Chapter XVIII

Now would I give a thousand furlongs of sea for an acre of
barren ground. The wills above be done! but I would fain die
a dry death.--TEMPEST.

If it should thunder as it did before, I know not where to
lay my head.--IBID.

[Sidenote: STARTING DOWN THE MISSISSIPPI.]

On the 14th of March, the flotilla again started down the Mississippi, steaming slowly by Columbus, where Venus followed close upon Mars, in the form of two women disbursing pies and some other commodities to sailors and soldiers. The next day we anchored above Island Number Ten, where Beauregard had built formidable fortifications.

A fast little Rebel gunboat, called the Grampus, ran screeching away from the range of our guns. Below her we could read with glasses the names painted upon the many steamers lying in front of the enemy's works, and see the guns upon a great floating battery.

Our gunboats fired one or two experimental shots, and the mortar-rafts, with tremendous explosions, began to throw their ten-inch shells, weighing two hundred and fifty pounds each. Great results were expected from these enormous mortars, but they proved inaccurate. Our shots fell among the batteries and steamboats of the enemy, throwing up clouds of dirt and sheets of water. The Rebel guns replied with great puffs of smoke; but their missiles, bounding along the river, fell three-quarters of a mile short.

Light skirmishing in closer range continued for several days. My own quarters were on the Benton, Commodore Foote's flagship. She was the largest of the iron-clads, one hundred and eighty-three feet by seventy, and contained quite a little community of two hundred and forty men.

Standing upon the hurricane roof, directly over our bow-guns, we caught the first glimpse of each shot, a few feet from the muzzle, and watched it rushing through the air like a round, black meteor, till it exploded two or three miles away. After we saw the warning puff of smoke, the time seemed very long before each Rebel shot struck the water near us; but no more than ten or fifteen seconds ever elapsed.

When ready to attack the batteries, Commodore Foote said to me:

"You had better take your place with the other correspondents, upon a transport in the rear, out of range. Should any accident befall you here, censure would be cast upon me for permitting you to stay."

Haunted by a resistless curiosity to learn exactly how one feels under fire, I persuaded him to let me remain.

[Sidenote: BOMBARDMENT OF ISLAND NUMBER TEN.]

Two other iron-clads, the St. Louis and the Cincinnati, were lashed upon either side of the Benton. Hammocks were taken down and piled in front of the boilers to protect them; the hose was attached to reservoirs of hot water, designed for boarders in close conflict; surgeons scrutinized the edges of their instruments, while our triple floating battery moved slowly down, with the other iron-clads a short distance in the rear. We opened fire, and the balls of the enemy soon replied, now and then striking our boats.

A deafening noise from the St. Louis shook every plank beneath our feet. A moment after, a dozen men rushed upon her deck, their faces so blackened by powder that they would have been taken for negroes. Two were carrying the lifeless form of a third; several others were wounded. Through the din of the cannonade, one of her crew shouted to us from a port-hole that an old forty-two pounder had exploded, killing and mutilating several men.

[Sidenote: "HERE COMES ANOTHER SHOT."]

We obtained the best view from the hurricane deck of the Benton, where there could be no special danger from splinters. While we stood there, one of the party was constantly on the look-out, and, seeing a puff of smoke curl up from the Rebel battery, he would shout:

"Here comes another!"

Then we all dropped upon our faces behind the iron-plated pilot-house, which rose from the deck like a great umbrella. The screaming shot would sometimes strike our bows, but usually pass over, falling into the water behind us.

While the Rebels fired from one battery, there was just sufficient excitement to make it interesting; but when they opened with two others, stationed at different points in the bend of the river, their range completely covered the pilot-house. Dropping behind that shelter to avoid the missiles in front, we were exposed to a hail of shot from the side. Thereupon the commodore peremptorily ordered us below, and we went down upon the gun-deck.

A correspondent of _The Chicago Times_, who chanced to be on board, took a position in the stern of the boat, under the impression that it was entirely safe. A moment after he came rushing in with blanched face and dripping clothing. A shot had struck within three feet of him, glancing into the river, and drenching every thing in the vicinity.

That long gun-deck was alive with action. The executive officer, Lieutenant Bishop, a gallant young fellow, fresh from the naval school, superintended every thing. Swarthy gunners manned the pieces; little powder-boys rushed to and fro with ammunition, and hurrying men crowded the long compartment.

There came a tremendous crashing of glass, iron, and wood! An eight-inch solid shot, penetrating the half-inch iron plating and the five-inch timber, near the bows, as if they were paper, buried itself in the deck, and rebounded, striking the roof. In that manner it danced along the entire length of the boat, through the cabin, the ward-room, the machinery, the pantry--where it smashed a great deal of crockery--until, at the extreme stern, it fell and remained upon the commodore's writing-desk, crushing in the lid.

A moment before the noisy, agile visitor arrived, the whole deck seemed crowded with busy men. A moment after, I looked again. A score of undismayed fellows were comfortably blowing splinters from their mouths and beards, and brushing them from their hair and faces; but, by a fortunate accident, not a single one of them was hurt.

[Sidenote: HOW ONE FEELS UNDER FIRE.]

As the shot screamed along very near me, my curiosity diminished. I had a dim perception that nothing in this gunboat life could become me like the leaving of it. A mulatto cabin-boy, whose face turned almost white when the missile tore through the boat, shared my sensations.

"I wish that I was out of it," he said, confidentially; "but I put my own neck into this yoke, and I have got to wear it."

Toward evening, some of the enemy's batteries were silent, and we idlers once more sought the hurricane deck, dodging behind the pilot-house whenever the smoke puffed from the hostile guns. Once, some one cried, "There she comes!" and we dropped as usual. Looking up, I noticed a second engineer standing beside me.

"Lie down, Blakely!" I said, sharply.

He replied laughingly, with his hands in his pockets:

"O no, there is no need of it; one is just as safe here."

While he spoke, the Rebel shot passed within fifteen inches of his bloodless face, shaved a sheet-iron ventilator, tore through the chimney, severed a large wrought-iron rod, struck the deck, plowed through a half-inch iron plate, neatly cutting it in two, passed under the next plate, and then came out again, with its force spent, and rolled languidly against a sky-light. When he felt the rush of air, Blakely bent back almost double, and thereafter he was among the first to seek the shelter of the pilot-house.

[Sidenote: FIFTY SHOTS TO THE MINUTE.]

From the mortars and the guns on both sides, there were sometimes fifty shots to the minute. The jarrings and explosions induced head-ache for hours afterward. The results of the day's bombardment were not very sanguinary. Our iron-clads were struck scores of times, but few men were injured. This desultory fighting was kept up for two or three weeks.

Meanwhile, General Pope, moving across the country from Cairo with great enterprise and activity, had defeated the Rebels and captured their forts at New Madrid, on the Missouri shore of the Mississippi, eight miles below Island Number Ten. He thus held the river in the rear of the enemy, preventing steamboats from ascending to them; but he had not even a skiff or a raft in which he could cross to the Tennessee bank, and reach the rear of the fortifications. How to supply him with boats was the great problem.

Pope was anxious that the commodore should send one of the iron-clads to him, past the Rebel fortifications. Foote hesitated, as running batteries was then an untried experiment.

Pope had an active, hard-working Illinois engineer regiment, which began cutting a canal, to open communication between the flotilla and New Madrid; and we waited for results.

[Sidenote: DAILY LIFE ON A GUNBOAT.]

I found life on the Benton full of novelty. More than half of her crew were old salts, and the discipline was the same as on a man-of-war. Half-hour bells marked the passage of time. Every morning the deck was holystoned to its utmost possibilities of whiteness. Through each day we heard the shrill whistle of the boatswain, amid hoarse calls of "All hands to quarters," "Stand by the hammocks!" etc.

Even the negro servants caught the naval expressions. One of them, playing on the guitar and singing, broke down from too high a pitch.

"Too much elevation there," said he. "I must depress a little."

"Yes," replied another. "Start again on the gun-deck."

Exchanging shots with the enemy grew monotonous. Reading, writing, or playing chess in the ward-room, we carelessly noted the reports from the Rebel batteries, and some officer from the deck walked in, saying:

"There's another!"

"Where did it strike?" asked some one, quite carelessly.

"Near us," or "Just over us in the woods," would be the reply; and the idlers returned to their employments.

My own state-room was within six feet of a thirty-two pounder, which fired every fifteen minutes during the day. The explosions in no wise disturbed my afternoon naps.

On Sunday mornings, after the weekly muster, the men in clean blue shirts and tidy clothing, and the officers, in full uniform, with all their bravery of blue and gold, assembled on the gun-deck for religious service. Hat in hand, they stood in a half circle around the commodore, who, behind a high stool, upon which the National flag was spread, read the comprehensive prayer for "All who are afflicted in mind, body, or estate," or acknowledged that "We have done the things which we ought not to have done, and left undone the things which we ought to have done."

Among the groups of worshipers were seen the gaping mouths of the black guns, and the pyramidal piles of grape and canister ready for use. During prayer, the boat was often shaken by the discharge of a mortar, which made the neighboring woods resound with its long, rolling echoes. The commodore extemporized a brief, simple address on Christian life and duty; then the men were "piped down" and dispersed.

[Sidenote: THE CARONDELET RUNS THE BATTERIES.]

On a dark April night, during a terrific thunder-shower, the iron-clad Carondelet started to run the gantlet. The undertaking was deemed hazardous in the extreme. The commodore gave to her commander written instructions how to destroy her, should she become disabled; and solemnly commended him to the mercy and protection of Almighty God.

The Carondelet crept noiselessly down through the darkness. When the Rebels discovered her, they opened with shot, shell, and bullets. All her ports were closed, and she did not fire a gun. It was too dark to guide her by the insufficient glimpses of the shore obtained from the little peep-holes of her pilot-house. Mr. D. R. Hoell, an old river pilot, volunteered to remain unprotected on the open upper deck, among the rattling shots and the singing bullets, to give information to his partners within. His daring was promptly rewarded by an appointment as lieutenant in the navy.

Upon the flag-ship above intense anxiety prevailed. After an hour, which seemed a day, from far down the river boomed two heavy reports; then there was silence, then two shots again. All gave a sigh of relief. This was the signal that the Carondelet had lived through the terrible ordeal!

[Sidenote: WONDERFUL FEAT OF POPE'S ENGINEERS.]

The Rebels had made themselves very merry over Pope's canal. But, at daylight on the second morning after this feat of the iron-clad, they saw four little stern-wheel steamboats lying in front of Pope's camps. The canal was a success! In two weeks the indefatigable engineers had brought these steamers from Foote's flotilla, sixteen miles, through corn-fields, woods, and swamps, cutting channels from one bayou to another, and felling heavy timber all the way. They were compelled to saw off hundreds of huge trees, three feet below the water's edge. It was one of the most creditable feats of the war.

"Let all the world take notice," said a Confederate
newspaper, "that the southern troops are gentlemen, and must
be subjected to no drudgery."

The loyal troops, like these Illinois engineers, were men of skilled industry, proud to know themselves "kings of two hands."

The Confederates felt that Birnam wood had come to Dunsinane. Declaring that it was useless to fight men who would deliberately float gunboats by the very muzzles of their heavy guns, and could run steamers sixteen miles over dry land, they began to evacuate Island Number Ten. But Pope had already ferried the greater part of his army across the river, and he replied to my inquiries:

"I will have every mother's son of them!"

[Sidenote: THE REBELS EFFECTIVELY CAGED.]

He kept his promise. The Rebels were caged. They fled in haste across the country to Tiptonville, where they supposed their steamboats awaited them. Instead, they found two of our iron-clads lying in front of the town, and learned that Pope held the river even ten miles below. The trap was complete. On their front was Tiptonville, with the cavernous eyes of the Carondelet and the Pittsburgh ominously scrutinizing them. At their left was an impassable line of lake and slough; at their right a dry region, bounded by the river, and held by our troops; in their rear, Pope's army was hotly pursuing them. Some leaped into the lake or plunged into the swamps, trying to escape. Three times the Rebel forces drew up in line of battle; but they were too much demoralized to fight, and, after a weary night, they surrendered unconditionally.

At sunrise, long files of stained, bedraggled soldiers, in butternut and jeans, began to move sadly into a great corn-field, and stack their arms. The prisoners numbered twenty-eight hundred. We captured upward of a hundred heavy guns, twenty-five field-pieces, half a dozen steamboats, and immense supplies of provisions and ammunition. The victory was won with trifling loss of life, and reflected the highest credit both upon the land and water forces. The army and the navy, fitting together like the two blades of the scissors, had cut the gordian knot.

Pope telegraphed to Halleck that, if steamboats could be furnished him, in four days he would plant the Stars and Stripes in Memphis. Halleck, as usual, engrossed in strategy, declined to supply the transportation.

[Sidenote: THE NORTHERN FLOOD ROLLING ON.]

But the great northern flood rolled on toward the Gulf, and in its resistless torrent was no refluent wave.