April, 1863.

After vexatious delays, the ironclad fleet was ready for action. It was deemed desirable to test their armor, before attacking Sumter, by making a reconnoissance of Fort McAllister, on the Ogeechee.

It was late on the afternoon of March 1st, when the steamer George Washington left Hilton Head for a trip to Ossabow Sound. The Passaic, Montauk, Nahant, and Patapsco, ironclads of the Monitor pattern, were already there. The Washington took the "inside" route up Wilmington River and through the Rumley marshes. The gunboat Marblehead was guarding the entrance to the river. It was past sunset, and the tide was ebbing.

"You had better lie here till morning; there are indications that we shall hear from those fellows up there," said the commander of the Marblehead. Looking westward into the golden light of the departing day, we could see the spires of Savannah, also nearer the Rebel gunboats moving up and down the river.

The anchor dropped, the chain rattled through the hawsehole, the lights were extinguished, the guns put in trim; the lookout took his position; the sentinels passed to and fro, peering into the darkness; a buoy was attached to the cable, that it might be slipped in an instant; all ears listened to catch the sound of muffled oars or plashing paddle-wheels, but there was no sound save the piping of the curlew in the marshes and the surging of the tide along the reedy shores. At three o'clock in the morning we were away from our anchorage, steaming up Wilmington River. The moonlight lay in a golden flood along the waters, revealing the distant outline of the Rebel earthworks. How charming the trip! exhilarating, and sufficiently exciting, under the expectation of falling in with a hostile gunboat, to bring every nerve into action. It was sunrise when the Washington emerged from the marshes and came to anchor among the ironclads. The Montauk had just completed a glorious work,—the destruction of the Nashville. We had heard the roar of her guns, and the quick, ineffectual firing from Fort McAllister.

The Nashville, which began her piratical depredations by burning the ship Harvey Birch, ran into Savannah, where she had been cooped up several months. She had been waiting many weeks for an opportunity to run out to sea again. On Saturday morning, the last day of February, a dense fog hung over the marshes, the islands, and inlets of Ossabow. The Montauk lay at the junction of the Great and Little Ogeechee Rivers, when the fog lifted and the Nashville was discovered aground above the fort.

The eyes of Captain Worden sparkled as he gave the command to prepare for action. He had not forgotten his encounter with the Merrimack. The Montauk moved up stream, came within range of the fort, which opened from all its guns, but to which Captain Worden gave no heed. Taking a position about three quarters of a mile from the Nashville and half a mile from the fort, he opened with both guns upon the grounded steamer, to which the Nashville replied with her hundred-pounder. The third shell from the Montauk exploded inside the steamer, setting her cotton on fire. The flames spread with great rapidity. Her crew fled to the marshes, the magazine soon exploded, and the career of the Nashville was ended.

At high tide on the morning of the 3d of March the Passaic, Patapsco, and Nahant moved up the Ogeechee, and opened fire on the fort, to test the working of their machinery. The fire was furious from the fort, but slow and deliberate from the ironclads. Several mortar-schooners threw shells in the direction of the fort. The monitors were obliged to retire with the tide. They were struck repeatedly, but the balls fell harmlessly against the iron plating. It was evident that at the distance of three fourths of a mile, or a half-mile even, the ironclads could withstand the heaviest guns, while on the other hand the fire of the monitors must necessarily be very slow. The attack was made, not with the expectation of reducing the fort, but to test the monitors before the grand attack upon Fort Sumter. The first attack on Sumter occurred on the 7th of April. The fort stood out in bold relief, the bright noon-sun shining full upon its southern face, fronting the shallow water towards Morris Island, leaving in shadow its eastern wall toward Moultrie. The air was clear, and we who were on shipboard just beyond the reach of the Rebel guns, looking inland with our glasses, could see the city, the spires, the roofs of the houses thronged with people. A three-masted ship lay at the wharves, the Rebel rams were fired up, sail-boats were scudding across the harbor, running down toward Sumter, looking seaward, then hastening back again like little children, expectant and restless on great occasions, eager for something to be done.

The attacking fleet was in the main ship-channel,—eight little black specks but little larger than the buoys which tossed beside them, and one black, oblong block, the New Ironsides, the flag-ship of the fleet. It was difficult to comprehend that beneath the surface of the sea there were men as secure from the waves as bugs in a bottle. It was as strange and romantic as the stories which charmed the Arabian chieftains in the days of Haroun Al Raschid.

The ironclads were about one third of a mile apart, in the following order:—

The Keokuk was built by a gentleman who had full faith in her invulnerability. She was to be tested under fire from the Rebel batteries before accepted by the government. She had sloping sides, two turrets, and was built for a ram. The opinions generally entertained were that she would prove a failure.

General Hunter courteously assigned the steamer Nantucket to the gentlemen connected with the press, giving them complete control of the steamer, to go where they pleased, knowing that there was an intense desire not only in the North, but throughout the world, to know the result of the first contest between ironclads and fortifications. The Nantucket was a small side-wheel steamer of light draft, and we were able to run in and out over the bar at will. Just before the signal was given for the advance we ran alongside the flag-ship. The crew were hard at work hoisting shot and shells from the hold to the deck. The upper deck was bedded with sand-bags, the pilot-house wrapped with cable. All the light hamper was taken down and stowed away. The iron plating was slushed with grease. Rebel soldiers were marching across Morris Island, within easy range. A shell would have sent them in haste behind the sand-hills; but heavier work was at hand, and they were harmless just then.

It was past one o'clock when the signal for sailing was displayed from the flag-ship, and the Weehawken, with a raft at her prow, intended to remove torpedoes, answered the signal, raised her anchor, and went steadily in with the tide, followed by the others, which maintained their respective positions, distant from each other about one third or a half-mile. In this battle of ironclads there are no clouds of canvas, no beautiful models of marine architecture, none of the stateliness and majesty which have marked hundreds of great naval engagements. There are no human beings in sight,—no propelling power is visible. There are simply eight black specks and one oblong block gliding along the water, like so many bugs.

But Sumter has discovered them, and discharges in quick succession nine signal guns, to announce to all Rebeldom that the attack is to be made. Morris Island is mysteriously silent as the Weehawken advances, although she is within range. Past Fort Wagner, straight on toward Moultrie the Weehawken moves. The silence is prolonged. It is almost painful,—the calm before the storm, the hushed stillness before the burst of the tornado!

There comes a single puff of smoke from Moultrie,—one deep reverberation. The silence is broken,—the long months of waiting are over. The shot flies across the water, skipping from wave to wave, tossing up fountains, hopping over the deck of the Weehawken, and rolling along the surface with a diminishing ricochet, sinking at last close upon the Morris Island beach. Fort Wagner continues the story, sending a shot at the Weehawken, which also trips lightly over the deck, and tosses up a water-spout far toward Moultrie. The Weehawken, unmindful of this play, opens its ports, and sends a fifteen-inch solid shot toward Sumter, which, like those that have been hurled toward her, takes a half-dozen steps, making for a moment its footprints on the water, and crashes against the southwest face of the fort, followed a moment later by its eleven-inch companion. The vessel is for a moment enveloped in the smoke of its guns. Bravely done! There comes an answer. Moultrie, with the tremendous batteries on either side by the hotel and east of it, and toward the inner harbor, bursts in an instant into sheets of flame and clouds of sulphurous smoke. There is one long roll of thunder, peal on peal; deep, heavy reverberations and sharp concussions, rattling the windows of our steamers, and striking us at the heart like hammer strokes.

The ocean boils! Columns of spray are tossed high in air, as if a hundred submarine fountains were let instantly on, or a school of whales were trying which could spout highest. There is a screaming in the air, a buzzing and humming never before so loud.

At five minutes before three Moultrie began the fire. Ten minutes have passed. The thunder has rolled incessantly from Sullivan's Island. Thus far Sumter has been silent, but now it is enveloped with a cloud. A moment it is hid from view—first a line of light along its parapet, and thick folds of smoke unrolling like fleeces of wool. Other flashes burst from the casemates, and the clouds creep down the wall to the water, then slowly float away to mingle with that rising from the furnaces in the sand along the shore of Sullivan's Island. Then comes a calm,—a momentary cessation. The Rebel gunners wait for the breeze to clear away the cloud, that they may obtain a view of the monitor, to see if it have not been punched into a sieve, and if it be not already disappearing beneath the waves. But the Weehawken is there, moving straight on up the channel, turning now toward Moultrie. To her it has been only a handful of peas or pebbles. Some have rattled against her turret, some upon her deck, some against her sides. Instead of going to the bottom, she revolves her turret, and fire two shots at Moultrie, moving on the while to gain the south eastern wall of Sumter.

Again the forts and batteries begin, joined now by Cummings Point and long ranges from Fort Johnson. All around the Weehawken the shot flash, plunge, hop, skip, falling like the rain-drops of a summer shower. Unharmed, undaunted, she moves straight on, feeling her way, moving slowly, with grappling-irons dragging from the raft in front to catch up torpedoes. It is for the Weehawken to clear the channel, and make smooth sailing for the remainder of the fleet.

To get the position of the Weehawken at this moment, draw a line from Cummings Point to Moultrie, and stick a pin on the line a little nearer to Moultrie than to Morris Island. It is about one half a mile from Moultrie, about one third of a mile from Sumter.

There she is,—the target of probably two hundred and fifty or three hundred guns, of the heaviest calibre, at close range, rifled cannon throwing forged bolts and steel-pointed shot, turned and polished to a hair in the lathes of English workshops,—advancing still, undergoing her first ordeal, a trial unparalleled in history!

For fifteen minutes she meets the ordeal alone, but the channel found to be clear, the Passaic, the Montauk, and Patapsco follow, closing up the line, each coming in range and delivering their fire upon Sumter. At twenty minutes past three the four monitors composing the right wing of the fleet are all engaged, each pressing on to reach the northeastern face of the fort, where the wall is weakest, each receiving as they arrive at particular points a terrible fire, seemingly from all points of the compass,—points selected by trial and practice indicated by buoys. They pass the destructive latitudes unharmed. Seventy guns a minute are counted, followed by moments of calm and scattering shots, but only to break out again in a prolonged roar of thunder. They press on, making nearer and nearer to Sumter, narrowing the distance to one thousand yards, eight hundred, six, five, four hundred yards, and send their fifteen-inch shot crashing against the fort, with deliberate, effective fire.

At first the fort and the batteries and Moultrie seem to redouble their efforts in increasing the fire, but after an hour there is a perceptible diminution of the discharges from the fort. After each shot from the ironclads, clouds of dust can be discerned rising above the fort and mingling with the smoke. Steadying my glass in the lulls of the strife, watching where the southwest breeze whiffs away the smoke, I can see increasing pock-marks and discolorations upon the walls, as if there had been a sudden breaking out of cutaneous disease.

The flag-ship, drawing seventeen feet of water, was obliged to move cautiously, feeling her way up the channel. Just as she came within range of Moultrie her keel touched bottom on the east side of the channel; fearing that she would run aground the anchor was let go. Finding the vessel was clear, the Admiral again moved on, signalling the left wing to press forward to the aid of the four already engaged. The Ironsides kept the main channel, which brought her within about one thousand yards of Moultrie and Sumter. She fired four guns at Moultrie, and received in return a heavy fire. Again she touched bottom, and then turned her bow across the channel toward Sumter, firing two guns at Cummings Point. After this weak and ineffectual effort, the tide rapidly ebbing the while, she again got clear, but gave up the attempt to advance. The Catskill, Nantucket, Nahant, and Keokuk pressed up with all possible speed to aid the four which were receiving a tremendous hammering.

See them sweep past the convergent points and radial lines! See the bubbling of the water,—the straight columns thrown up in the sunlight,—the flashes, the furrows along the waves, as if a plough driven with lightning speed were turning up the water! They are all close up to Sumter, within four or five hundred yards. Behind them are Moultrie and Fort Ripley, and Fort Beauregard, flashing, smoking, bellowing; in front is Sumter, and in the background are Fort Wagner and Cummings Point. Across the shallow waters is Fort Johnson; still farther off to the right is Castle Pinckney, too far away to do damage. From all sides the balls fall around the fleet. Calmly and deliberately the fire is returned,—with a deliberation which must have commanded the admiration of the enemy.

The Keokuk presented a fair mark with her sloping sides and double turrets. Her commander, Captain Rhind, although not having entire confidence in her invulnerability, was determined to come to close quarters. She was not to be outdone by the ironclads who had led the advance. Swifter than they, drawing less water, she made haste to get up with the Weehawken. The guns which had been trained upon the others were brought to bear upon her. Where she sailed the fire was fiercest. Her plating was but pine wood to the steel projectiles, flying with almost the swiftness of a minnie bullet. Shot which glanced harmlessly from the others penetrated her angled sides. Her after turret was pierced in a twinkling, and a two-hundred pound projectile dropped inside. A heavy shot crashed into the surgeon's dispensary, and mixed emetics, cathartics, pills and powders not according to prescriptions. The enemy noticed the effect of his shot and increased his fire. Captain Rhind was not easily daunted. He opened his forward turret and gave three shots in return for the three or four hundred rained around him. The sea with every passing wave swept through the shot-holes, and he was forced to retire or go to the bottom with all on board.

The tide was ebbing fast, and the signal for retiring was displayed by the flag-ship. It was raised, seemingly, at an inopportune moment, for the fire of the fort had sensibly diminished, while that from the ironclads was steady and true. It was past five o'clock, almost sunset, when the fleet came back. Never had there been such a hammering of iron and smashing of masonry as during two and a half hours of that afternoon. The gunboat Bibb, the Ben Deford, and the Nantasket had taken position in the North Channel at a respectful distance off Sullivan's Island. A mile or two east of Moultrie is Beach Inlet, where a powerful battery had been erected. While intently gazing on the contest, the correspondents and all hands on the other steamers were startled by hearing the whiff and whiz of a rifle projectile, which came diagonally across the Nantasket, across the bow of the Ben Deford, falling into the sea about one hundred yards ahead. There was a laughable cuddling down and scampering for the coal-bunkers, the engine-room, and between decks. There was an immediate hauling in of cables and motion of paddle-wheels. A second shot in admirable line fell short. We being at anchor and within range, the Rebel gunner had made nice calculations. He had already fired a half-dozen shots, which had fallen far ahead unnoticed. Cummings Point also tried to reach us with shells, but failed. One of the correspondents claimed that the press completely silenced a battery—by getting out of the way!

Steaming into the retiring fleet we ran alongside the Keokuk. A glance at her sides showed how terrible the fire had been. Her smoke-stack, turrets, sides,—all were scarred, gashed, pierced through and through. An inspection revealed ninety-four short-marks. There were none below the water-line, but each wave swept through the holes on the sides. Her pumps were going and she was kept free. Only three of her officers and crew were wounded, although she had been so badly perforated.

"All right, nobody hurt, ready for them again," was the hearty response of Captain George Rodgers, of the Catskill, as I stepped upon the slushed deck of that vessel and grasped the hand of her wide-awake commander. The Catskill had received about thirty shots. One two-hundred-pounder, thrown evidently from a barbette gun, had fallen with tremendous force upon the deck, bending, but not breaking or penetrating the iron. On the sides, on the turret, and on the pilot-house were indentations like saucers, but there was no sign of serious damage.

The Nahant came down to her anchorage with a gashed smoke-stack. Going on board, we found that eleven of her officers and crew had received contusions from the flying of bolt-heads in the turret. One shot had jammed the lower ridge of her turret, interfering with its revolution. She had been struck forty times, but—aside from the loss of a few bolt-heads, a diminished draft to her chimney, and the slight jam upon the turret—her armor was intact.

The other monitors had each a few bolts started. Four gun-carriages needed repairs,—injured not by the enemy's shot, but by their own recoil. One shot had ripped up the plating of the Patapsco and pierced the wood-work beneath. This was the only shot, out of the twenty-five hundred or three thousand supposed to have been fired from the forts which penetrated the monitors!

The Weehawken had received three heavy shot upon her side, the indentations close together. The plates were badly bent, but the shot had fallen as harmlessly as pebbles upon the side of a barn. The Ironsides had received thirty balls, all of which had been turned by her armor.

One hundred and fifty-three shots were fired by the fleet, against twenty-five hundred or three thousand by the Rebels. The monitors were struck in the aggregate about three hundred and fifty times.

About six thousand pounds of iron were hurled at Fort Sumter during the short time the fleet was engaged, and probably five or six times that amount of metal, or thirty thousand pounds, was thrown at the fleet. The casualties on board the fleet were,—none killed; one mortally, one seriously, and thirteen slightly wounded.

Captain Ammen, commanding the Patapsco, was confident that the last shots which he fired passed through the wall of the fort. He and other commanders obeyed the signal for retiring with great reluctance. They saw that the fire of the fort was growing weaker,—that the wall was crumbling. It is now known that the Rebel commander, General Ripley, was on the point of evacuating the fort when the signal was made for the fleet to withdraw. The wall was badly shattered, and a few more shots would have made it a complete ruin.

The lower casemates were soon after filled with sand-bags, the guns having been removed. The walls were buttressed with palmetto logs, and the fort lost nearly all of its original features, but was made stronger than ever.

The Keokuk sunk in the morning on the bar. The sea was rough, and the water poured through the shot-holes with every wave, so that it was found impossible to keep her afloat.

Admiral Dupont decided not to renew the attack, which caused a good deal of murmuring among the soldiers in the fleet. The ironclads returned to Hilton Head for repairs, the expedition was abandoned, and Sumter was left to float its flag in defiance of Federal authority.