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“Full astern,” he shouted down the hatch to Hardy.
In Manassas’s engine room, one of the condensers had sprung a leak, and the hold was filled with a thick cloud of steam. A crewman had been badly burned and lay off to one side, moaning. Hardy diverted the steam through one of the side ports on Manassas—a device designed to repel boarders by blasting them with a stream of scalding water and steam. Tying a rag over the split condenser pipe, he slammed the controls into full astern.
But Manassas did not move.
As soon as the Union officers organized their crews to begin firing, Manassas would be taking direct broadsides. Austin wasn’t confident that the armor plating could withstand such an attack. He spun the wheel hard to starboard in an attempt to free his command.
Manassas shuddered as the propellers began to find purchase.
“Get us out of here,” Warley yelled to Austin.
Austin still had no idea the ram was wedged in Toone’s hull. On Toone, a seaman aimed at Manassas with a black-powder revolver. He was just about to squeeze off a round when a thin stream of scalding water struck him in the face. Screaming in pain, he flipped over the side into the river. At that instant, Manassas’s propeller shaft slowed, then reversed direction. The four-bladed bronze prop began to bite at the muddy water.
Deep inside Toone, the iron bolts holding the ram to the solid wood bow began to squeal like a pig stuck by a saber. Something had to give, and it would not be the interwoven layers of hardwood forming the bow. Manassas crabbed its way sideways.
And then, like a string of firecrackers being ignited, the nuts began to pop off.
The nuts, with portions of the bolts still attached, shot across the cargo hold of Toone and embedded themselves in the far wall. All at once, the ram was pulled from the bow of Manassas. With the wheel turned to the locks, the Confederate ram had little choice but to respond to the helm. Once free, the vessel slammed full abeam into Toone. Richmond and Toone had been anchored perpendicular to the current, with their anchors upstream. This allowed the Union vessels a margin of safety in case of attack — the ca
Manassas slipped under one of the hawsers holding the anchor.
The thick line slapped against the rounded wooden deck and pulled tight. Deep below the Mississippi River, Toone’s anchor was wedged against the hulk of a sunken French schooner. The wreck had lain in the mud for nearly a century and was stuck as fast as if encased in cement.
“Get us out of here,” Warley yelled to Austin.
Austin still had no idea the ram was wedged in Toone’s hull.
“I’m backing out,” he shouted. “We’ll come at her again.”
Manassas lurched in reverse. The inside of the ship quickly filled with smoke.
“I’ve got no draft for the fires” Hardy yelled topside, “and one of the condensers is blown. We’re now down to a single engine.”
Austin backed away to assess the damage.
As soon as Manassas engaged Richmond, the rest of the Confederate flotilla sprang into action. The tugs Watson and Tuscarora raced past. Attached to their sterns were a total of five burning fire rafts, and the two ships were looking for a target. Just then, the guns of Richmond opened up. The Union gu
Manassas backed away a short distance in the fog, and Warley assumed control. Almost at once, he noticed that the ship was responding sluggishly.
“Something is wrong,” he shouted to Austin.
Just then Hardy popped his head through the hatch from the engine room. Hardy’s face was covered with soot, and his eyes were as red as a Washington apple. In one hand, he held an ax.
“I can see up through the deck,” he shouted. “The stack is attached and dragging.”
With Austin supporting him on the slick deck, the two men hacked off the smokestack. It floated a short distance, then sank from sight. Climbing back down into the pilothouse, Hardy addressed Warley.
“Sir, we’re damaged,” Hardy said. “The ram is gone, and we’re down to one engine. Other than our single gun, we’re completely defenseless.”
Warley nodded and turned his crippled vessel upstream.
“There will be time to fight another day,” he said slowly.
When it was all said and done, the battle at the Head of the Passes decided little. The Union navy suffered damage that they repaired, and the blockade was not broken. Even so, the actions of the Confederate fleet gave the citizens of New Orleans a much-needed shot of confidence. The crew of Manassas was hailed as heroes, and the vessel was towed to the shipyard for repairs. The vessel, which had entered its first battle as a privateer, officially entered into the roles of the Confederate navy. Engineer Hardy was promoted, and Charles Austin was made her official master.
The repairs necessary on Manassas stretched on for months. Her appearance was now changed. Instead of two thin stacks, she now sported a single thick one.
For Union pla
The most important city was New Orleans — a hotbed of rebellion and unrest as well as a growing center of shipbuilding and weapons manufacture. By 1861, a total of five shipyards and twelve docks were operating, and the city was second only to Norfolk, Virginia, as a Confederate shipbuilding center. New Orleans had inventors and risk-takers. The first Confederate submarines were tested in Lake Pontchartrain, and newly developed torpedoes (sea mines) were designed there. Equally important, a large number of the cotton traders funding the rebellion lived in the city, and the blockade ru
Primary defense for the city was provided by Fort St. Philip on the east side of the river and Fort Jackson on the west. The pair of forts were located some seventy-five miles downstream, near the Head of the Passes. Fort St. Philip was considered to be the stronger of the two. Built of brick and rock and covered with sod, it had originally been constructed by the Spanish. St. Philip had a total of fifty-two guns pointed at the river. To the west, across the expanse of muddy water, Fort Jackson had been built by the Union before the war and bristled with seventy-five guns.
In addition to the pair of forts, a second barrier to the Union navy had been laid in place. Stretched across the river between the two forts was a heavy chain that was supported by the sunken hulks of six sacrificed schooners designed to snag any Union vessels venturing upstream.
At first glance, the Confederacy fielded what appeared to be a formidable defense.
“Ship Island,” David Farragut said quietly.
Folding his brass spyglass, Farragut slid it into the pocket of his uniform jacket. Farragut was one of the Union navy’s few flag officers, and his uniform proudly displayed this fact. His epaulets featured the stars denoting his rank. Unlike most of his officers and men, Farragut’s uniform had been carefully tailored and fit him perfectly. Farragut was not a tall man, but his erect posture and squared shoulders made him appear larger. A sense of his own importance infused his being and radiated outward to envelop those around him. Farragut was a man comfortable with leading, comfortable with decisions, and comfortable with fate. The fleet he commanded had left Hampton Roads, Virginia, on February 2. Nine days later, they stopped in Key West, and nine more found him here in the Gulf of Mexico off the Mississippi River.