SECTION OF THE MISSISSIPPI RIVER.
SHOWING THE DISTANCES FROM NEW ORLEANS.
THE BURNSIDE EXPEDITION.
SAILING OF THE FLEET FOR HATTERAS INLET.
January 12–20, 1862.
Immediately after the departure of the expedition to operate against Port Royal and the adjacent territory, the organization of another armament, to proceed to the North Carolina coast, was commenced, and like its predecessor, was mainly fitted out at Annapolis, Md., and gradually concentrated at Fortress Monroe. After many delays, it sailed from that place for its destination on the 12th of January, 1862. The expedition consisted of a large naval force of light-draught boats, taken from the commercial marine, fitted up and armed, and a numerous retinue of transports and supply vessels, all under the command of Commodore L. M. Goldsborough. There were thirty-one gunboats in the expedition, exclusive of transports, carrying an aggregate of ninety-four guns. Five of these, called “floating batteries,” were vessels of strong hulls, heavily braced, and cut down so as to present but a small surface when in action, and designed to be anchored during an engagement. The entire number of vessels of all classes was one hundred and twenty-five.
The land force consisted of about fourteen thousand men, under the command of Brigadier-General Ambrose E. Burnside, who was also Commander-in-chief of the expedition. It consisted of fifteen regiments, divided into three brigades, commanded in their order by Generals John G. Foster, Jesse L. Reno, and John G. Parke.
The vessels encountered adverse weather immediately after starting from Fortress Monroe, and a number of the transports were obliged to put back, having experienced one of those severe storms which have rendered the coast of Cape Hatteras a terror and a proverb to the mariner. For a time the expedition was in deadly peril. Communication between the vessels of the fleet was rendered impossible, and wreck and disaster appeared to be their inevitable fate. Several gunboats and vessels were driven ashore and lost, and a number of valuable lives sacrificed to the fury of the elements, in a vain endeavor to succor some of the disabled vessels.
Along the whole coast of North Carolina there are many desolate sand-bars or islands, varying from half a mile to two miles in width, intersected by numerous inlets, which with few exceptions, are not navigable. A principal one of these, known as Hatteras Inlet, opening into the waters of Albemarle Sound, was the point where Commodore Goldsborough’s fleet was now endeavoring to concentrate.
On Monday morning, January 13, they were off Hatteras Inlet. Day broke with a leaden sky, against which the angry, white-crested waves raced their mad career along the reefs of Cape Hatteras, that threw its headland oceanward but eight miles distant. Fourteen steamers were laboring to weather the storm point. Bravely they breasted on, staggering beneath the giant blows of each successive sea, the decks swept fore and aft, and all on board reeling from side to side like drunken men. One figure stood immovable, grasping the bits and scanning the horizon for traces of ships as they rose on the glittering mass of foam. It was the square, manly form of General Burnside, whose anxiety for the fate of his army was intense. Many of the vessels on which the troops were embarked were nothing more than huge top-hampered river steamers, with projecting guards, that would break up like cardboard if fairly struck by a sea.
At dark, all hands on the flag-ship were startled by the report of a gun, and on reaching the hurricane deck they saw a large brig drifting rapidly on to the bar. As it grew darker, and her outline became less defined, the excitement became intense. She was evidently in a most critical position, and every moment might be her last. Slowly the black hull rose and fell, each time gliding nearer and nearer to the vortex of white breakers, which, once reached, nothing could save her. Suddenly a fringe of musketry fire surrounded her bulwarks, and blue-lights were burnt in her tops. Volley after volley succeeded each other in rapid succession, yet apparently no one could help her; no human power dared face the tempest, and, perhaps, share her doom. General Burnside boarded every steamtug in the harbor; offered any reward, and also to go himself in aid of the brig, but all held back. Were three hundred men to be launched into eternity, and no effort made to save them? At last one brave seaman volunteered to take his little steamer out—General Burnside jumped aboard her—but by the earnest entreaties of the officers he delegated the honorable position to one of his staff, for his heroic conduct had nerved every brave heart in his command.