Part 17

Fort Morgan, under General Page, was well equipped, and kept the blockaders at a respectful distance. Shots were frequently exchanged between them and the fort, and sometimes, when they ventured to anchor too near the coast, they were surprised by a ball from a cannon, run out behind a sandhill during the night.

[Illustration: C. S. S. “FLORIDA” ENTERING MOBILE BAY, SEPT. 4, 1862.

FROM A PAINTING BY R. S. FLOYD.]

The cruiser _Florida_ was one of the ships built in England for the Confederacy, and turned over to its authorities out at sea. Maffitt took her to Nassau and Cuba, but, as his small crew was sick with yellow fever, and he needed further equipment, he made for Mobile. Personating an English vessel, the _Florida_, in broad daylight on September 4, 1862, ran by the _Oneida_, _Winona_ and _Cayuga_ into Mobile Bay, amid a hail of shot and shell. She remained four months, mainly in the deep water off Montrose. The Union fleet was strengthened, and was on the watch for her to come out. But Maffitt, on January 16th, before day, ran through the blockaders again, to their great chagrin, and, although chased, got away to capture prizes off the coast of Cuba. As it turned out, the only way the Federals were able to capture the _Florida_ was in the neutral port of Bahia, while her captain was ashore,--a flagrant breach of international law.

About Mobile a line of land fortifications was early built, at first too far out to be held by a small force. The entrenchments are still visible two miles from town, the most prominent being Fort Sidney Johnson, on the bay beyond Frascati. Afterwards one or more lines were constructed nearer in, and remains lately could be seen near the head of St. Joseph Street, on both sides of Government east of Ann Street, near the Bascombe race track and near the Southern Drain. Slave labor built them under the supervision of Engineers Pillans and Van Scheliha. These redoubts were never much used, however. The great battles for Mobile were fought at the mouth of the bay and near Blakeley.

Obstructions and torpedoes filled the channels between Forts Gaines and Morgan, except for a short distance immediately under the guns of Morgan. Within the bay lay the Confederate fleet, consisting of three gunboats and the powerful ram _Tennessee_. This vessel had been built during 1863 and 1864 at Selma, and was equipped with five-inch iron armor at Mobile. As she drew thirteen feet, while the Dog River bar allowed but eight or nine, wooden caissons were sunk and attached to her, and when they were pumped out they raised and lifted her also. The whole Confederate fleet mustered but four hundred and seventy men and twenty-two guns, while the Federal consisted of fourteen steamers and four monitors, carrying twenty-seven hundred men and one hundred and ninety-nine guns.

Farragut started on his perilous passage early in the morning of August 5th, his vessels lashed in pairs, the monitor _Tecumseh_ in the lead. Then came the _Brooklyn_ with her mate, and next the flagship _Hartford_, the Admiral in the rigging. As the stately procession neared the fort, all engaged on both sides in a murderous cannonade. Suddenly the _Tecumseh_ lurched, and, in a few seconds, sank, struck by a torpedo. The _Brooklyn_, despite her torpedo protector, wavered and backed, confusing the whole column, and giving the gunners in the fort an opportunity of which they made good use. But Farragut pushed the _Hartford_ to the front, and restored order, leading the others, amidst a galling fire, into the bay. A little boat had rowed out to save the few who did not go down in the _Tecumseh_, and the Confederates chivalrously refused to fire upon them, despite the Union flag defiantly run up. The fleet, though much damaged, gradually passed in.

An engagement followed with the little Confederate squadron, but the odds were too great. One gunboat was sunk, another captured, a third finally got away to Mobile, and the ram took shelter, apparently for repairs, under the guns of the fort. And then, to the astonishment of friend and foe, the _Tennessee_ boldly made straight up the bay to ram the Federal fleet. Vessel after vessel rammed and fought her, but she held her own, unwavering, seeking the flagship _Hartford_, which, however, was too swift for her to overtake. She engaged the whole fleet at once in one of the most heroic naval combats of history, and did not desist until her plates were loosened, port shutters jammed, smoke-stack carried away, many of the crew wounded, Admiral Buchanan disabled, and the steering apparatus shot away, leaving her as helpless as a log. Then, at last, she hauled down her flag. Farragut sent Buchanan and the wounded to Pensacola, a ship peaceably passing the fort after arrangements had been made for that purpose under a flag of truce.

Troops landed on Dauphine Island had already driven the Confederates into Fort Gaines, and it was invested by land and sea. Farragut had an interview with Col. Anderson, convinced him that resistance was useless, and thus induced him to surrender the fort with all its stores. The Pelham Cadets, Mobile’s home guard of young men, had lately been sent down, and they were captured with the regular garrison.

General Granger landed at Navy Cove with an overwhelming force, and after approaches, run gradually closer from day to day, by the 22d Fort Morgan was completely invested by army and navy. The discipline of the garrison continued perfect, standing the test of an unbroken bombardment, whose thunders were heard at Mobile, thirty miles away. Many shells were thrown into the fort, the citadel fired, and at last the walls were breached in several places. Further defence was impossible, and after spending a night in destroying everything capable of destruction General Page surrendered.

General J. E. Johnston is said to have pronounced Mobile the best fortified city in the Confederacy. If the fortifications on or near the Tensaw River could be taken, however, transports, if not vessels of the fleet, could be sent behind the torpedoes and obstructions to the city wharves.

[Illustration: HOME OF AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON.]

Therefore Canby, with forty-five thousand troops, including a column under Steele from Pensacola, undertook to overcome about five thousand Confederates in Spanish Fort, which was named from the bastion built by Galvez almost a century before. Randall L. Gibson, since Senator from Louisiana, was there in command, reporting--like Lidell at Blakeley--by telegraph to D. H. Maury at Mobile. Gibson handled his fifteen hundred men admirably from Fort McDermott on the right, Red Fort in the centre, and along the line to the swamp, which was relied on to protect his left. The principal gun in his Red Fort was an eight-inch Columbiad, cast at Selma in 1863, and manned by Louisiana artillery, commanded by Slocum. This gun did terrible execution, and dismantled a whole fortification. But, while the sand-bags were still removed for that shot, Federal gunners dismounted her, and killed several men at their posts by her side.[8] Spanish Fort held out thirteen days against over thirty thousand men. The riflemen in the opposing pits even became friendly, and exchanged yarns and courtesies. The fleet, after three vessels had been sunk by torpedoes, picked up enough torpedoes to get within range, and the discovery of a passage through the swamp made it necessary to abandon the whole fort. Blakeley, with its garrison of about three thousand, was finally stormed on April 9th, the day Lee surrendered in Virginia.

Maury felt that he could not hold Mobile with only four thousand five hundred men, for the Federals could now attack from the river and land at once; and so he withdrew to Meridian. Blakeley was the last great battle of the war.

The Federal troops occupied Mobile immediately upon the surrender by Mayor Slough on April 12th, camping in the suburbs, on Government Street and elsewhere. One unfortunate result was the terrible explosion on May 25th, from careless handling of ammunition in a warehouse on Water and Lipscomb Streets. There were hundreds killed, more than $700,000 of warehouse property was destroyed, and the whole business section of the city was injured. Such was the return of peace!

* * * * *

Mobile, since the Civil War, offers a fruitful field for study. The few flush years, when commerce first revived; Reconstruction, with slaves over masters; bond issues from 1870 on railroads that were never built, resulting in bankruptcy in 1879; the panics of 1873 and 1893, the first of which depressed everything, while the other showed that Mobile had become sound again; new railroads and commercial growth in every line, consequent on the Government’s cutting the ship channel, twenty-three feet deep, through the bars to the lower bay; the growing rivalry of the Gulf port with Eastern harbors for the Western trade to Latin America and even Europe; the passing of the once dreaded yellow fever; the good relations which have existed between the negroes and whites since they were relieved of outside interference; the Cuban War, with its American soldiers (some from Mobile) encamped on ground once occupied by Confederates, and the picturesque embarkation of troops for Santiago; extensive municipal improvements; impressive public structures, such as the Y. M. C. A. Building, new hotels, and the Semmes statue; the advance of literature, also, which has kept Augusta Evans as Mrs. Wilson, and added Madame Chaudron, Father Ryan, T. C. De Leon, Amélie Rives, Hannis Taylor, and others:--these things are important, but are too recent for detailed treatment.

[Illustration: AUGUSTA EVANS WILSON.]

The net result, however, is that Mobile has faced the political questions growing out of the war, the commercial conditions arising from the building of railroad systems eastward, the development of independent cities in what had been her exclusive territory, just as she has met so many other problems in her long history. What she could conquer she has overcome, and for what she must lose she has substituted other industries. Lumber, coal and iron far overbalance the loss of cotton, and there is no mean array of manufactures, while her railroad and steamship territory yearly increase. To-day her population, trade and prospects are greater than anything she has known before. She has had little of the outside capital which other towns have enjoyed, and she has had no “booms.” But the great fire of 1890, the storm of 1893, and even pestilence in 1897 did not daunt her. In wealth, culture and industry this Latin-American town has carved out her own place. Her shady streets and drives invite visitors, and her pleasant homes shelter quiet but energetic people. Born in romance, baptized in fire, educated in commerce, her past is interesting, her present prosperous, while her future promises to surpass them both.

[Illustration]

FOOTNOTES:

[8] This gun, called the Lady Slocum, could long be seen on Government Street in Mobile, but is now in New Orleans.

[Illustration]

MONTGOMERY

THE CRADLE OF THE CONFEDERACY

BY GEORGE PETRIE

Montgomery is best known to the general reader as the “Cradle of the Confederacy.” He turns to its history, if he cares to read it at all, to get a clearer local background for the stirring scenes enacted there in ’61. And it would have been hard to select for them a more appropriate setting. For in many ways Montgomery was then a typical Southern town. Situated in the heart of the cotton region, surrounded and supported by large plantations, it was the centre of much wealth and refinement. As the home of Yancey and other men of unusual ability and divergent politics, it had been the battleground where all phases of secession were keenly discussed. Moreover, although founded by a New Englander and originally named New Philadelphia, it had from the first taken a vigorous part in the economic and political struggles which gradually separated North and South.

[Illustration: OLD CANNON OF BIENVILLE.]

To reach the origin of Montgomery, one must go back nearly to the beginning of the century. From the misty traditions that early gathered like an Indian-summer haze about the red bluffs on which the city now stands, the first tangible object to emerge is old Moore’s log cabin, perched insecurely on the high river bank. Here Captain Woodward visited him, and long afterwards wrote: “Arthur Moore, the first white man that built a house and lived in it at Montgomery, built it in the latter part of 1815, or early in 1816. The cabin stood upon the bluff above what was once called the ravine.... The spot where the cabin stood had long gone into the river before I left the country.” Here it stood high and solitary on the crumbling cliff, a picturesque connecting link between the legendary days of the Indian Town, Ecunchatty, and the bustling Western scenes so soon to follow.

Barely two years later the territorial government of Alabama was established, and the prospect of protection under it proved an inducement to the tide of population then setting strongly toward the Southwest. Fabulous reports of the fertility of the soil got abroad, and a steady stream of settlers poured across from the land office at Milledgeville, Georgia, through the Creek lands into Alabama territory.

Among these pioneers were many men of excellent family from all parts of the South, and even from far-off New England. One of the earliest was Andrew Dexter, of Rhode Island, nephew of the well-known Samuel Dexter, of Massachusetts. In 1817 he bought the land on which the eastern half of Montgomery now stands, and paid for it later with the assistance of John Falconer, a fellow pioneer from South Carolina. Dexter was a man of large ideas and remarkable foresight, and at once recognized the importance of his purchase as a site for a town. By the very modern plan of offering free lots, he persuaded several traders to join his venture, and proceeded to lay off his town. With touching faith, he reserved a fine site on the crest of the most commanding hill for the future state capitol. It was a prophetic dream that had to wait thirty years for its fulfilment. Goat-sheds meanwhile adorned its brow, and gave it the unpoetic name, “Goat Hill.”

Among the original settlers who came with Dexter was John G. Klinck, a South Carolinian of sanguine and enthusiastic temperament, who, writing years afterwards of the town in these early days, says:

“As soon after this as I could have the centre pointed out to me, I selected my lot, which was a privilege of first choice, and to name the place, which I called New Philadelphia--and the name was never changed until 1819. I employed a Mr. Bell to build me a cabin, and in showing him where, we found on the corner a post oak in the way of laying the ground sill, when I immediately seized the axe and felled it, remarking to Bell, ‘This is the first tree: future ages will tell the tale.’”

Immigration was brisk, and the high and healthy bluffs were tempting sites for homes. So the next year, 1818, two more towns sprang up in sight of New Philadelphia. One was a mile or two down stream, and bore the name “Alabama Town.” The other, immediately adjoining, was called “East Alabama Town.” Its site is now included in the part of Montgomery west of Court Street. The jealous rivalry that followed was seasoned with many pranks played by one town on the other. The redoubtable Mr. Klinck, on one chilly night, fired his musket with such continued energy that the neighboring town supposed the Indians were upon them, fled over the river, and men, women and children spent the night among the canes and bushes.

The inconvenience of this rivalry soon became apparent, and on December 3, 1819, New Philadelphia and East Alabama Town were united in one town called Montgomery, a name whose origin Mr. Klinck explains thus:

“All was agreed, and the union took place. Now for the name? What shall be done? It will never do to call it ‘New Philadelphia,’ nor ‘Yankee Town’: either scent too strong for ‘Georgy.’ I have it: we will call it Montgomery, after the county. It was settled upon without a dissenting voice, and to the great satisfaction of all concerned, the name being equally dear to every American throughout the land.”

On the other hand, the Montgomery _Republican_ of 1821 states very positively that the county was named after Lemuel Montgomery, who fell in the fight against the Creek Indians at Horseshoe, and the town after Richard Montgomery, who was killed at Quebec. Perhaps the river bluffs may have suggested to local pride the heights of Quebec, or possibly the true explanation is suggested in Klinck’s last sentence. It was a name equally satisfactory to all parties. Like a political platform, they all accepted it, and then interpreted it to suit their tastes. The origin of the city in the union of two towns may still be traced in the fact that the streets west of lower Court Street run at an angle to those east of it. Alabama Town stayed out of the consolidation, but the union town had superior resources. First the business, then the citizens, drifted over, and like the earlier Indian town it passed into the twilight of history.

With union came strength and bigger notions, and Montgomery, in the twenties, was a bustling little frontier town, full of enterprise and ambition. One writer, with fond enthusiasm, speaks of its “dense population.” The editor of its first newspaper wrote: “Montgomery, from its high and airy situation ... is considered peculiarly healthy; indeed, many resort to that section during the Summer months.... For an infant establishment, it may be called a pleasant, flourishing town.” In another issue he adds: “Its present population is about six hundred.”

There was a healthy demand for houses, as is shown by the advertisements in the newspaper. One man offers a gun and a rifle in exchange for planks and shingles, and another a saddle-horse for bricks and mortar. A wholesome respect, at least, was shown for learning in the prompt establishment of schools, and in the advertised arrival of such sturdy books as Murray’s _Grammar_, Webster’s _Speller_, Watts’s _Psalms and Hymns_, and (for lighter use) song and dream books. Town and country struggle amusingly in the ordinance that imposed a tax of fifty cents for every dog a family kept--_more than one_.

The Court-House stood in the centre of what is at present Court Square, and from it the houses extended mainly in two lines, one up what is now Dexter Avenue, toward Goat Hill, the other down Commerce Street toward the river. Perhaps a trace of the New England “Meeting-house” is to be found in the multifarious uses to which this building was put. Here law courts met with suggestive frequency during the week, and the congregation assembled on Sundays when notified by a special messenger that a preacher was in town, while celebrations, oratory, and even dancing, kept it lively at night.

A motley population rises before our eyes as we run through the list of their amusements. There is the speculator at the horse-races, the frontiersman at the Indian ball game, the vociferous patriot at the regular celebration of the Fourth of July and Washington’s Birthday, and even the spirits of defeated Indians and English seem to gaze grimly from the background at the hearty observance of Jackson Day. Yet among all these the most significant fact is the earnestness and delight with which the drama was cultivated. A company composed of local amateurs on December 17, 1822, presented Shakespeare’s play, _Julius Cæsar_, in the upper story of the old building still standing at the corner of Commerce and Tallapoosa Streets, and if we may believe the newspaper “it went down to the satisfaction of a numerous and splendid audience.” Of the actors, one afterwards became Governor of Alabama, another United States Senator, another a State Supreme Court Judge, and a fourth, Governor of Georgia.

[Illustration: DEXTER AVENUE DURING A STREET FAIR.]

It was a memorable day in the history of this little town when, on April 3, 1825, the great Frenchman Lafayette, then on his last visit to America, stopped here. The reception given him, though not without its amusing incidents, portrays vividly the eager and open-hearted temper of the citizens. Escorted by three hundred Alabamians and a number of Indians, he reached Montgomery on a beautiful spring morning, and was met by the entire population on what is now Capitol Hill. Captain Woodward, who was one of his escort, thus quaintly describes the scene:

“On Goat Hill, and near where Captain John Carr fell in the well, stood Governor Pickens and the largest crowd I ever saw in Montgomery. Some hundred yards east of the Hill was a sand flat, where General Lafayette and his attendants quit carriages and horses, formed a line and marched to the top of the hill. As we started, the band struck up the old Scottish air, _Hail to the Chief_. As we approached the Governor, Mr. Hill introduced the General to him. The Governor tried to welcome him; but, like the best man the books give account of, when it was announced that he was commander of the whole American forces, he was scarcely able to utter a word. So it was with Governor Pickens. As I have remarked before, Governor Pickens had no superior in the State, but on that occasion he could not even make a speech. But that did not prevent General Lafayette from discovering that he was a great man.... The people of Montgomery did their duty. Col. Arthur Hayne, who was a distinguished officer in the army in the war of 1813, and who was the politest gentleman I ever saw, was the principal manager. If the Earl of Chesterfield had happened there, he would have felt, as I did the first time I saw a carpet on a floor, and was asked to walk in. I declined, saying, ‘I reckon I have got in the wrong place.’”

[Illustration: OLD BUILDING IN WHICH LAFAYETTE BALL WAS GIVEN IN 1825.]

He was hospitably entertained at Colonel Edmonson’s, on Commerce Street, where he received with kindly grace the crowds that pressed around him. At night a grand ball was given him in the building now standing on the corner of Commerce and Tallapoosa Streets; and in the small hours “a large concourse of citizens escorted him through the darkness down to the landing, and bid him a hearty but mournful adieu amid torrents of tears.”