My Days and Nights on the Battle-Field

by Charles Carleton Coffin

The Rebel fleet watched us awhile. The crowd upon the shore increased. Perhaps they thought the Yankees did not dare to fight. At length the Rebel fleet began to move up-stream.

“Round to; head down-stream; keep in line with the flag-ship,” was the order which we on board the Jessie Benton carried to each boat of the line. We returned, and took our position between the Benton and Carondelet.

I stood on the top of the tug, beside the pilot-house. Stand with me there, and behold the scene. The sun is an hour high, and its bright rays lie in a broad line of silver light upon the eddying stream. You look down the river to the city, and behold the housetops, the windows, the levee, crowded with men, women, and children. The flag of the Confederacy floats defiantly. The Rebel fleet is moving slowly towards us. A dense cloud of smoke rolls up from the chimneys of the steamers, and floats over the city.

There is a flash, a puff from the Little Rebel, a sound of something unseen in the air, and a column of water is thrown up a mile behind us. A second shot, from the Beauregard, falls beside the Benton. A third, from the Price, aimed at the Carondelet, misses by a foot or two, and dashes up the water between the Jessie Benton and the flag-ship. It is a sixty-four-pounder. If it had struck us, our boat would have been splintered to kindlings in an instant.

Commodore Montgomery sees that the boats of the Federal fleet have their iron-plated bows up-stream. He comes up rapidly, to crush them at the stern, where there are no iron plates. A signal goes up from the Benton, and the broadsides begin to turn towards the enemy. The crowd upon the levee think that the Federal boats are retreating, and hurrah for Commodore Montgomery.

There has been profound silence on board the Union gunboats. The men are waiting for the word. It comes.

“Open fire, and take close quarters.”

The Cairo begins. A ten-inch shot screams through the air, and skips along the water towards the Little Rebel. Another, from the St. Louis. A third, from the Louisville. Another, from the Carondelet, and lastly, from the Benton. The gunners crouch beside their guns, to track the shot. Some are too high, some too low. There is an answering roar from all the Rebel boats. The air is full of indescribable noises. The water boils and bubbles around us. It is tossed up in columns and jets. There are sudden flashes overhead, explosions, and sulphurous clouds, and whirring of ragged pieces of iron. The uproar increases. The cannonade reverberates from the high bluff behind the city to the dark-green forest upon the Arkansas shore, and echoes from bend to bend.

The space between the fleets is gradually lessening. The Yankees are not retreating, but advancing. A shot strikes the Little Rebel. One tears through the General Price. Another through the General Bragg. Commodore Montgomery is above the city, and begins to fall back. He is not ready to come to close quarters. Fifteen minutes pass by, but it seems not more than two. How fast one lives at such a time! All of your senses are quickened. You see everything, hear everything. The blood rushes through your veins. Your pulse is quickened. You long to get at the enemy,—to sweep over the intervening space, lay your boat alongside, pour in a broadside, and knock them to pieces in a twinkling! You care nothing for the screaming of the shot, the bursting of the shells. You have got over all that. You have but one thought,—to tear down that hateful flaunting flag, to smite the enemies of your country into the dust!

While this cannonade was going on, I noticed the two rams casting loose from the shore. I heard the tinkle of the engineer’s bell for more fire and a full head of steam. The sharpshooters took their places. The Queen came out from the shelter of the great cottonwoods, crossed the river, and passed down between the Benton and Carondelet. Colonel Ellet stood beside the pilot, and waved his hand to us on board the Jessie Benton. The Monarch was a little later, and, instead of following in the wake of the Queen, passed between the Cairo and the St. Louis.