted and honored. The old frigate had won for herself a name ever
to be remembered by the people of the nation, in whose service she had
received and dealt so many hard knocks. "Old Ironsides," they called
her; and even to-day, when a later war has given to the navy vessels
whose sides are literally iron, the "Constitution" still holds her
place in the hearts of the American people, who think of her lovingly
by the well-won title of "Old Ironsides."

While we have been following thus Stewart and his gallant frigate in
their final cruise, some smaller vessels were doing good work for the
credit of the American flag. It will be remembered, that, when the
"President" left New York Bay on her short and disastrous cruise of
January, 1815, she left behind her, at anchor, the "Peacock," the
"Hornet," and the "Tom Bowline." These vessels, knowing nothing of the
fate of their former consort, awaited only the coming of a gale
sufficient to drive away the blockading squadron. On the 22d of
January it came up to blow; and the three craft, under storm canvas,
scudded over the bar, and made for the rendezvous at Tristan d'Acunha.
On the way thither they separated, the "Hornet" cruising alone. On the
23d she sighted a strange sail on the horizon, and, clapping on all
sail, bore down upon her. At the same time the stranger sighted the
"Hornet," and made for her, evidently with hostile intent. The two
vessels approached each other until within musket-shot, when the
stranger hoisted English colors, and fired a gun. Capt. Biddle of the
American ship was ready for the fray, and opened fire with a
broadside. The response of the enemy was vigorous and effective. For
fifteen minutes the firing was constant; but the enemy, seeing that
the Americans were getting the better of the fight, then strove to
close and board. This Biddle determined to avoid, but called up the
boarders to beat back the enemy, should they succeed in closing. "At
the instant," he writes, in his official report, "every officer and
man repaired to the quarter-deck, when the two vessels were coming in
contact, and eagerly pressed me to permit them to board the enemy; but
this I would not permit, as it was evident, from the commencement of
the action, that our fire was greatly superior, both in quickness and
effect. The enemy's bowsprit came between our main and mizzen rigging,
on our starboard side, affording him an opportunity to board us, if
such was his design; but no attempt was made. There was a considerable
swell on; and, as the sea lifted us ahead, the enemy's bowsprit
carried away our mizzen-shrouds, stern davits, and spanker-boom, and
he hung upon our larboard quarter. At this moment an officer called
out that they had surrendered. I directed the marines and musketry men
to cease firing; and while on the taffrail, asking if they had
surrendered, I received a wound in the neck."

This wound, to which the captain so casually alludes, merits more than
a passing reference. The fire of both ships had ceased when Biddle
stepped upon the taffrail; but he had stood there only a moment, when
two or three of the officers on the quarter-deck cried out that a man
on the Englishman was aiming at him. Biddle did not hear the caution;
but two American marines saw the enemy's movement, and, quickly
bringing up their muskets, sent two balls crashing into the brain of
the English marksman. He fell back dead, but had fired his piece
before falling. The bullet struck Biddle in the neck, inflicting a
painful, but not serious, wound. The blood flowed freely, however; and
two sailors, rushing up, were about to carry their commander to the
cock-pit, when he stopped them. Determined to do something to stanch
the flowing blood, a sailor tore his shirt into bandages, with which
he bound up his captain's wound. But let us return to Biddle's
narrative.

"The enemy just then got clear of us; and his foremast and bowsprit
being both gone, and perceiving us wearing to give him a fresh
broadside, he again called out that he had surrendered. It was with
difficulty that I could restrain my crew from firing into him again,
as he had certainly fired into us after having surrendered. From the
firing of the first gun, to the last time the enemy cried out that he
had surrendered, was exactly twenty-two minutes by the watch. She
proved to be His Britannic Majesty's brig "Penguin," mounting sixteen
thirty-two-pound carronades, two long twelves, a twelve-pound
carronade on the top-gallant forecastle, with a swivel on the capstan
in the tops."

On boarding the prize, Biddle found that she had suffered too severely
from the American fire to ever be of service again. He accordingly
removed the prisoners and wounded to his own ship, and scuttled the
"Penguin." Hardly was this operation accomplished, when two sail were
sighted, bearing rapidly down upon the scene of action. Nothing
daunted, the lads of the "Hornet" went to their guns, but were
heartily glad to find that the two vessels approaching were the
"Peacock" and "Tom Bowline." On their arrival, the latter vessel was
converted into a cartel, and sent into Rio de Janeiro with prisoners;
while the "Hornet" and "Peacock" cruised on toward the Indian Seas. On
April 28 a heavy line-of-battle ship was sighted, and gave chase. In
the flight the two sloops parted; the "Peacock" going off unmolested,
while the "Hornet" fled, hotly pursued by the enemy. For a time it
seemed as if the little craft must fall a prey to her huge pursuer,
which had come up within a mile, and was firing great shot at the
scudding sloop-of-war. Overboard went cables, guns, spars, shot, every
thing that would lighten the "Hornet." The sails were wet down, and
every thing that would draw was set. By consummate skill Biddle at
last succeeded in evading his pursuer; and on the 9th of June the
"Hornet" entered New York Bay, without a boat or anchor, and with but
one gun left. But she brought the report that the last naval battle of
the war had ended in victory for the Americans.

[Illustration: Foundered at Sea.]

Meanwhile the "Peacock" was returning from a cruise not altogether
void of interest. On parting with the "Hornet," she had struck off to
the southward, and in the Straits of Sundra, between Borneo and
Sumatra, had fallen in with the East India Company's cruiser
"Nautilus," of fourteen guns. Between these two vessels an unfortunate
and silly rencounter followed. The captain of the "Nautilus" knew of
the declaration of peace; and, as the "Peacock" bore down upon his
vessel, he shouted through a speaking-trumpet that peace had been
declared. To this Capt. Warrington of the "Peacock" paid no attention,
considering it a mere ruse on the part of the enemy, and responded by
simply ordering the British to haul down their flag. This the
Englishman very properly refused to do, and gallantly prepared for the
unequal combat. Two broadsides were then interchanged, by which the
"Nautilus" was severely cut up, and eight of her crew killed. She then
struck her colors. Capt. Warrington, on sending a boat aboard his
adversary, found that the declaration of peace was no ruse, but a
truthful statement of facts. His conduct had been almost criminally
headstrong; and, though he was profuse in formal apologies, the wrong
done could never be righted. The "Peacock" then continued her homeward
voyage.

When this vessel reached port, the last of the cruisers had returned;
and the war was over in fact, as it had long been over technically. It
has become the fashion to say that it was a useless war, that served
no purpose, because the treaty by which it was ended contained no
reference to the hateful doctrine of the right of search, which, more
than any thing else, had brought on the conflict. Yet, though the
conduct of the war had not led the British to formally renounce their
claims in this respect, the exploits of the American navy had shown
that the Yankee blue-jackets were prepared to, and would, forcibly
resent any attempt on the part of the British to put those claims into
practice. The British had entered upon the war gaily, never dreaming
that the puny American navy would offer any serious resistance to
Great Britain's domination upon the ocean. Yet now, looking back over
the three years of the war, they saw an array of naval battles, in the
majority of which the Americans had been victorious; and in all of
which the brilliancy of American naval tactics, the skill of the
officers, and the courage and discipline of the crews, put the younger
combatants on a plane with the older and more famous naval service.
Fenimore Cooper, in his "History of the Navy of the United States,"
thus sums up the results of this naval war: "The navy came out of this
struggle with a vast increase of reputation. The brilliant style in
which the ships had been carried into action, the steadiness and
accuracy with which they had been handled, and the fatal accuracy of
their fire on nearly every occasion had produced a new era in naval
warfare. Most of the frigate actions had been as soon decided as
circumstances would at all allow; and in no instance was it found
necessary to keep up the fire of a sloop-of-war an hour, when singly
engaged. Most of the combats of the latter, indeed, were decided in
about half that time. The execution done in these short conflicts was
often equal to that made by the largest vessels of Europe in general
actions; and, in some of them, the slain and wounded comprised a very
large proportion of their crews.... The ablest and bravest captains of
the English fleet were ready to admit that a new power was about to
appear upon the ocean, and that it was not improbable the battle for
the mastery of the seas would have to be fought over again."




CHAPTER XVII.

     PRIVATEERS AND PRISONS OF THE WAR. -- THE "ROSSIE." -- SALEM
     PRIVATEERS. -- THE "GEN. ARMSTRONG" GIVES BATTLE TO A BRITISH
     SQUADRON, AND SAVES NEW ORLEANS. -- NARRATIVE OF A BRITISH
     OFFICER. -- THE "PRINCE DE NEUFCHATEL." -- EXPERIENCES OF
     AMERICAN PRISONERS OF WAR. -- THE END.


No narrative of the naval exploits of the Americans in the second war
with Great Britain can be complete without some account of the
achievements of the fleets of privateers which for three years swept
the seas, destroying a vast amount of the enemy's property; and, while
accomplishing their end by enriching their owners, did, nevertheless,
much incidental good to the American cause. Seldom has the business of
privateering been so extensively carried on as in the War of 1812. For
this the reason lay in the rich bait offered by the world-wide
commerce of Great Britain, whose fleets whitened every known sea.
Privateering must ever be a weapon wielded by the weaker nation
against the stronger. And Congress, in the very Act by which it
declared war, authorized the President to issue letters of marque and
reprisal to private armed vessels.

The declaration of war had hardly been made public, when the hundreds
of shipyards from Maine to Savannah resounded with the blows of
hammers and the grating of saws, as the shipwrights worked, busily
refitting old vessels, or building new ones, destined to cruise
against the commerce of John Bull. All sorts of vessels were employed
in this service. The Atlantic and Gulf Coasts fairly swarmed with
small pilot-boats, mounting one long gun amidships, and carrying crews
of twenty to forty men. These little craft made rapid sallies into the
waters of the Gulf Stream, in search of British West Indiamen homeward
bound. Other privateers were huge three-masters, carrying heavy
batteries, and able to outsail any of the enemy's ships. On leaving
port for a long cruise, these vessels would carry enormous crews, so
that captured vessels might be manned and sent home. After a
successful cruise, such a privateer returned to port seldom bringing
more than one-fifth of the crew with which she had set out. But the
favorite rig for a privateer was that of the top-sail schooner,--such
a rig as the "Enterprise" carried during the war with France. The
famous shipyards of Baltimore turned out scores of clean-cut,
clipper-built schooners, with long, low hulls and raking masts, which
straightway took to the ocean on privateering cruises. The armament of
these vessels generally consisted of six to ten carronades and one
long pivot-gun, going by the pet name of "Long Tom," mounted
amidships. The crew was usually a choice assortment of cut-throats and
seafaring vagabonds of all classes,--ready enough to fight if plunder
was to be gained, but equally ready to surrender if only honor was to
be gained by fighting. Yet history records a few actions in which the
privateersmen showed a steadiness and courage worthy of seamen of the
regular service.

The limitations of this work do not permit a complete account of the
work of the privateers during the war. Although an interesting
subject, and one of historical importance, but a few pages can be
devoted to it here. Properly treated, it would fill a volume; and,
indeed, one of the most noted privateersmen has left a narrative of
the exploits of the principal privateers, which forms a very
considerable tome. The fact that two hundred and fifty private armed
cruisers under the American flag captured or destroyed over sixteen
hundred British vessels will indicate the importance and extent of the
subject. For us a mere sketch of the exploits of some of the principal
privateers must suffice.

One of the first things to attract the attention of the reader, in the
dingy files of some newspaper of 1812-15, is the grotesque names under
which many of the privateers sailed. The grandiloquent style of the
regular navy vanishes, and in its place we find homely names; such as
"Jack's Favorite," "Lovely Lass," "Row-boat," "Saucy Jack," or
"True-blooded Yankee." Some names are clearly political allusions,--as
the "Orders in Council" and the "Fair Trade." The "Black Joke," the
"Shark," and the "Anaconda" must have had a grim significance for the
luckless merchantmen who fell a prey to the vessels bearing these
names. "Bunker Hill" and "Divided we fall," though odd names to sail
under, seemed to bring luck to the two vessels, which were very
successful in their cruises. "United we stand" was a luckless craft,
however, taking only one prize; while the achievements of the
"Full-blooded Yankee" and the "Sine qua non" were equally limited. Of
the "Poor Sailor," certainly little was to be expected; and it is with
no surprise that we find she captured only one prize.

Among the most successful privateers was the "Rossie" of Baltimore,
commanded by the Revolutionary veteran Capt. Barney, who left her,
finally, to assume command of the American naval forces on Chesapeake
Bay. She was a clipper-built schooner, carrying fourteen guns, and a
crew of one hundred and twenty men. The destruction wrought by this
one cruiser was enormous. In a ninety days' cruise she captured, sunk,
or otherwise destroyed British property to the amount of a million and
a half dollars, and took two hundred and seventeen prisoners. All this
was not done without some hard fighting. One prize--His Britannic
Majesty's packet-ship "Princess Amelia"--was armed with nine-pounders,
and made a gallant defence before surrendering. Several men were
killed, and the "Rossie" suffered the loss of her first lieutenant.
The prisoners taken by the "Rossie" were exchanged for Americans
captured by the British. With the first body of prisoners thus
exchanged, Barney sent a cool note to the British commander at New
Brunswick, assuring him that before long a second batch of his
captured countrymen should be sent in.

Several Northern seaports shared with Baltimore the business of
fitting out and manning privateers. The hardy seamen of Maine and
Massachusetts were ever ready for a profitable venture of this kind;
and, as the continuation of the war caused the whale-fishery to
languish, the sailors gladly took up the adventurous life of
privateersmen. The profits of a successful cruise were enormous; and
for days after the home-coming of a lucky privateer the little seaport
into which she came rang with the boisterous shouts of the carousing
sailors. "We still, in imagination, see our streets filled with
privateersmen," writes a historian of Portsmouth, "in groups, with
blue ribbons tied around their hats, inscribed in large letters,
'SUCCESS TO THE "FOX,"' or whatever vessel they were to sail in. And
then another scene, of sailors paid off with so much money that they
knew not what to do with it. It was one of these men that, in Market
Square, put his arm around a cow, kissed her, and put a five-dollar
bill in her mouth, for a good cud. Sometimes they might be seen,
finely dressed, walking down the sunny streets, carrying parasols."
One Portsmouth privateer came to grief in the West Indies, and was
captured by a British vessel of heavier metal. In the hold of the
privateer was a considerable sum of money in gold coin, the existence
of which was known only to the captain and his body-servant, a bright
negro. The British, on capturing the vessel, put a prize-crew on
board, and, while taking the Yankee captain upon their own ship, left
his negro servant on the prize. Watching his opportunity, the negro
brought up the gold coin, and dropped it unobserved into a tub of
greasy black slush with which he had been slushing down the masts.
Some days later, the captured vessel reached the port to which she had
been sent, and was tied up at a wharf to await condemnation. The
faithful servant lingered about the ship for a time, saying that he
had no place to go. At last he was gruffly ordered to leave; but,
before going, he astonished the mate by begging for the tub of slush,
which he said might enable him to earn a few cents along the docks.
The mate carelessly told him to take the stuff, and be off; which he
promptly did, carrying away with him his tub of slush, with its
concealed treasure. It is worthy of note, that this negro, far from
home and from the owners of the money, paid it into a bank to the
credit of the captain whom he had served.

Salem, Mass., was another great port for privateers to hail from. Not
less than twenty-five of these predatory gentry fitted out at the
quiet little seaside village; and, when the war was ended, few of the
inhabitants were unable to tell some tale of personal adventures,
cruising against the enemy. Indeed, Salem had the honor of receiving
the first prize captured on the ocean after the declaration of war;
for into the harbor came, on the 10th of June, 1812, the trim
privateer schooner "Fame," followed close by two ships, from the
halliards of which waved the British flag surmounted by the stars and
stripes. Then the whole town turned out as one man to greet and cheer
the captors; but, long before the war was ended, the appearance of a
prize in the harbor aroused little excitement. One of the most
successful of the rovers sailing from this port was the "Dolphin,"
whose record during the war shows a list of twenty-two captured
vessels. Her faculty for making long cruises, and turning up in the
most unexpected places, made her the dread of all British
sea-captains. She was manned by a gallant set of lads, who had no fear
of hard fighting; and many of her prizes were won at the cannon's
mouth. In January, 1813, the "Dolphin" fell in with a British ship and
brig cruising together off Cape St. Vincent. Though the enemy
outnumbered the privateersmen, and carried heavier metal, yet the
"Dolphin" went gallantly into the fight, and after a severe battle
succeeded in taking both vessels. Great was the astonishment of the
British at being thus snapped up by a Yankee privateer almost under
the guns of the Rock of Gibraltar. The luckless Britons were carried
to America as prisoners; but so kind was the treatment they met with
at the hands of the privateers, that on leaving the "Dolphin," at
Boston, they published a card in which they said, "Should the fortune
of war ever throw Capt. Stafford or any of his crew into the hands of
the British, it is sincerely hoped he will meet with similar
treatment."

Perhaps the foremost of all the fighting privateers was the "Gen.
Armstrong" of New York; a schooner mounting eight long nines and one
long twenty-four on a pivot. She had a crew of ninety men, and was
commanded on her first cruise by Capt. Guy R. Champlin. This vessel
was one of the first to get to sea, and had cruised for several months
with fair success, when in March, 1813, she gave chase to a sail off
the Surinam River on the coast of South America. The stranger seemed
to evince no great desire to escape; and the privateer soon gained
sufficiently to discover that the supposed merchantman was a British
sloop-of-war, whose long row of open ports showed that she carried
twenty-seven guns. Champlin and his men found this a more ugly
customer than they had expected; but it was too late to retreat, and
to surrender was out of the question: so, calling the people to the
guns, Champlin took his ship into action with a steadiness that no old
naval captain could have exceeded. "Close quarters and quick work,"
was the word passed along the gun-deck; and the "Armstrong" was
brought alongside her antagonist at a distant of half pistol-shot. For
nearly an hour the two vessels exchanged rapid broadsides; but, though
the American gunners were the better marksmen, the heavy build of the
sloop-of-war enabled her to stand against broadsides which would have
cut the privateer to pieces. Capt. Champlin was hit in the shoulder
early in the action, but kept his station until the fever of his wound
forced him to retire to his cabin. However, he still continued to
direct the course of the action; and, seeing that the tide of battle
was surely going against him, he ordered the crew to get out the
sweeps and pull away from the enemy, whose rigging was too badly cut
up to enable her to give chase. This was quickly done; and the "Gen.
Armstrong," though badly injured, and with her decks covered with dead
and dying men, escaped, leaving her more powerful adversary to repair
damages and make the best of her way home. Capt. Champlin, on his
arrival at New York, was the hero of the hour. For a privateer to have
held out for an hour against a man-of-war, was thought a feat worthy
of praise from all classes of men. The merchants of the city tendered
the gallant captain a dinner, and the stockholders in his vessel
presented him with a costly sword.

But the "Gen. Armstrong" was destined to fight yet another battle,
which should far eclipse the glory of her first. A new captain was to
win the laurels this time; for Capt. Champlin's wound had forced him
to retire, and his place was filled by Capt. Samuel C. Reid. On the
26th of September, 1814, the privateer was lying at anchor in the
roadstead of Fayal. Over the land that enclosed the snug harbor on
three sides, waved the flag of Portugal, a neutral power, but
unfortunately one of insufficient strength to enforce the rights of
neutrality. While the "Armstrong" was thus lying in the port, a
British squadron, composed of the "Plantagenet" seventy-four, the
"Rota" thirty-eight, and "Carnation" eighteen, hove in sight, and
soon swung into the harbor and dropped anchor. Reid watched the
movements of the enemy with eager vigilance. He knew well that the
protection of Portugal would not aid him in the least should the
captain of that seventy-four choose to open fire upon the "Armstrong."
The action of the British in coming into the harbor was in itself
suspicious, and the American had little doubt that the safety of his
vessel was in jeopardy. While he was pacing the deck, and weighing in
his mind the probability of an assault by the British, he caught sight
of some unusual stir aboard the hostile ships. It was night; but the
moon had risen, and by its pale light Reid saw four large barges let
fall from the enemy's ships, and, manned by about forty men each, make
toward his vessel. In an instant every man on the privateer was called
to his post. That there was to be an attack, was now certain; and the
Americans determined not to give up their vessel without at least a
vigorous attempt to defend her. Reid's first act was to warp his craft
under the guns of a rather dilapidated castle, which was supposed to
uphold the authority of Portugal over the island and adjacent waters.
Hardly had the position been gained, when the foremost of the British
boats came within hail, and Capt. Reid shouted, "Boat ahoy! What
boat's that?" No response followed the hail; and it was repeated, with
the warning, "Answer, or I shall fire into you." Still the British
advanced without responding; and Reid, firmly convinced that they
purposed to carry his ship with a sudden dash, ordered his gunners to
open on the boats with grape. This was done, and at the first volley
the British turned and made off. Capt. Reid then warped his vessel
still nearer shore; and bending springs on her cable, so that her
broadside might be kept always toward the enemy, he awaited a second
attack. At midnight the enemy were seen advancing again, this time
with fourteen barges and about five hundred men. While the flotilla
was still at long range, the Americans opened fire upon them with the
heavy "Long Tom;" and, as they came nearer, the full battery of long
nine-pounders took up the fight. The carnage in the advancing boats
was terrible; but the plucky Englishmen pushed on, meeting the
privateer's fire with volleys of musketry and carronades. Despite the
American fire, the British succeeded in getting under the bow and
quarter of the "Armstrong," and strove manfully to board; while the
Americans fought no less bravely to keep them back. The attack became
a furious hand-to-hand battle. From behind the boarding-nettings the
Americans thrust pikes, and fired pistols and muskets, at their
assailants, who, mounted on each other's shoulders, were hacking
fiercely at the nettings which kept them from gaining the schooner's
deck. The few that managed to clamber on the taffrail of the
"Armstrong" were thrust through and through with pikes, and hurled,
thus horribly impaled, into the sea. The fighting was fiercest and
deadliest on the quarter; for there were most of the enemy's boats,
and there Capt. Reid led the defence in person. So hot was the
reception met by the British at this point, that they drew off in
dismay, despairing of ever gaining the privateer's deck. Hardly did
Reid see the enemy thus foiled on the quarter, when a chorus of
British cheers from the forecastle, mingled with yells of rage, told
that the enemy had succeeded in effecting a lodgement there. Calling
his men about him, the gallant captain dashed forward and was soon in
the front rank of the defenders, dealing furious blows with his
cutlass, and crying out, "Come on, my lads, and we'll drive them into
the sea." The leadership of an officer was all that the sailors
needed. The three lieutenants on the forecastle had been killed or
disabled, else the enemy had never come aboard. With Reid to cheer
them on, the sailors rallied, and with a steady advance drove the
British back into their boats. The disheartened enemy did not return
to the attack, but returned to their ships, leaving behind two boats
captured and two sunk. Their loss in the attack was thirty-four killed
and eighty-six wounded. On the privateer were two killed and seven
wounded.

[Illustration: Privateersmen at Home.]

But the attack was not to end here. Reid was too old a sailor to
expect that the British, chagrined as they were by two repulses, were
likely to leave the privateer in peace. He well knew that the
withdrawal of the barges meant not an abandonment, but merely a short
discontinuance, of the attack. Accordingly he gave his crew scarcely
time to rest, before he set them to work getting the schooner in trim
for another battle. The wounded were carried below, and the decks
cleared of splinters and wreckage. The boarding-nettings were patched
up, and hung again in place. "Long Tom" had been knocked off his
carriage by a carronade shot, and had to be remounted; but all was
done quickly, and by morning the vessel was ready for whatever might
be in store for her. The third assault was made soon after daybreak.
Evidently the enemy despaired of his ability to conquer the
privateersmen in a hand-to-hand battle; for this time he moved the
brig "Carnation" up within range, and opened fire upon the schooner.
The man-of-war could fire nine guns at a broadside, while the schooner
could reply with but seven; but "Long Tom" proved the salvation of the
privateer. The heavy twenty-four-pound shots from this gun did so much
damage upon the hull of the brig, that she was forced to draw out of
the action; leaving the victory, for the third time, with the
Americans.

But now Capt. Reid decided that it was folly to longer continue the
conflict. The overwhelming force of the enemy made any thought of
ultimate escape folly. It only remained for the British to move the
seventy-four "Plantagenet" into action to seal the doom of the Yankee
privateer. The gallant defence already made by the Americans had cost
the British nearly three hundred men in killed and wounded; and Reid
now determined to destroy his vessel, and escape to the shore. The
great pivot-gun was accordingly pointed down the main hatch, and two
heavy shots sent crashing through the bottom. Then applying the torch,
to make certain the work of destruction, the privateersmen left the
ship, giving three cheers for the gallant "Gen. Armstrong," as a burst
of flame and a roar told that the flames had reached her magazine.

This gallant action won loud plaudits for Capt. Reid when the news
reached the United States. Certainly no vessel of the regular navy was
ever more bravely or skilfully defended than was the "Gen. Armstrong."
But, besides the credit won for the American arms, Reid had
unknowingly done his country a memorable service. The three vessels
that attacked him were bound to the Gulf of Mexico, to assist in the
attack upon New Orleans. The havoc Reid wrought among their crews, and
the damage he inflicted upon the "Carnation," so delayed the New
Orleans expedition, that Gen. Jackson was able to gather those motley
troops that fought so well on the plains of Chalmette. Had it not been
for the plucky fight of the lads of the "Gen. Armstrong," the British
forces would have reached New Orleans ten days earlier, and
Packenham's expedition might have ended very differently.

The "Plantagenet" and her consorts were not the only British
men-of-war bound for New Orleans that fell in with warlike Yankee
privateers. Some of the vessels from the Chesapeake squadron met a
privateer, and a contest ensued, from which the American emerged with
less glory than did the lads of the "Gen. Armstrong." A young British
officer in his journal thus tells the story:--

"It was my practice to sit for hours, after nightfall, upon the
taffrail, and strain my eyes in the attempt to distinguish objects on
shore, or strange sails in the distance. It so happened that on the
30th I was tempted to indulge in this idle but bewitching employment
even beyond my usual hour for retiring, and did not quit the deck till
towards two o'clock in the morning of the 31st [of October]. I had
just entered my cabin, and was beginning to undress, when a cry from
above of an enemy in chase drew me instantly to the quarter-deck. On
looking astern I perceived a vessel making directly after us, and was
soon convinced of the justice of the alarm, by a shot which whistled
over our heads. All hands were now called to quarters, the small sails
taken in; and having spoken to our companion, and made an agreement as
to position, both ships cleared for action. But the stranger, seeing
his signal obeyed with so much alacrity, likewise slackened sail, and,
continuing to keep us in view, followed our wake without approaching
nearer. In this state things continued till daybreak,--we still
holding our course, and he hanging back; but, as soon as it was light,
he set more sail and ran to windward, moving just out of gun-shot in a
parallel direction with us. It was now necessary to fall upon some
plan of deceiving him; otherwise, there was little probability that he
would attack. In the bomb, indeed, the height of the bulwarks served
to conceal some of the men; but in the transport no such screen
existed. The troops were therefore ordered below; and only the
sailors, a few blacks, and the officers kept the deck. The same
expedient was likewise adopted in part by Capt. Price of the
'Volcano;' and, in order to give to his ship a still greater
resemblance than it already had to a merchantman, he displayed an old
faded scarlet ensign, and drew up his fore and main sail in what
sailors term a lubberly manner.

"As yet the stranger had shown no colors, but from her build and
rigging there was little doubt as to her country. She was a beautiful
schooner, presenting seven ports of a side, and apparently crowded
with men,--circumstances which immediately led us to believe that she
was an American privateer. The 'Volcano,' on the other hand, was a
clumsy, strong-built ship, carrying twelve guns; and the 'Golden
Fleece' mounted eight: so that in point of artillery the advantage was
rather on our side; but the American's sailing was so much superior to
that of either of us, that this advantage was more than
counter-balanced.

"Having dodged us till eight o'clock, and reconnoitred with great
exactness, the stranger began to steer gradually nearer and nearer,
till at length it was judged that she was within range. A gun was
accordingly fired from the 'Volcano,' and another from the transport;
the balls from both of which passed over her, and fell into the sea.
Finding herself thus assaulted, she now threw off all disguise, and
hung out an American ensign. When putting her helm up, she poured a
broadside with a volley of musketry into the transport, and ran
alongside of the bomb, which sailed to windward.

"As soon as her flag was displayed, and her intention of attacking
discerned, all hands were ordered up; and she received two
well-directed broadsides from the 'Volcano,' as well as a warm salute
from the 'Golden Fleece.' But such was the celerity of her motion,
that she was alongside of the bomb in less time than can be imagined,
and actually dashing her bow against the other, attempted to carry her
by boarding. Capt. Price, however, was ready to receive them. The
boarders were at their posts in an instant; and Jonathan finding, to
use a vulgar phrase, that he had caught a Tartar, left about twenty
men upon the 'Volcano's' bowsprit, all of whom were thrown into the
sea, and filling his sails sheered off with the same speed with which
he had borne down. In attempting to escape, he unavoidably fell
somewhat to leeward, and exposed the whole of his deck to the fire of
the transport. A tremendous discharge of musketry saluted him as he
passed; and it was almost laughable to witness the haste with which
his crew hurried below, leaving none upon deck except such as were
absolutely wanted to work the vessel.

"The 'Volcano' had by this time filled and gave chase, firing with
great precision at his yards and rigging, in the hope of disabling
him. But, as fortune would have it, none of his important ropes or
yards were cut; and we had the mortification to see him in a few
minutes beyond our reach."

[Illustration: Prison Chaplain and Jailor.]

An exploit of yet another privateer should be chronicled before the
subject of the private armed navy can be dismissed. On the 11th of
October, 1814, the brigantine privateer "Prince de Neufchatel,"
seventeen guns, was encountered near Nantucket by the British frigate
"Endymion,"--the same ship which was so roughly handled by the
"President" in her last battle. About nine o'clock at night, a calm
having come on, the frigate despatched a boarding party of a hundred
and eleven men in five boats to capture the privateer. The latter
vessel was short-handed, having but forty men; but this handful of
Yankee tars gallantly prepared to meet the attack. The guns were
charged with grape and canister, the boarding-nettings triced up, and
cutlasses and pistols distributed to the crew. As the British came on,
the Americans opened fire, notwithstanding which the enemy dashed
alongside, and strove fiercely to gain the deck. But in this they were
foiled by the gallantry of the defenders, who fought desperately, and
cut down the few British who managed to gain a foothold. The conflict
was short, and the discomfiture of the enemy complete. After but a few
minutes' fighting, one boat was sunk, one captured, and the other
three drifted helplessly away, filled with dead and dying. The total
loss of the British in this affair was twenty-eight killed and
thirty-seven wounded. Of the crew of the privateer, seven were killed,
and nine only remained unhurt.

A narrative of the exploits of, and service done by, the American
sailors in the War of 1812 would be incomplete if it said nothing of
the sufferings of that great body of tars who spent the greater part
of the war season confined in British prisons. Several thousand of
these were thrown into confinement before the war broke out, because
they refused to serve against their country in British ships. Others
were prisoners of war. No exact statistics as to the number of
Americans thus imprisoned have ever been made public; but the records
of one great prison--that at Dartmoor--show, that, when the war
closed, six thousand American seamen were imprisoned there,
twenty-five hundred of whom had been detained from long before the
opening of the war, on account of their refusal to join the ranks of
the enemy. As I write, there lies before me a quaint little book, put
out anonymously in 1815, and purporting to be the "Journal of a Young
Man captured by the British." Its author, a young surgeon of Salem,
named Waterhouse, shipped on a Salem privateer, and was captured early
in the war. His experience with British prisons and transport-ships
was long; and against his jailors he brings shocking charges of
brutality, cruelty, and negligence.

The Yankee seamen who were captured during the war were first
consigned to receiving-prisons at the British naval stations in
America. Sometimes these places of temporary detention were mouldering
hulks, moored in bays or rivers; sometimes huge sheds hastily put
together, and in which the prisoners were kept only by the unceasing
vigilance of armed guards. "The prison at Halifax," writes Waterhouse,
"erected solely for the safe-keeping of prisoners of war, resembles an
horse-stable, with stalls, or stanchions, for keeping the cattle from
each other. It is to a contrivance of this sort that they attach the
cords that support those canvas bags or cradles, called hammocks. Four
tier of these hanging nests were made to hang, one above the other,
between these stalls, or stanchions.... The general hum and confused
noise from almost every hammock was at first very distressing. Some
would be lamenting their hard fate at being shut up like negro slaves
in a Guinea ship, or like fowls in a hen-coop, for no crime, but for
fighting the battles of their country; others, late at night, were
relating their adventures to a new prisoner; others, lamenting their
aberrations from rectitude, and disobedience to parents, and
headstrong wilfulness, that drove them to sea, contrary to their
parents' wish; while others, of the younger class, were sobbing out
their lamentations at the thoughts of what their mothers and sisters
suffered after knowing of their imprisonment. Not unfrequently the
whole night was spent in this way; and when, about daybreak, the weary
prisoner fell into a doze, he was waked from his slumber by the
grinding noise of the locks, and the unbarring of the doors, with the
cry of '_Turn out!_ _All out!_' when each man took down his hammock,
and lashed it up, and slung it on his back, and was ready to answer to
the roll-call of the turnkey."

From prisons such as this, the prisoners were conveyed in droves to
England, in the holds of men-of-war and transports. Poorly fed, worse
housed, and suffering for lack of air and room, their agony on the
voyage was terrible. When they were allowed a few hours' time on deck,
they were sure to arouse the anger of the officers by turbulent
conduct or imprudent retorts. "One morning as the general and the
captain of the 'Regulus' (transport) were walking as usual on the
quarter-deck, one of our Yankee boys passed along the galley with his
kid of burgoo. He rested it on the hatchway while he adjusted the rope
ladder to descend with his swill. The thing attracted the attention of
the general, who asked the man how many of his comrades eat of that
quantity for their breakfast. 'Six, sir,' said the man, 'but it is fit
food only for hogs.' This answer affronted the captain, who asked the
man in an angry tone, 'What part of America he came from?' 'Near to
Bunker Hill, sir, if you ever heard of that place,' was the answer."
On another occasion, a Yankee and a slightly wounded British marine
got into a dispute, and came to blows. The British captain saw the
occurrence, and accused the American of cowardice in striking a
wounded man. "I am no coward, sir," said the Yankee. "I was captain of
a gun on board the 'Constitution' when she captured the 'Guerriere,'
and afterward when she took the 'Java.' Had I been a coward, I should
not have been there."

[Illustration: King Dick and his Chaplain.]

On one occasion the prisoners on the transport "Crown Prince," lying
in the River Medway, took an uncontrollable dislike to the commander
of a second transport lying close alongside. Their spite was gratified
quickly and with great effect. The rations served out to the luckless
captives at that time consisted of fish and cold potatoes. The latter
edible being of rather poor quality, the prisoners reserved for
missiles; and the obnoxious officer could not pace his quarter-deck
without being made a mark for a shower of potatoes. Vainly did he
threaten to call up his marines and respond with powder and lead: the
Americans were not to be kept down; and for some days the harassed
officer hardly dared to show himself upon deck.

The place of final detention for most of the prisoners taken in the
war with America was Dartmoor Prison; a rambling collection of huge
frame buildings, surrounded by double walls of wood. The number of
prisoners confined there, and the length of time which many of them
had spent within its walls, gave this place many of the
characteristics of a small State, with rulers and officials of its
own. One of the strangest characters of the prison was King Dick, a
gigantic negro, who ruled over the five or six hundred negro
prisoners. "He is six feet five inches in height," says one of the
prisoners, "and proportionally large. This black Hercules commands
respect, and his subjects tremble in his presence. He goes the rounds
every day, and visits every berth, to see if they all are kept clean.
When he goes the rounds, he puts on a large bear-skin cap, and carries
in his hand a huge club. If any of his men are dirty, drunken, or
grossly negligent, he threatens them with a beating; and if they are
saucy they are sure to receive one. They have several times conspired
against him, and attempted to dethrone him; but he has always
conquered the rebels. One night several attacked him while asleep in
his hammock: he sprang up, and seized the smallest by his feet, and
thumped another with him. The poor negro, who had thus been made a
beetle of, was carried the next day to the hospital, sadly bruised,
and provokingly laughed at." King Dick, to further uphold his dignity
as a monarch, had his private chaplain, who followed his royal master
about, and on Sundays preached rude but vigorous sermons to His
Majesty's court. On weekdays the court was far from being a dignified
gathering. King Dick was a famous athlete, and in the cock-loft, over
which he reigned, was to be seen fine boxing and fencing. Gambling,
too, was not ruled out of the royal list of amusements; and the cries
of the players, mingled with the singing of the negroes, and the
sounds of the musical instruments upon which they played, made that
section of the prison a veritable pandemonium.

[Illustration: The last Volley of the War.]

But although some few incidents occurred to brighten momentarily the
dull monotony of the prisoners' lot, the life of these unfortunate
men, while thus imprisoned, was miserable and hateful to them. Months
passed, and even years, but there seemed to be no hope for release. At
last came the news of the declaration of peace. How great then was the
rejoicing! Thoughts of home, of friends and kindred, flooded the minds
of all; and even strong men, whom the hardships of prison-life had not
broken down, seemed to give way all at once to tears of joy. But the
delays of official action, "red-tape," and the sluggishness of travel
in that day, kept the poor fellows pent up for months after the treaty
of peace had been announced to them. Nor were they to escape without
suffering yet more severely at the hands of their jailors. Three
months had passed since peace had been declared; and the long delay so
irritated the prisoners, that they chafed under prison restraint, and
showed evidences of a mutinous spirit. The guards, to whom was
intrusted the difficult task of keeping in subjection six thousand
impatient and desperate men, grew nervous, fearing that at any moment
the horde of prisoners would rise and sweep away all before them. An
outbreak was imminent; and the prisoners were like a magazine of
gunpowder, needing but a spark of provocation to explode. On April 6,
1815, matters reached a crisis. The soldiers, losing all presence of
mind, fired on the defenceless Americans, killing five men and
wounding thirty-four. Thus the last blood shed in the War of 1812 was
the blood of unarmed prisoners. But the massacre, horrible and
inexcusable as it was, had the effect of hastening the release of the
survivors; and soon the last of the captives was on his way home to
the country over which peace at last reigned again.




CHAPTER XVIII.

     THE LONG PEACE BROKEN BY THE WAR WITH MEXICO. -- ACTIVITY OF THE
     NAVY. -- CAPTAIN STOCKTON'S STRATAGEM. -- THE BATTLE AT SAN JOSÉ.
     -- THE BLOCKADE. -- INSTANCES OF PERSONAL BRAVERY. -- THE LOSS OF
     THE "TRUXTON." -- YELLOW FEVER IN THE SQUADRON. -- THE NAVY AT
     VERA CRUZ. -- CAPTURE OF ALVARADO.


The period of peace which followed the close of the War of 1812 was,
perhaps, the longest which any nation has ever enjoyed. For the navy
of the United States, it was a time of absolute peace, inactivity,
even stagnation. The young nation was living literally up to
Washington's rule of avoiding entanglements abroad, and its people
looked with suspicion on the naval branch of the service which had
rendered such a good account of itself in the war with Great Britain.
They feared to build and man ships lest possession of a navy might
prove an incentive to war. And so when war did come--war, not with
Europe, but with our nearest neighbor--the United States had little
floating force to join in it. Fortunately, little was needed.

Though war was not declared by the United States against Mexico until
May, 1846, it had been a possibility ever since the establishment of
the Texan Republic by the defeat of the Mexicans at San Jacinto in
1834, and it had been a great probability since 1841, when it was
discovered that both England and France were holding out prospects of
assistance to the Mexicans in case of conflict with the United
States. Neither of these European powers was sincere in the diplomatic
game which deceived the proud but ignorant Mexicans, but neither did
either of them scruple to foment a quarrel out of which some selfish,
though indefinite, advantage might be gained. Indeed they played the
diplomatic game so skilfully that they deceived a considerable
minority in the United States and made these believe that the
admission of Texas to the United States would be unwise and
inexpedient, and the probable war with Mexico a wickedness dire and
dreadful. Even General Grant, when he wrote his book, said that such
were his views at the time, though he was then an army officer and
trusting to war for advancement. But when hostilities were begun, and
victory for American arms followed victory, the protests of the peace
party were unheard amid the enthusiastic shoutings of those who took a
saner view of the conditions which led to the conflict.

Mexico claimed title not only to Texas, but to California, and if the
United States had not gone to war in regard to the former, she would
have had to do so in defence of her conquest of the latter. In
securing California the navy bore a conspicuous part, and as early as
1842, Captain Thomas Ap-Catesby Jones, commanding the Pacific
squadron, was as active as though war had already been declared. In
September of that year, with his squadron of four ships, he was at
anchor in the harbor of Callao, and noticing the suspicious conduct of
the British frigate "Dublin," which shoved off the port and then bore
away, he concluded to follow her and see just what game she sought, as
he had been informed by the Navy Department that England was plotting
in Mexico against the United States; he had also read in a Mexican
newspaper that war was likely to be declared, if indeed hostilities
had not already begun. Captain Jones reached Monterey on the 19th of
October, and though he saw nothing of the "Dublin," he at once
insisted on the surrender of the place. The next day he learned that
his action had been premature and made what amends he could. So the
navy really struck the first official blow that led to this war.

When war had been declared, the Pacific squadron did not learn of it
until after the victories of Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma. Captain
Sloat, in command, at once took prompt action. Landing two hundred and
fifty seamen and marines under Captain Mervine, he captured Monterey
on the 2d of July. A week later he formally took possession of the
splendid bay of San Francisco and the neighboring country. He also
occupied Sutter's Fort, on Sacramento River, and the towns of Bodega
and Sonoma. In this war it will be noticed throughout this narrative
that the naval forces were constantly required to do shore duty, a
duty to which they were unaccustomed but which they performed with
entire efficiency. The Mexicans had no navy worthy of the name and the
American sailors were auxiliary to the soldiers. Though untrained to
this kind of service, and though it was always hard, and sometimes
quite ungrateful, they responded to orders with entire cheerfulness;
when the service was most perilous then the blue-jackets entered upon
it with a gayety that laughed at danger.

On the 19th of July, Fremont and his corps of topographical engineers
met Captain Sloat and thereafter co-operated with him. In the "Cyane,"
Commander Du Pont, Fremont was sent to San Diego with one hundred and
fifty riflemen and that place was occupied. On the 30th of July, the
"Congress" took possession of San Pedro, the port of Los Angeles, the
seat of the Mexican government in California. About this time the
command of the Pacific squadron devolved upon Captain Robert F.
Stockton, who was not a whit less vigilant than his predecessors had
been. Having all the California seaports, Captain Stockton planned an
expedition against Los Angeles before the well-armed Mexican soldiers
in the province could be brought together. He landed three hundred and
fifty sailors and marines and established a camp at San Pedro. Captain
Stockton's biographer says: "There were only about ninety muskets in
the whole corps. Some of the men were armed with carbines, others had
only pistols, swords, or boarding-pikes. They presented a motley and
peculiar appearance, with great variety of costume. Owing to their
protracted absence from home the supplies of shoes and clothing had
fallen short, and the ragged and diversified colors of their garments,
as well as the want of uniformity in their arms and accoutrements,
made them altogether a spectacle both singular and amusing." The
Mexican forces at Los Angeles outnumbered Captain Stockton's land
forces three to one, so he resorted to a stratagem to deceive the
enemy as to his force. A flag of truce having appeared on the hills,
"he ordered all his men under arms and directed them to march three or
four abreast, with intervals of considerable space between each squad,
directly in the line of vision of the approaching messengers, to the
rear of some buildings on the beach, and thence to turn in a circle
and continue their march until the strangers had arrived. Part of the
circle described in the march was concealed from view, so that to the
strangers it would appear that a force ten times greater than the
actual number was defiling before them. When the two bearers of the
flag of truce had arrived he ordered them to be led up to him
alongside of the artillery, which consisted of several six-pounders
and one thirty-two-pound carronade. The guns were all covered with
skins so as to conceal their dimensions except the huge mouth of the
thirty-two-pounder at which the captain was stationed to receive his
guests.... As his purpose was intimidation he received them with much
sternness." They asked for a truce, but Stockton demanded and secured
an immediate and absolute surrender, as the evident object of the
Mexicans was to gain time. Stockton at once began his tedious march to
Los Angeles, his men dragging the cannon through the sand. On the 12th
of August, he received a message from the Mexican general, saying "if
he marched on the town he would find it the grave of his men." He
replied: "Then tell your general to have the bells ready to toll at
eight o'clock in the morning. I shall be there at that time." He was
as good as his word. The next morning he was joined by Fremont and his
men, who had come up from San Diego and they entered Los Angeles
unopposed. He organized a civil government for the entire state, with
Major Fremont as the head of it, and returning to his ships sailed
northward on the 5th of September, 1846. The news of these operations
was sent to Washington overland by the famous scout, Kit Carson.

Meantime the other ships of the Pacific squadron were cruising along
the coast and capturing everything with a semblance of Mexican
ownership. But Captain Stockton was much disconcerted in October to
learn that two Mexican generals, released on parole after the fall of
Los Angeles, had gathered a force and were besieging the small
garrison there. The "Savannah" at once went to the scene. At San Pedro
it was learned that the garrison had been compelled to capitulate and
was awaiting an American cruiser. Captain Mervine, of the "Savannah,"
landed a detachment of sailors and marines and began the march to the
capital. He could not cope with the superior force and had to retire.
Indeed nearly all the places captured by the active sailors seemed
likely now to fall into the hands of the Mexicans again. The garrison
at Monterey was threatened by an uprising of the people; the garrison
at San Diego was besieged; Los Angeles was in the hands of the enemy,
and the force at the enemy's camp at San Bernardino was getting
stronger each day. But Captain Stockton was equal to all demands upon
him and made up for inadequate forces by celerity of movement. Just
when matters were most critical the naval forces learned of the
repulse of General Stephen Kearny by the Mexicans under Pico. It was
indeed with great difficulty that Kearny and his dragoons were rescued
by the sailors from their invested position near San Bernardino.

Having got what men he could together, Captain Stockton determined to
recapture Los Angeles. On the 29th of December, 1846, he began his
march of 145 miles to the capital. There were no roads, but the route
was through deep ravines, sand-hills, and deserts. The men were poorly
armed and badly clothed, and there were few horses to assist in
drawing the artillery. Never did an American commander have before him
a more disagreeable prospect. The men, many of them without
foot-covering, became worn-out in the march and begged to rest, but
the captain insisted that they must go on, as the Mexicans were
getting stronger every day. The men responded as best they could.

On the 7th of January, the intrepid Stockton found that the enemy was
intrenched between him and the San Gabriel River. The Mexican general
changed his mind and crossed the river with the object of interrupting
the crossing. But Stockton would not be denied, and repulsed the enemy
on every side, though outnumbered three to one. This was on the 8th of
January, the anniversary of the battle of New Orleans. The next day he
fought again, resisting three furious charges of the enemy. On the
10th he entered Los Angeles unopposed, and on the 15th he was joined
there by Fremont and his corps. These seaports in California were not
seriously harassed during the remainder of the war, but they needed to
be garrisoned, while the whole coast required watching. A part of the
squadron was sent south and also into the Bay of California. Before
the end of 1847 every Mexican gun on the western coast, save those at
Acapulco, had been silenced. Loreto, La Paz, Mazatlan, San Blas,
Manzanilla, San Antonio, Guaymas, and Mulye fell to the squadron.
Sometimes it only needed for a ship or two to appear before a town and
it would surrender, but generally an assault or the appearance of a
storming party on land was necessary. But the seamen and marines were
always invincible in this part of the war, where they were entirely
without aid from the army.

The most serious predicament in which the Americans found themselves
in this Pacific Coast campaign was when Lieutenant Heywood, of the
"Dale," with four midshipmen and twenty marines, were shut up in the
Mission House at San José, a small village near San Lucas. He was
surrounded by a large force before he knew it, and two of his
midshipmen were taken unawares and captured by an enemy not known to
be near. Lieutenant Heywood maintained himself from the 19th of
November, 1847, till the 17th of February, 1848, when Commander Du
Pont, in the "Cyane," came to his rescue. A party of ninety-four
seamen and marines, under Lieutenant Rowan, went ashore and fought its
way against six hundred Mexicans until they were defeated and Heywood
and his men rescued. There was nothing after this on the western coast
more serious than guerrilla forays.

The operations on the western coast were probably, in result, much
more important than those of the home squadron in the Mexican Gulf and
the Rio Grande River. But the latter squadron was the larger, and as
it was in constant co-operation with the conquering armies which
finally captured the capital of the country, much more has been heard
of the doings of the fleet in the east, which was at first commanded
by Commodore David Conner and then by Commodore Matthew C. Perry. The
operations on this coast also came in for much criticism, for the
various ships were filled with young men overflowing with valor and
mad with desire of glory. They were also comparatively close to home
and saw the newspapers from New York, Washington, and New Orleans. In
these papers the army was accorded all the glory while the navy was
almost ignored. This neglect rankled in the minds of the madcaps, and
they blamed Commodore Conner, an officer of much experience and
distinguished record, for not storming every fort and citadel near the
coast instead of carrying out his instructions to maintain an
efficient blockade of the ports and to co-operate with the army
whenever possible. These duties, tiresome and inglorious as they
seemed, were of the first importance to the scheme of the campaign,
and they were performed with a patience which rose superior to
weariness, sickness, and death. The duty required of the blockaders
did not require much fighting, but the men were in danger of the
coast fevers all the time, and hundreds died. And then at some seasons
the fleet was likely to be blown ashore by the fierce "northers" which
prevailed. Many accidents resulted during these storms, the most
serious being the capsizing of the brig "Somers," Lieutenant Raphael
Semmes (afterward commanding the Confederate ship "Alabama")
commanding, and the loss of more than half her crew.

When the war began at Palo Alto, Commodore Conner was with his
squadron off Point Isabel, at the mouth of the Rio Grande River. Not
knowing the issue of the battle, five hundred seamen and marines were
sent to strengthen the garrison at Point Isabel, where the army
supplies were stored, while Captain Aulick, of the "Potomac," with two
hundred men, pulled up the Rio Grande in boats for fifteen miles and
until a junction with the army was established at Barita. At this time
the squadron consisted of the frigates "Cumberland" (flagship),
"Potomac," and "Raritan"; the steam frigate "Mississippi"; the
sloops-of-war "Falmouth," "John Adams," and "St. Mary's"; the
steam-sloop "Princeton"; and the brigs "Lawrence," "Porpoise," and
"Somers." Before the close of the war some of these ships were
recalled, at least one was wrecked, and the squadron was from time to
time largely reinforced.

The squadron, now that war had begun, was ordered to blockade the
ports of Matamoras, on the Rio Grande; Tampico, on the Tampico River;
Alvarado, on the Alvarado; Coatzalcoalcos, on the river of the same
name; Tabasco, on the Tabasco River; and Vera Cruz, on the Gulf. The
rivers mentioned, except the Rio Grande, are mere creeks, not fit for
vessels of any size, and their mouths simply open roadsteads. Vera
Cruz was the only place with anything like a harbor. The ports in
Yucatan, such as Laguna and Campeachy, were only visited for supplies
of fresh meat. The State of Yucatan was not assisting in the war and
did not need to be blockaded. By the time General Taylor took
possession of Matamoras, Commodore Conner's fleet had been
considerably augmented by the addition of the sloops-of-war
"Germantown," "Albany," "Saratoga" and "Decatur"; the steamers
"Spitfire," "Vixen," "Alleghany," "Scorpion" and "Scourge"; the brig
"Truxton"; the gunboats "Reefer," "Bonita," and "Rebel." A little
later, and just before the bombardment of Vera Cruz, the "Ohio," with
seventy-four guns, joined, together with the bomb-vessels "Vesuvius,"
"Hecla," and "Stromboli." There were also a number of small steamers
and gunboats to operate in shallow water. These constituted what was
called the "mosquito fleet." With so formidable a fleet the sailors
felt they were equal to anything, and whenever a larger part of it was
operating at one place, it was difficult to restrain the men. The
youngsters even thought Commodore Conner's prudence and conservatism
to be timidity, and the writer has before him now a book written
twenty-five years after these events, by one who was a midshipman on
the flagship, and he quotes the familiar lines about daring to put
things to the touch. All this was most unfair, but it indicated that
the blue jackets of the Mexican War were buttoned over hearts that
knew no fear.

The blockade of the Mexican ports that was maintained was not by any
means a paper blockade. It was actual, and the very opposite of the
merely formal closing of ports which the United States had so long
protested against in other countries. The hardships of the men and
officers were fearful and the casualties very great. The tediousness
of the service was relieved now and again by daring expeditions into
the rivers and ports, where boats were cut out and taken away from
beneath batteries on shore. The record of such ventures shows that the
navy in 1846 and 1847 was no whit inferior in dash to the one which
made the flag glorious some years before in the war with England. One
instance of such a venture is quoted from the "Recollections of a
Naval Officer," by Captain William Harwar Parker. He was telling of
the blockade at Vera Cruz in 1846. He says: "One of the finest fellows
in the service I often met on Green Island. I allude to Passed
Midshipman Hynson, of Maryland. He was drowned in the brig 'Somers,'
when she capsized in the fall of this year. At the time of her
sinking, Hynson had both of his arms bandaged and in a sling, and was
almost helpless. It was said that when the brig sank he managed to get
hold of a spar with another man, and finding it would not support two
he deliberately let go his hold. It was like him. The way he happened
to have his arm in a sling was this: While the 'Somers' was
maintaining the blockade of Vera Cruz, a vessel managed to slip in--I
think she was a Spanish schooner. The Mexicans moored her to the walls
of the Castle of San Juan for safety; but the officers of the 'Somers'
resolved to cut her out or burn her. Hynson was the leading spirit in
the affair, though Lieutenant James Parker, of Pennsylvania, was the
senior officer. They took a boat one afternoon and pulled in to visit
the officers of an English man-of-war lying under Sacrificios Island.
It was quite usual to do this. After nightfall they left the British
ship and pulled directly for the schooner, which they boarded and
carried. This, be it observed, was directly under the guns of the
castle and the muskets of its garrison. The crew was secured, and
finding the wind would not serve to take the vessel out, it was
resolved to burn her. Her captain made some resistance, and the
sentinel on the walls called out to know what was the matter. Parker,
who spoke Spanish remarkably well, replied that his men were drunk and
he was putting them in irons. The party then set fire to the vessel
and got safely away with their prisoners. It was in setting fire to
the schooner that Hynson got so badly burned."

In regard to the personal heroism shown by Hynson and others when the
"Somers" went down, Lieutenant Raphael Semmes, in his book, "Service
Afloat and Ashore During the Mexican War," said: "Those men who could
not swim were selected to go into the boat. A large man by the name of
Seymour, the ship's cook, having got into her, he was commanded by
Lieutenant Parker to come out, in order that he might make room for
two smaller men, and he _obeyed the order_. He was afterward permitted
to return to her, however, when it was discovered that he could not
swim. Passed Midshipman Hynson, a promising young officer, who had
been partially disabled by a bad burn received in firing the 'Creole'
a few days previously, was particularly implored to go into the boat.
A lad by the name of Nutter jumped out of the boat and offered his
place to Hynson, and a man by the name of Powers did the same thing.
Hynson refusing both offers, these men declared that then others might
take their places, as they were resolved to abide in the wreck with
him. Hynson and Powers were drowned. Nutter was saved. When the plunge
was made into the sea, Sailing-Master Clemson seized a studding-sail
boom, in company with five of the seamen. Being a swimmer, and
perceiving that the boom was not sufficiently buoyant to support them
all, he left it and struck out alone. He perished--the five men were
saved."

Just about this time the first of the gunboats reached the squadron,
and the young men of the steerage were intensely amused at the
smallness of the vessel. A midshipman from the flagship visited the
"Reefer." He went alongside of her in the barge, and, not knowing any
better, stepped over her port-quarter. Lieutenant Sterrett, in
command, said in his least gentle voice: "Sir, there is a gangway to
this vessel!" Before long even the youngsters learned to respect these
little steamers. Commodore Conner now made an expedition to capture
Alvarado, but just as he was about ready to begin a bombardment his
pilots predicted a "norther," and he hoisted the signal, "Return to
the anchorage off Vera Cruz." This was popularly regarded as a
_fiasco_, but doubtless the Commodore was entirely right, as Alvarado
might be taken at any time, and subsequently was taken in a manner
which has been a joke in the navy ever since. Of this something will
presently be said. Tampico, a town of 7,000 inhabitants, 210 miles
north of Vera Cruz, was next proceeded against. The bar at the mouth
of the Tampico River is considered the most dangerous on the coast,
and the larger vessels did not try to cross it. But the smaller
steamers and gunboats of the "mosquito fleet" went in, and the town
was surrendered without firing a shot. It was then occupied by the
army. The next movement was against Frontera, at the mouth of the
Tabasco River, and Tabasco, some seventy miles up that little stream.
Frontera was taken by surprise, and Commodore Perry, now second in
command to Commodore Conner, moved up the stream with vessels of too
heavy draught. He came near losing the "Cumberland" in the mud, and,
as it was, she was so disabled that when she was pulled from her perch
on a bar she had to be sent home for repairs. Perry, however, defeated
the Mexican flotilla and captured all the boats. Two of the prizes had
to be blown up, but the "Champion," a fast river boat, which had run
between Richmond and Norfolk, was taken out and afterward usefully
employed as a despatch-boat. In this expedition there was considerable
fighting and also some losses both of officers and men.

In blockading the port of Tuspan, some 120 miles northwest of Vera
Cruz, the brig "Truxton," Captain Carpenter, was stationed. The ship
was blown ashore and was under the Mexican guns. The Captain sent a
boat to tell the Commodore of the disaster, but before relief could
reach him he surrendered. In doing this he was opposed bitterly by all
his officers, and the quarter-master on duty positively refused to
obey the order to haul down the flag. Lieutenant Bushrod Hunter, who
first went for assistance, reached the squadron off Vera Cruz, as did
also Lieutenant Otway Berryman, with a boat's crew, which left before
the surrender had been effected. The remainder of the crew were taken
to Vera Cruz as prisoners of war. As soon as Commodore Conner heard of
the disaster he sent Captain Engle with the "Princeton" to Tuspan. He
made short work of it. He drove the Mexicans out of the brig, took
what armament was left, and then burned her. The guns taken out of the
"Truxton" were placed in forts erected to protect Tuspan. But these
were captured next year by Commodore Perry and Captain Breese. The
officers and men of the navy had a grudge against Tuspan, and the
landing detachment which carried the works fought as though each man
in it were a demon. It lost three killed, while five officers and six
seamen were wounded.

During the summer of 1847, the men of the squadron operating in the
Gulf suffered severely from yellow fever and also from scurvy brought
on by a lack of fresh food. It was so bad on the "Mississippi" that
she had to been sent to Pensacola. Commodore Perry was himself
stricken, but he refused to leave, and changed his flag to the
"Germantown," which remained. This was after the fall of Vera Cruz,
and when the duty of the naval forces was once again only that of
blockaders. The investment of Vera Cruz was the most considerable
single piece of work performed by the navy during the war. Commodore
Conner had gathered at Vera Cruz all his available forces and
anxiously awaited the coming of General Scott and his army, who were
at Lobos Island, 150 miles north of Vera Cruz. General Taylor, with
5,000 men, had just defeated Santa Anna with 20,000 men at Buena
Vista, and two days later, that is, on the 24th of February, 1847,
General Scott gave his final orders to his fleet of transports which
was to take his army to Vera Cruz. Early in March the transports with
12,600 men arrived in front of Vera Cruz. Captain Parker, in his book
previously quoted, says: "No words can express our excitement as ship
after ship crowded with enthusiastic soldiers successively came in;
some anchoring near us and others continuing on for the anchorage at
Anton Lizardo. We had been so long on our ships, and for some months
so inactive, that we were longing for something to do. I cannot answer
for others, but the scene of that day--and I recollect that it was
Sunday--is so vivid, and the events so firmly fixed in my memory, that
I can almost see the ship "Diadem" as she grazed our spanker-boom in
her desire to pass near enough to speak us, and I can to this day
whistle the waltz played by an infantry band on board a transport
anchored near us that night, though I have never heard it since."

Indeed, the naval contingent was most anxious to be in some of the
heavy fighting, and the chance seeming near, all was enthusiasm aboard
the ships of the squadron. A few days after General Scott's arrival he
and Commodore Conner and a large number of principal officers,
including Captain Joseph E. Johnston, of the "Engineers," made a
reconnaissance to decide on the best place to land the army. They
selected the mainland abreast of Sacrificios Island.

On the 9th of March, the steamers "Spitfire" and "Vixen" and several
gunboats ran close inshore and shelled the sand-hills and chaparral in
which the enemy might be concealed. Only a few horsemen were made to
scamper away. The Government for this very landing had sent out a
number of surf-boats, flat on the bottom and sharp at both ends. Each
of these carried one hundred men with their arms and accoutrements.
They proved most admirable for the service, as the whole army was
landed with out a mishap, and, singularly enough, the Mexicans did not
molest the Americans in the least while this important movement was in
progress. By midnight of the 9th of March the whole of the army was
ashore. Landing the troops having been accomplished, the work of
taking the artillery pieces, the ammunition, and supplies was begun,
and this consumed a week, each day lasting from four in the morning
till ten at night.

While this was in progress, General Scott was so arranging his troops
that he should entirely invest the city, and by the 20th of March the
bombardment began. General Scott summoned the authorities to
surrender, and gave them a chance to send the women and children out
of the city. Both invitation and opportunity were declined. And so it
came about that many non-combatants were killed in the siege that
followed. The sailors not only had to land the army and the materials
of war, but they were obliged to help get the siege guns in place. The
blue-jacket ashore is nearly always alive to the importance of having
a lark, and even in this arduous service they acted very much as
though they were on a spree. On one occasion a "norther" came up, and
for several days the seamen could not get back to their ships. Being
idle they had a good time to their hearts' content. It is said that
before the end of the first day every Jack of them had a horse and was
a mounted marine. One of these, a very tough old salt, had for his
charger a donkey, and on this animal he rode by General Scott's
quarters in great pride. "Some officers standing by observing that he
was, as they thought, seated too far back, called out to him to shift
his seat more amidships. 'Gentlemen,' said Jack, drawing rein, 'this
is the first craft I ever commanded, and it's d--d hard if I can't
ride on the quarter-deck.'"

But there was more serious work immediately in store for the navy than
fetching and carrying for the army and rewarding themselves in boyish
pranks. The day before the serious bombardment began the squadron was
notified by signal from the flagship: "Commodore Perry commands the
squadron." There was rejoicing at this, for Perry was regarded as a
man who preferred a fight for its own sake rather than to have no
fight at all. In this command he proved that he was a good fighter,
but he proved also that he knew how to be conservative when necessity
made such a course wise. Commodore Conner went home because his health
demanded that he should. The Navy Department was not dissatisfied with
him. But the opportunity for heavy fighting came after Perry took the
command. From the beginning of the siege the fleet kept up a heavy
firing on the city and castle so as to divert the fire from the land
forces.

General Scott soon saw that his guns were not strong enough to batter
down the walls of the city, so he requested Commodore Perry to send
him some heavy guns. The Commodore's gallant reply was: "Certainly,
General, but I must fight them." And fight them he did, as we shall
see. Six heavy pieces of ordnance were landed, and about 200 seamen
and volunteers were attached to each gun. Three of these were
sixty-eight-pounder shell guns and three thirty-two-pounder solid-shot
guns. Each of these guns weighed about three tons. Now each of these
had to be dragged through the loose sand, almost knee-deep, for
something like three miles before it could be put in the position the
engineers had assigned to it. This battery, by the way, was protected
by bags of sand piled on each other, and this was the first time that
this device had been used. When the battery was in position the
officers and men of the ships were so anxious to fight it that, to
prevent jealousy, the officers first to be assigned drew lots for the
honor. The first day Captain Aulick commanded, and the next day
Captain Mayo. The naval battery fired with such precision that they
did amazing damage to the enemy's works, and on the second day the
guns in Vera Cruz were silenced. Then began a parley as to terms, but
on the 28th there was an unconditional surrender. Now Scott had a
foothold in the part of Mexico which counted for something, and he was
able to begin that masterly march through the Valley of Mexico and on
to the capital of the country. But he never could have obtained this
foothold without the assistance of the navy. The country did not
recognize this at once, and the newspapers being printed by landsmen,
all of the immediate glory was bestowed on General Scott.

Now that Vera Cruz had fallen and General Scott's plans called for a
movement toward the interior, it was most desirable for him to have
better cavalry. But he lacked horses. Singular as it may seem, he
called upon the navy to assist in supplying this deficiency. It was
known that there were Mexican horsemen in and about Alvarado, so it
was determined to proceed against this place by land and sea, so that
the town could be reduced, and the horses secured at the same time.
General Quitman, with a brigade, was sent by land, so as to keep the
horsemen from running away, while the "Potomac," Captain Aulick, and
the "Scourge," Lieutenant Charles G. Hunter, were sent to appear in
front of Alvarado. It was evidently intended that Captain Aulick and
General Quitman would move on the place on some appointed day.
Lieutenant Hunter did not know what the plans were, and as his boat
was much faster than the "Potomac" he arrived in front of Alvarado
long before Captain Aulick. When the "Potomac" did come in sight, a
great commotion was noticed in the harbor. The "Albany," which had
been doing blockading service, came out and informed Captain Aulick
that Alvarado had been taken.

"By whom?" asked the Captain.

"By Lieutenant Hunter, in the 'Scourge,'" was the reply.

The "Scourge," it should be explained, was a very small steamer,
carrying one gun and forty men. Hunter went up pretty close and
observing indications of flinching, he fired three guns and dashed
boldly in and captured the place. The horsemen, the capture of whom
was the main object of the expedition, were frightened off before
General Quitman could intercept them. Having taken possession of
Alvarado, Lieutenant Hunter placed in the town a garrison consisting
of a midshipman and two men, and hurried his steamer up the river to a
place called Tlacotalpan, which he also captured. When General Quitman
arrived in Alvarado with his brigade and the place was gravely handed
over to him by Passed Midshipman William G. Temple (afterward a very
distinguished officer of high rank) he was greatly amused and laughed
heartily. But Commodore Perry was annoyed and angry. As soon as he
could get hold of Hunter--not an easy matter, as Hunter had gone on
his conquering way still further up the river with the intention of
taking all the rest of Mexico not subjugated by Taylor and Scott--he
placed him under arrest and preferred charges against him. When Hunter
was shortly tried by court-martial, he was sentenced to be reprimanded
by the Commodore, the reprimand to be read from the quarter-deck of
every vessel in the squadron.

The reprimand, prepared by Commodore Perry, was thought by pretty
nearly all the officers of the squadron to be entirely too severe. A
military offence had been committed, but it amounted to a mere trifle,
and the time was ripe for the people to laugh over such an occurrence.
In effect the reprimand was something like this: "Who told you to take
Alvarado? You were sent to watch Alvarado, not to take it. You have
taken Alvarado with but a single gun and not a marine to back you!"
Then the announcement was made that the squadron would soon move
against Tabasco, and that Hunter should not accompany it, but that he
should be dismissed the squadron. And he was sent home. In New York
the people made a hero of him, giving him swords and dinners, and
securing for him the command of the schooner "Taney," in which he made
a roving cruise to the Mediterranean. As long as he lived he was
always spoken of as "Alvarado" Hunter. A sense of humor is sometimes a
dangerous cargo for a public man to carry; but the absence of it also
is often dangerous. In this instance Commodore Perry, because he did
not see the amusing aspect of Hunter's escapade, made himself so
ridiculous that he came near cutting short his own career, which, as
will afterward be seen in this history, was destined for greater
achievements than any in the past.

[Illustration: Blue-Jackets before Vera Cruz.]

The next objective point for the navy was Tuspan, where the "Truxton"
had been lost. The bar at Tuspan is dangerous, and even the small
steamers of the squadron had their masts hoisted out of them to
lighten them. Commodore Perry hoisted his flag on the "Spitfire" and
led the way up the river with the boats of the squadron in tow. The
first fort on the river below the town, called the Pana, was silenced
by the gun of the "Spitfire" and then stormed by the sailors; two
other forts were taken in the same way and the town was occupied. The
Mexicans made a spirited defence, but did little damage, only one man
being killed. Among the wounded were Captain Tatnall, Commander
Whittle, and Lieutenant James Parker. The guns taken from the
"Truxton" were found in one of the forts and restored to the fleet.

The last naval operation of the war was against Tabasco. Commodore
Perry took all of the fleet which could possibly go up the river from
Frontera. This town was easily captured, but when the ascent of the
river began the boats were continually fired upon from the trees and
chaparral along the banks. At a place called Devil's Bend, the passage
of the river was interrupted by a sunken obstruction, technically
called a _chevaux de frise_. Commodore Perry did not mean to let this
stop him, so he organized a land force of seamen and marines and
concluded to march to Tabasco. He had numerous skirmishes, but was not
stopped. One day his own ships passed him, the _chevaux de frise_
having been raised by attaching rubber bags to it and then inflating
them with air. When Perry arrived at Tabasco he found the American
flag flying, the town having fallen without resistance to his own
ships. So his own arduous march across country had been all for
nothing. This was the last work of the sailors, but the marines of the
navy still saw glorious service, as a detachment of them was with
General Scott, participating in the attack on Chapultepec. They were
also among the first to enter the City of Mexico when that capital
surrendered.

The navy in the War with Mexico did itself credit as it always had
before, and reflected honor upon the country, whose flag was upheld
with brilliant courage and untiring zeal.




CHAPTER XIX.

     THE NAVY IN PEACE. -- SURVEYING THE DEAD SEA. -- SUPPRESSING THE
     SLAVE TRADE. -- THE FRANKLIN RELIEF EXPEDITION. -- COMMODORE
     PERRY IN JAPAN. -- SIGNING OF THE TREATY. -- TROUBLE IN CHINESE
     WATERS. -- THE KOSZTA CASE. -- THE SECOND FRANKLIN RELIEF
     EXPEDITION. -- FOOTE AT CANTON. -- "BLOOD IS THICKER THAN WATER."


After the Mexican War the navy engaged for twelve years in works of
peace varied by a little exciting police duty on the high seas. Much
was done for commerce and for civilization in the years immediately
succeeding 1848, but the story, though important, is not exciting, and
is therefore little known. The records of these years afford a fair
suggestion of what a navy may do when actual fighting is not
necessary, and when its vessels, with the trained sailors and
scientists who man them, may be utilized in utilitarian work.

Shortly after the close of the Mexican War, the armed ship "Supply,"
under command of Lieutenant Lynch, sailed on an expedition to the Dead
Sea. The start was made from New York, and the vessel arrived in the
Mediterranean only a few weeks after peace had been declared with
Mexico. At Smyrna, Lieutenant Lynch left the "Supply," and went to
Constantinople to obtain permission to enter the Turkish domains. This
having been granted, the party sailed for Haifa. Arriving at this port
on the 21st of March, they left their ship, and set out for the Sea of
Galilee by an overland route, carrying on trucks the boats which had
been specially built for navigation in the river Jordan. Upon
reaching Tiberias, on the western shore of the Sea of Galilee, the
party divided, one detachment embarking in the boats to navigate the
Sea of Galilee, and the other mounting camels and horses to make the
trip by land, with the intention of keeping those who had sailed in
view as much as possible, and protecting them from attacks by
wandering Arabs or aiding them if necessary in the passage of the
tortuous and turbulent Jordan. Eight days were consumed in making this
passage, and a distance covered of 200 miles, although if the trip had
been made in a straight line instead of along the winding course of
the river, it would have been necessary to have traversed only sixty
miles. An encampment was established on the desolate banks of the Dead
Sea, and several exploring and scientific expeditions in the
neighborhood were made. Among the interesting facts gathered was the
exact depression of the Dead Sea below the level of the ocean. This
was found to be 1,312 feet.

The western coast of Africa was the scene of the next important
activity on the part of the American cruisers. The slave-trade, which
in the eighteenth century had assumed extensive proportions, still
flourished to a degree which made the condition upon the coast a
disgrace to civilization. It was a notorious fact, moreover, that a
large proportion of the vessels in the trade were of American build
and sailed under the Stars and Stripes. The United States Government
was anxious to wipe out this blot upon the nation's fair fame; and
consequently, in 1849, sent Lieutenant Foote, in command of the brig
"Perry," to African waters. The lieutenant, who, by the way, afterward
became the distinguished Admiral Foote, at once began active cruising
off Ambrig, a notorious slave mart. The "Perry" was constantly at sea,
chasing and boarding suspicious vessels, and very often her boats
passed through the surf and ran up the jungle-bordered rivers to the
slave barracoons. Many large slavers were captured, and when, in 1851,
the "Perry" was succeeded on the African coast by the squadron under
Commander Gregory, Lieutenant Foote had effectually checked the slave
trade. He was thanked for his services by the Secretary of the Navy.

While Lieutenant Foote was sailing under the blazing sun of Africa,
another lieutenant, Edwin J. De Haven, in command of the brigs
"Rescue" and "Advance," was pushing his way northward through the ice
of the Arctic Ocean. The Navy Department had considered it proper and
fitting to aid England in her search for the British commander, Sir
John Franklin and his men, who had sailed into the Arctic regions on
an exploring expedition, and had been gone so long as to warrant the
belief that they were in grave peril, if not already dead. Volunteers
for the relief expedition had been called for by the department.
Lieutenant De Haven and others had responded, and on May 24th, 1850,
started on their errand of mercy. In July, the party was in Baffin's
Bay, and here the brigs remained embedded in the ice for twenty-one
days. On the 29th of July, by a sudden movement of the floe, an
opening at the north presented itself; a north-east breeze sprang up
at the same time, and with press of sail the brigs were able to force
their way into clear water.

For a month afterward there was continual battling with the ice, and
slow progress northward. On August 27th, Lieutenant De Haven, having
in the mean time fallen in with several English relief expeditions,
decided to make a search on the shores adjacent to a Lancaster Sound.
Here were found three graves, and various signs that Franklin and his
companions had spent a winter somewhere thereabouts; but there were no
indications of the course his vessels, the "Erebus" and the "Terror,"
had taken when they had sailed away. Throughout the winter the search
was continued, and the "Rescue" and the "Advance" were often in
imminent danger of destruction in the masses of ice which pressed
against the sides of the ships with enormous force. "Every moment,"
said Lieutenant De Haven, in his report, "I expected the vessels would
be crushed or overwhelmed by the masses of ice forced up far above our
bulwarks." But at last, on June 6th, they forced their way again into
the open sea; and as the instructions had been not to spend a second
winter in the Arctic regions, sail was set for home, and late in the
summer of 1851 the brigs arrived at New York.

The sending of the frigate "Mississippi," commanded by Captain Matthew
G. Perry, to the coast of Halifax, in 1852, averted what threatened to
be serious trouble. A dispute had arisen among the American and
Canadian fishing schooners in those waters, and seven American vessels
had been seized by the British cruisers.

This caused intense indignation in New England; but Captain Perry
poured oil upon the troubled waters, and in 1854, as a result of his
visit, a reciprocity treaty between the United States and Canada was
signed, and this lasted for ten years.

Captain Perry performed his most important services for the
government, however, in Japan. The early fifties were an era of
exploring expeditions for the navy. There were trips up the rivers
into unknown regions of South America and Africa. The Isthmus of
Darien was explored, and an ambitious scheme to cut a ship-channel
through was found to be impracticable. It was very natural, during
this activity in penetrating little-known parts of the world, that
attention should have been given to Japan, which was a land of mystery
to the world at large because of the exclusion of foreigners from that
country. In 1852, Captain Perry was assigned the command of the
squadron cruising in the East Indies, and was empowered, in addition
to his ordinary duties, to make a display of force in the waters of
Japan in order to obtain better treatment for American seamen cast
upon Japanese shores, and to gain entry into Japanese ports for
vessels seeking supplies. He bore a letter, moreover, from the
President of the United States to the Emperor of Japan, written with a
view to obtaining a treaty providing for friendly intercourse and
commerce with the haughty island kingdom. On the 8th of July, the
squadron, comprising the frigates "Mississippi," "Susquehanna," and
"Powhatan"; the corvette "Macedonian"; the sloops-of-war "Plymouth,"
"Saratoga," and "Vandalia"; and the store-ships "Supply,"
"Southampton," and "Lexington," anchored off the city of Uraga, in the
Bay of Jeddo, Japan. Captain Perry decided that the proper course to
pursue with the Japanese was to assume a very lofty and commanding
tone and bearing. He therefore ordered away from the sides of his
vessel the boats which swarmed around it, and allowed none but
government officials of high rank to come on board. He himself
remained in seclusion in his cabin, treating with the Japanese through
intermediaries. He moved his squadron nearer the capital than was
allowable, and then demanded that a special commission, composed of
men of the highest rank, be appointed to convey his letter from the
President to the Emperor. The close proximity of the ships-of-war to
the capital, and Captain Perry's peremptory demand, were not at all to
the liking of the Japanese; but they were greatly impressed with his
apparent dignity and power, and at last consented to receive and
consider the letter. Fearing treachery, Captain Perry moved his ships
up so that their guns would command the building prepared for his
reception, and on the 14th of July went ashore with an escort of 400
officers and men, who found themselves, on landing, surrounded by
about 6,000 Japanese soldiers under arms.

Three months were given to the Japanese officials to reply to the
letter, and Captain Perry sailed with his squadron for the coast of
China. He returned after an interval of three months, and anchored his
ships beyond Uraga, where the previous conference had been held, and
nearer the capital, despite the fact that a place twenty miles below
had been appointed for the second meeting. The Japanese demurred at
this, being so exclusive that they did not wish their capital nor
their country even to be seen by foreigners. Instead of respecting
these wishes, Captain Perry approached still nearer, until he was only
eight miles from Tokio. This high-handed policy had the desired
effect. Five special Japanese commissioners met Captain Perry, and in
a building within range of the ships' guns, negotiations were carried
on. They resulted, on March 31st, in the signing of a treaty by the
Japanese, in which they promised to open two of their ports to
American vessels seeking supplies; to give aid to seamen of the United
States wrecked upon their shores; to allow American citizens
temporarily residing in their ports to enter, within certain
prescribed limits, the surrounding country; to permit consuls of the
United States to reside in one of the open ports; and, in general, to
show a peaceful and friendly spirit toward our government and
citizens. This treaty is important, because it opened the door for the
peoples of the world to a country which has since proved to be
possessed of vast wealth and resources. Captain Perry received high
praise for his firmness and diplomacy in the conduct of the difficult
negotiations.

One vessel of Captain Perry's fleet, the "Plymouth," had remained at
Shanghai when the squadron returned to Japanese waters, and she played
a very active though brief part in the troubles which then existed in
China. Imperial and revolutionary troops were fighting for supremacy,
and the former showed a hostile disposition to the American and
English residents of Shanghai. An American pilot was captured by an
Imperial man-of-war, but was retaken in a most spirited manner from
the Chinese by Lieutenant Guest, and a boat's crew from the
"Plymouth." The Chinese manifestations of hostility toward foreign
residents continued, and on the 4th of April, 1854, about ninety men
from the "Plymouth" and American merchant-ships, under the leadership
of Commander Kelly, went ashore, and in conjunction with one hundred
and fifty men from a British man-of-war, began an attack upon the
Imperial camp. The Americans had two field-pieces and a twelve-pound
boat-howitzer, which, together with the muskets, were used so
effectively that, after ten minutes of sharp fighting, the Chinese
fled in great disorder, leaving a number of dead and wounded upon the
field. The American loss was two killed and four wounded.

Piracy was rampant in the China seas during this period, and so bold
and ferocious were the Chinese desperadoes that their junks were a
great terror to merchant vessels, and seriously interfered with
commerce. The "Powhatan," another of Captain Perry's squadron, and the
English sloop "Rattler," joined forces against a fleet of piratical
junks off Khulan, in 1855, and completely destroyed them, killing many
of the pirates in the attack and taking a large number of prisoners.
In Happy Valley, Hong-Kong, a monument was erected to commemorate the
eight English and American sailors who were killed in the conflict.

While the East India squadron was performing these important and
gallant services off the coasts of Japan and China, the other vessels
of the navy were by no means idle. Among the conspicuous naval events
of the time was the spirited action of Commander Ingraham at Smyrna,
in 1854. A young Austrian, Martin Koszta, had lived in New York city
two years before, and had declared his intention of becoming an
American citizen. He had gone to Smyrna on business, and having
incurred the displeasure of the Austrian government, had been seized,
and was a prisoner on board the Austrian man-of-war "Hussar."
Commander Ingraham, commanding the sloop-of-war "St. Louis," demanded
that Koszta be surrendered, on the ground that he was an American
citizen. This being refused, Ingraham cleared for action, although the
"Hussar's" force was much superior to his own. His bold stand brought
the Austrians to satisfactory terms, and the threatened engagement was
averted by the surrender of Koszta.

There were two Arctic expeditions in addition to that of the "Rescue"
and the "Advance" in the early fifties. Both of them grew out of the
ill-fated Arctic explorations of Sir John Franklin. Lady Franklin, his
wife, was anxious, upon the failure of the first relief expeditions,
to send another, and she asked that a surgeon of the United States
Navy, Dr. Kane, be permitted to command it. The Navy Department
granted the request, and in June, 1853, the expedition, composed of
eighteen men under orders from the department and the patronage of
Henry Grinnell, of New York, and George Peabody, the American
merchant, of London, began the northwest journey. This search for Sir
John Franklin's ships was also unsuccessful, and the relief party was
for a long time in imminent danger of a fate similar to Franklin's.
After living for two winters imprisoned in the ice in Smith's Sound,
they abandoned their vessel, which had been largely broken up to
provide fuel, and started on a journey over the ice in sledges. After
eighty-four days of extreme privation and thrilling adventure, they
reached Driscol Bay, where they were found by Commander Hartstone and
Lieutenant Simms, commanding respectively the "Release" and the
"Arctic," which vessels had been fitted out by order of Congress to
rescue them. In October, 1855, the united party reached New York.

In November, 1855, the presence of the United States ship
"Germantown," commanded by Captain Lynch, in the harbor of Montevideo,
prevented an extensive massacre. There had been a rebellion in
Paraguay, and the insurrectionists had capitulated. The government
troops rushed upon them with the intention of despatching them, when a
detachment of United States marines interfered and put an end to the
sanguinary scene. Three years afterward the marines performed
efficient services in Montevideo in protecting foreign residents
against the insurgents in another rebellion.

The rather curious episode of a battle-ship fighting Indians occurred
in 1856. The sloop-of-war "Decatur," Commander Gansevoort, anchored
off Seattle, Washington, to protect the settlers from attacks from a
large body of Indians. The savages appeared, and fought the marines,
who had landed, with much spirit for six hours. At nightfall they
disappeared in the woods, having suffered the loss of a large number
of braves.

One of the most gallant and important of the minor operations of the
navy took place in November of the same year. Trouble having arisen
between the Chinese authorities of the City of Canton and the English
officials in the vicinity, it was thought that American interests
might be injured, and in consequence Commander Foote stationed his
vessel, the sloop-of-war "Portsmouth," of the squadron under
Flag-Officer Armstrong, near the island of Whampoa, and thence
proceeded, in several armed boats, to ascend the river to Canton to
establish an armed neutrality. Several Americans, however, joined the
British in an attack upon the governor's palace, and planted the flag
beside the English colors on the wall of the city. Commander Foote
disavowed this act, but as he was returning from an interview with the
flag-officer at Whampoa, several shots of grape and canister were
fired from the forts upon his boat, although it displayed the American
flag. The next day the "Portsmouth" and the "Levant," which had come
up the river to lend her aid, proceeded to the Canton barrier forts to
avenge the insult. The "Levant" grounded before coming in range of the
forts; but the "Portsmouth," under a sharp fire, sailed on until
within about 500 yards of the nearest fort; then she opened fire.
After she had thrown about 200 shells, the Chinese ceased firing. Then
followed four days of unsatisfactory parley with Yeh, the Governor of
Canton, after which Commander Foote renewed the attack. The "Levant"
now joined the "Portsmouth," and the vessels began a cannonade, which
was returned with spirit for an hour. Then 208 men, in ten boats, were
landed, and stormed the nearest fort, which was taken. Five thousand
pigtail-wearing soldiers afterward attempted to recapture it, but were
repulsed. In like manner, on the following morning, the next fort was
taken, with an American loss of but three men. During the afternoon
the defenders of the third fort fled. The next morning, in the face of
a heavy fire, the fourth and last fort was carried by a rapid assault.
The little company of Americans was now in possession of four modern
forts constructed by European engineers, which had been defended,
moreover, by thousands of men. The insult had been avenged, and the
affair resulted in a treaty of friendship and commerce with China.

There was little love between Americans and Chinese, however, and
three years afterward Captain Josiah Tatnall rendered valuable aid to
the English and French gunboats when fired upon by the Chinese forts.
The boats, under the command of Sir James Hope, were attempting to
remove obstructions in the Peiho River when the forts suddenly opened
a destructive fire. A desperate conflict followed, in which several
hundred of the English were killed. Captain Tatnall commanded the
chartered steamer "Toey-Wan," which was in the harbor. He forgot his
neutrality as he watched the scene. With the exclamation, "Blood is
thicker than water!" he jumped into his launch and steamed for the
British flagship. The boat was struck with a ball, and before its trip
was ended sunk, the coxswain being killed and Lieutenant Trenchart
severely wounded. The others who had manned her were rescued, and they
helped the English at the guns. Captain Tatnall afterward used the
"Toey-Wan" to tow up and bring into action the British reserves. His
action was a clear violation of the treaty and the neutrality law. He
received but slight punishment, however, and gained great popularity
in Great Britain.

At Eaya, in the Feejee Islands, in 1858, a sharp conflict took place
between the natives and forty men under Lieutenant Caldwell, who had
been sent to destroy the principal village as retribution for the
murder of two American citizens. The natives were sent fleeing inland.
The Secretary of the Navy said of the affair, "The gallantry,
coolness, and bravery displayed by officers and men was in the highest
degree commendable." A somewhat similar episode occurred in the
vicinity of Kisembo, on the west coast of Africa, in 1860. The natives
threatened the property and lives of American citizens, and would
undoubtedly have put their threats into effect had it not been for the
presence and prompt action of Commander Brent of the sloop-of-war
"Marion." When an insurrection occurred in the neighborhood of Panama,
in July, 1860, Commander Porter landed a body of marines and sailors
from his ship, the "St. Mary's," which was then stationed on the
western coast of Mexico. The governor gave up the city of Panama to
the joint occupancy of the forces of the "St. Mary's" and the British
ship-of-war "Clio," and tranquillity was quickly restored.




PART III




BLUE-JACKETS OF '61.




CHAPTER I.

     THE OPENING OF THE CONFLICT. -- THE NAVIES OF THE CONTESTANTS. --
     DIX'S FAMOUS DESPATCH. -- THE RIVER GUNBOATS.


The story of the naval operations of the civil war is a record of
wonderful energy and inventive skill in improvising and building
war-vessels, vigilance and courage in handling them, and desperate
bravery and dash displayed by officers and seamen in the great
engagements in which vessels of either side took part. Yet of the
immense body of literature dealing with the war, the greater part is
given to telling the story of the great armies of the North and South.
The details of the great land battles are familiar to many who have
but a vague idea of the service done by the "blue jackets" of the
North, and the daring deeds performed by the navies of both sides.

When the first mutterings of the storm of war began to be heard, the
United States Government had at its disposal sixty-nine
vessels-of-war, of which twenty-seven were laid up for repairs, or,
sailors would say, "out of commission." Of the forty-two vessels in
commission, twenty-six were absent on missions to the East Indies,
the African coast, and other distant quarters of the globe. Long
months must elapse before the most hasty orders could reach them. Many
were sailing-vessels, and must consume many months of precious time
before they could reach the shores of the United States. Indeed,
though on the inauguration of President Lincoln on March 4, 1861, all
these vessels were immediately recalled, not one arrived before the
middle of June, and many were delayed until late in the following
winter. Of the vessels at home, many were old-fashioned
sailing-frigates; beautiful with their towering masts and clouds of
snowy canvas, but almost useless in that day when steam had become
known as the only means of propelling vessels-of-war.

[Illustration: The "Hartford," Farragut's Flagship.]

In officers and men the navy was almost as deficient as in vessels. A
long peace had filled the lists of officers with old men past that
age in which may be expected the alertness and energy that must be
possessed by Jack afloat. The lower grades were filled by boyish
officers from the Naval Academy, who had never seen a gun fired in
anger. The service was becoming rusty from long idleness.

Such was the condition of the navy of the United States when Abraham
Lincoln was made President. Four years later the navy of the United
States consisted of six hundred and seventy-one vessels. No nation of
the world had such a naval power. The stern lessons of the great war
had taught shipbuilders that wooden ships were a thing of the past.
The little "Monitor" had by one afternoon's battle proved to all the
sovereigns of Europe that their massive ships were useless. And all
this had been done by a people grappling in deadly strife with an
enemy in their very dwellings. The world's history contains no more
wonderful story of energy and invention.

[Illustration: Departure of a Naval Expedition from Port Royal.]

When President Lincoln began his term of office, he appointed Gideon
Welles of Connecticut Secretary of the Navy. South Carolina had
seceded from the Union. Mississippi, Georgia, Florida, Alabama, and
Louisiana had followed South Carolina. Anderson, with a handful of
United States troops, was holding Fort Sumter, expecting every minute
to see the puff of smoke from the distant casement of Fort Moultrie,
and hear the shriek of the shell that should announce the opening of
the attack. At Washington, politicians were intriguing. The loyalty of
no man could be regarded as certain. Officers of the army and navy
were daily resigning, and hastening to put themselves under the
command of their various States. In the South all was activity. In the
North the popular desire for a compromise hampered the authorities so
that no decided stand against the spread of the rebellion could be
made. The new Secretary of the Navy found himself face to face with
the certainty of a long and bloody war, yet had under his command a
navy hardly adequate for times of peace. To add to his perplexity,
many of the oldest and most skilful officers in the navy resigned,
saying that their duty to their States was greater than to the United
States as a whole. A few revenue officers even went so far as to
deliver to the State authorities the vessels of which they were in
command. One commander, a Georgian, bringing his ship back from
foreign waters, hesitated long whether to take it to the navy-yard at
New York, or to deliver it to the Southern leaders. He finally
decided to obey orders, and the ship remained with the United States.
Some days afterward the commander told his lieutenant of his
hesitation. "We all saw it," said the younger officer; "and had you
turned the ship's prow towards Charleston, you would have been
instantly put in irons."

The surrender of another naval vessel called forth that famous
despatch from John A. Dix that will ever be linked with his name. The
United States revenue cutter "McClelland" was lying at New Orleans,
under the command of Capt. Breshwood. The revenue service is distinct
from the regular navy, and is under the general command of the
Secretary of the Treasury. John A. Dix, then Secretary of the
Treasury, suspected that Capt. Breshwood was about to surrender his
vessel to the Confederates, and sent an agent to order him to take the
vessel to New York. Breshwood refused, and instantly Dix sent the
despatch: "Tell Lieut. Caldwell to arrest Capt. Breshwood, assume
command of the cutter, and obey the order through you. If Capt.
Breshwood, after arrest, undertakes to interfere with the command of
the cutter, tell Lieut. Caldwell to consider him as a mutineer, and
treat him accordingly. _If any man attempts to haul down the American
flag, shoot him on the spot._" This despatch was intercepted by the
Confederates, and the cutter was surrendered. But Dix's determined
words reverberated through the North, and thrilled all hearts with the
hope that the time for delay was past, and that the growing rebellion
would be put down with a firm hand.

So at the opening of the war we find the North with a navy consisting
of but a few old-fashioned ships, few sailors, officers everywhere
resigning, and a general feeling of distrust of brother officers in
all grades.

The condition of the South as regards the navy was even worse. The
Southern States had never done any great amount of ship-building. The
people were almost all engaged in farming. The crops of cotton and
sugar that they raised were shipped in vessels built in Maine, and
manned by sailors from the seafaring villages of New England. At the
time the war broke out, there was hardly a shipyard in the confines of
the Confederacy. A few vessels were gained by the treachery of United
States officers. The capture of the Norfolk navy-yard brought them
large quantities of naval stores, and by wonderful activity a few
vessels were built for service on inland sounds and rivers. But at no
time could the Confederacy have been said to have a navy; and,
keeping this fact in view, the record the Confederates made with two
or three vessels is most wonderful. In war-vessels for service on that
wonderful network of rivers that make up the waterways of the
Mississippi Valley, the South was not so deficient as in ships of the
seagoing class. The long, crescent-shaped levee at New Orleans is
lined throughout certain seasons of the year by towering
river-steamers which ply up and down the Mississippi and connecting
streams, taking from the plantations huge loads of cotton, sugar, and
rice, and carrying to the planters those supplies which can only be
furnished by the markets of a great city. The appearance of one of
these towering river transports as she comes sailing down the turbid
stream of the great Father of Waters, laden to the water's edge with
brown bales of cotton, and emitting from her lofty, red crowned
smoke-stacks dense clouds of pitchy black smoke, is most wonderful.
Unlike ocean-steamers, the river-steamer carries her load upon her
deck. Built to penetrate far towards the head-waters of rivers and
bayous that in summer become mere shallow ditches, these steamers have
a very light draught. Many of them, whose tiers of white cabins tower
sixty or seventy feet into the air, have but three feet of hull
beneath the river's surface. The first deck, when the vessel is but
lightly loaded, stands perhaps two feet out of water. Above this,
carried on rows of posts twenty feet high, comes the first cabin. All
between is open to the air on either side; so that, as one of the huge
river-monsters passes at night, the watcher on the bank can see the
stalwart, black, half-naked bodies of the negro stokers, bending
before the glowing furnace doors, and throwing in the soft coal, that
issues in clouds of smoke from the towering chimneys seventy feet
above. The lights in three rows of cabin windows glow; and the
unceasing beat of the paddle-wheels mingles with the monotonous puff
of the steam from the escape-pipes, and the occasional bursts of music
from the open cabin doors. One who for the first time looks on one of
these leviathans of the Mississippi, pursuing its stately course at
night, does not wonder at the frightened negro, who, seeing for the
first time a night-steamboat, rushed madly from the river's bank,
crying that the angel Gabriel had come to blow the last trump.

When these boats have taken on their full load of cotton, they present
a very different appearance. Then all the open space beneath the
cabins is filled by a mass of cotton-bales. The hull is so sunken in
the water that the lowest tier of cotton-bales is lapped by the little
waves that ruffle the surface of the river. The stokers and furnaces
are hid from view, and the cabins appear to be floating on one huge
cotton bale. Generally a great wooden stern-wheel propels this strange
craft, adding to the grotesqueness of the sight.

It may readily be understood, that vessels of this class, in which
strength was subordinated to lightness, and economy to gingerbread
decoration, seemed to be but poor materials for vessels-of-war. The
tremendous recoil of a rifled cannon fired from one of those airy
decks, meant to stand no ruder shock than the vibration caused by
dancing pleasure-parties, would shake the whole frail structure to
pieces. Yet the ingenuity born of necessity, and the energy awakened
by the immediate prospect of war, led the Confederate engineers to
convert some of these pleasure-palaces into the most terrible engines
of destruction chronicled in the annals of war. The first step was to
sweep off all the towering superstructure of decks, cabins, and
saloons; tear away all the fanciful mouldings, the decorated
staterooms, and carved and gilded stairways. This left a long, shallow
hull, with a powerful engine in the centre, and great paddle-wheels
towering on either side; the whole so light that the soldiers of
Grant's army, when they first saw one, stoutly averred that "those
boats could run on a heavy dew." The hull was then thinly plated with
iron, and the prow lengthened, and made massive, until it formed the
terrible "ram," fallen into disuse since the days of the Greek
galleys, to be taken up again by naval architects in the nineteenth
century. Then on the deck was built a pent-house of oak and iron, with
sloping sides just high enough to cover the engine. The two towering
smoke-stacks, the pride of the old river-steamers, were cut down to
squat pipes protruding a foot or two above the strange structure. In
the sides were embrasures, from which, when open, peered the iron
muzzles of the dogs of war, ready to show their teeth and spit fire
and iron at the enemy. This was the most powerful type of the river
gunboat, and with them the Confederacy was fairly well provided;
though it was not long before the war department of the United States
was well supplied with similar ships. It was these iron-clad gunboats
that used to rouse the anger of the doughty Admiral Farragut, who
persisted in declaring them cowardly engines of destruction, and
predicted that as they came into use, the race of brave fighting
jack-tars would disappear. On one occasion the admiral was ploughing
his way up the Mississippi above New Orleans, in one of Commodore
Bailey's river iron-clads. The batteries of the enemy on either hand
were pounding away at the ascending ships, hurling huge bolts of iron
against their mailed sides, with a thunder that was deafening, and a
shock that made the stricken ships reel. The admiral stood in the
gunroom of one of the iron-clads, watching the men working the guns,
in an atmosphere reeking with the smoke of the powder. A look of
manifest disapproval was on his face. Suddenly an unusually
well-directed shot struck a weak point in the armor, and, bursting
through, killed two men near the admiral's position. He looked for a
moment on the ghastly spectacle, then turning to an officer said, "You
may stay here in your iron-clad room if you wish: as for me, I feel
safer on deck." And on deck he went, and stayed there while the fleet
passed through the hail of shot and shell.

The scarcity of iron in the Southern States prevented the naval
authorities of the newly organized Confederacy from equipping a very
large fleet of iron-clads. At the outbreak of the war, the Tredegar
Iron Works at Richmond was the only place in the South where iron
plates of a size suitable for plating vessels could be rolled. The
demand was of course far in excess of the facilities of the factory,
and many were the make-shifts that shipbuilders were forced to. Some
vessels were plated only about the centre, so as to protect the boiler
and engines. Others bore such a thin coat of iron that they were
derisively called "tin-clads" by the sailors, who insisted that a
Yankee can-opener was all that was necessary to rip the vessel up.
Sometimes, when even a little iron was unattainable, bales of cotton
were piled up around the sides, like breastworks, for the protection
of men and engines. The vessel which captured the United States ship
"Harriet Lane," at Galveston, was thus provided; and the defence
proved very valuable. One great objection to the cotton-bale bulwarks
was the very inflammable nature of the material, since a red-hot shot
from the enemy, or a bit of blazing wadding from a gun, would set it
smouldering with a dense black smoke that drove the men from their
guns until the bales could be thrown overboard; thus extinguishing the
fire, but exposing the men to the fire of the enemy.

One of the most striking features of the war of secession was the
manner in which private citizens hastened to contribute towards the
public defence. This was so no less in naval than in military circles.
Perhaps the greatest gift ever made by a citizen to his Government was
the gift by "Commodore" Vanderbilt to the United States of a
magnificently equipped ship-of-war, which was named "The Vanderbilt"
in honor of her donor, and did efficient service in maintaining the
blockade on the Atlantic coast. Mr. James Gordon Bennett, the present
owner of the "New-York Herald," put his yacht at the service of the
Government, and was himself commissioned a lieutenant in the revenue
service.




CHAPTER II.

     FORT SUMTER BOMBARDED. -- ATTEMPT OF THE "STAR OF THE WEST" TO
     RE-ENFORCE ANDERSON. -- THE NAVAL EXPEDITION TO FORT SUMTER. --
     THE RESCUE OF THE FRIGATE "CONSTITUTION." -- BURNING THE NORFOLK
     NAVY-YARD.


[Illustration: Fort Moultrie.]

The first purely warlike event of the civil war was the bombardment
and capture of Fort Sumter in Charleston Harbor, by the troops of the
State of South Carolina. At the time when it first became evident that
civil war was inevitable, Fort Sumter was vacant. The only United
States troops stationed at Charleston were two companies of artillery
under Major Robert Anderson. The fortifications of Charleston Harbor
consisted of Fort Moultrie on the main land (in which Anderson's
command was stationed), Fort Pinckney, and Fort Sumter standing
massive and alone in the centre of the harbor. Anderson, with his
handful of troops in the most vulnerable of the three forts, saw day
by day the secession sentiment growing stronger. Almost daily some of
the privileges of the soldiery were cut off; such as the right of
passing through the city, and the right to buy supplies in the public
markets. Daily could be heard the drum and the tread of the newly
organized bodies of State soldiers. Anderson saw that his position was
a weak one, but could get no orders from headquarters. Finally he
decided to assume the responsibility of evacuating Fort Moultrie and
occupying Fort Sumter. To-day it hardly seems as though he could have
thought of doing otherwise, but at that time it was a grave
responsibility for a man to assume. The whole voice of the North was
for compromise, and it was his part to commit the first overt act of
war. But he was nobly upheld in his decision by his Northern brethren.
Having decided, he lost no time in carrying his plan into effect. His
little corps of troops was drawn up at midnight on the parade, and for
the first time informed of the contemplated movement. The guns of Fort
Moultrie were hurriedly knocked from their trunnions, and spiked; the
gun-carriages were piled in great heaps, and fired; and every thing
that might in any way be used against the United States Government was
destroyed. Then the work of evacuation was begun. A small fleet of
row-boats carried the troops to the entrance of the great, sullen
fort, standing alone in the middle of the harbor, and made frequent
trips bringing supplies and ammunition from the deserted fortress. All
was done silently: the oars were muffled, and the commands of the
officers were whispered, that no tidings should be told of the
movement under way. Before sunrise all was completed; and when the
rays of the rising sun fell upon the stars and stripes floating from
the flagstaff of Sumter, the people of Charleston turned their eyes
from the starry flag to the clouds of smoke arising from Fortress
Moultrie, and comprehended that the war had begun. Newspaper
correspondents and agents of the Federal Government, and the Southern
leaders, rushed for the telegraph-wires; and the news soon sped over
the country, that Sumter was occupied. The South Carolinians at once
began to build earthworks on all points bearing on the fort, and were
evidently preparing to drive Anderson and his troops out. Anderson
promptly telegraphed to Washington for supplies and re-enforcements,
and expressed his intention of staying as long as the walls stood. The
Government was dilatory, but finally concluded to re-enforce the fort,
and to that end secured the steamer "Star of the West," and began the
work of provisioning her for the voyage. It was decided that she
should carry no guns: that would look too much like war; and
accordingly, on the 8th of January, this helpless vessel set out to
the aid of the beleaguered garrison of Fort Sumter. The news was at
once telegraphed to Charleston; and the gunners in the Confederate
trenches shotted their guns, and awaited the appearance of the
steamer. She hove into sight on the morning of the 12th, and when
within range was notified, by a shot across her bows, that she was
expected to stop. This signal being disregarded, the firing began in
earnest; and the shot and shell fell thick about the ship, which kept
pluckily on her course. But it was useless to persist. One shot struck
the steamer near the bows, others whizzed through her rigging, and
finally her captain saw a tug putting out from the land, towing a
schooner crowded with armed men to cut off the "Star's" retreat. He
gave the command "Hard a port." The ship's head swung round, and she
steamed away, leaving the garrison to their fate. An old gunner who
stood in a casemate of Fort Sumter, with the lanyard of a shotted gun
in his hand, tells the story of how he begged Major Anderson to let
him fire on the rebel batteries. "Not yet; be patient," was the
response. When the shells began to fall thick about the steamer, he
again asked permission to retaliate, but met the same response. Then
when he saw the white splinters fly from the bow, where the enemies'
shell had struck, he cried, "Now, surely, we can return _that!_" but
still the answer was, "Be patient." When the "Star of the West,"
confessing defeat, turned and fled from the harbor, Anderson turned
and walked away, curtly saying there was no need to fire then, but to
save the load for the necessity that was coming.

[Illustration: Anderson's Command occupying Fort Sumter.]

[Illustration: Major Robert Anderson.]

The first naval operation of the war was the expedition fitted out to
relieve Fort Sumter. In itself, this expedition was but an
insignificant affair, ending in failure; but as the first warlike
action on the part of the United States Government, it attracted the
greatest attention throughout the nation. In preparing the vessels for
sea, great care was taken to keep their destination secret, so that no
warning should reach the Confederates, who were lying in their
batteries about Sumter, awaiting the first offensive action of the
United States authorities to begin shelling the fortress. While the
squadron was fitting out, it was generally supposed that it was
intended to carry troops and munitions of war to Fort Pickens in
Pensacola Harbor, which was invested by the Confederates. When the
fleet finally sailed, each commander carried sealed orders, upon
opening which he first found that the expedition was bound for
Charleston Harbor. Notwithstanding all this secrecy, the destination
of the fleet was telegraphed to the Confederates almost as soon as the
last vessel dropped past Sandy Hook; and the fire from the circle
of batteries about the doomed fort in Charleston Harbor began
immediately. When the fleet arrived at its destination, the
bombardment was well under way. To attempt to land troops or stores
under the withering fire concentrated upon the fort, would have been
madness. The only vessel of sufficient strength to engage the
batteries, the "Pawnee," had been separated from the fleet by a gale a
few nights before, and had not yet arrived. Sadly the sailors gave up
the attempt, and, beating up and down outside the harbor bar, awaited
the inevitable end of the unequal conflict. When, finally, after a
heroic resistance of several days, Major Anderson and his little band,
worn with constant vigilance and labor, destitute of provisions, and
exposed to a constant hail of iron missiles from without and a raging
fire within, agreed to capitulate, the United States steamship
"Baltic," of the Fort Sumter expedition, took him on board and bore
him safely to New York. The main purpose of the expedition had failed,
it is true; but the Government had made its first decisive move, and
public sympathy and confidence were excited.

[Illustration: Fort Sumter under Fire.]

The preparations for the coming struggle were now being pressed
forward on every hand. An incident which occurred soon after the fall
of Sumter awakened the greatest enthusiasm throughout the North. The
United States frigate "Constitution" was lying at Annapolis, where she
was being used by the authorities of the naval academy there for a
school-ship. Although the State of Maryland had not seceded from the
Union, yet secessionists were to be found in great numbers in all
parts of the State. A number of them determined to seize the ship.
Besides being a war-vessel of considerable strength, the
"Constitution"--or "Old Ironsides," as she was affectionately
called--was famous for her many exploits, and dear to the hearts of
Americans for her long service under the stars and stripes. "If we can
but capture the vessel, and turn her guns against the Union," thought
the conspirators, "we will strike a heavy blow at the Northern
sympathizers." And, indeed, it would have been a heavy blow to the
nation had they captured the old frigate that did such service under
Preble in the war with Tripoli; and that in the War of 1812 forced the
British to strike their colors, and gave to the United States navy an
equal place on the high seas with any nation of the world. The plans
of the conspirators were well laid. The ship was manned by but twenty
men, and lay above a bar, over which she could only be carried by the
aid of a steam-tug. Fortunately the officers and crew were all loyal.
For four days and four nights they watched the preparations being made
on shore for their capture. Mysterious signals flashed from the
surrounding hills. Armed bodies of men were seen drilling on the
shore. All seemed to tend toward certain capture. Yet with no chance
of escape the brave men kept vigilant guard, with guns shotted and
always primed.

Near Annapolis was stationed the Eighth Massachusetts Infantry, with
Gen. Butler in command. News was carried to the general of the
perilous position of the "Constitution," and he at once determined to
hasten to her relief. Just as the crew of the old frigate had
abandoned all hope, the steamer "Maryland" entered the harbor, her
guards and decks crowded with the men of the Eighth Massachusetts.
Quickly the "Constitution" was prepared for sailing. Her anchors were
slipped, all useless weight cast overboard, and, with the "Maryland"
as tug, the stately frigate passed slowly over the bar, and out of the
grasp of the conspirators.

The "Constitution" was not the only United States vessel that the
Confederates were planning to seize. Soon after she escaped from their
hands, an event occurred by which a vast quantity of naval stores, and
the mutilated but still valuable hulls of some of the most powerful
war-vessels in the United States navy, fell into their hands. The
United States navy-yard at Norfolk was one of the most valuable of all
the governmental possessions. In the great yard was government
property amounting to more than twenty millions of dollars.
Machine-shops, foundries, dwellings for officers, and a massive
granite dry-dock made it one of the most complete navy-yards in the
world. An enormous quantity of cannon, cannon-balls, powder, and
small-arms packed the huge storehouses. In the magnificent harbor were
lying some of the most formidable vessels of the United States navy,
including the steam frigate "Merrimac," of which we shall hear much
hereafter. Small wonder was it, that the people of Virginia, about to
secede from the Union, looked with covetous eyes upon this vast stock
of munitions of war lying apparently within their grasp. It did not
take long for them to persuade themselves that they were right in
seizing it; and, once decided, their movements were vigorous and open.
Of their ability to capture the yard, and gain possession of all the
property there, they felt no doubt. The first thing to be done was to
entrap the ships so that they should be unable to get out of the
harbor. Accordingly, on the 16th of April, three large stone-vessels
were sunk directly in the channel, apparently barring the exit of the
frigates most effectually. Indeed, so confident of success were the
plotters, that in a despatch to Richmond, announcing the successful
sinking of the stone-ships, they said, "Thus have we secured for
Virginia three of the best ships of the navy." But later events
showed, that, in boasting so proudly, the Virginians were committing
the old error of counting chickens before they were hatched.

The condition of affairs within the navy-yard now seemed desperate.
There appeared to be no chance of getting the vessels beyond the
obstructions. The militia of Virginia was rapidly gathering in the
town. Among the naval officers on the ships great dissension existed,
as many were Southerners, about to resign their posts in the United
States service to enter the service of their States. These men would,
of course, give no active aid to any movement for the salvation of the
United States property in the yard. Any assistance must come from the
outside; the beleaguered could but passively await the course of
events.

At seven o'clock on the night of April 21, the United States steamer
"Pawnee," which had been lying under the guns of Fortress Monroe,
hoisted anchor, and headed up the bay, on an errand of destruction. It
was too late to save the navy-yard with its precious stores. The only
thing to be done was to burn, break, and destroy every thing that
might be of service to an enemy. The decks of the "Pawnee" were black
with men,--soldiers to guard the gates, and complete the work of
destruction within the yard; blue-jacketed tars to do what might be
done to drag the entrapped vessels from the snare set them by the
Virginians. It was a bright moon-light night. The massive hull of the
ship-of-war, black in the cold, white rays of the moon, passed rapidly
up the Elizabeth River. The sunken wrecks were reached, and
successfully avoided; and about nine o'clock the "Pawnee" steamed into
the anchorage of the navy-yard, to be greeted with cheers from the
tars of the "Cumberland" and "Pennsylvania," who expected her arrival.
The townspeople seeing the war-vessel, with ports thrown open, and
black muzzles of the guns protruding, took to their houses, fearing
she would open fire on the town. Quickly the "Pawnee" steamed to her
moorings. The marines were hurriedly disembarked, and hastened to
guard the entrances to the navy-yard. Howitzers were planted so as to
rake every street leading to the yard. Thus secure against attack, the
work of the night began. Nearly two thousand willing hands were set
hard at work, cannon were dismounted and spiked, rifles and muskets
dashed to pieces; great quantities of combustibles were piled up in
the mammoth buildings, ready to be fired at a given signal. In the
mean time, the blue-jackets were not idle. It was quickly decided,
that, of all the magnificent vessels anchored in the harbor, the
"Cumberland" was the only one that could be towed past the
obstructions in the river. All hands were set to work removing every
thing of value from the doomed vessels to the "Cumberland." Gunpowder
and combustibles were then arranged so as to completely destroy the
vessels when ignited. When the moon went down at twelve o'clock, the
preparations were complete. All the men were then taken on board the
"Cumberland" and "Pawnee," save a few who were left to fire the
trains. As the two vessels started from the moorings, the barracks
were fired, the lurid light casting a fearful gleam upon the crowded
yards and shrouds of the towering frigate. A little way out in the
stream a rocket was sent up from the "Pawnee." This was the signal for
the firing of the trains. The scene that followed is thus described by
an eye-witness:--

"The rocket sped high in air, paused a second, and burst in showers of
many colored lights; and, as it did so, the well-set trains at the
ship-houses, and on the decks of the fated vessels left behind, went
off as if lit simultaneously by the rocket. One of the ship-houses
contained the old 'New York,' a ship thirty years on the stocks, and
yet unfinished; the other was vacant. But both houses, and the old
'New York,' burned like tinder. The vessels fired were the
'Pennsylvania,' the 'Merrimac,' the 'Germantown,' the 'Plymouth,' the
'Raritan,' the 'Columbia,' and the 'Dolphin.' The old 'Delaware' and
'Columbus," worn-out and disabled seventy-fours, were scuttled, and
sunk at the upper docks on Friday.

"I need not try to picture the scene of the grand conflagration that
now burst like the day of judgment on the startled citizens of
Norfolk, Portsmouth, and all the surrounding country. Any one who has
seen a ship burn, and knows how like a fiery serpent the flame leaps
from pitchy deck to smoking shrouds, and writhes to their very top
around the masts that stand like martyrs doomed, can form some idea of
the wonderful display that followed. It was not thirty minutes from
the time the trains were fired, till the conflagration roared like a
hurricane, and the flames from land and water swayed and met and
mingled together, and darted high, and fell, and leaped up again, and
by their very motion showed their sympathy with the crackling,
crashing war of destruction beneath.

[Illustration: Destruction of Norfolk Navy-yard.]

"But in all this magnificent scene the old ship 'Pennsylvania' was the
centre-piece. She was a very giant in death, as she had been in life.
She was a sea of flame; and when the iron had entered her soul, and
her bowels were consuming, then did she spout forth from every
porthole of every deck torrents and cataracts of fire, that to the
mind of Milton would have represented her a frigate of hell pouring
out unending broadsides of infernal fire. Several of her guns were
left loaded, but not shotted; and as the fire reached them they sent
out on the startled morning air minute-guns of fearful peal, that
added greatly to the alarm that the light of the fire had spread
through the country round about. The 'Pennsylvania' burned like a
volcano for five hours and a half before her mainmast fell. I stood
watching the proud but perishing old leviathan as this emblem of her
majesty was about to come down. At precisely half-past nine o'clock
the tall tree that stood in her centre tottered and fell, and crushed
deep into her burning sides."

During this fearful scene the people of the little town, and the
Virginia militia-men who had been summoned to take possession of the
navy-yard, were no idle spectators. Hardly had the "Pawnee" steamed
out into the stream, when the great gates were battered down, and
crowds of men rushed in, eager to save whatever arms were uninjured.
Throughout the fire they worked like beavers, and succeeded in saving
a large quantity of munitions of war to be used by the Confederacy.
The ships that had been fired all burned to the water's edge. One was
raised, and re-appeared as the formidable "Merrimac" that at one time
threatened the destruction of the whole Union navy.

A great amount of valuable property was saved for the Virginians by
the coolness of a young boy, the son of one of the citizens of the
town. This lad was within the gates of the navy-yard when the troops
from the ships rushed in, and closed and barricaded them against the
townspeople. He was frightened, and hid himself behind a quantity of
boards and rubbish, and lay there a silent and immensely frightened
spectator of the work of destruction. An officer passed near him
directing the movements of two sailors, who were laying a train of
gunpowder to an immense pile of explosives and combustibles in the
huge granite dry-dock. The train passed over a broad board; and the
boy, hardly knowing what he did, drew away this board, leaving a gap
of eight inches in the train. When all the trains were fired, this was
of course stopped at the gap; and the dry-dock was saved, and still
remains in the Norfolk Navy Yard.




CHAPTER III.

     DIFFICULTIES OF THE CONFEDERATES IN GETTING A NAVY. -- EXPLOIT OF
     THE "FRENCH LADY." -- NAVAL SKIRMISHING ON THE POTOMAC. -- THE
     CRUISE OF THE "SUMTER."


The disparity of maritime importance between the North and the South,
and the consequent difficulties to be overcome by the latter in
getting a navy, have been already alluded to. As it has been stated,
in river-steamers and ponderous rams the South was fairly well
supplied; but what was really needed were ocean-going ships, to break
the rigid blockade that was slowly starving the Confederacy into
submission,--swift cruisers to prey on the commerce of the enemy, and
powerful line-of-battle ships, which, by successfully coping with the
vessels of the United States on the high seas, should secure for the
Confederacy recognition, and possibly assistance, from the great
powers of Europe. But how to get these without shipyards,
shipbuilders, or seamen, was a task that baffled the ingenuity of the
best minds in the South. Immediately upon the organization of the
Confederate cabinet, an agent was sent to England to negotiate for
vessels and guns. But, though this agent was a man of wonderful
resources and great diplomacy, he found an almost insuperable obstacle
in the universally recognized law of nations, to the effect that no
neutral nation shall sell vessels or munitions of war to belligerents.
It is true that this agent, Capt. Bulloch, did succeed in securing
three ships,--the "Florida," the "Shenandoah," and the celebrated
"Alabama;" but to do so cost an immense amount of diplomacy and the
sacrificing of the strength of the vessels to the necessity which
existed for making them appear to be merchantmen. To build an
iron-clad in a foreign port, was out of the question; and consequently
ships so obtained were forced to fly from any well-equipped
war-vessel, and only venture to attack unarmed merchantmen.

[Illustration: The "French Lady."]

The United States vessels which were delivered into the hands of the
Confederates by their officers were mainly small revenue cutters, of
little use in naval warfare and soon given up or destroyed. Not a
single ship of this class made any record of distinguished service for
the Confederacy. Several merchant-vessels were captured by the
Confederates, who concocted the most ingenious plans to secure
success. One bright July morning the steamer "St. Nicholas" was lying
at her dock in Baltimore, with steam up, and all prepared for her
regular trip down the Chesapeake. Quite a large number of passengers
had bought tickets, and lounged about the decks, waiting for the
voyage to begin. Among the passengers were a number of mechanics, with
tools in their hands, going down the bay in search of work. Shortly
before the signal to cast off was given, a carriage was driven down
the wharf, and a lady, heavily veiled, alighted, assisted by two
gentlemen. The gentlemen stated that she was a French lady, and in
ill-health. Accordingly she was at once assigned a stateroom, to which
she retired. Soon after, the vessel cast off and headed down the bay.
When fairly out of the harbor, the stateroom door opened, and instead
of the frail, heavily veiled widow who went in, out strode a
black-whiskered man, armed to the teeth. He had no trouble now in
speaking English, and at once demanded the surrender of the ship. The
honest mechanics dropped their tools, and, drawing concealed weapons,
rallied around their leader. They had found the work they started out
to seek. The ship was captured, and a new privateer was ready to prey
on Northern merchant-ships. Once in the hands of the conspirators, the
vessel was run into a little port where the passengers were landed,
and a hundred and fifty more Confederates taken aboard. Under the
command of Capt. Thomas (the "French lady"), the vessel proceeded to
Fredericksburg, where she, and three brigs captured on the way, were
delivered to the Confederate leaders. This adventure so favorably
terminated, Thomas, with his officers, started back to Baltimore,
to lay plans for the capture of some other unsuspecting craft. But
fortune, which had thus far favored him, deserted him at last. On the
vessel upon which the conspirators took passage were two
police-officers of Baltimore. One of these officers recognized Thomas,
and quietly laid plans for his capture. In the harbor at Baltimore
stands Fort McHenry. Under its frowning casemates the ships of the
United States could lie without fear of attack from the thousands of
discontented men who made of Baltimore a secession city. The captain
of the "Mary Washington" was ordered by Lieut. Carmichael, the officer
of police, to bring the ship into the anchorage, under the guns of the
fort. This soon came to the ears of Thomas, who with his men rallied
on the deck, and, with revolvers drawn, seemed prepared to make a
desperate resistance. They were soon convinced that the officers had
ample power behind them, and therefore submitted. On arriving at the
fort, a company of soldiers was sent aboard the boat, and the
prisoners were marched ashore. But Thomas was not to be found. Search
was made in all parts of the boat, without avail; and the officers had
decided that he had jumped overboard, with the desperate intention of
swimming ashore. Just as they were about to give up the search, a
noise was heard that seemed to come from a bureau in the ladies'
cabin. Search was made, and there, coiled up in a narrow
bureau-drawer, lay the leader of the band. He had been there two
hours, and was helpless from cramp and exhaustion. He was placed in a
cell at Fort Lafayette; but later, having been given the privilege of
walking about the fort, managed to escape by making floats of empty
tomato-cans, and with their aid swimming almost two miles. He was
afterwards recaptured, and remained a prisoner until released by
reason of an exchange of prisoners between the North and South. Soon
after his capture, the Federal authorities at Baltimore learned that
plans had been made to capture other passenger steamers in the same
way; but the ringleader being locked up, there was no difficulty in
defeating the plans of the band.

During the first few weeks of the war, before active hostilities had
fairly commenced, events of this nature were of almost daily
occurrence. On the Potomac particularly, small cruisers were in
continual danger of being captured, and put into commission under the
Confederate flag. A trading schooner loaded with garden-produce,
dropping lazily down the river to the bay, would suddenly be boarded
by four or five armed men, her crew driven below, and the vessel run
into some convenient port on the Virginia shore, to re-appear in a day
or two with a small rifled cannon mounted on the forecastle, and a
crew thirsting to capture more vessels for the Confederacy. On one
occasion a party of congressmen from Washington started down the
Potomac for an excursion to Hampton Roads. Their vessel was a small
tug, which carried a bow-gun carefully screened from observation by
tarpaulin. A short distance down the river, a boat with a howitzer was
seen putting out into the stream, and shaping its course directly
across the bows of the tug. As the two boats drew nearer together, a
demand came from the smaller that the tug should be surrendered "to
the State of Virginia." Apparently yielding, the captain of the tug
slowed up his vessel, and waited for his assailants to come alongside,
which they did until suddenly confronted with the muzzle of a cannon,
trained directly on their boat, and a loud voice demanding that they
surrender at once, which they accordingly did, and were taken to
Washington by their triumphant captors. Many such trivial events are
chronicled by the newspapers of the time. The advantage gained by
either side was small, and the only effect was to keep the war
sentiment at fever-heat.

[Illustration: Blockading the Mouth of the Mississippi.]

The first regularly commissioned man-of-war of the Confederate States
was the "Sumter," an old passenger steamer remodelled so as to carry
five guns. This vessel, though only registering five hundred tons, and
smaller than many a steam-yacht of to-day, roamed over the high seas
at will for more than a year, burning and destroying the
merchant-vessels of the North, and avoiding easily any conflicts with
the Northern men-of-war. Her exploits made the owners of American
merchant-vessels tremble for their property; and the United States
authorities made the most desperate attempts to capture her, but in
vain. In his journal of Dec. 3, 1861, Capt. Semmes of the "Sumter"
writes with the greatest satisfaction: "The enemy has done us the
honor to send in pursuit of us the 'Powhattan,' the 'Niagara,' the
'Iroquois,' the 'Keystone State,' and the 'San Jacinto.'" Any one of
these vessels could have blown the 'Sumter' out of water with one
broadside, but the cunning and skill of her commander enabled her to
escape them all.

It was on the 1st of June, 1861, that the "Sumter" cast loose from the
levee at New Orleans, and started down the Mississippi on her way to
the open sea. For two months workmen had been busy fitting her for the
new part she was to play. The long rows of cabins on the upper deck
were torn down; and a heavy eight-inch shell-gun, mounted on a pivot
between the fore and mainmasts, and the grinning muzzles of four
twenty-four-pounder howitzers peeping from the ports, told of her
warlike character. The great levee of the Crescent City was crowded
with people that day. Now and again the roll of the drum, or the
stirring notes of "Dixie," would be heard, as some volunteer company
marched down to the river to witness the departure of the entire
Confederate navy. Slowly the vessel dropped down the river, and,
rounding the English turn, boomed out with her great gun a parting
salute to the city she was never more to see. Ten miles from the mouth
of the river she stopped; for anchored off the bar below lay the
powerful United States steamer "Brooklyn," with three other
men-of-war, each more than a match for the infant navy of the
Confederacy. Eleven days the "Sumter" lay tugging at her anchors in
the muddy current of the great river, but at last the time of action
arrived. The news came that the "Brooklyn" had started in chase of a
vessel, and the mouth of the river was clear. Quickly the "Sumter" got
under way, and with all steam up made for the channel over the bar.
She was still six miles from the bar when the "Brooklyn" caught sight
of her, and abandoning her first chase strove desperately to head her
off. It was a time of intense excitement. Each vessel was about
equally distant from the bar for which each was steaming at the
highest possible speed. For the "Sumter," it was escape or die. It was
too late to fly up the river to the sheltering guns of Fort St.
Philip. Should the "Brooklyn" get within range, the "Sumter" was
doomed. The "Brooklyn" was the faster vessel of the two, but had the
wind in her teeth; while the "Sumter" had the advantage of wind and
current. At length the pass was reached, and the "Sumter" dashed over
the bar, and out on the smooth blue water of the Gulf of Mexico, well
ahead of her powerful foe. The "Brooklyn" quickly rounded to, and a
quick puff of smoke from amidships told the crew of the flying vessel
that the terrible pivot-gun of their enemy had sent a warning message
after them. But there was but a second of suspense, when a great jet
of water springing from the surface of the gulf told that the bolt had
fallen short. The "Brooklyn" then quickly crowded on all sail, and
started in hot pursuit, but after four hours abandoned the chase, put
up her helm, and started sullenly back for the river's mouth; while
the tars of the "Sumter" crowded shrouds and bulwarks, and cheered
heartily for the navy of the young Confederacy.

The "Sumter" was now fairly embarked on her career. The open sea was
her territory, and all ships floating the stars and stripes at the
masthead were to be her prey. She was not a strong vessel; and her
orders were to avoid any battles with the powerful ships of the
"Yankee" navy, but to seize and destroy all merchantmen that should
come in her way. Her first purpose was to capture these vessels, and
by selling them in neutral ports profit by the prize. But the neutral
nations soon refused to admit all rebel prizes to their ports; and, as
all the ports of the Confederacy were closed by the blockade, nothing
was left but to burn the vessels when captured. Many a floating
bonfire marked the way of the little "Sumter," and great was the
consternation among the ship-owners of the North.

When four days out, the "Sumter" captured her first prize. She was a
fine ship, the "Golden Rocket" of Maine, six hundred and ninety tons.
With the United States flag fluttering at the peak, she came sailing
proudly towards her unsuspected enemy, from whose peak the red flag of
England was displayed as a snare. When the two vessels came within a
mile of each other, the wondering crew of the merchantman saw the
English flag come tumbling down, while a ball of bunting rose quickly
to the peak of the mysterious stranger, and catching the breeze
floated out, showing a strange flag,--the stars and bars of the
Confederacy. At the same minute a puff of smoke from the "Long Tom"
amidships was followed by a solid shot ricochetting along the water
before the dismayed merchantman, and conveying a forcible, but not at
all polite, invitation to stop. The situation dawned on the astonished
skipper of the ship,--he was in the hands of "the Rebels;" and with a
sigh he brought his vessel up into the wind, and awaited the outcome
of the adventure. And bad enough the outcome was for him; for Capt.
Semmes, unwilling to spare a crew to man the prize, determined to set
her on fire. It was about sunset when the first boat put off from the
"Sumter" to visit the captured ship. The two vessels were lying a
hundred yards apart, rising and falling in unison on the slow rolling
swells of the tropic seas. The day was bright and warm, and in the
west the sun was slowly sinking to the meeting line of sky and ocean.
All was quiet and peaceful, as only a summer afternoon in Southern
seas can be. Yet in the midst of all that peace and quiet, a scene in
the great drama of war was being enacted. Nature was peaceful, man
violent.

For a time nothing was heard save the measured thump of the oars in
the rowlocks, as the boats plied to and fro between the two ships,
transporting the captured crew to the "Sumter." Finally the last trip
was made, and the boat hoisted to the davits. Then all eyes were
turned toward the "Golden Rocket." She lay almost motionless, a dark
mass on the black ocean. The sun had long since sunk beneath the
horizon; and the darkness of the night was only relieved by the
brilliancy of the stars, which in those latitudes shine with wondrous
brightness. Soon the watches on the "Sumter" caught a hasty breath. A
faint gleam was seen about the companionway of the "Rocket." Another
instant, and with a roar and crackle, a great mass of flame shot up
from the hatch, as from the crater of a volcano. Instantly the
well-tarred rigging caught, and the flame ran up the shrouds as a
ladder of fire, and the whole ship was a towering mass of flame. The
little band of men on the "Sumter" looked on the terrific scene with
bated breath. Though they fully believed in the justice of their
cause, they could not look on the destruction they had wrought without
feelings of sadness. It was their first act of war. One of the
officers of the "Sumter" writes: "Few, few on board can forget the
spectacle,--a ship set fire to at sea. It would seem that man was
almost warring with his Maker. Her helpless condition, the red flames
licking the rigging as they climbed aloft, the sparks and pieces of
burning rope taken off by the wind, and flying miles to leeward, the
ghastly glare thrown upon the dark sea as far as the eye could reach,
and then the deathlike stillness of the scene,--all these combined to
place the "Golden Rocket" on the tablet of our memories forever." But
it was not long before the crew of the "Sumter" could fire a vessel,
and sail away indifferently, with hardly a glance at their terrible
handiwork.

The "Sumter" continued on her cruise, with varying fortunes. Sometimes
weeks would pass with no prizes to relieve the tedium of the long
voyage. Occasionally she would run into a neutral port for coal or
water, but most of the time was spent on the open sea. The crew were
kept actively employed with drills and exercises; while the officers,
yawning over their books or games, longed for the welcome cry from the
masthead, "Sail ho!" In September the "Sumter" captured a brig, the
"Joseph Park;" and the boarding officer, on examining the log-book,
found an entry made by her captain on the day of leaving Pernambuco:
"We have a tight, fast vessel, and we don't care for Jeff Davis." The
unlucky captain had holloaed long before he was out of the wood.

The "Joseph Park" was the last prize the tars of the "Sumter" had the
pleasure of "looting" for many days. Up and down the tropic seas the
cruiser travelled, loitering about the paths of ocean commerce to no
avail. Often enough the long-drawn hail of the lookout in the
cross-trees, "Sail ho-o-o-o!" would bring the jackies tumbling up from
the forecastle, and set the officers peering anxiously through their
telescopes. But the sails so sighted proved to be English, French,
Spanish, any thing but American; and life aboard the "Sumter" became
as dull as a fisher's where fish are not to be found. In September
Capt. Semmes ran his vessel into a Martinique harbor, to make some
needed repairs, and give the sailors a run ashore. Here they were
blockaded for some time by the United States frigate "Iroquois," but
finally escaped through the cunning of Semmes. Lying in the harbor
near the "Sumter" were two Yankee schooners, whose captains arranged
with the commander of the "Iroquois" to signal him if the "Sumter"
should leave the harbor. If on passing the bar she headed south, a
single red light should gleam at the masthead of the schooner; should
her course lie northward, two lights would be displayed. Semmes, lying
at anchor in the bay, and chafing over his captivity, determined to
break away. He had noticed the frequent communications between the
schooners and the man-of-war, and suspected that his course would be
spied out. Nevertheless, he determined to dare all, and one black
night slipped his cables, and with all lights out, and running-gear
muffled, glided swiftly out of the harbor. In the distance he could
see the lights of the "Iroquois," as she steamed slowly up and down in
the offing, like a sentry on guard. Up in the cross-trees of the
"Sumter" sat a sharp-eyed old quarter-master, with orders not to mind
the "Iroquois," but to keep a close watch on the suspected schooners.
Soon a light gleamed from the maintop of each. Semmes's suspicions
grew. "They have signalled our course," said he: "we'll double." The
ship's head was quickly brought about, and headed south; then all
turned to watch the movements of the "Iroquois." She had headed
northward, and was exerting every power to catch the flying vessel
supposed to be just ahead. Satisfied with having so successfully
humbugged the enemy, the "Sumter" proceeded leisurely on her course to
the southward, leaving the "Iroquois" steaming furiously in the
opposite direction. "I do think, however," writes Capt Semmes in his
log-book, "that a tough old quarter-master, and a grizzled boatswain's
mate, who had clean shaven their heads in preparation for a desperate
fight, were mightily disgusted."

The subsequent career of the "Sumter" was uneventful. She captured but
few more vessels; and in January of the next year ran into the harbor
at Gibraltar, where she was blockaded by a powerful United States
frigate, and finally sold as being worn out. She had been in
commission a little over a year, and in that time had captured
eighteen vessels, burned seven, and released two on a heavy ransom to
be paid to the Confederate Government at the end of the war. It is
needless to say these ransoms were never paid. Capt. Semmes, with his
crew, proceeded to England, and took command of a mysterious ship,
"No. 290," just built at Liverpool, which soon appeared on the high
seas as the dreaded "Alabama."




CHAPTER IV.

     THE POTOMAC FLOTILLA. -- CAPTURE OF ALEXANDRIA. -- ACTIONS AT
     MATTHIAS POINT. -- BOMBARDMENT OF THE HATTERAS FORTS.


In petty skirmishes and in general inactivity the forces of both
contestants idled away the five months following the fall of Fort
Sumter. The defeat of the Union armies at Bull Run had checked active
operations along the Potomac. On either side of the river the hostile
armies were drilling constantly to bring the raw recruits down to the
efficiency of trained soldiers. Four hundred thousand men lay in
hostile camps within sight of each other. From the national Capitol at
Washington the stars and bars of the Confederate flag could be seen
floating over the camp at Arlington. Occasionally the quiet would be
broken by the crack of a rifle, as some straggler, on one side or the
other, took a casual shot at the sentry pacing on the other side of
the broad stream. Sometimes a battery would come driving down to the
shore, select an advantageous spot, and begin an afternoon's target
practice at the hostile camp; but the damage done was immaterial, and
after wasting much powder and shot the recruits would limber up their
guns and return to their camp. It would have been easy, at almost any
time, for either army to have crossed the Potomac and invaded the
territory of the enemy; but each hung back in apparent dread of taking
the first decisive step. Abraham Lincoln at this time illustrated the
existing condition of affairs, by one of those stories which have made
him celebrated as a raconteur. A number of politicians, calling at the
White House, spoke of the apparent inactivity of the army authorities,
and demanded that some decisive move should be made; some powerful
preparations to beat back the enemy should he attempt to cross the
Potomac. "Gentlemen," said Lincoln, with the twinkle in his eye that
always foretold a story, "when I was a boy I saw an incident which I
have always recollected, and which seems to me to resemble very much
the attitude now assumed by the parties in this impending war. My
father owned a dog,--a particularly vicious, aggressive, and
pugnacious bull-terrier,--one of these fellows with heavy, short
necks, and red, squinting eyes, that seem ever to be on the lookout
for a fight. Next door to us lived a neighbor who likewise rejoiced in
the possession of a canine of appearance and habits of mind similar to
our pet. From the date of their first meeting these dogs had been
deadly enemies, and had growled and yelped at each other through the
picket-fence separating the two yards, until we were forced to keep at
least one dog chained continually. The strained relations between the
dogs became a matter of general interest, and speculations were rife
among the neighbors as to the probable outcome of a hostile meeting.
Those were the times when a lively dog-fight would draw the merchant
from his counter, and the blacksmith from his anvil; and it is even on
record that an honorable judge once hurriedly adjourned his court at
the premonitory sounds of snarling in the court-house square. Well,
the knowledge that two dogs, pining for a fight, were being forcibly
restrained, was too much to be borne by the people of the village; and
a plot was concocted for bringing about a fight. One night two pickets
were surreptitiously removed from the fence, leaving an opening of
ample size to permit a dog to pass. In the morning our dog was sunning
himself in the yard, when the neighbor's dog rushed to his side of
the fence, and made remarks not to be borne by any self-respecting
canine. Then began the usual performance of snarls and barks, and
baring of white teeth, as the dogs made frantic efforts to get at each
other. The neighbors assembled in a crowd, and the knowing ones
predicted a lively time when those two dogs found the hole in the
fence. Down the line of the fence the two curs walked, their eyes
glaring, their jaws snapping, their tongues out, and dropping foam.
The racket was tremendous. At each place where the pickets were a
little spread, they redoubled their efforts to clinch. They approached
the opening. The interest of the spectators redoubled. Now they
reached the spot; sprung at each other; their jaws touched,--and each,
dropping his tail, slunk away to his kennel. Gentlemen, the attitude
of these armies reminds me of that dog-fight."

[Illustration: Flag of the Confederacy.]

While the armies of the two contestants were thus idly resting upon
their arms, the navy was obliged to discharge duties, which, while
they brought some danger, did not gain glory for either officers or
men. The joys of Washington society were not for the naval officers.
The applicant for promotion, who, when asked by an examiner, "Where is
the post of a colonel when his regiment is drawn up for battle?"
responded promptly, "In Washington," had been serving in the army, and
not with the naval corps. Besides the duties of the officers detailed
upon the blockading service, there remained to the navy the arduous
task of patrolling the Potomac River, and preventing as far as
possible communication between the shores.

This work, as may be readily understood, demanded the most untiring
vigilance and the most unflagging energy. The shores on each side of
the Potomac are indented with bays and tributary streams in which a
sloop or large row-boat can easily be concealed during the day. At
night it was impossible to prevent boats laden with contraband goods,
or conveying the bearers of secret despatches, slipping across the
river from the northern side, and running into the concealment
afforded by the irregularity of the Virginia shore-line. Even at this
early period of the war, the vigorous blockade of the Confederate
seaports had created a great lack of many necessaries in the Southern
States. Particularly did the lack of quinine afflict the people of
those malarial sections comprised within the limits of the South
Atlantic and Gulf States. So great was the demand for this drug, that
the enormous sums offered for it led many a speculative druggist north
of Mason and Dixon's line to invest his all in quinine, and try to run
it through the Potomac blockade. Of course, as the traffic was carried
on in small boats, it was impossible to break it up altogether; though
by the efforts of the navy it was almost destroyed.

Briefly stated, the duties of the Potomac flotilla may be said to have
been to patrol the river from Washington to its mouth, to inspect both
sides _daily_ if possible, and to observe whether any preparations for
batteries were being made at any point, and watch for any transports
with troops or provisions, and convoy them to Washington. The flotilla
consisted of small vessels, lightly armed; the "Pawnee," the heaviest
of the fleet, being a sloop of less than thirteen hundred tons, with a
battery of fifteen guns, none of long range. Clearly such an armada as
this could be of but little avail against the earthworks which the
Virginians were busily erecting on every commanding bluff.

Toward the later part of May, 1861, the Federal Government determined
to send troops across the river and occupy the city of Alexandria. The
"Pawnee" had for some days been lying off the town, completely
covering it with her batteries. She had held this position without
making any offensive movement; as her commander understood, that, even
should he compel the town to surrender, he had not the men necessary
for holding the position. On the morning of the 24th, Commander Rowan
saw two steamers coming down the river, laden with Federal troops. He
at once sent a boat ashore, and demanded the surrender of the city,
which was immediately evacuated by the Virginian troops. When the army
of occupation landed, it proved to be Ellsworth's famous Zouave
Regiment, made up largely of the firemen and "Bowery boys" of New York
City. Ellsworth, while marching through the streets at the head of his
command, saw a Confederate flag floating from a mast on top of a
dwelling. With two of his men he proceeded to enter the house, go on
the roof, and tear down the flag. As he came down the stairs, a man
carrying a gun stepped from a doorway, and demanded what he did there.
"This is my trophy," cried Ellsworth, flourishing the bit of striped
bunting. "And you are mine," responded the man, quickly bringing his
gun up, and discharging it full into Ellsworth's breast. The two
Zouaves, maddened at the death of their commander, shot the slayer
through the brain, and plunged their bayonets into his body before he
fell. Ellsworth's death created the greatest excitement in the North,
as it was almost the first blood shed in the war. While the capture of
Alexandria was in itself no great achievement, it was of importance as
the first move of the Northern armies into Virginia.

Had the efforts of the navy towards keeping the Potomac clear of
hostile batteries been supplemented by a co-operating land force, an
immense advantage would have been gained at the very outset. As it
was, all that could be done was to temporarily check the exertions of
the enemy. A battery silenced by the guns from the ships in the
daytime could be, and usually was, repaired during the night, and
remained a constant menace to the transports going to or from
Washington. Under such circumstances, the work of the Potomac flotilla
could only be fatiguing and discouraging. Much of it had to be
performed in row-boats; and the crews of the various vessels were kept
rowing up and down the banks of the river, making midnight excursions
up creeks to examine suspected localities, and lying in wait for
smugglers, and the mail-carriers and spies of the enemy. They were in
continual danger of being opened upon by masked batteries and
concealed sharp-shooters. The "prize money," the hope of which cheers
up the man-o'-wars-man in his dreariest hours, amounted to nothing;
for their prizes were small row-boats and worthless river-craft. The
few engagements with the enemies' batteries brought little glory or
success. In one battle on the 29th of May, 1861, a flotilla,
consisting of the "Thomas Freeborn" (a paddle-wheel steamer, carrying
three guns), the "Anacostia," and the "Resolute" (a little craft of
ninety tons and two guns), engaged the batteries at Aquia Creek, and
pounded away with their pygmy guns for two hours, without doing any
visible damage. Two days later the bombardment was renewed, and two of
the vessels were slightly damaged. A more serious event occurred at
Matthias Point in the latter part of June. Matthias Point was one of
the chief lurking-places of the Confederate guerrillas, who, concealed
in the dense undergrowth along the banks of the Potomac, could pour a
destructive fire into any vessels that passed. Commander J. H. Ward of
the "Freeborn" planned to break up this ambush, sending a landing
party to cut away the trees and undergrowth. The landing party,
commanded by Lieut. Chaplin, was to be covered by the guns of the
"Freeborn" and "Reliance." It was late in the afternoon when they
pushed off for the shore. All seemed quiet; and the bursting of the
shells, which were occasionally dropped into the woods, seemed to have
driven the enemy away. Hardly, however, had the sailors begun the work
of hewing down the undergrowth, when from all quarters a hot fire was
begun, driving them to their boats in a rout. The decks of the two
vessels were swept by the storm of lead. Commander Ward, while
sighting the bow-gun of the "Freeborn," was struck in the abdomen by a
bullet, and died in a few minutes. On the shore the sailors were
hurrying into the boats and pushing off to avoid capture. Lieut.
Chaplin acted with great bravery, and succeeded in getting all his men
away, with their muskets. The last man left on the shore was unable to
swim; and Chaplin, taking him on his shoulders, bore him safely to the
boat. Though the fire of the enemy was concentrated on the two,
neither was hurt, although a minie-ball passed through the
lieutenant's cap.

Two months later this same locality was the scene of another bloody
disaster to the Union arms. On the 16th of August the "Resolute" and
the "Reliance" were ordered to make a reconnoissance of the
neighborhood of Matthias Point. After steaming about the shore for
some time, and noticing nothing of a suspicious character, a boat was
seen on the Virginia shore, and an officer and five men despatched to
capture her. They had just reached her, and were in the act of making
fast, when a volley of musketry was fired from the bushes not more
than five yards away, and three of the crew were instantly killed, and
one wounded. The watchers on the war-vessels, lying in the river,
sprang to their guns, and threw several rounds of shell into the cover
that sheltered the enemy, soon driving them away. The two uninjured
men in the boat succeeded in getting her away with her load of dead
and dying.

It is easy to understand how exasperating, how infuriating, such
service as this must have been to the officers and men of the navy.
For a man to risk his life in the heat and excitement of a battle, is
as nothing to the feeling that one may be at any time caught in a
death-trap, and slaughtered in cold blood.

[Illustration: Naval Patrol on the Potomac.]

A more successful expedition was organized in October, by Lieut.
Harrill of the steamer "Union." He had been informed that a large
schooner was lying in Quantico Creek, and that the Confederates were
massing a number of troops there for the purpose of crossing the
river. He at once determined to destroy the schooner. Accordingly he
manned three boats at half-past two in the morning, and in the
darkness proceeded, with muffled oars, toward the mouth of the creek.
Here some difficulty was experienced, as the entrance is narrow and
obstructed by sandbars; but working energetically, and in perfect
silence, the sailors overcame all obstacles. Once in the creek, they
pulled rapidly along within pistol-shot of the shore, until the tall
masts of the schooner could be descried in the darkness. One sentry
was on guard, who fled wildly as he saw the mysterious boat emerge
from the darkness of the night. The grappling-irons were thrown
aboard, and the jackies swarmed nimbly up the sides, and began the
work of destruction. A huge pile of combustibles was made in the
cabin, and hastily set on fire. The flames spread rapidly; and, though
they insured the destruction of the schooner, they also lighted up the
creek, showing the boats with the sailors bending to their oars to
escape the storm of bullets that they knew must follow. The glare of
the burning schooner, the reflection of the flames on the water, the
flash of the rifles from the shores made a wild picture. Occasionally
a flash from the river was followed by a deep boom, as a heavy shot
left the muzzle of a cannon on the steamers. But through it all, the
men escaped; and the projected invasion of the Confederates was
abandoned, owing to the loss of their schooner.

All through the war this untiring patrol of the Potomac was continued.
Among miasmatic vapors and clouds of noxious insects on mud-flats, in
narrow channels whose densely wooded banks might conceal legions of
hostile sharp-shooters, the river navy kept up its work. Earning but
little glory, though in the midst of constant peril, the officers and
men kept up their work, and contributed not a little to the final
outcome of the great conflict.

All this time the officers of the naval vessels, riding at anchor in
Hampton Roads, were chafing under the enforced idleness. Even the
occasional artillery duels with which their army brethren whiled away
the time were denied to the wistful blue-jackets. Beyond an occasional
chase, generally useless, after a fleet blockade-runner, the sailors
had absolutely no employment. At last, however, the opportunity came.
The first great naval expedition of the war was set under way.

From Cape Henry, at the mouth of the James River, the coast of
Virginia and North Carolina sweeps grandly out to the eastward, like a
mammoth bow, with its lower end at Beaufort, two hundred miles south.
Along this coast-line the great surges of mighty ocean, rolling with
unbroken course from the far-off shore of Europe, trip and fall with
unceasing roar upon an almost uninterrupted beach of snowy sand, a
hundred and more miles long. Near the southern end of this expanse of
sand stands a lighthouse, towering solitary above the surrounding
plain of sea and sand. No inviting beacon giving notice to the weary
marines of safe haven is this steady light that pierces the darkness
night after night. It tells of treacherous shoals and roaring
breakers; of the loss of many a good ship, whose ribs, half buried in
the drifting sand, lie rotting in the salt air; of skies ever
treacherous, and waters ever turbulent. It is the light of Hatteras.

Some twenty miles below Cape Hatteras light occurs the first great
opening in the stretch of sand that extends south from Cape Henry.
Once he has passed through this opening; the mariner finds himself in
the most peaceful waters. The great surges of the Atlantic spend
themselves on the sandy fringe outside, while within are the quiet
waters of Pamlico and Albemarle Sounds, dotted with fertile islands,
and bordering a coast rich in harbors. The wary blockade-runner,
eluding the watchfulness of the United States blockaders cruising
outside, had but to pass the portals of Hatteras Inlet, to unload at
his leisure his precious cargo, and load up with the cotton which grew
in great abundance on the islands and fertile shores of the sound.

Recognizing the importance of this harbor, the Confederates had early
in the war fortified the point north of Hatteras Inlet. Shortly after
the fall of Fort Sumter, a Yankee skipper, Daniel Campbell,
incautiously running his schooner the "Lydia Francis" too near the
stormy cape, was wrecked, and sought shelter among the people at the
inlet. When, some days after, he proposed to leave, he was astounded
to find that he had been delivered from the sea only to fall a prey to
the fortunes of war. He was kept a prisoner for three months; and on
his release, going directly to Fortress Monroe, he proved that he had
kept his eyes open to some purpose. He reported to flag-officer
Stringham that the Confederates had two batteries,--one of ten, the
other of five guns,--known as Fort Hatteras and Fort Clark. With these
two forts the Confederates claimed that they could control the
entrance to Albemarle Sound.

[Illustration: The Fleet off Hatteras.]

As soon as this information was received, an expedition for the
destruction of these forts was organized. It was necessarily chiefly
naval, although a land force under Gen. Butler went with the fleet. On
Aug. 25, 1861, Hampton Roads presented a scene of the greatest
activity. The fleet seemed to have awakened from a long sleep. Every
vessel was being hastily prepared for sailing. Two transports, the
"George Peabody" and the "Adelaide," were crowded with the soldiers of
Gen. Butler's command. From the mainmast of the flagship "Minnesota"
waved the signal-flags, changing constantly as different orders were
sent to the commanders of the other warships. At two o'clock three
balls of bunting were run up to the truck, and catching the breeze
were blown out into flags, giving the order, "Get under way at once."
From the surrounding men-of-war came the shrill pipe of the
boatswains' whistle, and the steady tramp of the men at the capstan
bars as they dragged the anchors to the cat-heads. The nimble
blue-jackets, climbing about the shrouds and yards, soon had the snowy
clouds of canvas set. The wind was fresh; and with bands playing, and
cheers of blue-jackets and soldiers, the stately squadron sailed down
the bay.

But none on board, save the superior officers, knew whither the fleet
was bound. Hardly were they fairly on the Atlantic, when the course
was shaped to the southward, and that much was settled. But whether
New Orleans, Charleston, or Beaufort was the point to be attacked, the
sailors did not know.

The squadron which sailed from Hampton Roads consisted of the
war-vessels "Minnesota," "Wabash," "Pawnee," "Monticello," and
"Harriet Lane;" the transports "George Peabody" and "Adelaide;" and
the tug "Fanny." Soon after rounding Cape Henry, the vessels became
separated; and when the other vessels reached Hatteras, on the 27th,
the "Minnesota" and "Wabash" were nowhere to be seen. As these were
the most powerful frigates of the fleet, great fears were felt for the
success of the expedition; but at last they appeared on the horizon. A
place for landing was selected, and the vessels withdrew into the
offing to spend the night. It was determined to begin the attack early
the next day.

The morning dawned clear, with a calm sea. At four o'clock the men
were summoned to breakfast. At seven the operation of landing the
troops was begun. All the surf-boats, barges, and lifeboats in the
fleet were put to the work. The great war-vessels moved into position,
and prepared to cover with a terrific fire the landing of the troops.
The first shot was fired by the "Wabash," and the cannonading was at
once taken up by the rest of the fleet. The vessels were placed so
that a whole broadside could be discharged at once. Thousands of
pounds of iron balls were thrown into the forts. Under cover of the
cannonading, the disembarkation of the troops began.

But the opposition of the enemy was not the only difficulty to be met.
During the time consumed in getting ready to land, heavy banks of
clouds had been crawling up from the horizon, and the soft wind of
morning had grown into a steady blow. Cape Hatteras was true to its
reputation. On the shelving beach, where the troops must land, the
great rollers were breaking in torrents of foam. The first lifeboats
that attempted the landing were swamped, and the soldiers reached the
land wet and chilled through. The surf-boats were stove in. The
barges, which had been relied upon to land men in large numbers,
proved unmanageable, and were towed away by the "Harriet Lane." When
the attempt to land the troops was given up, it was found that but
three hundred and twenty men had been landed. This was too small a
party to storm the forts, and the issue of the battle depended upon
the great guns of the navy.

[Illustration: Attack on the Hatteras Forts.]

By this time the gunners on the ships had calculated the exact range,
and were firing with fearful effect. Broadside followed broadside,
with the regularity of machinery. It was war without its horrors for
the blue-jackets, since bad marksmanship or poor powder prevented the
Confederate gunners doing any damage. On the gun-deck of the superb
frigate "Minnesota," the jackies were working their guns as coolly as
though they were on drill. The operations of loading and firing were
gone through with like clock-work. The officers could watch the course
of the shells until they struck, and instruct the men, without
undergoing any danger.

But in the forts the scene was one of terror. As soon as the gunners
of the fleet had secured the range, the shells began crashing into the
fort, bewildering the untried soldiers, and driving them from their
guns. A shell falling in the fort, and bursting, would sweep clean a
space thirty feet square. It was madness to try to work the guns. All
sought refuge in the bomb proofs, and an occasional shot was all that
showed the presence of any defenders in the forts. Soon the
Confederates decided to abandon Fort Clark, the smaller of the two,
and mass their forces in Fort Hatteras. As a ruse, to check the
bombardment of the ships, the flags on both forts were hauled down.
This was, of course, taken as a token of surrender; and as the
cannonading stopped, and the clouds of gray gunpowder-smoke lifted,
the shrouds of the bombarding squadron were filled with men, and cheer
upon cheer rang out in honor of the victory. Soon the troops occupied
the deserted battery, and the "Monticello" was ordered into the inlet
to take possession of Fort Hatteras. She had proceeded only a little
way, however, when suddenly a heavy fire was opened upon her from the
fort, and at the same time a large body of re-enforcements was seen
approaching from the south. The gunners came down from the shrouds,
stopped cheering, and began their work again. For a time the
"Monticello" was in a dangerous position. In a narrow and unknown
channel, she was forced to retreat slowly, under heavy fire from the
fort, being hit eight times. The heavy fire of the other vessels,
however, soon drove the Confederate gunners from their guns. The
sailors worked untiringly, and seemed enraged by the deceit practised
by the enemy. One man, while sponging out a gun, preparatory to
reloading it, dropped his sponge overboard. Quick as thought he
vaulted the gunwale, and re-appeared on the surface of the water
swimming for the sponge. Recovering it, he in a few moments crawled
dripping through a porthole, to report respectfully to the captain of
the gun: "Just come aboard, sir."

The fort abandoned by the Confederates had been occupied by the troops
that had been landed; and, under cover of the furious bombardment, the
work of landing was vigorously prosecuted. Night came, and with it a
gale so heavy that the vessels had to desert their stations, and
withdraw into the offing. When the morning broke, however, the sea had
calmed sufficiently to allow the gunners to again set about their
terrible work.

The second day's firing was even more accurate than that of the first;
and the gray-coats were soon compelled to retire to the bomb-proofs,
and abandon all attempt to return the fire of the ships. Soon three
shells in rapid succession burst close to the magazine of the fort,
telling plainly to the affrighted defenders that nothing was left for
them but surrender. A white flag was raised, and Commodore Barron went
off to the fleet to formally surrender the forts and the eight hundred
men of his command. When the terms were concluded, the defeated
soldier turned to flag-officer Stringham, and asked if the loss of
life on the ships had been very large. "Not a man has been injured,"
was the response. "Wonderful!" exclaimed the questioner. "No one could
have imagined that this position could have been captured without
sacrificing thousands of men." But so it was. Without the loss of a
man, had fallen a most important post, together with cannon,
provisions, and nearly seven hundred men.




CHAPTER V.

     THE "TRENT" AFFAIR. -- OPERATIONS IN ALBEMARLE AND PAMLICO
     SOUNDS. -- DESTRUCTION OF THE CONFEDERATE FLEET.


Early in the war an event occurred which for a time seemed likely to
bring England to the aid of the Confederates. The Confederate
Government had appointed as diplomatic commissioners to England two
gentlemen, Messrs. Mason and Slidell. They had escaped from Mobile on
a fleet blockade-runner, and reached Havana, where they remained a
week waiting for the regular English packet to convey them to
Liverpool. While in Havana they were lavishly entertained by the
colony of Confederate sympathizers there; and feeling perfectly safe,
now that they were outside the jurisdiction of the United States, they
made no attempt to conceal their official character, and boasted of
the errand upon which they were sent.

The United States frigate "San Jacinto," which was one of the many
vessels kept rushing about the high seas in search of the privateer
"Sumter," happened to be in the harbor of Havana at this time. She was
commanded by Capt. Wilkes, an officer who had made an exhaustive study
of international law, particularly as bearing upon the right of a
war-vessel to search a vessel belonging to a neutral nation. Capt.
Wilkes, knowing that by capturing the Confederate commissioners, he
could win for himself the applause of the entire North, determined to
make the attempt. By a study of his books bearing on international
law, he managed to convince himself that he was justified in stopping
the British steamer, and taking from it by force the bodies of Messrs.
Mason and Slidell. Accordingly he set sail from the harbor of Havana,
and cruised up and down at a distance of more than a marine league
from the coast, awaiting the appearance of the vessel. Five days after
the "San Jacinto's" departure, the commissioners set sail in the
British mail-steamer "Trent." She was intercepted in the Bahama
Channel by the "San Jacinto." When the man-of-war fired a blank
cartridge as a signal to heave to, the commander of the "Trent" ran
the British flag to the peak, and continued, feeling secure under the
emblem of neutrality. Then came a more peremptory summons in the shape
of a solid shot across the bows; and, as the incredulous captain of
the "Trent" still continued his course, a six-inch shell was dropped
within about one hundred feet of his vessel. Then he stopped. A boat
put off from the "San Jacinto," and made for the "Trent." Up the side
of the merchant-vessel clambered a spruce lieutenant, and demanded the
immediate surrender of the two commissioners. The captain protested,
pointed to the flag with the cross of St. George waving above his
head, and invoked the power of her Britannic majesty,--all to no
avail. The two commissioners had retired to their cabins, and refused
to come out without being compelled by actual force. The boat was sent
back to the "San Jacinto," and soon returned with a file of marines,
who were drawn up with their muskets on the deck of the "Trent." Every
British ship which carries mails carries a regularly commissioned
officer of the navy, who is responsible for them. This officer on the
"Trent" was somewhat of a martinet, and his protests at this violation
of the rights of a neutral vessel were very vigorous. When the first
gun was fired, he rushed below, and soon re-appeared in all the
resplendent glory of gold lace and brass buttons which go to make up a
naval uniform. He danced about the deck in an ecstasy of rage, and
made the most fearful threats of the wrath of the British people. The
passengers too became excited, and protested loudly. Every thing
possible was done by the people of the "Trent" to put themselves on
record as formally protesting. Nevertheless, the commissioners were
taken away, carried to New York, and from there sent into confinement
at Fort Warren.

When the news of this great achievement became known, Wilkes was made
the lion of the hour. Unthinking people met and passed resolutions of
commendation. He was tendered banquets by cities. He was elected a
member of learned societies in all parts of the country, and was
generally eulogized. Even the Secretary of the Navy, who should have
recognized the grave troubles likely to grow out of this violation of
the principles of neutrality, wrote a letter to Capt. Wilkes, warmly
indorsing his course, and only regretting that he had not captured the
steamer as well as the two commissioners.

But fortunately we had wiser heads in the other executive departments
of the government. President Lincoln and Secretary Seward quickly
disavowed the responsibility for Wilkes's action. Letters were written
to the United States minister in England, Charles Francis Adams,
alluding to the proceeding as one for which Capt. Wilkes as an
individual was alone responsible. And well it was that this attitude
was taken: for hardly had the news reached England, when with one
voice the people cried for war. Sympathizing with the South as they
undoubtedly did, it needed but this insult to the British flag to
rouse the war spirit of the nation. Transports loaded with troops were
immediately ordered to Canada; the reserves were called out; the
ordnance factories were set running day and night; while the press of
the nation, and the British minister at Washington, demanded the
immediate release of the captives, and a full apology from the United
States.

The matter was conducted on this side with the utmost diplomacy. We
were undoubtedly in the wrong, and the only thing was to come out with
as little sacrifice of national dignity as possible. The long time
necessary for letters to pass between this country and England was an
important factor in calming the people. Minister Adams said, that, had
the Atlantic cable then been in operation, nothing could have
prevented a war. In the end the demands of Great Britain were acceded
to, and the commissioners proceeded on their way. The last note of the
diplomatic correspondence was a courteous letter from President
Lincoln to the British minister, offering to allow the British troops
_en route_ for Canada to land at Portland, Me., and thus avoid the
long winter's march through New Brunswick. The peaceful settlement of
the affair chagrined the Confederates not a little, as they had hoped
to gain Great Britain as a powerful ally in their fight against the
United States.

Soon after the capture of the forts at Hatteras Inlet, the authorities
of the Union again turned their attention in that direction, with the
result of sending the Burnside expedition to Albemarle Sound.

The coast of North Carolina is honeycombed with rivers, inlets, and
lagoons, which open into the two broad sounds known as Pamlico and
Albemarle, and which are protected from the turbulence of the Atlantic
by the long ridge of sand which terminates at Cape Hatteras. While the
capture of the Hatteras forts had given the Union authorities control
of Hatteras Inlet, the chief entrance to the sounds, yet the long,
narrow island was broken by other lesser inlets of a size sufficient
to permit the passage of light-draught steamers. The Confederates had
quite a fleet of swift, light vessels of insignificant armament, often
only a single gun, with which they occasionally made a descent upon
some coaster or merchantman, running close inshore, and dragged her in
as a prize. With these swift steamers, too, they effectually
controlled all navigation of the sounds. But the greatest advantage
that they derived from their control of the sounds was the vast
facilities given them for constructing, at their leisure, powerful
iron-clads in some of the North Carolina shipyards; then sending them
to reduce the Hatteras forts, and so out into the Atlantic to fight
for the destruction of the blockade. All these conditions were clear
to the authorities of the Union; and therefore, in the early part of
January, 1862, a joint military and naval expedition was fitted out
for operation against the Confederate works and steamers in these
inland waters. It was in the early days of the war; and the flotilla
was one of those heterogeneous collections of remodelled
excursion-steamers, tugs, ferry-boats, and even canal-boats, which at
that time was dignified with the title of "the fleet." In fitting out
this expedition two very conflicting requirements were followed. In
the most favorable circumstances, the channel at Hatteras Inlet is
seldom over seven and a half feet: consequently the vessels must be of
light draught. But the Confederate steamers in the sounds carried
heavy rifled cannon, and the armament of the forts on Roanoke Island
was of the heaviest: therefore, the vessels must carry heavy guns to
be able to cope with the enemy. This attempt to put a heavy armament
on the gun-deck made the vessels roll so heavily as to be almost
unseaworthy.

[Illustration: Shores of Albemarle Sound.]

In addition to the armed vessels belonging to the navy, a number of
transports accompanied the expedition, bearing the army corps under
the command of Gen. Burnside; and the whole number of craft finally
assembled for the subjugation of the North Carolina sounds was one
hundred and twenty. This heterogeneous assemblage of vessels was sent
on a voyage in the dead of winter, down a dangerous coast, to one of
the stormiest points known to the mariner. Hatteras was true to its
reputation; and, when the squadron reached the inlet, a furious
north-easter was blowing, sending the gray clouds scudding across the
sky, and making the heavy rollers break on the beach and the bar in a
way that foretold certain destruction, should any hardy pilot attempt
to run his ship into the narrow and crooked inlet. Outside there was
no safe anchorage, and the situation of the entire squadron was most
precarious. Several serious mishaps occurred before the vessels got
into the small and altogether insufficient harbor between the seaward
bar and the "bulkhead" or inner bar. The first vessel to come to grief
was one of the canal-boats laden with hay, oats, and other stores. She
was without any motive power, being towed by a steam-tug, and, getting
into the trough of the sea, rolled and sheered so that she could not
be towed. The heavy rolling started her seams, and it was soon evident
that she was sinking. With the greatest caution a boat was lowered
from one of the steamers, and put off to rescue the crew of the
foundering craft. Laboriously the sailors worked their way through the
tossing sea to the lee side of the "Grape-shot," and after much
difficulty succeeded in taking off all on board, and the return trip
was commenced. All went well until the boat came under the lee of the
steamer, and the men were about to clamber up the sides. Suddenly an
immense sea lifted the vessel high in the air; and in an instant the
boat was swamped, and the men were struggling in the icy water. All
were ultimately saved, but it was with the greatest difficulty. The
"Grape-shot," left to her fate, went ashore some fourteen miles above
Hatteras. Her cargo served some practical use, after all; for some
horses from the wreck of the "Pocahontas" managed to reach the shore,
and kept themselves alive by munching the water-soaked hay and oats.

The "Pocahontas" was one of the steamers chartered by the war
department as a horse transport. Her actions during this gale furnish
a fair illustration of the manner in which the Government was often
deluded into purchasing almost valueless ships. She started with the
Burnside expedition from Hampton Roads, freighted with one hundred
and thirteen horses. As soon as the gale off Hatteras came on, she
began to show signs of unseaworthiness. First the boilers gave way,
loosened from their places by the heavy rolling of the ship. All
progress had to be stopped until they were patched up. Then down fell
the grates, extinguishing the fires. Then the steering-gear was
broken; and, getting into the trough of the sea, she rolled until her
smokestack broke its moorings and fell over. Finally she sprung a leak
and was run ashore. The crew were all saved, but for a long time their
chances for life seemed small indeed. Ninety of the horses were lost,
some having been thrown overboard ten miles from the land. Others were
left tied in their stalls, to perish when the ship went to pieces in
the breakers. Those that were thrown overboard near the beach swam
ashore through breakers in which no boat nor man could live, and,
finding the waste and wreckage from the cargo of the "Grape-shot,"
lived for days on the hay and oats, soaked with sea-water though they
were.

For two days this gale continued. The outlook for the fleet seemed
hopeless. The inner bar of the harbor was absolutely impassable.
Between the outer bar and the inner were packed seventy vessels. This
space, though called a harbor, was almost unsheltered. Crowded with
vessels as it was, it made an anchorage only less dangerous than that
outside. Although the vessels were anchored, bow and stern, the
violence of the sea was such that they frequently crashed into each
other, breaking bulwarks, spars, and wheel-houses, and tearing away
standing-rigging. A schooner breaking from its anchorage went tossing
and twirling through the fleet, crashing into vessel after vessel,
until finally, getting foul of a small steamer, dragged it from its
moorings; and the two began a waltz in the crowded harbor, to the
great detriment of the surrounding craft. At last the two runaways
went aground on a shoal, and pounded away there until every seam was
open, and the holds filled with water.

A strange mishap was that which befell the gunboat "Zouave." She was
riding safely at anchor, remote from other ships, taking the seas
nobly, and apparently in no possible danger. Her crew occupied
themselves in going to the assistance of those in the distressed
vessels, feeling that their own was perfectly safe. But during the
night, the tide being out, the vessel was driven against one of the
flukes of her own anchor; and as each wave lifted her up and dropped
her heavily on the sharp iron, a hole was stove in her bottom,
sinking her so quickly that the crew took to the boats, saving
nothing.

But the most serious disaster was the total wreck of the "City of New
York," a large transport, with a cargo of ordnance stores valued at
two hundred thousand dollars. Unable to enter the inlet, she tried to
ride out the gale outside. The tremendous sea, and the wind blowing
furiously on shore, caused her to drag her anchors; and those on board
saw certain death staring them in the face, as hour by hour the ship
drifted nearer and nearer to the tumbling mass of mighty breakers,
that with an unceasing roar, and white foam gleaming like the teeth of
an enraged lion, broke heavily on the sand. She struck on Monday
afternoon, and soon swung around, broadside to the sea, so as to be
helpless and at the mercy of the breakers. Every wave broke over her
decks. The condition of her crew was frightful. In the dead of winter,
the wind keen as a razor, and the waves of icy coldness, the body soon
became benumbed; and it was with the greatest effort that the men
could cling to the rigging. So great was the fury of the wind and
waves, that no assistance could be given her. For a boat to venture
into that seething caldron of breakers would have been throwing away
lives. So the crew of the doomed ship were left to save themselves as
best they might. The night passed away, and Tuesday morning saw the
gale still blowing with unabated force. Hoping to lessen the strain on
the hull, they cut away the foremast. In falling, it tore away the
pipes, and the vessel became a perfect wreck. Numbed with cold, and
faint for lack of food, the crew lashed themselves to the bulwarks and
rigging; and so, drenched by the icy spray, and chilled through by the
wind, they spent another fearful night. The next day the fury of the
storm seemed to have somewhat abated. The sea was still running high,
and breaking over the almost unrecognizable hulk stranded on the
beach. With the aid of a glass, sailors on the other ships could see
the inanimate forms of the crew lashed to the rigging. It was
determined to make a vigorous attempt to save them. The first boat
sent out on the errand of mercy was watched eagerly from all the
vessels. Now it would be seen raised high on the top of some
tremendous wave, then, plunging into the trough, it would be lost from
the view of the anxious watchers. All went well until the boat reached
the outermost line of the breakers, when suddenly a towering wave,
rushing resistlessly along, broke directly over the stern, swamping
the boat, and drowning seven of the crew. Again the last hope seemed
lost to the exhausted men on the wreck. But later in the day, the sea
having gone down somewhat, a steam-tug succeeded in reaching the wreck
and rescuing the crew. The second engineer was the last man to leave
the ship. He remained lashed to the mast until all were taken on the
tug. Then, climbing to the top-mast, he cut down the flag that had
waved during those two wild days and nights, and bore it safely away.

After this gale died away, the work of getting the squadron over the
inner bar was begun. It was a tremendous task. Many of the ships drew
too much water for the shallow channel, and it was necessary to remove
large parts of their cargoes. The bar, which is known as Buckhead
Shoal, was an expanse of quicksand a mile wide, with a tortuous
channel ever changing with the shifting sands. Many of the ships
stranded, and the tugs were constantly busy in towing them off.
Scarcely would one be safely afloat, than another would "bring up all
standing" on some new shoal. Two weeks elapsed before all the vessels
were safe within the landlocked sound. They were none too soon; for
hardly had the last vessel crossed the bar, than the black gathering
clouds, the murky, tossing sea, and the foaming billows breaking on
the bar, foretold another of the storms for which Cape Hatteras is
famed. Through the storm a queer-looking craft was seen approaching
the fleet. It was found to be a boat-load of escaping slaves, who had
put to sea at random, feeling sure of finding "de Yankees" somewhere.
From these men much valuable information was obtained.

Up to this time no one in the fleet, excepting the superior officers,
was informed as to the exact destination of the expedition. Now as the
signal to get under way blew out from the foremast of the flagship,
and as the prow of the leading vessel was turned to the northward, all
knew, and all cried, "Roanoke Island." This island was heavily
fortified by the Confederates, and from its position was a point of
considerable strategic importance. It guards the entrance to Pamlico
Sound from Albemarle Sound, and into Pamlico Sound open great bays and
rivers that penetrate far into the interior of Virginia and North
Carolina. On this island the Confederates had erected three forts of
formidable strength. These forts commanded the channel through which
the vessels would have to pass; and to make the task doubly dangerous,
the channel was obstructed with sharpened piles and sunken hulks, so
as to be apparently impassable. Beyond the obstructions was the
Confederate fleet, which, though insignificant compared with the
attacking squadron, was formidable in connection with the forts. It
was the task of the invaders to capture these forts, and destroy the
fleet.

It was on Feb. 5 that the squadron prepared to leave its moorings at
Hatteras Inlet. It was an imposing spectacle. The flagship
"Philadelphia" led the naval squadron, which advanced with the
precision of a body of troops. Behind, with less regularity, came the
army transports. About one hundred vessels were in the three columns
that moved over the placid waters of the sound toward the forts. It
was five in the afternoon of a short February day that the fleet came
in sight of the forts. Signals were made for the squadron to form in a
circle about the flagship. The early darkness of winter had fallen
upon the scene. The waters of the sound were smooth as a mill-pond.
From the white cottages on the shore gleamed lights, and brilliant
signal-lanterns hung in the rigging of the ships. Through the fleet
pulled swift gigs bearing the commanders of the different vessels.

The morning dawned dark and rainy. At first it was thought that the
fog and mist would prevent the bombardment, but all doubt was put at
an end by the signal, "Prepare for action," from the flagship. The
drums beat to quarters, and soon the guns were manned by sailors
stripped to the waist. The magazines were opened; and the surgeons
cleared away the cock-pits, and spread out their glistening
instruments ready for their work.

The fleet got under way, and stood up the channel almost to the point
where the obstructions were planted. Beyond these were the gunboats of
the enemy. The cannonade was begun without loss of time. A portion of
the fleet began a vigorous fire upon the Confederate gunboats, while
the others attacked the forts. The gunboats were soon driven away, and
then the forts received the entire fire. The water was calm, and the
aim of the gunners was admirable. The forts could hardly respond to
the fire, since the great shells, plunging by hundreds into the
trenches, drove the men from their guns into the bomb-proof casemates.
The officers of the ships could watch with their glasses the effect of
every shell, and by their directions the aim of the gunners was made
nearly perfect.

While the bombarding was going on, Gen. Burnside set about landing his
troops near the southern end of the island. The first boat was fired
upon by soldiers concealed in the woods. The "Delaware" instantly
pitched a few shells into the woods from which the firing proceeded,
and in a few minutes the enemy could be seen running out like rats
from a burning granary. The landing then went on unimpeded. The boats
were unable to get up to the bank, owing to shoal water; and the
soldiers were obliged to wade ashore in the icy water, waist-deep, and
sinking a foot more in the soft mud of the bottom.

The bombardment was continued for some hours after nightfall. A night
bombardment is a stirring scene. The passionate and spiteful glare of
the cannon-flashes; the unceasing roar of the explosions; the demoniac
shriek of the shells in the air, followed by their explosion with a
lightning flash, and crash like thunder; the volumes of gray smoke
rising upon the dark air,--make up a wonderful and memorable sight.

In the morning the bombardment was recommenced, and the work of
landing troops went on. Eight gunboats were sent to tear away the
obstructions in the channel; and there beneath the guns of the enemy's
fleet, and the frowning cannon of the forts, the sailors worked with
axe and ketch until the barricade was broken, and the eight ships
passed to the sound above the forts. In the mean time, the troops on
the island began the march against the forts. There were few paths,
and they groped their way through woods and undergrowth, wading
through morasses, and tearing their way through tangled thickets to
get at the enemy's front. The advance was slow, but steady, until the
open field before the forts was reached; then a change was ordered,
led by the famous Hawkins Zouaves, who rushed madly upon the fort,
shouting their war cry of _Zou, zou, zou!_ Like a resistless flood the
attackers poured over the earthworks, and the frightened defenders
fled. Before five o'clock the entire island was in the hands of the
troops, and the fleet had passed the barricade. During the bombardment
the vessels sustained severe injuries. An act of heroism which made
the hero celebrated was that of John Davis, gunner's mate on board the
"Valley City." A shell entered the magazine of that ship, and
exploded, setting the woodwork on fire. An open barrel of gunpowder
stood in the midst of the flames, with sparks dropping about it. At
any moment an explosion might occur which would shatter the vessel to
fragments. Men shrank back, expecting every moment to be their
last. With wonderful presence of mind Davis threw himself across the
open end of the barrel, and with his body covered the dangerous
explosive until the fire was put out.

[Illustration: Contrabands escaping to Fleet.]

As soon as the stars and stripes were hoisted on the flagstaffs of the
forts, the Confederate fleet, which had been maintaining a desultory
fire, fled up the sound, after setting fire to one schooner which had
become hopelessly crippled in the battle. She blazed away far on into
the night, and finally, when the flames reached her magazine, blew up
with a tremendous report, seeming like a final involuntary salute paid
by the defeated enemy to the prowess of the Union arms. When quiet
finally settled down upon the scene, and Gen. Burnside and Commander
Goldsborough counted up their gains, they found that six forts,
twenty-five hundred prisoners, and forty-two great guns had fallen
into the hands of the victors. The Union loss was forty killed and two
hundred wounded.

The next day was Sunday. It was considered highly important that the
success of the day before should be vigorously followed up; and an
expedition of fourteen vessels, under Capt. Rowan, was ordered to
follow the retreating Confederate fleet and destroy it. The flying
squadron was chased as far as Elizabeth City on the Pasquotauk River.
Here night overtook the pursuers; and they came to anchor at the mouth
of the stream, effectually cutting off all hope of retreat. The
Confederates in the vessels lying off the town passed an anxious
night. Outnumbered two to one by the pursuing vessels, they saw no
hope of a successful resistance. With a courage which in view of the
facts seems to be almost foolhardy, they determined to stick to their
ships, and fight to the death. The feelings of the inhabitants of the
town were hardly less gloomy. So thoroughly impregnable had they
considered the forts at Roanoke Island, that they had made absolutely
no preparations for defence; and now they found their homes upon the
eve of capture. The victorious army had not yet had an opportunity to
show the merciful way in which the inhabitants of captured cities were
treated throughout the war; and the good people of Elizabeth City may
be excused for fearing, that, with the destruction of their fleet,
they were to be delivered into the merciless hands of a lawless enemy.

Morning dawned bright and clear. With the greatest deliberation the
preparations for action were made on the attacking vessels. It was
discovered, that, owing to the continuous firing during the Roanoke
Island engagement, but twenty rounds of ammunition per gun were left
to each vessel. It was accordingly ordered that no long-distance
firing should be done; but each vessel should dash at the enemy, run
him down if possible, and then board and fight it out, hand to hand.
Early in the morning the fleet started up the river. The enemy's fleet
was soon sighted, lying behind the guns of a small battery on Cobb's
Point. When within long range, battery and vessels opened a tremendous
fire with eighty-pound rifles. The approach of the squadron continued
until when within three-quarters of a mile the signal was flung out
from the mast of the flagship, "Dash at the enemy." Then full speed
was put on, and firing commenced from bow-guns. The Confederates
became totally demoralized. The battery was abandoned when the first
vessel poured her broadside into it as she passed. Before the enemy's
fleet was reached, many of his vessels were fired and abandoned. The
United States steamship "Perry" struck the "Sea-Bird" amidships,
sinking her so quickly that the crew had scarce time to escape. The
crew of the "Delaware" boarded the "Fanny," sabering and shooting her
defenders until they fled over the side into the water. The victory
was complete and overwhelming. Three or four of the victorious vessels
at once proceeded to the town, where they found the enemy in full
retreat and compelling the inhabitants to set fire to their houses.
This was quickly stopped, and the invaders became the protectors of
the conquered people.

The power of the Confederates in this part of the country being so
effectually destroyed, the navy was divided into small detachments and
sent cruising up the lagoons and rivers opening into the North
Carolina sounds, merely to show the people the power of the United
States Government, and to urge them to cease their resistance to its
authority. Three vessels were sent to Edenton. As they came abreast of
the village, a company of mounted artillery precipitately fled. A
detachment of marines sent ashore found a number of cannon which they
destroyed, and a nearly completed schooner to which they set fire.
Other small places were visited, generally without any opposition
being encountered.

A somewhat larger force was sent to a small town named Winton, as it
had been rumored that a force of Union men were there disputing the
authority of the Confederate Government, and the navy wished to go to
their assistance. The "Delaware" and "Hudson," in advance of the
squadron, came within sight of the landing and warehouses of Winton
about four in the afternoon. The town itself was hidden from the view
of the vessels by a high bluff. It was a clear, quiet afternoon, and
all seemed peaceful. The long wharf, running out into the stream, was
deserted by all save a negro woman, who, roused from her occupation of
fishing, gazed inquisitively at the strange vessels. The place looked
like a commercial port going to seed on account of the blockade. The
two vessels proceeded on their way unmolested, ranging past the wharf,
and apprehending no danger. Suddenly from the woods on the bluff a
terrific fire was poured upon the vessels. The negress, having served
her end as a decoy, fled hastily to shelter. The bluffs seemed to be
held by two batteries of light artillery and a considerable force of
armed men. Fortunately the aim of the artillery men was bad, and the
vessels sustained no severe damage. Still, they were in a precarious
position. The "Delaware" was too near to bring her battery to bear,
and was obliged to turn slowly in the narrow channel. The "Perry,"
more fortunately situated, opened at once on the enemy with shrapnel.
But the contest was unequal, and the two vessels were forced to
retreat down the river about seven miles, there to await the remainder
of the squadron.

Two days after, the flotilla began the advance up the river, shelling
the town as they ascended. Once opposite the town, the troops were
landed, and the Hawkins Zouaves soon had possession of the bluff and
town. Knapsacks, ammunition, and muskets in considerable quantity fell
into the hands of the victors; and, after burning the barracks of the
enemy, the squadron returned to the base of operations at Roanoke
Island.




CHAPTER VI.

     REDUCTION OF NEWBERN. -- EXPLOITS OF LIEUT. CUSHING. --
     DESTRUCTION OF THE RAM "ALBEMARLE."


After the destruction of the Confederate flotilla at Elizabeth City,
and the affair at Winton, the Union fleet remained quietly at anchor
off Roanoke Island, or made short excursions up the little rivers
emptying into the sounds. Over a month passed in comparative inaction,
as the ships were awaiting supplies and particularly ammunition. When
finally the transports from New York arrived, and the magazines of the
war-vessels were filled with shot and shell and gunpowder, they again
turned their attention to the enemy. The victories already won had
almost driven the Confederates from that part of North Carolina which
borders on the sounds. Roanoke Island, Elizabeth City, Edenton, and
Plymouth had one after the other yielded to the persuasive eloquence
of the ship's cannon, and there was left to the Confederates only one
fort,--Newbern, on the River Neuse. As a city Newbern is
insignificant; but as a military post it was of a good deal of
importance, and the Confederates had made active preparations for its
defence.

It was on the 12th of March, 1862, that Commander Rowan started from
Hatteras Inlet with a flotilla of thirteen vessels, and army
transports bearing three thousand men. The long column steamed down
the placid waters of Pamlico Sound, and, turning into the Neuse
River, anchored about fifteen miles below the city. Although the night
before the battle, and within sight of the white steeples of the
menaced city, all was quiet and peaceful. The banks of the broad
stream were densely wooded, and from them could be heard at times the
cry of the whip-poor-will, or the hoot of the night-owl. The vessels
were anchored far out in the middle of the stream, so as to avoid the
deadly bullets of any lurking sharp-shooters. The lookouts kept a
close watch for floating torpedoes; while the sailors off duty spun
their yarns in the forecastle, and bet pipes and tobacco on the result
of the coming battle. The jolly tars of the Burnside expedition had
hardly yet learned that war was a serious matter. They had met with
but little serious resistance, had captured powerful forts without
losing a man, had chased and destroyed the Confederate fleet without
any serious damage to their own, and felt, accordingly, that war was a
game in which it was their part always to win, and the part of the
enemy to run away. Certainly the fight at Newbern did nothing to
dispel this idea.

When morning broke, the shrill piping of the boatswain's whistle
brought the crew to their places on deck. Breakfast was served, and
leisurely eaten; for it is one of the established theories of the
navy, that sailors can't fight on empty stomachs. Breakfast over, the
work of landing the troops was begun. The point chosen was a broad
beach fringed with woods near the anchorage of the vessels. Before
landing the troops, the ships threw a few shells into the woods, to
make certain that they concealed no ambuscade, as in the disastrous
affair at Matthias Point. After two dozen shells had burst, mowing
down trees, and driving out frightened animals in plenty, but no
sharp-shooters, the long-boats put off from the transports bearing the
soldiers for the land attack. As soon as six or seven hundred were
landed, they formed in column, and moved rapidly up the beach. The
others followed as rapidly as they could be put on shore. The gunboats
steamed slowly up the river, keeping abreast of the troops, and
throwing shells into the woods ahead of the attacking column. Had any
Confederates prepared to resist the march, they must have been driven
out of the forest before the Federals came within musket-range. Not an
atom of resistance was made. The plans of the invaders seemed
irresistible. About half-past four in the afternoon, a puff of smoke
rose from the river-bank far ahead of the leading vessel, and in a few
seconds a heavy shell plunged into the water a hundred yards ahead of
the flotilla. The enemy was getting awake to the situation. The
gunboats soon returned the fire, and the cannonading was continued at
long range, without damage to either side, until sundown, when the
troops went into camp, and the vessels chose an anchorage near by.

At daylight the next morning, the advance was resumed. The day was so
foggy that the usual signals between the vessels could not be seen,
and orders from the flagship had to be carried by boat. The fleet
proceeded up the river; and, when the fog lifted, the ramparts of Fort
Dixie--the one that had fired on them the night before--were visible.
A vigorous bombardment was at once begun; but the fort failed to
reply, and a storming-party sent ashore found it empty. Hoisting the
stars and stripes above the deserted bastions, the ships went on. Soon
they reached Fort Ellis. Here the firing was sharp on both sides. The
fort was a powerful earthwork, well armed with rifles ranging from
thirty-two to eighty pounders. The Confederates did but little damage
with their guns; their aim being bad for want of practice, and their
powder of poor quality. Still, they fought on with great courage until
a shell from the "Delaware" burst in the magazine, firing the powder
there, and hurling the fort, with large numbers of its brave
defenders, high in the air. This ended the fight with Fort Ellis, and
the fleet continued its way up the river.

[Illustration: Flag of South Carolina.]

Shortly after passing Fort Ellis, two rows of obstructions were met in
the channel. The lower barrier was composed of a series of piles
driven into the river-bottom, and cut off below the water; back of
these came a row of pointed and iron tipped piles pointing down stream
at such an angle as to be likely to pierce the hull of any vessel that
should run upon them. Entwined about these piles was a cable
connecting with thirty powerful torpedoes. That any vessel could
pierce such a barrier seems almost incredible; yet all the vessels of
the flotilla passed, and but two were seriously injured. One of the
sharp iron piles drove through the bottom of the "Barney," sending the
crew to the pumps, and the carpenter down into the hold with his
felt-covered plugs. But her damages were quickly repaired, and she
went on with the rest of the fleet. Right under the guns of Fort
Thompson the second line of obstructions was encountered. It consisted
of a line of sunken vessels closely massed, and a _cheval-de-frise_ of
stakes and logs, that blocked the entire river, save a small passage
close in shore under the guns of the battery. Here was more hard work
for the sailors; but they managed to creep through, and ranging up in
line, broadside to Fort Thompson, they opened a vigorous cannonade
upon that work. The condition of the garrison of the fort was
desperate. The troops that had marched up the beach abreast of the
vessels began a vigorous attack on the landward face of the fort,
while the vessels in the river kept up a vigorous fire on the
water-front. Soon the gunners of the fort were called away from the
river-front to meet the hot assault of the soldiers on the land; and,
as the conflict grew close, the ships ceased firing, lest their shell
should mow down foe and friend alike. Leaving the enemy to the
attention of the soldiery, the ships proceeded up the river past two
deserted forts that gave no answer to vigorous shelling. Just as the
last vessel was passing Fort Thompson, the attacking troops, with a
cheer, rushed upon the ramparts; and in a minute the stars and stripes
were fluttering from the flagstaff. This was the last resistance
encountered, and at two P.M. the victors were in full possession of
the city. The war ships sped up the river after three Confederate
steamers that were endeavoring to escape, and soon captured them. One
was run ashore and burned, while the other two were added to the
conquering fleet. As a last resort, the flying enemy sent down a huge
fire-raft, in the hope of burning some of the Union vessels; but this
was stopped by the piers of a railroad bridge, and, burning that,
effectually cut off Newbern's communication with the world. During the
entire two days' engagement, the navy did not lose a man on the ships.
Two of a small landing-party were killed, and eleven, wounded; while
of the soldiers there were killed eighty-eight, and wounded three
hundred and fifty-two. This victory gave to the United States the
entire control of the North Carolina sounds and tributary navigable
waters.

For years after this, the sounds were occupied by a small squadron of
the United States navy, mainly blockading cruisers. It was during
these three years of occupation that Lieut. W. B. Cushing performed
those wonderfully daring deeds that made him a name and fame apart
from all other war-records. These feats so particularly belong to
Cushing's record, rather than to the history of any years of the war,
that they may well be considered together here. The wonderful
exhibitions of daring by which this young officer earned his promotion
to the rank of a commander, while still hardly more than a boy, were
the ascent of New River Inlet in the steamer "Ellis," for the purpose
of destroying the enemy's salt-works, and a blockade-runner at New
Topsail Inlet; and finally, the great achievement of his life, the
destruction of the ram "Albemarle" in the Roanoke River.

Lieut. Cushing entered the navy during the first year of the civil war,
being himself at that time but nineteen years old. A comrade who served
with him at the time of the destruction of the "Albemarle" describes him
as about six feet high, very slender, with a smooth face, and dark wavy
hair. Immediately upon his joining the navy, he was assigned to duty
with the blockading squadron on the Atlantic coast. He distinguished
himself during the first year of the war, at a time when the
opportunities of the service were not very brilliant, by unfailing
vigilance, and soon won for himself the honor of a command. In November,
1862, he was put in command of the steamer "Ellis," and ordered to
preserve the blockade of New River Inlet on the North Carolina coast,
not far from the favorite port of the blockade-runners, Wilmington. The
duties of a blockading man-of-war are monotonous, at best. Lying at
anchor off the mouth of the blockaded harbor, or steaming slowly up and
down for days together, the crew grow discontented; and the officers are
at their wits' end to devise constant occupation to dispel the
turbulence which idleness always arouses among sailors. Inaction is the
great enemy of discipline on board ship, and it is for this reason that
the metal and trimmings aboard a man-of-war are so continually being
polished. A big brass pivot-gun amidships will keep three or four
jackies polishing an hour or two every day; and petty officers have been
known to go around secretly, and deface some of the snowy woodwork or
gleaming brass, when it seemed that surfaces to be polished were
becoming exhausted. It is no unusual thing to set a gang of sailors to
work rubbing away with polish on the flukes of the great anchors, merely
to give them work. But while this sort of occupation may drive dull care
away from the heart of Jack, his officers are not so easily entertained;
and the dull routine of blockading duty at an unfrequented port is most
wearisome to adventurous spirits. Particularly was this the case with
Lieut. Cushing, and he was constantly upon the lookout for some perilous
adventure. One day late in November, information was brought to him that
the enemy had established large salt-works at Jacksonville, thirty-five
miles up the river. Even thus early in the war, the vigorous blockade
was beginning to tell upon the supplies of the Confederates; and one of
the articles of which the Southern armies were in the greatest need was
salt. The distress caused by the lack of it was great. Many of the
soldiers were in the habit of sprinkling gunpowder upon their food to
give it a flavor approaching that of salt. In olden days, particularly
in the British navy about the end of the eighteenth century, it was the
custom for the captains to issue to their crews, before going into
battle, large cups of grog with gunpowder stirred in. It was believed
that this mixture made the men fight more desperately. But this theory
of the doughty sea-dogs of past generations no longer finds any support,
and doubtless the soldiers of the Confederacy felt they could fight
better upon salt than on their enforced seasoning of gunpowder. At
Manassas Junction, when the Confederate army by a rapid movement
captured a large provision train, the rush of the soldiers for two or
three cars laden with salt was so great that a strong guard had to be
stationed to beat back pilferers, and secure a proper division of the
much-prized seasoning.

The officers of the Union navy were well informed of this scarcity of
salt throughout the South, and accordingly made it a point to destroy
all salt-works along the coast. The officers of the Gulf squadron were
constantly employed in raiding establishments of this character, of
which there were numbers along the coast of Louisiana, Alabama, and
Mississippi. Cushing, on hearing of the existence of salt-works in the
district over which he stood guard, determined to destroy them. But to
do this was a matter of no small peril. Jacksonville was thirty-five
miles up a small stream, in the heart of a country teeming with
Confederate troops and their guerrilla sympathizers. The densely
wooded shores could conceal sharp-shooters, who could easily pick off
every man stationed on the steamer's deck. At any point of the entire
distance a masked battery might be stationed, that could blow the
invading craft out of water, and leave none of her crew uncaptured to
tell the tale. Nevertheless, the intrepid young commander determined
to make the attempt. His vessel was a small steamer, mounting one
heavy gun amidships and two smaller cannon on each side. Without any
mishap the "Ellis" and her crew reached the town about noon. On the
way up the river a dense column of black smoke appeared ahead, rising
above the forest. All thought that the Confederates, hearing of their
approach, had evacuated the town, firing it as they retreated. All
possible steam was put on, and the little gunboat dashed up the river
in the hope of saving some of the property of the inhabitants. But, on
rounding an abrupt curve in the river, the mystery was solved by the
appearance of a fine schooner, loaded with cotton and turpentine, and
drifting helplessly, a mass of crackling flames, down the stream. She
was clearly a blockade-runner, freighted with the chief products of
the country, and had been waiting a chance to slip out past the
blockader, and run for some friendly port. Cushing's bold move up the
river had entrapped her neatly, and her owners had fired her and fled.
The fire was a magnificent sight. The inflammable cargo, the tarry
ropes and cordage, fed the flames, which leaped from hull to
main-truck. The cotton burned sullenly, giving forth immense clouds of
dense, black smoke. To save her was hopeless, and the "Ellis" kept out
of the way of the flying fire-brands and continued on. The expected
salt-works were not found, however; and the only trophies to be
obtained at the town were about twenty-five stand of arms and two
schooners, evidently blockade-runners. The post-office was also
visited, and a large mail captured and removed, in the hope of finding
therein some valuable information regarding the movements of the
enemy. The town itself was one of the sleepy little Southern villages,
with wide streets, grass-grown and lined with live-oaks. Children, and
boys too young to have been drafted into the Southern army, followed
the sailors and marines curiously as they strolled up and down the
silent streets. The war had robbed the little city of its men; the
blockade had robbed it of its little coasting-trade. Such an air of
quiet and desolation hung about the place, that the inhabitants
probably welcomed the advent of even the hostile sailors as being
something to break the monotony. After a stoppage of an hour and a
half, the "Ellis" started down the river. The quiet of the upward
voyage had dispelled any thoughts of danger, but about five o'clock
suspicions were re-awakened by the sight of a small encampment on the
bank. A few shells thrown over the tents quickly sent the campers
scurrying into the woods; and, as the camps seemed to have no
artillery, the "Ellis" continued without further hostilities. A short
distance down the stream the Confederates opened upon them with two
guns mounted on a lofty bluff. Cushing, ever ready for a skirmish,
stopped his engine, and cleared away the big pivot-gun for action. The
battle-flag was hoisted at the fore, and the crew, with three cheers,
set about the work. About an hour of artillery practice followed,
when, the enemy being driven from his guns, the "Ellis" proceeded on
her way. It was now growing dark, and the tide was rapidly falling.
The two pilots on the steamer agreed that daylight and high tide were
necessary to get the vessel safely out of the river. With great
reluctance Cushing ordered the anchor to be let fall, and proceeded to
make preparations for the night. On both banks of the river could be
seen the flash of lanterns, proving that the Confederates were aware
of the steamer's presence, and were contemplating an attack. To resist
such an attack if made in force during the night, seemed almost
hopeless; yet the sailors went cheerfully about the work of
preparation, getting out cutlasses and revolvers, and putting up the
boarding-nettings over the sides. In watchful anxiety the hours wore
away. No sound escaped the vigilant ear of the men on duty. But the
enemy evidently had abandoned the attack, and when morning broke none
were to be seen. With light hearts, and feeling that the worst was
past, the little party continued their way, only to find that the
worst was yet to come. Soon after daylight, the pilot, mistaking the
channel, ran the ship so solidly aground that there was clearly no
hope of extricating her. All this time she had been towing one of the
captured schooners; and Cushing, with quick decisiveness, ordered that
every thing should be removed from the "Ellis" to the schooner. This
was quickly done, leaving nothing but the great pivot-gun aboard.

But even when so greatly lightened, the ship would not float, and
Cushing saw that all was lost. As a final expedient he sent a boat's
crew back after the cannon that the enemy had abandoned the day
before, intending to construct a land-battery with them, and so keep
his ship. But the Confederates had already removed the guns, so this
forlorn hope failed. Orders were then given for the crew to take the
schooner, and drop down the river for a mile or two. The young captain
expressed his intention of remaining aboard his craft, and asked for
six volunteers to help him fight the pivot-gun. They were quickly
found; and, while the remainder of the crew dropped down the river in
the schooner, the devoted little band calmly awaited the beginning of
the attack. They did not have long to wait. Soon a cannon boomed from
the bank, and a heavy shell whizzed over their heads. Then another,
from another direction, and a third, and a fourth, each from a
distinct battery. They were hopeless odds, yet Cushing and his command
fought on until the gunners, getting the range, dropped shot after
shot into the doomed vessel. Then fire broke out in three or four
places. This was too much; and the seven daring men took to a small
boat, and rowed to the schooner. First, however, they loaded the long
gun, and turned it on the enemy, in order, as Cushing said, "that she
might fight for herself when we could do so no longer." Once in the
schooner, they sailed rapidly down the river; and just as they reached
the sound a deep boom announced that the fire had reached the
magazine, and the "Ellis" was blown into a million pieces. Daring as
this adventure was, Cushing was much distressed at its termination;
and in his official report he asks for a general court of inquiry, to
determine whether he had properly upheld the honor of the nation's
flag.

Another daring expedition was undertaken by Cushing when in command of
the "Monticello." This was in February, 1864. He was cruising off Cape
Fear River. At Smithville, a small town some distance up the river,
was a Confederate army-post. Cushing's plan was to proceed up the
river in row-boats, burn any vessels that might be at the dock,
capture the commanding officers, and escape before the enemy could
recover from the surprise. It was a rash and rather useless
expedition, but Cushing successfully carried it out. With two boats
and twenty men, he went quietly past the guns of the fort, concealed
by the blackness of a cloudy night, ascended the river to the town,
and landed directly in front of the hotel. A high bank concealed the
party from view, and lying in ambush here they managed to capture some
negroes, from whom the desired information was obtained. Then with two
officers and a seaman, Cushing walked from the deck to Gen. Herbert's
headquarters in so open a manner as to disarm suspicion. Entering the
house they met an engineer officer, who tried to raise an alarm, but
was quickly captured and gagged. The adjutant-general, never dreaming
that any enemy could be so near him, supposed it was a mutiny, and
fled hastily, half dressed, to the woods, not even calling out the
garrison. Cushing then with his speechless prisoner walked calmly back
before the long barracks that sheltered a thousand hostile soldiers,
and within a few yards of the sentry on the wharf. Only when the
affrighted adjutant-general returned from his hasty trip to the woods
did the Confederates know that an enemy had been in their midst. Then
there was great excitement, arresting of sentries, calling out of
guards, and signalling to the fort that hostile boats were in the
harbor. But all too late. Cushing's coolness, courage, dash, and
invincible luck had carried him scot-free through another dare-devil
adventure.

From the "Monticello" Cushing made yet another dangerous excursion
into the enemy's country. On this occasion he had a more adequate
purpose for his perilous errand. It was believed that the Confederate
ram "Raleigh" was in the Cape Fear River above the town of Smithville,
the scene of the last adventure. Cushing obtained permission from his
superior officer to ascend the river, and try to blow up the ram with
a torpedo. On the night of the 23d of June he started, taking with him
Jones and Howarth, the officers who had been with him in the previous
trip, and fifteen men. The night was pitchy dark, and all went well as
they passed the fort and the little town of Smithville. Fifteen miles
from the river's mouth, they saw the moon suddenly break through the
clouds; and the surface of the river suddenly became bright, revealing
to the sentries on shore the Yankee boat fifteen miles within
Confederate territory. Quickly the boats turned about, and headed down
the river; but this was a mere feint, as Cushing doubled as soon as he
reached the shadow of the opposite bank, and continued his course into
the hostile territory. Toward morning, when within about seven miles
of Wilmington, a very stronghold of the Confederates, he landed, and
hid his boat in a neighboring swamp. The men lay in hiding all day;
and, just as they were about to start out again, they captured two
boats with a Wilmington fishing-party. During the second night Cushing
crept cautiously up to within three miles of Wilmington, closely
examining the defences of the town and the obstructions in the river.
At daybreak he rowed up one of the creeks until he found the road
between Fort Fisher and Wilmington. Here he crouched by a hedge until
a mounted mail-carrier came by from the fort. The soldier was captured
and dismounted, vastly astonished at the sight of a blue-jacket in
that region. Presently, along came the carrier from the town, on the
way to the fort. He too was astonished at the sight, but flung back a
scornful answer to the demand that he surrender, and galloped hastily
away. In an instant Cushing was on the back of the captured horse, and
after him; but the fugitive was too well mounted, and escaped. Matters
were now becoming very serious. The runaway would doubtless give the
alarm everywhere. Immediate flight was imperative. The men had been
away from the boat for some hours, and were famished. Food must be
had. But how to get it? Cushing's solution of the problem was
characteristic. Having captured some other prisoners, he learned that
a store was to be found about two miles off. A prisoner about
Howarth's size was ordered to strip, and Howarth put on his clothing.
The change from the trim blue uniform of a Yankee naval officer to the
slouchy jeans jumper and overalls of a North Carolina "cracker" was
somewhat amusing, but the disguise was complete. Mounting the captured
horse, Howarth rode off in the character of a "poor-white" farmer come
in to do his marketing. He chatted freely with the people he met along
the road, and securing his provision, returned to the boat without
arousing the least suspicion. Snugly ensconced in the thick bushes,
the party then proceeded to sup, and after the meal amused themselves
in cutting telegraph-wires, and at dark returned to the boat. This was
the third night in the river, and Cushing prepared to return.
Embarking with his prisoners, he pulled up to the "Raleigh," and found
that she would not need his attentions, as she was already a total
wreck. Then he began the descent of the river. When a little way down
the prisoners were set adrift, with neither sails nor oars in order
that they might not report the occurrence too soon. The blue-jackets
continued their pull down the river. Just as they reached the mouth
the moon shone out, and a quick hail came from a guard-boat. Cushing
made no answer, but in a low voice urged his men on, intending to
attack the enemy. But in an instant more three boats came out of the
shadow, and at the same instant five appeared on the other side. One
opening seemed left for the beleaguered boat to dash through. At it
they went, but a schooner filled with troops suddenly appeared
blockading this last exit. It looked as though all was up, and those
in the boat saw before them the cheerful prospect of execution as
spies. But Cushing's pluck and self-possession, which had never yet
failed, still stood by him. He resorted to strategy, and, like the
hunted fox, threw his pursuers off the track by doubling. He made a
dash so rapid and determined towards the western bar, that all the
boats of the enemy rushed to block that point. For an instant his own
was in the shadow of a cloud. In that instant he had turned, and
headed at full speed for New Inlet. His men were as cool as he. With a
few vigorous pulls the boat shot out into the breakers where the enemy
dared not follow it, and soon after the cutter was hoisted to the
davits of the "Monticello," uninjured, after a stay of three nights in
the heart of the enemy's country.

It was near the end of the great war that Cushing performed the
greatest feat of daring of his adventurous career; and, as on the
previous occasions, the scene of the exploit was in the waters
tributary to the North Carolina sounds. Early in the spring of 1863 it
became evident to the officers of the Union squadron in the sounds,
that the Confederates were making arrangements to drive the Yankee
ships from those waters, and to re-open the coasting-trade to the
people of North Carolina. The chief source of alarm to the fleet was a
heavy iron-clad which was reported to be building on the Roanoke River
above Plymouth. Full descriptions of this vessel were in the hands of
the Union officers; and they saw clearly that, should she be
completed, no vessel of the sound squadron, nor perhaps the entire
navy, would be able to do battle against her successfully. The river
was too shallow for the war-vessels to go up to the point where the
ram was being built, and the channel at Hatteras Inlet was not deep
enough for iron-clads to be brought in to compete with the enemy when
finished. The naval authorities repeatedly urged the army to send an
expedition to burn the boat; but Major-Gen. Foster, in command of the
department of North Carolina, declared it was of no importance, as the
Confederates would never put it to any use. Time showed a very
different state of affairs. In April, 1864, the ram was completed, and
named the "Albemarle." Her first work was to co-operate with ten
thousand Confederate troops in the recapture of Plymouth, which was
accomplished with very little difficulty. Lieut. Flusser was at
Plymouth with four small gunboats, and remained bravely at his post
as he saw the powerful ram bearing down upon him. It was half-past
three in the morning, and the chill, gray dawn was just breaking over
the earth. Above the river hung a mist, through which the great body
of the ram could be seen coming doggedly down to the conflict. The
"Miami" and "Southfield" were lashed together; and, at the order of
Commander Flusser, they started to meet the iron-clad, firing quickly
and with good aim. The "Albemarle" came on silently, disdaining to
fire a gun. With a crash she struck the "Miami" a glancing blow on the
port-bow, gouging off two great planks. Sliding past the wounded
craft, she plunged into the "Southfield," crushing completely through
her side, so that she began to settle at once. The lashings between
the gunboats parted, and the "Southfield" sank rapidly, carrying part
of her crew with her. As the "Albemarle" crashed into the two vessels,
she fired her bow-gun several times, killing and wounding many of the
Union sailors, and killing Lieut. Flusser. When she turned and made a
second dash for the "Miami," the latter fled down the stream, knowing
that to dare the power of the enemy was mere madness. The "Albemarle"
steamed back to Plymouth, and by her aid the town was easily
recaptured by the Confederates.

The squadron in the sounds was now in a state of the greatest anxiety.
At any moment the impregnable monster might descend the river and
destroy the frail wooden gunboats at her leisure. Preparations were
made for a desperate battle when the time should come. Captains were
instructed to bring their ships to close quarters with the enemy and
to endeavor to throw powder or shells down her smokestack. Every
possible means by which a wooden steamer might cope with an iron-clad
was provided.

[Illustration: Destruction of the "Albemarle."]

On the 5th of May the ram put in an appearance, steaming down the
river. Deliberately she approached within easy range, then let fly a
shot at the "Mattabesett" which knocked her launch to pieces and
wounded several men. The "Mattabesett" ran up to within one hundred
and fifty yards of the "Albemarle," and gave her a broadside of solid
shot from nine-inch Dahlgrens and one hundred-pounder rifles. When
these shot struck a sloping place on the ram's armor, they glanced
off. Those that struck full on the plating simply crumbled to pieces,
leaving no dent to tell of the blow. One beautifully aimed shot struck
the muzzle of one of the cannon on the ram and broke it. The gun
was used throughout the fight, however, as the "Albemarle" carried but
two and could not spare one of them. The "Sassacus" followed in line
of battle. She delivered her broadside in passing. The ram rushed
madly at her, but was evaded by good steering. Then the "Sassacus" in
turn rushed at the ram at full speed, thinking to run her down. She
struck amidships at right angles, and with the crash of the collision
came a hundred-pound shot from the ram, that passed through the wooden
ship from end to end. Still the engines of the "Sassacus" were kept
going, in the hope of pushing the "Albemarle" beneath the water. The
iron-clad careened slowly, the water washed over her after-deck; the
crew of the "Sassacus," far out on the bow, tried vainly to drop
shells and packages of powder down the ram's smoking chimneys. It was
a moment of intense excitement. But the ram was too much for her
assailant. Recovering from the shock of the collision, she slowly
swung around until her bow-gun could be brought to bear on her
tormentor, when she let fly a ponderous bolt. It crashed through the
side of the steamer and plunged into her boiler. In an instant hot,
scalding steam filled the engine-room and spread over the whole ship.
Cries of agony arose on every side. Twenty-one of the crew were
terribly scalded. Nothing remained but retreat; and the "Sassacus"
steamed away from her enemy, after making one of the bravest fights in
naval history. In the mean time the other gunboats were pounding away
at the ram. The "Miami" was trying in vain to get an opportunity to
discharge a large torpedo. Two other vessels were spreading nets about
the great ship, trying to foul the propeller. The action continued
until dark, when the ram withdrew, uninjured and without losing a man.
She had fought alone for three hours against six ships, and had
seriously damaged every one of her adversaries. It must also be
remembered that she carried but two guns.

The "Albemarle" lay for a long time idle at her moorings in Roanoke
River, feeling sure that at her own pleasure she could go into the
sounds, and complete the destruction of the fleet. Lieut. Cushing,
then twenty-one years old, begged permission to attempt to destroy
her. The authority was gladly granted by the navy department, and
Cushing began making his plans for the adventure. His first plan was
to take a squad of men, with two steam-launches, up the Roanoke, and
blow the ram up by means of a torpedo. The launches were sent from
New York, but one was swamped while crossing Delaware Bay.

Cushing, however, was not the man to be balked by an accident: so,
cutting down his force one-half, he prepared for the start. Thirteen
officers and men made up the little party which seemed bound to
certain death. The spirit which animated the blue-jackets during the
war may be imagined from the fact that many sailors tried to purchase
the privilege of going on this perilous expedition, by offering their
month's pay to those who had been selected. To understand what a
forlorn hope the little boat-load of men were cherishing, we must
understand what were the defences of the "Albemarle." She lay at a
broad wharf, on which was encamped a large guard of soldiers as well
as her crew. Above and below her, great fires were kept burning on the
shores, to prevent any boat approaching unseen. She was surrounded by
a boom, or "water-fence," of floating logs, about thirty feet from her
hull, to keep off any torpedo-boats. From the mouth of the Roanoke to
her moorings was about eight miles; the shores being lined on either
side by pickets, and a large picket-station being established in
mid-stream about one mile below Plymouth.

To attempt to penetrate this network of defences seemed to be
foolhardy. Yet Cushing's record for dash and courage, and his
enthusiasm, inspired his comrades with confidence; and they set out
feeling certain of success. On the night of the 27th of October, the
daring band, in their pygmy steamer, steamed rapidly up the river. No
word was spoken aboard. The machinery was oiled until it ran
noiselessly; and not a light shone from the little craft, save when
the furnace-door was hastily opened to fire up. The Confederate
sentries on the bank saw nothing of the party; and, even when they
passed the picket schooners near the wreck of the "Southfield," they
were unchallenged, although they could see the schooners, and hear the
voices of the men, not more than twenty yards away. Not until they
came into the fitful glare of the firelight were they seen, and then
quick hails came from the sentries on the wharf and the "Albemarle's"
decks. But the light on the shore aided the adventurers by showing
them the position of the ram. They dashed up alongside, amid a shower
of bullets that seemed to fill the air. On the decks of the ram all
was confusion, the alarm rattles were sprung, the bell rung violently.
The launch running alongside came into contact with the row of logs,
and sheered off to make a dash over it. Cushing, who on these
dangerous expeditions was like a schoolboy on a holiday, answered with
ridicule all hails. "Go ashore for your lives," "Surrender yourselves,
or I shall sink you," he cried, as the gunners on the ram trained a
heavy gun on the little launch. Now she was headed straight for the
ram, and had a run of thirty yards before striking the boom. She
reached, and dashed over. Cushing, standing in the stern, held in one
hand the tiller ropes, in the other the lanyard of the torpedo. He
looked up, saw the muzzle of a heavy gun trained directly on his boat:
one convulsive pull of the rope, and with a roar the torpedo exploded
under the hull of the "Albemarle," just as a hundred-pound shot
crashed through the bottom of his boat. In a second the launch had
disappeared; her crew were struggling in the waves, or lying dead
beneath them, and the "Albemarle" with a mortal wound was sinking to
the bottom.

Cushing swam to the middle of the river, and headed down stream. Most
of his companions were killed, captured, or drowned. In the middle of
the stream he met Woodman, who had followed him on previous
expeditions. Woodman was almost exhausted. Cushing supported him as
long as he was able, but was forced to leave him, and the sailor sank
to the bottom. The young lieutenant floated down the river until at
last he reached the shore, exhausted and faint from a wound in his
wrist. He lay half covered with water in a swamp until daylight. While
there he heard two Confederate officers who passed say that the
"Albemarle" was a total wreck. That news gave him new energy, and he
set about getting safely away. Through the thick undergrowth of the
swamp he crawled for some hours, until he found a negro who gave him
shelter and food. Then he plunged again into the swamp, and walked on
until he captured a skiff from a Rebel picket; and with this he safely
reached the fleet,--the only one of the thirteen who set out two days
before. So ended the most wonderful adventure of the war.




CHAPTER VII.

     THE BLOCKADE-RUNNERS. -- NASSAU AND WILMINGTON. -- WORK OF THE
     CRUISERS.


While it is undeniably true that the naval battles of the civil war
were in many cases unimportant as compared with the gigantic
operations of the mighty armies in Virginia and Tennessee, yet there
was one service performed by the navy, alone and unaided, which
probably, more than any thing else, led to the final subjugation of
the South. This was the blockade.

To fully appreciate what a terrible weapon the blockade is when
energetically pursued, one need only look at the condition of the
South during the latter years of the war. Medicines were almost
unattainable for love or money. Salt was more carefully hoarded than
silver. Woollen goods for clothing were not to be had. Nothing that
could not be produced by the people of the revolted States could be
obtained at their markets. Their whole territory was in a state of
siege, surrounded by a barrier only a little less unrelenting than the
iron circle the Germans drew around besieged Paris.

Almost the first war measure of Abraham Lincoln was to declare the
ports of the Confederacy in a state of blockade. At first this seemed
a rash proclamation, and one which could not be sustained by the force
at the command of the Federals. It is a rule of warfare, that
"blockades, to be binding, must be effective;" that is, it is not
lawful for a nation with a small fleet to declare an enemy's coast in
a state of blockade, and then capture such trading-vessels as may
happen to run in the way of its cruisers. The nation must have a large
enough fleet to station vessels before each of the principal harbors
of the enemy, and to maintain a constant and vigilant patrol up and
down his coast. If this cannot be done, the blockade is called a
"paper blockade," and merchantmen are justified in attempting to evade
it. An instance of a "paper blockade" occurred during the early months
of the civil war, which will illustrate this point. Wilmington, N.C.,
was throughout the war one of the favorite ports for blockade-runners.
From its situation, the many entrances to its harbor, and other
natural advantages, it was the most difficult of all the Southern
ports to keep guarded. With the rest of the Confederate ports,
Wilmington was declared blockaded; but it was long after, before a
suitable blockading-fleet was stationed there. In July, 1861, the
British brig "Herald" left Wilmington without molestation. When two
days out, she ran across a United States man-of-war, that promptly
captured her. The courts, however, decided that a port so little
guarded as Wilmington was at that time could not be legally called
blockaded, and the brig was therefore released.

But it did not take many months for the energetic men of the Navy
Department to get together such a fleet of boats of all kinds as to
enable them to effectually seal all the ports of the Confederacy. A
blockading vessel need not be of great strength or powerful armament.
All that is necessary is that she should be swift, and carry a gun
heavy enough to overawe any merchantman that might attempt to run the
blockade. And as such vessels were easy to improvise out of tug-boats,
ferry-boats, yachts, and other small craft, it came about that by the
last of 1861, the people of the seaport towns of the South, looking
seaward from their deserted wharves, could see two or three Federal
cruisers lying anchored off the outer bar, just out of reach of the
guns of shore-batteries. It was a service of no little danger for the
blue-jackets. The enemy were ever on the alert to break the blockade
by destroying the ships with torpedoes. Iron-clad rams were built on
the banks of the rivers, and sent down to sink and destroy the vessels
whose watchfulness meant starvation to the Confederacy. The
"Albemarle" and the "Merrimac" were notable instances of this course
of attack. But the greatest danger which the sailors had to encounter
was the peril of being wrecked by the furious storms which continually
ravage the Atlantic coast. The sailor loves the open sea in a blow;
but until the civil war, no captain had ever dared to lie tugging at
his cables within a mile or two of a lee shore, with a stiff
north-easter lashing the sea into fury. In the blockading service of
our great naval war, the war of 1812, the method in vogue was to keep
a few vessels cruising up and down the coast; and, when it came on to
blow, these ships would put out into the open sea and scud for some
other point. But in '61 we had hundreds of vessels stationed along the
enemy's coast; and where a ship was stationed, there she stayed, to
meet the fury of the wind and waves by putting out more anchors, and
riding out at her cables storms that would have blown the blockader of
1812 hundreds of miles from her post.

In the earlier years of the war the blockade-runners were nearly all
sailing-vessels, schooners, and brigs, that were easily captured. But
when the supplies of the South became exhausted, and the merchants of
England began building ships especially for this purpose, the duty of
the blockading squadron became exciting and often very profitable. The
business assumed such proportions that half the shipyards in England
were engaged in turning out fast steamers to engage in it. At first it
was the custom to send goods in regular ocean-steamers from England to
the blockaded port; but this was soon abandoned, as the risk of
capture on the long run across the Atlantic was too great. Not until
the plan was adopted of shipping the goods to some neutral port along
our coast, and there transferring the cargo to some small, swift
vessel, and making the run into the Confederate port in a few hours,
did the business of blockade-running become very extensive. Goods
shipped for a neutral point were in no danger of being captured by our
cruisers, and therefore the danger of the long trans-Atlantic passage
was done away with.

[Illustration: Nassau: The Haunt of the Blockade-Runners.]

Of these neutral points which served as way-stations for the
blockade-runners, there were four on or near our coast,--the Bermuda
Islands, which lie about seven hundred miles east of Charleston; Nassau,
which is off the coast of Florida, and a little more than five hundred
miles southeast of Charleston; Havana; and the little Mexican town of
Matamoras on the Rio Grande, opposite Brownsville, Texas. The Bermudas
were to some extent used, but their distance from the coast made them
inconvenient as compared with Nassau or Matamoras. Their chief trade was
with Wilmington, which became a favorite port during the latter years of
the war. Havana was popular for a time, and at first sight would appear
to be admirably placed for a blockade-runners' rendezvous. But, though
the coast of Florida was but one hundred miles distant, it was
surrounded by dangerous reefs, its harbors were bad and far apart, and
there were no railroads in the southern part of the State to transport
the contraband goods after they were landed. Besides, Key West, the
naval station of the Union forces in the South, was unpleasantly near,
and the gulf blockade was maintained with more rigor than that on the
Atlantic coast. Matamoras was peculiarly well situated for a
blockade-running point. It is on the Mexican side of the Rio Grande
River, about forty miles above its mouth. Goods once landed could be
shipped in barges and lighters across the river in absolute safety,
since heavy batteries prevented the cruisers of the gulf-squadron from
entering the river. As a result of this trade, Matamoras became a
thriving place. Hundreds of vessels lay in its harbor, where now it is
unusual to see five at a time. For four years its streets were crowded
with heavy freight vans, while stores and hotels reaped a rich harvest
from the sailors of the vessels engaged in the contraband traffic. Now
it is as quiet and sleepy a little town as can be found in all the
drowsy land of Mexico.

But the true paradise of the blockade-runners was Nassau, the chief
port of the Bahama Islands, and a colony of Great Britain. Here all
the conditions necessary to successfully evade the blockade were to be
found. The flag that waved over the island was that of a nation
powerful enough to protect its citizens, and to enforce the laws
relative to neutrality. Furthermore, Great Britain was undoubtedly in
sympathy with the Confederates; and so far from prohibiting the
efforts of her citizens to keep up trade with the blockaded ports, she
encouraged and aided them in every way in her power. And aside from
her mere sympathy with the struggles of the young Confederacy, England
had a most powerful incentive to break down the blockade. In
Manchester the huge cotton-mills, employing thousands of hands, were
shut down for lack of cotton, and the mill-hands were starving for
lack of work; while shut up in the blockaded ports of the South were
tons upon tons of the fleecy staple, that, once in England, would be
worth its weight in gold. It was small wonder that the merchants of
England set to work deliberately to fit out blockade-runners, that
they might again get their mills running, and their people fed.

[Illustration: Cotton Ships at Nassau.]

The years of the war were lively times for the little town of Nassau.
Hardly had the proclamation of President Lincoln announcing the
blockade of all Confederate ports been issued, when at a bound Nassau
became prominent as the point of all most suitable for a
blockade-runners' rendezvous. Its harbor and the surrounding waters
were deep enough for merchant-vessels, but too shallow to allow much
cruising about by warships of heavy armament. It was within a few
hours' running of three Confederate ports, and it was protected by the
flag of Great Britain. Early in the war the Confederates established a
consulate in the little town, and the Stars and Stripes and the Stars
and Bars waved within a few rods of each other. Then great
shipping-houses of Liverpool sent over agents, and established branch
houses. Great warehouses and wharves were built Soon great ocean ships
and steamers began unloading their cargoes at these wharves. Then
swift, rakish schooners began to drop into the harbor, and after
discharging heavy loads of cotton would take on cargoes of English
goods, and slip out at nightfall to begin the stealthy dash past the
watching gunboats. As the war went on, and the profits of the trade
increased with its dangers, a new style of craft began to appear in
the little harbor. These were the Clyde built blockade-runners, on
which the workmen of the Clyde shipyards had been laboring day and
night to get them ready before the war should end. They were long,
low, piratical looking craft, with two smoke-stacks raking aft, and
with one or two masts for showing signals, for they never hoisted a
sail. Two huge paddle-boxes towered above the deck amidships, the
wheels being of enormous size. No structure of any kind encumbered the
deck. Even the steersman stood unsheltered at a wheel in the bow. They
were painted dark gray, and at night could slip unseen along the water
within a stone's-throw of the most watchful lookout on a man-of-war.
They burned great quantities of a kind of coal that gave out no smoke,
and when steaming at night not a light was allowed on board. Many of
these strange craft can be seen now along the levees at New Orleans,
or at the wharves in Mobile, where they are used as excursion-steamers
or for tug-boats. They were always the merest shells, fitted only for
carrying freight, as not many passengers were to be found who desired
to be taken into the Confederate territory. Occasionally, however,
some soldier of fortune from abroad would drift from Nassau, and
thence to the mainland, to join the armies of the Confederacy. The
Confederate agents on the island were always on the lookout for such
adventurers, and were ever ready to aid them. Sometimes, too,
returning agents of the Confederacy from Europe would make the run
through the blockading-fleet; so that the blockade-runners were seldom
without two or three passengers, poor though their accommodations
might be. For the voyage from Nassau to Wilmington, three hundred
dollars passage money was charged, or more than fifty cents a mile. To
guard against treachery, passage could only be obtained through the
Confederate consul, who carefully investigated the proofs of each
applicant's identity before issuing to him a ticket.

When the blockade-runner had taken her cargo and passengers aboard,
and was prepared for her voyage, every one in the little town came
down to the docks to see her start. It was a populace strongly
Southern in feeling that filled the streets of Nassau, and nothing but
good wishes were to be heard on every side. Perhaps from a house on
the hillside, over which floated the Stars and Stripes, the United
States consul might be watching through a spyglass the movements of
the steamer, and wishing in his heart that she might fall in with
some Yankee cruiser; but nevertheless, under his very eyes, the
audacious racer slips out, and starts on her stealthy voyage. On
leaving the harbor, a quick run of fifteen or twenty miles would be
taken along the coast, to try the machinery. Great care would be taken
to keep within British waters, lest some watchful gunboat should seize
the prize thus early in her career. When every thing proved in good
working trim, the little vessel's prow would be turned northward, and
the perilous voyage begun. For the first day, little danger was to be
expected, and the voyage was generally so timed that the outer line of
blockaders would be reached just after nightfall. A soldier going to
enlist in one of the Confederate cavalry regiments thus tells the
story of his evasion of the blockade.

"After a favorable voyage we reached the desired point off Wilmington
at the proper time. A brief stoppage was made, when soon the final
preparations were completed for running the gauntlet of the Federal
blockaders, who would become visible shortly, as we approached nearer
shore. All the lights in the steamer were extinguished, and all
passengers ordered below, only the officers and crew being permitted
to remain on deck. The furnaces were replenished with carefully
selected coal, which would give the greatest amount of heat and the
least smoke. The last orders were given, and every man was at his
appointed place. Presently the boilers hissed, and the paddle-wheels
began to revolve faster and faster, as the fleet little steamer rose
higher and higher in the water from the immense force of the rapid
strokes; she actually felt like a horse gathering himself up under you
for a great leap. After a little while, the few faint sounds from the
deck which we could hitherto faintly catch in the cabin ceased
altogether, and there was the stillness of death except for the sounds
necessarily made by the movements of the machinery. Then we realized
that we were running for our lives past the line of cruisers, and that
at any moment a big shell might come crashing through our cabin,
disagreeably lighting up the darkness in which we were sitting. Our
suspense was prolonged for some minutes longer, when the speed was
slackened, and finally we stopped altogether. Even then we did not
know whether we were safely through the lines, or whether we had been
brought to under the guns of a hostile ship, for we could distinguish
nothing whatever through the portholes. However, we were soon released
from the cabin, and walked on deck, to find ourselves safely through
the blockade. In the offing could be descried several of the now
harmless blockaders, and near at hand lay the coast of North Carolina.
Soon the gray dawn was succeeded by a brilliant, lovely sunrise, which
lighted up cheerfully the low-lying shores and earthworks bristling
with artillery, while from a fort near by floated the Southern Cross,
the symbol of the glorious cause for which we had come to fight."

When the blockade-runner, after safely running the gauntlet of the
warships, steamed leisurely up to the wharves of the blockaded town,
every one rushed to the docks to greet her. Her captain and crew
became at once people of great importance. They were beset on every
side for news of the great world outside. The papers that they brought
in were bought eagerly by the people, hungering for tidings of
something else than the interminable war. The sailors of the steamer,
on being paid off, rambled about the streets of the city, spending
their money royally, and followed by a train of admiring hangers-on.
The earnings of the sailors in case of a successful voyage were
immense. A thousand dollars for the four or five days' trip was
nothing unusual for common seamen, while the captain often received
eight or nine thousand. But the risk of capture, with the confiscation
of all property, and some months' imprisonment in a Federal fortress,
rather marred the attractiveness of the nefarious trade. The profits
of a successful voyage to the owner of the ship and cargo were
enormous. One of the steamers, specially built for the trade, at large
cost, has been known to pay for herself fully in one voyage. Indeed,
the profits must have been huge to induce merchants to take the risk
of absolutely losing a ship and cargo worth half a million of dollars.
It is certain, too, that throughout the war the number of vessels
captured, while trying to run the blockade, was far in excess of those
that succeeded. Up to the end of 1863 the Federal Secretary of the
Navy reported 1,045 vessels captured, classified as follows:
schooners, 547; steamers, 179; sloops, 117; brigs, 30; barks, 26;
ships, 15; yachts and boats, 117. Of course, most of these were small,
coastwise vessels. Even among the steamers captured, there were but
few of the fleet-going, English-built craft.

There was no small amount of smuggling carried on between the ports of
the North and the blockaded ports. The patriotism of the Northern
merchant was not always so great as to prevent his embarking in the
traffic which he saw enriching his English competitor. Many of the
schooners captured started from Northern ports and worked their way
along the coast until that chain of inlets, sounds, and bayous was
reached, which borders the coast south of Chesapeake Bay. Once inside
the bar, the smuggler could run at his leisure for any of the little
towns that stood on the banks of the rivers of Virginia and North
Carolina. The chase of one of these little vessels was a dreary duty
to the officers of the blockading-ships. The fugitives were fast
clippers of the models that made Maine shipbuilders famous, until the
inauguration of steam-navigation made a gracefully modelled hull
immaterial as compared with powerful machinery. Even when the great,
lumbering warship had overhauled the flying schooner so as to bring a
gun to bear on her, the little boat might suddenly dash into some
inlet or up a river, where the man-of-war, with her heavy draught,
could not hope to follow. And if captured, the prize was worth but
little, and the prize-money, that cheers the sailors' hearts, was but
small. But the chase and capture of one of the swift Clyde-built
steamers was a different matter. Perhaps a lookout in the maintop of a
cruiser, steaming idly about the Atlantic, between Nassau and
Wilmington, would spy, far off on the horizon, a black speck, moving
swiftly along the ocean. No curling smoke would tell of the
blockade-runner's presence, and nothing could be seen until the hull
of the steamer itself was perceptible. With the quick hail of the
lookout, the man-of-war would head for the prize, and start in hot
pursuit. Certain it is that the smuggler started to fly before the
watchful lookout on the cruiser caught sight of her. The towering
masts and capacious funnels of the man-of-war, with the cloud of black
smoke from her furnaces, made her a conspicuous object at distances
from which the smuggler would be invisible. With the blockade-runners
the rule was to avoid any sail, no matter how innocent it might seem;
and the appearance of a cloud of smoke on the horizon was the signal
for an immediate change of course, and a flight for safety. When the
chase began in this way, the cruiser had but little chance of making a
capture, for the superior speed of the merchant-vessel would quickly
carry her out of sight. Sometimes, however, a favorable wind would
enable the pursuer to use her sails, and then the chase would become
exciting. With a cloud of canvas set, the man-of-war would gradually
overhaul the flying vessel; and when within range, the great bow-gun
would be cleared, and with a roar a shell would be sent flying after
the prize. All hands would watch its course anxiously. Generally it
fell short. Then another and another messenger would be sent to the
enemy, which seldom struck the mark, for gunnery on a rough sea is a
difficult art. But the blockade-runner can't stand being used for
target-practice long. The cool head of her captain begins to
deliberate upon means of getting out of range. Mere running before the
wind won't do it: so he makes a long detour, and doubles on his
course, heading directly into the teeth of the breeze. Now the cruiser
is at a disadvantage. Her sail-power gone, she stands no chance of
capturing her game. Her shells begin to fall far short of the
smuggler, and soon she ceases firing altogether; and the
blockade-runner, driven hundreds of miles out of her course, but safe
for the time, goes on her way rejoicing.

[Illustration: Blockade-Runner in North Carolina Sounds.]

One of the most brilliant captures of the war was that of the
blockade-runner "Young Republic," by the United States gunboat "Grand
Gulf." The "Young Republic" succeeded in evading the watchfulness of
the blockading-squadron about the mouth of the Cape Fear River, and
under cover of the night ran in safely to the anchorage under the guns
of the Confederate forts. The baffled blockaders saw her moving slowly
up the river, while the cannon of the forts on either side thundered
out salutes to the daring vessel that brought precious supplies to the
Confederacy. But the blockading-squadron, though defeated for the
time, determined to wait and catch her when she came out. Accordingly
the "Grand Gulf," one of the fastest of the United States vessels, was
stationed at the mouth of the river, with orders to watch for the
"Young Republic." A week passed, and there was no sign of her. At
last, one bright day, the lookout in the tops saw the mast and funnel
of a steamer moving along above the forest which lined the river's
bank. Soon the hull of the vessel came into view; and with a rattle of
hawse-chains, her anchors were let fall, and she swung to beneath the
protecting guns of the fort. It was clear that she was going to wait
there until a dark or foggy night gave her a good chance to slip past
the gunboat that watched the river's mouth as a cat watches the mouth
of a mouse-hole. With their marine glasses the officers on the gunboat
could see the decks of the "Young Republic" piled high with brown
bales of cotton, worth immense sums of money. They thought of the huge
value of the prize, and the grand distribution of prize-money, and
determined to use every effort to make a capture. Strategy was
determined upon, and it was decided to give the blockade-runner the
chance to get out of the river that she was awaiting. Accordingly the
gunboat steamed away up the coast a few miles, leaving the mouth of
the river clear. When hidden by a projecting headland, she stopped and
waited for the blockade-runner to come out. The stokers were kept hard
at work making the great fires roar, until the steam-gauge showed the
highest pressure the boilers could bear. The sailors got out
additional sails, clewed up cordage and rigging, and put the ship in
order for a fast run. When enough time had elapsed, she steamed out to
see if the "Young Republic" had taken the bait. Officers and crew
crowded forward to catch the first sight around the headland. The
great man-of-war sped through the water. The headland was rounded, and
a cheer went up from the crowd of jackies; for there, in the offing,
was the blockade-runner, gliding through the water like a dolphin, and
steaming for dear life to Nassau. Then the chase began in earnest. The
"Young Republic" was one of those long, sharp steamers built on the
Clyde expressly for running the blockade. Her crew knew that a long
holiday in port, with plenty of money, would follow a successful
cruise; and they worked untiringly to keep up the fires, and set every
sail so that it would draw. On the cruiser the jackies saw visions of
a prize worth a million and a half of dollars; and the thought of so
much prize-money to spend, or to send home, spurred them on. For
several hours the chase seemed likely to be a long, stern one; but
then the freshening wind filled the sails of the gunboat, and she
began to overhaul the fugitive. When within a mile or two, she began
firing great shells with her pivot-gun. Then the flying
blockade-runner began to show signs of fear; and with a good glass the
crew could be seen throwing over bale after bale of the precious
cotton, to lighten the vessel. In the last thirty miles of the chase
the sea was fairly covered with cotton-bales. More than three hundred
were passed floating in the water; and the jackies gnashed their
teeth, and growled gruffly, at the sight of so much wealth slipping
through their fingers. On the high paddle-wheel box of the
blockade-runner, the captain could be seen coolly directing his crew,
and now and again turning to take a look through his glass at the
pursuer. As the chase continued, the certainty of capture became more
and more evident. Then the fugitives began throwing overboard or
destroying every thing of value: furniture, silver-ware,
chronometers, the fittings of the cabin, every thing that could
benefit their captors, the chagrined blockade-runners destroyed. The
officers of the gunboat saw that if they wished to gain any thing by
their capture, they must make haste. At the risk of an explosion, more
steam was crowded on; and the gunboat was soon alongside the "Young
Republic," and in a position to give her an enormous broadside. The
blockade-runner saw that he was caught and must submit. For lack of a
white flag, a pillow-case was run up to the masthead, and the beating
of the great wheels stopped. The davits amidships of the "Grand Gulf"
are swung out, and a boat's crew, with a lieutenant and dapper
midshipman, climb in. A quick order, "Let fall there," and the boat
drops into the water, and is headed for the prize. Another moment, and
the stars and stripes supplant the pillow-case waving from the
masthead of the "Young Republic." An officer who went into the
boiler-room found that the captured crew had planned to blow up the
vessel by tying down the safety-valve, so that an enormous pressure of
steam strained the boilers almost to bursting. A quick blow of a
hatchet, and that danger was done away with. Then, with a prize-crew
on board, the "Young Republic" started on her voyage to New York;
while the "Grand Gulf" returned to Wilmington to hunt for fresh game.

[Illustration: Pursuing a Blockade-Runner.]

A curious capture was that of the British schooner "Francis," which
was running between Nassau and the coast of Florida. On her last trip
she was nearing the coast, when she fell in with a fishing-smack, and
was warned that a Federal gunboat was not far away. Still she kept on
her course until sundown, when the breeze went down, and she lay
becalmed. The gunboat had been steaming into inlets and lagoons all
day, and had not sighted the schooner. When night came on, she steamed
out into the open sea, within a quarter of a mile of the
blockade-runner, and, putting out all lights, lay to for the night.
Those on the schooner could see the gunboat, but the lookout on the
cruiser did not see the blockade-runner. Soon a heavy fog came up, and
entirely hid the vessels from each other. The blockade-runners could
only hope that a breeze might spring up, and enable them to escape.
But now a curious thing occurred. It almost seems as if two vessels on
the ocean exercise a magnetic attraction for each other so often do
collisions occur where there seems room for all the navies of the
world to pass in review. So it was this night. The anxious men on
the schooner soon found that the two vessels were drifting together,
and they were absolutely powerless to prevent it. At midnight, though
they could see nothing, they could hear the men on the gunboat
talking. Two hours after, the schooner nestled gently up by the side
of the gunboat; and a slight jar gave its crew their first intimation
that a prize was there, simply waiting to be taken. All they had to do
was to climb over the railing. This was promptly done, and the
disgusted blockade-runners were sent below as prisoners. Half an hour
later came a breeze that would have carried them safely to port.

The gray sea-fogs played many scurvy tricks with the
blockading-fleets, often letting the runners in right under the
muzzles of the great guns. It was far easier to spy out a vessel in
the darkest night than in the thick gray fog that enveloped all
objects like a blanket. One of the strangest of all the pranks played
by the fog occurred in December, 1863, in Charleston Harbor. A wary
blockade-runner was creeping out of the harbor, within easy range of
the great guns of the fleet, and all hands were trembling, lest at any
minute should come the flash of a gun, and shriek of a shell, bearing
a peremptory command to heave to. Suddenly the flash came, and was
followed by the bang! bang! of great guns from all quarters of the
fleet. But the fire seemed pointed in another direction; and the
runner made the best of her way out to sea, thinking that some less
fortunate vessel, trying to come in on the other side of the fleet,
had been captured or blown out of the water. It turned out that a
small fog-bank had taken the form of a gray steamer moving swiftly
over the water, and had been fiercely cannonaded by the whole Federal
fleet. This occurrence gave the Confederates an idea; and they began
sending out dummies to engage the fleet, while the true
blockade-runners would slip out unobserved in the excitement. One
night as the tide was running out with great force, an old hulk was
cut adrift from a wharf, and drifted down rapidly upon the Federal
fleet. It was just after the exploits of the "Merrimac" had made
Confederate rams famous, and the naval officers were a little nervous.
The hulk drifted quite into the midst of the fleet before being
observed; and when she was hailed she bore down on the largest of the
men-of-war as though she were a powerful ram, steered by a commander
of desperate bravery. The great gunboat's deck rang with the bo's'n's
whistle, as the crew were piped to repel boarders, and to their
quarters at the guns. A fierce fire was poured on the hostile craft,
that came on sullenly, as if scorning to make reply. One by one the
other vessels of the fleet drew near, and concentrated their fire on
the wretched lumber schooner. It was too much for her; and she gave up
the unequal combat, and sank to the bottom. For days after, the
gallant tars of the squadron blockading Charleston rejoiced in the
destruction of a "Rebel ram;" but none of them knew, that, while they
were engaged in the desperate contest, two great blockade-runners,
heavily laden with cotton, had slipped out of the harbor, and were
well under way for Nassau.

Stories of adventure and of desperate pluck and dash abound in the
records of the blockade. Both among the officers of the
blockading-fleets, and the commanders of the runners, were found great
courage and fine seamanship. One fact is particularly noticeable to
the student of the blockade: an English captain running the blockade
would never dare the dangers that a Confederate would brave without a
tremor. A Confederate captain would rush his ship through the hostile
fleet, and stick to her until she sunk; while an Englishman would run
his ship ashore, and take to the woods. The cases of the "Hattie,"
commanded by H. S. Lebby, a Confederate, and the "Princess Royal," a
fine, staunch, iron steamer, with an English commander and crew, are
typical. The "Hattie" was the last runner to enter or leave Charleston
Harbor. She was a small, swift steamer; but she made more successful
trips than any other runner. Men living in Charleston to-day, who were
interested in the work of this little vessel during the war, say that
her cargoes were worth at least fifty millions of dollars. She had
numerous narrow escapes, but was never captured. Her reputation was
such that the Confederate authorities selected her as the vessel to
bring in army supplies and ammunition, and at least three battles were
fought with ammunition brought in her hold. Her last entrance to
Charleston was one night in February, 1865. Eighteen Federal vessels
lay anchored off the harbor, and for a runner to venture in seemed
madness. But the captain of the "Hattie" was used to taking desperate
chances, and he proposed to enter that harbor. The ship had been
freshly painted a blue-white, and as she drifted along the water, with
all lights out, looked like a bank of mist. She was within two hundred
yards of the outer row of blockaders before her presence was detected.
Suddenly fire was opened on her from the nearest gunboat, and in an
instant the air was full of rockets announcing her presence. The
little vessel had no means of retaliation: all there was for her to do
was to dash through the fire and make for the city. Steam was crowded
on; and she flew up the channel, running the gauntlet of the fleet,
and escaping almost untouched. Then came the real peril. Just below
Fort Sumter were two barges anchored in the channel, and filled with
armed men. Past these she dashed, her great speed saving her from
boarding; but she received the fire of both boats, which wounded
several of her crew, and cut off the fingers of the pilot's hand
resting on the wheel. This danger past, there was one more to be met.
A large monitor lay anchored up the harbor, and the "Hattie" was
running so close to her that the commands of the officers in the
turret could be clearly heard. One after the other the two great guns
were fired, both shots missing; and the "Hattie," safely past the
gauntlet, sailed up to the dock in triumph. But by that time it was
clear that the last days of the war were near at hand, and accordingly
the work of unloading and reloading the vessel for her outward trip
was pressed with the greatest vigor. All the time she lay at her dock,
Charleston was being vigorously bombarded by the Federal men-of-war
lying outside the harbor. The bay fairly swarmed with blockading
cruisers; yet a week later the little steamer slipped out through a
fleet of twenty-six cruisers without being hailed, and carried her
cotton safely to market. When the news of Lee's surrender was
received, she was lying safe at her dock in Nassau.

The "Princess Royal," to which we have alluded, was a large iron screw
steamer, freighted with drugs, army supplies, guns, and two engines
and boilers for two iron-clads in Charleston Harbor,--a most valuable
and important cargo for the Confederates. She made the run from Nassau
to a point near the coast without adventure, and in the early gray of
the morning was stealing up the coast towards the harbor, when a
blockader caught sight of her, and started in pursuit. The later began
firing when a mile and a half away; and, though there was hardly a
chance of the shots taking effect, the cannonade gave the captain of
the runner the cold shakes. His boat was one of the fastest on the
ocean, and he needed only to put on steam to escape all the blockaders
on the coast. But he was a thorough paced coward; and, thinking only
of his own safety, he headed the craft for the beach, and with his
crew fled into the woods. The valuable ship and her cargo fell into
the hands of the Federals.

Sometimes runners were captured through apparently the most trivial
accidents. One ship, heavily laden with army supplies, and carrying a
large number of passengers, was running through the blockading-fleet,
and seemed sure of escape. All lights were out, the passengers were in
the cabin, not a word was to be heard on deck, even the commands of
the officers being delivered in whispers. Suddenly a prolonged
cock-crow rent the air, and, with the silence of every thing
surrounding, sounded like a clarion peal from a trumpet. The
deck-hands rushed for a box of poultry on the deck, and dragged out
bird after bird, wringing their necks. The true offender was almost
the last to be caught, and avenged the deaths of his brothers by
crowing vigorously all the time. The noise was enough to alarm the
blockaders; and in a moment the hail, "Surrender, or we'll blow you
out of water!" brought the unlucky runner to a standstill,--a
prisoner. The "Southern Cross" narrowly escaped capture on account of
the stupidity of an Irish deck-hand, whose craving for tobacco proved
too strong for his discretion. The ship was steaming slyly by two
cruisers, and in the darkness would have escaped unseen, when the
deck-hand, who had been without a smoke as long as he could stand it,
lit a match and puffed away at his pipe. The tiny flame was enough for
the cruisers, and they began a spirited cannonade. The "Southern
Cross" ran for her life. The shooting was guess-work, but the gunners
on the cruisers showed all the proverbial Yankee skill at guessing.
The first ball carried away the roof of the pilot-house, and the
second ripped away the railing along the deck for thirty feet. But the
captain was plucky, and made a run for it. He was forced to pass
within a hundred feet of one of the cruisers; and as he saw the
muzzles of the great guns bearing on his ship, he heard the command,
"Heave to, or I'll sink you." But he took his chances, and escaped
with only the damage caused by a solid shot crashing through the hull.

One of the strangest experiences of all was that of the captain of a
blockade-runner putting in to Wilmington one bitter cold night, when
the snow was blowing in clouds, and the fingers of the men at the
wheel and the sailors on watch were frostbitten. The runner had
reached the harbor safely; but there in channel lay a blockader in
such a position that any ship coming in must pass within a hundred
feet of her. The Confederate had a light-draught vessel, and tried to
squeeze through. When he passed the gunboat, only twelve feet of
space separated the two vessels; and he saw a lookout, with his arms
on the rail, looking right at the passing vessel. The Confederate
expected an immediate alarm, but it did not come. Wondering at the
cause, but happy in his luck, he sped on, and gained the harbor
safely. Some days after, he learned that the lookout was a dead man,
frozen at his post of duty.

It will readily be understood that the inducements offered to
blockade-runners must have been immense to persuade men to run such
risks. The officers and sailors made money easily, and spent it
royally when they reached Nassau. "I never expect to see such flush
times again in my life," said a blockade-running captain, speaking of
Nassau. "Money was as plentiful as dirt. I have seen a man toss up a
twenty-dollar gold piece on "heads or tails," and it would be followed
by a score of the yellow boys in five seconds. There were times when
the bank-vaults could not hold all the gold, and the coins were dumped
down by the bushel, and guarded by soldiers. Men wagered, gambled,
drank, and seemed crazy to get rid of their money. I once saw two
captains bet five hundred dollars each on the length of a certain
porch. Again I saw a wager of eight hundred dollars a side as to how
many would be at the dinner-table of a certain hotel. The Confederates
were paying the English big prices for goods, but multiplying the
figures by five, seven, and ten as soon as the goods were landed in
Charleston. Ten dollars invested in quinine in Nassau would bring from
four hundred to six hundred dollars in Charleston. A pair of
four-dollar boots would bring from fourteen to sixteen dollars; a
two-dollar hat would bring eight dollars, and so on through all the
list of goods brought in. Every successful captain might have made a
fortune in a year; but it is not believed that five out of the whole
number had a thousand dollars on hand when the war closed. It was come
easy, go easy."




CHAPTER VIII.

     DUPONT'S EXPEDITION TO HILTON HEAD AND PORT ROYAL. -- THE FIERY
     CIRCLE.


The great joint naval and military expedition, which in August, 1861,
had reduced the forts at Hatteras Inlet, and, continuing its progress,
had, by successive victories, brought Roanoke Island, Newbern,
Elizabeth City, and the Sounds of Pamlico and Albemarle under the sway
of the Federal Government, was but the first of a series of
expeditions intended to drive the Confederates from the Atlantic
seaboard, and secure for the United States vessels safe harbors and
coaling stations in the bays and inlets along the South Atlantic
coast. The proper maintenance of the blockade made it necessary that
the seaboard should be in the hands of the Federals. For a blockader
off Charleston or Wilmington to be forced to return to Hampton Roads
to coal or to make repairs, would entail the loss of weeks, perhaps
months, of valuable time. Besides, the sounds and inlets with which
that irregular coast is honeycombed were of great use to the
Confederates, who could construct at their leisure great rams like the
"Merrimac" or "Albemarle," and hurl them against the fleet with the
hope of breaking the blockade. Such opportunities were eagerly seized
by the Confederates whenever offered; and in many cases the defeating
of their purposes seems almost providential, so great was the seeming
disparity between the attacking ram and the forces which finally
repulsed it.

In reviewing the part of the navy in the civil war, we find that it
acted like a great iron band, ever drawing closer and closer about the
Confederacy, forcing the Southern armies from one point after another,
until at last the whole coast was in the hands of the Unionists, and
the Confederates were driven into the interior, there to be dealt with
by the Northern armies. One is reminded of that iron chamber in Poe's
story, which day by day grows smaller and smaller, until the wretched
prisoner within is forced into the pit yawning in the centre. So,
during the war, the Confederates lost Hatteras Inlet, Roanoke Island,
Hilton Head, Fernandina, Mobile, New Orleans, and Galveston
comparatively early in the struggle. Wilmington, behind the almost
impregnable bastions of Fort Fisher, and Charleston, surrounded by a
cordon of defensive forts, remained the last strongholds of the
Confederacy on the Atlantic coast, until the final downfall of the
great uprising.

Shortly after the capture of the Hatteras Forts, the navy department
saw the need of a harbor and base of naval operations farther south.
Charleston, with its powerful defences, was deemed impregnable at that
time; and elaborate descriptions of the Southern coast were prepared,
setting forth the advantages and disadvantages of available Southern
ports. Fernandina, Brunswick, Port Royal, and Bull's Bay, were duly
considered; and, while the Navy Department was debating which point to
seize, Admiral Dupont was diligently fitting out an expedition to be
in readiness to attack any that should be determined upon. Up to the
last moment it was thought that Fernandina would be selected. But
finally, with the advice of Gen. Sherman, it was determined to make
the attempt to wrest Port Royal from the Confederates.

Port Royal is the general name given to a broad body of water formed
by the confluence of the Broad and Beaufort Rivers, and opening into
the Atlantic Ocean on the South Carolina coast, about midway between
Charleston and Savannah. No more beautiful region is to be found in
the world. Far enough south to escape the rigors of the northern
winters, and far enough north to be free from the enervating heat of
the tropics; honeycombed by broad, salt-water lagoons, giving moisture
and mildness to the air,--the country about Port Royal is like a great
garden; and even to-day, ravaged though it was by the storms of war,
it shows many traces of its former beauty. It is in this region that
are found the famous Sea Islands, on which grows cotton so much more
fleecy and fine of fibre than the product of the interior, that it is
known the world over as Sea Island cotton, and sells at the highest
price in the markets of England. In '61 the islands bore the great
hospitable manor-houses of the Southern planters; broad of rooms and
wide of piazzas, and always open for the entertainment of travellers,
were they friends or strangers. The planters living there were among
the wealthiest in the South, at a time when all planters were wealthy.
They numbered their slaves by thousands. Standing on the broad piazza
of one of these Southern homes, one could see the rows of rough huts
that made up the negro quarters, and hear faintly the sound of the
banjo and rude negro melodies, mingling with the music of piano or
harp within the parlor of the mansion-house. Refined by education and
travel, the planters of the region about Port Royal made up a courtly
society, until war burst upon them, and reduced their estates to
wildernesses, and themselves to beggary.

At the head of the Beaufort River stood the little town of Beaufort.
Before the war this was a thriving place; its magnificent harbor made
it easily accessible for the largest merchant-ships, and the richly
productive country round about furnished heavy cargoes of the fleecy
staple that gave to the South the name of the "cotton kingdom." On
Saturdays and holidays the broad streets of Beaufort would be crowded
with carriages and horsemen from the neighboring plantations. The
planters, in broad-brimmed hats and suits of snowy linen, thronged the
broad piazzas of the hotel, or grouped together in the shade of the
spreading trees that lined the streets, discussing the cotton crops
and prices. Now all is changed. Beaufort is a sleepy little village,
with no sign of trade, domestic or foreign; and the country round
about, once dotted with handsome plantation homes, now seems a very
wilderness, save where Northerners have erected for themselves winter
homes on the Sea Islands.

[Illustration: Fortress Monroe.]

It was late in October, 1861, when the final determination to attack
the forts at Port Royal was reached. For weeks before, the squadron
lying at Hampton Roads had been making preparations for a great naval
movement, and all the newspapers of the North were filled with wise
speculations as to its objective point. Reporters, correspondents, and
editors were alike baffled in their efforts to secure accurate
information; and even the commanders of the men-of-war were ignorant
of their destination. But it seems that the Confederates were warned
by some of their sympathizers in Washington, and the destination of
the fleet was better known south of Mason and Dixon's line than in the
North. On Tuesday, Oct. 29, the squadron was all ready for the voyage.
It was by far the most powerful fleet ever gathered under the flag of
the United States. Twenty-five vessels laden with coal had sailed the
day before. On the placid waters of the bay, under the frowning walls
of Fortress Monroe, floated fifty men-of-war and transports. The day
was clear, and the breeze brisk, and the hearts of the jolly jack-tars
bounded within them as they thought of escaping from the long
inactivity of a season in port. Long-boats bearing despatches rowed
from ship to ship; hucksters from the shore came off in dories,
dingies, and all variety of queer craft, to drive a farewell bargain
with the sailors. The transport vessels were crowded with soldiers in
the gay uniforms of militia commands. (It was early in the war then,
and they had not learned that a man could fight as well in dingy
rags.) The "Wabash" was flagship, and aboard her was Admiral DuPont.
When she made the signal for getting under way, all was bustle and
animation on all the other vessels of the fleet, and on all sides
could be heard the noise of preparation for the start. The boatswains
piped away cheerily; and a steady tramp, tramp, from the deck of each
ship, and the clicking of the capstan catches, told that the anchors
were coming up. Soon from the black funnels of the steamers clouds of
smoke began to pour, and in the rigging of the sail frigates were
crowds of nimble sailors. The commands "All ready! Let fall!" rang
sharply over the water from the ships. Broad sheets of snowy canvas
appeared where before were but ropes and spars, and in a moment the
whole squadron was under way. The steamers led off briskly, with much
churning of the water by their paddle-wheels and "brazen-fins;" after
them followed the magnificent sailing frigates, with sail set,--lofty
masses of canvas towering toward the skies, and moving with stately
grace. At the very head of all went the flagship, the grand old
"Wabash," with the flag of Admiral DuPont floating from the fore. None
of the commanders knew whither they were bound. All were to follow the
flagship, and in event of separation to refer to sealed orders with
which each was provided. For the first day all went well. The promise
of fair weather given by the beautiful day of starting seemed about to
be fulfilled. But on the second night, as they came near the terrible
region of Cape Hatteras, the wind began to freshen, and continued
increasing in fierceness until it fairly blew a gale. The night was
pitchy dark, and the crews on the vessels could hardly see the craft
by which they were surrounded. Great as was the danger of being cast
on the treacherous shoals of Hatteras, the peril of instant
destruction by collision was even more imminent. Fifty vessels,
heavily freighted with human lives, were pitching and tossing within a
few rods of each other, and within a few miles of a lee shore. It
seemed that the destruction of a large number of the vessels was
unavoidable; and the sailors may be pardoned, if, remembering the
mishaps of the Burnside expedition, they conceived Hatteras to be
tenanted by an evil spirit, determined to prevent the invasion of
Confederate territory. To add to the danger, the Confederates had
extinguished the warning light at the Cape, and the navigators of the
fleet had nothing to guide them in their course. When morning came,
the fleet was pretty well scattered, although still many vessels were
near enough together to be in no small danger. The transport "Winfield
Scott," which carried four hundred and fifty soldiers, besides a large
crew, was observed to be rolling heavily, and flying signals of
distress. From the decks of the "Bienville," the nearest steamer, the
officers with their glasses could see the crew of the distressed
vessel working like beavers, throwing overboard every thing of weight
to lighten the ship. Notwithstanding all their efforts, she was
clearly water-logged, and sunk so low in the water that wave after
wave broke over her decks, every now and then sweeping a man away to
sure death in the raging sea. It seemed folly to attempt to launch
lifeboats in such a furious sea, but the captain of the "Bienville"
determined to make the attempt to save the men on the doomed "Winfield
Scott." The crew was piped to quarters, and the captain asked for
volunteers to go to the rescue. Man after man stepped forward, until
enough had been secured to man three boats with ten men each.
Carefully the boats were dropped into the sea, and man after man swung
into them; then they put off and started for the sinking ship. But
while these preparations were being made, the two ships had been
drifting closer and closer together. Soon it was seen that a collision
was inevitable. Fortunately the boats were broadside on, so that the
cutting effect of a blow from the bow was avoided. They were presently
so near each other that the men began jumping from the deck of the
"Winfield Scot" upon that of the "Bienville." The leap, though a
perilous one, was made in safety by over thirty men. Suddenly a great
wave lifted the ships up and dashed them together. Three poor
wretches, just about to jump, were caught between the vessels and
crushed to death. A few sharp cries of agony, and all was over; and
the vessels, drifting apart, let their bodies, crushed beyond
recognition, fall into the water. By this time the small boats, with
their determined crews on board, had succeeded in getting around to
the lee side of the sinking ship, and the work of getting the soldiers
and sailors over the side was begun. By the most strenuous efforts all
were saved, and the "Bienville" steamed away, leaving the "Winfield
Scott" to her fate.

[Illustration: Du Pont's Expedition off Cape Hatteras.]

Night came on, with the gale blowing with still greater fury. The wind
shrieked through the cordage, and now and again a great wave would
sweep across the decks of the crowded vessels, making the men hang on
to the rigging for dear life. Soon another ship began to go to pieces.
The "Governor," which had been steaming along near the "Wabash"
since the time of leaving Hampton Roads, had become separated from
her consort during the gale of the first day. On the second night,
those aboard her perceived that she was showing signs of weakness, and
was likely to go down with all on board unless aid could be obtained.
Not a sail, however, was in sight; and every wave seemed about to
overwhelm or dash to pieces the frail craft. She labored heavily in
the furious sea. By and by the strain on her timbers was such that the
port hog-brace broke in two places, weakening the vessel so that her
fate was apparent to all. Soldiers and sailors worked away with a
frantic energy born by the fear of death, and succeeded in bracing up
the timbers, so as to avoid, for a time, the breaking-up. Soon after,
a heavy roll of the vessel broke the smokestack, and it was pitched
overboard. Luckily it broke some three feet above the deck, so that
the fires could still be kept up. Then the steam-pipe burst; and with
this accident the fate of all on board seemed sealed, for they no
longer could keep the vessel's head to the waves, and the great seas
came rolling over her, sweeping her decks of every thing movable. They
began sending up rockets, and, after some time of anxious waiting, saw
an answering signal; so that, through the remainder of that fearful
night, the men on the doomed ship felt that, whatever might occur,
they had friends at hand. The night was spent in toil at the pumps;
and in the morning a faint cheer went up as two vessels were seen,
ready to lend assistance. A signal of distress, quickly hoisted, was
answered from the nearer, which proved to be the "Isaac P. Smith." The
"Smith" sent off a boat and made fast a hawser to the wreck, and took
her in tow; but in a few minutes the hawser parted. It became clear
that the men must be taken off the sinking ship; but how to do it, was
the question. By this time a second ship, the "Young Rover," had
arrived to assist in the rescue. A second cable was put aboard; but
this, too, parted. Hope seemed lost, when the lookout reported a third
ship, the frigate "Sabine," coming to the rescue. The "Sabine" came to
anchor, and sent a hawser aboard the sinking "Governor." Then the
hawser was gradually taken in until the two ships lay close together,
stern to stern. Spars were rigged over the stern of the frigate, and
some thirty men swung over the seething waters to safety. Then the two
vessels came together with a crash, and about forty men sprang from
the sinking ship to the deck of the frigate. But the damage done by
the collision was so great that it was deemed prudent to slack up the
hawser and let the "Governor" drop astern again. Those on board
busied themselves throwing overboard all things movable, with the
intention of lightening the vessel. After some hours of suspense, the
work of getting the men off the sinking craft was recommenced, and
boats were sent to their assistance. The sea was running too high for
them to approach close to the steamer's guards, so they lay off some
feet, and the soldiers jumped into them. It was a perilous leap, with
the boats pitching one way, and the ship another, and a raging sea of
tossing waters between; but it was made bravely by every man, and but
seven or eight were lost. Soon after the last man left the "Governor,"
she lurched to one side and sank, carrying with her the arms and
ammunition of the troops she was transporting.

It was on Monday morning, Nov. 4, that the flagship "Wabash" cast
anchor off Port Royal. In the offing were a few more sail headed for
the same point, and during the day some twenty-five vessels of the
scattered squadron came up. For the next day ships were constantly
arriving, and by Tuesday night the whole squadron lay safely anchored
in the broad harbor.

The defences which the Confederates had erected upon Hilton Head, a
lofty bluff overlooking the harbor, were powerfully designed
earthworks, poorly armed and manned. The forts were two in number,
placed on a commanding elevation, and might have been made impregnable
had the Confederates taken advantage of the warning sent them by their
spies in Washington. Fort Walker had fourteen guns which could bear on
an attacking fleet, and Fort Beauregard had twenty. When the fight
began, the gunners found that most of their ammunition was either too
large or too small for the guns. To support the forts in their fight,
was a wretched little fleet of tugs and schooners, mounting a gun or
two each, but absolutely powerless before the smallest of Du Pont's
ships-of-war. Indeed, when the battle began, the Union navy gave its
undivided attention to the forts, and did not even give battle to
Tatnall's mosquito fleet.

Thursday morning dawned bright and mild as a morning in June. The
shores of the beautiful bay were covered with woods, out of which rung
the clear notes of Southern song-birds. The scene from the ships was
one of the most charming imaginable. The placid bay, the luxuriant
shores, the ocean showing across the low-lying ridge of white sand,
the forts frowning from the steep headland, the fleet of majestic
frigates mustered for the attack, and in the distance the flotilla of
defenceless transports, safely out of range, their decks and rigging
crowded with fifteen thousand men--all this presented a panorama of
life and beauty which few eyes have ever beheld.

[Illustration: The opening Gun.]

Du Pont, in the majestic "Wabash," moved down the bay, and, as he came
in range of Fort Walker, sent a shell shrieking from a bow-gun, as
signal that the action was begun. The old frigate moved on slowly,
making play with the bow-guns until abreast of the fort, when with a
crash she let fly her whole broadside. On she went for a few yards,
then turning in a grand circle came back, giving the other broadside
to the forts as she passed. The other ships fell in behind; and round
and round before the forts the fiery circle revolved, spitting out
fire and ponderous iron bolts, and making the peaceful shores of the
bay tremble with the deep reverberations of the cannon.

The Confederates, for their part, went into the action with the utmost
coolness. They had been assured that their position was impregnable,
and had been cautioned to be deliberate and determined in their
defence. For a time their artillery service was admirable. But soon
they found certain discouraging features about the affair. Their guns
were too light to have any effect on the fleet, and their powder was
of such bad quality that many of their shots fell short. Two great
guns dismounted themselves, seriously injuring the men who were
handling them, and the very first broadside from the fleet dismounted
several more. Then it was found that the shells for the great Parrott
guns were too large, and that the shells from other cannon failed to
explode, owing to defective fuses. Soon the fleet found a point of
fire from which it could enfilade the forts, and thereafter a perfect
hail of shell and grape-shot fell in the trenches. One shell disabled
eleven men. A solid shot struck a gun thought to be perfectly
protected, and hurled it, with the men serving it, over the parapet.
Every twenty minutes a gun was dismounted in Fort Walker, and at the
end of the conflict Fort Beauregard had but nine serviceable guns.

For about four hours there was no cessation of fire on the part of the
fleet. Round and round the circle the vessels steamed, giving one fort
a broadside on the way up, and the other a broadside on the way down.
The bombs rose from them in a majestic sweep through the air, and
plunged into the fort, exploding with a roar equal to that of a
cannon. One ship was commanded by Capt. Drayton, who rained shot and
shell mercilessly against the forts, although one of them was in
command of his own brother.

At half-past one Fort Walker was found untenable, and the work of
abandoning it was begun. The evacuation was completed in great haste,
many valuables were left behind, and not even the guns were spiked.
Still the entire garrison escaped to mainland, although the Federals
had three thousand troops who might have made them all prisoners. Not
long thereafter, Fort Beauregard also yielded to fate, and the day was
won by the Federals.

[Illustration: The Fight at Hilton Head.]

The landing of the troops was at once begun. Thirty large boats bore a
Connecticut regiment of one thousand men to the beach. Their bright,
fresh uniforms, their muskets glittering in the sun, and their
regular, swaying stride as they marched up the sandy beach to the
martial strains of the regimental band, made a striking picture.
They clambered over the ramparts, and in a few moments the stars and
stripes floated from the staff which had but lately upheld the flag of
the young Confederacy. Within the forts, all was carnage and
confusion: dismounted cannon, surrounded by the dead bodies of the
gunners, heaps of shells, and fragments of woodwork, were piled about
the parade-ground and in the trenches. The story of the terrific
bombardment was graphically told by those horrible evidences of death
and destruction. And well might the scene be a horrible one. For over
five hours, fifty shot a minute had been discharged at the forts, and
most of them did execution. When one recollects that each shot of the
great guns cost eight dollars, we get a vivid idea of the money spent
in war.

Immediately upon the capture of Hilton Head, the victors began making
it a great naval and military station. Great storehouses were built,
wharves constructed, and vast intrenchments thrown up for the defence
of the spot. The slaves, escaping from the neighboring plantations,
came in droves, begging to be allowed to work; but they received but a
cold welcome, for they were still looked upon as property, and the
officers did not wish to be charged with enticing them away from their
masters.

The news of the occupation of Hilton Head by the Northern armies
caused the greatest consternation in the cities of Charleston and
Savannah, From both places people fled into the interior, expecting an
immediate advance of the Union troops. But the armies were set to
digging, not to marching, and soon the affrighted citizens returned to
their homes. Port Royal was held by the Northern forces until the end
of the war, and proved of great value for the proper maintenance of
the blockade. Its greatest disadvantage was its unhealthiness. Of
fifteen thousand men landed there in November, five thousand were on
the sick-list within a month.




CHAPTER IX.

     THE FIRST IRON-CLAD VESSELS IN HISTORY. -- THE "MERRIMAC" SINKS
     THE "CUMBERLAND," AND DESTROYS THE "CONGRESS." -- DUEL BETWEEN
     THE "MONITOR" AND "MERRIMAC."


It will be remembered that when the Union forces, alarmed by the
threatening attitude of the inhabitants of Norfolk and the vicinity,
fled from the Norfolk navy-yard, leaving every thing there in flames,
they left behind them a fine United States frigate, "Merrimac," a ship
of thirty-five hundred tons, carrying forty guns. The departing
Federals did their work of destruction fairly well; for the great ship
was burnt to the upper edge of her copper sheathing, and sank to the
bottom of the river. Three or four months after the occupation of the
Norfolk navy-yard by the Confederates, Lieut. George M. Brooke, an
ex-officer of the United States navy, who had resigned that he might
follow the fortunes of his State, while looking at the hulk lying in
the river-channel, was suddenly inspired with the thought that she
might be raised and converted into a formidable vessel-of-war. He
carefully matured his plans, and after due consideration proposed to
the Confederate secretary of the navy, that the "Merrimac" be raised
and converted into an iron-clad. His plans were approved, and orders
were given that they should be carried out. The "Merrimac," as
originally built, was one of the grand old types of war-vessels. Her
solid oak sides rose high above the water, and were pierced by a long
row of gaping portholes. Her masts towered high in the air; and when
her great sails were set, her hull seemed crushed beneath so vast an
expanse of canvas. When she had been remodelled, her entire appearance
was changed. She had no longer the appearance of a ship, but seemed
like a house afloat; and tradition says that the old salt on the
"Cumberland," who first sighted her, reported gravely to the officer
of the deck, "Quaker meetin'-house floating down the bay, sir."

When the hulk had been raised and placed in the dry-dock, the first
thing done was to cut it down to the level of the berth-deck; that is,
to the level of the deck below the gun-deck in the old rig. Then both
ends of the ship were decked over for a distance of seventy feet;
while the midship section was covered by a sort of roof, or
pent-house, one hundred and seventy feet long, and extending about
seven feet above the gun-deck. This roof was of pitch pine and oak,
twenty-four inches thick, and covered with iron plates two inches
thick. The upper part of the roof, being flat, was railed in, making a
kind of promenade deck. In the great chamber formed by this roof were
mounted ten guns, two of which, the bow and stern guns, were
seven-inch rifles, and fairly powerful guns for those days. A strange
feature of this ship, and one that was not discovered until she was
launched, was that the weight of the iron-plating and the heavy guns
she carried sunk her so deep in the water that the low deck forward
and aft of the gunroom was always under water; so much so that the
commander of another ship in the Confederate navy writes that he was
obliged always to give the "Merrimac" a wide berth, lest he should run
his ship on some part of the ram which lay unseen beneath the surface
of the water. Powerful as this ship was, she had some serious defects.
The greatest of these were her engines. They were the same that had
been in her as a United States vessel, and had been condemned by a
naval board as very defective. Naturally several weeks under water had
not improved them; but the Confederates could not be particular about
machinery just then, and the old engines were left in the new ram. It
was quickly found that they could not be depended upon more than six
hours at a time; and one of the ship's officers, in writing years
afterwards, remarks, "A more ill-contrived or unreliable pair of
engines could only have been found in some vessels of the United
States navy." The second faulty feature about the "Merrimac" was that
her rudder and propeller were entirely unprotected. The ram which was
so much dreaded, and which made the "Merrimac" a forerunner of a new
class of war-vessels, was of cast-iron, projecting four feet, and so
badly secured that it was loosened in ramming the "Cumberland," and
started a bad leak in the Confederate ship.

When this formidable vessel was completed, she was christened by her
new owners the "Virginia;" but the name of the old United States
frigate of which she was built stuck to her, and she has ever since
been known as the "Merrimac," and so we shall speak of her in this
narrative. She received as commander Commodore Franklin Buchanan, an
ex-Union officer of ability and daring, to whom the cadets of the
naval academy at Annapolis owe the beautiful situation of the academy,
and many of its admirable features; for he it was, who, in 1845, under
a commission from Mr. Bancroft, Secretary of the Navy, organized and
located the naval academy, and launched that institution upon its
successful career. Of officers the "Merrimac" had no lack, and good
ones they were; but in her crew she was lamentably deficient. Most of
the crew was made up of men from the army, who knew nothing of
seamanship, but who could at any rate fire a gun. A few good sailors
were obtained from those who escaped to Norfolk after the destruction
of the Confederate flotilla at Elizabeth City by Capt. Rowan's
squadron. They had but little chance for drills and exercise on the
new ship, for up to the very hour of sailing she was crowded with
workmen getting her ready for the task of breaking down the Yankee
blockade. When she finally set out to do battle for the South, she was
a new and untried ship: not a gun had been fired, and hardly a
revolution of her engines had been made. And so she started down the
river on her trial trip, but intending, nevertheless, to do battle
with the strongest ships of the United States navy. Accompanying her
were four small Confederate gunboats,--the "Beaufort," the "Yorktown,"
the "Jamestown," and the "Teaser." Soon rounding out into Hampton
Roads, the little squadron caught sight of the Northern fleet at
anchor, and made for them. An officer on the "Congress" thus tells the
story of the events that followed:--

"The 8th of March was a fine mild day, such as is common in Southern
Virginia during the early spring; and every one on board our ship was
enjoying the weather, and pleasing himself with the prospect of going
North in a day or two at farthest, and being relieved from the
monotony of a blockade at anchor. Some of us were pacing the poop,
basking in the sun, and watching the gulls, which here, as all over
the world, wherever a man-of-war is anchored, manage to find out when
it is dinnertime, appearing regularly when the mess-tins are being
washed, and the cooks are taking the buckets of broken victuals to the
head to throw overboard. Then they chatter and scream, and fight for
the remnants as they drift astern, until all is consumed, when they
betake themselves to fresh fields out of sight until we pipe to dinner
again.

"One bell had struck some time, when the attention of the
quarter-master on watch was drawn to an unusual appearance against the
fringe of woods away over in the Norfolk Channel. After gazing
intently some time, he approached the officer of the deck, and
presenting him the glass said,'I believe _that thing_ is a-comin' down
at last, sir.'

"Sure enough! There was a huge black roof, with a smokestack emerging
from it, creeping down towards Sewall's Point. Three or four
satellites, in the shape of small steamers and tugs, surrounded and
preceded her. Owing to the intervening land, they could not be seen
from Hampton Roads until some time after we had made them out; but,
when they did show themselves clear of the point, there was a great
stir among the shipping. But they turned up into the James River
channel instead of down toward the fort, approaching our anchorage
with ominous silence and deliberation.

"The officers were by this time all gathered on the poop, looking at
the strange craft, and hazarding all sorts of conjectures about her;
and when it was plain that she was coming to attack us, or to force
the passage, we beat to quarters, the "Cumberland's" drum answering
ours.

"By a little after four bells, or two o'clock, the strange monster was
close enough for us to make out her plating and ports; and we tried
her with a solid shot from one of our stern-guns, the projectile
glancing off her forward casemate like a drop of water from a duck's
back. This opened our eyes. Instantly she threw aside the screen from
one of her forward ports, and answered us with grape, killing and
wounding quite a number. She then passed us, receiving our broadside
and giving one in return, at a distance of less than two hundred
yards. Our shot had apparently no effect upon her, but the result of
her broadside on our ship was simply terrible. One of her shells
dismounted an eight-inch gun, and either killed or wounded every one
of the gun's crew, while the slaughter at the other guns was fearful.
There were comparatively few wounded, the fragments of the huge shells
she threw killing outright as a general thing. Our clean and handsome
gun-deck was in an instant changed into a slaughter-pen, with
lopped-off legs and arms, and bleeding, blackened bodies, scattered
about by the shells; while blood and brains actually dripped from the
beams. One poor fellow had his chest transfixed by a splinter of oak
as thick as the wrist; but the shell-wounds were even worse. The
quarter-master, who had first discovered the approach of the
iron-clad,--an old man-of-war's man, named John Leroy,--was taken
below with both legs off. The gallant fellow died in a few minutes,
but cheered and exhorted the men to stand by the ship, almost with his
last breath. The 'Merrimac' had, in the mean time, passed up stream;
and our poor fellows, thinking she had had enough of it, and was for
getting away, actually began to cheer. For many of them it was the
last cheer they were ever to give. We soon saw what her object was;
for standing up abreast of the bow of the 'Cumberland,' and putting
her helm aport, she ran her ram right into that vessel. The gallant
frigate kept up her splendid and deliberate, but ineffectual, fire,
until she filled and sank, which she did in a very few minutes. A
small freight-steamer of the quarter-master's department, and some
tugs and boats from the camp-wharf, put off to rescue the survivors,
who were forced to jump overboard. In spite of shot from the
Confederate gunboats, one of which pierced the boiler of the
freight-boat, they succeeded in saving the greater number of those who
were in the water. Seeing the fate of the 'Cumberland,' which sank in
very deep water, we set our topsails and jib, and slipped the chains,
under a sharp fire from the gunboats, which killed and wounded many.
With the help of the sails, and the tug 'Zouave,' the ship was now run
on the flats which make off from Newport News Point. Here the vessel
keeled over as the tide continued to fall, leaving us only two guns
which could be fought,--those in the stern ports. Two large
steam-frigates and a sailing-frigate, towed by tugs, had started up
from Hampton Roads to our assistance. They all got aground before they
had achieved half the distance; and it was fortunate that they did so,
for they would probably have met the fate of the 'Cumberland,' in
which case the lives of the twelve or thirteen hundred men comprising
their crews would have been uselessly jeopardized.

"After the 'Merrimac' had sunk the 'Cumberland,' she came down the
channel and attacked us again. Taking up a position about one hundred
and fifty yards astern of us, she deliberately raked us with
eighty-pounder shell; while the steamers we had so long kept up the
river, and those which had come out with the iron-clad from Norfolk,
all concentrated the fire of their small rifled guns upon us. At this
time we lost two officers, both elderly men. One was an acting master,
who was killed on the quarter-deck by a small rifle-bolt which struck
him between the shoulders, and went right through him. The other was
our old coast pilot, who was mortally wounded by a fragment of shell.
We kept up as strong a fire as we could from our two stern-guns; but
the men were repeatedly swept away from them, and at last both pieces
were disabled, one having the muzzle knocked off, and the other being
dismounted. Rifles and carbines were also used by some of our people
to try to pick off the 'Merrimac's' crew when her ports were opened to
fire, but of course the effect of the small-arms was not apparent to
us.

"It is useless to attempt to describe the condition of our decks by
this time. No one who has not seen it can appreciate the effect of
such a fire in a confined space. Men were being killed and maimed
every minute, those faring best whose duty kept them on the spar deck.
Just before our stern-guns were disabled, there were repeated calls
for powder from them; and, none appearing, I took a look on the
berth-deck to learn the cause. After my eyes had become a little
accustomed to the darkness, and the sharp smoke from burning oak, I
saw that the line of cooks and wardroom servants stationed to pass
full boxes had been raked by a shell, and the whole of them either
killed or wounded,--a sufficient reason why there was a delay with the
powder. (I may mention here that the officer who commanded our powder
division was a brother of the captain of the 'Merrimac.') The shells
searched the vessel everywhere. A man previously wounded was killed in
the cock-pit where he had been taken for surgical aid. The deck of the
cock-pit had to be kept sluiced with water from the pumps, to
extinguish the fire from the shells, although dreadfully wounded men
were lying on this deck, and the water was icy cold; but the
shell-room hatch opened out of the cock-pit, and fire must be kept out
of there at all hazards, or the whole of us would go into the air
together. In the wardroom and steerage, the bulkheads were all knocked
down by the shells, and by the axemen making way for the hose,
forming a scene of perfect ruin and desolation. Clothing, books,
glass, china, photographs, chairs, bedding, and tables were all mixed
in one confused heap. Some time before this, our commanding officer, a
fine young man, had been instantly killed by a fragment of shell which
struck him in the chest. His watch, and one of his shoulder-straps
(the other being gone), were afterwards sent safely to his father, a
veteran naval officer.

"We had now borne this fire for nearly an hour, and there was no
prospect of assistance from any quarter, while we were being
slaughtered without being able to return a shot. Seeing this, the
officer who had succeeded to the command of the ship, upon
consultation with our former captain (who was on board as a guest),
ordered our flag to be struck. It is not a pleasant thing to have to
strike your flag; but I did not see then, and do not see now, what
else we were to do.

"A boat now boarded us with an officer from the 'Merrimac,' who said
he would take charge of the ship. He did nothing, however, but gaze
about a little, and pick up a carbine and cutlass,--I presume as
trophies. One of the small gunboats then came alongside, and the
officer from the 'Merrimac' left. The commander of the gunboat said
that we must get out of the ship at once, as he had orders to burn
her. Some of our people went on board of his craft as prisoners, but
not many. As her upper deck was about even with our main-deck ports,
our surgeon stepped out of one, and told the commanding officer that
we had some dreadfully wounded men, and that we must have time to
collect them, and place them on board his vessel, and, moreover, that
our ship was on fire with no possibility of saving her. The reply was,
'You must make haste: those scoundrels on shore are firing at me now.'
In fact, the rifle-balls were 'pinging' about very briskly, scarring
the rusty black sides of the poor old frigate; for the Twentieth
Indiana Regiment had come down from the camp to the point, and opened
fire on the gunboat as she lay alongside of us. Our doctor having no
desire to be killed, especially by our own people, jumped back into
the port, just as the steamer, finding it too hot, shoved off and left
us. As soon as she did so, they all opened upon us again; although we
had a white flag flying to show we were out of action, and we
certainly could not be held responsible for the action of the regiment
on shore. After ten or fifteen minutes, however, they all withdrew,
and went down the channel, to bestow their attentions upon the
frigate 'Minnesota' which was hard aground. Fortunately the 'Merrimac'
drew too much water to come near the 'Minnesota' at that stage of
tide, and the small-fry were soon driven off by the latter ship's
battery. Night now approaching, the whole Rebel flotilla withdrew, and
proceeded up the Norfolk Channel.

"Although relieved from the pressure of actual battle, we still had
the unpleasant consciousness that the fire was making progress in the
vicinity of our after-magazine; and we felt as I suppose men would
feel who are walking in the crater of a volcano on the verge of
eruption. Fortunately for us, the 'Merrimac' and her consorts had not
fired much at our upper works and spars, the principal damage being
inflicted upon our lower decks. We had, therefore, the launch and
first cutter,--large boats,--which, with a little stuffing of
shot-holes, were fit to carry us the short distance between our ship
and the shore. The yard and stay-tackles were got up, and the boats
put into the water, as soon as possible; the fire gaining, and the sun
going down, in the mean time.

"By successive boatloads the survivors were all landed; the launch
being brought up under the bill port, and the wounded, in cots,
lowered into her by a whip from the fore yard, which was braced up for
the purpose. This boat was nearly filled with water on her last trip,
being a good deal damaged; obliging some of the officers, who had
stayed until the last, to jump overboard into the icy cold water, and
lean their hands on the gunwale, so as to relieve the boat of a part
of their weight. She grounded in water about waist-deep; and the
soldiers from the camp waded out and assisted our men in bearing on
shore, and to the log hospital of the Twentieth Indiana, those who
were in cots. We had managed to get the body of our gallant young
commander on shore in one of the cots, as a wounded man. The mass of
the men were so 'gallied,' to use a sailor phrase, by the time the
action was over, what with enduring so severe a fire without being
able to respond, and also with the knowledge that an explosion of the
magazine might occur at any time, that I doubt whether they could have
been induced to bring off a man whom they knew to be dead. The
officers repeatedly went about the decks looking for wounded men; and
I firmly believe that all who were alive were brought off. Our poor
old ship, deserted by all but the dead, burned till about midnight,
when she blew up."

The final destruction of the "Congress" must have been a most imposing
spectacle. A member of the Confederate army, who was stationed in one
of the batteries near the scene of action, thus describes it: "Night
had come, mild and calm, refulgent with all the beauty of Southern
skies in early spring. The moon, in her second quarter, was just
rising over the rippling waters; but her silvery light was soon paled
by the conflagration of the 'Congress,' whose lurid glare was
reflected in the river. The burning frigate four miles away seemed
very much nearer. As the flames crept up the rigging, every mast,
spar, and rope glittered against the dark sky in dazzling lines of
fire. The hull, aground upon the shoal, was plainly visible; and upon
its black surface each porthole seemed the mouth of a fiery furnace.
For hours the flames raged, with hardly a perceptible change in the
wondrous picture. At irregular intervals, loaded guns and shells,
exploding as the flames reached them, sent forth their deep
reverberations, re-echoed over and over from every headland of the
bay. The masts and rigging were still standing, apparently intact,
when about two o'clock in the morning a monstrous sheet of flame rose
from the vessel to an immense height. The ship was rent in twain by
the tremendous flash. Blazing fragments seemed to fill the air; and,
after a long interval, a deep, deafening report announced the
explosion of the ship's powder-magazine. When the blinding glare had
subsided, I supposed that every vestige of the vessel would have
disappeared; but apparently all the force of the explosion had been
upward. The rigging had vanished e