My fifty years in the navy

Foreword

Doctor S. Weir Mitchell, scientist, author, and physician, who instructed, dehghted, and cared for me, made me promise that sometime this record should be pubHshed. It is now gratefully inscribed to those who so devotedly and capably served on board the Oregon and to all who so tensely watched and waited while,

" Through tropic heat.

Through snow and sleet She hastened onward still."

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

Foreword . . . v

I First Days at Annapolis 1

Chapter I

Bradford, Orange County, the Vermont village where I was born, on August 10, 1843, is situated upon the left bank of the Waits River, nearly a mile above its junction with the Connecticut. From the elevated ground on which it stands, one looks across the intervening meadows to the New Hampshire hills and the mountains beyond them: Moosilauke, forty-six hundred feet high. Sugar Loaf, or Black Hill, Owl's Head, Cube, and Dorchester, while the more distant blue peak of Mount Lafayette of the Franconia Range rises to its height of fiftytwo hundred feet, between two perfect saddles formed by the nearer mountains.

From my earliest childhood I never wearied 1 of watching every changing aspect of the different mountains, and I felt the general devotion to them all not uncommon perhaps to boys brought up among the hills; but Mount Lafayette was the special object of my admiration, and one of my first extravagances was the purchase of a small telescope to bring this wonderful mountain nearer.

My parents were James Dayton Clark,^ also born in Bradford, and Mary Sexton Clark, a native of Brookfield, Vermont. The first of our family to live in Vermont were Thomas and Lois W^illiams Clark, my great grandparents, who came to Bradford from Roxbury, Massachusetts, at the beginning of the last century. My great grandfather was a member of the General Court towards the close of the Revolutionary War, in which his health had never permitted him to take an active part. The records show, nevertheless, that when a battle was imminent, he had joined the provincial army. My mother's father. Major Hiram Sexton, had served during the War of 1812, and her grandfather,

* Rear Admiral James Dayton, U.S.N., and James Dayton Clark were first cousins, but the former was junior to me in rank.

Captain Williams of Wilmington, Vermont, was an officer in the Revolutionary army. Several relatives had also served with credit in the colonial, or earlier wars, so there was enough of the military spirit on both sides to account for a longing on my part to enter the army. As my father, however, left an orphan at two years of age, had neither means nor political influence, I generally pictured myself as carrying a musket in the ranks.

I was very young indeed when I established a military post on the roof of our house. I was working out some ideas in fortification, when my foot slipped, and I began a rapid slide towards the eaves. I must have gone headfirst, for I still have a picture in my mind of a neighbor, who, with her arms upraised in horror at my performance, seemed to me to be walking on her hands. A lucky grab at the waterspout, which held long enough to partially right me, was responsible for my landing on the ground, rather less damaged than might have been expected.

I did not come off quite as well in my first and only experiment in aviation. I had been reading of the possibilities of the parachute, and it occurred to me, as it did to Mr. Richard Swiveller, that an umbrella might have its uses, outside its regular sphere. I spread the news among my comrades, one Saturday afternoon, that at a certain hour I was prepared to jump from the second-story window of our house. My appearance at the window was greeted by quite a number of spectators who were very free in their expressions of opinion, some derisively calling out that I "wouldn't dare!" and others that I'd "better not !" Affecting a composure that I was far from feeling at that exciting moment, I climbed the sill, spread my umbrella, and launched myself into space. All went well for one brief second. Then the umbrella collapsed, and when I recovered consciousness, my faith in parachutes had collapsed likewise.

I only recollect one other experience in the military line that occurred during my early boyhood. My brother and I owned a little cannon, which made a very desirable racket when it was fired, but which we felt might be made to do even better. So we tried ramming down the charge with wooden plugs, and this not giving entire satisfaction, we finally drove in the iron rammer, and shoved its outer end against a rock. When the explosion came, something resisted, but it was the rock and not the cannon. We got a very fine notion of how it feels to be in the path of a projectile. This one, fortunately, cleared our heads, flying past us into the woodshed where, after splintering a beam, it came to rest in a much agitated pile of chips in a corner. We were quite unaware at the time that we were actually demonstrating the principle of the Congreve rocket.

My favorite companion in Bradford was William Rogers, a boy about a year older than myself. He had a fine mind and was an omnivorous reader. We were almost inseparable, and from him I was for some time content to take a great deal of my reading at second-hand. I was an imaginative youngster, and while not lacking in courage to meet the ordinary give and take of my boyish world, my head was pretty well stuffed with a tissue of fanciful dangers. Preeminent among these was a fearful trio — Abductors, Barn-burners, and Ghosts. I had once seen in an illustrated paper a picture of the abduction of some fair lady by armor-clad knights, and her terrified expression haunted me. I felt that my mother, the most attractive woman in the world, according to my notion, would naturally be the next to be carried off. I often used to make some excuse to run home from school at recess, to assure myself that she was really there, and I soon found it was quite useless to try to spend the night at a playmate's house. My apprehensions were certain to urge me out of bed about midnight, to travel home through a darkness peopled with ghosts and burglars, just to make sure that nothing had happened in my absence. I used to plead homesickness as my excuse, for I did not wish to have my mother alarmed about the dreadful dangers to which she was exposed.

There was a little more reality mixed with the barn-burner terror. Just why the village of Bradford should have been harried as it was a few years previously by one or more incendiaries, it would be hard to say, but it was a fact that during this period the number of barns that had gone up in flames furnished the village chronicles with matter for some time to come. I used to sit in Pritchard's store in the evening, my ears wide open, while the old patrols recalled their experiences and disputed as to who was first to arrive on the scene, on that memorable night, when Jake Flanders, having fired at one barn-burner, was slashed by the knife of another. Then some cynic would suggest that Flanders himself might have cut that slash in his clothing, just to make a good story, and I, for one, would feel that this was a cruel doubt. Generally speaking, the patrols seemed to have traveled conveniently in pairs, so that one was able to tell how the other had been shaken with fear, while he had supplied the courage for the occasion.

My ideas about ghosts were largely derived from some of Washington Irving's tales, which Will Rogers and I read and discussed together. I must confess that Ichabod Crane's "headless Hessian" and Dolph Heyhger's specter, with its dreadful habit of walking right through locked doors into any house, gave me some very bad hours. Will, who was more sceptical than I, assured me that these were only old Dutch legends, but I retorted with the story of Caesar's ghost that appeared to Brutus at Philippi, and the spirit that pursued Xerxes' brother in so vigorous a fashion, and this argument seemed to us both unanswerable, for of course history could not lie, and therefore ghosts must exist.

I began my education at the district school in Bradford, and after that was a pupil for several terms at the Bradford Academy. Its principal, Roswell H. Farnham, was afterwards an oflBcer of Vermont troops in the Civil War, and later became governor of the State. He had an inspiring personality which ought to have brought out the best in his scholars, but I fear I cannot claim that I was a special credit to him at that time. Another principal of the Academy, to whom I was strongly attached, was George A. Low, a tall graduate of Dartmouth ; my liking was based not so much perhaps on his scholarly qualities as on the interest he showed in our sports, notably football, which we often played in front of his house.

During my vacations I was expected to make myself more or less useful in my father's bookbindery, but as he remarked, when there was any real work to do, I suddenly became a great reader. There was no lack of opportunity, with so many books lying about. I was particularly fond of miUtary history and read everything I could lay my hands on concerning Hannibal, Napoleon, Marlborough, and other great generals. Fed on this reading, my desire for a soldier's career became very strong, and I often used to talk to my father about it. It was during one of these talks that I suggested that he write to the Honorable Justin S. Morrill, with whom he was acquainted, for an appointment to the Military Academy for me. My father finally agreed to do so, telling me at the same time not to set my heart on it too much, as about all he could say for me was that I had reached the required age — sixteen years.

Mr. Morrill did not leave us long in doubt. Within a few days a letter arrived with his frank on the envelope. That letter meant so much to me that I have never forgotten its exact words, which ran thus : "There is no vacancy from this district at West Point, as I have just appointed Doctor Rockwell's son, of Brattleboro. But there is one at the Naval Academy, Annapolis, which I have offered to Judge Hibbard's son, of Chelsea. He is hesitating about accepting it. Should he decline, I shall be glad to let your son have it. Would he like to be a sailor boy?"

While I did not consider a commission in the navy, with its prospect of captain, the highest rank then attainable, as equal to one in the army, with its more high-sounding titles, yet I was excited and anxious enough about that appointment to harbor very sinister thoughts about the Hibbard boy. These vanished when Judge Hibbard told my father that he did not care to have a son of his go into the navy, and I realized that the coveted position was actually to be mine. The appointment came in the spring of 1860, one year before the breaking out of the Civil War. Soon after its arrival, finding that I could not endure the sight of my mother's unhappiness over our impending separation, I decided to return it to Mr. Morrill. That fine statesman, whose continuous service in Congress for fortyfour years exceeded that of any other American, giving him the title of Vermont's Life Senator, and who had declined Cabinet positions, took the trouble to write to us, letting us know just what we were setting aside, explaining the advantages of an education at government expense, and something of what it meant to be a graduate of Annapolis. With this better understanding, my mother insisted that I should not sacrifice my opportunity, and the appointment was returned to me. So I might say that I owe it twice over to Mr. Morrill.

Sleeping-cars were probably not in existence at the time I made my journey to Annapolis. At least, I had never heard of them. Traveling by day was thought to be a sufficiently risky business. Many, if not all roads, ran their trains by a time schedule. When a train reached a station, its conductor waited for a certain length of time, after which he acquired the right of way and ran full speed for the next. When watches did not happen to agree, collisions were in order.

On my journey to Annapolis I slept one night on the boat from Troy to Albany, and the next in Philadelphia, where I saw "The American Cousin" played at the Arch Street Theatre. The role of Lord Dundreary, made so famous afterwards by Sothern, was then only a secondary one. When I boarded the train at Baltimore, I had my first sight of a midshipman's uniform. The boy who wore it was engaged in conversation, the greater part of the trip, by a father and son who were evidently getting information from him about AnnapoHs, in which I would have gladly shared.

Annapolis, of course, was full of boys arriving for the examinations, and as I was walking along one of its quaint streets, I overheard one little group making inquiries as to whether a certain Stirling, from Baltimore, had received a passing mark. Strange to say, Thomas Williams, the boy in uniform on the train, the first midshipman I ever saw, and Yates Stirling, the first whose name I heard, were my roommates during my first year ashore at the Academy. The combination lasted no longer, the commandant being heard to remark that it was a good one to break up. Williams was found deficient and dropped. Stirling, who became a rear admiral and commanded a fleet on the Asiatic Station, now lives in Baltimore. The boy whom I had noticed on the train, talking to Williams, and whose name was Carmody, had one of the lengthiest careers at the Academy. He "bilged", to use the Academy term, that next February. Reappointed to the next class, he was turned back for another year, and then he was suspended for a year. So he was accustomed to speak quite contemptuously of some of the officers who returned to Annapolis as instructors, saying that they came into the service long after his time.

Not long after I entered the Naval Academy, my parents left Bradford and moved to Montpelier, the capital of the State, which became their permanent home and mine, as far as a naval officer can be said to have one. My leaves of absence were always spent there, and I was still young enough when the change was made to have many of my youthful memories connected with the town.

Montpelier, as is well known, was the birthplace of the late Admiral Dewey, and I could feel that I was certainly regarded as her adopted son when I heard of the speech made by a local orator, who after referring to the battles of Manila and Santiago, spoke with true native humor of the Spanish American War, as "the war between the village of Montpelier and the kingdom of Spain." ^

1 At one time in Montpelier much was said about the astonishing escape of Dewey and Clark, but this referred to the Admiral's nephew William and my brother Lloyd. The Rialto Building that spanned the Branch collapsed during the great fire, falling on the ice in the river bed below. Dewey remained under it and Clark in it, until the crash came.

The superintendent of the Naval Academy, at whose little office near the south gate I reported, September 29, 1860, was Captain George S. Blake. Because of his judicious management of affairs, he was kept in command with the title of "commodore" several years beyond the usual term of superintendents. He was a portly old gentleman, who had a habit of placing his hand upon his stomach and remarking impressively : **I can lay my hand upon my heart, and say I never wronged a midshipman ! "

His colored office attendant, Jim Holliday, also had the welfare of the midshipmen at heart, and remarks overheard at the conferences of the Academic Board were often used by him as a basis for a word of friendly advice or warning, to such of the boys as consulted him about their standing, — and they were not a few. A tip from Holliday was not to be despised. "Yo* mus' sutinly pay mo' attention to yo' mechanics, suh," he would gravely admonish some young questioner, "or I'm ve'y much afraid yo' are going to * bilge.' "

One of my classmates, returning from leave, brought back a message of remembrance from an officer he had met, which greatly pleased Holliday, but at the concluding words — "And he told me to ask you, Holhday, how the 'Epidemic Board' was getting on?" Holliday's face felL "Did he say that? 'Deed, suh, I'm ve'y sorry that eveh got out in the service."

The historic frigate Constitution — "Old Ironsides" — had just been fitted out as the schoolship, and also with quarters for the fourth class, so I at once went on board. Her commander was Lieutenant George W. Rodgers, a nephew of the hero of Lake Erie. He was soon afterwards killed, fighting bravely for the Union. Next in rank was Lieutenant John H. Upshur, a true scion of the Old Dominion, who loved it much, but the country more. At this day, active in body, as well as in mind, his many friends hopefully and affectionately see him approaching the century mark.

Mrs. Upshur, whose father fell at Monterey, and whose unusual beauty was enhanced in the eyes of our Southern comrades by her ancestry, captured all hearts. She not only was lovely to look upon, but had an unrivalled faculty for detecting the homesick, shy, and despondent among the boys and drawing them into the charmed circle about her. It was the knowledge of this quality that prompted her husband one evening, after a reception, to offer William K. Pipkin, painfully awkward and homely, and just arrived from the backwoods of Missouri, the privilege of escorting her home. Instead of accepting with eagerness the honor that had fallen to him, the embarrassed youth, blushing hotly, managed to stammer out, "Excuse me, sir, but the last thing Dad and Ma said to me when I left home, was : * Bill Pip, you beware of the women ! ' "

**Bill Pip" had entered the class next ahead, but had failed in some branch and had fallen back into ours. Rumor says he became the colonel of a Confederate regiment when only twenty-three, and ended his life as a millionaire. However that may be, he passed many bad hours at the Academy and would doubtless have *' bilged" at the first semi-annual examination but for Mrs. Upshur's tactful encouragement and sympathy. Later, when promoted to the rank of rear admiral, I had sincere pleasure in asking the Navy Department to order an officer to the Academy, knowing p ^ that his wife, the only daughter of our battle scarred President, was Hke Mrs. Upshur in loveliness of character.

Belonging to the academic staff on shore were a number of officers, who afterwards attained high rank, or gained distinction in the Union or Confederate navies. C. R. P. Rodgers, then commandant of midshipmen, Edward Simpson, and Stephen B. Luce, afterwards first president of the Naval War College, became rear admirals. Lieutenant Flusser, a Southerner, was killed fighting bravely for the Union. Lieutenants John Taylor Wood, Hunter Davidson, and William H. Parker joined the Secessionists.

Lieutenant Parker was the first naval officer I ever saw, but as he was in citizen's clothes at the time, I was not deeply impressed. He was the author of nautical sketches, sailing directions, and artillery tactics. He became superintendent of the Confederate States Naval Academy, and the last I heard of him, before his death, he was president of an agricultural college. The way his resignation came about was rather curious. Despite his Southern birth ^ — he was a Virginian — William Parker was strongly disinclined to leave the service in which he had been reared. His brother, Foxhall Parker, a commander in the navy, was of the opinion that his duty lay with the South. The brothers happening to meet just before the outbreak of hostilities, each urged his side of the question upon the other, Foxhall pleading their birth, connections, and traditions, and William loyalty to the flag, and to the service in which they had been educated. After separating, each reflected upon the other's arguments to such purpose that William ended by sending in his resignation, while Foxhall decided to withhold his.>

Years later, in Washington, William Parker pointed out his brother to a friend, saying: "There goes Foxhall, the disloyal Unionist, on full pay, and here stands William, the loyal Secessionist, down on his uppers."

To return to the Constitution. Having been hauled in as near the Academy sea wall as possible, she had been moored head and stern, and a narrow footbridge connecting her with the shore had been constructed. Under the poop deck, and in a small deckhouse amidships, were four recitation rooms. The three study rooms were on the gun deck, bulkheads having been run along parallel with the sides, and the gun ports serving as windows. Our lockers, one for each midshipman, were fitted against the sides on the berth deck. Forward was the wash room, the number of basins averaging about one to five of the washers, who scrambled for the first chance, and then put in claims — which were always respected — for second and third places. Inspection came before breakfast, so delays were inveighed against, and much attention to the ears or neck reprobated. In the interval between supper and evening study hours, one of the six gun crews would be marched over to the bathhouse on shore. I think I may say that the majority of us considered it a great hardship that one of our short periods of recreation should be taken for such a purpose.

The only guns remaining on board the Constitution were eight or ten of the thirty-two pounders of the quarter-deck battery, and with these we were exercised after four o'clock, when the afternoon studies and recitations were over. At the end of the first month, it was found that in one of the crews were six of the ten men first in class standing, but as the second crew, to which I belonged, could run the guns in and out, and shift trucks and breechings in the shortest time, and also pull our cutter the fastest, we were the fellows that were envied and looked up to by the others.

I remember very well the first time Lieutenant Rodgers attempted to teach us something about sails. He had the mizzen topsail broken out, and stretched along the deck. "Now," said he, "Mr. Clark, you and Mr. Glidden lay aloft and overhaul down the buntlines."

"The buntlines?" I repeated, staring at him.

"Yes, sir! the b-u-n-t-1-i-n-e-s ! " he roared, spelling it out, and without waiting for any further explanation, I hurried aloft, determined to overhaul down any rope that offered.

We were quite fearless by this time about running up the rigging, and those of us who had imagination enjoyed looking down from the royal jack upon that deck, which "once had felt the victor's tread" and where "knelt the vanquished foe." I had read the poem beginning, —

"Old Ironsides at anchor lay In the harbor of Mahon"

with its account of how the captain's little son had climbed to the main truck, and stood swaying there, until his father by threatening him with a rifle, had made him jump into the sea. I was incHned to think that there was more poetry than truth in this alleged occurrence, yet I have seen Rear Admiral Harry Taylor, who was one of the little fellows in my class, sitting on the main truck of "Old Ironsides" amusing himself by rolling up the pennant and letting it flow again. His only rival was "Brick Top" English, who once got on his feet on the truck, aided a little by the lightning conductor, which projected about a foot above it. Finally the superintendent got wind of these proceedings, and ordered that no midshipman should climb above the eyes of the royal rigging.

The colored servants who waited on us at mess were slaves, hired from their masters, in or near Annapolis. Except Dorsey, the steward, I recall the name of but one, and that only because of a couple of accidents in which he figured. He came sliding down the ladder at dinner hour, one day, holding up an inverted soup tureen, and pouring its hot contents over himself, en route. Very soon after this he again engaged public attention by falling overboard. One of the crew, promptly seizing a boat hook, succeeded in shoving it under the waistband, but although his rescue seemed thus to be assured, another negro from his place in a gun port continued making a great outcry.

"Oh! shut up!" cried a sailor impatiently. *' They'll save him ! Can't you see they've hooked on to him all right ? "

"'Taint all right, nuther ! Dat's my brudder, Caleb Watkins, an' he done got on my bes' Sunday breeches ! "

Another name I recollect among the colored personnel was that of Moses Lake, the Academy barber. He had been the servant of Commodore Buchanan during a European cruise, and the walls of his shop were decorated with pictures and inscriptions, such as the following: "Windsor Castle, visited by Mr. Moses Lake, September, 1858." "Mount Vesuvius, first seen by Mr. Moses Lake, October, 1858."

Chapter II

Ever since my class entered the Academy in September, the growing unrest and trouble of the country had been disturbing the equilibrium of our little world. There were much wrangling and many arguments among the boys, but no real quarreling. In the general sense of upheaval, no one — this was especially true of the Northerners — felt certain enough of the ground under his feet to take an assured position. In fact, the youngsters at the Academy were in about as bad a muddle as the country at large. After the secession of South Carolina in December, however, our classmates from the South began to talk with more conviction. They insisted, for one thing, that as in a division of the country the North would have West Point, the Naval Academy should go to them. They declared that New York City sympathized with their cause, and if a war should come, the Seventh Regiment, the finest in the country, would be sure to fight on their side. As for Baltimore, they knew she would never allow Abolitionists and John Brown sympathizers to pass through her streets, nor even Northern troops to march through to the support of Washington, if it were attacked.

These opinions were being hotly voiced by the Southern element in a little group of midshipmen, one day, when a first-class man who was walking by overheard a sentence that brought him to an abrupt halt. He was the late Rear Admiral Sampson, then at the head of the first class. He was the ranking cadet officer, as adjutant wore the most gold lace, and, being strikingly handsome moreover, was probably a greater man in the eyes of the junior classmen than any of their officers or instructors.

"You say/' he slowly and deliberately repeated the words of the last speaker, *'if the capital of the nation is attacked. Northern troops will not be permitted to march through Baltimore to protect it.^ Well, then," his voice, usually so quiet, rang out like a call to arms, "the North will march over Baltimore — or the place where it stood ! "

He said nothing further and went his way, leaving a silent group behind him, and with the Northern boys an indescribable sense of comfort. Those few words, so clear and decisive, seemed like a flag around which we could rally. We realized for the first time what it would mean to us if war really came, and the safety of the Republic were at stake. At the same time, I believe there were very few of us that had any misconception of the herculean task the North would have to face. Even six months' association with our Southern comrades had taught us that they came from a military class. Every one of them was an unerring marksman, and we heard that they could ride as well as they could shoot. We were not prepared, however, to swallow their assumption that one Southerner was equal to four Northerners, nor did subsequent history bear out this boast. ^ Yet it must be conceded that until

* The rifle-carrying poor white who shot squirrels in the head only, was as yet thoroughly dominated . So the South was prepared or organized for war. But this homogeneity and even the social fabric could not last. Only on the great plantations was slave labor really profitable, so there was a natural limit to the number of slaveholders. And while the planter's son was taught that virtue was more than the courage which must never be questioned he was exposed to a great temptation, and this was deplored by the thoughtful men and inured to war, or thoroughly trained, no equal number of men in the world could have stood against the quarter million of slave-holders, who practically formed in the South a military caste, like the Samurai in Japan, or the Spartans in Lacedsemon.