Harper's Encyclopedia of United States History
Benson Lossing, Ed.

I like to talk and write about Cushing. He was one of those brave spirits developed by the Civil War who always rose to the occasion. He was always ready to undertake any duty, no matter how desperate, and he generally succeeded in his enterprises, from the fact that the enemy supposed that no man would be foolhardy enough to embark in such hazardous affairs where there seemed so little chance of success. A very interesting volume could be written on the adventures of Cushing from the time he entered the navy until his death, during which period he performed some remarkable deeds and left a reputation unparalleled for so young an officer.

One of the most gallant and successful affairs accomplished during the Civil War was the destruction of a Confederate ironclad ram by Lieutenant Cushing at Plymouth, N. C., on the night of Oct. 27, 1864. It may be remembered that the ram Albemarle had suddenly appeared at Plymouth, causing the destruction of the United States steamer Southfield, the death of the brave Lieutenant Flusser, and the retreat of the double-ender Miami, and had subsequently attacked a flotilla under Capt. Melancton Smith, inflicting munch damage, but was obliged finally to retire before the Union vessels under the guns of Plymouth, which had fallen into the hands of the Confederates owing to the advent of the Albemarle.

As soon as Lieutenant Cushing heard of this affair he offered his services to the Navy Department to blow up the Albemarle, provided the department would furnish proper torpedo-boats with which to operate. His services were accepted, and he was ordered to the New York navyyard to superintend the fitting-out of three torpedo-launches on a plan deemed at that time a very perfect one.

Cushing, though a dashing “free-lance,” was not so well adapted to the command of a “flotilla” (as he called his three steam-launches). When completed, he started with his boats from New York, via the Delaware and Raritan Canal, as proud as a peacock. One of them sank in the canal soon after he started; another was run on shore by the officer in charge, on the coast of Virginia, in Chesapeake Bay, where she was surrendered to the Confederates; while Cushing, with that singular good luck which never deserted him, steamed down the bay through the most stormy weather, and arrived safely at Hampton Roads, where he reported to me on board the flag-ship Malvern.

This was my first acquaintance with Cushing, and, after inquiring into all the circumstances of the loss of the other two torpedo-boats. I did not form the most favorable opinion of Cushing's abilities as a flotilla commander. Cushing's condition when he reported on board the flag-ship was most deplorable. He had [477] been subjected to the severest exposure for over a week, without shelter, had lost all his clothes except what little he had on, and his attenuated face and sunken eyes bore witness to the privations he had suffered. Officers and crew had subsisted on spoiled ship's biscuit and water and an occasional potato roasted before the boiler fire.

I at once ordered Cushing and his men to stow themselves away for rest, and directed them not to appear till sent for. In the mean time the launch, which had been very much disarranged and shattered, was being put in complete order. After the officers and crew had obtained forty-eight hours rest, I sent for Cushing and gave him his instructions, which were to proceed through the Dismal Swamp Canal and the sounds of North Carolina, and blow up the Albemarle, then lying at Plymouth preparing for another raid on the Union fleet. Commander W. H. Macomb, commanding in the sound, was ordered to give Cushing all the assistance in his power with men and boats.

When rested and dressed, Cushing was a different-looking man from the pitiable object who had presented himself to me two days before. Scanning him closely, I asked him many questions, all of which were answered satisfactorily, and, after looking steadily into his cold gray eye and finding that he did not wink an eyelid, I said: “You will do. I am satisfied that you will perform this job. If you do, you will be made a lieutenantcommander.”

On the very morning appointed for Cushing to sail on his perilous expedition an order came from the Navy Department to try him by court-martial for some infraction of international law towards an English vessel, which, according to Mr. Seward, had endangered the entente cordiale between England and the United States. I showed Cushing the order, but he was not disconcerted. “Admiral,” he said, “let me go and blow up the Albemarle, and try me afterwards.”

“Well done for you,” I said; “I will do it. Now get off at once, and do not fail, or you will rue it.”

So Cushing, who dreaded a courtmartial more than he did the ram, went on his way rejoicing, passed through the canal, and on Oct. 27 reported to Commander Macomb.

Cushing was near coming to grief on his first setting-out. Like all “free-lances,” he liked a frolic, and could not resist champagne and terrapin; so on the evening of his arrival at Norfolk he gave a supper to his numerous friends, “and then—the deluge!” I heard of the supper, of course—it was my business to hear of such things—and I despatched Fleet-Captain Breese in a swift steam-launch to arrest the delinquent and have him tried for intruding on the entente cordiale between the United States and Great Britain; but Captain Breese returned with the report that Cushing was on his way, and that “it was all right.” “No,” I said, “it is not ‘all right’ ; and if the expedition fails, you—” But never mind what I said.

By eight o'clock on Oct. 27 Cushing had picked out his volunteers from Macomb's flotilla. They consisted of thirteen officers and men, one of whom was the faithful William L. Howarth, who had accompanied him in most of his daring adventures, and these two together felt that they were a match for any iron-clad in the Confederacy. That night Cushing started off on the expedition, towing the Otsego's cutter with an armed crew, who were to be employed in seizing the Confederate lookouts on board of the late United States steamer Southfield, which lay below Plymouth with her decks just above water.

The ram lay about 8 miles from the mouth of the river, which was 200 or 300 yards in width and supposed to be lined with Confederate pickets. The wreck of the Southfield was surrounded by schooners, and it was understood that a gun had been mounted here to command the bend of the river. When the steamlaunch and her tow reached the Southfield, the hearts of the adventurers began to beat with anxiety. Every moment they expected a load of grape and canister, which would have been the signal for qui vive all along the river-bank.

The expedition was looked upon as a kind of forlorn hope by all who saw it start, and Cushing himself was not certain of success until after he passed the Southfield and the schooners. His keen [478] gray eye looked into the darkness ahead, intent only on the Albemarle. The boat astern of the launch cast off at the right time and secured the pickets on board the schooners without firing a shot, and

Destruction of the Albemarle.

Cushing and his party passed unobserved by the pickets on the river-banks, who depended on the lookouts on board the Southfield and were making themselves comfortable under cover. This was a fortunate circumstance for Cushing, for otherwise the expedition might have failed. As it was, the torpedo-launch was enabled to approach unobserved to within a few yards of the Albemarle.

The ram had been well prepared for defence, and a good lookout was kept up on board. She was secured to a wharf with heavy logs all around her—in fact, she was in a pen. Half of her crew were on deck with two field-pieces and a company of artillery, and another company of artillery was stationed on the wharf with several field-pieces, while a bright fire of pine logs burned in front of them.

Cushing immediately comprehended the situation, and while he was making his plans the lookout on board the Albemarle discovered the launch and hailed, when there succeeded great excitement and confusion among the enemy. Cushing dashed at the logs on which the light was reflected, and by putting on all steam he pushed them aside and struck the Albemarle bows on. In the mean time the enemy had become thoroughly aroused, and the men on board the ram rushed to quarters and opened on the torpedo-boat, but the Confederates were swept away by the discharge of a 12-pound howitzer in the bow of the launch. A gun loaded with grape and canister was fired by the enemy, but the fire of the boat howitzer disconcerted the aim of the Confederate gunner, and the charge passed harmlessly over.

While all this firing was going on the torpedo boom was deliberately lowered until it was under the Albemarle's bottom, or overhang, and by a quick pull of the firing-rope the torpedo was exploded. There was a tremendous crash and a great upward rush of water which instantly filled the torpedo-boat, and she went drifting off with the current, but she left the Albemarle rapidly sinking. The Confederate commander, Lieut. A. W. Warley, encouraged his crew and endeavored to keep his vessel afloat as soon as he discovered the damage done, but the water gained so rapidly through the aperture made by the explosion that the Albemarle was soon on the bottom, her smoke-stack only remaining above water. As the Confederates had no appliances for raising the iron-clad, they did all they could to damage her further, knowing that the [479] Federal flotilla would not be long in appearing to claim the prize. the Albemarle had been fully prepared for this attack, and had her crew at their posts; which makes the successful raid the more to be appreciated. A good watch was kept on board the ram, as was shown by the alertness with which the crew got to quarters and fired their guns; but they escaped to the shore with equal alertness, tor the Albemarle sank with great rapidity. It was fortunate for Cushing that he succeeded in passing the pickets along the river undisturbed, for otherwise he would have had a warm reception all along the line; but he seemed to be the child of fortune, and his good luck followed him to the close of the war.

When the fire was opened on the torpedo-boat, Assistant-Paymaster Frank H. Swan was wounded at Cushing's side. How many others had been injured was not known. It seemed as if a shower of grapeshot had hit the boat, and that a rifle shell had passed through her fore and aft; but this was not so. The boat had sunk from the rush of water caused by the torpedo; and when Cushing saw that she would probably fall into the hands of the enemy he jumped overboard with some of the crew and swam down the river under a heavy fire of musketry, which, however, did no harm.

When some of the crew of the torpedoboat who had jumped overboard saw that she had only filled with water and did not sink, they swam back to her and climbed on board, hoping that the boat would float away with the current from the scene of danger; but in this they were mistaken; for as soon as the Confederates recovered from their panic and saw the torpedo-boat drifting away, they manned the boats of the Albemarle which were still intact and followed the author of the mischief. Surrounding the steamlaunch, with oaths and imprecations they demanded the surrender of the Union party. Nothing else was left for the latter to do. Their arms were all wet in the bottom of the boat and the enemy was lining the banks with sharp-shooters, so that “discretion was the better part of valor.”

“Blast you,” said one of the Confederates, “if you sunk us with your cowardly torpedo-boat, we licked your whole squadron last week, and we will make you fellows smell thunder with a ball and chain to your leg.”

This was the first the torpedo-boat's crew had heard of the sinking of the Albemarle. In fact, they were under the impression that the attack was a failure, and that the boat had been filled by a rifle shell striking her, and not by the water thrown up by the explosion. They all gave three cheers, though they knew that the Confederates were exasperated and their carbines were pointed at the captives' heads.

In the mean time Cushing was quietly swimming down the river, keeping in the middle of the stream, when, hearing a noise near him, he looked around and found that two other persons were in company with him. One of them whispered: “I am getting exhausted; for God's sake help me to the shore.”

“Who are you?” said Cushing.

“I am Woodman. I can go no farther; save me if you can.”

At the same moment a gurgling sound was heard a little to the rear, and the third man sank to rise no more.

Cushing himself was much exhausted. He had managed to rid himself of his heaviest clothing and his boots, and was just letting himself drift with the current, but he could not resist this appeal from Woodman, who had risked his life to assist him in his perilous undertaking. He put an arm around him and tried to reach the bank, only sixty yards away, but all his efforts were futile. Woodman was too much exhausted. He could not help himself, and, cramps coming on, he was drawn all up, got away from Cushing, and sank.

Thus the only two survivors known to Cushing from the steam-launch had sunk before his eyes, and he did not know how soon his own time would come, for he was now so much exhausted that he could scarcely use his arms for swimming. At the same time he heard the shouts of the Confederates as they captured the launch, and, supposing that the enemy would send their boats down the river in search of fugitives, he determined to swim to the shore. He could barely crawl out of the water when he reached [480] the bank at a point about a mile below Plymouth.

Cushing dragged himself into an adjacent swamp, and, while lying concealed a few feet from a path along the river, heard two of the Albemarle's officers and a picket-guard pass by, and learned from their conversation that the iron-clad was at the bottom of the river. He did not care now what became of him; that was glory enough for one day, and he would take no heed for the morrow.

As soon as his strength would allow, Cushing plunged into the dense swamp, where he was not likely to be followed, and, after incredible difficulties in forcing his way through the mud, slime, and brambles, reached a point well below the town, where he felt safe. Here he fell in with a negro who, for a consideration (being a Union man), volunteered to go to Plymouth to find out exactly how matters stood. The negro soon returned with the cheering news that the Albemarle was actually sunk, and that the Confederates were in great consternation. Thus cheered, Cushing pursued his tedious journey through the swamps till, coming suddenly to a creek, he found one of the enemy's picket-boats, of which he took possession. He pulled away with all his remaining strength, not knowing at what moment he might get a bullet through his head from the guard to whom the boat belonged, who was, no doubt, not far off in some shanty playing cards with a fellow-picket.

By eleven o'clock the following night Cushing reached the gunboat Valley City, out in the sound, and was taken on board more dead than alive, after one of the most remarkable and perilous adventures on record. Certain it was that Cushing had made himself famous by performing an achievement the dangers of which were almost insurmountable, for the enemy had taken every precaution against just such an attempt as had been made.

The success of Cushing shows that a man who makes up his mind to a certain thing and goes direct to the point, undeterred by obstacles, is almost sure to win, not only in blowing up ships, but in every-day affairs of life where great stakes are at risk. Here was a chance, and Cushing “seized the bull by the horns,” voila tout. No doubt he would have made the attempt if he had been obliged to run the gantlet of all the pickets from the mouth of the river to Plymouth.

This gallant affair led to the recapture of Plymouth from the Confederates, for Commander Macomb had been ordered by me to attack the town (in case the Albemarle was destroyed) with the Federal gunboats, which he did most successfully, and Plymouth remained in possession of the Federal forces to the end of the war. Cushing was promoted a little later, and received some $60,000 or $70,000 in prize-money; and suffice it to say that I never tried Cushing by courtmartial on Secretary Seward's charges of endangering the entente cordiale between England and the United States.