The Romance of Modern Sieges

As she passed the Congress the Merrimac fired one broadside, and then, leaving her to the tender mercies of the Jamestown and the Yorktown, made straight for the Cumberland. Both the Federal ships discharged their broadsides against the armoured monster. She just quivered under the blow and came on in silence. The National battery at Newport News opened upon her at point-blank range, and every man on board the Cumberland drew a breath of relief. “Now,” they thought, “our massive guns will teach her a lesson.” But it seemed as if the Merrimac had received no damage. Not a soul could be seen on her decks, not a splinter on her sides; but she was coming towards them – coming madly, as it seemed, to destruction.

What did the Merrimac mean? Why did she not fire her guns? The crew on the Cumberland soon found out, when the great ram struck their frigate amidships with a shock that threw every man down on the deck, crushed in the ribs, and heeled the ship over till her topsail yards almost splashed the water. The Merrimac reversed her engines and backed away under a murderous broadside, replying as she too turned her broadside with a deadly volley of shot and shell, which swept her enemy’s decks of guns and men. Meanwhile the water was pouring into the terrible gaping wound in the side of the Cumberland; but Lieutenant Morris, who was in command, fought her to the last with unflinching courage. Yet once again the Merrimac turned her prow and crushed in close upon the old wound, and the great oak ribs snapped like twigs under the weight of iron. The Cumberland began to ride lower in the water, but still aimed with calm accuracy at the Merrimac, riddling her smoke-stack and bending her anchor. But the Merrimac lay off a little and poured a storm of shot into the sinking frigate, dealing death and mutilation. Yet Morris refused to yield, and the whole crew in their desperate plight thought of nothing but saving the honour of the flag. One sailor, with both his legs shot off, hobbled up to his gun on bleeding stumps and pulled the lanyard, then fell in a swoon by the gun.

“She is sinking!” was the cry; but they still fought on, though the frigate was settling deeper every minute. Then the water came gurgling into the portholes, and choked the guns and drowned the gunners. The last gunner was knee-deep in water when he fired the last shot, and then the Cumberland careened over on her side. Down she sank amid a whirl of circling waters, a caldron of wave and air – caught in one, and vomiting steam all around and over the dying vessel, and in a moment 400 men were on the verge of death, some being carried down into the revolving vortex, some being cast up on the outside, some swimming frantically towards the shore, or reaching desperately for fragments of wreck. About 100 went down with the ship. The chaplain went down with the wounded who were below deck.

It took forty-five minutes for the Merrimac to finish off the Cumberland, and she now turned her ram towards the Congress, which spread all sail and endeavoured to get clear away.

But at this moment the Congress grounded and became helpless. The gunboats of the Confederates were still firing heavily at her from a respectful distance, but as they saw the Merrimac approaching they too drew near under her protection.

The Merrimac chose her position at about 100 yards’ range, despising the guns of the Congress, and raked her fore and aft, dismounting guns and covering her deck with mangled limbs. In three places the Congress burst into flames, and the dry timber crackled and blazed and smoked like a volcano. The men could not stand by the guns for the fervent heat. The wounded were slowly burned alive. The officers could not bear this sight, and hauled down the flag.

A tug was sent by the Confederates to take off the prisoners from the burning wreck, but, unfortunately, some sharpshooters from the shore still kept up a hot fire upon the Southern vessels. In consequence of this the Merrimac fired another broadside into the sinking Congress, and killed many more of her crew. The Congress, being deserted, still burned on till darkness fell, and the ruddy glare lit up the moving waters as if they had been a sea of blood. At midnight the fire reached her magazine, and with a thunder of explosion the Congress blew up into a myriad fragments. The Northern warship Minnesota had also grounded, so had the frigate St. Lawrence, and the Merrimac, while it was still light enough to aim a gun, steamed towards them to see what little attention she could bestow upon them. The Merrimac was, perhaps, a little overconfident in her coat of mail. Anyhow, she risked receiving a broadside at very short range from the heavy guns of the Minnesota.

A shot seems to have entered her porthole and damaged her machinery, for she hesitated, put about, and returned to safe anchorage behind Craney Island.

Meanwhile, a very natural terror was gnawing at the hearts of the Federal crews and garrison in Hampton Roads.

They had listened to the sounds of the conflict and seen the dire results in wonder, almost in despair. The Merrimac, they said, was invulnerable. Not a shot could pierce her. On Sunday morning she would return and destroy the whole Federal fleet at her leisure. She would shell Newport News Point and Fortress Monroe, at the entrance of Hampton Roads, set everything on fire, and drive the garrisons from their guns. Nay, as the telegraph wires flashed the news to Washington, it was foreseen with an agony of horror that the Merrimac might ascend the Potomac and lay the capital in ashes. Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, Boston, were in a state of panic. No one knew what might not follow. It was a blind horror of a new and unknown danger. For the experience of one hour had rendered the shipbuilding of the past a scorn and a laughing-stock. Wooden frigates might go to the scrap-heap now. With the Cumberland had gone down morally all the great navies of Europe. A new order had to be found for ship and battery, and steel must take the place of planks of oak.

Such a night of anxiety and alarm the Northern States had never experienced. It was ten o’clock at night when the look-out in the garrison thought he saw lights out at sea in Chesapeake Bay. He called his mate. By-and-by they made them out to be two small steamers heading for Old Point Comfort. An eye-witness from Fort Monroe thus describes what happened:

“Oh, what a night that was! I can never forget it. There was no fear during the long hours – danger, I find, does not bring that – but there was a longing for some interposition of God and waiting upon Him, from whom we felt our help must come, in earnest, fervent prayer, while not neglecting all the means of martial defence. Fugitives from Newport News kept arriving. Ladies and children had walked the long ten miles from Newport News, feeling that their presence only embarrassed their brave husbands. Sailors from the Congress and Cumberland came, one of them with his ship’s flag bound about his waist, as he had swum with it ashore. Dusky fugitives came mournfully fleeing from a fate worse than death – slavery. These entered my cabin hungry and weary. The heavens were aflame with the burning Congress. But there were no soldiers among the flying host. The sailors came only to seek another chance at the enemy, since the Cumberland had gone down in deep waters, and the Congress had gone upward, as if a chariot of fire, to convey the manly souls whose bodies had perished in that conflict upward to heaven.

“The heavy night hung dark the hills and waters o’er,”

but the night was not half so heavy as our hearts, nor so dark as our prospects. All at once a speck of light gleamed on the distant wave. It moved; it came nearer and nearer, and at ten o’clock at night the Monitor appeared.

“‘When the tale of bricks is doubled, Moses comes!’

“I never more firmly believed in special Providence than at that hour. Even sceptics for the moment were converted, and said: ‘God has sent her!’ But how insignificant she looked! She was but a speck on the dark blue sea at night, almost a laughable object by day. The enemy call her ‘a cheese-box on a raft,’ and the comparison is a good one. Could she meet the Merrimac? The morrow must determine, for, under God, the Monitor is our only hope now.”

Lieutenant Worden, the Commander of the Monitor, on arriving at Fort Monroe was instructed to lie alongside the Minnesota, to guard her in case of a night attack. At eleven o’clock she set out, and her arrival was hailed with delight by the men on board the frigate, though some shook their heads at the strange unshapely toy which a private individual had constructed to save the Federal fleet. But few slept that night. The odds against the Monitor seemed too great. She mounted but two guns, while the Merrimac carried ten. Sunday morning broke sunny and beautiful, and the sea was peaceful and calm. Near Sewell’s Point, opposite Hampton Roads, three vessels were at anchor, one of them the Merrimac.

About nine o’clock glasses showed a stir amongst them, and instantly the Monitor awoke to life and action, closing her iron hatches and putting on the dead-light covers. The Monitor, like a great girdle-cake, only stood 2 feet out of the water; her smooth surface was broken only by the turret and pilot-house.

Then they saw the Merrimac coming, looking like a submerged house, with roof only out of the water. After her came the Jamestown and Yorktown, and a fleet of tug-boats crowded with ladies and gentlemen from Norfolk eager to see the fun.

The Merrimac, entirely unconscious of the new enemy she had to encounter, steamed slowly along and fired upon the Minnesota, which was still aground. The Minnesota replied with a broadside and the usual result; but the Monitor steamed out from behind and boldly advanced to meet her antagonist, and when at a distance of half a mile Lieutenant Worden from the pilot-house gave the order to fire. The ball, weighing 170 pounds, rattled against the mailed side of the Merrimac. She staggered under the force of the concussion, and at once seemed to realize that in this floating turret she had no mean antagonist. At the range of only a few yards she poured in a terrible broadside. To her disgust, the shots seemed to have glided off and done no harm. Then the two vessels closed and poured a hail of heavy metal upon each other. The Monitor being the quicker, would circle round the Merrimac, while the turret, turning with ease, always presented the guns to the foe.

Worden in his pilot-house could speak through tubes to Lieutenant Green, who commanded the gunners in the tower. Once Green trained his guns on the Merrimac’s water-line, and the shot penetrated.

“Splendid, sir! splendid!” roared Worden. “You have made the iron fly.”

But the spectators who lined the ramparts of Fort Monroe could not see what was happening for the clouds of smoke, and they stood, silent and wretched, almost afraid to look.

But at last the veil parted, and they saw the little Monitor lying alongside the Merrimac, trim and spiteful, with the Stars and Stripes flying proudly from her stern, and a great cheer arose from every throat. Then they saw the Merrimac bear down upon the little flat cheese, as if to sink her. She struck fair and square, but the iron ram glided up on her low-sheathed deck and simply careened her over; but in so doing the Merrimac showed her unarmed hull below the iron coat of mail, and the Monitor planted one of her shots in a vital place.

For four long hours had this strange duel lasted, the Merrimac firing heavily, the Monitor steaming round and choosing her place and time, with careful aim at rudder, screw, and water-line. At last Buchanan, the Commander of the Merrimac, was severely wounded, and as his ship began to take in water through three gaping wounds, the helm was put over and the conqueror of yesterday limped away. But her last shot struck point-blank upon the iron grating of the pilot-house just where Lieutenant Worden was looking out. The concussion threw him down senseless, and minute pieces of iron and powder were driven into his eyes, so that he was blinded. When after a time he recovered his consciousness he asked:

“Have I saved the Minnesota?”

“Yes, sir, and whipped the Merrimac,” was the reply.

“Then I care not what becomes of me,” murmured the Lieutenant.

The Merrimac slowly made her way to a safe anchorage under the batteries at Sewell’s Point. Here she signalled for help, and tugs came up, took her in tow, and escorted her to Norfolk. Her injuries were so severe that after months of work upon her she never ventured to quit her retreat, whereas the Monitor seemed but slightly damaged. She had been hit twenty-two times, and only showed slight indentations, but a ball striking full on the pilot-house had bent a huge iron beam. The ram of the Merrimac had torn off some of the plating from the side of the Monitor. The latter drew only 10 feet of water, and could go where the Merrimac could not venture.

But though the Merrimac had fired her last shot, she gave the North a great fright in the night which followed the battle. At midnight thousands of people along the coast were roused from their sleep by cries that came over the water: “Fire! fire! For God’s sake, save us!”

The shore was soon lined by spectators, who stood unable to get a boat to put out or help in any way. There was the gunboat Whitehall roaring with flames, and the dark figures of the crew were plainly visible on her deck, either wrapped in red fire or jumping into the deep water beneath.

The Whitehall’s shotted guns were going off here and there through the thick crowds or clustering houses, and one shell struck the hospital, making the inmates believe that the Merrimac had returned. It transpired that a red-hot shot had been thrown from the Merrimac during the day and had lodged between the Whitehall’s timbers, where the fire smouldered until late at night.

The general conclusion from this momentous fight between the first ironclads was that “England’s naval supremacy is gone for ever.” But men are more potent than masses of metal. America and England have navies now in comparison with which the Merrimac and Monitor are but tin kettles. Yet we must remember that Russia, too, a few months ago possessed a strong navy as far as metal goes. But once again the Japanese proved to the world that it is in the hearts of brave men, the science of clever men, and the enduring patience of patriotic men, that the issues of victory or defeat are mainly determined.

CHAPTER XV

CAPTURE OF NEW ORLEANS (1862)

New Orleans and its forts – Farragut despises craven counsel – The mortar-fleet in disguise – Fire-rafts rush down – A week of hot gun-fire – A dash through the defences – The Varuna’s last shot – Oscar, aged thirteen – Ranged before the city – Anger of mob – Summary justice – Soldiers insulted in the streets – General Butler in command – Porter nearly blown up in council – Fort Jackson in ruins – “The fuse is out.”

New Orleans, on the Mississippi River, was the great market of the South, a rich and powerful city of 200,000 inhabitants. Everything possible had been done to defend it from the Northern arms. Sixty miles below New Orleans the river makes a sharp bend, and here, fronting each other on either side, stood the forts of Jackson and St. Philip. These strong forts the Confederates had seized, and the Federal fleet had to pass them on its way to New Orleans. They were heavily armoured with 180 pieces of ordinance, but besides the forts the warships would have to cut through an iron cable stretched across the river and supported by seven hulks and rafts. Above these were eighteen gunboats and floating batteries, with fire-rafts and rams; so that the city felt itself tolerably secure behind these obstructions, and laughed to scorn any thought of being besieged. Besides, had not English and French officers examined the forts and pronounced the attempt to pass them madness? But Commodore Farragut, who was in command of the National fleet, answered them in these words:

“You may be right, gentlemen, but I was sent here to make the attempt. I came here to reduce or pass the forts and to take New Orleans, and I shall try it on.”

The Federal mortar-fleet was getting ready for action. Topmasts were lowered, all spars and booms unshipped, the main-decks cleared, and armour of chain cables was improvised to protect the gunners. The ships were painted with mud to make them invisible. On the 17th of April the order was given to advance up-stream. There was a thick forest on the western bank, a low bank and marshy ground on the east. In order to confuse the enemy, the masts and rigging of the Northerners were festooned with leafy branches; others were sheathed with reeds to blend with the background of the river-bank. Five sloops of war waited behind the mortar-boats, carrying 104 guns; 150 boats supplied with grapnel-ropes, axes, and buckets, were ready to deal with the fire-ships. And they soon had the work to do, for one dark night a blazing raft came down upon them, lighting up water and bank, trees and rushes; but the Westfield dashed into the burning pile and turned her hose upon it; and the boats leapt forth to hack and grapple and plunge the burning timbers into the river. Then cheers broke forth when the peril had been subdued.

At 9 a.m. of the 16th of April Fort Jackson threw a shell into the Northern flotilla a mile off, and at once the mortar-boats replied, sending their big shells with great accuracy into the very ramparts. New Orleans, seventy-two miles away, distinctly heard the thunder of the bombardment, kept up for more than a week. The citadel was set on fire, the walls cracked and shattered, and the forts were flooded. The men on deck would fall down and sleep in the midst of the great thunder, so exhausted were they by toil night and day. On the second day the Carleton received a shell into her magazine, which exploded, and she sank. At the end of a week, after all this terrible storm of flying metal, only one man had been killed and six wounded in the Federal fleet. But the forts had not been silenced.

On the 24th of April, at 2 a.m., two red lights were run up on the flag-ship, and very soon the fleet was under way for the passage between the forts. As each ship passed it delivered its broadside and swept on towards the gunboats beyond. Fire-rafts kept floating down, and the roar of 500 cannon shook the air.

The Ithaca was riddled by shot and fell behind. The ram Manasses came down on the flag-ship, and Admiral Farragut got aground while trying to avoid her. His ship took fire from a fire-raft, but it was extinguished.

Captain Boggs in the Varuna sunk five gunboats one after another, then his vessel’s sides were stove in by a ram; but with his last broadside before he sank he disabled her. A boy named Oscar was on board the Varuna, only thirteen years old, and during the fight was very busy passing ammunition to the gunners. All covered with dirt and powder-begrimed, he was met by Captain Boggs, who asked where he was running in such a hurry.

“To get a passing-box, sir. My other was smashed by a ball.”

When the Varuna went down with her crew Boggs missed the boy, and feared he was among the drowned. But presently he saw the lad gallantly swimming towards the Oneida, a neighbour ship. Oscar clambered on board, dripping and grinning from ear to ear, as if he had just enjoyed the finest fun in life. Seeing his Captain, he put his hand to his forehead in the usual salute, and saying, “All right, sir; I report myself on board,” shook off the water and was ready for the next duty to hand.

On the morning of the 25th the Federal ships ranged up near the city batteries and silenced their fire in a few minutes. Soon the whole fleet was moored opposite New Orleans, with the Stars and Stripes proudly flying from every masthead, and the bands playing their national airs.

The citizens of New Orleans had rested in full persuasion that they were absolutely safe behind their forts and gunboats, and now that they saw the enemy actually threatening their city, they were transported by a passion of panic, mortification, and rage.

When they first heard that the forts had been passed and that the Yankee ships were coming up the river, the mob of the city became so desperate in their fury that martial law had to be proclaimed. At least, they said, these hated Yankees should not get the wealth of the city, and they put the torch to everything that would burn. Offices, banks, ships, cotton, piers, warehouses, coal, and sugar – all were fired and consumed in one vast conflagration. The river was dotted with floating islands of flame, as richly freighted merchantmen were fired and cut adrift.

The Confederate General Lovell and his troops were withdrawn, as no reasonable promise of a successful defence remained.

Two iron rams of immense power which had been in building were destroyed before Admiral Farragut arrived.

As soon as the fleet appeared before the city some of the citizens who favoured the Union foolishly expressed their delight by cheers. Civil war is always conducted with greater bitterness than war with a foreign Power. These unfortunates were promptly shot down in the street or on the quay.

On the 26th of April the city was formally surrendered, and a body of troops was landed to raise the Stars and Stripes over the public buildings. Crowds of angry men followed the marines with hoot and yell, and were only prevented from inflicting actual outrage by the fear of being shelled from the ships. It is said that Captain Bailey and his men on landing at the crowded pier were jostled and jeered at by angry bands of rowdies. We have to remember this when we pass judgment on General Butler’s order to treat all ladies who insulted the troops as disorderly women. We may wonder how the Germans would have treated the French in Paris had the Parisians dared to conduct themselves so outrageously.

General Butler writes thus to a friend: “We were 2,500 men in a city seven miles long by two to four wide, of 150,000 inhabitants, all hostile, bitter, defiant, explosive – standing literally on a magazine. The devil had entered the hearts of the women to stir up strife in every way. Every opprobrious epithet, every insulting gesture, was made by these bejewelled, becrinolined and laced creatures, calling themselves ladies, towards my soldiers and officers from the windows of houses and in the streets. How long do you think our flesh and blood could have stood this?..”

It is clear that General Butler was as angry as the ladies. The Albany Journal adds this fact: “Women who have been regarded as the pattern of refinement and good breeding not only assail our men with the tongue, but with more material weapons. Buckets of slops are emptied upon them as they pass, decayed oranges and rotten eggs are hurled at them. The forbearance of our troops is wonderful.”

Commander Porter had been left behind to receive the capitulation of the forts Jackson and St. Philip, when the Federal fleet steamed up to New Orleans. He pitched a few shells into Fort Jackson, but there “was no response; the fight had all been taken out of them.” On the 28th a flag of truce from Fort Jackson came on board the Harriet Lane with offer to surrender. When officers of both sides were assembled in the cabin of the Harriet Lane discussing the details of surrender, an officer came below and informed Commander Porter that the Southern battery Louisiana had been set on fire and was drifting down upon them. She was a steam floating battery of 4,000 tons, mounting sixteen heavy guns. The battery had been fired so quietly that no one suspected any such thing until it blazed up, for flags of truce were flying upon both forts and ships.