My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field Part 23

3,3 Little Rebel.

4,4 General Price.

5,5 Sumter.

6,6 General Lovell.

7,7 General Thompson.

8,8 General Bragg.

9,9 General Van Dorn.

Q Queen City.

M Monarch.]

The accompanying diagram will show you the position of both fleets at the beginning and at the close of the engagement.

Slowly and steadily they came into line. The Little Rebel moved through the fleet, and Commodore Montgomery issued his orders to each captain in person.

The Benton and St. Louis dropped down towards the city, to protect the tug. A signal brought us back, and the boats moved up-stream again, to the original position.

There was another signal from the flag-s.h.i.+p, and then on board all the boats there was a shrill whistle. It was the boatswain piping all hands to quarters. The drummer beat his roll, and the marines seized their muskets. The sailors threw open the ports, ran out the guns, brought up shot and sh.e.l.ls, stowed away furniture, took down rammers and sponges, seized their handspikes, stripped off their coats, rolled up their sleeves, loaded the cannon, and stood by their pieces. Cutla.s.ses and boarding-pikes were distributed. Last words were said. They waited for orders.

"Let the men have their breakfasts," was the order from the flag-s.h.i.+p.

Commodore Davis believed in fighting on full stomachs. Hot coffee, bread, and beef were carried round to the men.

The Rebel fleet watched us awhile. The crowd upon the sh.o.r.e increased.

Perhaps they thought the Yankees did not dare to fight. At length the Rebel fleet began to move up-stream.

"Round to; head down-stream; keep in line with the flag-s.h.i.+p," was the order which we on board the Jessie Benton carried to each boat of the line. We returned, and took our position between the Benton and Carondelet.

I stood on the top of the tug, beside the pilot-house. Stand with me there, and behold the scene. The sun is an hour high, and its bright rays lie in a broad line of silver light upon the eddying stream. You look down the river to the city, and behold the housetops, the windows, the levee, crowded with men, women, and children. The flag of the Confederacy floats defiantly. The Rebel fleet is moving slowly towards us. A dense cloud of smoke rolls up from the chimneys of the steamers, and floats over the city.

There is a flash, a puff from the Little Rebel, a sound of something unseen in the air, and a column of water is thrown up a mile behind us.

A second shot, from the Beauregard, falls beside the Benton. A third, from the Price, aimed at the Carondelet, misses by a foot or two, and dashes up the water between the Jessie Benton and the flag-s.h.i.+p. It is a sixty-four-pounder. If it had struck us, our boat would have been splintered to kindlings in an instant.

Commodore Montgomery sees that the boats of the Federal fleet have their iron-plated bows up-stream. He comes up rapidly, to crush them at the stern, where there are no iron plates. A signal goes up from the Benton, and the broadsides begin to turn towards the enemy. The crowd upon the levee think that the Federal boats are retreating, and hurrah for Commodore Montgomery.

There has been profound silence on board the Union gunboats. The men are waiting for the word. It comes.

"Open fire, and take close quarters."

The Cairo begins. A ten-inch shot screams through the air, and skips along the water towards the Little Rebel. Another, from the St. Louis. A third, from the Louisville. Another, from the Carondelet, and lastly, from the Benton. The gunners crouch beside their guns, to track the shot. Some are too high, some too low. There is an answering roar from all the Rebel boats. The air is full of indescribable noises. The water boils and bubbles around us. It is tossed up in columns and jets. There are sudden flashes overhead, explosions, and sulphurous clouds, and whirring of ragged pieces of iron. The uproar increases. The cannonade reverberates from the high bluff behind the city to the dark-green forest upon the Arkansas sh.o.r.e, and echoes from bend to bend.

The s.p.a.ce between the fleets is gradually lessening. The Yankees are not retreating, but advancing. A shot strikes the Little Rebel. One tears through the General Price. Another through the General Bragg. Commodore Montgomery is above the city, and begins to fall back. He is not ready to come to close quarters. Fifteen minutes pa.s.s by, but it seems not more than two. How fast one lives at such a time! All of your senses are quickened. You see everything, hear everything. The blood rushes through your veins. Your pulse is quickened. You long to get at the enemy,--to sweep over the intervening s.p.a.ce, lay your boat alongside, pour in a broadside, and knock them to pieces in a twinkling! You care nothing for the screaming of the shot, the bursting of the sh.e.l.ls. You have got over all that. You have but one thought,--_to tear down that hateful flaunting flag, to smite the enemies of your country into the dust_!

While this cannonade was going on, I noticed the two rams casting loose from the sh.o.r.e. I heard the tinkle of the engineer's bell for more fire and a full head of steam. The sharpshooters took their places. The Queen came out from the shelter of the great cottonwoods, crossed the river, and pa.s.sed down between the Benton and Carondelet. Colonel Ellet stood beside the pilot, and waved his hand to us on board the Jessie Benton.

The Monarch was a little later, and, instead of following in the wake of the Queen, pa.s.sed between the Cairo and the St. Louis.

See the Queen! Her great wheels whirl up clouds of spray, and leave a foaming path. She carries a silver train sparkling in the morning light.

She ploughs a furrow, which rolls the width of the river. Our boat dances like a feather on the waves. She gains the intervening s.p.a.ce between the fleets. Never moved a Queen so determinedly, never one more fleet,--almost leaping from the water. The Stars and Stripes stream to the breeze beneath the black banner unfolding, expanding, and trailing far away from her smoke-stacks. There is a surging, hissing, and smothered screaming of the pent-up steam in her boilers, as if they had put on all energy for the moment. They had;--flesh, blood, bones, iron, bra.s.s, steel,--animate and inanimate,--were nerved up for the trial of the hour!

Officers and men behold her in astonishment and admiration. For a moment there is silence. The men stand transfixed by their guns, forgetting their duties. Then the Rebel gunners, as if moved by a common impulse, bring their guns to bear upon her. She is exposed on the right, on the left, and in front. It is a terrible cross-fire. Solid shot scream past.

Sh.e.l.ls explode around her. She is pierced through and through. Her timbers crack. She quivers beneath the shock, but does not falter.

On--on--faster--straight towards the General Beauregard.

The commander of that vessel adroitly avoids the stroke. The Queen misses her aim. She sweeps by like a race-horse, receiving the fire of the Beauregard on one side and the Little Rebel on the other. She comes round in a graceful curve, almost lying down upon her side, as if to cool her heated smoke-stacks in the stream. The stern guns of the Beauregard send their shot through the bulwarks of the Queen. A splinter strikes the brave commander, Colonel Ellet. He is knocked down, bruised, and stunned for a moment, but springs to his feet, steadies himself against the pilot-house, and gives his directions as coolly as if nothing had happened.

The Queen pa.s.ses round the Little Rebel, and approaches the General Price.

"Take her aft the wheelhouse," says Colonel Ellet to the pilot. The commander of the Price turns towards the approaching antagonist. Her wheels turn. She surges ahead to escape the terrible blow. Too late.

There is a splintering, crackling, cras.h.i.+ng of timbers. The broadside of the boat is crushed in. It is no more than a box of cards or thin tissue-paper before the terrible blow.

There are jets of flame and smoke from the loop-holes of the Queen. The sharpshooters are at it. You hear the rattling fire, and see the crew of the Price running wildly over the deck, tossing their arms. The unceasing thunder of the cannonade drowns their cries. A moment, and a white flag goes up. The Price surrenders.

But the Queen has another antagonist, the Beauregard. The Queen is motionless, but the Beauregard sweeps down with all her powers. There is another crash. The bulwarks of the Queen tremble before the stroke.

There is a great opening in her hull. But no white flag is displayed.

There are no cries for quarter, no thoughts of surrendering. The sharpshooters pick off the gunners of the Beauregard, compelling them to take shelter beneath their casemates.

We who see it hold our breaths. We are unmindful of the explosions around us. How will it end? Will the Queen sink with all her brave men on board?

But her consort is at hand, the Monarch, commanded by Captain Ellet, brother of Colonel Ellet. He was five or ten minutes behind the Queen in starting, but he has appeared at the right moment. He, too, has been unmindful of the shot and sh.e.l.l falling around him. He aims straight as an arrow for the Beauregard. The Beauregard is stiff, stanch, and strong, but her timbers, planks, knees, and braces are no more than laths before the powerful stroke of the Monarch. The sharpshooters pour in their fire. The engineer of the Monarch puts his force-pumps in play and drenches the decks of the Beauregard with scalding water. An officer of the Beauregard raises a white cloth upon a rammer. It is a signal for surrender. The sharpshooters stop firing.

There are the four boats, three of them floating helplessly in the stream, the water pouring into the hulls, through the splintered planking.

Captain Ellet saw that the Queen was disabled, and took her in tow to the Arkansas sh.o.r.e. Prompted by humanity, instead of falling upon the other vessels of the fleet he took the General Price to the sh.o.r.e.

The Little Rebel was pierced through her hull by a half-dozen shots.

Commodore Montgomery saw that the day was lost. He ran alongside the Beauregard, and, notwithstanding the vessel had surrendered, took the crew on board, to escape. But a shot from the Cairo pa.s.sed through the boilers. The steam rushed out like the hissing of serpents. The boat was near the sh.o.r.e, and the crew jumped into the water, climbed the bank, and fled to the woods. The Cairo gave them a broadside of sh.e.l.ls as they ran.

The Beauregard was fast settling. The Jessie Benton ran alongside. All had fled save the wounded. There was a pool of blood upon the deck. The sides of the casemate were stained with crimson drops, yet warm from the heart of a man who had been killed by a sh.e.l.l.

"Help, quick!" was the cry of Captain Maynadier.

We rushed on board in season to save a wounded officer. The vessel settled slowly to the bottom.

"I thank you," said the officer, "for saving me from drowning. You are my enemies, but you have been kinder to me than those whom I called my friends. One of my brother officers when he fled, had the meanness to pick my pocket and steal my watch!"

Thus those who begun by stealing public property, forts, and a.r.s.enals, did not hesitate to violate their honor,--fleeing after surrendering, forsaking their wounded comrade, robbing him of his valuables, and leaving him to drown!

There is no cessation of the cannonade. The fight goes on. The Benton is engaged with the General Lovell. They are but a few rods apart, and both within a stone's-throw of the mult.i.tude upon the sh.o.r.e.

Captain Phelps stands by one of the Benton's rifled guns. He waits to give a raking shot, runs his eye along the sights, and gives the word to fire. The steel-pointed shot enters the starboard side of the hull, by the water-line. Timbers, braces, planks, the whole side of the boat seemingly, are torn out.

The water pours in. The vessel settles to the guards, to the ports, to the top of the casemate, reels, and with a lurch disappears. It is the work of three minutes.

The current sets swiftly along the sh.o.r.e. The plummet gives seventy-five feet of water. The vessel goes down like a lump of lead. Her terror-stricken crew are thrown into the current. It is an appalling sight. A man with his left arm torn, broken, bleeding, and dangling by his side, runs wildly over the deck. There is unspeakable horror in his face. He beckons now to those on sh.o.r.e, and now to his friends on board the boats. He looks imploringly to heaven, and calls for help.

Unavailing the cry. He disappears in the eddying whirlpool. A hundred human beings are struggling for life, buffeting the current, raising their arms, catching at sticks, straws, planks, and timbers. "Help!

help! help!" they cry. It is a wild wail of agony, mingled with the cannonade.

There is no help for them on sh.o.r.e. There, within a dozen rods, are their friends, their fathers, mothers, brothers, sisters, wives, children, they who urged them to join the service, who compelled them to enlist. All are powerless to aid them!

They who stand upon the sh.o.r.e behold those whom they love defeated, crushed, drowning, calling for help! It is an hour when heart-strings are wrung. Tears, cries, prayers, efforts, all are unavailing.

Commodore Davis beholds them. His heart is touched. "Save them, lads,"