American Men of Action

by Burton Egbert Stevenson

Before going forward with him upon his great career, let us cast a glance over his boyhood—such a boyhood as falls to the lot of not one in a million. Born in 1801, of a father who had served in the Revolution and who was afterwards to become a friend and companion of Andrew Jackson, his childhood was passed amid the dangers and alarms of the Tennessee frontier. In 1808 occurred the incident which paved the way for his entrance into the navy. While fishing on Lake Pontchartrain, his father fell in with a boat in which was lying an old man prostrated by the heat of the sun. Farragut took him at once to his own home, where he was tenderly cared for, but he died a few days later. The sufferer was David Porter, father of Captain Porter of the Essex, at that time in charge of the naval station at New Orleans.

Captain Porter was informed of the accident to his father, and hastened to the home of the Farraguts. He felt deeply their kindness, and as some slight return, offered to adopt one of the Farragut children, take him North with him, and do what he could for his advancement. Young David promptly said that he would go, the arrangements were concluded, and the boy of seven accompanied his new protector to Washington. He spent two years at school there, and then, on December 17, 1810, at the age of nine, received an appointment as midshipman in the United States navy. Two years later, he accompanied Porter in the Essex on that memorable trip around Cape Horn.

Porter took so many prizes in the South Pacific that his supply of older officers ran out, and twelve-year old David Farragut was appointed prize-master of one of them, with orders to take her to Valparaiso. When Farragut gave his first order, her skipper, a hot-tempered old sea-dog, flew into a rage, and declaring that he had "no idea of trusting himself with a blamed nutshell," rushed below for his pistols. The twelve-year-old commander shouted after him that, if he came on deck again, he would be thrown overboard, and thenceforth was master of the ship. He was back on the Essex again when she was attacked in Valparaiso harbor by a British squadron, and got his baptism of fire in one of the hardest-fought naval battles in history.

From that time until the outbreak of the Civil War, his life was spent in the most active service, and he rose to the rank of captain. As has been seen, he cast in his lot with the North, and asked for active duty at once, but it was not until eight months later that the summons came. When it did come, it was of a nature to fill him with the most unbounded enthusiasm. The national government had determined to attempt to send a fleet past the formidable forts at the mouth of the Mississippi, for the purpose of capturing New Orleans. Farragut was sent for, shown the list of vessels which were preparing for the expedition, and asked if he thought it could succeed. He answered that he would undertake to do it with two-thirds the number, and when he was told that he was to command the expedition, his delight knew no bounds. He felt that his chance had come. On the second of February, 1862, he sailed out of Hampton Roads with a squadron of seventeen vessels, and turned his prow to the south.

The task which had been set him was one to give the stoutest heart pause. Twenty miles above the mouth of the Mississippi were two formidable forts and a number of water batteries, with combined armaments greatly superior to those of Farragut's fleet. A great barrier of logs stretched across the river, while farther up lay a Confederate fleet of fifteen vessels, one of which was an ironclad ram. A strong force of Confederate sharpshooters was stationed along either bank, and a number of fire-rafts were ready to be lighted and sent down against the Union fleet. It was against these obstacles that Farragut, after a week of preliminary attack, started up the river in his wooden vessels at three o'clock in the morning of April 24, 1862.

As soon as the Confederates descried the advancing fleet, they lighted great fires along the banks and opened a terrific cannonade. Blazing fire-rafts threw a lurid glare against the sky. The fleet, pausing a few minutes to discharge their broadsides into the forts, steamed on up the river; Farragut's flagship grounded under the guns of Fort St. Philip, and a fireship, blazing a hundred feet in the air, floated against her and set her on fire, but the flames were extinguished, the flagship backed off, and headed again up the stream. Before the coming of dawn, the entire fleet, with the exception of three small boats, had passed the forts and were grappling with the Confederate squadron above. Of this, short work was made. Some of the enemy's vessels were driven ashore, some were run down, others were riddled with shot—and the proudest city of the South lay at Farragut's mercy.

On the first day of May, the United States troops under General Butler, marched into the city, and Farragut, glad to be relieved of an unpleasant task, proceeded up the river, ran by the batteries at Vicksburg, assisted at the reduction of Port Hudson, and finally sailed for New York in his flagship, the Hartford, arriving there in August, 1863. He had already been commissioned rear-admiral, and he was given a most enthusiastic reception, for his passage of the Mississippi was recognized as an extraordinary feat. An examination of his ship showed that she had been struck 240 times by shot and shell in her nineteen months of service.

Immediately after the surrender of New Orleans, Farragut had desired to proceed against the port of Mobile, Alabama, which was so strongly fortified that all attempts to close it had been in vain, and which was the only important port left open to the Confederates. But the government decided that Mobile could wait a while, and sent him, instead, to open the Mississippi. That task accomplished, the time had come for him to attempt the greatest of his career—greater, even, than his capture of New Orleans, and much more hazardous. In the spring of 1864, he was in the Gulf, preparing for the great enterprise.

Mobile harbor was defended by works so strong and well-placed that it was considered well-nigh impregnable. The Confederates had realized the importance of keeping this, their last port, open, so that they could communicate with the outer world, and had spared no pains to render it so strong that they believed no attack could subdue it. Two great forts, armed with heavy and effective artillery, guarded the entrance; the winding channel was filled with torpedoes, and in the inner harbor was a fleet of gunboats, and, most powerful of all, the big, ironclad ram, Tennessee. In charge of the Tennessee was the same man who had guided the Merrimac on her fatal visit to Hampton Roads, Franklin Buchanan, but the Tennessee was a much more powerful vessel than the Merrimac had ever been, and it was thought that nothing afloat could stand against her.

It was this position, then, which, at daybreak of August 5, 1864, Farragut sailed in to assault. His fleet consisted of four ironclad monitors, and fourteen wooden vessels, and his preparations were made most carefully, for he fully realized the gravity of the task before him. He himself was in his old flagship, the Hartford, and mounting into the rigging to be above the smoke, he was lashed fast there, so that he would not fall to the deck, in case a bullet struck him. The thought of that brave old leader taking that exposed position so that he might handle his fleet more ably will always be a thrilling one—and the event proved how wise he was in choosing it.