The older readers of this will remember very well the excitement occasioned throughout the nation by the gathering of this vast fleet at Hampton Roads. For the administration had determined to keep the destination of the expedition a secret, and it succeeded so well that the mystery remained until after the fleet was gone.
S. W. Godon.
From a painting at the Naval Academy, Annapolis.
On October 28th the Vandalia sailed away from Hampton Roads at the head of the coal fleet of twenty-five schooners, the schooner captains having been ordered to go to Tybee Bar, Savannah, in case they parted company. The next day, October 29, 1861, the squadron, the most powerful aggregation of fighting ships the United States had ever brought together, steamed slowly out of the Chesapeake and headed away to the South “after considerable delay in forming a double echelon line outside.” All that night and all the next day the squadron was easily kept in hand, but during the next night the easterly breeze hardened and the seas began to grow. As the squadron passed Cape Hatteras, on the 31st of October, two of the transports touched on the Diamond Reef. No damage was done, but as the squadron continued down the coast the wind canted to the southeast, and before nightfall of Friday, November 1st, a hurricane was upon them. The flag officer gave orders for each captain to look out for himself, and at that the fleet slowly scattered as the ships were headed into the gale.
That was a night never to be forgotten by any landsman afloat in the fleet. As the seas rose the foam and spoondrift turned into tossing, phosphorescent flames that swept across the black water, adding terrors by their weird light to the fears already excited by the laboring of the ships. The warships were well found and able, of course, but a sorrier fleet of transports was never sent to sea, for it was composed in great part of inland water steamers, lighters, and ferryboats, and here they were trying to live in a Hatteras hurricane.
The first to suffer disaster was the transport Governor, a side-wheeler, carrying a battalion of marines, 700 strong. As night came on, the big arching timbers known as the hog-braces gave way one after another. The marines and the crew worked together to repair the damage, with partial success; but she rolled so heavily that her smoke-stack was pitched over the rail, and it was then impossible to keep a full head of steam on, and the pilot could no longer control her. In swinging off into the trough of the sea, she was strained so badly that the seams were opened. The leak grew worse and the rudder chains parted, and there she lay, absolutely helpless and steadily filling with water, in spite of the labors of hundreds of willing men at the pumps and with buckets.
At last daylight came, and with it help. The sailing ship Sabine, Captain Ringgold, hove in sight. It was known that the ships were on soundings, and the Sabine anchored, with the Governor astern of her also at anchor. Then the Sabine paid out chain until she was near enough for a transfer of the men. Seven were killed by being caught between the ships or tumbling into the sea, but the rest were saved, with their arms. The Governor sank. The transport Peerless was also lost, but her people, twenty-six in number, were taken off by the Mohican, Captain Godon.
Josiah Tattnall.