Part 5 (2/2)

The gunboats steam up slowly against the current, that the troops may have time to get into position in rear of the Rebel intrenchments. They take the channel on the west side of the island. The Ess.e.x is on the right of the battle line, nearest the island. Her Commander is William D. Porter, who comes from good stock. It was his father who commanded the Ess.e.x in the war with Great Britain in 1813, and who fought most gallantly a superior force,--two British s.h.i.+ps, the Phebe and Cherub,--in the harbor of Valparaiso.

Next the Ess.e.x is the Carondelet, then the Cincinnati,--the flag-s.h.i.+p, with the brave Commodore on board,--and nearest the western sh.o.r.e the St. Louis. These are all iron-plated at the bows. Astern is the Lexington, the Conestoga, and the Tyler.

[Ill.u.s.tration: FORT HENRY.

1 Ess.e.x.

2 Carondelet.

3 Cincinnati.

4 St. Louis.

5 Lexington.

6 Conestoga.

7 Tyler.

8 & 9 Rebel intrenchment.]

The boats reach the head of the island, and the fort is in full view. It is thirty-four minutes past twelve o'clock. There is a flash, and a great creamy cloud of smoke at the bow of the Cincinnati. An eight-inch sh.e.l.l screams through the air. The gunners watch its course. Their practised eyes follow its almost viewless flight. Your watch ticks fifteen seconds before you hear from it. You see a puff of smoke, a cloud of sand thrown up in the fort, and then hear the explosion. The commanders of the other boats remember the instructions,--”Do just as I do!”--and from each vessel a sh.e.l.l is thrown. All fall within the fort, or in the encampment beyond, which is in sight. You can see the tents, the log-huts, the tall flagstaff. The fort accepts the challenge, and instantly the twelve guns which are in position to sweep the river open upon the advancing boats. The shot and sh.e.l.l plough furrows in the stream, and throw columns of water high in air.

Another round from the fleet. Another from the fort. The air is calm, and the thunder of the cannonade rolls along the valley, reverberating from hill to hill. Louder and deeper and heavier is the booming, till it becomes almost an unbroken peal.

There is a commotion in the Rebel encampment. Men run to and fro. They curl down behind the stumps and the fallen trees, to avoid the shot.

Their huts are blown to pieces by the sh.e.l.ls. You see the logs tossed like straws into the air. Their tents are torn into paper-rags. The hissing sh.e.l.ls sink deep into the earth, and then there are sudden upheavals of sand, with smoke and flames, as if volcanoes were bursting forth. The parapet is cut through. Sand-bags are knocked about. The air is full of strange, hideous, mysterious, terrifying noises.

There are seven or eight thousand Rebel soldiers in the rifle-pits and behind the breastworks of the encampment in line of battle. They are terror-stricken. Officers and men alike lose all self-control.

They run to escape the fearful storm. They leave arms, ammunition, tents, blankets, trunks, clothes, books, letters, papers, pictures,--everything. They pour out of the intrenchments into the road leading to Dover, a motley rabble. A small steamboat lies in the creek above the fort. Some rush on board and steam up river with the utmost speed. Others, in their haste and fear, plunge into the creek and sink to rise no more. All fly except a brave little band in the fort.

The gunboats move straight on, slowly and steadily. Their fire is regular and deliberate. Every shot goes into the fort. The gunners are blinded and smothered by clouds of sand. The gun-carriages are crushed, splintered, and overturned. Men are cut to pieces. Something unseen tears them like a thunderbolt. The fort is full of explosions. The heavy rifled gun bursts, crus.h.i.+ng and killing those who serve it. The flagstaff is splintered and torn, as by intensest lightning.

Yet the fort replies. The gunners have the range of the boats, and nearly every shot strikes the iron plating. They are like the strokes of sledge-hammers, indenting the sheets, starting the fastenings, breaking the tough bolts. The Cincinnati receives thirty-one shots, the Ess.e.x fifteen, the St. Louis seven, and the Carondelet six.

Though struck so often, they move on. The distance lessens. Another gun is knocked from its carriage in the fort,--another,--another. There are signs that the contest is about over, that the Rebels are ready to surrender. But a shot strikes the Ess.e.x between the iron plates. It tears through the oaken timbers and into one of the steam-boilers. There is a great puff of steam. It pours from the portholes, and the boat is enveloped in a cloud. She drops out of the line of battle. Her engines stop and she floats with the stream. Twenty-eight of her crew are scalded, among them her brave commander.

The Rebels take courage. They spring to their guns, and fire rapidly and wildly, hoping and expecting to disable the rest of the fleet. But the Commodore does not falter; he keeps straight on as if nothing had happened. An eighty-pound sh.e.l.l from the Cincinnati dismounts a gun, killing or wounding every gunner. The boats are so near that every shot is sure to do its work. The fire of the boats increases while the fire of the fort diminishes. Coolness, determination, energy, perseverance, and power win the day. The Rebel flag comes down, and the white flag goes up. They surrender. Cheers ring through the fleet. A boat puts out from the St. Louis. An officer jumps ash.o.r.e, climbs the torn embankment, stands upon the parapet and waves the Stars and Stripes. ”Hurrah!

hurrah! hurrah!” You hear it echoing from sh.o.r.e to sh.o.r.e.

General Lloyd Tilghman commanded in the fort. He went on board the flag-s.h.i.+p.

”What terms do you grant me?” he asked.

”Your surrender must be unconditional, sir. I can grant you no other terms.”

”Well, sir, if I must surrender, it gives me pleasure to surrender to so brave an officer as you.”

”You do perfectly right to surrender, sir; but I should not have done it on any condition.”

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