American Men of Action Part 20

So ended the battle of Mobile Bay. It left Farragut's fame secure as one of the greatest sea-captains of all time; great in daring, in skill, in foresight, and with a coolness and presence of mind which no peril could shake. Congress created for him the grade of admiral, before unknown in the United States navy, and the whole country joined in honoring him.

Swinging to and fro with the ebb and flow of the tide at the entrance of Mobile Bay, is a buoy which marks the spot of a deed of purest heroism.

A few fathoms below that buoy lies the monitor Tec.u.mseh, sunk by a torpedo at the beginning of the battle, as we have seen, and the buoy commemorates, not the sinking of the ship, but the self-sacrifice of her commander, Tunis Augustus Craven.

Craven had entered the navy at the age of sixteen and had seen much service and distinguished himself in many ways before he was given command of the Tec.u.mseh and ordered to join Farragut's squadron. On the morning of the attack, he was given the post of honor at the head of the column, and determined to come to close quarters with the Tennessee, if he could. But fate intervened, when his quarry was almost within reach.

Craven had stationed himself in the little pilot-house beside the pilot, the better to direct the movements of his ship, and when he and the pilot felt that sudden shock and saw the Tec.u.mseh sinking, both of them sprang for the narrow opening leading from the pilot-house to the turret chamber below. They reached the opening at the same instant; it was so small that only one could pa.s.s at a time, and Craven, with a greatness of soul found only in heroes, drew back, saying quietly, "After you, pilot."

"There was nothing after me," said the pilot afterwards, "for when I reached the last round of the ladder, the vessel seemed to drop from under me."

At the outbreak of the Civil War, the commerce of the United States was the next to the largest in the world. The North destroyed southern commerce by capturing or blockading southern ports, while the South retaliated by fitting out a large number of commerce-destroyers, to range the seas and take what prizes they could--a plan which had been adopted by America in both wars with England, and which is the only resource of a power whose navy is greatly inferior to that of its antagonist.

The bright particular star of the Confederate service was Raphael Semmes, who had been trained in the United States navy, and who, first in the Sumter and afterwards in the Alabama, captured a total of seventy-seven prizes, nearly all of which he destroyed. To his capture, the United States devoted some of its best ships, but it was not until the summer of 1864, that he was finally cornered.

On Sunday, June 12, 1864, the United States sloop-of-war Kearsarge lay at anchor off the sleepy town of Flushing, Holland. Her commander, John Ancrum Winslow, had served in the navy of the United States for thirty-seven years, and had done good work off Vera Cruz in the war with Mexico, but the crowning achievement of his life was at hand. As his ship lay swinging idly at her anchor, a boat put off to her, a messenger jumped aboard, and three minutes later a gun was fired, recalling instantly every member of the ship's company ash.o.r.e. The message was from our minister to France and stated that the long-sought Alabama had arrived at Cherbourg. For nearly two years, Winslow had been searching for that scourge of American shipping, but Semmes had always eluded him, so it may well be believed that Winslow lost no time in getting under way. On Tuesday morning, he reached Cherbourg, and breathed a great sigh of relief as he saw, beyond the breakwater, the flag of the Alabama. He took his station off the port, and kept a close lookout for fear his enemy would again elude him. But the precaution was unnecessary, for Semmes had decided to offer battle.

Four days pa.s.sed, however, with the Kearsarge keeping grim guard. Then, on Sunday morning, June 19, as the crew of the Kearsarge was at divine service, the officer of the deck reported a steamer at the harbor-mouth.

A moment later, the lookout shouted, "She's coming, and heading straight for us!" Captain Winslow, putting aside his prayer-book, seized the trumpet, ordered the decks cleared for action, and put his ship about and bore down on the Alabama.

The two vessels were remarkably well-matched, but the engagement was decisive evidence of the superior qualities of northern marksmanship. It was, in fact, an exhibition of that magnificent gunnery which was so evident in the war of 1812, and which was to be shown again in the war with Spain. Nearly all of the 173 shots fired by the Kearsarge took effect, while of the 370 fired by the Alabama, only 28 reached their target. As a result, at the end of an hour and a half, the Alabama was sinking, while the Kearsarge was practically uninjured and had lost only three men. Hauling down her flag, the Alabama tried to run in sh.o.r.e, but suddenly, settling by the stern, lifted her bow high in the air and plunged to the bottom of the sea. So ended the career of the Alabama.

Winslow received the usual rewards of promotion and the thanks of Congress, and pa.s.sed the remainder of his life unadventurously in the navy service.

One other battle remains to be recorded--in some respects the most important in history, because it revolutionized the construction of battleships, and suddenly rendered all the existing navies of the world practically useless.

On the eighth day of March, 1862, a powerful squadron of Union vessels lay at anchor in Hampton Roads, consisting of the Congress, the c.u.mberland, the St. Lawrence, the Roanoke, and the Minnesota. It was a beautiful spring morning, and the tall ships rocked lazily at their anchors, while their crews occupied themselves with routine duties.

Shortly before noon, a strange object was seen approaching down the Elizabeth river. To the Union officers, it looked like the roof of a large barn belching forth smoke. In reality, it was the Confederate ironclad, Merrimac, under command of Captain Franklin Buchanan.

Buchanan had, in his day, been one of the most distinguished officers in the United States navy. He had entered the service in 1815, as midshipman, and won rapid promotion. In 1845, he was selected by the secretary of the navy to organize the naval academy at Annapolis, and was its first commandant. He commanded the Germantown at the capture of Vera Cruz, and the Susquehanna, the flagship of Commodore Perry's famous expedition to j.a.pan. At the outbreak of the Civil War, he was commandant of the Washington navy-yard, and, being himself a Baltimore man, resigned from the service after the attack made in Baltimore on the Ma.s.sachusetts troops pa.s.sing through there. Finding that his state did not secede, he withdrew his resignation and asked to be restored, but for some reason, the secretary of the navy, Gideon Welles, refused this request, and Buchanan was fairly driven into the enemy's service.

The Confederacy was glad to get him, gave him the rank of captain and put him in charge of the work at the Norfolk, Virginia, navy-yard. The most important business going forward there was the reconstruction of the United States frigate, Merrimac. This consisted in building above her berth-deck sloping bulwarks seven feet high, covered with four inches of iron, and pierced for ten guns. To her bow, about two feet under water, a cast-iron ram was attached, and on the eighth of March, she cast loose from her moorings and started down the river. She was scarcely complete, her crew had never been drilled, she had never fired a gun, nor had her engines made a single revolution, while the ship itself was merely a bold experiment, which had never made a trial trip.

Yet Buchanan, on reaching Hampton Roads, headed straight for the Union fleet.

There, as soon as the ident.i.ty of the stranger was discovered, hurried preparations for battle were made. Decks were cleared, magazines opened, and guns loaded, and as soon as the Merrimac was in range, the Union ships and sh.o.r.e batteries opened upon her, but such projectiles as struck her, glanced harmlessly from her iron mail. Not until she was quite near the c.u.mberland did the Merrimac return the fire. Then she opened her bow-port and sent a seven-inch sh.e.l.l through the c.u.mberland's quarter. The c.u.mberland answered with a broadside which would have blown any wooden vessel out of the water, but which affected the Merrimac not at all. Buchanan had determined to test the power of his ram, and keeping on at full speed, crashed into the c.u.mberland's side. Then he backed out, leaving a yawning chasm, through which the water poured into the doomed ship. She settled rapidly and sank with a roar, her crew firing her guns to the last moment.

The Merrimac then turned her attention to the Congress, with such deadly effect that that vessel was forced to surrender after an hour's fighting, in which she was repeatedly hulled and set on fire. Most of her crew escaped to the sh.o.r.e, and the Confederates completed her destruction by firing hot shot into her. Evening was at hand by this time, and the Merrimac withdrew, intending to destroy the other ships in the harbor next morning.

So ended the most disastrous day in the history of the United States navy. Two ships were lost, and over three hundred men killed or wounded.

On the Merrimac, two had been killed and eight wounded, but the vessel herself, though she had been the target for more than a hundred heavy guns, was practically uninjured and as dangerous as ever.

Among the wounded was Captain Buchanan, who was forced to relinquish the command of the Merrimac. For his gallantry, he was thanked by the Confederate Congress, and promoted to full admiral and senior officer of the Confederate navy. As soon as he recovered from his wound, he was placed in charge of the naval defenses of Mobile, Alabama, and there superintended the construction of the ram Tennessee, which he commanded during the action with Farragut two years later. His handling of the vessel was daring almost to madness, but she became disabled and was forced to surrender. Buchanan was taken prisoner, and never again took part in any naval action.

Let us return to Hampton Roads.

The news of the disaster to the Union fleet spread gloom and consternation throughout the North, and corresponding rejoicing throughout the South. The remaining ships in Hampton Roads plainly lay at the Merrimac's mercy, and after they had been destroyed, there was nothing to prevent her steaming up the Potomac and attacking Washington. It seemed as if nothing but a miracle could save the country from awful disaster.

And that miracle was at hand.

Among the coincidences of history, none is more remarkable than the arrival at Hampton Roads on the night of March 8, 1862, of the strange and freakish-looking craft known as the Monitor. Proposed to the Navy Department in the preceding fall by John Ericsson, in spite of sneers and doubts, a contract was given him in October to construct a vessel after his design. The form of the Monitor is too well known to need description--"a cheese-box on a raft," the name given her in derision, describes her as well as anything. She was launched on the last day of January, and three weeks later was handed over to the Government, but it was not until the fourth of March that her guns were mounted, two powerful rifled cannon. At the request of Ericsson, she was named the Monitor, and this name came afterwards to be adopted to describe the cla.s.s of ships of which she was the first. So dangerous was service in her considered, that volunteers were called for, and Lieutenant John Lorimer Worden was given command of her.

Worden had entered the navy twenty-seven years before, and at the opening of the Civil War, had delivered the orders from the secretary of the navy which saved Fort Pickens, in the harbor of Pensacola, to the Union. Attempting to return North overland, he was arrested and held as a prisoner seven months, being exchanged just in time to enable him to procure command of the Monitor. Rumors of the construction of the Merrimac had reached the North, and two days after her guns were aboard, the Monitor left New York harbor for Hampton Roads. Just after she pa.s.sed Sandy Hook, orders recalling her were received there, fortunately too late to be delivered. By such slight threads do the events of history depend.

Meanwhile, Captain Worden was making such progress southward as he could with his unwieldy and dangerous craft, which had been designed only for the smooth waters of rivers and harbors and which was wholly unable to cope with the boisterous Atlantic. There was a brisk wind, and the vessel was soon in imminent danger of foundering. The waves broke over her smoke-stack and poured down into her fires, so that steam could not be kept up; the blowers which ventilated the ship would not work, and she became filled with gas which rendered some of her crew unconscious.

Undoubtedly she would have gone to the bottom very shortly had not the wind moderated. Even then, it was almost a miracle that she should win through, but win through she did, and at four o'clock on the afternoon of Sat.u.r.day, March 8, as she was pa.s.sing Cape Henry, Captain Worden heard the distant booming of guns. As darkness came, he saw far ahead the glare of the burning Congress.

About midnight, the little vessel crept up beside the Minnesota and anch.o.r.ed. Her crew were completely exhausted. For fifty hours, they had fought to keep their ship afloat, and on the morrow they must be prepared to meet a formidable foe. All that night they worked with their vessel, making such repairs as they could. At eight o'clock next morning, the Merrimac appeared, and the Monitor started to meet her.

Amazed at sight of what appeared to be an iron turret sliding over the water toward him, the commander of the Merrimac swung toward this tiny antagonist, intending to destroy her before proceeding to the work in hand. Captain Worden had taken his station in the pilot-house, and reserved his fire until within short range. Then, slowly circling about his unwieldy foe, he fired shot after shot, which, while they did not disable her, prevented her from destroying the Union ships in the harbor. Finding the Monitor apparently invulnerable, and with her machinery giving trouble, the Merrimac at last withdrew to Norfolk.

That the battle was a victory for the Monitor cannot be questioned; she had prevented the destruction of the Union ships, and this she continued to do, until, in the following May, the Confederates, finding themselves compelled to abandon Norfolk, set the Merrimac on fire and blew her up.

Six months later, the Monitor met a tragic fate, foundering in a storm off Cape Hatteras, a portion of her crew going down with her.

Honors were showered upon Worden for his gallant work. He was given command of the monitor Montauk, and later on destroyed the Confederate privateer Nashville. After the war, he was promoted to rear-admiral, and remained in the service until 1886.

There were others in the war whose deeds brought glory to themselves and to the navy--Lieutenant William B. Cushing, who destroyed the Confederate ram Albemarle in Plymouth harbor, a deed comparable with the burning of the Philadelphia early in the century; David Dixon Porter, whose work on the Mississippi was second only to Farragut's, who four times received the thanks of Congress, and who, in the end, became admiral of the navy; Charles Stuart Boggs, who, in the sloop-of-war Varuna, sank five Confederate vessels in the river below New Orleans, before he was himself sunk--but none of them, and, indeed, none of those whose exploits we have given, measured up to the stature of Farragut, one of the greatest commanders of all time, and, all things considered, the very greatest in the history of America.

Thirty years and more pa.s.sed after that epoch-making contest between the Monitor and the Merrimac before the world witnessed another battle to the death between ironclads. Theoretically, wood had long since been displaced by iron, iron by steel, and steel by specially-forged armor-plate, battleship designers struggling always to build a vessel which could withstand modern projectiles. But as to the actual results in warfare, there was nothing but theory to go upon until that first day of May, 1898, when George Dewey steamed into the harbor of Manila, at the head of his squadron, and opened fire upon the Spanish fleet.

Dewey had received his training under the best of masters, Farragut.

Graduating from Annapolis in 1858, he served as lieutenant on the Mississippi, when that vessel, as part of Farragut's fleet, ran past the forts below New Orleans. A short time later, in trying to pa.s.s the Confederate batteries at Port Hudson, the Mississippi ran hard and fast aground. Half an hour was spent, under a terrific fire, in trying to get her off; then Dewey, after spiking her guns, a.s.sisted in scuttling her and escaped with her captain in a small boat. He saw other active service, and got his first command in 1870. He was commissioned commodore in 1896, and on January 1, 1898, took command of the Asiatic squadron.

Few people in the world beside himself suspected, even in the dimmest manner, the task which lay before him; but with a rare sagacity, he had foreseen that, in the event of war with Spain, the far East would be the scene of operations of the first importance. He thereupon applied for the command of the Asiatic squadron, and his application was granted.

Dewey proceeded immediately to Hong Kong, and began to concentrate his forces there and to get them into first-cla.s.s condition. He spent much of his time studying the charts of the Pacific, and his officers noticed that the maps of the Philippine Islands soon became worn and marked. On Tuesday, April 26, came the explanation of all this in a cablegram stating that war had been declared between the United States and Spain, and ordering Dewey to proceed at once to the Philippine Islands and capture or destroy the Spanish fleet which was stationed there.

Early the next afternoon, the squadron started on its six hundred mile journey. What lay at the end of it, no one on the fleet knew. Of the Spanish force, Dewey knew only that twenty-three Spanish war vessels were somewhere in the Philippines; he knew, too, that they were probably at Manila, and that the defenses of the harbor were of the strongest description. But he remembered one of Farragut's sayings, "The closer you get to your enemy, the harder you can strike," and he lost no time in getting under way.

[Ill.u.s.tration: DEWEY]

Dewey's squadron consisted of seven vessels, of which one was a revenue cutter, and two colliers. He was many thousands of miles from the nearest base of supplies and to fail would mean that he would have to surrender. So, on that momentous voyage, he drilled and drilled his men, until their discipline was perfect. On April 30, land was sighted, and precautions were redoubled, since the enemy might be encountered at any moment. Careful search failed to reveal the Spaniards in Subig Bay, and at six o'clock in the evening, Dewey announced to his officers that he had determined to force Manila Bay that night. At nine o'clock the fleet was off the bay, all lights were extinguished save one at the stern of each ship to serve as a guide for the one following, and even that light was carefully screened on both sides so that it could not be seen from the sh.o.r.e. Then the fleet headed for the harbor mouth.

What the defenses of the channel were, no one knew. It was reported to be full of torpedoes. But perhaps Dewey remembered Farragut at Mobile Bay. At any rate, he did not hesitate, but kept straight on, and the fleet had almost pa.s.sed the harbor mouth, before its presence was discovered. Then the sh.o.r.e batteries opened, but without effect, and the entire squadron pa.s.sed safely into the harbor. Then followed long hours of waiting for the dawn, and at five o'clock came the signal, "Prepare for action," for the Spanish fleet had been sighted at anchor far down the harbor.

Fifteen minutes later, the Spaniards opened fire, but Dewey went silently on toward his goal. Suddenly, a short distance away, there was a dull explosion, and a great ma.s.s of water and mud sprang into the air.

A mine had been exploded; the fleet had entered the mine fields. Now, if ever, it would be blown into eternity, but there was no pause in the progress of that silent line of battle. From the bridge of the Olympia, the most exposed position in the squadron, Dewey watched the progress of his ships. In the conning tower, eagerly awaiting the word to fire, was Captain Gridley. At last, with a final glance at the sh.o.r.e, Dewey bent over the rail.

"You may fire when ready, Gridley," he said, quietly.

Ready! Surely that was satire on Dewey's part, for just one second later the bridge under his feet leaped like a springboard as the great gun beneath it gave the signal. Scarcely had the sh.e.l.l left the muzzle when an answering roar came from the other ships. The battle had begun, the Spanish ships were riddled with a shower of bursting sh.e.l.ls, their crews cut to pieces, and the ships themselves set on fire. The guns of the American squadron roared with clocklike regularity, while the firing from the Spanish ships steadily decreased. Two hours of this work, and the smoke hung so heavy over the water that it was difficult to distinguish the enemy's ships.

"What time is it, Rees?" asked Dewey, of his executive officer.

"Seven forty-five, sir."

"Breakfast time," said Dewey, with a queer smile. "Run up the signals, 'Cease firing,' and 'Follow me.'"

Again it was a lesson from Farragut, and Dewey, steaming back down the harbor, signalled "Let the men go to breakfast." His captains, coming aboard the Olympia, gave a series of reports unique in naval history.