"Torpedoes," was the only word that reached his ears.
The gallant admiral then used a strong word. It was not a word to be used in polite society. But we must remember that battle was raging about him and he was in a fury.
"Damn the torpedoes!" he cried. "Follow me!"
Straight on the good ship sailed, right for the nest of torpedoes, with the admiral in the shrouds.
In a minute more the Hartford was among them. They could be heard striking against her bottom. Their percussion caps snapped, but not one went off. Their tin cases had rusted and they were spoiled. Only one of them all went off that dreadful day of battle. That saved many of the ships.
The fort and the torpedoes were passed, but the Confederate ships remained. It did not take long to settle for the gunboats, but the iron-clad Tennessee remained. Putting on all steam, this great ship ran down on the Union fleet. Through the whole line it went and on to the fort. But it was as slow as a tub and the ships were easily kept out of its way.
Then, when the men were at breakfast, back again came the Tennessee. They left their coffee and ran to their guns. It was like the old story of the Merrimac and the wooden ships in Hampton Roads.
But Farragut did not wait to be rammed by the Tennessee. If ramming was to be done he wanted to do it himself. So all the large vessels steamed head on for the iron-clad, butting her right and left. They hit one another, too, and the Hartford came near being sunk. Then came the monitors, as the first Monitor had come against the Merrimac. There were three of these left, but one did the work, the Chickasaw. She clung like a burr to the Tennessee, pouring in her great iron balls, and doing so much damage that soon the great ship was like a floating hulk. It could not be steered nor its guns fired.
For twenty minutes it stood this dreadful hammering, and then its flag came down. The battle was won.
"It was the most desperate battle I ever fought since the days of the old Essex," said Farragut.