“A passel of old boats and a lot of chain across the river. Not much to put your faith in. Yankees upriver, Yankees downriver — and old Jeff Davis telling us to stand to our defenses, but without any help from him. I guess that I’ve seen blacker days, though I don’t rightly remember when.”

They puffed on their cigars until a cloud of blue smoke drifted across the desk. In silence, for there was little else that could be said.

Flag Officer David Glasgow Farragut did not put much faith in the barrier either. But he didn’t like it there blocking his fleet from ascending the Mississippi. Porter’s mortar ships had been assailing the forts for five days now with no visible success. Farragut, never a patient man at the best of times, felt that his patience was now at an end. He had promised Porter six days to subdue the forts and the time was almost up. And the forts were still there. As was the barrier.

But at least he was doing something about that. It was now after midnight; he should try to get some sleep but knew that he could not. Brave men were out there in the night risking their lives. He paced the length of the USS Hartford’s deck towards the stern. Wheeled about to face the bow — just as the sky upriver lit up with a sudden burst of light. Seconds later the sound of the explosion reached their ears.

“By God they’ve done it!” He banged his fist on the rail.

They were the volunteers from Itasca and Pinola who had slipped upriver with explosives — but without weapons to defend themselves. They had counted upon darkness — and silence — to protect them. They had rowed away with muffled oars, their target the barrier in the river. If all went well they intended to plant their charges on the hulks there — hopefully without alerting the guards on the banks — set the fuses and get out. The fuses had obviously worked — pray the boats were out of reach before the powder had exploded. Farragut had a sudden vision of those brave young men, all dead. Volunteers, yes, and happy to go. But the plan had been his and he felt the weight of a terrible responsibility.

A long time passed, far too long Farragut thought, before they heard the creaking of oars in oarlocks and the dark form of a ship’s boat emerged out of the darkness. The boat from the Pinola drew up at the gangway and an officer hurried on deck.

“A success, sir. The charges were planted without the men being apprehended. The fuses were lit and all the boats were well clear before the explosions.”

“Any casualties?”

“None. A perfect operation.”

“A good night’s work indeed. My congratulations to them all.”

Unhappily, when the sun rose, the barrier was still there.

“But definitely weakened, sir. At dawn one of our boats got close enough to see that there are big chunks blown out of it. Hit it hard enough and it will give way.”

“I only hope that you are right, Lieutenant.”

Farragut went down to the wardroom where Porter and Butler were waiting.

“This is the sixth day, Porter, and your mortars appear not to have done the job. The forts are still there, their guns still covering the approach to New Orleans by river.”

“Just a little more time, sir — ”

“There is no more time. I said that you could have six days and you have had them. We must reach the city by other means. General Butler, you have had your scouts out there on both sides of the river. What do they report?”

General Benjamin F. Butler did not easily admit defeat. He scowled and bit down on an already well-chewed cigar. Then shook his head in a lugubrious no.

“There is just no way through. Water on all sides, all of the land low-lying and swampy. Then, just when you think you’re getting somewhere, you’ll come onto a waterway you can’t cross. Critters and bugs, snakes, gators, you name it. They thrive out there — but my soldiers don’t. Sorry.”

“Not your fault, nothing to be sorry for. You too, Porter. Your big mortars just aren’t big enough. Do either of you gentlemen see a way out of this impasse?”

“We could continue with the mortar attack on the forts…”

“That has proven not to be the answer. General Butler?”

“I would like to have some scouts take a closer look at those forts. They are the key to this entire engagement. If we could assess their strengths — and weaknesses — there might just be a less defended aspect. Using small boats we could land my troops at night, surprise and take the forts.”

Farragut shook his head in a slow no. “I think General, with no disrespect, that you have had little experience in landing troops. If you had you would recognize the folly of an undertaking like this. Landing soldiers from small craft, even on an undefended shore in daylight, is time-consuming and fraught with difficulties. I dare not consider the consequences of nighttime landings against defended positions. Are there any other suggestions? In that case we will just have to get to New Orleans in the only way that remains. Tonight we run the flotilla by the forts.”

“Wooden ships against iron guns!” Porter gasped.

“We will get by.”

“But the barricade across the river.” Butler shook his head.

“We will break it. We sail at two in the morning. We will move in two divisions. I will take the Hartford through last in the second division. The signal to begin will be two red lanterns on my mizzen peak. Here are the ship assignments to each of the divisions.”

The officers present looked at each other but did not speak. Duty called. It would be a brave attempt, some might even say foolhardy, but Farragut was in command and he would be obeyed.

Every ship had a full head of steam by two in the morning, ready to move when the signal was given. Telescopes were trained on the Hartford and the instant the two red lights appeared the attack began.

It was a dark night, with some low clouds, as the ships of the first division moved upriver. They revealed no lights and, at low speed, their engines were as silent as they could possibly be. The longer they proceeded without their presence being observed — the less time they would be under fire.

There was some trepidation as the barrier appeared ahead, pale against the dark river. The bow of the first gunboat sliced into it, carried it forward slowing the ship.

Then it broke and the joined, crushed hulks drifted away.

They were through the barrier, but the armed enemy was still waiting for them. Dimly seen against the night sky the dark masses of the two forts appeared ahead.

The quiet rush of water along the hull, the deep heartbeat of the engines was all that could be heard. One by one the ships of the first division slipped by the dark and silent forts and moved on towards New Orleans.

Without a shot being fired.

The second division was not as lucky. They had just reached the forts when the moon rose at three-forty. Unvigilant as the guards had been up until this moment, they could not miss seeing the ships in the bright moonlight. A shot was fired, then another and the alarm was raised.

“Full steam ahead,” Farragut ordered. “Signal all ships.” The sound of the engines would not matter now.

Both forts suddenly blossomed with fire and the cannonballs streaked across the river. There were some hits, but most of them skipped across the water in the darkness. The ships fired in return, flare of gunfire lighting up the night. Now the Union mortars added their thunderous roar and thick clouds of smoked drifted low across the river. It was a gauntlet of confusion and death, made even more menacing when Confederate fire rafts were launched against the Union’s wooden ships.

Yet in the end all of the ships made it past the forts into the silent waters beyond. There was some damage and three of the smaller vessels were badly disabled. Hartford was the last through. She had been hit but was still sound. Farragut watched with great satisfaction as the firing died away behind them. He had taken the risk — and he had won.