The Narrative of a Blockade-Runner | Page 7

to part with them; nor were the
"jack tars" themselves willing to exchange camp life for the discipline
and subordination of the naval service. Our regular crew being too
small to man the battery, we gladly accepted the services of the
"Crescent Artillery," a fine volunteer company raised in New Orleans.
Two river steamboats were assigned to the Louisiana for the purpose of
towage, if necessary, and for the accommodation of the mechanics who
were still at work on board.
We cast off from the "levee" on Sunday, April the 20th. It was a bright
day, and a large concourse was assembled to witness our departure.

Steam had been got up, and as our big wheels were set in motion in the
rapid current of the Mississippi, torrents of water rushed through the
crevices in the bulkheads and deluged the gun deck, while the
Louisiana drifted helplessly down the river, feeling the effect of the
wheels no more sensibly than if they were a pair of sculling oars.
"Facilis descensus Averno; sed revocare gradum, hoc opus, hic labor
est." The aptness of the quotation will be appreciated by the reader who
is in at the death of the Louisiana. We accomplished our object of
getting down to the forts about seventy miles below the city, thanks to
the current and our two transports; but our artillerists were in a shabby
plight while trying to work the guns knee-deep in water.
Securing the Louisiana by hawsers to the left bank of the river near Fort
St. Philip, on the morning of the 21st, we continued our labors upon the
machinery and on the battery. The bombardment of the forts had been
in progress for several days and nights, and the shells from the fleet
were thrown with beautiful and destructive precision (some of them
occasionally falling in close proximity to the Louisiana,) while the
bomb vessels themselves were beyond the range of the fort's guns. The
naval officers were quite sure that an attempt would soon be made by
Admiral Farragut to force the passage, and that so far as the naval
strength was concerned, it was apparent our means were inadequate to
prevent it.
Commodore Mitchell, on our arrival below, had delivered to Captain
Stevenson written orders from General Lovell requiring him to place all
the "River Defence Squadron" under the Commodore's orders. Captain
S., on receiving these instructions, addressed a written communication
to Commodore Mitchell, to the effect that all of the officers and crew
under his command had entered the service with the distinct
understanding that they were not to be placed under the command of
naval officers; and that, while willing to coöperate with our forces, he
would receive no orders from the Commodore nor allow any vessel
under his command to do so; reserving to himself the right of obeying
or disobeying any orders the Commodore might issue. With this
assumption of absolute independence, Commodore Mitchell's position
was extremely embarrassing, but he did all that was then in his power.

Not knowing at what moment an attack would be made, he endeavored
to agree with Captain Stevenson upon a plan of coöperation; and he
states in his official report made after the action that Captain Stevenson
"seemed disposed zealously to second these objects in many respects."
A few days previous to the action, I had been sent down the river to
communicate, under a flag of truce, with one of the ships of the
squadron; and in the course of conversation with my old friend Captain
DeCamp, the officer in command of a division of the fleet had been
informed by him that they could force the obstructions across the river
whenever they pleased, and intended doing so when they were ready.
The interview took place in his cabin; and although I indignantly
repudiated the idea, I could not help feeling how confidently I would
stake life and reputation upon the issue if our situations were reversed. I
had noticed many familiar faces among the officers and crew as I
passed along the deck a few moments before. Every one was at his
station; the guns cast loose for action; and it was in the nature of things,
that I should contrast this gallant man of war and all this efficiency and
discipline with the iron bound box and crew of "horse marines" which I
had just left. But it was in no spirit of depreciation of the gallantry of
my comrades, for I was quite sure that they would stand to their guns.
The wretched "bowl of Gotham" which had no efficient motive power,
and which could not even be got under way, when anchored, without
slipping the chain cable, caused the misgivings. It is no disparagement
to the prowess of the U. S. fleet which passed