Chapter II: Front Matter (2)

Resting until the next morning to care for the dead and wounded, and the repair of damages, the fleet again weighed, the Cayuga still in advance; and when the spires of the city hove in sight from her deck, "three rousing cheers and a tiger" went up from her gallant crew. But the plucky little gunboat was getting ahead too fast, for arriving close abreast the Chalmette battery, which seemed to be deserted, she suddenly received a fire that compelled a halt. Over-matched five to one, and having been struck fourteen times, with shot and shells dropping thick and fast about her, she slowed and dropped back a little with the current, until the Hartford and Brooklyn coming up quickly silenced the enemy with their heavy broadsides, while the Pensacola cared for the hostile works on the opposite bank in like manner. The fleet then kept on without further obstruction, and arrived and anchored off the city about noon; finding the levee along its entire length aflame with burning cotton, coal, ships, steamboats, and other property the infuriated enemy had devoted to destruction.

The loss to the fleet in this daring and brilliant feat had been thirty-seven killed and one hundred and thirty-seven wounded.

It is needless to say that Lieutenant Perkins not only received high commendation from Captain Bailey and Lieutenant-Commanding Harrison, but won the praise and admiration of all on board and in the fleet, by the coolness and intrepidity shown by him in every emergency of the fight and passage up the river.

The first tidings received in Washington foreshadowing the success of the attack was through rebel telegrams announcing, "one of the enemy's gunboats"--the Cayuga--"above the forts." Some question subsequently arose between Bailey and Farragut as to the Cayuga's position in the passage, which in the diagrams accompanying the official reports contradicted the text, putting the Cayuga third instead of first in the van. Farragut cheerfully made the correction.

Soon after anchoring, Bailey was ordered to go on shore and demand the unconditional surrender of the city, and he asked Lieutenant Perkins to accompany him. This duty was almost as dangerous and conspicuous as the passage of the forts had been, for an infuriated and insolent mob followed them from the landing to the mayor's office, and while there with the mayor and General Lovell, besieged the doors, demanding the "Yankee officers" to be given up to them to be hung. The demonstration at last became so threatening, that the mayor drew off the attention of the mob by a speech to them in front of the building, while the Union officers took a close carriage in its rear and driving rapidly down to their boat, reached the ship in safety.

Bailey had managed to hoist the flag over the mint, which a party of rebels tore down the next day, but the authorities refused to surrender the city or to haul down the insignia of rebellion. Then ensued a correspondence which, to read at this day, makes the blood boil at rebel insolence, and the wonder grow at Farragut's forbearance; but on the twenty-ninth of April, he sent Fleet-Captain Bell on shore with two howitzers manned by sailors and a battalion of two hundred and fifty marines and took possession of the city. Meanwhile the forts had surrendered to Porter of the mortar fleet, and General Butler, arriving on the first of May, relieved Farragut of further responsibility as to the city.

The Cayuga had been so badly cut up by shot and shell that she was selected to take Captain Bailey north as bearer of dispatches, and landing him at Fortress Monroe, proceeded on to New York to be refitted. This enabled Lieutenant Perkins to make a short visit to Concord, where his father, now become judge of probate of Merrimack County, had removed, and both himself and the family received many congratulations, personal and written, at the brilliant record he had made in the recent memorable operations on the Mississippi.

Modest and unassuming, with a genial frankness of manner that told pleasantly alike on quarter-deck or street, in family-circle or drawing-room, he wore his honors in the quietest way possible, never speaking of his own part in the brave deeds of the time, except when pressed to do so, and then with a reticence all too provoking, from the well-grounded suspicion that he kept back the pith of the real story of personal participation he might tell without tinge of exaggeration or boastfulness.

Returning to the Cayuga he found a new commanding officer, Lieutenant-Commanding D. McN. Fairfax, another loyal Virginian, who not only stood faithful to the flag under all circumstances, but had, as the officer from the San Jacinto, boarded the Trent and taken from her the arch-conspirators, Mason and Slidell, suffering the contumely of rebel womanhood in the reception accorded him by Mr. Commissioner Slidell's daughter.

Fairfax and Perkins had known each other on the coast of Africa, and it was the meeting of old friends made doubly pleasant by the senior's hearty appreciation of the laurels so gallantly won by the junior, and self-congratulation in the promised comfort of retaining an executive of so much energy, ability, and reputation.

Rejoining Farragut's squadron, Perkins saw other gallant and varied service in the Cayuga until November, 1862, when he was transferred to the Pensacola, and the following month commissioned lieutenant-commander, a new grade created by Congress to correspond with that of major in the army.

In June, 1863, General Banks, then besieging Port Hudson, sent word to the now Rear-Admiral Farragut, that he must have more powder or give up the siege, wherefore the Admiral ordered the gunboat New London on the important service of powder transportation and convoy, and assigning Perkins to the command until the officer ordered from the North by the department should arrive. The enemy had possession at that time of some three hundred miles of the river below Port Hudson, with batteries established at various points and sharpshooters distributed along the banks.

Five times Perkins ran the fiery gauntlet successfully, but on the sixth his vessel was disabled in a sharp fight at Whitehall's Point. One shot from the enemy exploded the New London's boiler, and another disabled her steam chest. In that critical condition, directly under the guns of the hostile battery, and exposed to the fire of sharpshooters on the bank, and deserted by his consort, the Winona, his position seemed desperate almost beyond remedy; but fertile in expedients and daring to rashness in their execution, he finally succeeded, after almost incredible exertion and perilous personal adventure, in communicating with the fleet below, and the vessel was saved.

Now the commanding officer from the North having arrived, Perkins was transferred to the command of the ninety-day gunboat Sciota, the best command at that time, in the squadron, for an officer of his years, and assigned to duty on the blockade off the coast of Texas. To one of his social disposition and active temperament, the blockade, ever harassing and monotonous, was, as he wrote, a "living death," adding that "we are all talked out, and sometimes a week passes and I hardly speak more than a necessary word." Venturing ashore several times on hunting excursions, he at last came near being captured by the enemy, and held after that, that "cabin'd confinement was preferable to a rebel prison," and so kept on board. Once during that weary nine months, the tedium was broken by the capture of a fat prize--a schooner loaded with cotton. Let us hope that the prize-court and its attendant officials did not absorb too big a share of the proceeds!

Relieved from that command late in May, 1864, with leave to proceed home, he arrived at New Orleans in June, to find active preparations for the Mobile fight going on, and though he had not been at home for two years, he could not stand it to let slip so glorious an opportunity for stirring service, and so volunteered to remain. Farragut, delighted at such determination, quite different from the experience he had had with some officers, assigned to Perkins a command above his rank--the Chickasaw,--a double-turretted monitor, carrying four eleven-inch guns and a crew of one hundred and forty-five men and twenty-five officers. She had been built, together with the Winnebago, a sister vessel, at St. Louis, by Mr. Joseph B. Eads, the eminent engineer, on plans of his own. Of light draught and frame, and peculiar construction, some officers distrusted her strength and sea-going qualities. The Chickasaw, too, was not yet completed, the mechanics being still at work on her machinery and fittings, and her crew, with exception of a half-dozen men-of-war's-men, were river-men and landsmen, knowing nothing of salt-water sailing or of naval discipline. But time pressed: every moment was of priceless value; and Perkins, declining all social invitations, set about with characteristic energy to prepare his ship for the coming conflict. Nor did his work of preparation and drill cease, either in the river or outside, until well into the night preceding the eventful day in Mobile Bay that was to add another brilliant page to the annals of the navy.

On the twenty-eighth of July, he left New Orleans to join the fleet off Mobile, and on the way down the river an episode occurred that came nigh settling the fate of the Chickasaw without risk or chance of battle; for on nearing the bar, Perkins left the pilot-house a moment to look after some matters requiring attention outside. He had hardly reached the spot he sought, when, turning round, he saw that the pilot had changed the ship's course and was heading directly for a wreck close aboard, which to strike would end the career of the Chickasaw then and there. Springing back into the pilot-house, he seized the wheel and brought the ship back on her course, then snatching a pistol from his belt, said to the traitorous fellow: "You are here to take this ship over the bar, and if she touches ground or anything else, I'll blow your d----d brains out!" Pale with suppressed rage, and trembling with fear, the pilot expostulated that "the bottom was lumpy, and the best pilot in the river could not help touching at times."

"No matter," rejoined Perkins, "if you love the Confederacy better than your life, take your choice; but if you touch a single lump, I'll shoot you!" Needless to say, no lumps were found, nor that the pilot made haste to get out of such company the moment he was permitted to do so; neither may we doubt that the recording angel traced, with lightest hand, the strong language used by the nearly betrayed captain!

The Chickasaw arrived off Mobile bar August 1, where all was expectancy and preparation for the coming fight, a fight which perhaps had more in it of dramatic interest than any other naval battle of the war. The wooden ships pushing into the bay through the torpedo-strewn channel and under the fierce storm of shot and shell from Fort Morgan, lashed together in pairs for mutual support in case of disaster; the sudden and tragic sinking of the Tecumseh by torpedo stroke, with the loss of the heroic Craven and most of his brave officers and men; the halt of the Brooklyn in mid-channel in face of that dire disaster, which, with the threatened huddling of the ships together by the inward sweep of the tide, portended swift discomfiture and possible defeat; the intuitive perception and quick decision that literally enabled Farragut to take the flood that led to fortune, in the instant ordering of the Hartford to push ahead with his flag and assume the lead he had relinquished only at the urgent request of the Brooklyn's commander; the restored order and prompt following of the fleet, regardless of torpedoes, on the new course blazed out by the eagle eye and emphatic tongue of the fearless old admiral as he grappled with the emergency from the futtock-shrouds of the flagship; the little boat putting off from the Metacomet, suddenly lighted up by its saucy ensign, in the midst of the fiery chaos and thunderous roar of battle, to save the few souls struggling in the water from the ill-fated Tecumseh, calling forth admiration, alike from friend and foe, at the intrepidity of its mission; the dash of the enemy's powerful ram Tennessee, clad in heaviest armor, down the Union line, endeavoring to strike each vessel in turn; the separation of the coupled ships when beyond the reach of Morgan's guns, and the dash of the gunboats led by Jouett, of the Metacomet, like hounds released from the leash, at the enemy's flotilla; the reappearance of leviathan Tennessee and the fierce tournament that ensued, with turtle-backed Chickasaw following close under her stern with bulldog grip that knew no release; the intrepid skill and desperate valor never surpassed, with which the ram manoeuvred and withstood the hammering and ramming of the wooden ships, the pounding and shattering of the ironclads, before she yielded to the inevitable fate that awaited her,--all conspired to form a scene of grand and dramatic circumstance almost without parallel in naval warfare.

The youngest officer in command on that day,--the fifth of August,--so fateful to the fading fortunes of the Confederacy, so glorious to the reascendant star of Union, no one contributed more to its glories and success than Perkins of the Chickasaw; and in any other service under the sun he would have received immediate promotion for what he did on that day. Had he been an Englishman, the honors of knighthood would have been conferred on him, as well as promotion, but as an American he still waits adequate recognition for deeds as brave as they were conspicuous and telling.

Said Mr. Eads, the builder, when he heard the results of the battle and the surpassing part of the Chickasaw in it: "I would walk fifty miles to shake hands with the young man who commanded her!" And remembering the disparagement that had been put on the vessel and her sister ship, the Winnebago, his enthusiasm knew no bounds, and he took pains to gather all the details of the Chickasaw's brilliant work.

With the loss of the Tecumseh, the ironclad portion of the fleet was reduced to the Manhattan, armed with two fifteen-inch guns, and the Chickasaw and Winnebago of two eleven-inch guns each; but one of the Manhattan's guns became disabled early in the action, by a bit of iron lodging in the vent, and the Winnebago's turrets would not turn, so that her guns could be pointed only by manoeuvring the vessel. But the Chickasaw, owing to Perkins's foresight and hard work, was in perfect condition, as illustrated in all her service on that eventful day, as well as on all subsequent occasions, until the capitulation of Mobile ended the drama of rebellion on the Southern seaboard.

The wooden ships, stripped as at New Orleans for the stern work in hand, numbered fourteen, and the number of guns carried by the fleet was one hundred and fifty-five, throwing, by added facility of pivot and turret, ninety-two hundred and eight pounds of metal in broadside, from which thirteen hundred and twenty must be deducted through the early loss of the Tecumseh and the disabled gun of the Manhattan.

The enemy's defences consisted of Fort Morgan, commanding the channel at Mobile Point, mounting seventy guns; Fort Gaines, on the eastern point of Dauphin Island, some three miles northwest of Fort Morgan, armed with thirty guns, and Fort Powell, about four miles from Gaines northwest, at Grant's Pass, with four guns.

Across the channel, which runs close to Morgan, several lines of torpedoes were planted, and just beyond them to the northward of the fort, in line abreast waiting their opportunity, was the rebel squadron, comprising the Tennessee, flagship of Admiral Buchanan, and the gunboats Morgan, Gaines, and Selma, carrying in the aggregate twenty-two guns--eight rifles and fourteen smooth-bores. The Tennessee, the most powerful ship that ever flew the Confederate flag, was two hundred and nine feet in length, and forty-eight feet in width, with a heavy iron spur projecting from the bow some two feet under water. Her sides "tumbled home" at an angle of forty-five degrees and were clad in armor of five and six inches thickness, over a structure of oak and pine of twenty-five inches. Her guns, six heavy Brooke's rifles, were arranged, by port and pivot, for an effective all-round fire, and her speed was six knots.

All was ready for the attack on the evening of the fourth of August, and at half-past five the next morning the signal was thrown out to weigh, and fall into the order prescribed; the wooden ships in couples, and the ironclads in line by themselves; the Tecumseh in the van and the Chickasaw in rear, according to the rank of their commanding officers.

At half-past six the fleet was across the bar and in order of battle. No starlight or favoring clouds now, to partially mask its movements as at the passage of Forts Jackson and St. Philip, but the joyous sunshine, flooding land and sea with its brightness, and mirroring its revealing gleams upon fort and ship and pennon, serving friend and foe alike impartially. Alas! for the brave souls to whom that gracious morning light was the last of earth, but we may hope they awoke in a light of still more radiance and glory, and amid paeans of a joyous host, choiring "Well done, thou good and faithful servants, that didst give thy lives to God and country!"

The soft south wind of that fair morn came like a benediction to the fleet now sweeping on with the flood tide, and stillness like a sentient presence, only disturbed by the sound of screw or paddle-wheel as they turned ahead, hung over the ships till broken by the belching roar of the Tecumseh's monster guns, as she threw two fifteen-inch shells into Morgan--her first and last! And now, at seven, "by the chime," the action became general, and the Tecumseh, having loaded with heaviest charge and solid steel shot, steamed on ahead of the Brooklyn to attack the Tennessee; but Craven, thinking he saw a movement on the part of the ram to get out of the way, together with the seemingly too narrow space between the fatal buoy and the shore for manoeuvre in case of need, gave the order to starboard the helm, and head directly for the watchful Tennessee, waiting with lock-strings in hand to salute the monitor as she closed--gallant foeman worthy of her steel! So near and yet so far, for hardly had the Tecumseh gone a length to the westward of the sentinel buoy, than the fate, already outlined, overwhelmed her, and her iron walls became coffin, shroud, and winding-sheet to Craven and most of the brave souls with him, and all so suddenly that those who had seen the disaster could hardly realize what had taken place.

Ours is not the purpose to follow further the details of the fight, but to go with Perkins in the Chickasaw and see things as he saw them on that stirring day, as gathered from his letters and as fortified from other sources. Of tireless energy and restless activity, and sternly intent upon making the Chickasaw second to none in the grand work demanded of the fleet, he imparted nerve and enthusiasm throughout the vessel; now in the pilot-house, looking after the helmsman; then in the forward turret, personally sighting the guns; anon on top of the turret, taking in the surroundings.

His fine spirit and high moral courage had characteristic illustration when, the night before the fight, calling his officers into the cabin, he thus addressed them: "Gentlemen, by this time to-morrow, the fate of this fleet and of Mobile will be sealed. We have all a duty to perform and a victory to win. I have sent for you to say, that not a drop of wine, liquor, or beer, is to be drunk on board of this vessel from this hour until the battle is over, and the victory won, or death has come to us. It is my wish that every officer and man shall go into battle with a clear head and strong nerves. I rely upon you to comply with this requirement, confident that the Chickasaw and her crew can thus best perform their whole duty."

An officer, who held high position on board the flagship, writes: "Perkins went into the fight in his shirt-sleeves and a straw hat, and as he passed the Hartford, he was on top of the turret waving his hat and dancing around with delight and excitement."--"The ironclads," said Perkins, "were ordered to follow inside the fleet, between fleet and fort. I had orders to be reserve force and remain with wooden vessels after passing obstructions. Our course was between a certain buoy and the shore. This passage was known to be free from torpedoes, and was left for the blockade runners. All the vessels had orders to keep between that buoy and the shore, but in other respects the ironclads had separate orders from the wooden vessels. In the confusion resulting from the destruction of the Tecumseh and the movements of the Brooklyn, the monitors received _no_ orders and followed in the line of the other vessels." Be it said in passing, that Perkins had no pilot, and at sight of the Tecumseh's doom, one of the men in the pilot-house fainted, leaving only Perkins and one man to steer the vessel until the vigorous methods applied brought the man to, and freshened his pluck! The pilot-house was abaft the forward turret, not on top, as in the case of the Tecumseh class, and was entered through a trap-door which was kept open during the fight, for the vessel being unfinished, there was no way of opening it from inside when closed.

"I pushed forward as rapidly as possible, but my ship anyway was stationed last of the ironclads, as I was youngest in command. We fired at the fort to keep down its fire till the wooden ships had passed. When the Tennessee passed, it was on my port side; she then steamed toward Fort Morgan. Some of our vessels anchored, others kept under weigh, and when the Tennessee approached the fleet again, she was at once attacked by the wooden vessels, but they made no impression upon her. An order was now brought to the ironclads by Fleet-Surgeon Palmer for them to attack the ram, but as they stood for her, she seemed again to move as if retiring toward the fort, but the Chickasaw overtook her, and after a short engagement, succeeded in forcing her to surrender, having shot away her smoke-stack, destroyed her steering gear, and jammed her afterparts so that her stern guns were rendered useless. As she could not steer she drifted down the bay, head on, and I followed her close, firing as fast as I could, my guns and turrets, in spite of the strain upon them, continuing in perfect order. When Johnston came on the roof of the Tennessee and showed the white flag as signal of surrender, no vessel of the fleet was as near as a quarter of a mile, but the Ossipee was approaching, and her captain was much older than myself. I was wet with perspiration, begrimed with powder, and exhausted by long-continued exertion. I drew back and allowed Captain Le Roy to receive the surrender, though my first lieutenant, Hamilton, said to me at the time: 'Captain, you are making a mistake.'"

Knowing full well that the Chickasaw's eleven-inch shot would not penetrate the stout side-armor of the Tennessee, Perkins made for the weakest part of the vessel--her stern, and hung there close aboard, pouring solid shot of iron and steel into that vital part with the accuracy of pistol-shooting, until the ram surrendered; then taking her in tow, carried her near the flagship. He had fired fifty-two shots, and, says the officer of the Hartford already quoted: "The guns of the Chickasaw jammed the steering gear of the ram, also the port stopper of the after port disabling the after gun, and a shot from the Chickasaw broke Admiral Buchanan's leg."

But said Commander Nicholson of the Manhattan, in his official report: "Of the six fifteen-inch projectiles fired from this vessel at the rebel ironclad Tennessee, I claim four as having struck, doing most of the real injuries that she has sustained"; then enumerating the injuries inflicted, which included most of those claimed for the Chickasaw. Upon which claim put forth by the Manhattan, the writer ventures the opinion: First, that four hits out of six shots was poor shooting for a monitor at a target like the Tennessee, and suggestive of considerable distance between the vessels; second, that eye-witnesses have affirmed that only one of the Manhattan's shot took effect, a solid shot that struck the ram on the port beam, crushing her armor and splintering the backing, but not entering the casemate, though leaving a clean hole through; third, that the effect of that one shot showed what the Manhattan might have accomplished had she taken as favorable a position as that chosen by the Chickasaw; fourth, that it is believed the report of a board of survey confirmed the opinion as to that one shot; fifth, that, as between the great difference of sound in the firing of the fifteen-inch gun and an eleven-inch, and the greater destructive effect of the larger projectiles which could not but be felt by those receiving it, the enemy would best be likely to know from what source they sustained the most vital damage; sixth, that the concurrent opinions of the day, as given by press correspondents, eye-witnesses to the conflict, magazine summaries, official reports, the praise of Perkins on every lip, the talk of his promotion by distinguished officers, and the testimony of the enemy themselves, including Admiral Buchanan and Captain Johnston, all go to show that the surrender of the Tennessee was due more to the dogged and unrelenting effort and skilful management of Perkins of the Chickasaw than from any other cause.

Asked the Tennessee's pilot of "Metacomet" Jouett: "Who commanded the monitor that got under our stern?" adding, "D----n him! he stuck to us like a leech; we could not get away from him. It was he who cut away the steering gear, jammed the stern port shutters, and wounded Admiral Buchanan."

Said Captain Johnston, in the same vein: "If it had not been for that d----d black hulk hanging on our stern we would have got along well enough; she did us more damage than all the rest of the Federal fleet."

"The praise of Commander Perkins," wrote a son of Concord, himself an active participant in the fight, "on the superb management of his command, and the most admirable and efficient working of his ship, was upon the lips of all."

Pages of similar commendation might be quoted, but what need multiply testimony so direct and conclusive as to Perkins's gallantry and achievement, questioned only in quarters where the discretion of silence and suggestion of modesty had best been observed!

It only remains to add, in this connection, that so long as the Tennessee continued to flaunt her flag in face of the fleet, so long the work of that glorious day was of naught; that her capture, due in greatest part to the efforts of the Chickasaw, completed the work and ensured, without embarrassment, the continued operations against Fort Morgan and other defences in the bay.

Perkins, not content with laurels already won, got under weigh after dinner, and steamed up to Fort Powell, taking that work in rear. The shots from the Chickasaw destroyed the water-tanks, and Captain Anderson reported that, believing it to be impossible to drive the ironclad from its position, and fearing that a shell from the Chickasaw would explode the magazine, he decided to save his command and blow up the fort, which was done that night at 10.30. In the afternoon, the Chickasaw had seized a barge loaded with stores, from under the guns of Fort Powell, and towed it to the fleet.

The next afternoon, the ever-ready and alert Chickasaw, under her indefatigable commander, went down to Fort Gaines and shelled that work until dusk with such telling effect, that, coupled with the fact that the landforce under General Granger, investing its rear, was now ready to open fire in conjunction with the fleet, the rebel commander capitulated the next morning.

Morgan was now the only remaining work of the outer line of Mobile's defences to be "possessed and occupied," and General Granger, after throwing a sufficient garrison into Gaines, transferred his army and siege-train to the other side of the bay, and landing at Navy Cove, some four miles from Morgan, began its investment.

While this was going on, the Chickasaw was not idle, but continually using her guns at one point and another, with occasional exchanges of shotted compliments with the rams and batteries across the obstructions in Dog River, forming the inner line of defence of the city, some four miles distant.

On the twenty-second of August, the approaches having been completed, the land and naval forces opened a terrific fire on devoted Morgan, and continued it throughout the day with such effect that General Page, commanding the garrison, struck his colors and surrendered the next day.

The Chickasaw was as conspicuous in the bombardment as she had been in all her work since entering the bay. It was not in Perkins's temperament to be otherwise, and said an eye-witness at the time: "It was a glorious sight to see the gallant Perkins in the Chickasaw, nearly all the morning almost touching the wharf, and pouring in his terrible missiles, two at a time, making bricks and mortar fly in all directions, then moving ahead or astern a little to get a fresh place. He stayed there till nearly noon, when he hauled off to cool his guns and give his men some refreshment. In the afternoon, he took his ship in again, and turret after turret was emptied at the poor fort."

Perkins sent home the flag that had flown over the fort during the bombardment he obtained it in this wise: "The sailors from this ship," said he, "hauled down the flag, and one of them seized it and hid it in his bosom; there was not much left of it; it was riddled and torn. He brought it to me, declaring that no one had a right to it but the captain of the Chickasaw. I hardly knew what to do about it, but the man seemed so earnest I could not refuse to take it from him."

The bay was now sealed to blockade runners, and Mobile, measured as to its commercial importance to the Confederacy, might as well have been located among the mountains of northern Alabama as on the Gulf; and owing to strategic reasons, operations for its immediate reduction came to a halt. But on the twenty-seventh of March, 1865, the land and naval forces began a joint movement against the defences surrounding the city, and on the twelfth of April the Union forces were in full possession. In these last operations, which cost the loss of two light draught ironclads, a gunboat, and several other smaller vessels by torpedoes, we may know that the Chickasaw was never in the background.

In July, Perkins was relieved from the command and ordered home. He had volunteered for the Mobile fight but had been detained on board the Chickasaw nearly thirteen months.

On his arrival home, he was overwhelmed with congratulations upon his gallantry and achievements in Mobile Bay; but his friends felt indignant that no promotion had followed them, believing that at least the thirty numbers authorized by statute, "for eminent and conspicuous conduct in battle," could not be reasonably denied him. But he would not work personally toward that end, nor pull political wires to attain it. With him, the promotion must come unasked or not at all. It never came, and others disputed, with unblushing effrontery, the laurels he had won. Not only that, but he has seen, as well as others, those who did the least service during the war, given recognition and place over those who "bore the heat and burden of the day," during those four years so momentous in the annals of the Republic.

The following winter he was stationed at New Orleans, in charge of ironclads, and in May, 1866, was ordered as executive officer of the Lackawanna, for a cruise of three years in the North Pacific. The "piping times of peace" had come, and officers who had had important commands, now had to take a step back to the regular duties of their grade. Returning from the Pacific in the early spring of 1869, he was ordered to the Boston Navy Yard on ordnance duty, and in March, 1871, received his commission as commander. Two months later, he was selected to command the storeship Relief, to carry provisions to the suffering French of the Franco-German war. On his return, after a lapse of six months, he resumed his duties at the Boston yard, until appointed lighthouse inspector of the Boston district, which position he held until January, 1876.

Meanwhile he had taken to himself a wife, having, in 1870, married Miss Anna Minot Weld, daughter of Mr. William F. Weld, of Boston. The issue of the marriage has been one child, a daughter, born in 1877.

From March, 1877, until May, 1879, he was in command of the United States steamer Ashuelot on the Asiatic station, making a most interesting cruise, and having, for a time, the pleasure of General Grant's company on board, as a guest.

Since his return from that cruise he has been on "waiting orders," varied by occasional duty as member of courts-martial, boards of examination, and the like.

In March, 1882, he was promoted to a post-captaincy, as the grade of captain in the navy was styled in the olden time, which grade corresponds with that of colonel in the army.

Captain Perkins has a house in Boston, where he makes his home in winter, but nothing has ever weakened his affection for the old Granite State, and nothing delights him more, when possible to do so, than to put behind him the whirl and distraction of the city for the quiet enjoyment of the fresh, exhilarating air, unpretentious, wholesome life, and substantial ways that await him among his dear native hills.

In glancing over the "Portraits for Posterity," the writer notes the conspicuous absence of naval representation among the "counterfeit presentments" that adorn the walls of the Capitol at Concord and the halls of Dartmouth, and ventures to suggest to Governor Prescott, the distinguished and indefatigable collector of most of the pictures, that portraits of Thornton of the Kearsarge, and Perkins of the Cayuga and Chickasaw, might fittingly be given place among those who, in the varied walks of life, have lent distinction and added lustre to the Province and State of New Hampshire from Colonial times to this. Let not the men of the sea be forgotten!

* * * * *

FROM THE WHITE HORSE TO LITTLE RHODY.

BY CHARLES M. BARROWS.

Were other means lacking, the progress of the human race might be pretty accurately gauged by its modes of locomotion. On such a basis of classification there might be a pedestrian period, a pilgrim period, a saddle period, a road-wain period, a stage-coach period, and a railway period.

Relatively considered, each mode of travel thus indicated would be an index of the necessities and activity of the times. The nomadic peoples dwelt in a leisurely world, and were content to go a-foot; their wants were simple, their aspirations temperate; subsistence for themselves and their flocks was their great care, and only when the grass withered and the stream dried up did they set forth in quest of fresh pasturage. At length, however, the dull-thoughted tribular chieftain became curious to know what lay beyond the narrow horizon of his wilderness, and men bound on the sandal, girded up their loins, grasped staff, and beat paths up and down the valleys, trudging behind an ass or a pack-horse that carried their impedimenta. Another advance, and the man who drove his beast before him found that the creature was able to carry both his pack and himself; and training soon enabled the animal to mend his pace and transport his master rapidly across long stretches of waste country. Another period elapsed, and ambitious man discovered that, by clearing a passage for wheels, the load could be shifted from the back of the beast to a wagon drawn behind him; thus carriages came into use, and the race went bowling along the great highway of progress at a wonderful rate. Then vehicles began to be improved, and the restless brain of the inventor contrived a stage-coach for the convenience of those who had no private carriages or did not care to use them; though rude at first, it soon came to be luxurious, with thorough braces, upholstery, and glass windows. But even this noisy vehicle, that abridged distance and brought far cities near together, outgrew its usefulness and gave way to its rival, the steam-car, which could hurry men through the land as on the wings of a tornado. And now the same race, which in the morning of the world was content to wander four or five miles between sun and sun, and had no wish to go faster, can scarcely abide the slowness of a palace-car sliding over a mile of steel rail each minute, and General Meigs is importuning the Legislature for leave to construct a railway on which trains shall run at three times that speed.

It would be too much to ask this hurrying, restless, nineteenth-century world to retrace its way by rail and turnpike, saddle and sandal, back to the slow patriarch, who kept his youth a hundred years, and in all that time might not have traveled as far as a suburban gentleman of to-day does in going once from his home to his place of business in Boston. It might halt long enough, however, to enjoy a view of the stage-coach in which its grandfathers got on so rapidly, rumbling before a cloud of dust over the straight pike that used to connect the metropolis with some lesser city.

Such a highway was the Norfolk and Bristol Turnpike, the grand avenue of public travel between Boston and Providence, and one link of the continuous thoroughfare connecting New England with New York and Washington. It was opened during the years of intense activity that marked the infancy of the nation, and it had a distinct corporate existence and history, like the railroad that ruined it, and was owned and operated by a stock company. Though the entire road was not fifty miles in length, the original enterprise contemplated only a section thereof, which, in accordance with an act of incorporation passed by the State Legislature in 1802, was built from the court-house in Dedham, the shire town of Norfolk County, to the north precinct meeting-house in Attleborough, then a small border town of Bristol County.

The members of the original corporation that held the franchise of the road were Fisher Ames, James Richardson, and Timothy Gay, Jr., of Dedham; Timothy Whitney and John Whiting, of Roxbury; Eliphalet Slack, Samuel S. Blackinton, William Blackinton, Israel Hatch, Elijah Daggett, and Joseph Holmes, of Attleborough; Ephraim Starkweather, Oliver Wilkinson, and Ozias Wilkinson, of Pawtucket, Rhode Island. They were all enterprising business men in their day, well known throughout Eastern Massachusetts, and the undertaking for which they combined seemed as vast to the rural denizens of the towns through which it passed as did the Pacific Railroad enterprise to capitalists twenty years ago. To the surprise of the honest farmers, who considered the crooked county roads good enough for them, it made almost a straight line from one terminus to the other, and was laid out four rods in width--a reckless waste of land--as a preventive against snow blockades in winter Instead of following the windings of valley and stream as other roads did, this pike mounted directly over all interposing hills, in accordance with the most approved theories of civil engineers of that day; and where sections of those old thoroughfares still remain intact, it is amusing to observe at what steep, straight grades they were made to climb the most abrupt ascent, curving neither to the right nor to the left in merciful consideration for the horses.

But it must not be supposed that public stage-coach travel on the route here indicated began with the opening of the Norfolk and Bristol Turnpike. The first conveyance of the kind started on its devious way over the poor county roads from Boston to Providence in 1767; and the quaint Jedediah Morse records that twelve years later the "intercourse of the country barely required two stages and twelve horses on this line"; but the same authority states that in 1797 twenty stages and one hundred horses were employed, and that the number of different stages leaving Boston during the week was twenty.

The first stage-coach that passed over this new turnpike was driven by William Hodges, familiarly called "Bill," a famous Jehu, whose exploits with rein and whip, being really of a high order of merit, were graphically set forth to any passenger who shared the box with him, after Bill's spirits had been raised and his tongue limbered with the requisite number of "nippers"; and the increased comfort and rapidity of the journey were so clearly apparent, that the line was soon after extended to connect the capitals of the Bay State and Little Rhody.

In those days there was but one way to drive out of Boston, and that a narrow one known as the "Neck," beyond which was Roxbury. Across this isthmus all northward, westward, and southward-bound vehicles must pass, in leaving or entering the city. The narrowest place was at the present intersection of Dover Street with Washington, or, as it was then called, Orange, Street. In _ante-bellum_ times this was the southern limit of the city, and here a gate stood, which opened on to a causeway that crossed the "salt marish," which at high tide was covered by the water. To this gateway, then, the turnpike was extended from Dedham court-house; and when the work was finished a coach, starting from the White Horse Tavern in Boston, which stood near the site of the Adams House, just opened by Messrs. Hall and Whipple, bowled along "a smooth and easy highway" to the bank of the Providence River, making the long journey within the incredibly short space of six consecutive hours, when the wheeling was good.

This great work, which was talked about years before it was undertaken, and then required years to finish, was a triumph of road-building, in which both owners and contractors took a pardonable pride; and to those familiar with the region through which it passed, the course will be sufficiently indicated by noting here and there a way-mark. On leaving Boston Neck it followed the already well-graded road through the Highlands, to a point near the present station of the Boston and Providence Railroad corporation in Roxbury, thence through West Roxbury to Dedham, and on through Norwood to East Walpole; it left the central village of Walpole a mile or so to the west, keeping near the Sharon line, struck into the westerly edge of Foxborough to a point called the Four Corners, then through Shepardville in Wrentham to North Attleborough, Attleborough "City," Pawtucket, and Providence. A large portion of the road is still kept in repair, so that one might take a carriage and trace the route through its entire length.

To support such an expensive turnpike it was necessary to levy a tax on those who made use of it, and to that end several toll-gates were established, at which passengers were compelled to halt and pay their lawful reckoning. These gates were located at Roxbury, Dedham, East Walpole, Foxborough Four Corners, North Attleborough, and Pawtucket; and so great was the patronage of the road, that the annual income derived from these sources afforded the stockholders a handsome net dividend.

With the disuse of stage-coaches has perished that public convenience, the country tavern, an institution with which the modern hotel has little in common. It was suited to the needs and tastes of a former generation, and to a time, it may be,

"When men lived in a grander way,
With ampler hospitality."

But no hotel of the present day, with its showy furnishings and glitter, its gongs and bell-calls, its multitude of obsequious waiters, gauging their attention by your clothes, will bear comparison with the old-time tavern for homelike comfort and hearty good service. The guest, on his arrival, tired and hungry, was not put off with the cold recognition of a clerk who simply wrote after his name the number of his room, and then with averted face said: "Waiter, show this gentleman to number ninety-seven." On climbing out of the stage-coach, he was sure to see mine host, a fat, jolly man, who greeted him, whether friend or stranger, with a bow of genuine welcome, relieved him of his hand-luggage, ushered him in before the open fire of the bar-room, and actually asked what he would have for supper. Nor did this personal interest cease as soon as the guest had been comfortably bestowed; for the landlord was sure to have some pleasant words with him in the course of the evening, and to make him feel, ere he went to rest, that, by coming at that particular time, he had conferred on the host or some other guest a special favor, so that he retired in the best of humor with himself.

Such inns of entertainment were to be found in every considerable New England town a hundred years ago, and each bore some special reputation for general hospitality, the cordiality of its landlord, or the excellence of its table or liquors. Each one of these ancient hostelries might also be aptly described as

"A kind of old Hobgoblin Hall,
Now somewhat fallen to decay,
With weather-stains upon the wall,
And creaking and uneven floors,
And chimneys huge, and tiled and tall."

Wherever a stage line was established, a good country tavern, every few miles along the route, became a necessity. It nourished on the patronage that the coach brought to its door; its kitchen and barns afforded a ready market for the produce of the farmers, and it was a grand centre for news and the idlers of the village.

The Norfolk and Bristol Turnpike was fortunate in its taverns, which were accounted among the best in the State, from the White Horse, whence every stage-coach took its departure, to the last one met with on the very borders of the land of Roger Williams. There was the Billings Tavern in Roxbury, where it was considered quite the proper thing for outward-bound passengers to alight and get something to fortify them against the fatigues of the journey, especially if the weather were extremely cold or extremely warm.

The next tavern on the line was widely known as Bride's, and later as Gay's, in Dedham, a place where all who took the early coach out of the city delighted to stop and breakfast. Here was to be found one of the best tables on the line, and tradition has it that Bill Hodges, who, by the way, must have been a competent judge, pronounced Bride's old Medford rum the finest he had ever tasted. In the palmy days of stage-coach travel, it was no uncommon thing for a hundred persons to breakfast at this inn before resuming their journey to Providence. It was here that President John Adams usually took the coach when he set out for Washington, being first driven to that point from Quincy in his own private carriage.

There was a small public house at South Dedham, now Norwood, which was but little patronized, and the next tavern of note was Polley's, at East Walpole, which had the name of furnishing the best board to be found between Boston and New York, and there all the travel on the road stopped to dinner. It was also a convenient point for taking up passengers from many adjacent towns, whence mail-carriages converged toward the common centre, and scores of private teams were driven with small parcels or other commissions for the stage; for it must be borne in mind that the driver exercised the functions of an expressman, or common carrier, and was entrusted with a variety of messages and valuables to deliver along the route, the fees for such service being usually regarded as his rightful perquisites.

Shepard's Tavern in Foxborough was a customary stopping-place; but the next grand halt, after leaving Polley's, was made at Hatch's, in North Attleborough. Here the approach of each stage was announced by the winding of a horn, and the driver was wont to swing his long lash with a flourish around the sweaty flanks of his leaders in a way to assure them that he meant business, then give his wheel horses an encouraging cut, and dash up before the famous hostelry at a breakneck speed that said to the small boys, Get out of the way! and caused the stock loafers, who always assembled on the piazza at the first blast of the horn, to envy the skill that could thus handle a whip, and guide, with apparent ease, the most mettlesome four-in-hand.

Historically considered, no other tavern on the line possessed so much of antiquarian interest as Hatch's. It occupied the site of an old garrison built and occupied by John Woodcock, the famous Indian fighter, as a stronghold against the attacks of his red foes. He went thither from the Providence Plantation about the middle of the seventeenth century, when the town was an unbroken wilderness in the northern part of the Rehoboth North Purchase, so called, took up his abode and reared his family in lonely solitude within the close stockades he planted around his home. The first house that went by the name of Hatch's Tavern was built upon this old garrison, which, indeed, formed a part of its very walls, and not until the proprietor found it necessary to erect a new and larger house, when the turnpike was opened, did the last vestiges of the Woodcock stronghold disappear.

The landlord of this inn, Colonel Israel Hatch, was also a man of importance in his time, who enjoyed an enviable reputation for military achievements, and was very prominent in public affairs. At no point on the line was the traveler surer of a larger hospitality or a heartier welcome than was extended by Colonel Hatch, though its best room, which was reserved for visitors of note, might not have contained the veritable inscription ascribed to Major Molineaux:--

"What do you think?
Here is good drink.
Perhaps you may not know it;
If not in haste, do stop and taste;
You merry folks will show it."

On leaving North Attlebourogh, the remaining twelve miles to Providence were conveniently relieved by short halts at Bishop's and at Barrow's Taverns in Attleborough "City" and West Attleborough, and at one or two places in Pawtucket, so that no passenger was compelled to go hungry or dry for many miles.

By far the most noted passenger ever conveyed over the Norfolk and Bristol road, and there were many worthy of mention, is reputed to have been President James Monroe, who shortly after his inauguration in March, 1817, made a tour through the New England States, similar to that made by President Hayes in 1877. The occasion was a great one, for Monroe and his party left Providence in the morning, halted at Hatch's for lunch, dined at Polley's, and were met on their arrival at Dedham by a delegation from Boston who escorted them to the "Hub of the Universe." Great was the curiosity of the country-folk to behold a president, and the streets through which his barouche was to pass were thronged with an eager, expectant multitude, who greeted him with cheers, and were rewarded with a gracious bow. And one little boy, now a venerable and honored member of the Bristol County bar, was standing with his father in an open farm wagon, when the President alighted at North Attleborough, and exclaimed with evident disappointment: "Why, father, he's no bigger than any other man!"

* * * * *

DUNGEON ROCK, LYNN.

BY FRANK P. HARRIMAN.

All over the land there are localities to which, in some way or other, have become attached names that indicate something of the supernatural, or such as are intended to excite apprehension. What stout heart does not stand dismayed before a real dungeon? A prison under ground is something awful to contemplate. Whose hair does not stand on end at the thought of possible confinement in a dark, damp, cold stone prison-house, with rusty-hinged or even sealed doors, where no window opens to the light of day; where no friendly voice is ever heard; where liberation is impossible, and where, cursed with the remainder of life, one is doomed to a miserable existence till the mortal and the immortal separate? Deliver us from such terrors as these!