Rebel Ironclad Tennessee in Mobile Bay

HARPER'S WEEKLY.

[OCTOBER 22, 1864.

686

FORT MORGAN.

WE give on page 685 two illustrations relating to the late operations against Mobile. One of these represents General GRANGER'S army in the rear of Fort Morgan. We have already, in a previous number, illustrated the attack on Fort Morgan from the fleet. The attack from the land side was not less important in the reduction of that work. Besides cutting off the garrison from retreat, the investment by land had this advantage, viz., that a Bombardment from stationary batteries is always more successful than one from ships. This was proved in the bombardment of Fort Macon, North Carolina, in 1862. There, indeed, the fleet was compelled to retire, leaving the battle to those attacking from the shore batteries. Fort Morgan is on the extremity of Mobile Point, and was the strongest of the defensive works in the bay.

The other cut represents the attack on the ram Tennessee made by the Lackawanna. The Monongahela had already butted the ram for the second time when the Lackawanna, the pride of the fleet, came up. She struck the Tennessee a fair blow amidships, causing her to careen over so that the rebels feared she would take in water through her ports. " At this moment," says our correspondent, "a lee gun was fired from the ram (whether by accident or otherwise I do not know), and the steam rushed in volumes from her smoke stack. The cry went up that the traitors were sinking and had surrendered, but the words had hardly been spoken when her guns belched forth their fierce broadside, raking the Lackawanna most unmercifully, causing all who saw it to wince. In a few seconds the noble vessel swings broadside to broadside with the traitors. Captain MARCHAND, full of hope, delivers every gun into his antagonist ; their effect is scarcely perceptible against the iron sides. BUCHANAN can not reply gun for gun. The Lackawanna's men are too eager in this hoped for moment, and load and fire with superhuman energy. A minute more, and they are separated, the Lackawanna as buoyant and determined as before, though dead and dying lay upon her decks. The rebel still comes boldly on her way, making direct for the Admiral or one of the larger ships. The Admiral, as we all know, meets him only too gladly. Where was CRAVEN then ? Could he have had the Tecumseh alongside this craft she would have hauled down her colors in less than ten minutes. By this time young Captain PERKINS has worked his way close to the ram, steering by his propellers alone, as his steering gear had become disabled in the beginning of the fight. He fought his vessel nobly ; but the Tennessee's heavy plating made strong resistance against his 11-inch shot. He disabled the rebel's steering apparatus, and by continuous pounding made the splinters fly among the rebels to their confusion. One of his shots, striking the after port, killed one man, utterly demolishing him, and wounded BUCHANAN. Within a square of 10 feet he planted a dozen solid shot. The Manhattan fired six shots at the ram, one of which seems to have struck. The Lackawanna delivered the fairest ramming blow at the Tennessee. The affair was like a tournament, the fleet being spectators. The Monongahela rushed upon the Tennessee twice ; after her came the Lackawanna, Hartford, and Ossipee; and no doubt every vessel in the fleet would have punched her had not the noble PERKINS made them cry enough." 

SHERIDAN IN PURSUIT OF
EARLY.

ON page 684 we give an illustration of General SHERIDAN leading his gallant army in pursuit of an already routed and dispirited enemy. The General as he rides along the line is greeted with hearty cheers. General SHERIDAN'S present head-quarters is at Harrisonburg, from which he has been sending cavalry expeditions in every direction. It was one of these expeditions which captured Staunton.

QUITE ALONE.

THE continuation of this Story is postponed until next week.

GROWING OLD.

THEY sit together at the door,

Through which, long years ago, They passed, a newly-wedded pair,

In youth's first rosy glow.

Then her round cheek was red and warm,

Her hair was rippling gold ;

His form was stately as the oak

But now they both are old.

The blooming cheek is wrinkled now,

The sweet blue eyes are dim; But, full of love and holy trust,

They ever turn to him,

With the calm faith and hope she felt Upon her bridal day,

When the long future, flower-clad,
Stretched out before her lay.

Now, in the eventide of life,

They watch the purple haze

Grow on the hills, and hang above
The land-locked chain of bays

They see the sun sink slowly down To gladden other lands;

They feel night coming, and they sit
Serene, with close-clasped hands.

They know that though the dusk is here

There is a place of light, Invaded not by gloom or shade,

Or the drear, weeping night. They wait with patience for the call,

To tread the darksome vale, Unto the heights, before whose glow

The morning sun would pale.

BROTHER PAUL.

How well I remember the morning my brother Paul left Grassville for his lot of land in "the Heavy Timbers." Every body would call our home Grassville, though we struggled long and hard for Graceville. However, when the nickname got into the Gazetteer, we gave it up. Paul was a fine, strong fellow, five feet eight inches high, with a ruddy complexion, and life in his eyes. His brown hair curled, his lips were loving like a girl's, and he was what is called " a mother's boy." There is no bet-ter recommendation for a young man. His dress was striped home-made cloth, indigo blue and white, made in the form of a blouse, with wide pantaloons, over which were drawn long leather boots. The blouse had a square collar, which was turned back, and revealed a fine, white, and very neatly-made shirt. I made it, though "I say it who should not say it." The blouse was confined at the waist by a black leather belt. A very full knapsack, with a blanket strapped outside, a very bright rifle and axe, completed the accoutrement of the traveler. He walked as if his nerves were perfectly tempered steel springs, and as though all means of locomotion were contemptible save those included in himself. He was going to his farm in the woods, or rather to his " lot of land," which was to become a farm when it was cleared and brought under cultivation. When he had walked twenty miles he came to Woodville. His place lay beyond, in the nameless region known as " the Heavy Timbers." The hard wood and heavy growth frightened many, but tempted my "live brother," as we used to call him. As he passed on his way, he came to a house in the outskirts of a hamlet, consisting of a saw and grist mill, a clothing mill, and five or six dwellings. Paul was hungry—he was a genuine hero, but heroes get hungry like ordinary mortals. At the edge of a slope, a little before he came to the house, was a spring, and "a dear pretty girl" was filling a bright tin pail with the crystal water. Whether the sight of the young lady intensified Paul's hunger I can not say, but he resolved to get his dinner at the next house, for hotels were unknown then in this region. He had bread and cheese in his pack. still he had a fancy to rest and dine. He knocked at the door of the wayside dwelling, a cheerful voice said " Come in," and he entered a neat, large, square room. Two girls—almost as pretty as the one he had seen at the spring—were spinning ; one was spinning woolen rolls, the other cotton roping. In each case the material was reduced by machinery to a roll about as thick as the little finger of the spinner. The wheels occupied one side of the room, on another a man was making shoes, and at a front window a worn, faded, but lady like woman with failing sight was mending boys' clothes. It was a sad fact that the boys of this family were something of the nature of a nuisance. The neighbors said the father did not like to give them his own trade, for he felt above it himself. Certain it is, they were not trained to useful work, but were sometimes made to do "chores." They were imprisoned in school in winter, and they "raised Cain" the year round. They tore their pantaloons bird nesting, they made "elbow room" by holes in the sleeves of their jackets, they went swimming in dark deep pools in Black River, and they were any thing but "a real blessing to mothers."

In the country where openings alternate with forests, and a village has six dwellings, a traveler is a sort of irregular newspaper. Every body is glad to see somebody, when somebody seldom comes along. There is life in the grasp of a stranger's hand in the monotony offores life. Paul's was made to feel at home at once. The family of Mr. Joseph Jones soon learned that he was from Grassville, that he was the son of his father, who was a man of mark among the settlers, and that he was going to "the Heavy Timbers" to take up and clear a hundred acre lot. The girls were not frightened that he was going alone. They even promised to come and see him in sugar time, as they were only seven miles from his opening that was to be, and there were blazed trees to mark the way, so one of the boys could pilot them.

" But I will come for you," Paul said, gallantly. Mrs. Jones looked a little more worn and weary as the young people talked it over, and said what "good fun it would be." Poor lady ! she had made just such a beginning with her husband twenty years since. She had helped him clear a good many acres, but he was not persevering. They had sold out years ago, and he had "taken up" several kinds of business. For the last years he had worked at shoemaking. This he had also " taken up," which means, that he had never learned the trade. He was clever, this Joseph Jones ; but there was sorrow in that home, and he caused it. The gentler neighbors said, " What a pity such a clever man should be unsteady!" The bolder and less kind said, " What a shame that such a man should drink !" He was not a habitual, daily drunkard, but at all raisings, log rollings, at Christmas, and in all times of illness and trouble, Mr. Jones was sure to be "in liquor," so as to be useless. This terrible unreliability had broken his wife's spirit, and almost broken her heart and at forty she was wrinkled, gray, and. prematurely old. Some thought books and a superior education had spoiled Mr. Jones; others said more books, a Lyceum, an agricultural association, and competing for prizes, would have saved Joseph Jones. But he was not saved, and his family were not blessed in him as they should have been in a man of his education and ability.

An hour's talk, a nice dinner, and the smiles of these pretty girls, set Paul vigorously on his way. Did he steal any thing in that home ? He took something away with him which he never returned, and which he hid as carefully as if it were a theft. Why is it that the first consciousness of affection leads us to conceal? There is one name that we never can utter freely and cheerfully, though the sound of it thrills the heart with delight, even though it be Smith, Brown, or Jones. Paul took away a great deal from that wayside house, with its large square working room, and its various workers. Carefully as he concealed what he took, I have an inven-

tory of all. First, a pair of bright blue eyes; next, a great lot of golden curls ; then red cheeks, rosy lips, and a form full of springing grace. Emily had a wreath of trailing arbutus in her hair, though it was June, and the blossom is always called the May flower. In this northern region this most beautiful and fragrant bloom is seldom seen till June. Paul carried away the wreath with the sunny curls, and to this day he has a special tenderness for trailing arbutus. Cheerily and lightly he went his way with his hidden treasures to his lot in the heart of "the Heavy Timbers," and he did not sleep that night till he had explored a good deal. Laying his pack down on a good dry camping-knoll, he took his rifle and threw it up in the air, and caught it as it came down, many times in merry play that night, because his heart was full of companionship. He found a hill-side against which to build his camp, and the early morning shone on him with axe and shovel, hard at work clearing a space for his shanty. His shovel had a sheet-iron blade, and he had carried it in his pack with some screws, which helped him to fit a wooden handle—holes having been drilled for the screws. Before noon the hill was partially dug away, and posts set with crotched tops to hold poles, on which a thatched roof of birch-bark and hemlock-boughs was to be laid. When this was done, Paul shot a partridge. When it was dressed he broiled it. Perhaps he smoked it a little, but, with bread and salt from the pack, it made an excellent dinner. He then peeled birch and gathered hemlock boughs, and before he slept he had a comfortable camp. He was much happier alone, with the angel in his heart, the owner of the sunny curls, than he could have been in a log house at the next opening. He had sundry adventures in his forest solitude. He cleared his land, leaving a knoll for his house, and he left some grand old forest trees in the places where he would have set them had not nature forestalled his labor of love. Trees to most of the settlers were only enemies, to be got rid of. They spared none but the maples, for sugar. Paul left groves of young trees, though it cost him much care in burning. Others turned the growth of ages, and which none can recall to shade the naked land, into ashes, and then into salts, and then into money. Paul had his time of making salts, a time of tire some and profitable interest, but his beautiful home at this day is embellished with a glory of trees.

One Sunday morning Pau was getting ready to go to church at Woodville—notwithstanding the common property in the curls and other treasures, he felt more as if he had them when he saw them in church—this morning he made a kettle of maize meal mush for his breakfast, and set it out of doors to cool, while he shaved ; for no one was hirsute in those days who was within hailing distance of civilization. Presently he heard a series of horrid grunts, and looking out he saw a bear who had put his head into the kettle of mush without leave, and who was caught by the bail falling over the back of his ears, the bail having been accidentally left upright. As Bruin was trapped Paul split his head with his axe, and had enough to do that day to dress the carcass. No doubt Emily was disappointed in not seeing him at church, and Paul was disappointed in having plenty of bear's grease, a barrel of salted meat for winter, and a grand bear skin for his bed.

Day after day our hero went on felling trees, burning them to ashes, and then, with a leach tub made of a hollow log, he leached his ashes, and he boiled away the by in a huge cast iron caldron kettle, and made salts. Salts are always silver to the settler. The land is cleared of trees when this money is earned, and gold comes of the rich cleared lands.

He built a house of hewn logs, and the neighbors helped him to roll it up when the time came, and then lie put a neat paling around a goodly space for a garden, with the house in the centre. His fence, the first of the kind in that region, was made by driving sharpened poles into the ground. Next spring he planted scarlet runners, and his fence became highly ornamental when it was festooned all over with vines in bloom.

He planted currant bushes and strawberries, plum trees, and even rose bushes, among the great black stumps. He went on for a year improving his farm, and dreaming of an Emily for his Eve, all that time, without saying a word to the young lady. He had seen her at church, and he had called at her home, but he had never found opportunity to speak of his love or his hope. At last, with his cage built, he determined to try to catch his bird. One bright morning he found himself in Woodville, and not alone, for the people were all smartly dressed, and out in the street. Paul asked a lad where the people were going, and he said, "To the wed-ding, be sure."

"Where ?"

" At Mr. Joe Jones's."

Paul gasped out, " Which of the girls is going to be married?"

" Why, the prettiest one, be sure." The boy starting to run lest he should miss the show.

Pau! sank down on a rock by the way-side. What eared he now for his pretty hewn log-house, with real glass windows, twelve seven-by-nine panes in each? What cared he for pole paling, scarlet runners, rose bushes, and fruit, and great trees, and groves of trees, and sugar orchard? His Eve was lost to him. The bears might eat him instead of the hasty pudding, if it pleased their appetite to do so.

He sat still in his misery, till the thought struck him that he ought to go on and wish the happy couple joy. Like a good, generous youth he rose, and with a sad heart and faltering steps he entered the house of feasting. The clergyman had just married the couple, and was making a long prayer for their happiness, when Paul found himself at the door of " the best room" in Mr. Jones's square house, which no one ever dreamed of calling a cottage. The happy couple were standing together looking what is called cheap. Their awkward and sheepish appearance made the joyful revelation to Paul that the bride was Miss Seraphina Elvira, and not Miss Emily Letitia Jones. How Paul wooed his Emily,

or how happily she was won, I can hardly tell. Years have gone by since that happy wedding. Sons and daughters have grown in my brother's home. That faded mother has lived many years with Emily, a setting sunbeam upon her children and her grand-children. Though she is sixty years old, she is fairer and fresher than she was twenty years ago. It is sad to think that the kindest thing Joseph Jones ever did for his wife and chil- dren was to die. The bird-nesting, out-at-elbow boys took warning by their father, and all came to good. There are no heavy timbers now, but one of the finest farming counties occupies their site.

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