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 The Blowing Up of the Ironclad "Albemarl* 
 by Captain Howard Patterson, U. S. N. 
 
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 of the Class of 1889 
 
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 HARPEKS 
 
 YOUNG PEOPLE 
 
 Copyright, 1895, by Harper & Brothers. All Rights Reserved. 
 
 PUBLISHED WEEKLY. 
 VOL. XVI.— SO. 797. 
 
 NEW YORK, TUESDAY, FEBRUARY 5, 1895. 
 
 FIVE CENTS A COPY. 
 TWO DOLLARS A YEAR. 
 
 hip 
 
 THE BLOWING UP OF THE IRONCLAD "ALBEMARLE." 
 
 BY CAPTAIN HOWARD PATTERSON, U.S.N. 
 
 IT is the night of October 27, 1864. A blockading- fleet 
 of Union vessels rides at anchor off the harbor of 
 Plymouth, North Carolina. Alongside the flag-ship an 
 
 open launch is secured, 
 her after -part made 
 visible to those on 
 board the over-tower- 
 ing ship owing to the 
 glow that comes from 
 the open door of the 
 little furnace. The 
 light that streams 
 forth also throws into 
 relief the face and form 
 of the engineer as he 
 spreads a layer of 
 " greeu " coals over 
 the surface of the fire, 
 and thrusts the slen- 
 lieutenant cushing. der brass spout of his 
 
 oil -can into the various feed- cups of the machinery. 
 Just abaft the cockpit, holding the stern of the launch 
 to the frigate by means of a boat-hook, stands a blue- 
 jacket, his naked feet showing as two white patches 
 on,, the lead-colored planks. Another seaman is perform- 
 ing a similar office forward in the bow, while several 
 more are gathered about a long, curious -looking spar 
 carefully secured, with its cylinder-shaped head resting 
 on a wad of cotton waste ; but these men are lost to view, 
 owing to the gloom of their situation, which is deepened 
 by contrast to the firelight aft. At the open gangway of 
 the flag-ship two officers stand conversing. Beside them 
 a gray-haired quartermaster is stationed, lantern in hand, 
 to light the way down the ladder that leads to the launch. 
 In the shoulder-straps of one of the officers glistens a sin- 
 gle silver star, which denotes his Commodore's rank, while 
 the two gold bars that decorate the straps of the other show 
 him to be a Lieutenant. As the latter is observed in the 
 rays of the lantern, his smooth face and slender figure are 
 suggestive rather of extreme youth than of a man quali- 
 
242 
 
 HARPER'S YOUNG PEOPLE. 
 
 VOLUME XVL 
 
 1 
 
 fied by years and experience to assume the office that his 
 uniform represents. The gold bands around his coat 
 sleeves have been nobly won, however, and the boy of 
 nineteen, who entered the service three years previous as 
 a master's mate, has already commanded with singular 
 and enviable distinction a gunboat of the blockading 
 squadron. There is a touch of fatherly tenderness and a 
 depth of anxiety in the old Commodore's voice as he speaks: 
 
 " Cushing, my boy, you are going to almost certain 
 death; the rebels have learned of your object, and are 
 prepared for the attempt. The Albemarle, as you know, 
 is surrounded with heavy floating timbers so arranged 
 that you cannot get within thirty feet of her, and unless 
 you can succeed in laying your boat alongside, how can 
 you expect to explode the torpedo?" 
 
 The lines of the Lieutenant's thinly cut mouth deepen, 
 and the brows draw ominously down over the flashing 
 eyes. 
 
 " Commodore, I've got my plan all worked out, and 
 I'll carry it through or die with it! If I don't succeed in 
 destroying that ironclad, she will come out here before 
 long, and perhaps sink the fleet. It's worth the risk, sir, 
 and I'm williug to take it along with my volunteer crew." 
 Then, as his natural spirit of recklessness and humor 
 comes to the surface for a moment, he smiles and con- 
 tinues, "It's either another stripe or death, Commodore." 
 
 The flag-officer presses the young man's hand, while 
 lie says, huskily, "God bless and grant you success and 
 a safe return !" 
 
 Preceded by the quartermaster, Lieutenant Cushing 
 descends the gangway ladder and drops into the launch. 
 
 "Lieutenant," sa\'s the old man, "there won't be no 
 sleep in the fleet to-night; if ye'll hexcuse the liberty, 
 sir, I'll be a-prayin' for ye." 
 
 "All right, Lynch; but pray hard, for I'll need it," 
 replies Cushing. Then he looks at the face of the little 
 dial which registers the steam-pressure, and turns to the 
 engineer: "Keep a full head of steam up, but be careful 
 not to let her get so much that she will open the safety- 
 valve and let Johnny know we're coming." Next he 
 goes forward, examines closely the torpedo-spar, stations 
 his small crew, orders the furnace door closed, and lays 
 hold of the steering - wheel in the forward cockpit. 
 " Shove off," he orders. 
 
 The great black hull of the flag-ship slips into the gloom 
 ahead. A moment later the propeller churns the water, 
 the tiller is put over to port, the head of the launch 
 swerves to starboard, and is kept steadily pointed towards 
 Plymouth, where lies the great rebel ironclad Albemarle, 
 waiting only for the time, speedily coming, when, with 
 equipment complete, she will steam out to do battle with 
 the wooden walls of her enemies. 
 
 After the fleet has been left well astern, the boyish 
 commander orders the engines stopped, and calls the 
 men around him. 
 
 " Boys," he says, " I'm going to tell you my plan, so 
 that you may work it out, if possible, in case anything 
 happens to me when we get under fire. As soon as I 
 make out the ship and get my bearings, I'm going to put 
 on a full head of steam, and jump the launch over the 
 logs that surround her on the water side. Once over the 
 spars, it will be only a few feet between us and the hull; 
 so we must have the torpedo ready to push under the 
 water against her side as soon as we get near enough. 
 On the dock that she is moored to they have a couple of 
 howitzers and a company of sharp-shooters to help guard 
 the approach from sea, and on board they are sure to be 
 prepared to give us a warm welcome. I will keep the 
 wheel until we are over the logs, then I will handle the 
 torpedo, so see that it is clear for me. But if I should fall, 
 try to carry out my plan, then jump overboard, dive 
 under the logs, swim across the river, and make your 
 way down along the bank until you get abreast of the 
 
 fleet, where you can signal. That is all, except to strip 
 yourselves for a swim. Do you understand?" 
 
 "Ay, ay, sir, we understand," comes the answer from 
 the handful of heroes. 
 
 The little wheel under the stern of the launch turns 
 over slowly and noiselessly as eager, anxious eyes peer 
 ahead into the night. 
 
 Suddenly a huge blot is made out a little on the port 
 bow, and a moment later it shapes itself into the outlines 
 of a dock with a great vessel lying alongside. 
 
 Out of the gloom rings the challenge, " Boat ahoy!" 
 
 While the echo of the last word trembles, Cushing 
 orders, fiercely: " Give it to her! Steady, boys!" 
 
 The engineer opens wide the valve, and throws the 
 wild pressure of a full head of steam into the cylinder. 
 The launch jumps forward in time to escape a shower 
 of iron hail that ploughs into her white wake. 
 
 Before the guns can be pointed anew a long narrow 
 barrier washing level with the water shows a few feet 
 ahead. 
 
 A sheet of flame from the rifle -barrels on the dock 
 and ship, so close to the open boat that it scorches the 
 air in the faces of the crew, makes vivid for an instant 
 the on-rushing destroyer. One of the bluejackets throws 
 his arms up, and falls face downward in the cockpit just 
 as the stem of the launch strikes the log. 
 
 Will she go over it? is the agonizing thought of the 
 brave youth who stands in the very bosom of the deadly 
 tempest. 
 
 The head of the boat rears itself on the air until the wa- 
 ter is splashing into the stern-sheets aft; then, without 
 checking her mad rush, she clears the barrier like a stee- 
 ple-chaser and hurls herself forward. 
 
 Another volley greets them, and the engineer and one 
 more of the sailors go down; but Lieutenant Cushing 
 springs from the wheel, grasps the torpedo-spar, and as 
 the bow of the launch strikes the rebel ram he thrusts it 
 against her side just as a thick storm of missiles from the 
 howitzers crashes into his boat and shatters it to pieces. 
 
 But the doom of the Albemarle is written. An awful 
 rumbling is heard, accompanied by the sound of splin- 
 tering timbers, followed by a towering volume of torn 
 and maddened waters that for a moment hide the scene 
 from friend and foe, and under cover of which Lieuten- 
 ant Cushing regains the river beyond the floating logs. 
 
 Mingled shouts of command and cries of rage are 
 heard by the swimmer when he comes to the surface 
 after his plunge under the barrier. A number of bullets 
 whistle above his head and patter into the water around 
 him. It is evident that lie is yet within the range of 
 vision of the sharp-shoolers, so he draws a long breath 
 and sinks below the level again, striking out strong, and 
 swimming until forced to regain the air. 
 
 The confusion of voices is yet audible, but when he 
 turns his eyes in the direction of the clamor nothing is 
 visible save the indistinct outline of the shore; then he 
 knows that he no longer affords a mark for the soldiers 
 on the dock. 
 
 But another cause of alarm is quickly manifest, for he 
 catches the sound of the thud of oars as they pound 
 against the rowlocks, telling him that the enemy have 
 manned a boat and are seeking him. Before he can de- 
 cide as to the direction in which to swim in order to get 
 out of the track of the on-coming craft, it looms up only 
 a few yards from him. 
 
 There is onlj' one course to pursue, so, catching a quick 
 breath, he quietly sinks, and the boat passes over the spot 
 where the bubbles on the water mark his disappearance. ' 
 
 Until he experiences a sense of suffocation he remains 
 under, swimming off at right angles to the path of his 
 seekers, so that his head may not be in line with the eyes 
 of the rowers when he regains the surface. 
 
 When he again casts his anxious eyes around, nothing 
 
is seen, so he throws hiraself on his back and floats while 
 recovering' his strength, and shortly after strikes out for 
 the opposite bank of the river, which he reaches after a 
 weary trial, then creeps into the underbrush, and sleeps 
 from exhaustion. 
 
 The sun is high when he awakes. Parting the wild 
 foliage, he looks across and up the stream at the scene of 
 his exploit. The dock is plainly to be seen, but the Albe- 
 marle has disappeared. Looking intently, he sees two 
 masts rising from the water near the pier, and is thus as- 
 sured that the career of the rebel ship is ended. 
 
 Ha! What causes that rustling of the foliage to his 
 right? Is it an animal, or is it an enemy in search of him? 
 
 Almost naked, and altogether defenceless, he watches 
 breathlessly. 
 
 He promises himself that he will never be taken alive. 
 Better to die than to eudure the tortures of a Southern 
 prison. The bushes part a little further, and a man's sun- 
 browned face and brawny bare shoulders and tattooed 
 arms come into view. 
 
 " Jack !" says the Lieutenant, in a loud, glad whisper. 
 
 "Lieutenant!" responds the seaman, in a tone of equal 
 surprise and gladness. 
 
 All day the officer and his companion, the only sur- 
 vivors of the expedition, work their way painfully through 
 the swamp, and just as the sun is sinking they drag their 
 bare bleeding feet and cruelly lacerated bodies out on the 
 bank of the river opposite the Union fleet. 
 
 All hands have been called to " make sunset," and the 
 men are silently standing by the signal halyards and boat- 
 falls waiting for the word of command, when the quarter- 
 master on the bridge of the flag-ship quickly levels his 
 telescope at the shore, then hurriedly approaches and ad- 
 dresses the officer of the deck, who stands beside the Cap- 
 tain. The latter takes the glass from the seaman, peers 
 through it for an instant, wheels sharply around, and 
 speaks to the Lieutenant. 
 
 "Away, first cutter!" roars the latter. 
 
 The boatswain's mate blows a shrill pipe, and repeats 
 the order. 
 
 "Go down the boat- falls, boys; lively's the word! 
 Jump into the cutter, Mr. Arnold, and pull into the beach 
 for the men !" 
 
 Half an hour later Lieutenant Gushing comes over the 
 gangway, and salutes the Commodore. " I report my re- 
 turn on board with one man, sir," he says; "the Albe- 
 marle is destroyed." 
 

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