ttack could subdue it. Two great forts,
armed with heavy and effective artillery, guarded the entrance; the
winding channel was filled with torpedoes, and in the inner harbor was a
fleet of gunboats, and, most powerful of all, the big, ironclad ram,
Tennessee. In charge of the Tennessee was the same man who had guided
the Merrimac on her fatal visit to Hampton Roads, Franklin Buchanan, but
the Tennessee was a much more powerful vessel than the Merrimac had ever
been, and it was thought that nothing afloat could stand against her.

It was this position, then, which, at daybreak of August 5, 1864,
Farragut sailed in to assault. His fleet consisted of four ironclad
monitors, and fourteen wooden vessels, and his preparations were made
most carefully, for he fully realized the gravity of the task before
him. He himself was in his old flagship, the Hartford, and mounting into
the rigging to be above the smoke, he was lashed fast there, so that he
would not fall to the deck, in case a bullet struck him. The thought of
that brave old leader taking that exposed position so that he might
handle his fleet more ably will always be a thrilling one--and the event
proved how wise he was in choosing it.

The word was given, and, at half past six in the morning, the monitors
took their stations, while the wooden ships formed in column, the plan
being for the monitors, with their iron sides, to steam in between the
wooden ships and the forts, and so protect them as much as possible. The
light vessels were lashed each to the left of one of the heavier ones,
so that each pair of ships was given a double chance to escape, should
one be rendered helpless by a shot in the boiler, or in some other vital
portion of her machinery. The Brooklyn was at the head of the column,
while the Hartford came second, and the others followed. In this order,
the fleet advanced to the attack.

There was an unwonted stillness on the ships as they swung in towards
the harbor mouth, for every man felt within him a vague unrest caused by
one awful and mysterious peril, the torpedoes. For the forts, the
gunboats, even the great ironclad, the men cared nothing--they had met
such perils before--but lurking beneath the water was a horror not to be
guarded against. They knew that these deadly mines were scattered along
the channel through which they must make their way, and that any moment
might be the end of some proud vessel.

The ships were all in fighting trim,