CHAP. II.

whose muzzle he could now plainly see, as a skilled artisan at his bench, watched for the proper instant, detached the torpedo with a line held in his right hand, waited a moment for it to rise under the hull of the ram, and then pulled with the left Oct. 27, 1964. hand, which had just been cut by a bullet. At the same instant the 100-pounder was fired; the grape shot, at ten feet range, came roaring over Cushing and his crew, just missing them; but the torpedo had done its work, and a suffocating mass of water rose from the side of the Albemarle and fell upon the launch, half filling it, and drenching the crew. Cushing, who thought his boat had been pierced by the shot from the ram, saw there was no hope of saving her; being summoned to surrender he refused, and ordered his crew to save themselves; he threw off his sword, revolver, coat, and shoes and jumped into the water.

Cushing, Report, Oct. 30, 1864. Report Secretary of the Navy.

Captain A.

The Albemarle's commander did not at first real- F. Warley. ize what had happened. He heard a dull report as of an unshotted gun; a fragment of wood fell at his feet. He sent a carpenter to examine the hull, who reported "a hole big enough to drive a wagon in." The Albemarle was resting in the mud; she had sunk so little her own officers did not perceive it, and the victors were unconscious of their success. The men in the launch were captured, all but three, who had followed Cushing in his desperate leap into the icy river. Two of these were drowned; the third got ashore and was saved.

Perhaps no event of his life gave such proof of Cushing's extraordinary nerve and endurance as his escape. He swam out in the darkness, knowing there was no shelter for him but the fleet, twelve VOL. X.-4

CHAP. II. miles away. He evaded the rebel boats which were rowing about the river until he was well out of sight. Nearing the shore, he found Woodman drowning, and kept him up ten minutes with his own fast-failing strength, but could not bring him to land. Cushing at last managed to reach the muddy shore, and fell, half in and half out of the water; there he lay until daybreak, unable to move. Oct. 28, 1864. When the dawn came, he found himself lying on the edge of a swamp, in full view of a sentry, not forty steps from a fort. When the sun had warmed his chilled limbs a little, he attempted to crawl away from his exposed position, and, being covered with mud, he succeeded, by sliding on his back, inch by inch, though soldiers were several times almost near enough to tread on him. After gaining the swamp he wandered for several hours among the cypresses, scratched and torn at every step by thorns and briers. At last he found an aged negro, and the disposition he made of him is noteworthy. Instead of employing him to assist in his escape, Cushing plied him with greenbacks and texts of Scripture until he induced him to go into Plymouth and get news of the last night's affair.

The tidings he brought back were such a cordial to the forlorn vietor, that he plunged into the swamp with new heart and hope. In the afternoon he came upon a stream where there was a picket post of soldiers who had a small skiff fastened to a cypress root in the water. Watching them till they sat down to eat, he swam to the boat, noiselessly unfastened it, and drew it around a bend in the river, then got in and paddled for life and liberty. He floated on through twilight to darkness, out of

Cushing,

tive," ut sup.

the Roanoke into the broad Sound; the night was CHAP. II. providentially still and calm; he steered by the stars till he reached the picket vessel Valley City; he had strength enough left to give a feeble hail, then fell with a splash into the water in the bottom of his boat. He had paddled, he says, "every minute for ten successive hours, and for four my body had been asleep,' with the exception of my two Narra arms and brain." At first they took the skiff for a torpedo boat, and were more inclined to give him a volley of musketry than to pick him up; but he soon established his identity, refreshed himself, and went to report to the flagship, where he was received as one risen from the dead with salutes of rejoicing; the night air became gay with rockets, and all hands were called to cheer ship. Perhaps the most remarkable words in the simple narrative this heroic youth has left of his strange adventure are these, with which it closes: "In the morning I was again well in every way, with the exception of hands and feet, and had the pleasure of exchanging shots with the batteries that I had inspected on the day previous."

On the 30th of October, Commander Macomb, having ascertained that the direct channel was obstructed, passed into the Roanoke above Plymouth by Middle River, and thus took the place in reverse. A spirited engagement between the fleet and the forts began about eleven in the morning of the 31st; a fortunate shot from the Shamrock exploded the enemy's magazine, and the Confederates hastily evacuated their works; the victorious sailors, rowing ashore, captured the rear guard with twenty-two cannon and a large quantity of stores.

1864.

CHAPTER III

FORT FISHER AND WILMINGTON

CHAP. III.

1864.

TH

HE ports of Wilmington and Savannah, after the capture of New Orleans and the strict blockade of Charleston, and especially after the occupation of Mobile Bay, became the most important and valuable means of communication with the outside world which were left to the Confederacy. In spite of the utmost efforts of the National vessels, an extensive trade was carried on between these ports and those West Indian islands which had been taken as points of transshipment for the contraband goods exported from England to the Confederacy, and for the cotton which formed the only coin by which the South paid its debts to Europe. There was a peculiarity about the harbor of Wilmington which rendered it the favorite port of entry for blockade runners. The city stands on the Cape Fear River, about twenty-eight miles from the sea. There is a good entrance to the river at its mouth, and another by New Inlet, six miles in a straight line to the north; the space between them, merely sand and shallow water, is called Smith's Island, the southern extremity of which is the sharp headland of Cape Fear, beyond which stretch the Frying Pan Shoals for ten miles. The southern