Benjamnin F. Butler, Butler's Book: Autobiography and Personal Reminiscences of Major-General Benjamin Butler

1 I insert here another description of our adventures on Frying-Pan Shoals, written from Port Royal by my wife to her sister, which did not come to my eye until long afterwards:

We were at breakfast, congratulating each other on our escape from the storm, the delightful weather, and the rapid speed we were making. I left the table a moment, and was in my room preparing to go on deck, when there came a surging, grating sound from the bottom of the vessel. A pause — the engine stopped--(a hush of dread throughout the ship)--it worked again — another heavy lurching and quivering of the ship — again the engine stopped. We were aground on Frying-Pan Shoals, fifteen miles from shore. The coast held by the enemy. Four or five small boats, and sixteen hundred people aboard. Dismay on every face. I asked General Butler of the danger. “A hundred-fold more than the storm. But there is no time for words — I must look to the ship.” Yet for a time we were safe; the day was fine — the vessel imbedded in sand, so that her keel would not be stove with rocks. Brains and hands worked busily, devising and executing ways to get her off; and men watched for sails at every point, for there, in truth, was almost our only hope. At last, one appeared in sight. Signals were hoisted. (It was proposed to hoist it with the union down. “Not so,” said General Butler; “let the union go up.” ) Guns were fired to show our distress, though apprehensive she might prove a rebel steamer, and we be forced to fight in our crippled state, or yield, inglorious prisoners. She could not come directly to us, and hours were consumed before she could round the shoals, and feel her way slowly with the lead, somewhere within a mile of us. She proved a friend. It was now late in the afternoon. We ran on at full tide, and must wait till it returned, at seven in the evening, before we could hope to pull her off. A hawser was stretched to the other vessel, and the soldiers moved double quick fore and aft to loosen her from the sand. They labored and pulled, but failed to lift her; the tide was not yet full. Two or three hundred men were already sent to the Mt. Vernon. The wind began to rise, and the waves to swell into the heavy seas, that look so dark and wrathful, General Butler came to me and said: “You must make ready to go in a few minutes.” Captain Glisson was about to return to his own vessel, and would take me with him. The general's duty would be to remain until every man was safe, or while the ship held together. This was clear enough, and I only said: “I would rather remain here if you are willing.” I know not why, but I felt more safety where I was than in that little boat tossing below in the mad waves, or in the strange vessel in the distance. “Why do you think of such a thing?” he said. “Are you mad that you would risk to the children the loss of both?” --“I will go,” I answered, “when the captain is ready.” General Butler went away to the pilot-house. The ship was beating heavily on the surf, and men's hearts beat heavier still, as the night swept toward us. The deck was crowded with men. Major Bell gave me his arm. There was a move — a “Make way for Mrs Butler.” I was helped over the railing. (One man spoke out: “Well, if a woman can keep cool, it will be strange if we can't.” ) Captain Glisson preceded me down the side of the ship, and aided us as much as possible. The boat was tossing like a nut-shell far below, as down the unsteady ladder we slipped. When nearly at the bottom, the captain said: “Jump, madam--we'll catch you;” and down I went into the boat, “Pull, men — be lively!” the captain called out every few minutes. A wave leaped up and drenched the man at the tiller; he shrank from it, but the captain urged to greater speed. In a quarter of an hour we were aboard the Mt. Vernon. Only two boats followed--two more were obliged to put back; the waves were so rough they could not make the ship.

I sat in the cabin sick and trembling. If they could not get her off the shoals (where in a little while she would beat to pieces), how could those thousand men escape? The duty of the officers was to take care of the men, and the highest in command must be the last to leave. The Mt. Vernon was too small to take them all, even if they could reach us. One would not like to encounter many such hours.

The captain came often to tell me what was doing. He had sent his best officer to our ship, and, when the tide was full, there was a chance she might be moved. (I saw he had little hope she would be.) Only one ship ever escaped from those shoals that met the misfortune to ground there. Soon after the captain went out, there came a long shout swelling over the water — not a cry of distress but a shout of joy: “Hurrah! hurrah! she is off the shoals and into deep water!” In two hours we were out of those dangerous waters, and safely anchored. The Mt. Vernon touched three times while she was aiding, but happily escaped.

The next morning General Butler came on board to breakfast. It was decided we must keep, on to Port Royal, a hundred and sixty miles, and there repair. Down the ship's side, and again on our own vessel. This time I was drawn up in a chair draped with flags. I think many were, glad to see me back; it looked as though we had confidence in the ship I have not yet told you her condition: her forward compartment filled with water, and leaking into the next — the pumps working continually to keep it out; the bow much deeper in the water than the stern, but the machinery quite perfect. Our safety must depend on the weather. I must tell you the hole in the bow was made by the anchor, thrown over after we had grounded, the ship working round on to it. One would have thought we were fast enough without the anchor.