FOURTH DAY.
Monday, March 17. –
Last night was one of unusual clearness and the river and shores were bathed in
the most delicious moonlight. If
painters need any business, when the grim dogs of war are baying, they would
have reveled in the scene. Although I
was surrounded by all the fearful paraphernalia of war, there was nothing to
disturb the serenity of the night. No
sounds were audible save the plash of the water, the snarling trumpet calling
our pickets afar off, and the sound of the bells upon the gunboats as they
called the hours. The forenoon was
consumed until 10 o’clock in supplying the mortar rafts with shells and powder
from the ammunition boats. About
half-past ten the mortars commenced practice, occupying the same position as
the day before excepting two, which were moored on the left bank about three
miles below the upper battery. Two of
the mortars shelled the rebel encampments round the point, the fire of the
others concentrating upon the upper battery.
About 11 o’clock, the gunboats took position. The Benton, Cincinnati and St. Louis lashed
together, slowly dropped down the river and opened fire upon the same battery. –
The scene now became animated in the extreme, the ball being fairly
opened. I took a position on shore, near
the point and alongside the mortars, to witness their practice. The firing of a mortar is the very poetry of
a battle. A bag of powder weighing from
eighteen to twenty pounds is dropped into the bore of the huge monster. The derrick drops the shell in; the angle is
calculated; a long cord is attached to the primer; the gunner steps out upon
the platform, and the balance of the crew upon the shore. The Captain gives the word, the gunner gives
his cord a sudden jerk, a crash like a thousand thunders follows, a tongue of
flame leaps from the mouth of the mortar, and a column of smoke rolls up in
beautiful fleecy spirals, developing into rings of exquisite proportions. One can see the shell as it leaves the mortar
flying through the air, apparently no larger than a marble. The next you see of the shell, a beautiful
cloud of smoke bursts into sight, caused by the explosion. Imagine ten of these monsters thundering at
once, the air filled with smoke clouds, the gunboats belching out destruction
and completely hidden from sight in whirls of smoke, the shell screaming
through the air with the enemy sending their solid shot and shell above and
around us, dashing the water up in glistening columns and jets of spray, and
you have the sublime poetry of war. An
incident, however, will show how completely the battle may lose its poetry and
develop into a stern and suggestive reality.
FIFTH DAY.
TUESDAY, March 18, 1862. – The firing of our boats yesterday
very seriously damaged the upper fort, and at an early hour this morning some two
or three hundred men could be discovered busily at work repairing the
breaches. The Benton at once dropped
down and commenced using her bow rifles with the happiest effect, causing a
complete suspension of labor upon the works, the laborers running pell-mell to
the nearest shelter. The Benton
continued her practice until the mortars commenced, when she ceased
firing. The gunboats have been idle
to-day, the mortars occupying the time exclusively and making some excellent shots. Several shells have been lodged in the head
of the Island. The mortar practice is
rapidly improving, and at the present rate of improvement will warm up the
rebel encampment and fortifications to a degree which must cause a speedy
evacuation.
This morning I visited Com. Foote. He expressed himself confident of reducing
the place, but says it will take time.
He is fighting the battle at fearful odds. The gunboats are too unwieldy and
unmanageable to fight down stream in the mad current, which sweeps round the point
with irresistible fury. Should one of
them become crippled, no power could save her from falling into the hands of
the rebels, or being entirely destroyed by their floating battery. Still the Flag Officer is hopeful. Undaunted by the difficulties which stare him
in the face, by the mean, despicable lack of sympathy with his plans upon the
part of certain army officers and others high in power, thus thwarting him in his
endeavors to expedite matters to a successful issue. He will yet cut the Gordian knot by a splendid
victory, and clear the river to Memphis and thence sweep triumphantly to the
Balize.
– Published in The Burlington Weekly Hawk-Eye,
Burlington, Iowa, Saturday, March 29, 1862, p. 1
No comments:
Post a Comment