



Produced by Graeme Mackreth and The Online Distributed
Proofreading Team at http://www.pgdp.net (This file was
produced from images generously made available by The
Internet Archive/Canadian Libraries)







[Illustration: Courtesy of the Century Co.

THE "MONITOR" THE "MERRIMAC"

THE ENCOUNTER AT SHORT RANGE, MARCH 9, 1862.]




THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC

BOTH SIDES OF THE STORY

TOLD BY
LIEUT. J.L. WORDEN, U.S.N.
LIEUT. GREENE, U.S.N.
OF THE MONITOR

AND

H. ASHTON RAMSAY, C.S.N.
CHIEF ENGINEER OF THE MERRIMAC


ILLUSTRATED


HARPER & BROTHERS PUBLISHERS
NEW YORK AND LONDON
MCMXII




COPYRIGHT, 1912, BY HARPER & BROTHERS

PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA

PUBLISHED MARCH, 1912




CONTENTS

CHAP.                                                                PAGE

Introduction                                                          vii



I. THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC                                         1
_Told by Lieutenant Worden and Lieutenant S.D. Greene of
the Monitor_


II. THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR                                       25
_Told by H. Ashton Ramsay, Major C.S.A., Chief Engineer
of the Merrimac_


III. THE LAST OF THE MONITOR                                           67
_By an eye-witness, Rear-Admiral E.W. Watson, U.S.N._




INTRODUCTION


This is the first-hand story of what was done and seen and felt on each
side in the battle of the _Monitor_ and the _Merrimac_. The actual
experiences on both vessels are pictured, in one case by the commander
of the _Monitor_, then a lieutenant, and the next in rank, Lieutenant
Greene, and in the other by Chief-Engineer Ramsay of the _Merrimac_.
Clearly such a record of personal experiences has a place by itself in
the literature of the subject.

It is quite unnecessary to dwell upon the various controversies which
this battle has involved. As to the first use of armor, we know that
France experimented with floating armored batteries in the Crimean War,
and England had armored ships before 1862. As to the invention of the
movable turret, which has been a bone of contention, the pages of
Colonel Church's _Life of John Ericsson_ and other books are open to the
curious. The struggle of Ericsson to obtain official recognition, the
raising of money, the hasty equipment of the _Monitor_, and the
restraining orders under which she fought form a story supplementary to
the battle, but of peculiar interest. The _Monitor_ was ordered to act
on the defensive. It was her mission first to protect the wooden ships.
That explains certain misconceptions of her cautious attitude. And the
fact that the powder charges for her Dahlgren guns were officially
limited to fifteen pounds, although thirty and even fifty pounds were
used with safety afterward, invites speculation upon the results if she
had fought with a free hand.

But the main result was reached. The Union fleet was saved. The career
of the _Merrimac_ was checked. No Union vessel was destroyed after the
_Monitor_ appeared. It seems proper to note these facts here, in view of
the fact that Mr. Ramsay's fresh and striking story of the _Merrimac_,
which is presented for the first time, enters upon the details of the
battle more fully than the narrative of Lieutenant Worden and Lieutenant
Greene. Fortunately the discussion has become academic in the
half-century that has passed since Southern cheers over the first
conquests of the _Merrimac_ faltered before the acclaim which greeted
the _Monitor's_ achievement of her task. One may disagree with the
phrasing of various historians on both sides, one may find it difficult
to accept the inscription upon the shaft of the _Merrimac_ outside the
"Confederate White House" in Richmond, but no American can cease to
wonder at the fortitude and daring of those other Americans who fought
to the death in those hastily improvised crafts, bearing the brunt not
only of battle, but of a strange and terrible experiment. It is not an
argument that this book offers, but a saga of heroes, an illumination of
qualities which have made our history in times of crisis.

The year of this battle witnessed the destruction of both the vessels
engaged. Mr. Ramsay describes the blowing-up of the _Merrimac_. An
eye-witness of the sinking of the _Monitor_ off Hatteras, Rear-Admiral
E.W. Watson, who was an officer of the _Rhode Island_, which was towing
the _Monitor_ on that eventful night, has very kindly written a brief
description of the tragedy for this book.

       *       *       *       *       *

The publishers desire to make acknowledgment to the representatives of
the late Lucius E. Chittenden for the use of Part I of this book, which
appears in Mr. Chittenden's most interesting volume, _Recollections of
President Lincoln and his Administration_.




THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC




THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC




I

_Told by Lieutenant Worden and Lieutenant S.D. Greene of the "Monitor"_


Some weeks after the historic battle between the _Monitor_ and the
_Merrimac_ in Hampton Roads, on March 9, 1862, the former vessel came to
the Washington Navy-yard unchanged, in the same condition as when she
discharged her parting shot at the _Merrimac_. There she lay until her
heroic commander had so far recovered from his injuries as to be able to
rejoin his vessel. All leaves of absence had been revoked, the
absentees had returned, and were ready to welcome their captain.
President Lincoln, Captain Fox, and a limited number of Captain Worden's
personal friends had been invited to his informal reception. Lieutenant
Greene received the President and the guests. He was a boy in years--not
too young to volunteer, however, when volunteers were scarce, and to
fight the _Merrimac_ during the last half of the battle, after the
captain was disabled.

The President and the other guests stood on the deck, near the turret.
The men were formed in lines, with their officers a little in advance,
when Captain Worden ascended the gangway. The heavy guns in the
navy-yard began firing the customary salute when he stepped upon the
deck. One side of his face was permanently blackened by the powder shot
into it from the muzzle of a cannon carrying a shell of one hundred
pounds' weight, discharged less than twenty yards away. The President
advanced to welcome him, and introduced him to the few strangers
present. The officers and men passed in review and were dismissed. Then
there was a scene worth witnessing. The old tars swarmed around their
loved captain, they grasped his hand, crowded to touch him, thanked God
for his recovery and return, and invoked blessings upon his head in the
name of all the saints in the calendar. He called them by their names,
had a pleasant word for each of them, and for a few moments we looked
upon an exhibition of a species of affection that could only have been
the product of a common danger.

When order was restored, the President gave a brief sketch of Captain
Worden's career. Commodore Paulding had been the first, Captain Worden
the second officer, of the navy, he said, to give an unqualified opinion
in favor of armored vessels. Their opinions had been influential with
him and with the Board of Construction. Captain Worden had volunteered
to take command of the _Monitor_, at the risk of his life and
reputation, before the keel was laid. He had watched her construction,
and his energy had made it possible to send her to sea in time to arrest
the destructive operations of the _Merrimac_. What he had done with a
new crew, and a vessel of novel construction, we all knew. He, the
President, cordially acknowledged his indebtedness to Captain Worden,
and he hoped the whole country would unite in the feeling of obligation.
The debt was a heavy one, and would not be repudiated when its nature
was understood. The details of the first battle between ironclads would
interest every one. At the request of Captain Fox, Captain Worden had
consented to give an account of his voyage from New York to Hampton
Roads, and of what had afterward happened there on board the _Monitor_.

In an easy conversational manner, without any effort at display, Captain
Worden told the story, of which the following is the substance:

"I suppose," he began, "that every one knows that we left New York
Harbor in some haste. We had information that the _Merrimac_ was nearly
completed, and if we were to fight her on her first appearance, we must
be on the ground. The _Monitor_ had been hurried from the laying of her
keel. Her engines were new, and her machinery did not move smoothly.
Never was a vessel launched that so much needed trial-trips to test her
machinery and get her crew accustomed to their novel duties. We went to
sea practically without them. No part of the vessel was finished; there
was one omission that was serious, and came very near causing her
failure and the loss of many lives. In heavy weather it was intended
that her hatches and all her openings should be closed and battened
down. In that case all the men would be below, and would have to depend
upon artificial ventilation. Our machinery for that purpose proved
wholly inadequate.

"We were in a heavy gale of wind as soon as we passed Sandy Hook. The
vessel behaved splendidly. The seas rolled over her, and we found her
the most comfortable vessel we had ever seen, except for the
ventilation, which gave us more trouble than I have time to tell you
about. We had to run into port and anchor on account of the weather,
and, as you know, it was two o'clock in the morning of Sunday before we
were alongside the _Minnesota_. Captain Van Brunt gave us an account of
Saturday's experience. He was very glad to make our acquaintance, and
notified us that we must be prepared to receive the _Merrimac_ at
daylight. We had had a very hard trip down the coast, and officers and
men were weary and sleepy. But when informed that our fight would
probably open at daylight, and that the _Monitor_ must be put in order,
every man went to his post with a cheer. That night there was no sleep
on board the _Monitor_.

"In the gray of the early morning we saw a vessel approaching, which our
friends on the _Minnesota_ said was the _Merrimac_. Our fastenings were
cast off, our machinery started, and we moved out to meet her half-way.
We had come a long way to fight her, and did not intend to lose our
opportunity.

"Before showing you over the vessel, let me say that there were three
possible points of weakness in the _Monitor_, two of which might have
been guarded against in her construction, if there had been more time to
perfect her plans. One of them was in the turret, which, as you see, is
constructed of eight plates of inch iron--on the side of the ports,
nine--set on end so as to break joints, and firmly bolted together,
making a hollow cylinder eight inches thick. It rests on a metal ring on
a vertical shaft, which is revolved by power from the boilers. If a
projectile struck the turret at an acute angle, it was expected to
glance off without doing damage. But what would happen if it was fired
in a straight line to the center of the turret, which in that case would
receive the whole force of the blow? It might break off the bolt-heads
on the interior, which, flying across, would kill the men at the guns;
it might disarrange the revolving mechanism, and then we would be wholly
disabled.

"I laid the _Monitor_ close alongside the _Merrimac_, and gave her a
shot. She returned our compliment by a shell weighing one hundred and
fifty pounds, fired when we were close together, which struck the turret
so squarely that it received the whole force. Here you see the scar, two
and a half inches deep in the wrought iron, a perfect mold of the shell.
If anything could test the turret, it was that shot. It did not start a
rivet-head or a nut! It stunned the two men who were nearest where the
ball struck, and that was all. I touched the lever--the turret revolved
as smoothly as before. The turret had stood the test; I could mark that
point of weakness off my list forever.

"You notice that the deck is joined to the side of the hull by a right
angle, at what sailors call the 'plank-shear.' If a projectile struck
that angle what would happen? It would not be deflected; its whole force
would be expended there. It might open a seam in the hull below the
water-line, or pierce the wooden hull, and sink us. Here was our second
point of weakness.

"I had decided how I would fight her in advance. I would keep the
_Monitor_ moving in a circle just large enough to give time for loading
the guns. At the point where the circle impinged upon the _Merrimac_ our
guns should be fired, and loaded while we were moving around the
circuit. Evidently the _Merrimac_ would return the compliment every
time. At our second exchange of shots, she returning six or eight to our
two, another of her large shells struck our 'plank-shear' at its angle,
and tore up one of the deck-plates, as you see. The shell had struck
what I believed to be the weakest point in the _Monitor_. We had already
learned that the _Merrimac_ swarmed with sharpshooters, for their
bullets were constantly spattering against our turret and our deck. If a
man showed himself on deck he would draw their fire. But I did not much
consider the sharpshooters. It was my duty to investigate the effects of
that shot. I ordered one of the pendulums to be hauled aside, and,
crawling out of the port, walked to the side, lay down upon my chest,
and examined it thoroughly. The hull was uninjured, except for a few
splinters in the wood. I walked back and crawled into the turret--the
bullets were falling on the iron deck all about me as thick as
hail-stones in a storm. None struck me, I suppose because the vessel was
moving, and at the angle, and when I was lying on the deck my body made
a small mark, difficult to hit. We gave them two more guns, and then I
told the men, what was true, that the _Merrimac_ could not sink us if we
let her pound us for a month. The men cheered; the knowledge put new
life into all.

"We had more exchanges, and then the _Merrimac_ tried new tactics. She
endeavored to ram us, to run us down. Once she struck us about amidships
with her iron ram. Here you see its mark. It gave us a shock, pushed us
around, and that was all the harm. But the movement placed our sides
together. I gave her two guns, which I think lodged in her side, for,
from my lookout crack, I could not see that either shot rebounded. Ours
being the smaller vessel, and more easily handled, I had no difficulty
in avoiding her ram. I ran around her several times, planting our shot
in what seemed to be the most vulnerable places. In this way, reserving
my fire until I got the range and the mark, I planted two more shots
almost in the very spot I had hit when she tried to ram us. Those shots
must have been effective, for they were followed by a shower of bars of
iron.

"The third weak spot was our pilot-house. You see that it is built a
little more than three feet above the deck, of bars of iron, ten by
twelve inches square, built up like a log-house, bolted with very large
bolts at the corners where the bars interlock. The pilot stands upon a
platform below, his head and shoulders in the pilot-house. The upper
tier of bars is separated from the second by an open space of an inch,
through which the pilot may look out at every point of the compass. The
pilot-house, as you see, is a foursquare mass of iron, provided with no
means of deflecting a ball. I expected trouble from it, and I was not
disappointed. Until my accident happened, as we approached the enemy I
stood in the pilot-house and gave the signals. Lieutenant Greene fired
the guns, and Engineer Stimers, here, revolved the turret.

"I was below the deck when the corner of the pilot-house was first
struck by a shot or a shell. It either burst or was broken, and no harm
was done. A short time after I had given the signal and, with my eye
close against the lookout crack, was watching the effect of our shot,
something happened to me--my part in the fight was ended. Lieutenant
Greene, who fought the _Merrimac_ until she had no longer stomach for
fighting, will tell you the rest of the story."

Can it be possible that this beardless boy fought one of the historic
battles of the world? This was the thought of every one, as the modest,
diffident young Greene was half pushed forward into the circle.

"I cannot add much to the Captain's story," he began. "He had cut out
the work for us, and we had only to follow his pattern. I kept the
_Monitor_ either moving around the circle or around the enemy, and
endeavored to place our shots as near her amidships as possible, where
Captain Worden believed he had already broken through her armor. We knew
that she could not sink us, and I thought I would keep right on pounding
her as long as she would stand it. There is really nothing new to be
added to Captain Worden's account. We could strike her wherever we
chose. Weary as they must have been, our men were full of enthusiasm,
and I do not think we wasted a shot. Once we ran out of the circle for a
moment to adjust a piece of machinery, and I learn that some of our
friends feared that we were drawing out of the fight. The _Merrimac_
took the opportunity to start for Norfolk. As soon as our machinery was
adjusted we followed her, and got near enough to give her a parting
shot. But I was not familiar with the locality; there might be torpedoes
planted in the channel, and I did not wish to take any risk of losing
our vessel, so I came back to the company of our friends. But except
that we were, all of us, tired and hungry when we came back to the
_Minnesota_ at half-past twelve P.M., the _Monitor_ was just as well
prepared to fight as she was at eight o'clock in the morning when she
fired the first gun."

We were then shown the injury to the pilot-house. The mark of the ball
was plain upon the two upper bars, the principal impact being upon the
lower of the two. This huge bar was broken in the middle, but held
firmly at either end. The farther it was pressed in, the stronger was
the resistance on the exterior. On the inside the fracture in the bar
was half an inch wide. Captain Worden's eye was very near to the lookout
crack, so that when the gun was discharged the shock of the ball knocked
him senseless, while the mass of flame filled one side of his face with
coarse grains of powder. He remained insensible for some hours.

"Have you heard what Captain Worden's first inquiry was when he
recovered his senses after the general shock to his system?" asked
Captain Fox of the President.

"I think I have," replied Mr. Lincoln, "but it is worth relating to
these gentlemen."

"His question was," said Captain Fox, "'Have I saved the _Minnesota_?'

"'Yes, and whipped the _Merrimac_!' some one answered.

"'Then,' said Captain Worden, 'I don't care what becomes of me.'

"Mr. President," said Captain Fox, "not much of the history to which we
have listened is new to me. I saw this battle from eight o'clock until
midday. There was one marvel in it which has not been mentioned--the
splendid handling of the _Monitor_ throughout the battle. The first bold
advance of this diminutive vessel against a giant like the _Merrimac_
was superlatively grand. She seemed inspired by Nelson's order at
Trafalgar: 'He will make no mistake who lays his vessel alongside the
enemy.' One would have thought the _Monitor_ a living thing. No man was
visible. You saw her moving around that circle, delivering her fire
invariably at the point of contact, and heard the crash of the missile
against her enemy's armor above the thunder of her guns, on the bank
where we stood. It was indescribably grand!

"Now," he continued, "standing here on the deck of this battle-scarred
vessel, the first genuine ironclad--the victor in the first fight of the
ironclads--let me make a confession and perform an act of simple
justice: I never fully believed in armored vessels until I saw this
battle. I know all the facts which united to give us the _Monitor_. I
withhold no credit from Captain Ericsson, her inventor, but I know that
the country is principally indebted for the construction of this vessel
to President Lincoln, and for the success of her trial to Captain
Worden, her commander."




THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR




II

THE MERRIMAC AND THE MONITOR

_Told by H. Ashton Ramsay, Major C.S.A., Chief Engineer of the
"Merrimac"_


The _Merrimac_ was built in 1856 as a full-rigged war-frigate, of
thirty-one hundred tons' burden, with auxiliary steam power to be used
only in case of head winds. She was a hybrid from her birth, marking the
transition from sails to steam as well as from wooden ships to
ironclads.

I became her second assistant engineer in Panama Bay in 1859, cruising
in her around the Horn and back to Norfolk. Her chief engineer was
Alban C. Stimers. Little did we dream that he was to be the right-hand
man of Ericsson in the construction of the _Monitor_, while I was to
hold a similar post in the conversion of our own ship into an ironclad,
or that, in less than a year and a half, we would be seeking to destroy
each other, he as chief engineer of the _Monitor_ and I in the
corresponding position on the _Merrimac_.

In the harbor of Rio on our return voyage we met the _Congress_, and as
we sailed away after coaling she fired a friendly salute and cheered us,
and we responded with a will. When the two ships next met it was in one
of the deadliest combats of naval history.

The machinery of the _Merrimac_ was condemned, and she went out of
commission on our return. She was still at Norfolk when the war broke
out, and was set on fire by the Federals when Norfolk was evacuated.
Some of the workmen in the navy-yard scuttled and sank her, thus putting
out the flames. When she was raised by the Confederates she was nothing
but a burned and blackened hulk.

Her charred upper works were cut away, and in the center a casement
shield one hundred and eighty feet long was built of pitch-pine and oak,
two feet thick. This was covered with iron plates, one to two inches
thick and eight inches wide, bolted over each other and through and
through the woodwork, giving a protective armor four inches in
thickness. The shield sloped at an angle of about thirty-six degrees,
and was covered with an iron grating that served as an upper deck. For
fifty feet forward and aft her decks were submerged below the water, and
the prow was shod with an iron beak to receive the impact when ramming.

Even naval officers were skeptical as to the result. The plates were
rolled at the Tredegar mills at Richmond, and arrived so slowly that we
were nearly a year in finishing her. We could have rolled them at
Norfolk and built four _Merrimacs_ in that time, had the South
understood the importance of a navy at the outbreak of the war.

I remember that my old friend and comrade, Captain Charles MacIntosh,
while awaiting orders, used to come over and stand on the granite
curbing of the dock to watch the work as it crawled along.

"Good-by, Ramsay," he said, sadly, on the eve of starting to command a
ram at New Orleans. "I shall never see you again. She will prove your
coffin." A short time afterward the poor fellow had both legs shot from
under him and died almost immediately.

Rifled guns were just coming into use, and Lieutenant Brooke, who
designed the _Merrimac_, considered the question of having some of her
guns rifled. How to procure such cannon was not easily discovered, as we
had no foundries in the South. There were many cast-iron cannon that had
fallen into our hands at Norfolk, and he conceived the idea of turning
some of this ordnance into rifles. In order to enable them to stand the
additional bursting strain we forged wrought-iron bands and shrank them
over the chambers, and we devised a special tool for rifling the bore of
the guns. They gave effective service.

Many details remained uncompleted when we were at last floated out of
dry-dock, but there was great pressure for us to make some demonstration
that might serve to check McClellan in his advance up the Peninsula.

The ship was still full of workmen hurrying her to completion when
Commodore Franklin Buchanan arrived from Richmond one March morning and
ordered every one out of the ship, except her crew of three hundred and
fifty men which had been hastily drilled on shore in the management of
the big guns, and directed Executive Officer Jones to prepare to sail at
once.

At that time nothing was known of our destination. All we knew was that
we were off at last. Buchanan sent for me. The veteran sailor, the beau
ideal of a naval officer of the old school, with his tall form, harsh
features, and clear, piercing eyes, was pacing the deck with a stride I
found it difficult to match, although he was then over sixty and I but
twenty-four.

"Ramsay," he asked, "what would happen to your engines and boilers if
there should be a collision?"

"They are braced tight," I assured him. "Though the boilers stand
fourteen feet, they are so securely fastened that no collision could
budge them."

"I am going to ram the _Cumberland_," said my commander. "I'm told she
has the new rifled guns, the only ones in their whole fleet we have
cause to fear. The moment we are in the Roads I'm going to make right
for her and ram her. How about your engines? They were in bad shape in
the old ship, I understand. Can we rely on them? Should they be tested
by a trial trip?"

"She will have to travel some ten miles down the river before we get to
the Roads," I said. "If any trouble develops I'll report it. I think
that will be sufficient trial trip."

I watched the machinery carefully as we sped down the Elizabeth River,
and soon satisfied myself that all was well. Then I went on deck.

"How fast is she going do you think?" I asked one of the pilots.

"Eight or nine knots an hour," he replied, making a rapid calculation
from objects ashore. The _Merrimac_ as an ironclad was faster under
steam than she had ever been before with her top hamper of masts and
sails.

I presented myself to the commodore. "The machinery is all right, sir,"
I assured him.

Across the river at Newport News gleamed the batteries and white tents
of the Federal camp and the vessels of the fleet blockading the mouth of
the James, chief among them the _Congress_ and the _Cumberland_, tall
and stately, with every line and spar clearly defined against the blue
March sky, their decks and ports bristling with guns, while the rigging
of the _Cumberland_ was gay with the red, white, and blue of sailors'
garments hung out to dry.

As we rounded into view the white-winged sailing craft that sprinkled
the bay and long lines of tugs and small boats scurried to the far
shore like chickens on the approach of a hovering hawk. They had seen
our black hulk which looked like the roof of a barn afloat. Suddenly
huge volumes of smoke began to pour from the funnels of the frigates
_Minnesota_ and _Roanoke_ at Old Point. They had seen us, too, and were
getting up steam. Bright- signal flags were run up and down the
masts of all the ships of the Federal fleet. The _Congress_ shook out
her topsails. Down came the clothes-line on the _Cumberland_, and boats
were lowered and dropped astern.

Our crew was summoned to the gun-deck, and Buchanan addressed us:
"Sailors, in a few minutes you will have the long-looked-for opportunity
of showing your devotion to our cause. Remember that you are about to
strike for your country and your homes. The Confederacy expects every
man to do his duty. Beat to quarters." Every terse, burning word is
engraved on my memory, though fifty years have passed since they were
spoken.

Just as he had finished, the mess caterer touched my elbow and
whispered: "Better get your lunch now, Mr. Ramsay. It will be your last
chance. The galley-fires must be put out when the magazines are opened."

On my way I saw Assistant-Surgeon Garnett at a table laying out lint and
surgical implements. I had no appetite, and merely tasted some cold
tongue and a cup of coffee. Passing along the gun-deck, I saw the pale
and determined countenances of the guns' crews, as they stood
motionless at their posts, with set lips unsmiling, contrasting with the
careless expression of sailors when practised at "fighting quarters" on
a man-of-war. This was the real thing.

As we approached the Federal ships we were met by a veritable storm of
shells which must have sunk any ship then afloat--except the _Merrimac_.
They struck our sloping sides, were deflected upward to burst harmlessly
in the air, or rolled down and fell hissing into the water, dashing the
spray up into our ports.

As we drew nearer the _Cumberland_, above the roar of battle rang the
voice of Buchanan, "Do you surrender?"

"Never!" retorted the gallant Morris.

The crux of what followed was down in the engine-room. Two gongs, the
signal to stop, were quickly followed by three, the signal to reverse.
There was an ominous pause, then a crash, shaking us all off our feet.
The engines labored. The vessel was shaken in every fiber. Our bow was
visibly depressed. We seemed to be bearing down with a weight on our
prow. Thud, thud, thud, came the rain of shot on our shield from the
double-decked battery of the _Congress_. There was a terrible crash in
the fire-room. For a moment we thought one of the boilers had burst. No,
it was the explosion of a shell in our stack. Was any one hit? No, thank
God! The firemen had been warned to keep away from the up-take, so the
fragments of shell fell harmlessly on the iron floor-plates.

We had rushed on the doomed ship, relentless as fate, crashing through
her barricade of heavy spars and torpedo fenders, striking her below her
starboard fore-chains, and crushing far into her. For a moment the whole
weight of her hung on our prow and threatened to carry us down with her,
the return wave of the collision curling up into our bow port.

The _Cumberland_ began to sink slowly, bow first, but continued to fight
desperately for the forty minutes that elapsed after her doom was
sealed, while we were engaged with both the _Cumberland_ and the
_Congress_, being right between them.

We had left our cast-iron beak in the side of the _Cumberland_. Like the
wasp, we could sting but once, leaving it in the wound.

Our smoke-stack was riddled, our flag was shot down several times, and
was finally secured to a rent in the stack. On our gun-deck the men were
fighting like demons. There was no thought or time for the wounded and
dying as they tugged away at their guns, training and sighting their
pieces while the orders rang out, "Sponge, load, fire!"

"The muzzle of our gun has been shot away," cried one of the gunners.

"No matter, keep on loading and firing--do the best you can with it,"
replied Lieutenant Jones.

"Keep away from the side ports, don't lean against the shield, look out
for the sharpshooters," rang the warnings. Some of our men who failed to
heed them and leaned against the shield were stunned and carried below,
bleeding at the ears. All were full of courage and worked with a will;
they were so begrimed with powder that they looked like <DW64>s.

"Pass along the cartridges."

"More powder."

"A shell for number six."

"A wet wad for the hot-shot gun."

"Put out that pipe and don't light it again on peril of your life."

Such were the directions and commands, issued like clockwork amid the
confusion of battle. Our executive officer seemed to be in a dozen
places at once.

This gives some faint notion of the scene passing behind our grim iron
casement, which to the beholders without seemed a machine of
destruction. Human hearts were beating and bleeding there. Human lives
were being sacrificed. Pain, death, wounds, glory--that was the sum of
it.

On the doomed ship _Cumberland_ the battle raged with equal fury. The
sanded deck was red and slippery with blood. Delirium seized the crew.
They stripped to their trousers, kicked off their shoes, tied
handkerchiefs about their heads, and fought and cheered as their ship
sank beneath their feet. Then the order came, "All save who can." There
was a scramble for the spar-deck and a rush overboard. The ship listed.
The after pivot-gun broke loose and rushed down the decline like a
furious animal, rolling over a man as it bounded overboard, leaving a
mass of mangled flesh on deck.

We now turned to the _Congress_, which had tried to escape but had
grounded, and the battle raged once more, broadside upon broadside,
delivered at close range, the _Merrimac_ working closer all the time
with her bow pointed as if to ram the _Congress_. A shell from
Lieutenant Wood's gun sped through their line of powder-passers, not
only cutting down the men, but exploding the powder buckets in their
hands, spreading death and destruction and setting fire to the ship.

At last came the order, "Cease firing."

"The _Congress_ has surrendered," some one cried. "Look out of the port.
See, she has run up white flags. The officers are waving their
handkerchiefs."

At this several of the officers started to leave their posts and rush on
deck, but Lieutenant Jones in his stentorian voice sang out: "Stand by
your guns, and, lieutenants, be ready to resume firing at the word. See
that your guns are well supplied with ammunition during the lull. Dr.
Garnett, see how those poor fellows yonder are coming on. Mr.
Littlepage, tell Paymaster Semple to have a care of the berth-deck and
use every precaution against fire. Mr. Hasker, call away the cutter's
crew and have them in readiness. Mr. Lindsay [to the carpenter], sound
the well, examine the forehold, and report if you find anything wrong."
Such was Catesby Ap. R. Jones, the executive officer of the _Merrimac_.

When it was fully evident that there was to be a suspension of
hostilities, and these details had all been attended to, several of the
officers went to stand beside Buchanan on the upper grating.

The whole scene was changed. A pall of black smoke hung about the ships
and obscured the clean-cut outlines of the shore. Down the river were
the three frigates _St. Lawrence_, _Roanoke_, and _Minnesota_, also
enveloped in the clouds of battle that now and then reflected the
crimson lightnings of the god of war. The masts of the _Cumberland_ were
protruding above the water. The _Congress_ presented a terrible scene of
carnage.

The gunboats _Beaufort_ and _Raleigh_ were signaled to take off the
wounded and fire the ship. They were driven away by sharpshooters on
shore, who suddenly turned their fire on us, notwithstanding the white
flag of the _Congress_. Buchanan fell, severely wounded in the groin.

As he was being carried below he said to Executive Officer Jones: "Plug
hot shot into her and don't leave her until she's afire. They must look
after their own wounded, since they won't let us"--a characteristic
command when it is remembered that his own brother, McKean Buchanan, was
paymaster of the _Congress_ and might have been numbered among the
wounded.

We had kept two furnaces for the purpose of heating shot. They were
rolled into the flames on a grating, rolled out into iron buckets,
hoisted to the gun-deck, and rolled into the guns, which had been
prepared with wads of wet hemp. Then the gun would be touched off
quickly and the shot sent on its errand of destruction.

Leaving the _Congress_ wrapped in sheets of flame, we made for the three
other frigates. The _St. Lawrence_ and _Roanoke_ had run aground, but
were pulled off by tugs and made their escape. The _Minnesota_ was not
so fortunate, but we drew twenty-three feet of water and could not get
near enough to destroy her, while our guns could not be elevated owing
to the narrow embrasures, and their range was only a mile; so we made
for our moorings at Sewall's Point.

All the evening we stood on deck watching the brilliant display of the
burning ship. Every part of her was on fire at the same time, the
red-tongued flames running up shrouds, masts, and stays, and extending
out to the yard-arms. She stood in bold relief against the black
background, lighting up the Roads and reflecting her lurid lights on the
bosom of the now placid and hushed waters. Every now and then the flames
would reach one of the loaded cannon and a shell would hiss at random
through the darkness. About midnight came the grand finale. The
magazines exploded, shooting up a huge column of firebrands hundreds of
feet in the air, and then the burning hulk burst asunder and melted into
the waters, while the calm night spread her sable mantle over Hampton
Roads.

The _Monitor_ arrived during the evening and anchored under the stern of
the _Minnesota_, her lighter draught enabling her to do so without
danger. To us the ensuing engagement was in the nature of a surprise.
If we had known we were to meet her we would have at least been supplied
with solid shot for our rifled guns. We might even have thought best to
wait until our iron beak, lost in the side of the _Cumberland_, could be
replaced. Buchanan was incapacitated by his wound, and the command
devolved upon Lieutenant Jones.

We left our anchorage shortly before eight o'clock next morning and
steamed across and up stream toward the _Minnesota_, thinking to make
short work of her and soon return with her colors trailing under ours.
We approached her slowly, feeling our way cautiously along the edge of
the channel, when suddenly, to our astonishment, a black object that
looked like the historic description, "a barrel-head afloat with a
cheese-box on top of it," moved slowly out from under the _Minnesota_
and boldly confronted us. It must be confessed that both ships were
queer-looking craft, as grotesque to the eyes of the men of '62 as they
would appear to those of the present generation.

And now the great fight was on, a fight the like of which the world had
never seen. With the battle of yesterday old methods had passed away,
and with them the experience of a thousand years "of battle and of
breeze" was brought to naught.

We hovered about each other in spirals, gradually contracting the
circuits until we were within point-blank range, but our shell glanced
from the _Monitor's_ turret just as hers did from our sloping sides. For
two hours the cannonade continued without perceptible damage to either
of the combatants.

On our gun-deck all was bustle, smoke, grimy figures, and stern
commands, while down in the engine and boiler rooms the sixteen furnaces
were belching out fire and smoke, and the firemen standing in front of
them, like so many gladiators, tugged away with devil's-claw and
slice-bar, inducing by their exertions more and more intense combustion
and heat. The noise of the cracking, roaring fires, escaping steam, and
the loud and labored pulsations of the engines, together with the roar
of battle above and the thud and vibration of the huge masses of iron
which were hurled against us produced a scene and sound to be compared
only with the poet's picture of the lower regions.

And then an accident occurred that threatened our utter destruction. We
stuck fast aground on a sand-bar.

Our situation was critical. The _Monitor_ could, at her leisure, come
close up to us and yet be out of our reach, owing to our inability to
deflect our guns. In she came and began to sound every chink in our
armor--every one but that which was actually vulnerable, had she known
it.

The coal consumption of the two days' fight had lightened our prow until
our unprotected submerged deck was almost awash. The armor on our sides
below the water-line had been extended but about three feet, owing to
our hasty departure before the work was finished. Lightened as we were,
these exposed portions rendered us no longer an ironclad, and the
_Monitor_ might have pierced us between wind and water had she depressed
her guns.

Fearing that she might discover our vulnerable "heel of Achilles" we had
to take all chances. We lashed down the safety valves, heaped
quick-burning combustibles into the already raging fires, and brought
the boilers to a pressure that would have been unsafe under ordinary
circumstances. The propeller churned the mud and water furiously, but
the ship did not stir. We piled on oiled cotton waste, splints of wood,
anything that would burn faster than coal. It seemed impossible that the
boilers could stand the pressure we were crowding upon them. Just as we
were beginning to despair there was a perceptible movement, and the
_Merrimac_ slowly dragged herself off the shoal by main strength. We
were saved.

Before our adversary saw that we were again afloat we made a dash for
her, catching her quite unprepared, and tried to ram her, but our
commander was dubious about the result of a collision without our
iron-shod beak, and gave the signal to reverse the engines long before
we reached the _Monitor_. As a result I did not feel the slightest shock
down in the engine-room, though we struck her fairly enough.

The carpenter reported that the effect was to spring a leak forward.
Lieutenant Jones sent for me and asked me about it.

"It is impossible we can be making much water," I replied, "for the
skin of the vessel is plainly visible in the crank-pits."

A second time he sent for me and asked if we were making any water in
the engine-room.

"With the two large Worthington pumps, besides the bilge injections, we
could keep her afloat for hours, even with a ten-inch shell in her
hull," I assured him, repeating that there was no water in the engine
and boiler rooms.

We glided past, leaving the _Monitor_ unscathed, but got between her and
the _Minnesota_ and opened fire on the latter. The _Monitor_ gallantly
rushed to her rescue, passing so close under our submerged stern that
she almost snapped off our propeller. As she was passing, so near that
we could have leaped aboard her, Lieutenant Wood trained the stern-gun
on her when she was only twenty yards from its muzzle and delivered a
rifle-pointed shell which dislodged the iron logs sheltering the
_Monitor's_ conning-tower, carrying away the steering-gear and signal
apparatus, and blinding Captain Worden. It was a mistake to place the
conning-tower so far from the turret and the vitals of the ship. Since
that time it has been located over the turret. The _Monitor's_ turret
was a death-trap. It was only twenty feet in diameter, and every shot
knocked off bolt-heads and sent them flying against the gunners. If one
of them barely touched the side of the turret he would be stunned and
momentarily paralyzed. Lieutenant Greene had been taken below in a
dazed condition and never fully recovered from the effects. One of the
port shutters had been jammed, putting a gun out of commission, and
there was nothing for the _Monitor_ to do but to retreat and leave the
_Minnesota_ to her fate.

Captain Van Brunt, of the latter vessel, thought he was now doomed and
was preparing to fire his ship when he saw the _Merrimac_ also
withdrawing toward Norfolk.

It was at this juncture that Lieutenant Jones had sent for me and said:
"The pilots will not place us nearer to the _Minnesota_, and we cannot
afford to run the risk of getting aground again. I'm going to haul off
under the guns of Sewall's Point and renew the attack on the rise of the
tide. Bank your fires and make any necessary adjustments to the
machinery, but be prepared to start up again later in the afternoon."

I went below to comply with his instructions, and later was astonished
to hear cheering. Rushing on deck, I found we were passing Craney Island
on our way to Norfolk, and were being cheered by the soldiers of the
battery.

Our captain had consulted with some of his lieutenants. He explained
afterward that as the _Monitor_ had proved herself so formidable an
adversary he had thought best to get a supply of solid shot, have the
prow replaced, the port shutters put on, the armor belt extended below
water, and the guns whose muzzles had been shot away replaced, and then
renew the engagement with every chance of victory. I remember feeling
as though a wet blanket had been thrown over me. His reasoning was
doubtless good, but it ignored the moral effect of leaving the Roads
without forcing the _Minnesota_ to surrender.

As the _Merrimac_ passed up the river, trailing the ensign of the
_Congress_ under the stars and bars, she received a tremendous ovation
from the crowds that lined the shores, while hundreds of small boats,
gay with flags and bunting, converted our course into a triumphal
procession.

We went into dry-dock that very afternoon, and in about three weeks were
ready to renew the battle upon more advantageous terms, but the
_Monitor_, though reinforced by two other ironclads, the _Galena_ and
the _Naugatuck_, and every available vessel of the United States navy,
was under orders from Washington to refuse our challenge and bottle us
up in the Roads. This strategy filled us with rage and dismay, but it
proved very effective.

Our new commander, Commodore Josiah Tatnall, was burning to distinguish
himself, but he was under orders not to risk the destruction or capture
of the _Merrimac_ by leaving the Roads, as General Huger's division at
Norfolk would then be at the mercy of the Federal fleet. Week after week
was passing and with it his golden opportunity. At last we went to
Richmond and pressed a plan for a sortie upon the President. He returned
one afternoon and ordered every one aboard. That night we slipped down
the Roads and were soon passing Fort Monroe on our way out into the
Chesapeake.

Presently our army signal officer began waving his lantern communicating
with our distant batteries, and then told the result to Officer Jones,
who reported to Tatnall. "We have been ordered to return, sir," he said.

Tatnall was viewing the dim outlines of the fort through his glass and
pretended not to hear.

"The order is peremptory," repeated Jones.

Tatnall hesitated. He was of half a mind to disobey. "Old Huger has
outwitted me," he muttered. "Do what you please. I leave you in command.
I'm going to bed," and he went below in a high dudgeon. Tatnall was a
striking-looking man, standing over six feet, with florid complexion,
deep-sunken blue eyes, and a protruding under lip. That he did not have
a chance to fight was no fault of his.

Our life on board for the weeks that followed was far from comfortable.
We were within sight of the enemy, and at every movement of the opposing
fleet it was "clear away for action." Steam was kept up continually. Our
cabins were without air ports and no ray of light even penetrated the
ward-rooms. There was nowhere to walk but on the upper grating--a modern
prison is far more comfortable. Sometimes the sailors waded on the
submerged deck, giving rise to the superstition among the <DW54>s that
they were the crew of the "debble ship" with power to walk on the
water.

Norfolk was now being evacuated and we were covering Huger's retreat.
When this was effected we were to receive the signal and to make our own
way up the James. Norfolk was in Federal hands, and Huger had
disappeared without signaling us, when our pilots informed us that
Harrison's Bar, which we must cross, drew only eighteen feet of water.
Under their advice, on the night of May 11th we lightened ship by
throwing overboard all our coal and ballast, thus raising our
unprotected decks above water. At last all was ready--and then we found
that the wind which had been blowing down-stream all day had swept the
water off the bar. When morning dawned the Federal fleet must discover
our defenseless condition, and defeat and capture were certain, for we
were now no longer an ironclad.

It was decided to abandon the vessel and set her on fire. We took the
_Merrimac_ to the bight of Craney Island, and about midnight the work of
disembarking the crew began. We had but two boats, and it was sunrise
before our three hundred and fifty men were all ashore. Cotton waste and
trains of powder were strewn about the deck, and Executive Officer
Jones, who was the last to leave the ship, applied the slow match. Then
we marched silently through the woods to join Huger, fifteen miles away
at Suffolk.

Still unconquered, we hauled down our drooping colors, their laurels all
fresh and green, with mingled pride and grief, gave her to the flames,
and set the lambent fires roaring about the shotted guns. The slow
match, the magazine, and that last, deep, low, sullen, mournful boom
told our people, now far away on the march, that their gallant ship was
no more.




THE LAST OF THE MONITOR




III

THE LAST OF THE MONITOR

_By an eye-witness, Rear-Admiral E.W. Watson, U.S.N._


On the 29th of December, 1862, nine months after her memorable combat
with the _Merrimac_, the _Monitor_, Commander John P. Bankhead, left
Hampton Roads in tow of the _Rhode Island_, commanded by Captain Stephen
Decatur Trenchard, for Beaufort, North Carolina. The weather at the time
of starting looked favorable for the trip, but on the following day,
when nearing Cape Hatteras, the wind came out from the southeast and
gradually freshened until by evening it was blowing a moderate gale,
with a tolerably heavy sea running. It was soon seen that the _Monitor_
was making heavy weather of it, and the engines were slowed down, but
the course was still kept head to the wind and sea.

This was a mistake, for experience later on in towing other vessels of
her class proved that the safest way to handle them in heavy weather was
to let them lie in the trough of the sea, when the waves would wash over
their decks and the roll would not be excessive. The _Monitor_ was
closely watched, all on board the _Rhode Island_ feeling anxious for her
safety. Toward the end of the first watch--between 8 P.M. and
midnight--the signal of distress, a red lantern, was hoisted on the
_Monitor_, and, unknown to those on the _Rhode Island_, the hawser was
cut and the anchor of the _Monitor_ let go.

The _Rhode Island_ immediately stopped her engine, and three boats were
called away with an officer in charge of each, and were sent to take off
the _Monitor's_ people. With the heavy sea running it was a difficult
matter to go alongside of her, and the first boat to reach her was
thrown by a wave upon the deck and a hole stove in her. The next wave
washed the boat off, and with considerable difficulty she took on board
as many of the men as in her leaky condition could make the return trip
safely.

When the boats came alongside of the _Monitor_, her captain and
executive officer went upon the deck and, clinging to the life-lines
with the waves washing over them, called to the crew to come down from
the turret and get into the boats, which they were reluctant to do at
first. Some were able to jump into the boats, and some landed in the
water and were hauled in. Seeing an old quartermaster with a large
bundle under his arm, the executive officer, thinking that it was his
clothes-bag, told him that that was no time to be trying to save his
effects. He said nothing, but threw it into the boat. When the bundle
was passed up over the side of the _Rhode Island_ it proved to be a
little messenger-boy--probably the smallest and youngest one in the
service. The three boats were finally loaded and made their way back to
the ship.

In the mean while the _Rhode Island_, in backing her engines, had fouled
the hawser with her port paddle-wheel, and being directly to windward of
the _Monitor_, with her engines helpless, drifted down upon her. It
looked at one time as if she would strike the bow of the _Monitor_, but,
fortunately, she just missed it, and, scraping along her side, drifted
off to leeward.

Another boat was sent to bring off the remainder of the _Monitor's_
crew, but, being to leeward now, she could make only slow headway
against the seas, and before she got to her the men saw the _Monitor's_
light disappear, and knew that she had gone down. The hawser having
finally been cleared from the _Rhode Island's_ wheel, she steamed around
searching for the boat, sending up rockets and burning blue lights to
show her position. When the day dawned nothing could be seen. After
hailing a passing government vessel and telling them to search for the
boat, the _Rhode Island_ steamed with all speed for Fortress Monroe to
report the loss.

When the survivors of the ill-fated vessel were mustered on the deck of
the _Rhode Island_, four officers and twelve men were found missing, all
of them probably buried in an iron coffin in a watery grave about fifty
miles to the southward and eastward of Cape Hatteras Light.

       *       *       *       *       *

The missing boat and crew of the _Rhode Island_ were found by that
vessel a week later safe in Beaufort, North Carolina. They had been
picked up by a schooner and taken into that port. The officer in charge
of the boat reported that in the early morning he had sighted a schooner
standing toward them, and had hoisted a black silk handkerchief
belonging to one of the crew on an oar as a signal of distress, but the
people in the schooner, evidently thinking them pirates who had come out
of some one of the inlets of the coast, turned tail and scudded away
from them. A second schooner, coming along soon after, was more
hospitable and took them aboard.


THE END





End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Monitor and the Merrimac, by 
J. L. Worden et al.

*** 