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A. Lincoln
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| On August5, 1864, Commodore David Farragut and his flotilla steamed toward Mobile Bay where, supported by land forces, he engaged the Confederates in the battle that gave birth to the famous order to Damn the Torpedoes." The following is taken from Lieutanant John Kinney's Farragut at Mobile Bay |
Except for what Farragut had already accomplished on the Mississippi, it would have been considered a foolhardy experiment for wooden vessels to attempt to pass so close to one of the strongest forts on the coast, but when to the forts were added the knowledge of the strength of the ram and the supposed deadly character of the torpedoes, it may be imagined that the coming event impressed the person taking his first glimpse of naval warfare as decidedly hazardous and unpleasant. So daring an attempt was never made in any country but ours, and was never made successfully by any commander except Farragut who, in this, as in his previous exploits in passing the forts of the Mississippi, proved himself one of the greatest naval commanders the world has ever seen. After the reconnoissance the final council of war was held on board the Hartford, when the positions of the various vessels were assigned, and the order of the line was arranged. Unfortunately Captain (now Rear-Admiral) Thornton A. Jenkins was absent, his vessel, the Richmond, having been unavoidably delayed at Pensacola, whither she had gone for coal and to escort the monitor Tecumseh. Had he been present he certainly would have been selected to take the lead, in which event the perilous halt the next day would not have occurred. Much against his own wish Admiral Farragut yielded to the unanimous advice of his captains and gave up his original determination of placing his flagship in advance, and in the uncertainty as to the arrival of the Richmond, assigned the Brooklyn, Captain Alden, to that position. It was the admiral's desire and intention to get underway by daylight, to take advantage of the inflowing tide; but a dense fog came on after midnight and delayed the work of forming the line. It was a weird sight as the big ships "balanced to partners," the dim outlines slowly emerging like phantoms in the fog. The vessels were lashed together in pairs, fastened side by side by huge cables. All the vessels had been stripped for the fight, the top-hamper being left at Pensacola, and the starboard boats being either left behind or towed on the port side. The admiral's steam-launch, the Lovell, named after his son, steamed alongside the flagship on the port side. It was a quarter past six o'clock before the fleet was in motion. Meantime a light breeze had scattered the fog and left a clear, sunny August day. The line moved slowly, and it was an hour after starting before the opening gun was fired. This was a 15-inch shell from the Tecumseh, and it exploded over Fort Morgan. Half an hour afterward the fleet came within range and the firing from the starboard vessels became general, the fort and the Confederate fleet replying. The fleet took position across the entrance to the bay and raked the advance vessels fore and aft, doing great damage, to which it was for a time impossible to make effective reply. Gradually the fleet came into close quarters with Fort Morgan, and the firing on both sides became terrific. The wooden vessels moved more rapidly than the monitors, and as the Brooklyn came opposite the fort, and approached the torpedo line, she came nearly alongside the armored monitor. To have kept on would have been to take the lead, with the ram Tennessee approaching and with the unknown danger of the torpedoes underneath. At this critical moment the Brooklyn halted and began backing and signaling with the army signals. The Hartford was immediately behind and the following vessels were in close proximity, and the sudden stopping of the Brooklyn threatened to bring the whole fleet into collision, while the strong inflowing tide was likely to carry some of the vessels to the shore under the guns of the fort. Nearly every man had his watch in his hand awaiting the first shot. To us, ignorant of everything going on above, every minute seemed an hour, and there was a feeling of great relief when the boom of the Tecumseh's first gun was heard. Presently one or two of our forward guns opened and we could hear the distant sound of the guns of the fort in reply. Soon the cannon-balls began to crash through the deck above us, and then the thunder of our whole broad side of nine Dahlgren guns kept the vessel in a quiver. But as yet no wounded were sent down, and we knew we were still at comparatively long range. In the intense excitement of the occasion it seemed that hours had passed, but it was just twenty minutes from the time we went below, when an officer shouted down the hatchway: "Send up an army signal officer immediately; the Brooklyn is signaling." In a moment the writer was on deck, where he found the situation as already described. Running on to the forecastle, he hastily took the Brooklyn's message, which imparted the unnecessary information, "The monitors are right ahead; we cannot go on without passing them." The reply was sent at once from the admiral, "Order the monitors ahead and go on." But still the Brooklyn halted, while to add to the horror of the situation, the monitor Tecumseh, a few hundred yards in the advance, suddenly careened to one side and almost instantly sank to the bottom, carrying with her Captain Tunis A.M. Craven and the greater part of his crew, numbering in all 114 officers and men. Meantime the Brooklyn failed to go ahead, and the whole fleet became a stationary point-blank target for the guns of Fort Morgan and of the rebel vessels. It was during these few perilous moments that the most fatal work of the day was done to the fleet. Owing to the Hartford's position, only a few of her bow guns could be used, while a deadly rain of shot and shell was falling on her, and her men were being cut down by scores, unable to make reply. The sight on deck was sickening beyond the power of words to portray. Shot after shot came through the side, mowing down the men, deluging the decks with blood, and scattering mangled fragments of humanity so thickly that it was difficult to stand on the deck, so slippery was it. The old expressions of the "scuppers running blood," "the slippery deck," etc., give but the faintest idea of the spectacle on the Hartford. The bodies of the dead were placed in a long row on the port side, while the wounded were sent below until the surgeons' quarters could hold no more. A solid shot coming through the bow struck a gunner on the neck, completely severing head from body. One poor fellow lost both legs by a cannon-ball; as he fell he threw up both arms, just in time to have them also carried away by another shot. At one gun, all the crew on one side were swept down by a shot which came crashing through the bulwarks. A shell burst between the two forward guns in charge of Lieutenant Tyson, killing and wounding fifteen men. The mast upon which the writer was perched was twice struck, once slightly, and again just below the foretop by a heavy shell, from a rifle on the Confederate gunboat Selma. Looking out over the water, it was easy to trace the course of every shot, both from the guns of the Hartford and from the Confederate fleet. Another signal message from the Brooklyn told of the sinking of the Tecumseh, a fact known already, and another order to "go on" was given and not obeyed. Soon after the fight began, Admiral Farragut, finding that the low-hanging smoke from the guns interfered with his view from the deck, went up the rigging of the mainmast as far as the futtock-shrouds, immediately below the maintop. The pilot, Martin Freeman, was in the top directly overhead, and the fleet-captain was on the deck below. Seeing the admiral in this exposed position where, if wounded, he would be killed by falling to the deck, Fleet-Captain Drayton ordered Knowles, the signal-quartermaster, to fasten a rope around him so that he would be prevented from falling. Finding that the Brooklyn failed to obey his orders, the admiral hurriedly inquired of the pilot if there was sufficient depth of water for the Hartford to pass to the left of the Brooklyn. Receiving an affirmative reply, he said, "I will take the lead," and immediately ordered the Hartford ahead at full speed. As he passed the Brooklyn a voice warned him of the torpedoes, to which he returned the contemptuous answer, "Damn the torpedoes." This is the current story, and may have some basis of truth. But as a matter of fact, there was never a moment when the din of the battle would not have drowned any attempt at conversation between the two ships, and while it is quite probable that the admiral made the remark it is doubtful if he shouted it to the Brooklyn. Then was witnessed the remarkable sight of the Hartford and her consort, the Metacomet, passing over the dreaded torpedo ground and rushing ahead far in advance of the rest of the fleet, the extrication of which from the confusion caused by the Brooklyn's halt required many minutes of valuable time. The Hartford was now moving over what is called the "middle ground," with shallow water on either side, so that it was impossible to move except as the channel permitted. Taking advantage of the situation, the Confederate gunboat Selma kept directly in front of the flagship and raked her fore and aft, doing more damage in reality than all the rest of the enemy's fleet. The other gunboats, the Gaines and the Morgan, were in shallow water on our starboard bow, but they received more damage from the Hartford's broadsides than they were able to inflict. Meanwhile the ram Tennessee, which up to this time had contented herself with simply firing at the approaching fleet, started for the Hartford, apparently with the intention of striking her amidships. She came on perhaps for half a mile, never approaching nearer than a hundred yards, and then suddenly turned and made for the fleet which, still in front of the fort, was gradually getting straightened out and following the Hartford. This change of course on the part of the ram has always been a mystery. The captain of the ram, in papers published since the war, denies that any such move was made, but it was witnessed by the entire fleet, and is mentioned by both Admiral Farragut and Fleet-Captain Drayton in their official reports. The Hartford had now run a mile inside the bay, and was suffering chiefly from the raking fire of the Selma, which was unquestionably managed more skillfully than any other Confederate vessel. Captain (now Admiral) Jouett, commanding the Hartford's escort, the Metacomet, repeatedly asked permission of the admiral to cut looose and take care of the Selma, and finally, at five minutes past eight, consent was given. In an instant the cables binding the two vessels were cut, and the Metacomet, the fastest vessel in the fleet, bounded ahead. The Selma was no match for her, and recognizing her danger, endeavored to retreat up the bay. But she was speedily over hauled, and when a shot had wounded her captain and killed her first lieutanant she surrendered. Before this the Gaines had been crippled by the splendid marksmanship of the Hartford's gunners, and had run aground under the guns of the fort, where she was shortly afterward set on fire, the crew escaping to the shore. The gunboat Morgan, after grounding for a few moments on the shoals to the east of Navy Cove, retreated to the shallow water near the fort, whence she escaped the following night to Mobile. The Hartford, having reached the deep water of the bay, about three miles north of Dauphine Island, came to anchor. Let us now return to the other vessels of the fleet, which we left massed in front of Fort Morgan by the remarkable action of the Brooklyn in stopping and refusing to move ahead. When the ram Tennessee turned away from the Hartford, as narrated, she made for the fleet, and in their crowded and confused condition it seemed to be a matter of no difficulty to pick out whatever victims the Confederate commander (Admiral Franklin Buchanan) might desire, as he had done in 1861 when commanding the Merrimac in Hampton Roads. Before he could reach them the line had been straightened, and the leading vessels had passed the fort. Whatever damage was done by the Tennessee to the fleet in passing the fort was by the occasional discharge of her guns. She failed to strike a single one of the Union vessels, but was herself run into by the Monongahela, Captain Strong, at full speed. The Monongahela was no match for the Tennessee, but she had been strengthened by an artificial iron prow, and being one of the fastest, or rather, least slow, of the fleet, was expected to act as a ram if opportunity offered. Captain Strong waited for no orders, but seeing the huge ram coming for the fleet left his place in line and attacked her. At last all the fleet passed the fort, and while the ram ran under its guns the vessels made their way to the Hartford and dropped their anchors, except the Metacomet, Port Royal, Kennebec, and Itasca. After the forts were passed, the three last named had cut loose from their escorts and gone to the aid of the Metacomet in her struggle with the Selma and Morgan. The Tennessee, after remaining near Fort Morgan while the fleet had made its way four miles above to its anchorage, -- certainly as much as half an hour, -- had suddenly decided to settle at once the question of the control of the bay. Single handed she came on to meet the whole fleet, consisting now of ten wooden vessels and the three monitors. At the time the Tennessee was believed to be the strongest vessel afloat, and the safety with which she carried her crew during the battle proved that she was virtually invulnerable. Fortunately for the Union fleet she was weakly handled, and at the end fell victim to a stupendous blunder in her construction -- the failure to protect her rudder chains. The spectacle afforded the Confederate soldiers, who crowded the ramparts of the two forts, -- the fleet now being out of range, -- was such as has very rarely been furnished in the history of the world. to the looker-on it seemed as if the fleet was at the mercy of the ram, for the monitors, which were expected to be the chief defense, were so destitute of speed and so difficult to manoeuvre that it seemed an easy task for the Tennessee to avoid them and sink the wooden vessels in detail. Because of the slowness of the monitors, Admiral Farragut selected the fastest of the wooden vessels to begin the attack. While the navy signals for a general attack of the enemy were being prepared, the Monongahela (Captain Strong) were ordered by the more rapid signal system of the army to "run down the ram," the order being immediately repeated to the monitors. The Monongahela, with her prow already somewhat weakened by the previous attempt to ram, at once took the lead, as she had not yet come to anchor. The ram from the first headed for the Hartford, and paid no attention to her assail ants, except with her guns. The Monongahela, going at full speed, struck the Tennessee amidships -- a blow that would have sunk almost any vessel of the Union navy, but which inflicted not the slightest damage on the solid iron hull of the ram. (After the surrender it was almost impossible to tell where the attacking vessel had struck.) Her own iron prow and cutwater were carried away, and she was otherwise badly damaged about the stern by the collision. The Lackawanna was close behind and delivered a similar blow with her wooden bow, simply causing the ram to lurch slightly to one side. As the vessels separated the Lackawanna swung alongside the ram, which sent two shots through her and kept on her course for the Hartford, which was now the next vessel in the attack. The two flag-ships approached each other, bow to bow, iron against oak. It was impossible for the Hartford, with her lack of speed, to circle around and strike the ram on the side; her own safety was in keeping pointed directly for the bow of her assailant. The other vessels of the fleet were unable to do anything for the defense of the admiral except to train their guns on the ram, on which as yet they had not the slightest effect. It was a thrilling moment for the fleet, for it was evident that if the ram could strike the Hartford the latter must sink. But for the two vessels to strike fairly, bows on, would probably have involved the destruction of both, for the ram must have penetrated so far into the wooden ship that as the Hartford filled and sank she would have carried the ram under water. Whether for this reason or for some other, as the two vessels came together the Tennessee slightly changed her course, the port bow of the Hartford met the port bow of the ram, and the ships grated against each other as they passed. The Hartford poured her whole port broadside against the ram, but the solid shot merely dented the side and bounded into the air. The ram tried to return the salute, but owing to defective primers only one gun was discharged. This sent a shell through the berth-deck, killing five men and wounding eight. The muzzle of the gun was so close to the Hartford that the powder blackened her side. The admiral stood on the quarter-deck when the vessels came together, and as he saw the result he jumped onto the port-quarter rail, holding the mizzen-rigging, a position from which he might have jumped to the deck of the ram as she passed. Seeing him in this position, and fearing for his safety, Flag-Lieutenant Watson slipped a rope around him and secured it to the rigging, so that during the fight the admiral was twice "lashed to the rigging," each time by devoted officers who knew better than to consult him before acting. Fleet-Captain Drayton had hurried to the bow of the Hartford as the collision was seen to be inevitable, and expressed keen satisfaction when the ram avoided a direct blow. The Tennessee now became the target for the whole fleet, all the vessels of which were making toward her, pounding her with shot, and trying to run her down. As the Hartford turned to make for her again, we ran in front of the Lackawanna, which had already turned and was moving under full headway with the same object. She struck us on our starboard side, amidships, crushing halfway through, knocking two port-holes into one, upsetting one of the Dahlgren guns, and creating general consternation. For a time it was thought that we must sink, and the cry rang out over the deck: "Save the admiral! Save the admiral!" The port boats were ordered lowered, and in their haste some of the sailors cut the "falls," and two of the cutters dropped into the water wrong side up, and floated astern. But the admiral sprang into the starboard mizzen rigging, looked over the side of the ship and, finding there were still a few inches to spare above the waters edge, instantly ordered the ship ahead again at full speed, after the ram. The unfortunate Lacakawanna, which had struck the ram a second blow, was making for her once more and, singularly enough, again came up on our starboard side, and another collision seemed imminent. And now the admiral became a trifle excited. He had no idea of whipping the rebeels to himself sunk by a friend, nor did he realize at the moment that the Hartford was as much to blame as the Lackawanna. Turning to the writer he inquired, "Can you say 'For God's sake' by signal?" "Yes, sir," was the reply. "Then say to the Lackawanna, 'for God's sake get out of our way and anchor!" In my haste to send the message, I brought the end of my signal flag-staff down with considerable violence on the head of the admiral, who was standing nearer than I thought, causing him to wince perceptibly. It was a hasty message, for the fault was equally divided, each ship being too eager to reach the enemy, and it turned out all right, by a fortunate accident, that Captain Marchand never received it. The army signal officer on the Lackawanna,, Lieutenant Myron Adams (now pastor of Plymouth Congregational Church in Rochester, N.Y.) had taken his station in the foretop, and just as he received the first five words, "For God's sake get out" -- the wind flirted the large United States flag at the mast head around him, so that he was unable to read the conclusion of the message. The remainder of the story is soon told. As the Tennessee left the Hartford she became the target of the entire fleet, and at last the concentrationof solid shot from so many guns began to tell. The flag-staff was shot away, the smokestack was riddled with holes and finally disappeared. The Monitor Chickasaw, Lieutenant Commander Perkins, succeeded in coming up astern and began pounding away with 11-inch solid shot, and one shot from a 15-inch gun of the Manhattan crushed into the side sufficiently to prove that a few more such shots would have made the casemate untenable. Finally, one of the Chickasaw's shots cut the rudder-chain of the ram and she would no longer mind her helm. At this time as Admiral Farragut says in his report, "she was sore beset. The Chickasaw waas pounding away at her stern, the Osipee was approaching her at full speed, and the Monongahela, Lackawanna, and this ship were bearing down upon her, determined upon her destruction." From the time the Hartford struck her she did not fire a gun. Finally the Confederate admiral, Buchanan, was severely wounded by an iron splinter or a piece of shell, and just as the Osipee was about to strike her the Tennessee displayed a white flag, hoisted on an improvised staff through the grating over her deck. The Osipee (Captain Le Roy) reversed her engine, but was so near that a harmless collision was inevitable. Suddenly the terrific cannonading ceased, and from every ship rang out cheer after cheer, as the weary men realized that at last the ram was conquered and the day won. |
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