Chapter II: Part 2

The disastrous battle of Fredericksburg occurred on December 13, and Lieutenant Cushing cut loose for the day from grand division headquarters, taking position by the side of General Couch, commanding the Second Corps, with whom he found ample opportunity for deeds of heroic daring, which were acknowledged in a general way in Couch's report of the part taken by his corps in the fight. "Lieutenant Cushing," he says, "was with me throughout the battle, and acted with his well-known gallantry." Such further representation of Cushing's conduct was made to the War Department that President Lincoln brevetted him captain, to date from the 13th of December, "for gallant and meritorious services at the battle of Fredericksburg, Va." A leave of absence for a three weeks' visit home was also accorded to him from January 26, 1863--his last opportunity for a glimpse of life among his relatives and friends. On returning to Virginia, Cushing resumed command of his battery, and never afterwards left it until his glorious death on the third day at Gettysburg.

The battle of Chancellorsville was prefaced by several tentative actions, beginning at Fitzhugh's Crossing on the Rappahannock, below Fredericksburg (April 29, 1863), and continuing at Spottsylvania Court House, Fredericksburg, Salem Heights and Marye's Heights before culminating in "The Wilderness" on May 3.

What Cushing did in this fighting, I have not been able to ascertain; but that it partook of the character of his service is evident because the President gave him the brevet of major, dating from May 2, 1863, "for gallant and meritorious services at the battle of Chancellorsville." It may incidentally be mentioned that in those days a presidential brevet was of more importance than it afterwards became under subsequent acts of Congress. Originally it entitled the officer, if he pleased, to wear the uniform of his brevet rank, to be addressed by his brevet title, and to serve as of his brevet rank when specially detailed. Under later laws he could not properly wear the uniform of rank above that which belonged to him by regular commission.

It was a short two months from Chancellorsville to Gettysburg, and the concluding two weeks were full of incident for the men engaged, though history has not considered it worth while to note the incidents in any length of detail. Even the _Rebellion Records_ published by the national government have little to say of the marches of the two great opposing armies from the Rappahannock to the sources of the Monocacy and beyond.

But the destiny of the Republic was entwined in the serpentine paths of Lee's army going down the west side of the Blue Ridge, and Hooker's on the east side, both headed towards the north. A change of commanders of the Army of the Potomac was also impending, of which the soldiers knew nothing, but which was all the time a puzzle and worry to the corps and division leaders. Cushing, with an ever cheerful face, was found with his battery in front of each successive mountain pass reached by the advance of Lee's forces, as the latter moved along the valley of the Shenandoah on the western side of the range.

On June 25, Hancock concentrated the Second Corps, of which he was now the head, at Haymarket, only a few miles from Manassas and Thoroughfare Gaps. There the Confederate cavalry general, Stuart, was surprised to find so large a force and went back over the mountains--again northward, in the track of Lee, instead of delaying the Union army by a raid on its rear, as he had expected to do when he was detached from the main Confederate army before crossing the Potomac.

That Hancock should parallel Stuart's march was a matter of course, and on June 30 he was in bivouac at Taneytown, half a dozen miles south of Gettysburg. The next day the curtain was partially withdrawn from the most magnificent spectacle of a conflict of ideas, supported by fighting men, that the Western Continent, at least, ever witnessed. Hancock's corps, to which Cushing was attached, was resting at Taneytown all day; but after the death of General Reynolds, Hancock was on the battlefield north of the town; and although the battery was with the rest of the corps, there can be little doubt that Cushing was with him personally as a temporary aide. My reason for assuming this is, that the brevet of lieutenant-colonel, made out for him the next day, stated that the honor was conferred "for conspicuous gallantry at the battle of Gettysburg, Pa., July 1, 1863."

I wish that I had even one letter written by Lieutenant Cushing between Chancellorsville and Gettysburg, but I have knowledge of none. Such a document would admit us to his inner feelings. From his acts alone, and from what his most intimate acquaintances in the army have written, our judgment must be formed. A history of the great battle can not be given here; but fortunately no account of the engagement by a reputable writer fails to take notice of the part taken by the brave young son of Wisconsin in stemming the high tide of rebellion on the third day of the conflict. In Colonel Haskell's absorbing story, a tribute is also paid to Cushing's endeavors on the second day.[6] To that narrative the reader is referred for that, among other living pictures of the deadly struggle.

[6] Frank Aretas Haskell, _The Battle of Gettysburg_ (Wisconsin History Commission: Reprints, No. 1, November, 1908), pp. 102, 116, 120, 121.

For me, it must be sufficient to portray as well as I can the final stand of Battery A and its commander at the focus of the last day's fighting. Our line of battle stretched along the ridge overlooking the valley between it and the southern armies; along its whole length, fighting was either imminent or actually in evidence. The thunder of artillery was like a continuous roar that filled the atmosphere. The fire of most of the one hundred and fifteen Confederate cannon then in action seemed to be directed by a kind of instinct towards the point in our line where the batteries of Cushing, Woodruff, and Rorty were belching destruction in the faces of their assailants, a mile and a half away. The artillery practice of the Southerners was good. Between the afternoon hours of 1 and 3, many of our artillery organizations suffered severe losses by the bursting of ammunition chests, the breaking of wheels of gun carriages, and the overthrow of horses that lay in death struggles on the ground. Men were hit, also. Among the first to receive a serious wound that fateful afternoon was Cushing himself. Both thighs were torn open by a fragment of shell--under which ill fortune, said General Webb in his report, "he fought for an hour and a half, cool, brave, competent."

The commander of his brigade, Colonel Hall, reported that:

he challenged the admiration of all who saw him. Three of his
limbers were blown up and changed with the caisson limbers, under
fire. Several wheels were shot off his guns and replaced, till at
last, severely wounded himself, his officers all killed or wounded,
and with but cannoneers enough to man a section, he pushed his
gun to the fence in front and was killed while serving his last
canister into the ranks of the advancing enemy.

Hall's last reference is to a later hour of July 3 than that to which I at present wish to call attention. It is near 3 o'clock in the afternoon. To give them an opportunity to cool off somewhat, our eighty cannon have been ordered to cease firing. The artillerymen throw themselves on the ground to rest, or help clear away dead horses and other debris from about the guns. Our infantry line is closely fronted by stone walls and other fences along the Emmetsburg road, or a short distance back from that thoroughfare. The protection thus afforded is not at all certain, even when sods are packed against the fences, for a solid cannon shot or fragment of shell may penetrate such an earthwork, when reinforced only by a wooden fence, as though it were a row of cigar boxes. It affords some defense, however, against bullets which strike diagonally, or are fired over a considerable distance. Down in front of the hill called "Round Top," Kilpatrick's cavalry are worrying the right of the enemy; but that fails to disturb those in the neighborhood of Cushing, who was almost in the middle of the outstretched line of Union troops.

Now Pickett's splendid column of 17,000 Virginians emerge from the woods on the farther side of the valley, and direct their course towards the point where Cushing is holding a front place. Other Union batteries are hurling solid shot at the enemy, as they start on their fatal journey across the valley. Confederate cannon send volleys of shell over the heads of their infantry, into the groups of our cannoneers, who continue to pelt the advancing column. The iron shells burst in midair, with puffs of smoke, like sporadic ejections from the smoke-pipe of a locomotive engine, but with resounding clangs. If the puff from a bursting shell is behind you, or directly overhead, you are safe from the effects of that explosion; but if seen in front, the iron fragments are likely to cut through the flesh and bones of some of you; for the forward motion of the shell is not lost by its explosion, although the pieces acquire additional directions of flight. There is a composite of demoniac noises, every missile splitting the atmosphere with its own individual hum, whir, or shriek; the musketry rattle like hail, and the deep boom of cannonry lends its all-pervading basso to the symphony of thousands of instruments and voices.

As the grim column hurries on, our batteries change from solid shot to shell, tearing great gaps in the advancing lines; but these resolutely close up, and move forward to attain a distance from which their rifled muskets shall be used effectively against us. This reached, they begin blazing away. Cushing and his neighbors open upon them with canister and case, every discharge sending a shower of small metal into the approaching ranks. However, the survivors press onward, firing as they come, and the batteries behind them send their shell among our cannon, killing horses and men, and overthrowing guns, but not yet harming afresh the young hero whom we are particularly noting. Woodruff and Rorty are slain, though, at the head of other batteries close at hand.

At last a bullet pierces Cushing's shoulder. He simply laughs at the hurt, calling to Webb, his division commander, "I'll give them one more shot. Good-by!" As he serves the last round of canister, another bullet strikes him in the mouth, passing through the base of his brain, and he falls forward, bereft of life, into the arms of his clarion-voiced, resolute, and fearless orderly sergeant, Frederick Fuger, whom he has called to his side to convey his orders to the men.

The Union line of infantry was also making use of its muskets, in trying to stop the Confederate assault. The aim of the soldiers was more or less accurate in proportion to the nerve-control exercised by the respective individuals engaged. For not all of the forces attacking or attacked are fully conscious of what they are doing, when the surrounding air is pregnant with death. Some try to shoot with their eyes shut, and others forget to place a percussion cap on their firearm. Out of over thirty-seven thousand muskets left on the Gettysburg battle-ground by soldiers of both sides, no longer able to carry them, nearly a third were loaded with more than one cartridge each, and many with more than two. We pardon the confusion of mind exhibited before his audience, by a young actor or speaker, and it surely is no less to be expected that unaccustomed soldiers should often feel trepidation when face to face with death.

Despite the firing from our side, a hundred of Armistead's men kept close to their chief, leaping the fence next to Cushing's battery, just behind him, and in time to see their leader lay hand on Cushing's last cannon and fall dying with a bullet through his body--only a few yards from where his late indomitable opponent lay dead.

By the side of that field-piece, went out the lives of two as gallant warriors as ever wielded sword on battlefield, and Cushing still lacked six months of completing his twenty-third year of life. The Southern soldiers who thought they had taken the battery, now rushed back or surrendered on the spot, and the flood tide of rebellion began to recede, never again to attain so dangerous a height, although often rising somewhat uncomfortably.

The loss of a son so high in aspiration and so capable for the achievement of necessary tasks, must have been a grievous stroke for his mother to bear--she who had placed her greatest reliance upon him, rather than upon his brothers. For her compensation for such a loss, she was allowed a pension of seventeen dollars per month until the year of her death (which happened March 26, 1891), when the allowance was increased to fifty dollars. In this case the national government was certainly very much the reverse of liberal in its recognition of the services of a noble mother, who had formed the character of a noble son whose life was joyfully laid upon the altar of his country.

It is pleasant to be able to state that Sergeant Fuger, who took command of the battery after the death and disablement of its three commissioned officers taking part in the battle, was promoted to a lieutenancy in the regiment. He served in the regular order of grades until retired (about 1900) on account of age, as colonel, since which he has lived in the city of Washington. From a letter recently written by him to Mrs. Bouton, I am permitted to make the following transcript:

In answer to your letter received yesterday morning, I would
say that the best friend I had was your dear brother, Alonzo H.
Cushing, First Lieutenant 4th Artillery, commanding Battery A, 4th
Artillery, at the battle of Gettysburg. On the morning of July 4,
1863, I received an order from Gen. Hancock, commanding 2d Corps,
to send your brother's body to West Point for burial. I placed the
body in care of two non-commissioned officers who were slightly
wounded, to take it to West Point.

The manner of your brother's death was this: When the enemy was
within about four hundred yards, Battery A opened with single
charges of canister. At that time Cushing was wounded in the right
shoulder, and within a few seconds after that he was wounded in the
abdomen; a very severe and painful wound. He called and told me to
stand by him so that I could impart his orders to the battery. He
became very ill and suffered frightfully. I wanted him to go to the
rear. "No," he said, "I stay right here and fight it out, or die
in the attempt."

When the enemy got within two hundred yards, double and triple
charges of canister were used. Those charges opened immense gaps
in the Confederate lines. Lieut. Milne, who commanded the right
half-battery, was killed when the enemy was within two hundred
yards of the battery. When the enemy came within about one hundred
yards, Lieutenant Cushing was shot through the mouth and instantly
killed. When I saw him fall forward, I caught him in my arms,
ordered two men to take his body to the rear, and shouted to my
men, as I was left in command, to fire triple charges of canister.

Owing to dense smoke, I could not see very far to the front, but to
my utter astonishment I saw the Confederate General Armistead leap
over the stone fence with quite a number of his men, landing right
in the midst of our battery, but my devoted cannoneers and drivers
stood their ground, fighting hand to hand with pistols, sabers,
handspikes and rammers, and with the assistance of the Philadelphia
brigade, the enemy collapsed and Pickett's charge was defeated. The
gall and behavior of the men in Battery A was entirely due to your
brother's training and example set on numerous battlefields.

Lieutenant Cushing, my commander, was a most able soldier, of
excellent judgment and great decision of character. Devoted to his
profession, he was most faithful in the discharge of every duty,
accurate and thorough in its performance. Possessed of mental and
physical vigor, joined to the kindest of hearts, he commanded
the love and respect of all who knew him. His superiors placed
implicit confidence in him, as well they might. His fearlessness
and resolution displayed in many actions were unsurpassed, and his
noble death at Gettysburg should present an example for emulation
to patriotic defenders of the country through all time to come.

General Armistead fell, mortally wounded, where I stood, about
seven yards from where Lieutenant Cushing, his young and gallant
adversary, was killed. In height your brother was five feet nine
inches, in weight about one hundred and fifty pounds, good long
limbs, broad shoulders, blue eyes, dark brown hair, smooth face,
without beard or mustache, and rather swarthy complexion.

From other communications of the colonel, addressed to myself, I learn that Lieutenant Cushing personally saved the battery from capture at the battle of Antietam; that its loss at Gettysburg was two officers killed and one wounded, seven enlisted men killed and thirty-eight wounded, and eighty-three horses killed out of ninety taken into the action. Not an uninjured wheel remained, and nine ammunition chests were blown up. Ninety enlisted men belonging to the battery were on duty at the beginning of the fight.

Corporal Thomas Moon has also written his recollections of the day, and although his memory seems somewhat at fault in relation to certain matters, his description is worth reading. He says:

Cushing was a small-sized man with blue eyes, smooth face and
auburn hair, and looked more like a school girl than a warrior; but
he was the best fighting man I ever saw. Our battery arrived on the
field July 2 and took position on the left of the 2d corps. I was
sent to the rear with the 4th caisson. We went back over the hill
close to General Meade's headquarters. When the heavy cannonading
commenced on the 3d we went further to the rear. About the time
that Pickett was ordered to charge, I was ordered to the battery.
I was informed by the courier that I would find the battery on
the right of the 2d corps, at the grove and angle. My horse made
a good run for about a mile. I found my piece, the 4th, still on
her wheels, and all the canister we had piled up around her. I had
been on the ground but a few minutes before I found the gun hot and
firing slow. A very few minutes passed until the smoke raised, and
we saw the head of Pickett's column within three hundred yards of
us. We had the opportunity of our lives; just what an artilleryman
wants. We had a flank fire on them and enough canister to stop
them, but before they got to the stone wall in front we were out
of ammunition and my gun was dismounted. Lieutenant Cushing was on
the right. We both got to the piece in front about the same time. I
found the piece out of canister, started back to the limber, looked
back and saw General Armistead with his hat on his sword yelling
to his men, and Cushing being held up by some infantry officer.
If I had stayed at the gun as long as Cushing did, I would have
been there yet. Our guns were all disabled, limbers and caissons
blown up, men and horses killed and wounded, and the battery under
command of a First Sergeant (afterwards lieutenant) Frederick
Fuger, a 10-year man, and as fine a soldier and officer as ever
faced an enemy. I was on duty that night--had three men under me.
All we had to guard was a few dead men. We took Lieutenant Cushing
and three or four men off the field. It rained all night.

Now, as to Cushing's wounds. One piece of shell struck him in the
thighs; another piece struck him in the shoulder; but he stuck to
the guns until a ball struck him right under the nose. He fell on
one side of the piece and General Armistead on the other. His right
thumb was burned to the bone, serving vent without a thumb-pad. We
were all tired, powder-burned and bruised; so we laid the dead men
together and lay atop of them all night. The next morning we took
Cushing's fatigue blouse off, and his cook got that after I took
off the shoulder-straps. I carried them till the next winter, and
gave them to his brother (Howard) at Brandy Station.

_Later Naval Service of William Cushing_

Up to the day of Alonzo Cushing's death, the reputation of his younger brother William kept pretty even pace with his own. William's judgment in moments of imminent peril seemed to be unerring, so that a venture with him appeared to his companions to have but one chance of failure--the death of the adventurer himself. But this had been challenged with so many styles of defiance, as to cause the more superstitious among the sailors to believe him invulnerable. They were always ready and anxious to accompany him on those of his expeditions that appeared the most desperate. The unlimited devotion of his men and under-officers is one of the most valuable assets of a military or naval officer. This, with his other qualities, procured for him a commission as lieutenant on July 16, 1862, nearly four months before he attained the age of twenty years.

William was thereupon given the position of second officer on the gunboat "Perry," on the North Carolina coast, at an age when a midshipman or master's mate, or even a lieutenant, is usually content to play a very subordinate part in warfare.

Soon after this (September following), his superior officer, Lieutenant-Commander Flusser, was ordered up the Blackwater River with his own and two other boats to co-operate with a land force in preventing the escape of about seven thousand Confederates stationed at Franklin, with Norfolk as their ultimate object. The naval contingent was at the rendezvous at the agreed time; that from the army failed to make connection. It was an unpleasant predicament for the boats, but they fought their way back, down the narrow channel of the river, the banks of which for many miles were lined with infantry and artillery.

At one point, when the decks were being swept by the enemy's bullets, and a boarding party was making a dash for the "Perry," Cushing called a half dozen of his men to help him get a howitzer into position, to meet the boarders with canister. When his volunteers were all killed or disabled, he took the gun alone and trained it upon the assailants with such effect that they ran away. In Flusser's report of the affair he took occasion to say:

I desire to mention as worthy of praise for great gallantry,
Lieutenant W. B. Cushing, who ran the field-piece out amid a storm
of bullets, took a sure and deliberate aim at the rebels and sent a
charge of canister among them that completely silenced their fire
at that point.

On October 26, 1862, Admiral S. P. Lee reports:

Lieutenant W. B. Cushing has been put in command of the gunboat
Ellis, and is increasing his reputation by active operations.

On October 18, William had written to his cousin:

I am alone, inside the outer bar. The nearest friendly vessel or
citizen is forty miles away. Three miles off, up the inlet, is the
rebel town of Swansboro. I am going to run up and take possession
in a few days, when I have burned up enough coal to lighten my
vessel so I can cross the other bar. * * * You see I have a sort of
roving commission and can run around to suit myself. * * * If under
these circumstances I can not stir the rebels up in more places
than one, it will be strange indeed.

He ran up to Swansboro in due time and burned the "Adelaide" with a $100,000 cargo, besides destroying salt works. On November 23, he worked his vessel to Jacksonville, a depot for blockade runners, and on the way caused a ship loaded with turpentine to be burned. At the town he captured a lot of guns and other public property, and started back. About 5 o'clock p. m. he found and shelled a camp of Confederate troops on the river bank, and came to anchor at nightfall, staying all night with his prizes, two large schooners.

The next morning Cushing moved on. Reaching a difficult passage in the river, he was attacked by shore artillery, but replied so vigorously that the gunners on shore were driven away, and he passed along. Shortly after, however, the "Ellis" ran aground and had to be burned, but not before her outfit had been mostly removed to one of the schooners, amid some hours of fighting. Then Cushing and his companions escaped in a small boat to the schooner which, with its companion, was taken back to open water.

He asked for a court of inquiry on account of the loss of his gunboat, but the admiral said there was no need, and the Navy Department at Washington approved, saying, "We don't care for the loss of a vessel when fought so gallantly as that."

A much thicker volume than this would be required to tell the stories of the young sailor's various adventures during the ensuing year. The reader must be content with relations of occasional adventures, sometimes in Cushing's own language. Our hero was now given command of the "Commodore Barney," a steamer of five hundred and thirteen tons with a very powerful battery, and, according to his own statement, a good crew of over one hundred men and thirteen officers. He continues, in his letter (written April 5) to his cousin, Mrs. Smith, at East Troy: "Of course I am as proud as a peacock at being the only lieutenant in the regular navy who has a [separate] command."

_William's Letter to His Mother_

On the 15th he writes his mother a letter which is given here nearly in full, for it indicates better than almost anything else some of the prominent traits of his character as developed at that time, when boyish impulses were mixed with striking elements of manliness. He talks with the intimate frankness of a son who is still in love with his mother and wishes her to share in his triumph:

Another fight and another victory! Again I have passed through the
ordeal of fire and blood, and again I thank God for being safe in
life and limb. Suffolk is besieged by the enemy, thirty thousand
strong, and contains an army of fifteen thousand to defend it.
The town is situated on this river (the Nansemond) and its water
communication must remain open or our force will be in a desperate
position. Who do you suppose was selected to perform the dangerous
task of guarding the rear, and preventing the crossing of ten
thousand of the flower of the southern army? Who but your son,
that ex-midshipman, ex-master's mate, hair-brained, scapegrace,
Will Cushing! Yes, it is even so. I am senior officer commanding
in the Nansemond river. I have my vessel and two others now. I had
two more, but they were disabled in action, and have been towed
to Hampton Roads. I am six miles from the city, at a place called
Western Branch, the point most desired by the enemy. I draw too
much water to go up further, but sent my light boats up above.

Yesterday morning, as they were on their way down, they encountered
a battery at a distance of three hundred yards, and swarms of
riflemen in the bushes on the banks. A sharp action ensued, in
which two of the boats were disabled, and but one left uninjured,
but the captain of her, like a brave fellow as he is, got them
around the point out of range, and we managed to get them as far
as the bar here when one, the Mount Washington, got aground. The
rebels soon appeared in force, bent upon driving us and crossing
the river. They opened with artillery from two positions a
cross-fire, and their seven pieces sent a hail of shot and shell
around us.

I had but two vessels afloat, but I silenced their fire in an hour.
In a short time they again went into action; this time unmasking
a regularly constructed battery not five hundred yards from us,
and so situated as to rake the narrow channel completely. It was
impossible to get our disabled steamer off from the bar until high
water, five hours ahead, and I determined to fight on the spot as
long as the Barney [his own vessel] was above the water. I sent the
light steamer down to guard another coveted point, and was soon
exchanging death calls with the enemy.

Well, it was a hard fight and at close quarters most of the time;
so close that their infantry riddled the two vessels with bullets.
Crash! go the bulkheads; a rifle shell was exploded on our deck,
tearing flesh and woodwork. A crash like thunder is our reply--and
our heavy shell makes music in the air, and explodes among our
traitor neighbors with a dull, sullen roar of defiance. Up goes the
battle-flag and at once the air is filled with the smoke of furious
battle, and the ear thrills with the unceasing shriek and whistle
of all the shell and rifled bolts that sinful man has devised to
murder his fellow creatures. Crash! Crash! Splinters are flying in
the air; great pools of blood are on the deck, and the first cry
of wounded men in agony rises on the soft spring air. The dead can
not speak, but there they lie motionless, lifeless and mangled,
who a moment ago smiled on the old flag that floated over them, and
fought for its glory and honor. Sprinkle ashes over the slippery
deck; the work must still go on. The rifled gun--my best--is
disabled, for three shots have struck it; the muzzle is gone, the
elevator is carried away and the carriage is broken.

Steady, men, steady; fill up the places of the killed and wounded.
Don't throw a shot away. The wheel of the howitzer is torn off
by the shell and the gun rendered useless. Never mind; work the
remaining guns with a will, for we can and must be victorious. And
so the time wore away until the rising river promised to release
the imprisoned steamer, when I signaled to the light steamer to
move up and take her in tow. This duty was gallantly performed, and
the old Barney remained alone under the rebel cannon. * * *

My vessel is riddled with cannon balls and bullets, and I have lost
three killed and nine wounded--four of them mortally--men who lost
legs and arms. The loss on the other vessels is proportionally
severe. I am no braggart, but I challenge the world to furnish a
more determined fight, or a victory more richly earned. The enemy
shall not cross here. I will not give way an inch. Even now the
thickets on the banks are alive with their sharpshooters, and
as I write, the quick whirr of the rifle bullet is often heard,
sent from the bank five hundred yards ahead in the vain hope of
injuring the hated Yankee. A good providence seems to watch over
my fortunes, tho' I do not deserve its protection. I may go
into action again at any moment, probably tomorrow. I have every
confidence in my gallant crew and officers and do not doubt the
result if my life is spared. Love to all.

In haste, Your affectionate son,

WILL.

_After Gettysburg_

When General Lee crossed the Potomac on his way to Gettysburg, William was called to Washington to be ready for action in defense of the capital, should it need defense. Hearing of his brother's death on the night of its occurrence, he obtained permission and left for the battlefield, intending to ask the privilege of handling Alonzo's guns, which undoubtedly he was perfectly capable of doing. Those guns were out of the business, however, and he had to satisfy himself with looking through the field, of which he said long afterwards, "My mind fails to bring up any picture that is so grand, or solemn, or so mournful as that great theater of death."

A month afterwards, William was in command of the "Shoboken," a former ferry boat made over into a vessel well-adapted to the shallow waters of the Carolina coasts. With her he destroyed the blockade runner "Hebe," after a fight with a land battery.

A few nights later he took a crew of six men in a dingey, to a point on the beach four miles from the mouth of the inlet which was separated from the waters outside by a long and very narrow stretch of sandbank. Here he and his men carried the boat across the neck of land, and proceeded with it up the inlet to the anchorage of another blockade runner, where he took ten prisoners, burned the vessel and some valuable salt works, threw the shore armament into the water, and returned by the same route, regaining the "Shoboken" without loss of any kind.

The next day, William rejoined the squadron outside, which was engaged with a shore battery. Landing with twenty men, he captured the battery and took two rifled cannon back with him to the squadron.

_The Destruction of the "Albemarle"_

As it is impossible to crowd into this sketch any considerable proportion of the adventures of Lieutenant Cushing, it seems best in illustration of the extraordinary quality of his bravery, to proceed at once to the narrative of his famous exploit in the destruction of the Confederate ironclad "Albemarle," which earned for him further promotion, the engrossed thanks of Congress, and congratulatory addresses from civic bodies in every part of the North.

This ironclad was built on the lines of the old "Merrimac," and like the latter had met the fire of our biggest guns without injury. In April, 1864, she had attacked and recaptured the town of Plymouth, situated near the head of Albemarle Sound, eight miles above the place where the Sound receives the waters of Roanoke River. She had beaten off our fleet at that place, sunk its principal boat, the "Southfield," and killed the commander, Flusser, of whom we have spoken in connection with an earlier conflict. In May, the "Albemarle" steamed out into the Sound and simultaneously engaged seven of our vessels, destroying the "Sassacuse," which had unsuccessfully tried to overwhelm her by ramming beneath the water-line. The Union ironclads were not light enough to cross the bar in front of the entrance to the Sound, and the officers of our fleet were much puzzled as to how to be rid of the annoyance.

Cushing finally submitted two plans to Admiral Lee, either of which had, he thought, a fair chance of success. One was for him to take a hundred men, with India-rubber boats ready for inflation, lead them through the dense thickets of the swamps adjoining Plymouth, and after inflating the boats turn the sailors into a boarding party that should overpower the "Albemarle's" crew. The other was the one adopted, although with many misgivings on the part of the admiral and of the assistant secretary of the navy, Mr. Fox. It looked like a modern repetition of the dramatic episode of David and Goliath, and they permitted themselves to hope that this youth of twenty-one might have as good fortune as his Biblical predecessor. In brief, it was arranged that William should proceed to New York and select two very small, low-pressure steamers, each carrying a howitzer and a torpedo. These he was secretly to convey along the coast to the Sound and there attack the big ironclad by night, in such manner as might appear best when the time was ripe for action.

The boats were secured. Each was about thirty feet long and carried a 12-pound howitzer, with a torpedo fastened to the end of a boom at the bow, the boom being fourteen feet long and supplied with a "goose-neck" hinge where it rested on the bow. One of the boats was lost before reaching Norfolk; but with the other Cushing went through the Chesapeake and Albemarle Canal to the Sound.

Starting at midnight, he found the Union fleet fifty miles up the Sound, expecting a visit from the enemy's ironclad. Here he explained the daring plan to his officers and men, and told them they were at liberty to go with him or not, as they might choose. All wished to go, and a few from other vessels also volunteered. On the night of October 27, the party steamed up the river.

What happened thereafter, is told so tersely by Cushing himself, in his formal report to Admiral Porter, that it seems fair to use his own words. Under date of October 30, he writes:

Sir: I have the honor to report that the rebel ironclad Albemarle
is at the bottom of the Roanoke river.

On the night of the 27th, having prepared my steam launch, I
proceeded up towards Plymouth with thirteen officers and men,
partly volunteers from the squadron. The distance from the mouth of
the river to the ram is about eight miles, the stream averaging in
width some two hundred yards, and lined with the enemy's pickets.

A mile below the town was the wreck of the Southfield, surrounded
by some schooners, and it was understood that a gun was mounted
there to command the bend. I therefore took one of the Shamrock's
cutters in tow, with orders to cast off and board at that point if
we were hailed.

Our boat succeeded in passing the pickets, and even the Southfield
within twenty yards without discovery, and we were not hailed until
by the lookouts on the ram. The cutter was cast off and ordered
below, however, while we made for our enemy under a full head of
steam.

The rebels sprang their rattles, rang the bell and commenced
firing, at the same time repeating their hail and seeming much
confused. The light of a fire ashore showed me the ironclad, made
fast to the wharf, with a pen of logs around her, about 30 feet
from her side. Passing her closely, we made a complete circle so as
to strike her fairly, and went into her, bows on.

By this time the enemy's fire was very severe, but a dose of
canister at short range served to moderate their zeal and disturb
their aim. Paymaster Swan of the Otsego was wounded near me, but
how many more I know not. Three bullets struck my clothing and
the air seemed full of them. In a moment we had struck the logs,
just abreast the quarter port, breasting them in some feet, and
our bows resting on them. The torpedo boom was then lowered, and
by a vigorous pull I succeeded in driving the torpedo under the
overhang, and exploded it at the same time that the Albemarle's
gun was fired. A shot seemed to go crashing through my boat, and a
dense mass of water rushed in from the torpedo, filling the launch
and completely disabling her. The enemy then continued his fire
at fifteen feet range, and demanded our surrender which I twice
refused, ordering the men to save themselves, and removing my own
coat and shoes. Springing into the river, I swam with others into
the middle of the stream, the rebels failing to hit us. The most of
our party were captured, some drowned, and only one escaped besides
myself, and he in a different direction.

Acting Master's Mate Woodman, of the Commodore Hull, I met in the
water half a mile below the town and assisted him as best I could,
but failed to get him ashore. Completely exhausted, I managed to
reach the shore, but was too weak to crawl out of the water until
just at daylight, when I managed to creep into the swamp, close
to the fort. While hiding a few feet from the path two of the
Albemarle's officers passed, and I judged from their conversation
that the ship was destroyed.

Some hours traveling in the swamp served to bring me out well below
the town, when I sent a negro in to gain information, and found
the ram was truly sunk. Proceeding through another swamp, I came to
a creek and captured a skiff belonging to a picket of the enemy,
and with this by 11 o'clock the next night made my way out to the
Valley City. Acting Master's Mate William Howarth of the Monticello
showed as usual conspicuous bravery. He is the same officer who
has been with me twice in Wilmington harbor. I trust he may be
promoted when exchanged, as well as Acting Third Assistant Engineer
Stotesbury, who, being for the first time under fire, handled his
engine promptly and with coolness. All the officers and men behaved
in the most gallant manner. I will furnish their names to the
Department as soon as they can be procured.

The cutter of the Shamrock boarded the Southfield, but found no
gun. Four prisoners were taken there. The ram is now completely
submerged, and the enemy has sunk three schooners in the river to
obstruct the passage of our ships. I desire to call the attention
of the admiral and the Department to the spirit manifested by the
sailors on the ships in these sounds. But few men were wanted, but
all hands were eager to go into the action, many offering their
chosen shipmates a month's pay to resign in their favor.

I am, sir, very respectfully your obedient servant,

W. B. CUSHING,

_Lieutenant United States Navy_.

So much by way of requisite and necessary formality from an inferior officer who does something, to a superior who has the right to know all about what the other has been doing. Still, the young man who has not yet attained the maturity of twenty-two years discloses the ability on his part to say clearly and concisely what conveys his meaning, although not always in strict conformity with rhetorical rules. Of course he does not present himself as a candidate for honors in a class in rhetoric; but he does possess the essential of success in that direction also, if he cares for it. The language that is for use, rather than for ornament, is the language of lasting character.

But from motives of modesty and discipline combined, the lieutenant did not tell his superiors in office all the items of fact that other people would like to know. Matters of interest omitted in the formal report, are noted in many cases in Cushing's private journal, and that document was handed over to Mrs. Harriet Prescott Spofford for use in an extended magazine article.[7] From that and other sources I will add somewhat to the story told officially to the admiral.

[7] _Harper's Monthly_, June, 1874.

Cushing had a way of rapidly and judiciously thinking for himself. On approaching near enough to the "Albemarle" to make out her presence, he concluded to board her and take her down the river to the Union lines, trusting to the confusion of a night surprise to help the daring scheme to a successful issue. His view was correct; but just as he was about to put it into execution a challenge rang out from the ironclad, followed by the rattle of musketry from the guards who stood at their stations. Luckily for the assailants, the flame of a bonfire of pine knots and other light-wood flared upward, and Cushing saw what without it he would have been unable to see--a surrounding semicircular boom of logs, fastened end-to-end by iron links and hooks, making futile any attempt at boarding.

He was standing on the deck, in full view of the enemy, who were doing their best to kill him; but the whistling bullets could not disturb the quickness and accuracy of his judgment. In front of him lay two signal lines, one of which was attached to the engineer's ankle, and one to the arm of the officer in charge of the torpedo beam--besides other lines, one of which was arranged to push the torpedo under the vessel to be attacked, while still another was to explode the torpedo at the supreme moment. A mistake in relation to either of these would have been fatal to the undertaking.

But Cushing made no mistake. On being signaled, the engineer below backed the boat out into the stream, and then headed straight on to the middle of the line of logs, carrying the bow of the launch partly over, so that the torpedo when let down would be within reach of the ironclad. The officer in charge of the sweep was then signaled, and lowered the torpedo boom, which Cushing caused to be crowded under the "Albemarle's" side. Then he pulled a cord that released a suspended iron ball, which in its turn fell upon a percussion cap, thus exploding the infernal machine and blowing a hole through the side of the ram. To me, this perfection of action in the midst of death-dealing missiles, seems almost beyond the scope of mere human endeavor.

Plenty of men in both armies could, without flinching, march up to the mouths of cannon and into a storm of bullets; but under such circumstances as surrounded young Cushing when destroying the "Albemarle," such an exhibition of coolness absolutely imperturbable was neither seen nor imagined by me, in what I saw of the War. I doubt much if there ever was a parallel instance. Possibly the exploits of the elder brother, Alonzo, at Gettysburg, were as remarkable; but if so, they lacked a minute chronicler. With the latter, no complicated calculations nor deliberate weighing of comparative probabilities were apparently necessary to be employed, in order to accomplish what he wanted to do. Although among the bravest of the brave, it is not shown that Alonzo was in every respect as unquestionably the complete master in battle, of the lesser, equally with the greatest, of his mental faculties as was the case with his younger brother. William was as alert, resourceful, indefatigable as he might have been at a game of whist, or in the solution of a mathematical problem in the quietude of his chamber.

But escape from the Southern soldiery at Plymouth was purchased at the price of misery--and, ten years later, of a lamentable death. In a published paper by him, he refers to his experience in the river, after the explosion of the torpedo:[8]

[8] _Battles and Leaders of the Civil War_ (N. Y., Century Co., 1884-88), vol. 4, p. 638.

I directed my course towards the town side of the river, not making
much headway, as my strokes were now very feeble, my clothes
being soaked and heavy, and little chop-seas splashing with a
chocking persistence into my mouth every time that I gasped for
breath. Still there was a determination not to sink, a will not
to give up; and I kept up a sort of mechanical motion long after
my bodily force was in fact expended. At last, and not a moment
too soon, I touched the soft mud, and in the excitement of the
first shock I half raised my body and made one step forward; then
fell, and remained half in the mud and half in the water until
daylight, unable even to crawl on hands and knees, nearly frozen,
with brain in a whirl, but with one thing strong in me--the fixed
determination to escape. The prospect of drowning, starvation,
death in the swamps--all seemed less evils than that of surrender.

At twenty-two, one does not think of remote consequences, but human constitutions are not so made up as to remain uninjured by such violent usage. The commander of the "Albemarle," Captain A. F. Warley, contributed the following note to Cushing's paper, which should not be omitted here, in the interest of fairness:[9]

[9] _Ibid_, p. 642.

The crew of the Albemarle numbered but sixty, too small a force to
allow me to keep an armed watch on deck at night and to do outside
picketing besides. Moreover, to break the monotony of the life and
keep down ague, I had always out an exhibition of ten men, who were
uniformly successful in doing a fair amount of damage to the enemy.
It was about 3 a. m. The night was dark and slightly rainy, and the
launch was close to us when we hailed and the alarm was given--so
close that the gun could not be depressed enough to reach her; so
the crew were sent in the shield with muskets, and kept up a heavy
fire on the launch as she slowly forced her way over the chain of
logs and ranged by us within a few feet. As she reached the bow
of the Albemarle I heard a report as of an unshotted gun, and a
piece of wood fell at my feet. Calling the carpenter, I told him a
torpedo had been exploded, and ordered him to examine and report to
me, saying nothing to any one else. He soon reported "a hole in her
bottom big enough to drive a wagon in." By this time I heard voices
from the launch: "We surrender," etc., etc. I stopped our fire
and sent out Mr. Long, who brought back all those who had been in
the launch, except the gallant captain and three of her crew, all
of whom took to the water. Having seen to their safety, I turned
my attention to the Albemarle, and found her resting on bottom in
eight feet of water, her upper works above water. That is the way
the Albemarle was destroyed, and a more gallant thing was not done
during the war.

A special message came from President Lincoln, recommending a vote of thanks by Congress, so that the young hero might be advanced to the grade of lieutenant-commander. This was immediately followed by the vote requested, and by his promotion to that rank, under the law providing "That any line officer of the Navy or Marine Corps may be advanced one grade, if upon recommendation of the President by name he receives the thanks of Congress for highly distinguished conduct in conflict with the enemy, or for extraordinary heroism in the lines of his profession." The importance, as well as the "highly distinguished" character, of the exploit with the "Albemarle" may be understood when it is learned that not only were the Carolina Sounds thereafter free to all such of our vessels as were of sufficiently light draft, but the town of Plymouth fell a few days later also, without a struggle. Even Cushing's coat, which he had cast off when he leaped from the launch into the river, was returned to him. The back of it was shot away, and there were other bullet holes through it; but a gold chain remained safely sewed under the collar, where he had caused it to be placed in honor of the girl to whom it belonged.

_At Fort Fisher and Afterwards_

After this promotion, Cushing took command of the admiral's flagship, the "Malvern," and in December was engaged in the operations at Fort Fisher, where in various attempts to capture that stronghold, so many failures had been recorded against both our army and navy. In an open skiff there, he performed a service as perilous as before, although less spectacular. This was the buoying the channel for the fleet, which task occupied him for about six hours under a shower of shot and shell from the fort.

On January 12, 1865, the bombardment was resumed from sixty vessels, and after three days of that exercise an assault was ordered, in which Lieutenant-Commander Cushing was permitted to take part. It proved to be one of the bloodiest little affrays of the war. Two of his classmates at Annapolis, Lieutenants B. H. Porter and S. W. Preston, were killed by his side; which caused him, he said, the bitterest tears he had ever shed. No other officer being near him, he rallied a few hundred men and was about to resume the assault, when he received orders to join the land forces under General Ames. He then had the satisfaction of witnessing the surrender of the fort before midnight.