EXCERPT

It was almost sundown. The hot, humid August air had given way to fierce rain and more mosquitos than usual. But at last the first part of the plan of attack was under way. Commander David Glasgow Farragut's gunboats were firing at Fort Gaines to distract the five hundred Confederate soldiers inside. Gaines was only one of the three forts protecting the entrance into the city.

Fort Morgan was the real problem. To get into the bay, Farragut had to get his ships out of range of Morgan's cannons. His fleet had to pass through a minefield of torpedoes hidden under the water at the bay's entrance. These tin cones, filled two-thirds of the way with gunpowder, could destroy a ship on contact.

Farragut breathed in the familiar smell of the salt and sea. He looked about the deck of his flagship, the USS Hartford. She had been his ship since her maiden voyage at the end of 1861. He had stood on her deck when the Union captured New Orleans two years ago. Again he would command her in battle.

He retired to his cabin for some quiet and wrote what he believed could be his last letter to his wife.