“Yes, Suh!” exclaimed the old Confederate veteran, “the first ironclad submarine ever built was launched right here in New Orleans during the Civil War. Never heard of it? Say—you don’t know very much do you, young feller!”
I sat very still and waited for him to resume his story telling. The old soldier lifted his cane and pointed to a distant building of the Confederate Soldiers’ Home.
“Behind that there building sits the very submarine. We’ll take a look at her after a while. But let me tell you about her maiden voyage first, while we set here and rest. My legs ain’t what they used to be.
“That blame submarine,” he went on, “was thought up by a rich New Orleans planter who owned quite a number of slaves. He thought it would be kind of interesting at the launching if the vessel should disappear after leaving the ways and make a short run under the surface before she popped up again. So he instructed two of his most likely slaves in how to hold her tiller and which way to turn the propeller for a time after she began to lose her launching speed, and how to come to the surface.
“A big crowd assembled to see the event. When things was all ready, sure enough, them two colored men got into the boat and shut down the hatch. Then she slid down the ways and disappeared under water just as had been planned. Everyone waited expectant-like, but the craft did not appear again.
“Some years afterward when they was dredging the harbor, the dredge buckets one day got hold of something they couldn’t lift. A diver sent down to investigate reported that there was something looked like a steam boiler stuck in the mud. They put chains around it and raised it to the wharf. Well, it was the submarine all right.
“When them two colored men got into that boat they was wuth about a thousand dollars apiece. And do you know, suh, when they finally opened the hatch them two blamed colored men was still in thar, but they warn’t wuth a damned cent.”
Amusing as I found the old gentleman’s account of the submarine’s trial voyage, it is obviously something of a yarn. Yet that submarine boat actually was built, and launched, not for use by the Confederate Navy, but to be a privateer intended to break the Yankee blockade of southern ports, notably New Orleans and Mobile. As such it was the first and only privateer submarine ever constructed and has become known as the Pioneer.
We walked over to look at it later and found the historic craft in a sad state of disrepair.
Under necessity of meeting the Federal blockade and powerful Yankee Navy with all means at their command, the Confederate States Government adopted ideas for defense which were revolutionary for those early Civil War days. Unprejudiced by tradition and a reactionary navy clique, as were the Federals, the people of the South produced an ironclad ship program which soon made its power felt. Efforts of the Confederates were directed largely toward stationary and floating mine defenses. The government was anxious to adopt any means for meeting the challenge of northern sea power. Yet private enterprise created not only the privateer submarine Pioneer but several others as well, one of which now occupies a niche in the naval hall of fame forever.
Builders of the Pioneer, which rots today on the shore of Bayou St. John, New Orleans, were James R. McClintock and Baxter Watson, two practical marine engineers and machinists. The unique craft was completed in the early part of 1862 and launched at the Government Yard on New Basin in February. The actual owners, in addition to the builders, were John K. Scott and Robbin R. Barron. They applied for letters of marque, and received a commission, upon the security of Horace L. Hunley and H. J. Leovy, under date of March 31, 1862. Scott was listed as commander, the number in the crews as three, tonnage four, and armament a "magazine of powder." The Pioneer actually made her trial trip on Lake Pontchartrain, and it was a partial success.
Later on, after the war, McClintock said of the boat: "This boat demonstrated to us the fact that we could construct a boat that would move at will in any direction desired, and at any distance from the surface. The evacuation of New Orleans lost this boat before our experiments were completed." But her partial success led directly to something more portentous. Upon the fall of New Orleans, the builders of the Pioneer went to Mobile where they reported to the Confederate authorities who ordered a similar boat constructed in the machine shop of Parks and Lyons. As a member of the Twenty-First Alabama Artillery, W. A. Alexander, a resourceful engineer, was detailed on government work at this shop and ordered to build the craft according to the plans submitted. Work started immediately and one boat was completed, but while being towed to a proving ground off Fort Morgan she sank in a heavy sea and was lost, fortunately with no one aboard.
Far from discouraged, the builders at once began work on a second boat. For the hull they converted a cylinder boiler which was 48 inches in diameter and 25 feet long. Two water tanks were installed, to be filled or emptied by valves. Heavy pieces of cast iron fastened to the bottom by bolts were to be removed by the crew inside, thus permitting the boat to rise rapidly in case of emergency.
The boat was moved entirely by hand, through an ordinary screw propeller, attached to a shaft on which were 8 cranks set at various angles. Even with all the crew on the port side, it was very difficult to pass fore and aft, a factor which had some bearing on subsequent fatalities. When all hands were in their places it was practically impossible, under the best circumstances, for even one man to pass another; one-half the crew therefore entered and left by the fore hatch, the other through the after hatch.
Armament of this venturesome craft was a torpedo, a copper cylinder holding some 90 pounds of explosive, with percussion and primer mechanism set off by triggers. It was originally intended to float this torpedo on the surface of the water behind the boat, which was to dive under the vessel attacked. Later, this plan was abandoned in favor of a yellow pine boom, 22 feet long, banded and guyed on each side, attached to the bow, while a socket on the torpedo secured it to the boom ready for firing upon contact with the enemy hull.
Thus was constructed the first of modern submarines, to be known as the Hunley. She was little better than a boiler shell propelled by hand, without electrical or pneumatic apparatus or fresh air; experimental, untried, revolutionary. Yet there was no difficulty in obtaining volunteers to man her. She required a crew of nine, two of whom must be experienced in handling the boat. The first officer was stationed forward, while the second attended to the after ballast tank and pumps and the air supply. Confederates pressed forward in eagerness to help operate the new undersea boat.
She was first tried out at Mobile, when she failed to rise after one dive and her entire crew of nine lost their lives.
Still optimistic, authorities decided that Charleston Harbor in South Carolina, faced with monitors and blockaders there, would offer a better field of operations. The submarine was raised, mounted on two flat cars, covered with tarpaulins to escape prying eyes, and sent overland to General Beauregard in command at Charleston.
A group of brave men on duty at Charleston, including Lieutenant John Payne, volunteered to take the Hunley on her trial trip. None had ever before seen a submarine, but nine stepped down into the dark shell. A passing swell washed into the open hatch and swamped the boat, drowning the eight already seated at the cranks.
The boat was raised and Lieutenant Payne, the sole survivor of her second crew, again volunteered with eight other men. Once again, as she was ready to go to sea, she was swamped.
Simon Lake reports of this tragedy:
The late Col. Charles H. Hasker of Richmond, Va., had volunteered as one of the crew to try the Hunley after she had suffocated her second party. The submarine started away from the dock in tow of the gunboat Ettawan by a line thrown over the hatch coaming. She had been trimmed down so that she had very little freeboard and as she gained headway she started to "shear" due to her peculiar flatiron-shaped bow. Lieut. Payne, who was in command, attempted to throw off the towline from the coaming, but was caught in the bight of the line. Struggling to free himself, he knocked a prop from under the tiller of the horizontal diving rudder, which had been set to hold the bow up. Immediately the tiller dropped and inclined the horizontal rudder to dive, and the vessel dove with her hatches open.
Lieut. Payne freed himself, and Col. Hasker managed to get partway out of one of the hatches before the vessel sank, but the inrushing water closed the hatch door, which caught him by the calf of the leg, and he was carried with the vessel to the bottom in forty-two feet of water. However he maintained his presence of mind, and when the craft became full it balanced the pressure so that he could release himself. He was a good swimmer and escaped to the surface. Two other men escaped from the other hatch.
Twenty-four men dead, and the submarine had yet to justify her existence! It was fortunate for the advocates of this new method of warfare that the experiments were shrouded in secrecy, or popular condemnation and ridicule would have forced abandonment of their plans. Semisubmersibles known as "Davids" were proving increasingly effective in sinking enemy shipping, and these larger ironclad, formidable, steam-propelled warships already could point to an impressive list of victories over Federal antagonists.
Again raised and prepared for action, the submarine was turned over to a new crew known as the "Hunley and Parks" volunteers from Mobile. Captain Hunley and Thomas Parks, member of the firm in whose shop the boat had been built, were in charge of operations, with Messrs. Brockbank, Patterson, McHugh, Marshall, White, Beard, and another as the crew. Until the day this crew left Mobile, it had been understood that Alexander was to be one of them. But at the last moment Parks prevailed upon him to change places. Of the others nearly all had had some experience in the boat before it left Mobile and were well qualified to handle her.
Captain Hunley and his crew practiced diving and rising until one evening, October 15, 1863, in the presence of a number of people on the wharf, the Hunley went down and remained sunk, near Fort Johnson. The bodies of these brave volunteers lie today buried in a Charleston churchyard.
When the hull was raised for the third time in Charleston, the cause of the failure was easily discovered. She had been proceeding along the surface and was seen to dive. When found, the bow was nosed deep in the mud at an angle of 30 degrees, the stern remaining raised. Hatches opened easily, showing that the bolts were not secured within. In each hatchway was the head of an officer; each had been attempting to open the hatch above him as he died. Hunley held a new candle in his left hand. The hull was flooded and the rest of her crew had drowned because they were unable to back her out of the mud.
Lieutenant George Dixon, a mechanical engineer and also a member of the Twenty-First Alabama, had taken a great interest in the submarines while they were building and sought a place on an earlier crew, but there had been no vacancy. Now he and Alexander decided to offer their services to General Beauregard toward raising and operating the boat.
Their offer was accepted and they reported to the chief of staff, General Jordan. The boat was raised, but a new crew was needed. After much persuasion General Beauregard consented to permit the two volunteers to board the Confederate receiving ship Indian Chief and request a volunteer crew. The hazardous and desperate nature of the service required was explained, but a crew was immediately shipped, and after a little more practice the boat was moored off Battery Marshall, on Sullivan's Island. Quarters for all hands were found at Mount Pleasant, 7 miles from the battery.
Because of defensive chain booms surrounding the Ironsides and the Federal monitors in Charleston Harbor to fend off attacks by "Davids" and the rumored submarine, the crew of the little plunging torpedo boat had to turn their attention to the wooden hulls of the fleet lying farther outside. The nearest blockading ship, understood to be the United States frigate Wabash, lay at anchor about 12 miles out, and she became the main objective of the Hunley.
In comparatively smooth water the Hunley could make good almost 4 miles an hour, but rough water slowed her considerably. It was necessary for the boat to slip down the harbor with the ebb tide and come in on the flood, under a light breeze and no moon. In such a setting the adventurous and gallant Confederates toiled night after night.
They found that they had to come to the surface occasionally, slightly lifting the hatches, to obtain fresh air. Sometimes while doing so, the men could hear the Federals on their ships and in picket boats talking and singing, unsuspecting the presence of the invisible submersible and her deadly torpedo.
Leaving Mount Pleasant about one o'clock in the afternoon, the crew would walk along the beach to Battery Marshall, exposed thus to the enemy's rifle fire which they cheerfully disregarded in favor of the better footing along the shore. Out of sight in Back Bay, they would cast off in the submersible and practice operating her for two hours. Ashore again, Dixon and Alexander would then lie on the sand with the compass between them and obtain the latest bearings on the nearest Federal vessel as she took up her position at anchor for the night.
After dark, having shipped up the torpedo on the boom, the crew would put out for the marked ship. With care they would operate the slim ironclad until the condition of the hard-working men, the sea, tide, moon, wind, or the approach of daylight compelled them to abandon their attempt and retreat to the dock. Then the torpedo would be unshipped, placed under guard at Battery Marshall, and the crew would walk back to Mount Pleasant and breakfast.
During the chill months of November and December, 1863, through January and the early part of February, 1864, the wind held contrary, insuring failure night after night. An average of four nights a week found the Hunley on the prowl, but adverse weather and the difficulty of propelling the craft prevented any cruise of more than 6 or 7 miles. It was often all they could do to get back again to shore.
They determined, on one late afternoon, to find out how long the craft would remain submerged without fresh air. The sun was shining when they went down, and the beach was lined with soldiers, as it usually was when the crew practiced in the bay. When they managed to rise again, 2 hours and 35 minutes later, it was quite dark. One solitary Confederate soldier stood gazing at the spot where he had seen the boat go down.
"You fellers been reported dead," he said laconically, nodding his head in the direction of camp. "General Beauregard, he done already been informed."
But the practice cruises and dives had proved that the craft could be operated successfully both above and beneath the surface despite the calamities which had already occurred. Not a man among the crew desired to quit his post, least of all Dixon and Alexander. Thus it was a blow to all his hopes when Alexander was ordered to Mobile to build a new pattern for breech-loading cannon, just as success seemed within the grasp of the adventurers.
The Hunley left her moorings on the fateful afternoon of February 17, 1864. All of the crew which had struggled so painstakingly and risked death so often during the weary winter months, except Alexander and one other also ordered to special duty, were aboard. The Charleston Courier for Feb. 29, 1864, gave this account of their exploit:
On Friday night about half past nine one of our picket boats under command of Boatswain J. M. Smith, captured a Yankee picket boat off Fort Sumter, containing 1 commissioned officer and five men. A large barge which was in company with the picket boat managed to escape. The officer taken prisoner is Midshipman Wm. H. Kitching, acting master's mate, of the U. S. blockading squadron Nipsic. The rest of the prisoners are landsmen.
By the prisoners we learn that the blockader sunk by the torpedo boat [the Hunley] on the night of the 16th [sic] instant was the U. S. Steam Sloop Housatonic, carrying 12 guns and a crew of 300 men. They state that the torpedo boat, cigar shaped, was first seen approaching by the watch on board the Housatonic. The alarm was given, and all hands beat to quarters. A rapid musketry fire was opened on the boat without effect. Being unable to depress their guns, the order was given to slip the cable. In doing this the Housatonic backed some distance, and came into collision with the cigar boat. The torpedo exploded almost immediately, carrying away the whole stern of the vessel. The steamer sunk in three minutes time, the officers and crew barely escaping to the rigging. Everything else on board, guns, stores, ammunition, etc., together with the small boats went down with her.
The explosion made no noise and the crew was discovered and relieved from their uneasy position after daybreak. They had remained there all night. Two officers and three men were reported missing, and are supposed to be drowned. The loss of the Housatonic caused great consternation to the fleet. All the wooden vessels were ordered to keep up steam and go out to sea every night, not being allowed to anchor inside. The picket boats have been doubled and the force in each boat increased.
The glorious success of our little torpedo boat under command of Lieut. Dixon of Mobile has raised the hopes of our people, and the most sanguine expectations are now entertained of our being able to raise the siege in a way little dreamed of by the enemy.
But the Hunley, first submarine to sink an enemy warship, had not returned from her successful venture. Each passing hour brought more gloom to the hopes of the Confederates, until finally General Beauregard and all those who had followed the tragic voyages of the ironclad submarine were forced to accept her loss.
The little craft never returned. Many years later, when divers explored the bottom of the bay, they reported that they had found the rusty shell of the Hunley lying near the sloop's shattered hulk, her last crew having found their resting place beneath the shadow of Sumter's guns. Thus in Pyrrhic victory was born the warfare which today litters the bottom of the sea with wrecks, with bones, and the hopes of half of mankind.