On the 9th of March, 1862, for the first time in human
history, two iron-clad ships met in battle. The occasion was
a memorable one, and its story is well worthy of being
retold in our cycle of historic events. For centuries, for
thousands of years, in truth, wooden vessels had been
struggling for the mastery of the seas. With the first shot
fired from the turret of the Monitor at the roof-like sides
of the Merrimac, in the early morning of the day named, the
long reign of wooden war vessels ended; that of iron
monarchs of the deep began. England could no more trust to
her "wooden walls" for safety, and all the nations of
Europe, when the echo of that shot reached their ears, felt
that the ancient era of naval construction was at an end,
and that the future navies of the world must ride the waves
clad in massive armor of steel.
On the 8th of March, indeed, this had been shown. On that
day the Merrimac steamed down from Norfolk harbor into
Hampton Roads, where lay a fleet of wooden men-of-war, some
of them the largest sailing frigates then in the American
navy. On shore soldiers were encamped, here Union, there
Confederate; and the inmates of the camps, the garrison of
Fortress Monroe, the crews of the ships at anchor under its
guns, all gazed with eager eyes over the open waters of the
bay, their interest in the coming contest as intense as
Roman audience ever displayed for the life and death
struggle in the gladiatorial arena. Before them lay a
mightier amphitheatre than that of the Coliseum, and before
them was to be fought more notable struggle for life and
death than ever took place within the walls of mighty Rome.
It was in the afternoon of the 8th, about one o'clock, that
the long roll sounded in the camps on shore, and the cry
resounded from camp to camp, "The Merrimac is coming!" For
several weeks she had been looked for, and preparations made
for her reception. The frigates bore a powerful armament of
heavy guns, ready to batter her iron-clad sides, and strong
hopes were entertained that this modern leviathan would soon
cease to trouble the deep. The lesson fixed by fate for that
day had not yet been learned.
Down the bay she came, looking at a distance like a
flood-borne house, its sides drowned, only its sloping roof
visible. The strange-appearing craft moved slowly,
accompanied by two small gunboats as tenders. As she came
near no signs of life were visible, while her iron sides
displayed no evidence of guns. Yet within that threatening
monster was a crew of three hundred men, and her armament
embraced ten heavy cannon. Hinged lids closed the gun-ports;
raised only when the guns were thrust forward for firing. As
for the men, they were hidden somewhere under that iron
roof; to be felt, but not seen.
What followed has been told in song and story; it need be
repeated here but in epitome. The first assault of the
Merrimac was upon the Cumberland, a thirty-gun frigate.
Again and again the thirty heavy balls of the frigate
rattled upon the impenetrable sides of the iron-clad
monster, and bounded off uselessly into the deep. The
Merrimac came on at full speed, as heedless of this
fusillade as though she was being fired at with peas. As she
approached, two heavy balls from her guns tore through the
timbers of the Cumberland. They were followed by a stunning
blow from her iron beak, that opened a gaping wound in the
defenceless side of her victim. Then she drew off, leaving
her broken beak sticking in the ship's side, and began
firing broadsides into the helpless frigate; raking her fore
and aft with shell and grape, despite the fact that she had
already got her death-blow, and was rapidly filling with
water.
Never ship was fought more nobly than the doomed Cumberland.
With the decks sinking under their feet, the men fought with
unflinching courage. When the bow guns were under water, the
rear guns were made to do double duty. The captain was
called on to surrender. He sternly refused. The last shot
was fired from a gun on a level with the waves. Then, with
sails spread and flags flying, the Cumberland went down,
carrying with her nearly one hundred of her crew, the
remainder swimming ashore. The water was deep, but the
topmast of the doomed vessel still rose above the surface,
with its pennant waving in the wind. For months afterwards
that old flag continued to fly, as if to say, "The
Cumberland sinks, but never surrenders."
The Congress, a fifty-gun frigate, was next attacked, and
handled so severely that her commander ran her ashore, and
soon after hoisted the white flag, destruction appearing
inevitable. Boats were sent by the enemy to take possession,
but a sharp fire from the shore drove them off.
"Is this in accordance with military law?" asked one of the
officers in the camp. "Since the ship has surrendered, has
not the enemy the right to take possession of her?"
This legal knot was quickly and decisively cut by General
Mansfield, in an unanswerable decision.
"I know the d----d ship has surrendered," he said. "But _we_
haven't." And the firing continued.
The Merrimac, not being able to seize her prize, opened fire
with hot shot on the Congress, and quickly set her on fire.
Night was now at hand, and the conquering iron-clad drew
off. The Congress continued to burn, her loaded guns roaring
her requiem one after another, as the fire spread along her
decks. About one o'clock her magazine was reached, and she
blew up with a tremendous explosion, the shock being so
great as to prostrate many of those on the shore.
So ended that momentous day. It had shown one thing
conclusively, that "wooden walls" could no longer "rule the
wave." Iron had proved its superiority in naval
construction. The next day was to behold another novel
sight,--the struggle of iron with iron.
Morning came. The atmosphere was hazy. Only as the mist
slowly lifted were the gladiators of that liquid arena
successively made visible. Here, just above the water,
defiantly floated the flag of the sunken Cumberland. There
smoked the still-burning hull of the Congress. Here, up the
bay, steamed the Merrimac, with two attendants, the Yorktown
and the Patrick Henry. Yonder lay the great hull of the
steam-frigate Minnesota, which had taken some part in the
battle of the day before, but had unfortunately gone ashore
on a mud-bank, from which the utmost efforts failed to force
her off. Other Union naval vessels were visible in the
distance.
The Merrimac made her way towards the Minnesota, as towards
a certain prey. Her commander felt confident that an hour or
two would enable him to reduce this great vessel to the
condition of her recent companions.
Yet an odd sight met his vision. Alongside the Minnesota
floated the strangest-looking craft that human eye had ever
gazed upon. An insignificant affair it appeared; a
"cheese-box on a raft" it was irreverently designated. The
deck, a level expanse of iron, came scarcely above the
surface. Above it rose a circular turret, capable of being
revolved, and with port-holes for two great guns, among the
largest up to that time used in naval warfare.
How this odd contrivance came there so opportunely may be
briefly told. It was the conception of John Ericsson, the
eminent Swedish engineer, and was being rapidly built in New
York while the Merrimac was being plated with thick iron
bars in Norfolk. A contest for time took place between these
two unlike craft. Spies were in both places, to report
progress. Fortunately, the Monitor was finished a day or two
before her competitor. Immediately she steamed away for
Hampton Roads. The passage was a severe one. Three days were
consumed, during which the seas swept repeatedly over the
low deck, the men being often half suffocated in their
confined quarters, the turret alone standing above the
water. As they approached Fortress Monroe the sound of
cannonading was heard. Tarrying but a few minutes at the
fort, the Monitor, as this odd vessel had been named,
approached the Minnesota, and reached her side at a late
hour of the night.
[Illustration: THE MONITOR AND THE MERRIMAC.]
And now, with the new day, back to the fray came the
Merrimac, looking like a giant in comparison with this
dwarfish antagonist. As she approached, the little craft
glided swiftly in front of her grounded consort, like a new
David offering battle to a modern Goliath. As if in disdain
of this puny antagonist, the Merrimac began an attack on the
Minnesota. But when the two eleven-inch guns of the Monitor
opened fire, hurling solid balls of one hundred and
sixty-eight pounds' weight against the iron sides of her
great opponent, it became at once evident that a new move
had opened in the game, and that the Merrimac had no longer
the best of the play.
The fight that followed was an extraordinary one, and was
gazed on with intense interest by the throng of spectators
who crowded the shores of the bay. The Merrimac had no solid
shot, as she had expected only wooden antagonists. Her
shells were hurled upon the Monitor, but most of them missed
their mark, and those that struck failed to do any injury.
So small was the object fired at that the great shells, as a
rule, whirled uselessly by, and plunged hissing into the
waves. The massive solid balls of the Monitor were far more
effective. Nearly every one struck the broad sides of the
Merrimac, breaking her armor in several places, and
shattering the wood backing behind it. Many times the
Merrimac tried to ram her small antagonist, and thus to rid
herself of this teasing tormentor, but the active
"cheese-box" slipped agilely out of her way. The Monitor in
turn tried to disable the screw of her opponent, but without
success.
Unable to do any harm to her dwarfish foe, the Merrimac now,
as if in disdain, turned her attention to the Minnesota,
hurling shells through her side. In return the frigate
poured into her a whole broadside at close range.
"It was enough," said the captain of the frigate afterwards,
"to have blown out of the water any wooden ship in the
world." It was wasted on the iron-clad foe.
This change of action did not please the captain of the
Monitor. He thrust his vessel quickly between the two
combatants, and assailed so sharply that the Merrimac
steamed away. The Monitor followed. Suddenly the fugitive
vessel turned, and, like an animal moved by an impulse of
fury, rushed head on upon her tormentor. Her beak struck the
flat iron deck so sharply as to be wrenched by the blow. The
great hull seemed for the moment as if it would crowd the
low-lying vessel bodily beneath the waves. But no such
result followed. The Monitor glided away unharmed. As she
went she sent a ball against the Merrimac that seemed to
crush in her armored sides.
At ten o'clock the Monitor steamed away, as if in flight.
The Merrimac now prepared to pay attention again to the
Minnesota, her captain deeming that he had silenced his
tormenting foe. He was mistaken. In half an hour the
Monitor, having hoisted a new supply of balls into her
turret, was back again, and for two hours more the strange
battle continued.
Then it came to an end. The Merrimac turned and ran away.
She had need to,--those on shore saw that she was sagging
down at the stern. The battle was over. The turreted
iron-clad had driven her great antagonist from the field,
and won the victory. And thus ended one of the strangest and
most notable naval combats in history.
During the fight the Monitor had fired forty-one shots, and
been struck twenty-two times. Her greatest injury was the
shattering of her pilot-house. Her commander, Lieutenant
Worden, was knocked senseless and temporarily blinded by the
shock. On board the Merrimac two men were killed and
nineteen wounded. Her iron prow was gone, her armor broken
and damaged, her steam-pipe and smoke-stock riddled, the
muzzles of two of her guns shot away, while water made its
way into her through more than one crevice.
Back to Norfolk went the injured Merrimac. Here she was put
into the dry-dock and hastily repaired. After that had been
done, she steamed down to the old fighting-ground on two or
three occasions, and challenged her small antagonist. The
Monitor did not accept the challenge. If any accident had
happened to her the rest of the fleet would have been lost,
and it was deemed wisest to hold her back for emergencies.
On the 10th of May the Confederates marched out of Norfolk.
On the 11th the Merrimac was blown up, and only her disabled
hull remained as a trophy to the victors. As to her
condition and fighting powers, one of the engineers who had
charge of the repairs upon her said,--
"A shot from the Monitor entered one of her ports, lodged in
the backing of the other side, and so shivered her timbers
that she never afterwards could be made seaworthy. She could
not have been kept afloat for twelve hours, and her officers
knew it when they went out and dared the Monitor to fight
her. It was a case of pure bluff; we didn't hold a single
pair."
The combat we have recorded was perhaps the most important
in the history of naval warfare. It marked a turning-point
in the construction of the monarchs of the deep, by proving
that the future battles of the sea must be fought behind
iron walls.