The ugly-looking crafts were manned by volunteers for the occasion, and though never yet in a fight, they had even more than the determined spirit of the "veterans." They were spoiling for the fray. One fear only served to dampen their ardor. The waters might be flowing at low tide on Red Fish when the hour came to pass it, and they could not pass it before, for fear of discovery by the Federal fleet, to whom they intended a complete surprise.
The land forces were at Virginia Point, ready to cross the two-mile bridge, and move up the island toward the city. Just at the dying of the old year, and the birth of the new, the two forces began to move; the one by water, the other by land, with flying artillery. The rolling wheels were muffled in the sand, and with silent roll and tread they moved on, and took-well chosen positions. The two forces were to co-operate. They were to strike together at the moment when the moon should be gone to rest, which was at five o'clock in the morning. The land forces were there, and ready to open fire at the time, but waited till a few minutes after, hoping to hear the signal gun from the fleet first. But not so; the fleet then was hanging on Red Fish in low tide, as feared. Fatal detention, if not soon released, and taking part in the action now progressing. They could hear the booming cannon miles away, and in panting mood, and with desperate effort, they float once more, and steam to the scene of action, two hours late—but "better late than never." Victory was trembling in the balance between the contending forces. One ram made direct for the "Harriet Lane," firing as she went, and struck her obliquely on the hind quarter. The rigging of the two vessels became tangled together so that they could not separate. The boarders rushed upon the deck of the "Harriet Lane" with cutlasses, knives, and navy shooters, and demanded her surrender. But her commander, Captain Wainwright, refused. And then they fought, bravely fought, hand to hand, on both sides, until Wainwright fell, shot through the heart, on his own deck, saying as he expired: "Tell mother I defended the 'Harriet' as long as I could." Sherman, his first lieutenant, was mortally wounded. By this time the deck was running with blood from the dead and dying, and the white flag was run up to the masthead, and the whole fleet in the bay thereby surrendered. Meanwhile one of the Confederate gun-boats had sunk, being struck by a cannon-ball below water mark. One of Magruder's couriers was at this moment carrying an order to the troops to cease fighting and retreat; and another courier rushed to headquarters with the news of the surrender, and the General ordered him placed under arrest for bringing a false report. But he was soon released, for, sure enough, it was 8 o'clock, the victory was won, and the "New-Year's gift was made."
Touching incidents sometimes occur on such occasions. There was one deeply so on this occasion. General Sherman, whose history ran back to the stirring times of the Texas Republic, was in command of the Confederate ram that fought the "Harriet Lane." Lieutenant Sherman, just fallen on her deck, was his son. There they had met in deadly strife, father and son, the latter mortally hurt, and life fast ebbing away. But they did not recognize each other till the bloody contest was over, and then, at the moment of recognition, the son exclaims in feeble tones: "O, is that you, father? and have we been fighting each other? The day is lost, and I am dying now, father! Can I not have the holy sacrament to my comfort before I die?" We will not attempt to describe the agony of that father's heart, as he bent to embrace his dying boy, and to say, "Yes, my son; O, my darling son!" The sacrament was given and taken together by living father and dying son, who in one short hour afterward as each said—"Forgive me, father," and "Forgive me, my son"—breathed his life out sweetly, lying on his father's bosom. The next day a solemn military procession, with soft and reverent tread, passed to the cemetery, where the father himself read the sublime service of the Episcopal Church—of which father and son were both members—over his boy's grave. Solemn salutes were fired in honor of the noble dead. The victory and the defeat were alike forgotten, and regretted for the day, under the sublime touch of a human scene so tender, so grandly holy! We know the father well, a good man, though a rebel.
The news of the victory passed over the State with an electric thrill, and gave the people an elevation of spirits, from which they never fully came down, even at the close of the war. This, with an easy victory obtained at Sabine Pass, about the same time, by an Irish company of artillery in fortifications, by which a fleet was repulsed, and one or two of the largest vessels disabled and captured, gave Texas somewhat of a feeling of invincibility.
CHAPTER XIII.
NICARAGUA SMITH.
The next day after the retaking of Galveston, another sensation occurred, but of an entirely different character, showing other phases of human nature, and developing a different class of feelings. The circumstances were as follows: That day a fleet of transports hove in sight outside, just from New Orleans, bringing fifteen thousand troops, to reinforce the small garrison already there—one or two regiments. These troops belonged to General Banks' Department, and were sent to Galveston to commence operations on a larger scale than had ever been attempted before. It was an earnest purpose and part of a general plan for the subjugation of the "Lone Star" State. They were to make Galveston the Gulf base of operations, and penetrate inland to Houston, and thus up the Texas Central Railroad into the interior of the country, forming a junction with the expedition coming in from the Red River way, in accordance with plans traced on military maps. This would create a diversion, and compel the Texas forces to remain at home, and not be sent to fight Banks' main expedition. The scheme was doubtless a good one in its conception, and looked like the scheme of Grant and Sherman to break that portion of the Confederate backbone, lying west of the Mississippi. More than this, it was a part of the grand whole devised by them for crushing every part of the monster east and west of the Father of Waters.
The fleet knew nothing of the retaking of Galveston the day before. So they sent in a small craft with a few men, to herald their coming. The forerunner suspected nothing but what all was right till they reached the landing, where they were taken in charge by Confederate hands. The pilot proved to be a man who had volunteered in the Confederate army at the opening of the war, and was placed on sentinel duty at Bolivar Point, across the bay from Galveston, and one foggy night he stole a boat and deserted to the fleet outside, some months before. His name was Smith, but he bore the significant and historic name by which he was familiarly known on Galveston Island, of "Nicaragua" Smith. He had been with Walker in his filibustering expedition against Nicaragua. He was one of the worst desperadoes ever known in all that country, though so far he had managed to escape the hands of justice. But now, at last, he was caught as a deserter, and acting as pilot to the enemy, conducting him to the place and scenes he was so familiar with. The United States flag was still flying on the Custom House in plain view of the fleet. The deception at first was perfect, and the Confederate authorities hoped to play the game out, and capture the whole fleet, so they sent out true and trusty men in Federal uniform and equippage, to invite and conduct them in. But something raised suspicion—the want of proper salutes and signals, also credentials from the Commodore of the "Harriet Lane" fleet, now captured. The Commodore was blown up in an attempt to blow up one of the vessels after the surrender, and which was contrary to the usages of war.