Rebellion Record: a Diary of American Events: Documents and Narratives, Volume 6.
Frank Moore, Ed.

sir: I have the honor to report that in the attack on this place, on the evening of the tenth, this vessel was struck several times, but with no serious injury to vessel or crew. In the attack on the eleventh, one of the ten-inch guns was struck in the muzzle, and both gun and carriage destroyed; one thirty-two-pounder carriage struck and destroyed; one of the iron plates on forward casemate badly broken by shot; the wood-work about two of the port badly torn by shot, and one lower-deck beam cut off by a plunging shot through the deck. The other injuries, although considerable, can be repaired on board in a few days. I lost two men killed, and fifteen wounded--two probably mortal and several seriously. The loss was from shot and shell entering the ports. My officers and men behaved with the greatest gallantry and coolness, and the practice with the guns was excellent. I expended forty-five ten-inch shells, nine ten-inch shrapnel, seventy eight-inch shells, and thirty-seven thirty-two-pounder shells.

Inclosed I send the surgeon's report of killed and wounded.

I am, sir, very respectfully, your obedient servant,

John Ryan, landsman, killed; Theo. Bender, third-class boy, severely wounded, probably mortal; Peter Olton, coxswain; Geo. Smith, seaman, severely; Jos. Bader, seaman; Jno. Farren, seaman; William Smith, seaman; M. C. Doreohs, slightly wounded; Wm. Swisler, seaman; Joseph H. Malon, seaman; Alfred H. Boyle, yeoman; Oscar Jordan, seaman; Antonio de Uroa, seaman; Geo. Fales, seaman; William Kelley, seaman; Pierre Leon, seaman; John Glenn, seaman.

sir: I have the honor to report having sustained no serious damage in the attack on the tenth. One shell struck us at the water-line forward, and a second went through the upper works. We were equally fortunate during the attack of yesterday, although struck nine times on the bow-casement, pilot-house, and upper work.

This vessel fired the first gun, at half-past 1 o'clock P. M., and in half or three quarters of an hour the right casement gun of the Fort — the one assigned to us — was silenced, when our fire was directed on the left casement and barbette guns, and afterward in shelling the interior of the Fort. We engaged the Fort at three hundred yards.

I have the honor to mention Acting Ensign A. F. O'Neil, Acting Master's Mate Henry Boobey, and Acting Gunner John F. Ribblett, the officers commanding the bow-guns, for coolness and skill in directing their fire.

Very respectfully, your obedient servant,

sir: I have the honor to report that there were expended on board this ship, during the attack upon this Post, by the forces under your command, on the tenth instant, fourteen Parrott shells and two eight-inch shells, and during the final and victorious assault of to-day, forty-nine eight-inch shells and forty Parrott shells. I am happy to report no casualties. The woodwork of the ship and two of our boats are somewhat damaged.

I have the honor to be, sir, your most obedient servant,

The eighth found our fleet on its way back from the ill-planned attack at Vicksburgh, opposite the mouth of White River. There was one change for the better, however. The troops, although somewhat dispirited, were no longer under a leader whom they wholly distrusted. An alteration was needed, and General Sherman was not superseded a moment two soon. General McClernand had taken command in his place.

At the mouth there was a pause, and White River's silent banks, its narrow channel entering into and losing itself almost immediately in the dense forest, became endued with a new interest. That lonely ribbon of water, winding like a serpent out of sight among trees hoary and bearded with the long, gray Spanish moss, had been for two years silent to commerce. Far up it, instead of friendly towns were hostile strongholds, and torpedoes and traps in lieu of other welcome.

Preparations for advancing were made, and early on the eighth the noble fleet turned from the Mississippi into this stream that seemed hardly more than a bayou. It appeared as if we would choke it up, as if as many paddles beating at once might dash all the waters out and leave us imbedded in mud. There were no houses, no farms, nothing but swamps and wilderness, which gave back the echoes of our progress, the hoarse puffs of escaping steam and snatches of songs. A few miles from the mouth of White River we entered the “cut-off” and passed into the Arkansas. These two streams being near each