A Flight in Spring Part 11

J. Stewart Smith, of St. Mary's, or, rather, I should say he called on us, for, having announced our coming by telegraph, he was there at the station to meet us.

It so happened that a day or two before he had written, for one of the local papers, his recollection of the great fight between the Merrimac and the Monitor in Hampton Roads in the year 1862.

How much has transpired since then!

In view of it all, and our Cuban War still on, all now happily over as I write, I thought that my dear friend's recollections would be of interest, as that of an eye-witness of that great first battle between armored ships.

Here is what he says:

"One of my earliest recollections is of the United States frigate, Merrimac, which anch.o.r.ed off Norfolk in 1855 before making her first voyage. Like most small boys, I was deeply interested in anything that would float, and when one of the officers took me on board and showed me everything to be seen, explaining, so far as was possible to make a child understand, the workings of a warship, I was perfectly happy. I asked many questions, and ever afterward I felt a peculiar interest--almost a sense of ownership--in that vessel.

"At the beginning of the war the Merrimac was again in Hampton Roads, undergoing repairs at the navy yard, just across the river from Norfolk. One Sat.u.r.day night early in April, 1861, Norfolk was abandoned by the Federal forces. The next day the dry dock was blown up, the navy yard, all the smaller crafts, the Pennsylvania, perhaps the largest vessel in the service--too large, in fact, to be seaworthy, but which had been for years used as a training-ship at the port--and the Merrimac were set on fire.

"I can never forget the scene on that Sunday morning. Words cannot describe the excitement of the people. The harbor was dotted with burning vessels; the ear was startled by repeated explosions, and the whole scene was backed by a ma.s.s of roaring flame devouring shops, storehouses, and sheds about the navy yard.

"The fires were brightly burning when, with hundreds, I found myself on the ground, which was still hot, picking out nails from the touch-holes of the heavy guns hastily abandoned. Some were properly spiked, nails had been simply dropped into others, and many had not received even this attention. But the thing that interested me more than all else was the flames still licking the black sides of the huge Pennsylvania, and the graceful form of 'my ship,' the Merrimac, now burning to the water's edge.

"The Confederate Government was quick to take advantage of the situation. The navy yard was rebuilt, and the dry dock repaired.

The plan of rebuilding the Merrimac was proposed, but was found impracticable on account of the expense, although her hull was almost uninjured. Lieutenant John Mercer Brooks and Joseph L.

Porter then presented a plan for converting her into a floating battery, which was accepted. A high fence was built around the dock and the work began. Great secrecy was maintained, but I was able to gain admission two or three times, and to look with wondering eyes on the strange structure. The hull was cut down to the water-line, a low deck was built out at the bow and stern, heavy oak timbers were set up like the rafters of a house inclined at an angle of about 45 degrees, and these were covered with several thicknesses of railroad iron, which extended into the water. When finished, the vessel looked like a long, black roof with the top cut off so as to be flat. Around this ran a light iron rail, a wide funnel rose about the middle, and a low pyramidal structure pierced with small sight-holes served to protect the pilot. As I recall her, she carried two guns forward and three aft on each side, and one or two at both bow and stern. She had no mast, except a short one at the stern for the flag. The bow was pointed without curving, and an oak ram, protected by a heavy iron shoe, extended forward under water.

Her name was changed to the Virginia, but every one spoke of her still as the Merrimac. One day it was announced that she was ready to go out, and the next that she was a failure. For weeks reports of the most conflicting character were in circulation, and no one could find out anything definite.

"The report of her failure had, however, generally been credited, when on Sat.u.r.day morning, March 8, 1862, the news came that she was going out. It spread like wildfire, and soon every one in the city was wrought up to the highest pitch of excitement. Slowly she steamed down the river, looking like a floating shed, and with her went the Jamestown, the Patrick Henry, and several other vessels that made up the Confederate fleet. The town was wild; whistles blew, bells rang, guns were fired, people shouted, the air was full of flags and hats and cries. Every one who could do so hastened toward Sewell's Point to see the expected battle. Vehicles of every description were pressed into service, and those who could not ride set out to walk through the sand.

"The Congress and the c.u.mberland rode at anchor a few hundred yards from sh.o.r.e, and not far away the Minnesota and the Roanoke. These vessels were a part of the United States blockading fleet. As the Merrimac drew near, we on the sh.o.r.e could see the preparations making on the wooden ships to receive their strange foe. The guns of the Congress roared out, and those of the c.u.mberland joined in the chorus, but although fired at short range, their shot fell harmless from the iron sides of the Merrimac. The flash of cannon, and the exploding sh.e.l.ls, were clearly seen when the smoke would lift.

"As if in disdain of the puny weapons turned against her, the ironclad went slowly on till she seemed to bury herself in the side of the c.u.mberland. She had rammed the big ship. The guns roared again and again, but without effect, and lurching forward, the c.u.mberland sank in fifty feet of water, her masthead, from which floated the flag, remaining visible above the waves.

"The Merrimac then turned her attack upon the Congress, and the other Confederate ships began to engage in the battle. The Congress soon ran aground and was practically helpless against the tremendous fire that was turned against her. About four o'clock her flag was hauled down, and she was boarded by a Confederate officer.

Later she was discovered to be on fire in several places, and, her magazine exploding, she was destroyed. The Minnesota was next a.s.sailed. She also ran aground, and the Merrimac could not reach her, but the wooden fleet poured in shot and sh.e.l.l, inflicting serious damage. As night was now drawing on, the Confederate fleet withdrew, having carried everything before it.

"Early Sunday morning the Merrimac again turned seaward, evidently intending to attack the Minnesota. I hurried down to a point on the south side of the bay, from which I could get an un.o.bstructed view of whatever might take place. The Monitor had arrived the night before. I had never seen the strange-looking craft, but the minute I laid eyes on it I knew what it was. Young as I was, I realized that I was about to witness the most remarkable naval battle that was ever fought up to that time--the first encounter between ironclads.

"The Merrimac was the pride of my heart. When I saw the Monitor I wondered what the result of the fight would be. With a gla.s.s in my hand I shivered with excitement as they approached each other. The two strangest vessels on the sea were face to face. A cheese-box on a plank, all painted black, not inaccurately describes the Monitor's appearance. She was much smaller and more active than the Confederate vessel, and carried only two guns, but these could be pointed in any direction by the revolving of her turret. Quickly they engaged, and the fight soon became furious.

"The guns on the Merrimac poured forth broadside after broadside.

The shot and sh.e.l.ls glanced off the turret of the Monitor and fell harmless into the water. In the same way, the heaviest shot from the Monitor's guns bounded off the slanting sides of the Merrimac, like foul b.a.l.l.s from a player's bat. Sometimes it looked as if they were in actual contact. Even then the sh.e.l.ls did no harm of any consequence to either vessel.

"The Minnesota joined in the conflict, and fired her broadside of fifty guns into the Merrimac. It seemed to me that every shot struck, but they all fell harmless from the invulnerable sides of the ironclad. The battle was waged with terrific rapidity of action. Now the two craft seemed joined together, now the Monitor would run around the Merrimac, as if trying to find a weak spot.

The sound of the cannonading was deafening, even at my distance.

"The Merrimac presently withdrew. The crowd on the sh.o.r.e trembled and asked what the matter could be. Was she defeated? There was only a moment's suspense, but it seemed like an hour. The answer came soon. Suddenly swinging around, the Merrimac paused for a minute, then steamed with full head against the Monitor. The little 'cheese-box' staggered from the blow, but soon righted and continued firing, practically unharmed. When the c.u.mberland was rammed, the iron shoe that covered the Merrimac's ram was torn off, and so she had nothing but the oak foundation to oppose to the iron sides of the Monitor.

"This was about the last incident of the fight. Shortly afterward the two vessels drew apart, the smoke lifted, and neither of them showed any disposition to renew the battle. The Monitor headed toward Fortress Monroe, and the Merrimac steamed toward the Minneapolis, as if to continue the fight, but pa.s.sed on without attacking her, and rested under the guns of the Confederate battery at Craney Island.

"Norfolk was evacuated by the Confederates two months later, the navy yard was burned, and many ships were destroyed. An effort was made to get the Merrimac to Richmond, but it was impossible to take her over the bar at the entrance of the James River. Just at daylight, Sunday morning, May 11th, we in Norfolk were awakened by an explosion whose meaning all quickly guessed. The Merrimac had been blown up by her commander, Josiah Tattnall, and so effectively destroyed that no fragments sufficient to reveal the details of her construction were ever recovered.

"The Monitor was lost in a storm off Cape Hatteras at midnight of December 31 of the same year (1862). The two ironclads, which in a single day had changed the face of war and revolutionized the navies of the world, thus found early graves."

XXIII

St. Louis.--Beautiful Residences.--Forest Park.--The Levee.--Alton.-- Old Friends.--Legend of the Piasa.--The Confluence of the Rivers.--The Union Depot.--The Car of the International Correspondence Schools.-- Crossing the Bridge.

We reached St. Louis in the early morning hour, after a pleasant night's rest on our good car "Lucania." The country approaching St.

Louis looks rich and luxuriant, with fine trees, and well-established country places. The effect of an older culture was at once apparent, as we approached this great city of the West.

Our car anchorage was in the magnificent Union Station, a very large place, indeed, and excellently managed. Some of our party again took to the street cars, and in that democratic fashion, saw much of the town.

At a later period in the day, some of us had a lovely carriage ride through the best residential portion of the city.

We were more than surprised at the beautiful streets, lined with s.p.a.cious palaces, each in its own separate grounds. To a New Yorker's eyes, this roominess of arrangement, was especially attractive.

Charming effects were produced by beautiful gardens in the middle of certain secluded streets, with fountains and flowers, all kept in beautiful order. The private grounds around the separate houses were in like good shape. All looked sumptuous, and in the best possible taste.

To drive into one of these "Places" through the ornamental gates, and see the richness of the central parterre, the well-kept streets at each side, and the generous sidewalks and rich verdure surrounding the houses, was a new sensation. The general verdict was, that even in New York, there was nothing like that.

All this urban development is the work of the last fifteen or twenty years. Such communal and united display was not the custom of the early French settlers. They loved the enclosed privacy of their own grounds, as in New Orleans, but times have changed, and the dwellers in St.

Louis have changed with them.

We drove also in Forest Park, a really beautiful place, with a s.p.a.ciousness truly magnificent.

Our stay in St. Louis was barely a day. We took a glimpse at the river front, once a busy scene with its fleet of steamboats running from the northwestern wilds, by way of the Missouri and its tributaries, and down to the Gulf of Mexico, by way of the Mississippi. But the glory of the steamboating days is gone forever. The iron horse now does the greater part of the carrying trade, and great railroad bridges span the Father of Waters at several points, and more are coming.

I took a little independent trip from St. Louis by rail, to Alton, on the Illinois side. It just took three hours; one to get there, one there, and one to return.

It was many long years since I resided in Alton, and it was with a sort of fearfulness that I made the excursion. Would any one remember me?

Were my friends yet living? And so on. I crossed the great railroad bridge over the Mississippi, and up on the east bank to Alton, which lies just above the confluence of the two great rivers. I pa.s.sed through, on the Illinois side, what seemed a continuous series of manufacturing settlements, all emphasizing the vast development of industrial enterprises in the West.

On arriving at Alton, the changed aspect of all was most apparent. The river front--where in old times I had seen the steamboats line up, and watched their loading and unloading, picturesque by day or by night, but especially attractive when seen under the glare of torches, and enlivened by the songs of the negro hands--was now, almost, unused. The railroad tracks dominated everything, down to the water's edge.

I wandered off at random through the streets, until I came to the old familiar Alton Bank, which looked exactly the same. I entered to inquire after friends, and as the clerk was obligingly giving me information, I asked him if he knew a former clerk, Mr. W----, who was there years before. "Oh, yes," said he; "he is now our president." By this time a pleasant face looked fixedly at me, and, in a moment, an outstretched hand grasped mine, and my old friend was calling me by name, and we were once more young men again, when, in the old time, music was our bond of fellowship, and all that that involves.

While we were speaking--the bank president and myself--a lady, with her little girl, entered the office, and again my name was called. "I have been following you in the street," she said. "I knew it must be you, but I could scarcely believe my eyes." It was the daughter of a dear friend of years long gone, and her daughter was by her side.

How lovely it all seemed to be thus recognized, and to bind together afresh the ties of years that had fled!

But my hour in Alton was almost up. I could only look at the outside of the dear old church where I once worshipped. My friend of the bank brought me, to the train, as a little gift of remembrance, a book called "Poems of the Piasa," by Frank C. Riehl. It contained also a number of other kindred poems of Western life.

The Piasa was a dreadful, winged monster, which inhabited the banks of the Mississippi at Alton in ages past. A note in the volume I received might here be quoted. It is as follows:

"The region along the sh.o.r.es on both sides of the Mississippi, between the points of the confluence of the Illinois and Missouri rivers with the Father of Waters, is particularly rich in legendary stories concerning the life and habits of the powerful tribes of Indians who were the original owners of these fertile valley lands.

Along the bluffs on the Illinois side are numberless burial places where the bones of thousands of 'the first Americans' repose, while the valleys and prairie-stretches for some distance back from the river, afford constant reminders of their presence and handiwork in the dim ages of the past.

"From the time of the earliest frontier expeditions, this locality has been conspicuous among the chronicles for the number and peculiar charm of the folk-lore stories handed down from one generation to another, and held in almost sacred reverence by the Indians. And, among these, dating from the famous expedition of Marquette, none is more striking and interesting than that of the Piasa Bird. That this was more than a mere myth is attested by the evidence of many early settlers, who got the story in minute detail from the Indians themselves; and by the painting that remained upon the face of the perpendicular bluffs within the present limits of the city of Alton, until quarried away just about the close of the first half of this century."

The Indian legend referred to is of a fearful, winged monster, who swooped down upon his prey, making his aery on the great cliffs at Alton. The tribes were in deadly terror of this great creature, whose fearful power seized their bravest warriors, as well as their most beautiful maidens, in his deadly talons. At last, a chief, named Ouatoga, conceived the bold design to place himself in the way of the monster, a sacrifice for the safety of his race; while twelve of the best archers, should lie concealed near by, and slay the monster with their united arrows, as he rose in air with his prey. This, the legend says, was done, and a rude picture of the monster might be seen on the bluffs at Alton until recent times.