Part 19 (2/2)

The tug steams back to the Benton, the white flag is taken down, and the uproar begins again. Lieutenant Bishop made good use of his eyes. There were seven thirty-two-pounders and one heavy rifled gun in the upper battery.

Commodore Foote was not ready to begin the bombardment in earnest till Monday noon, March 17th.

The Benton, Cincinnati, and St. Louis dropped down stream, side by side, and came into position about a mile from the upper batteries. Anchors were dropped from the stern of each gunboat, that they might fight head on, using their heavy rifled guns. Their position was on the east side of the river. The Mound City and Carondelet took position near the west bank, just below the mortars. The boats were thus placed to bring a cross fire upon the upper Rebel battery.

”Pay no attention to the island, but direct your fire into the upper battery!” is the order.

A signal is raised upon the flag-s.h.i.+p. We do not understand the signification of the flag, but while we look at it the ten mortars open fire, one after another, in rapid succession. The gunboats follow. There are ten sh.e.l.ls, thirteen inches in diameter, rising high in air. There are handfuls of smoke flecking the sky, and a prolonged, indescribable cras.h.i.+ng, rolling, and rumbling. You have seen battle-pieces by the great painters; but the highest artistic skill cannot portray the scene.

It is a vernal day, as beautiful as ever dawned. The gunboats are enveloped in flame and smoke. The unfolding clouds are slowly wafted away by the gentle breeze. Huge columns rise majestically from the mortars. A line of white--a thread-like tissue--spans the sky. It is the momentary and vanis.h.i.+ng mark of the sh.e.l.l in the invisible air. There are little splashes in the stream, where the fragments of iron fall.

There are pillars of water tossed upward in front of the earthwork, which break into spray, painted with rainbow hues by the bright suns.h.i.+ne. A round shot skips along the surface and pierces the embankment. Another just clears the parapet, and cuts down a tree beyond. The air is filled with sticks, timbers, branches of trees, and earth, as if a dozen thunderbolts had fallen upon the spot from a cloudless sky. There are explosions deep under ground, where the great sh.e.l.ls have buried themselves in their downward flight. There are volumes of smoke which rise like the mists of a summer morning.

There are some brave fellows behind that breastwork. Amid this storm they come out from their shelter and load a gun. There it comes! A flash, a cloud, a hissing, a cras.h.!.+ The shot strikes the upper deck of the Benton, tears up the iron plates, breaks the thick timbers into kindlings, falls upon the lower deck, bounds up again to the beams above, and drops into Commodore Foote's writing-desk!

All around, from the gunboats, the mortars, from all the batteries, are flashes, clouds of smoke, and thunderings, which bring to mind the gorgeous imagery of the Book of Revelation in the New Testament, descriptive of the scenes of the Last Judgment.

The firing ceased at sunset. The Benton was struck four times, and the Cincinnati once. No one was injured by these shots, but one of the guns of the St. Louis burst, killing two men instantly, and wounding thirteen.

When the bombardment was at its height, Commodore Foote received a letter from Cairo, containing the sad information that a beloved son had died suddenly. It was a sore bereavement, but it was no time for him to give way to grief, no time to think of his great affliction.

After the firing had ceased, I sat with him in the cabin of the Benton.

There were tears upon his cheeks. He was thinking of his loss.

Were he living now, I should have no right to give the conversation I had with him, but he has gone to his reward, leaving us his bright example. These were his words, as I remember:--

”It is a terrible blow, but the Lord gave, and the Lord hath taken away; blessed be His name. It is hard for me to bear, but no harder than it will be for the fathers of the n.o.ble men who were killed on the St.

Louis. Poor fellows! I feel bad for the wounded.”

He called the orderly who stood outside the cabin.

”Orderly, tell the surgeon that I want to see him.”

The surgeon came in.

”Surgeon, I wish you to do everything you can for those poor fellows on the St. Louis. Don't omit anything that will contribute to their comfort.”

”It shall be done, sir,” said the surgeon, as he left the cabin.

”Poor fellows! I must see them myself. It is a great deal worse to have a gun explode than to have the men wounded by the enemy's shot, for they lose confidence. I have protested again and again to the Department against using these old thirty-two-pounders, which have been weakened by being rifled; but I had to take them or none. I had to pick them up wherever I could find them. I have tried my best to get the fleet in good trim, and it is too bad to have the men slaughtered in this way. I shall try to do my duty. The country needs the services of every man. We shall have a long war. I would like to rest, and have a little breathing spell, but I shall not ask for it. I shall try to do my duty to my country and to G.o.d. He is leading this nation in a way we know not of.

My faith is unshaken in Him. He will bring us out of all trouble at last.”

Thus, in the hour of battle, while attending to his duties, while bearing up under the intelligence that a beloved son had died, he talked calmly, cheerfully, and hopefully of the future, and manifested the care and tenderness of a father for the wounded.

Although the gunboats ceased firing at sunset, the mortars were in play all night. It was beautiful to see the great flash, illuminating all the landscape, the white cloud rolling upward and outward, unfolding, expanding, spreading over the wide river, and the bright spark rising high in the air, turning with the revolving sh.e.l.l, reaching its alt.i.tude and sailing straight along the arch of the parabola, then descending with increasing rapidity, ending in a bright flash, and an explosion which echoes and re-echoes far away. The next day I went with Captain Maynadier across the point to reconnoitre the batteries on the island and watch the explosions of the sh.e.l.ls. We pa.s.sed a deserted farm-house, and saw a squad of Colonel Buford's soldiers running down pigs and chickens. Crossing a creek upon a corduroy bridge, we came to a second squad. One was playing a violin, and several were dancing; they were as happy as larks. We stood upon the bank of the river opposite the island.

Before us was the floating battery, which was formerly the New Orleans dry-dock. It mounted eight guns. There were four batteries on the Tennessee sh.o.r.e and several on the island. We could see the artillerists at their guns. They saw us, and sent a sh.e.l.l whizzing over our heads, which struck in a cornfield, and ploughed a deep furrow for the farmer owning it. We went where they could not see us, and mounted a fence to watch the effect of the mortar-firing. It was interesting to sit there and hear the great sh.e.l.ls sail through the air five hundred feet above us. It was like the sound of far-off, invisible machinery, turning with a constant motion, not the sharp, shrill whistle of a rifled-bolt, but a whirr and roll, like that which you may sometimes hear above the clouds in a thunder-storm. One sh.e.l.l fell like a millstone into the river. The water did not extinguish the fuse, and a great column was thrown up fifty feet high. Another buried itself deep in the ground before it burst, and excavated a great hole. I learned, after the place surrendered, that one fell through a tent where several officers were sitting, playing cards, and that the next moment the tent, furniture, officers, and fifty cartloads of earth were sailing through the air!

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