John Call Dalton, M.D., U.S.V.

by John Call Dalton

So it was on board the Oriental. All that evening the wind increased in violence. Every hour it blew harder, and the waves came faster and bigger than before. The sea was no longer a highway; it was a tossing chaos of hills and valleys, sweeping toward us from the southeast with the force of the tornado, and reeling and plunging about us on every side. The ship was acting well, and showed no signs of distress thus far; but by midnight it seemed as though she had about as much as she could do. The officers and crew did their work in steady, seamanlike fashion, and among the soldiers there was no panic or bustle. Once in a while I would get up out of my berth, to look at the ship from the head of the companion way, or to go forward between decks and listen to the pounding of the sea against her bows. At one o'clock, for the first time, things were no longer growing worse; and in another hour or two it was certain that the gale had reached its height. Then I turned in for sleep, wedged myself into the berth with the blankets, and made no more inspection tours that night.

Next morning the wind had somewhat abated, though the sea was still rolling hard, under the impetus of an eighteen hours' blow. The ship was uninjured and everything on board in good condition. But where was the fleet? Of all the splendid company that left Hampton Roads four days ago, only two or three were in sight, looking disconsolate enough and pitching about like eggshells. We knew afterward that two of them had gone down, one had thrown overboard her battery of eight guns to keep from foundering, and others had turned back, disabled, for Fortress Monroe. But on the whole, most of them had escaped serious damage, and, like ourselves, were again making headway toward the south. Nevertheless it was a lonely day, and at nightfall we had no more companions about us than there were in the morning.

By this time we knew our destination. The sealed orders were opened and the ship put on her course. The next day, Sunday, was bright and clear, with a smooth sea. Other vessels began to appear, moving in the same direction; and before noon we were off Port Royal entrance, with ten or eleven ships in company. Stragglers continued to come up as the time passed, and on Monday morning when the flagship arrived, there were already twenty-five or thirty sail around her.

Any land looks pleasant from the sea, when you have been knocking about for some days in bad weather; and the South Carolina shore had a particularly attractive appearance for us, partly no doubt because we knew it would still be rather hard work getting there. It was ten miles away, but the mirage made it visible; and the long stretch of beaches and low sand bluffs, with their rows of pines, all sleeping in the quiet sunshine, had a kind of luxurious, semi-tropical look, at least to the imagination. Every light-house and buoy had been removed, and not a sign was left for guidance over the bar. But soon a busy little steamer was at work, sounding out the channel and placing buoys; and in the afternoon all except the deeper-draft vessels went in. We were among the first of the lot; and of those that followed, many showed the marks of their rough treatment at sea. The big sidewheel steamer, Winfield Scott, came in dismasted, and with a great patch of canvas over her bows, looking like a man with a broken head. Others had lost smoke-stacks, or stove bulwarks or wheel-houses. But when all that could get over the bar were collected inside, they still made a respectable fleet. The heavier vessels had to wait for another tide.

That was early next morning, when the Wabash came in, followed by the rest. A weather-beaten old tar was standing in her fore channels outside the bulwarks, feeling her way with lead and line; and as the great ship moved slowly by, we could hear his doleful, monotonous chant, "By the ma-ark fi-ive," telling that she was in thirty feet of water and going safely along. She passed through the fleet of transports and war vessels to her position in advance.

Meanwhile several gunboats had gone up the harbor, to learn something about the forts. They were firing away now and then, either at the enemy on shore or at the rebel gunboats hovering about beyond. We supposed that their errand was only preliminary, and felt no surprise at seeing them return after an hour or two and again quietly come to anchor. But in the afternoon, when the flagship herself got under way, we expected something more; especially as she had undergone a transformation and was now in fighting trim. Her topmasts were sent down, and all her lofty tracery of spars had disappeared. As she moved off, looking like a champion athlete stripped for the fray, every eye followed her in eager expectation. Soon a puff of smoke from one of the rebel batteries, followed by the dull reverberation of the report, and then another from the opposite shore, spoke out their defiance, as if they would like nothing better than to begin hostilities at once. But there was no answering gun from the frigate. On she went, in the same leisurely fashion, as if she had seen and heard nothing. More guns from the forts, more smoke and more reverberation. Now she will surely open her ports and show these blustering rebels, at least with a shot or two, what it is to fire upon a United States frigate. But no. She seemed to pause awhile as if in doubt, then turned and came slowly back toward the fleet, followed to all appearance by the parting scoffs of the enemy. It was impossible to repress a certain feeling of chagrin at seeing the flagship apparently chased out of the harbor, on the first trial, without even firing once in reply.

That was because we had been looking at something we did not understand. After getting the reports of the gunboats, the flagship had gone up to obtain for herself a few more particulars as to the location and outline of the forts. The cannonading was at too long range to do her any harm, and her expedition was meant for business, not for show.

However, the next day must find us ready; and perhaps it would be none too soon. We had now been four days, off and on, at the harbor entrance; and by this time all South Carolina knew where we were and what we had come for. Every additional twenty-four hours gave the enemy more time for preparation, without any advantage to us; and the longer the enterprise was deferred, the more difficult it would become. But the next day there was rather a high wind, with considerable sea; and accordingly matters again remained in statu quo. That was another disappointment. It seemed almost impossible that it should be so. Were these old sea-dogs, after coming six hundred miles on purpose, to be delayed in their work by a little rough water?

Well, yes. This was to be a contest between ships and forts. The forts are planted on the solid ground, and their guns are mounted on level platforms, with every angle of inclination sure and uniform. But the ships are afloat; and if rolling about with the sea, and their decks tipping this way and that, their aim must be uncertain and much of their metal thrown away. Of course, a fort is not to be reduced by firing guns at it, but by having the shot penetrate where it is meant to go. Captain Dupont was a man who had come to win, not to fight a useless battle with no result; and the way he went to work after the time arrived made it plain to all that he knew equally well when to stop and when to go ahead.