Pictorial history of the war for the Union, volume 1 (of 2)

by Ann S. Stephens

April 21, 1861.

The splendid naval and military establishment at Gosport, Virginia, belonging to the Federal Government, was, at the time Virginia seceded, in the possession of the United States. It was supplied with immense quantities of military and naval stores; and several old vessels which had been withdrawn from service, and others of great value, were either waiting orders to sail or undergoing repairs. The entire establishment, whether on land or water, was indispensable to the conspirators, for the possession of the Navy Yard would give them immediate control of ordnance stores and property worth $30,000,000.

The seizure of this vast establishment having been determined upon, five or six vessels had been sunk by the rebels in the channel of the Elizabeth river, below the Navy Yard, thus effectually preventing the passage of larger vessels.

General Taliaferro was placed in command of the insurgent forces then rapidly concentrating at Norfolk. Commodore McCauley, who commanded at the Navy Yard, had been reluctant to adopt any measures which would bring him into hostility with the State troops, and thus inaugurate the war. The rebels took advantage of this leniency, but for once they were disappointed in their expectations of success. The Commodore determined to destroy the immediate agencies of the war, leaving the armories, ship wood, docks and dwellings unharmed, hoping that, although they might for a time be occupied by the insurgents, the stars and stripes would eventually float over them in triumph.

At 8½ o’clock on Saturday evening, the 20th April, the Pawnee, containing 600 Massachusetts troops from Fortress Monroe, arrived at Gosport harbor, the Commodore’s flag at its mast-head the white sails, relieved by the dark blue sky, appearing more like the floating wings of the dove of peace than heralds of destruction. The scene that followed is thus graphically described by an eye-witness.

Her coming was not unexpected, and as she glided to her place at the dock, the men on the Pennsylvania and the Cumberland, several hundred in number, greeted her with a volley of cheers that echoed and re-echoed till all Norfolk and Portsmouth must have heard the hail. The men of the Pennsylvania fairly outdid themselves in their enthusiasm on this occasion. They clambered into the shrouds, and not only answered to the “three cheers,” but volunteered “three times three,” and gave them with a hurricane of heartiness. This intense feeling on their part is easily explained. They had been a long time almost imprisoned on shipboard, on a ship imbedded in the river, motionless and helpless, and subject to promises from the secessionists of speedy demolition. In the advent of the Pawnee they saw deliverance from such durance, and they exulted with tremendous emphasis.

All Portsmouth and Norfolk were thoroughly aroused by the arrival of the Pawnee. They did not expect her, and were not prepared for her. They were seized with trepidation, thinking, perhaps, she had come, and along with the Cumberland and Pennsylvania, meant to bombard the towns for having obstructed the channel, and for having, the night before, rifled the United States magazine, just below Norfolk, of about 4,000 kegs of powder. Being utterly defenceless and quite terrified, the secessionists made no protest against the Pawnee’s presence, nor did they venture too near the Navy Yard.

The Pawnee made fast to the dock, and Colonel Wardrop marched out his regiment and stationed them at the several gates of the Navy Yard to oppose the entrance of any forces from without, in case an attempt to enter should be made. Having adopted this precaution, the Commodore set the marines on the Pennsylvania, the Cumberland, the Pawnee, and in the yard, to work. All the books and papers, the archives of the establishment, were transferred to the Pawnee.

Everything of interest to the Government on the Pennsylvania was promptly transferred to the Cumberland. On this latter vessel, it was also said, a large amount of gold from the Custom House at Norfolk had been in good time placed. Having made safe everything that was to be brought away, the marines were next set to work to destroy everything on the Pennsylvania, and the other ships, and in the yard, that might be of immediate use in waging war upon the government. Many thousand stands of arms were destroyed. Carbines had their stocks broken from the barrels by a blow, and were thrown overboard. A large lot of revolvers shared the like fate. Shot and shell by thousands went with hurried plunge to the bottom. Most of the cannon had been spiked the day and night before. There were at least 1,500 pieces in the yard—some elegant Dahlgren guns, and Columbiads of all sizes.

It is impossible to describe the scene of destruction that was exhibited. Unweariedly it was continued from 9 o’clock until about 12, during which time the moon gave light to direct the operations. But when the moon sank behind the western horizon, the barracks near the centre of the yard were set on fire, that by its illumination the work might be continued. The crackling flames and the glare of light inspired with new energies the destroying marines, and havoc was carried everywhere within the limits of orders. But time was not left to complete the work. Four o’clock of Sunday morning came, and the Pawnee was passing down from Gosport harbor with the Cumberland, the coveted prize of the secessionists, in tow—every soul from the other ships and the yard being aboard of them, save two. Just as they left their moorings, a rocket was sent up from the deck of the Pawnee. It sped high in air, paused a second, and burst in shivers of many-colored light. As it did so, the well-set trains at the ship-houses, and on the decks of the fated vessels left behind, went off as if lit simultaneously by the rocket. One of the ship-houses contained the old New York, a ship thirty years on the stocks, and yet unfinished. The other was vacant; but both houses and the old New York burnt like tinder. The older and unserviceable vessels, the Pennsylvania, the Raritan, the Columbia, the Dolphin, were fired without compunction; while the Merrimac, Plymouth and Germantown were sunk, and the immense lifting shears used for raising vessels was broken down and rendered useless. The old Delaware and Columbus, worn out and dismantled seventy-fours, were scuttled and sunk at the upper docks on Friday.