Running the batteries at Vicksburg.
The fate of the “Mississippi,” in her attempt to pass the batteries at Port Hudson, might well have appalled the stoutest heart; but, in war, necessity is stronger than law-stronger than human suffering, or than any obstacle which may oppose its action. It was necessary [236] for General Grant, while marching his troops overland on the west side of the Mississippi, toward the point from which he intended to cross and attack Vicksburg from the south and east, to have transports and gunboats below the Vicksburg and Warrenton batteries to bring supplies and ferry his troops across the Mississippi, as well as to attack the Warrenton batteries from below.On consultation with Admiral Porter, that brave officer proposed to send down eight gunboats, three transports, and a number of barges and flat boats, laden with commissary supplies, past the batteries to New Carthage. These were all manned by volunteers, who were not deterred by the previous misfortunes of Farragut's squadron from undertaking this perilous expedition.
The former attempts at running the Vicksburg batteries had been made shortly before, or at daylight; this time a change was resolved upon. Eleven o'clock at night was appointed as the hour at which the boats should leave their rendezvous, which was near the mouth of the Yazoo river. To the anxious expectants of the coming events, the hours stole slowly by. As the appointed moment drew near, the decks of the various steamboats were crowded with watchful spectators.
A sort of apprehensive shudder ran through the collected gazers when it was announced that the first boat destined to pass the batteries was approaching. Sombre and silent it floated down, near the Louisiana shore; scarcely were its dark sides to be distinguished from the foliage lining the bank. Stealing slowly on, it passed the group of steamers, and at a point below took an [237] oblique course, steering for the Mississippi side of the river; and, in the gloom, it was soon confounded with the dark shadow of the trees beyond.
Before this boat was lost sight of, another succeeded, and to that another, and another, until, before midnight, the whole had gained the Mississippi side of the river, and were swallowed up in the dim obscurity. With breathless interest their transit was watched by all of those on the boats of the fleet, whose position, a little above the entrance of the first canal, brought the rough heights of Vicksburg within their sphere of vision, though the town lay, for the present, buried in the darkness, except where now and then the twinkling of a starry light was seen.
As the boats, with lights out and fires carefully hidden, floated past, indistinct as the ghosts of Ossian in the mountain mists, it was curious to note the effect upon the spectators. Before they appeared, the hum of conversation was heard all around. All were busy with speculations as to the probabilities of success. The desponding prognosticated unmitigated disaster. The hopeful indulged in confident speculations. All were contented to endure some loss, provided a sufficiency arrived at the destined point to accomplish the object contemplated.
As the various boats came slowly into view, stole past with noiseless motion, then vanished into the recesses of the shadowy shore, each voice was hushed; only in subdued and smothered tones were persons, at intervals, heard to ask a question or venture an observation. It seemed as if each one felt that his silence was due to the impressive scene; as if an indiscreet utterance on his [238] part might raise the vail of secrecy, so necessary to be preserved in the presence of a watchful foe.
A painful expectation weighed on every spirit. The boats must now be near the point opposite the beleaguered city. Will they be discovered at the first approach, or will a kindly fortune give them easy passage by? Suddenly a flame starts up! Another and another leaps into the darkness of the night! The enemy has seen the passing boats, and is sending across the river his death-dealing messengers. Rapid now dart the momentary fires; the iron rain of the remorseless cannon hurtles upon the dim and gliding boats. Dull upon the heavy air, scarce nerved by the night wind, which blows in a direction unfavorable for their hearing, reverberates the heavy thud of the cannon.
As the time passes, the batteries lower and still lower come into action. The gazers can trace the course of the fleet by new flames, that each moment startle the strained sight; and cannon, for miles along the hazy shore, are hurling their destructive missiles. A new accessory now adds its influence to the exciting scene. While the spectators had been engaged in watching the vivid flames leaping from cannon mouths and exploding shells, a gleam of light, first pale and soft, then red and lurid, and at last glaring and refulgent, stole up into the heavens above the opposing city. For the first time, the silence was broken by the gazing crowds upon the steamboats of the fleet. “Vicksburg is on fire!” was uttered in excited tones. But it was not so. Steady and with wonderful brilliancy, upon the hill on which the city stands, the fire assumed a circular outline on the upper edge, much like a third part of the full moon when, [239] apparently magnified, it is rising above the horizon. The flame glowed brilliant and beautiful — no smoke was visible to dim its splendor. It was a beacon light, placed in a position to throw its beams along each arm of the bend of the river, the convex side of which is turned toward Vicksburg. So powerful was the light that, at the point where the steamboat fleet was moored, the shadow of a hand, held a foot from the boat's side, was distinctly thrown upon it. This beacon, with treacherous fidelity, showed to the foe the now fast disappearing boats; but, happily, it was fired too late. The sight of the boats appeared to add new rage to the enemy, who could not fail to count the cost to him of such a fleet joining Farragut's three gunboats already between Vicksburg and Port Hudson. The firing became more rapid. From the upper batteries to the last ones down at Warrenton, leaped flame on flame. The dull echo of the cannon, and the whirr and shriek of the flying shells, startled the midnight air. But now comes a roar which tells that the Union boys are awake and lively! The light that showed the boats to the enemy, revealed to the gunners on the gunboats the outlines of the batteries, and the roar which deafens the ear to every other sound is the peal of their heavy pieces. After an interval of maddest rage, the upper guns of the enemy almost cease their fire. It is evident that the boats have passed the first reached batteries-all of them that have escaped the deadly onset. That no large portion of them is missing, is apparent from the activity of the forts at Warrenton, and the answering thunders of the Union guns.
By this time the beacon light was burnt down, and [240] ceased to render its cruel aid. Just as the gathering darkness and the yet longer and larger intervals of silence gave intimation that the exciting scene was nearly over, another startling incident woke anew the emotions of the time. Midway between the extinct beacon in the city and the lower batteries at Warrenton, a new glow of light, soft as the dawn, but rapidly blushing into deeper intensity, climbed gently toward the sky. “They are lighting another beacon,” shouted many voices; but again the speakers were mistaken. The light grew stronger every moment; it wanted the mellow, vivid, space-penetrating brilliancy of the beacon; above it rolled volumes of thick curling smoke; and more-the light, with slow and equal pace, was moving down the stream! There was no disguising the truth-one of our own boats was on fire. The white color of the smoke showed that among the fuel to the flame was cotton. The inference was plain; it was not a gunboat but a transport that was burning, for the latter, alone, were protected by bales of cotton. On floated the doomed vessel; her light doubtless exposed to the rebels' view the floating flat boats and barges; further firing, especially from the Warrenton batteries, was for a short time violently renewed.
The glow of the burning boat continued in sight until the beams of morning hid its glare. Before this, moreover, the solemn drama had reached its termination. The spectators reluctantly retired to their cabins, when nothing remained to engage the attention but the flaming wreck and scattering shots:
[241]The distant and random gun,
That the foe was sullenly firing.
It was not until noon of the next day (April 17, 1863) that the account of the fate of the expedition reached the Union camp at Young's Point. The eight gunboats reached their destination with but slight injuries or loss of life, only one man having been killed and two wounded. The transport Henry Clay was burned; but the other transports, flat boats, etc., made the passage in safety, and the crew of the Henry Clay reached the shore and joined some of the other boats. A few days later, Admiral Porter sent a second squadron of gunboats and transports down, but the transports in this expedition were seriously damaged.
