“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.
r /> “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 Ship Island at the mouth of the river, they’re in the passes and the river below Fort Jackson 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…”