Stars & Stripes Forever (17 page)

She sat stiffly in her chair, her hands lying on the black silk of her gown. Lady Shiel rustled forward and took the glass from her when she held it out. With a great effort the Queen drew herself together, forced herself to concentrate upon the matters to hand. She rested her hands on the arms of the chair, sat up straighten And spoke.

"Lord Palmerston, this is a grave responsibility and decision that my ministers have placed before me. But we cannot shrink from the truth, nor can we shy away from the conclusions that must then be reached." She paused abstractedly before she spoke again.

"We are not pleased by what the Americans have done to our honor and our person. They will be punished.

"Send the ultimatum."

THE ROAD TO WAR

The governor of the state of Louisiana, Thomas O. Moore, was a very worried man. He did not have to be reminded of this by higher authorities. He had sent for General Mansfield Lovell as soon as he had received the letter—and he waved it at him when the general entered the room.

"Lovell, we have Jefferson Davis himself worrying over our plight. He expresses great concern over the city of New Orleans and the threat against this city from two directions. Listen to this—'The wooden vessels are below, the iron boats are above; the forts should destroy the former if they attempt to ascend. The
Louisiana
may be indispensable to check the descent of the iron boats. The purpose is to defend the city and valley; the only question is as to the best mode of effecting the object.' "

"Does the President offer any suggestions as to what this best mode might be?" The general had a deep voice and a rich Louisiana drawl, sounding very much like the distant steam whistle of a riverboat.

"No he does not! Nor does he send any aid, troops, weapons or military supplies all of which we are in short supply. How goes the work on the
Louisiana?"

"Slow, sir, mighty slow. It is the severe shortage of iron plate that is holding her back. But when she is done she will knock the living hell out of those bitty Yankee ironclads."

"If
she is ever completed." Moore opened the jar on his desk and took out a cigar, sniffed it then bit off the end. Almost as an afterthought he passed one over to Lovell. "And if the bluebellies don't attack first. I'm strongly minded of old General Winfield Scott's anaconda speech. The Union will encircle the South like a great anaconda snake, encircle, squeeze and crush it. Well, I'll tell you, Thomas, I'm feeling a tad crushed right about now. With those gunboats upriver just waiting for the chance to swoop down on us. The Feds have built up their forces on ShipIsland at the mouth of the river, they're in the passes and the river below FortJackson and Fort St. Philip. A whole fleet of Yankee warships is out there downstream from New Orleans, along with a goodly number of transports filled with troops."

"They won't get past the forts, Governor."

"Well they are trying hard enough. How many days now? Five at least that they been dropping mortar shells into those forts."

"Hasn't done the job yet, might never. And then there is the barrier."

"A passel of old boats and a lot of chain across the river. Not much to put your faith in. Yankees upriver, Yankees downriver—and old Jeff Davis telling us to stand to our defenses, but without any help from him. I guess that I've seen blacker days, though I don't rightly remember when."

They puffed on their cigars until a cloud of blue smoke drifted across the desk. In silence, for there was little else that could be said.

Flag Officer David Glasgow Farragut did not put much faith in the barrier either. But he didn't like it there blocking his fleet from ascending the Mississippi. Porter's mortar ships had been assailing the forts for five days now with no visible success. Farragut, never a patient man at the best of times, felt that his patience was now at an end. He had promised Porter six days to subdue the forts and the time was almost up. And the forts were still there. As was the barrier.

But at least he was doing something about that. It was now after midnight; he should try to get some sleep but knew that he could not. Brave men were out there in the night risking their lives. He paced the length of the USS
Hartford's
deck towards the stern. Wheeled about to face the bow—just as the sky upriver lit up with a sudden burst of light. Seconds later the sound of the explosion reached their ears.

"By God they've done it!" He banged his fist on the rail.

They were the volunteers from
Itasca
and
Pinola
who had slipped upriver with explosives—but without weapons to defend themselves. They had counted upon darkness—and silence—to protect them. They had rowed away with muffled oars, their target the barrier in the river. If all went well they intended to plant their charges on the hulks there—hopefully without alerting the guards on the banks—set the fuses and get out. The fuses had obviously worked—pray the boats were out of reach before the powder had exploded. Farragut had a sudden vision of those brave young men, all dead. Volunteers, yes, and happy to go. But the plan had been his and he felt the weight of a terrible responsibility.

A long time passed, far too long Farragut thought, before they heard the creaking of oars in oarlocks and the dark form of a ship's boat emerged out of the darkness. The boat from the
Pinola
drew up at the gangway and an officer hurried on deck.

"A success, sir. The charges were planted without the men being apprehended. The fuses were lit and all the boats were well clear before the explosions."

"Any casualties?"

"None. A perfect operation."

"A good night's work indeed. My congratulations to them all."

Unhappily, when the sun rose, the barrier was still there.

"But definitely weakened, sir. At dawn one of our boats got close enough to see that there are big chunks blown out of it. Hit it hard enough and it will give way."

"I only hope that you are right, Lieutenant."

Farragut went down to the wardroom where Porter and Butler were waiting.

"This is the sixth day, Porter, and your mortars appear not to have done the job. The forts are still there, their guns still covering the approach to New Orleans by river."

"Just a little more time, sir—"

"There is no more time. I said that you could have six days and you have had them. We must reach the city by other means. General Butler, you have had your scouts out there on both sides of the river. What do they report?"

General Benjamin F. Butler did not easily admit defeat. He scowled and bit down on an already well-chewed cigar. Then shook his head in a lugubrious no.

"There is just no way through. Water on all sides, all of the land low-lying and swampy. Then, just when you think you're getting somewhere, you'll come onto a waterway you can't cross. Critters and bugs, snakes, gators, you name it. They thrive out there—but my soldiers don't. Sorry."

"Not your fault, nothing to be sorry for. You too, Porter. Your big mortars just aren't big enough. Do either of you gentlemen see a way out of this impasse?"

"We could continue with the mortar attack on the forts..."

"That has proven not to be the answer. General Butler?"

"I would like to have some scouts take a closer look at those forts. They are the key to this entire engagement. If we could assess their strengths—and weaknesses—there might just be a less defended aspect. Using small boats we could land my troops at night, surprise and take the forts."

Farragut shook his head in a slow no. "I think General, with no disrespect, that you have had little experience in landing troops. If you had you would recognize the folly of an undertaking like this. Landing soldiers from small craft, even on an undefended shore in daylight, is time-consuming and fraught with difficulties. I dare not consider the consequences of nighttime landings against defended positions. Are there any other suggestions? In that case we will just have to get to New Orleans in the only way that remains. Tonight we run the flotilla by the forts."

"Wooden ships against iron guns!" Porter gasped.

"We will get by."

"But the barricade across the river." Butler shook his head.

"We will break it. We sail at two in the morning. We will move in two divisions. I will take the
Hartford
through last in the second division. The signal to begin will be two red lanterns on my mizzen peak. Here are the ship assignments to each of the divisions."

The officers present looked at each other but did not speak. Duty called. It would be a brave attempt, some might even say foolhardy, but Farragut was in command and he would be obeyed.

Every ship had a full head of steam by two in the morning, ready to move when the signal was given. Telescopes were trained on the
Hartford
and the instant the two red lights appeared the attack began.

It was a dark night, with some low clouds, as the ships of the first division moved upriver. They revealed no lights and, at low speed, their engines were as silent as they could possibly be. The longer they proceeded without their presence being observed—the less time they would be under fire.

There was some trepidation as the barrier appeared ahead, pale against the dark river. The bow of the first gunboat sliced into it, carried it forward slowing the ship.

Then it broke and the joined, crushed hulks drifted away.

They were through the barrier, but the armed enemy was still waiting for them. Dimly seen against the night sky the dark masses of the two forts appeared ahead.

The quiet rush of water along the hull, the deep heartbeat of the engines was all that could be heard. One by one the ships of the first division slipped by the dark and silent forts and moved on towards New Orleans.

Without a shot being fired.

The second division was not as lucky. They had just reached the forts when the moon rose at three-forty. Unvigilant as the guards had been up until this moment, they could not miss seeing the ships in the bright moonlight. A shot was fired, then another and the alarm was raised.

"Full steam ahead," Farragut ordered. "Signal all ships." The sound of the engines would not matter now.

Both forts suddenly blossomed with fire and the cannonballs streaked across the river. There were some hits, but most of them skipped across the water in the darkness. The ships fired in return, flare of gunfire lighting up the night. Now the Union mortars added their thunderous roar and thick clouds of smoked drifted low across the river. It was a gauntlet of confusion and death, made even more menacing when Confederate fire rafts were launched against the Union's wooden ships.

Yet in the end all of the ships made it past the forts into the silent waters beyond. There was some damage and three of the smaller vessels were badly disabled.
Hartford
was the last through. She had been hit but was still sound. Farragut watched with great satisfaction as the firing died away behind them. He had taken the risk—and he had won.

"Signal to all ships, well done. And I'll want damage reports as soon as possible after we make anchor."

Governor Moore did not sleep well that night. Worrying about the fate of the city had led him into drinking just a little bit more corn whiskey than he was used to. Then, when he had finally dropped off, thunder had awakened him. He had gone to the window to close it but there had been no sign of rain. The thunder was to the south; perhaps it was raining there. Could it have been gunfire? He tried not to consider this option.

He awoke at first light. There were carriages going by in the street outside and someone was shouting. A churchbell rang—yet this wasn't Sunday. He went to the window and stared out at the ships tied up in the Mississippi River.

Looked past their masts and spars, looked in horror at the Union fleet in the river before him.

Then the ultimate shock, the ultimate despair. Not only was the Yankee fleet at their gates he realized, but the
Louisiana,
the ironclad that was being built to defeat these same Yankee ships, would never be launched to perform this vital task. She would be a great prize if she were taken by the Yankees. This had not been allowed to happen.

Instead of coming to the aid of New Orleans, she now floated, burning furiously, past the city and downriver towards the sea. The ironclad would never be launched, never fulfill her vital defending role he realized. All that effort, all that work, all for nothing.

She would soon sink, steaming and bubbling, to the bottom of the river that she was supposed to defend.

Scott's anaconda, he realized, had tightened that little bit more.

"This is indeed wonderful news, Mr. President," Hay said, smiling as he watched Lincoln read the telegram.

Lincoln smiled ever so slightly but did not speak. Since the death of little Willie something seemed to have gone out of him. A dreadful lassitude had overcome him and everything was a far greater effort than it had ever been before. He struggled against it, forced himself to read the telegram again and make some sense of it.

"I agree wholeheartedly, John. Wonderful news." He spoke the words well enough, but there was no real sincerity in his voice. "Taking New Orleans is a stab right into the heartland of the Confederacy. From its sources to the sea the Mississippi River is now ours. I would almost tempt fate by saying that we are on the way to winning this war. I would be the happiest President in the White House if it weren't for our British cousins and their stubbornness."

Lincoln shook his head wearily and ran his fingers through his dark beard, the way he did when something was bothering him. Hay slipped out of the room. The President's dead son was ever present in spirit.

The May evening was warm and comfortable, with only a slight suggestion of the damp, hot summer to come. The door to the balcony was open and Lincoln stepped through it and rested his hand on the railing, looking out at the city. He turned when he heard his wife call his name.

"Out here," he said.