(From the files of Pollock's Weekly, March 12, 1876 ed.)

I Flew on the Hunley

Sam Watkins, Pvt., 1st Tennessee Regiment, Army of the Tennessee

        Of late I have considered writing a memoir of my time in the Confederate
army during our bloody and lamentable Second American Revolution. All too
few of the raft of books which I see each come out with every passing day
tell the story from the soldier's point of view, especially the soldiers of
the army which won the war, the glorious Army of Tennessee. 

        After much consideration, though, I decided to abandon this prospect. Had
the war continued on past the capture of St. Louis and the siege of
Washington, I might have enough anecdotes and material to make a book which
the people are willing to read; as it is, I fear it would be a boring
pamphlet of the all too familiar homily, the boredom of army camp life.

        Still, there is one part of my career which touches on the most important
part of the war for us- possibly, indeed, the part without which the war
could not have been won for the South. As I look back on the situation in
those black days of May and June 1863, with Lee- God bless him!- killed in
the crowning moment of his career at Chancellorsville, and with the Butcher
Grant taking his stranglehold on our valiant garrison in Vicksburg, I
cannot help but think that we should have been whipped, and whipped
soundly, if not for that maiden voyage of the first airship, the CSS
Hunley.

        Of course we all know how the Hunley rained fire and terror onto the
Western Union armies for two years, right up to Vallandingham's
inauguration, but few people have heard the full story from the beginning,
the story I am about to relate, for the first time, here.

        I had been told off as a courier to the headquarters of the Army- the Army
of Mississippi, as it then was- just after our move to Tupelo in the summer
of 1862. We had had some deserters leave camp the previous night and were
in a tight position- our corps commander, that detestable Braxton Bragg,
had issued orders that all the dozen captives were to be shot, and I was
volunteered by the Colonel to beg General Beauregard for clemency.

        As I waited for the General to compose an answer, a skinny little man with
wild eyes rushed into the tent, introduced himself as one Horace Hunley, a
man who had been rebuffed by the War Department in his proposals for a new
type of balloon- a steam-powered hydrogen balloon, armored and capable of
carrying up to twenty thousand pounds into the air.

        Of course hydrogen balloons were nothing new to us at this point; McClellan
had used one for observation in his ill-fated Peninsula campaign, and
Longstreet had captured one of his own and made some small experiments with
it. However, the concept of guiding a balloon where you wanted it to go
seemed absurd- as soon fight the tide as plow against the very wind!

        To any other individual, I daresay Hunley's idea of filling a bag bigger
than any balloon yet constructed, covering it with thin iron sheets to
protect it from snipers, and then load up its basket with not one, but two
steam engines driven with screw propellers, would have seemed insane. It
certainly did to me, at the time, but then at the time I had no idea what a
screw propeller was, the only concepts I had in such matters being
unprintable in this magazine.

        Our Beauregard, however, Beauregard was a visionary. I think only he and
Stonewall Jackson, out of the entire Confederate command of the time, had
the true vision of war of the future, of how the Confederacy could force
the invader from our homes. At once he fell in love with the proposal, and
he was sending for an orderly to compose a telegram to President Davis when
General Bragg came in.

        Old Bragg was full of fire at me and my colonel for going over his head to
bypass his discipline, but his protests vanished as Beauregard, in his
enthusiasm, showed Bragg the sketches Hunley proposed, and half in English,
half in French, the Little Creole won over the old buzzard Bragg to his
side.

        When Beauregard mentioned telegraphing Richmond, however, Bragg dissented,
gently. Bragg, for all his faults, was friendly both with Jefferson Davis
and Beauregard, and he knew that whatever the latter would propose, the
former would dispose, not unlike the Being he sometimes thought himself to
be. Relations between Beauregard and Davis were, put politely, less than
congenial, and to make it very plain, Beauregard's approval for any plan
was a valid reason, in Davis' eyes, to dissaprove it.

        As an alternative, Bragg suggested that he make the proposal as if it had
come from him, so that at the least it should be given a fair hearing. This
was not the first time that this had been attempted, and Beauregard
expressed great skepticism about the idea, but in the end he acknowledged
that Davis would take the advice better from anybody but him.

        As Bragg left with Hunley to compose the message, Beauregard turned back to
his desk, saw me standing at parade-rest, and said (I shall never forget
his voice), "Sacre damn!! Have you been standing there all this time?"

        There was no help for it; I had seen and heard everything, and Bragg and
Hunley were called back to discuss the problem. Since nobody seemed to take
my vow of silence at its word (so to speak), it was decided that, should
the project be approved, my regiment, the First Tennessee, would be the
unit to execute it.

        The history book tells of what happened next, how Bragg's proposal was
accepted by Davis as a costly, but effective, way to kick Beauregard
upstairs and out of command of an armed force. By August, while the rest of
our army was moving north through Alabama to reinforce Kirby Smith, the
First Tennessee quietly joined the fort garrisons in Mobile and began
assembling materials for the task, under the guidance of Beauregard
himself.

        Beauregard is a master of getting things accomplished when he wishes to. By
the first week in Mobile, every roll of silk, every frilly undergarment,
every scrap of the fabric in Mobile was tucked away in an arsenal near
Beauregard's headquarters, while several of us in the regiment were issued
passes to Savannah, Selma, Atlanta, even as far as Wilmington to procure
more, at any price it could be had. The armor and engines scheduled for the
ironclads of Mobile Bay 'mysteriously vanished' one night, with less than
subtle clues of Union marines having somehow managed to place several tons
of iron on a rowboat and make off with it. In a clearing some miles north
of the town, work began on a giant building, soon to be the workshed for
assembling the beautiful grey behemoth which was, and is, our beloved
Hunley.

        The winter passed, and thanks to several brave blockade runners enough
fabric was procured to finish the bag. Hunley's calculations had changed
twice already, making the bag even larger and larger, but at last he made
up his mind and, with five smaller silk sacks encased in an immense grey
cotton wrap, the inflatable part of the Hunley was complete.

        By February, the framework of the airship was done as well, the immense
cage to surround and shape the balloon, the small pilot's cabin, the twin
boxes in which the coal-driven engines would be stoked (wood engines would
have required too much fuel- Hunley insisted that every pound had to be
saved- and most importantly, the central bay, where one man could send a
hundred exploding shells directly down onto whatever lay below.

        It was the armor plating which balked us after that- not only could we not
get anywhere near enough iron to cover the balloon, mounting it soon became
the terror of the regiment. Twenty of us were killed or maimed when an
improperly fitted plate or rail tumbled down to crash on us as we worked,
or in one notable case, carried Micah Jenkins down from a lofty perch to
smash his brains out against the ground.

        And time was running out- make no mistake of this. By May only a quarter of
the armor plate was on, Lee's army was in disarray between the loss of its
leader and the return of its second-in-command, Longstreet. Joe Johnston's
pickup force in Mississippi, Pemberton's gallant but ill-fortuned command
bottled up into Vicksburg, and our dear FRIEND Bragg sitting in Tullahoma
without a clue that Mr. Rosecranz had an urge to drink from the Tennessee
River.

        Each day brought an anguished cry from Richmond; expenses, expenses, when
would the Hunley ever be ready?

        It was Beauregard who made the decision; on June 12, we set to work
stripping all the armor plate off the balloon. This would give the aircraft
greater lifting power, allowing it to rise above the level where
groundbased weapons could harm it. It also meant that a greater load of
shell could be placed in the hopper, making the Hunley all the more
destructive.

        By June 25 we were ready. In the East, newly promoted General Jackson took
Lee's army into the Shenandoah and moved northward, bamboozling Hooker
completely. In the West, Bragg retreated with 30,000 men while sending
10,000 to reinforce Johnston, giving him 30,000 to attack Grant's 70,000 or
so; Johnston refused to attack, though, and it took a direct order from
Davis himself to get him to consent to leave Jackson and at least try to
lure some part of Grant's army out of its lines.

        On June 28, we tested the engines for the first time, spinning those
oversized wooden propellers faster than any train wheel or ship propeller
had ever spun; despite this, Hunley warned us, any wind of more than twenty
miles per hour would overcome the modest resistance of these mighty
engines.

        We checked the rudder and fins, inflated the bag, and cheered as the
Hunley, for the first time, rose off its padded rest and floated in the
shed, tethered down and ramps dropped.

        I was not meant to be on that maiden trip, the trip to give Johnston or
Pemberton a chance to relieve Vicksburg, but mine was the last load of
shells to be taken up the ramp into the hopper, and as I loaded them in I
decided I could not bear not to be a part of this historic event- for the
first time, Man would fly under his own control. 

        I lurked in a corner in that cramped bomb bay, careful not to attract
attention to myself, while the artillerist sat strapped to a bench with one
hand close to the bay hatch lever and one ear close to the calling tube up
to the pilot's cabin. The engines roared around us, and with a sudden jolt
I felt the tethers release; we were aloft. 

Of course we could not make the trip at one go; the prevailing winds were
against us, and there are scores of miles between Mobile and Jackson. We
had to make three stops between Mobile and our destination (by which time I
was found out, but suffered to remain aboard) to restore water and refill
with coal, at points along the railroad prepared in advance for our coming.

        We rested the engine in Jackson, in another prepared shed, on June 30,
greasing the engines, checking the cables- we wanted nothing to go wrong
with this. I remember Johnston walking in on us at one point, that dapper,
confident old gent marveling wide-eyed at our ship, our Hunley, the pride
of the South. I daresay the sight of the Hunley, the reality of
Beauregard's Folly become Beauregard's Pride, turned him totally around;
for as history records, that morning he wrote a letter to Davis protesting
the hopelessness of relieving Vicksburg, but that night his men were
marching to within a few hundred yards of Sherman's pickets.

        In any case, on the same day Jackson was to destroy half of the Army of the
Potomac at a little town called Gettysburg, we lifted off from our new base
in Jackson and flew with that glorious powerful grace over the Mississippi
countryside, angling east-southeast at first, then turning hard north so
our bombs would more or less line up with the Union formations. 

        I found myself wiping my hands on my pants many times over, thinking about
all that could go wrong. A cinder could get past the filtered stacks, get
through a seam in the fireproofed bag, and ignite the hydrogen. An engine
might blow out, crippling us, perhaps fatally. The pilot might lose his
bearings, missing the Union force or, worse still, causing us to bomb our
own boys. 

        As I felt I was about to go mad from the waiting, something incoherent
echoed down the speaking tube, and the artillerist opened those bay doors
to reveal, beneath us, the beginning of row upon row of Union blues, far
distant beneath us. I do not know how high up we were- I am told half a
mile- but those little blue dots, lined up in those rows, struck me as
peculiar; I think that is as close as I have ever come to seeing the world
as a general does.

        Then the chute dropped, and one by one those shells, designed to explode
upon any hard sudden jolt, rolled down and out of the Hunley to drift, each
in its own way, down onto the Union defenders. 

        Those shells terrified all of us; any artillery man will go on, at length,
about the unreliability of Confederate munitions, especially in the area of
fuses, and not a few of us had been wounded or killed by someone's
clumsiness or by a shell which was just plain bad. 

        You can imagine my demonic pleasure at that moment, as I saw the first
plumes of smoke rise from the ground, as I watched those neat lines of blue
scatter out of their trench, or back in, a perfect hive of ants turned over
and left to panic. 

        It only lasted a minute, perhaps a minute and a half; the shells were large
and exceedingly heavy with powder and shrapnel mix, so we could not carry
very many at once. As the doors closed and the Hunley turned with the wind
for home, I caught a glimpse of two patches of grey and butternut;
Pemberton was sortieing from Vicksburg as Johnston's army charged into the
gap, taking the Union force completely by surprise and, by the evening,
routing the entire army.

        History records the rest, how Grant was killed by one of those bombs-
nearly the very last, I believe, as we passed near his headquarters about
then- and how the Hunley went on to support Johnston's move to retake
Nashville, then Beauregard's lightning recapture of New Orleans, and
finally the two-pronged offensive up the Mississippi, Johnston and Kirby
Smith uniting in St. Louis and sending a joint telegram which we all know:
"Dear President Davis, as a Christmas gift we offer the City of St.
Louis..."

        Without a doubt, none of this could have been done without the Hunley, and
its sister ship in the East, the Robert E. Lee. 

        Today, thanks to combined Yankee and Southern ingenuity and the
good-natured rivalry which persists between our two nations, we can travel
across the Atlantic in the new coal-oil powered Hunleys. Although we did
not get to keep St. Louis or Washington, the new gas discovered in Texas,
the helium, allows for small transports to travel more safely than the
military-issue hydrogen, which has caused so many lamentable accidents,
notably the loss of the Robert E. Lee on a goodwill trip to Lakehurst, New
Jersey. 

        If it weren't for the agitators among the industrialists and Upper South
who want to free the niggers, I would have to say that this is the best
possible world to live in. Certainly the world would be poorer without
Hunleys. There would be no Confederacy, Bismark's Prussia would now control
all of Europe, and Cuba would not be our newest State if not for these
belles of the air.

        And I, in my little way, had some hand in bringing this new, brave world to
pass. For the opportunity I was given, I will be eternally grateful, to God
and General Beauregard.

        I have heard that Mr. Hunley is on the move again, attempting to sell both
North and South on his plans for a submarine boat. I say give him his
chance. A submarine could have almost been as useful as a Hunley in our
war, although I am personally grateful I was not assigned to any project to
develop one. I will stick to my brief career as a Hunley crewman, with
pride, and leave the deep seas to Mr. Hunley and the fishes.

        Sam Watkins
        Knoxville, TN



I first posted this to alt.war.civil.usa, where it gained no notice.

I then posted it to alt.callahans, where people suggested I send it here
for inspection.

With slight modifications, here is the setup: In our history, Lieutenant
Colonel Robert E. Lee was temporarily commander of the Department of Texas
in 1861 while his superiors, Colonel Edwin Sumner and Brigadier General
David Twigg were out of state. After Twigg's return to Texas, Lee returned
to his command at Fort Mason, where not long thereafter (just before Texas
seceded) he recieved orders from Washington to report there no later than
April 1.

Almost immediately after Texas passed its Ordinance of Secession by
referendum, the state militia confronted Twigg's headquarters and demanded
he surrender all Union installations in Texas. Twigg, a Georgian and a
Southern sympathizer, yielded without contest to fairly stringent demands
(soldiers were allowed to take away only what they could carry, all other
property to be claimed by the State of Texas; after a brief imprisonment,
the soldiers were shipped North).

Twigg later became a general in the Confederacy, but his weak health
precluded him taking any field command and he died in 1862.

Now, let us suppose that Twigg's health played out a little earlier...

***

        Washington, D. C.
        May 3, 1861

        My dearest Custis, 

        Since my return to Washington two days ago following my imprisonment in
Texas, this is the first opportunity I have had to inform you of my
condition. Rest assured that your father, despite his tribulations, is in
very good health and hopes to hear from you soon.
        The reports the newspapers give of events at San Antonio, as usual, are
greatly garbled and bear little resemblance to the truth. Doubtless you
have read or heard all sorts of slanderous accusations about me and my
conduct of two months past, but I  trust you will have ignored all these as
the unfounded products of rumor and vitriol.
        The truth of the matter is this: I was recalled from my post at Fort Mason
almost as soon as I has returned there. General Twigg was in very poor
health when he resumed command of the Department of Texas from me, and
apparently his long journey weakened him still further, for I had not
reached my post before he died of his consumption, leaving me again the
senior officer in the Department.
        I returned to San Antonio with no small trepidation. All around me the
locals celebrated the secession convention's decision to separate from the
Union- many, I judge, with more alcoholic spirits than festive spirits. I
was confronted twice by locals on the way to the fort, demanded of that I
should remove myself from their presence post haste, as I and my government
were no longer welcome on Texan soil.
        I have never, and I still do not, acknowlege the legality or propriety of
secession. In my opinion, the United States is and remains the greatest
nation on Earth, and any desire to separate from that nation stems from
sheer folly, misunderstanding and unfounded fears. In any case, a good
soldier does not follow politics, but the orders of his duly established
authority. Until I recieved orders from Washington I determined to hold all
Federal forts and installations as if nothing had happened, and I sent
orders out to my subordinates to that effect.
        When orders arrived for me to depart for Washington on the Sixth of
February, I sent a reply noting General Twigg's death and Colonel Sumner's
absence, and requested clarification of my orders. If I were still to be
recalled, I would go with frank relief, for each day tensions grew greater
between my command and the citizens of Texas.
        I never recieved the clarification I sought. On the seventeenth of February
I awoke to find the fort surrounded by a mob of armed Texas militia,
complete with artillery. I met briefly with their putative leader, the
Ranger Ben McCulloch, and informed them in no uncertain terms that I would
not surrender the fort without a fight. 
        What followed thereafter you no doubt have heard, although undoubtedly in
more sanguinary language. The Texans stormed the fort, falling right and
left to our musket fire and to the canister shot of our smoothbores.
McCulloch, brave man that he was, fell in the assault, as did a number of
my men in the defense. The Texans were bloodily repulsed, and the mob broke
and fled, allowing me to send out messengers to the outlying forts. After
the attack, the Texans reformed and laid siege to the fort.
        By the first day of March we were in dire straits. Our food supplies, which
I had judged adequate for a long period of siege, proved substandard and
largely spoiled. The horses weakened for lack of proper fodder and could
not be used for anything. Many of our wounded died for lack of medicine and
proper care. Only in ammunition did we have a surplus, since the Texans,
having tried us once, did not care to try it again. 
        On the fifth of March the Texans sent in a messenger under flag of truce.
The messenger, to my distinct shock, was Lieutenant Hood, who informed me
that he had resigned his commission and, without awaiting my orders or
response from Washington, had thrown his lot in with the Texans, along with
a substantial portion of my command. 
        The situation he presented to me was dire indeed. Two forts had surrendered
entirely, despite my orders, and two others had been taken by force.
Furthermore, the militia force besieging me had been reinforced by units
from around the area, and sufficient artillery had been emplaced to reduce
the fort without risking a single Texan life.
        Surrounded, deserted, and with no hope of breakout or relief, I resigned
myself to my fate. On March 6- twenty-five years to the day the Alamo was
stormed by General Santa Anna's forces- the Stars and Stripes were lowered
and the Lone Star raised over my command. 
        The terms of surrender resembled in no way the lenient ones offered by
McCulloch. For a full month we were held imprisoned, in our own fort, in
the Alamo, or in various warehouses around San Antonio. Finally, we were
released by order of Jefferson Davis, and we debarked from Indianola with
nothing more than the uniforms on our backs. 
        Imagine my deep regret to hear upon my return to Washington that my stand
in San Antonio has ignited what I fear will be a terrible war, which cannot
help but consume our nation entirely. Virginia, my beloved home, has
seceded, and my duty will no longer allow me to cross the river and see
your sisters or devoted mother. Had things turned out a little differently-
if Twigg had lived just one more year, I have no doubt he would have
surrendered without a struggle, and I would be spared the bitter duty which
passes now to me- to raise my hand, however reluctantly, against my native
state.
        But the die has been cast. I cannot unwrite history, doomed though I am to
go down in it as the man who started the civil war in America, and my duty
lies before me to make that war as brief and merciful as possible.
Lieutenant Stuart is still with me as a staff officer; I have recommended
him to the colonelcy of the first cavalry regiment available. His
sympathies, I fear, are with the insurgents, but his loyalty, he tells me,
is to me alone, especially after the bloody and miserable ordeal we endured
together these past months.
        I cannot advise you either way as to which side you should choose in this
conflict. You must follow your own conscience and perform your duty as best
you are able. I only pray to God that, should you choose Virginia (as I
might have done, had things only been different), we should not be forced
to meet across the lines of war. 
        Above all, perform your duty to the fullest extent, wherever it lies; a man
cannot do more, and should never seek to do less.

                                Your loving father,

                                Robert E. Lee
                                Major General, U.S.A.