In September, 1863, Lieutenant William B. Cushing took command of the U.S.S. Monticello. This officer still lacked a few months of his twenty-first birthday, but his daring exploits had caused a rapid advance in the service. He was a tall, fair, cool youth, rather delicate looking, with clear-cut features and steady gray eyes, and wore his long brown hair curling to his shoulders as did many of the officers of that time. Restless and devoid of fear, the young lieutenant found the blockade duty to which his ship was assigned monotonous to a degree, and he was continually pressing his superiors to permit him to attempt hazardous duty.
On May 6, 1864, the Monticello was attached to a blockading squadron stationed off the entrances to Cape Fear River. On that night the Confederate ironclad ram Raleigh cruised out of the river and attacked the Union vessels. The expedition was evidently in the nature of a trial of the newly constructed Raleigh, for after exchanging shots with her enemies for a time without much damage to either side, the ram withdrew up the river.
Cushing was aroused over this affair, for he properly felt that a serious and determined attack should have been made against the ironclad by all Union men-of- war present during this opportunity which had been given them. He presented to his superior officers a proposal that he be permitted to enter the river, proceed to the Raleigh, and endeavor to destroy this menace to the wooden ships. Permission was finally granted him to make an attempt.
With his usual care he selected a volunteer crew for the expedition. Ensign Jones and Master’s Mate Howorth were the officers chosen. Fifteen bluejackets made up the crew of the cutter. Cushing fitted out this boat with two days’ provisions for the party and an ample number of carbines, pistols, and cutlasses.
At half-past eight on the evening of June 23, the cutter shoved off from the Monticello, the men pulling steadily away from the ship, a full easy stroke. Cushing held down his eager crew, for there was a long night ahead and it was essential that the men be fresh when the bar was reached. The lights of the Monticello, of the squadron, faded behind them. The rowing sailors saw the ship merge into the dark night, and after a time even her lights were gone in the pervading gloom. There would be a moon later, but the first part of the night was pitch dark.
There are two entrances into Cape Fear River, on which Wilmington is located some eighteen miles from the sea—New Inlet and Western Bar Channel. New Inlet was guarded by powerful Fort Fisher, a splendidly effective defensive point of the Confederacy commanded by the brave and efficient Colonel Lamb. On guard at Western Bar Channel were Forts Caswell and Holmes. It was into this latter channel that Cushing directed the cutter. Once in the lee, he stopped the boat and gave all hands a breathing spell while they muffled the oars. Cushing checked over this job in person. Attention to trivial details was one of the secrets of his invariable success.
The cutter stood into the river and stole silently up the channel, Cushing and his officers keeping the brightest of lookouts in an endeavor to sight the ironclad or other enemy craft. They rowed silently past the sleeping town of Smithville, and here an accident almost betrayed them. A tug darted out from the bank and all but ran them down, but with a quick turn of the tiller and an abrupt increase in speed the tug was avoided. It passed close aboard without sighting them.
No sooner had they escaped the tug than another danger presented itself. There suddenly took shape before them the dim outlines of a guard boat anchored in the middle of the channel. They would have blundered upon this waiting craft had not the two Confederate soldiers on lookout watch betrayed their presence by talking in tones which carried across the water to the approaching Monticellos. With an abrupt sweep Cushing fetched the cutter well clear of the guard boat and passed it without being sighted.
The Raleigh was at anchor neither inside the bar nor at Smithville. Cushing therefore pulled on up the river.
The moon now rose full and clear, and it was presently shining brightly on the cutter as it proceeded stealthily up the broad stream. It came abreast Fort Anderson, on the opposite side of the river and 5 miles above Fort Fisher, and here Cushing’s luck deserted him for the moment. An alert sentry sighted the boat and hailed. The cry was taken up by a dozen voices, and Cushing increased the stroke as musketry fire began filling the night with its clatter. Cushing formed an instant decision. It was too near daylight for him to make his way down the river and slip past the forts. Signals were already being made as to the presence of a strange craft in the vicinity, and the patrols below the cutter would have been warned before they could be reached and passed. So Cushing determined upon a piece of strategy.
He turned the boat so that the people in the fort could see her apparently pulling downstream at full speed. He then gave the cutter a sheer with the helm which cut off the moon’s rays from the line of sight of the sentries, and the swell made her invisible to the alarmed soldiers. The cutter gained the shadow of the opposite bank. Under its cover the Monticellos pulled lustily straight up the stream toward Wilmington, leaving the Confederates to send their boats and warnings down the river.
Thus they passed safely by the fort and such obstructions as were in the channel and continued on until they were within four miles of the city. They failed to sight the Raleigh or other men-of-war. Dawn was about to break, and Cushing prepared for concealment.
He chose a sandy spit with bushes close to the bank where he could observe movements in the channel. The eighteen Monticellos first emptied the boat of its oars, equipment, and provisions, and then all hands with considerable effort hauled the cutter out of the water and over a strip of sand into the swamp grass. When everything was carefully hidden from the sight of any passing ship or casual craft, Cushing concealed his men behind a log in the bushes. They breakfasted on cold provisions, and Cushing ordered them to obtain such sleep as they could.
The day passed quietly. Eight steamers went by so close that Cushing could plainly see the people about their decks. Among them was the Yadkin, flagship of the Confederate Commodore Lynch, but the Raleigh did not appear. Cushing was determined that he would not leave the region until he had discovered her anchorage. He had decided that when he knew the precise location of her moorings he would return to the squadron, select 100 men, and again slip through the entrances and either capture or sink the ram.
With the coming of dusk two canoes filled with men rounded the point. Cushing let them approach. He then walked out into the open, hailed them, and demanded their surrender. The amazed Confederates came into the bank and beached their canoes, regarding the armed bluejackets with bewilderment. They were a fishing party from Wilmington, and they proved unwilling but valuable assistants to their captors. To Cushing’s query about the location of the Raleigh the surprising reply was that she had thumped upon a shoal at high water when returning from her brief and only engagement with the Northern forces and as the tide fell, the weight of her armor had caused her to break her back and to split open. Nothing loath to learn this good news though somewhat skeptical about its accuracy, Cushing determined to employ this golden opportunity in learning as much as possible about the batteries along the river, the roads of the vicinity, and the obstructions which had been placed in the channel in view of the possibility of an attack by Union vessels. He therefore presently set forth with the cutter and the canoes, keeping the prisoners with him and using them as guides. Three miles below the city he found a row of obstructions consisting of iron-pointed spiles driven in at an angle, and he noted the one place where a channel had been left clear. He observed the details of a naval battery guarding this passage. He pulled on against the current, found a second row of obstructions, a third, the passages through these, the battery which protected them.
By the time this valuable information had been obtained and verified by personal observation, it was near dawn of the new day and Cushing dropped down the river a bit farther from Wilmington. He steered the cutter into a creek which ran through Cypress Swamp and, followed by the canoes, rowed into the comforting wilderness where they were presently in shallow water. They poled the cutter up the sluggish stream, for it had grown too narrow for the free use of oars. Not until they came within sight of a little-used country road did Cushing order his men to cease their efforts. According to the prisoners, this point was but two miles distant from the military road joining Fort Fisher with Wilmington.
Cushing now split up his party, selecting seven men to accompany him. He then concealed the cutter with boughs and placed the remaining eight sailors in ambush on guard over the prisoners. Then with his two officers and the seven sailors he set forth along the country road.
The party arrived at the crossroads two miles away without having sighted a soul. There were convenient bushes at this point, and Cushing concealed his tiny force where they could command the highway without being observed. It was Cushing’s plan to capture any military mail orderlies who might pass, for he was particularly anxious to obtain information concerning Fort Fisher.
It was nearly noon when the Monti- cellos made their first capture. A hunter on foot approached. As a precautionary measure Cushing seized and disarmed him and fetched him into the thicket for examination. He proved to be the keeper of a store about a mile away and informed Cushing that the cavalryman mail carrier from Fort Fisher was due to pass that way within a few minutes and that the daily carrier from Wilmington would arrive in the late afternoon.
When the mounted soldier appeared a quarter of an hour later a reception committee was awaiting him. He was taken into the thicket and his horse was secured. Cushing and his officers ran rapidly through the mails while the sailors kept watch upon the road and over the captives. Cushing flushed with satisfaction over the contents of the mail sacks. Among the 400 letters and documents which he eagerly overhauled were reports giving the plans of Fort Fisher in detail, the strength of the defenses, the number of men in that and neighboring garrisons, and other data invaluable to the Union cause, for the Northerners were planning an assault upon this powerful fortress in the near future.
There were numerous passers-by now, for the road was an important one, but the little party in the thicket kept quiet, and for the time being no further captures were made. The sailors used utmost care not to betray themselves, for they were only too well aware of what would be their fate should they be captured.
Cushing presently turned from his examination of the mails and surveyed his men.
“Well, boys,” he announced with a smile, “men who fight must eat.”
Howorth now came forward with a suggestion which met the ready approval of his leader, who would probably have insisted upon undertaking this task in person had the captured soldier been anywhere near his size. The grinning bluejackets stripped the captured cavalryman of his uniform. Howorth removed his own uniform and donned that of the Confederate. In the meantime Cushing was quizzing the storekeeper, who was wishing desperately that he had not taken the day off from behind his counter. From the storekeeper ample information was obtained for Howorth’s mission. Cushing gave his officer a roll of Confederate bills from the mails, Howorth mounted the soldier’s horse, and with a farewell wave of the hand rode coolly along the road toward Fort Fisher.
Other captives the Monticellos made as the afternoon progressed, though Cushing kept the number down to a minimum. There came the thud of a horse’s hoofs, and the watching sailors stiffened. It was Howorth, who swung off his mount and reported success to Cushing. He had ample packages with him, and the hungry bluejackets gave sniffs of satisfaction when their contents were revealed, for Howorth had returned with milk, chickens, and eggs. Cushing told off two men to build a fire well back from the road and prepare a meal, two others to pick blackberries for dessert.
Howorth chuckled as he told the storekeeper that he had obtained the provisions only by a free use of his name.
“I informed your wife that I’d met you down the road,” he said to the angry prisoner, “and that you directed me to tell Lizzy to give me the best she had. I paid for what I got, so you needn’t worry on that score.”
Howorth explained to Cushing that he had been accepted for what he purported to be, a Kentucky cavalryman. He had talked to several people, and what they had to say, particularly about the wreck of the Raleigh, checked the statements of their prisoners. To a question put to him by an old lady he had nearly got into trouble by unfortunately naming as his home a town in Kentucky in which her brother lived. However, it developed that she had never been there, and Howorth proved that he could lie fluently in a pinch.
They made a merry meal of it when the eggs and chickens had been cooked, eating in watches while half of them observed the road and stood guard over the prisoners. Cushing was in high spirits, as were they all, and the fact that they were in the heart of the enemy’s country amidst swarms of soldiers and but a few miles from the city of Wilmington failed to dampen their courage.
The afternoon wore on. Cushing was determined to await the arrival at this point of the mail carrier from Wilmington, for he felt it essential to obtain all available information concerning the enemy’s plans and movements. More captures of soldiers were made, and the number of Confederates under examination in the thicket eventually totaled twenty-six.
The time approached when the arrival of the Wilmington mail carrier might be expected. Cushing mounted the cavalryman’s horse and posted himself beside the highway. Since the capture of this man was to mark the end of the party’s activities in the vicinity, Cushing ordered Jones and Howorth to start the sailors and the prisoners down the side road preparatory to returning to the cutter. This move was unfortunate, for while Monti- cellos and captives were in the act of moving across the highway the expected mail carrier appeared over a knoll 200 yards away with another mounted soldier in his company. Pausing in astonishment at the sight of the blue uniforms and carbines, they promptly wheeled and galloped back toward Wilmington.
With his customary disregard of danger Cushing pursued them on his horse, shouting to the Confederates to surrender. But their start gave them too much advantage, and Cushing’s mount soon tired. Reluctantly abandoning the chase, he returned to the crossroads, where his men awaited his appearance with anxiety. Cushing ordered the telegraph wires cut. The sailors worked rapidly now, for it was but a question of time before the alarm would be given, and in five minutes Fort Fisher was isolated from immediate communication with Wilmington.
Back to the swamp Cushing led the way with all speed where he found his hidden Monticellos safe with their prisoners. They had been observed by no one throughout the day. The prisoners were placed in the fishermen’s canoes which had been captured the preceding evening, together with another small boat or two which had been seized. The sailors embarked in the cutter, Cushing took in tow the small craft with their freight of unhappy prisoners and the cutter began poling down the stream.
As dusk enveloped the little flotilla the boats turned into Cape Fear River from the swamp creek. Cushing now determined to get rid of most of his prisoners by turning them loose on an island in the river which had a lighthouse upon it but neither keeper nor inhabitants. The captured men could upon the return of daylight signal the shore or passing boats and be taken off without danger of starvation. Cushing stood down the river and headed out into it for the island.
At this moment the steamer Virginia rounded the bend and stood downstream directly for the party. Cushing gave a violent sheer to the cutter with her tows and edged under the gloom of the bank into marsh grass growing out into the water.
“Overboard!” he ordered in a penetrating whisper. “Keep your heads behind the gunwale! Look to the prisoners!”
Monticellos and the prisoners slipped into the water amidst whispered threats from the sailors to their captives. They crouched below the level of the marsh grass, squatting in the muddy ooze. Not as much as a splash betrayed the tense party as the steamer churned past them.
When the Virginia steamed out of sight around the turn below, Cushing re-embarked his men in the boats. He now felt that it was essential to rid himself of most of these prisoners as soon as possible, for they constituted a distinct liability. He therefore placed twenty of them in the canoes, first removing oars, paddles, and sails from these small craft. Then he headed out into the river and cast loose the canoes, knowing that they would be picked up in the morning by some passing ship.
Despite the report of each prisoner who had been questioned, together with the statements of the natives to Howorth in his guise of a Kentucky cavalryman, Cushing considered it necessary to check the report that the Raleigh was in such condition that she need no longer be feared as a potential menace. He therefore required a reluctant pilot among his prisoners to steer them to the spot where observation of the half submerged wreck of the ironclad made her destruction a positive fact in the minds of the sailors.
Cushing now pulled down the river, for the night was advancing, passing Fort Anderson unobserved. Then as they neared the forts at New Inlet they saw through the gloom a small boat racing for the shore. They gave chase and overhauled and captured it. It contained four soldiers and two civilians, and Cushing took them into the cutter and cast loose their boat. These men under cross examination informed Cushing that a guard boat containing 75 soldiers was stationed at the division of the channels into New Inlet and Western Bar entrance. It was obvious that the cutter must pass her close aboard. Cushing promptly decided to race down upon her, surprise and board her, capture her crew, and then sail her out past the forts and batteries, feeling certain that the Confederates would not fire upon their own men. With this scheme in mind he gave the order: “Oars!” and the tired sailors rested.
It was now within an hour of daylight. The moon was up, and it was almost as light as if dawn had already arrived. Cushing moved along the thwarts, checking the fact that each man had his weapon beside him, ready to drop oar and snatch up cutlass, pistol, or carbine when they should smash against the side of the guard boat. The prisoners who had been retained brought the total of the men in the cutter to twenty-six, and it was heavily laden. However, the tide was with the Monti- cellos, and it was apparent that there was a fair chance of success for Cushing’s plan.
They bore down upon the guard boat, which became dimly visible. Cushing increased the rapidity of the stroke, and they dashed down at the enemy.
Cushing trailed all oars except the bows, and the sailors snatched up their weapons, lifted them, leveled them at the guard boat and Cushing opened his mouth to give the order: “Fire!”
Then four enemy boats shot into the opening from the lee of the point below Fort Fisher. Five more raced out from the shelter of the island to form a line across the whole exit out of New Inlet. The Monticellos had run into a trap. Cushing formed an instant decision.
The men clashed down their weapons, snatched up the trailing oars, and Cushing put his helm hard aport, bringing the cutter around in a sharp sweep. He found his escape toward Smithville blocked by a large boat under canvas standing up to intercept a dash down toward the Western Bar exit. The line of boats across the New Inlet channel effectively barred egress to the sea. Pulling back up the river was not to be considered.
A man of less determined spirit than Cushing would have yielded to the terrific odds which he found arrayed against him. But he formed his plan upon the instant. Pulling with the tide he dashed past the sailing craft, whose captain shouted to the Monticellos to surrender. Cushing then sheered the cutter to avoid reflecting the moon’s rays, and the main line of Confederate boats lost sight of her in the swell. The soldiers in these boats concluded that Cushing was attempting to escape by the Western Bar channel. The whole line pulled madly toward the vanished cutter, leaving their original station unguarded. This was Cushing’s chance, and he seized upon it.
“Pull, lads! Pull for your lives!” he shouted, steering directly for the sailing craft as if to board. The crew of that vessel tried to tack to avoid the on-coming cutter. The Confederate boat lost way, drifted off clumsily with the tide and the cutter shot around her, the sailors pulling a rapid, steady stroke.
They were around the island end of the advancing line of enemy craft before the soldiers discovered the trick which was being worked upon them. The Confederate boats turned in circles and came racing after the Monticellos.
But they sighted the cutter too late and Cushing gained the bar a hundred yards ahead of the leading boat. As the cutter plunged into the booming breakers upon Caroline Shoal the ping and whine of bullets over the heads of the sailors served to urge them to a final, splendid effort. Cushing coolly piloted his boat through the rise and fall of the dangerous seas, the deeply laden craft riding the enormous swells with safety, though her lurches were sickening.
Then suddenly, abruptly, they were out of it, clear of the great swells, and the cutter was rising and falling upon a choppy but safe sea. Cushing waited a moment to make sure that there was no pursuit, though he knew none but seasoned seamen would dare attempt that dangerous passage through the roaring breakers. Then, looking back, he saw the baffled enemy dimly in the light of the advancing day, saw them stopped and helpless to advance, safely separated from him and his gallant crew by Nature’s barrier of thundering surf.
He turned back to his Monticellos.
“Oars, lads!” he cried.
He stood up in the cutter, balanced easily to the rocking of the swell, took a final look back over the breakers.
“We’ve done it, men!”
He smiled, sat down in the stern, and comfortably crossed his legs.
“We’ll rest for a bit,” he said.
Joseph de Maistre wrote: “A battle lost is a battle one thinks one has lost; for,” he added, “a battle cannot be lost physically.” Therefore, it can only be lost morally. But then, it is also morally that a battle is won, and we may extend the aphorism by saying: A battle won, is a battle in which one will not confess oneself beaten.—Marshal Foch, Precepts and Judgments.