Will they sink or swim?—Captain Ericsson, the Swede—The Merrimac raised and armoured—The Monitor built by private venture—Merrimac surprises Fort Monroe—The Cumberland attacked—The silent monster comes on—Her ram makes an impression—Morris refuses to strike his flag—The Cumberland goes down—The Congress is next for attention—On fire and forced to surrender—Blows up at midnight—The Minnesota aground shows she can bite—General panic—Was it Providence?—A light at sea—Only a cheese-box on a raft—Sunday’s fight between two monsters—The Merrimac finds she is deeply hurt, wounded to death—The four long hours—Worden and Buchanan both do their best—Signals for help—The fiery end of the Whitehall gunboat.
The War of Secession between the Federals and Confederate States gave rise to a new kind of warship—the ironclad. The Merrimac was converted into such a vessel by the South, and the Monitor was built by the North, or Federals, in the space of 100 days.
Most people, experts and others, predicted a watery grave for a ship cased in iron. Very few ventured on board at the launching of the Monitor, and even the builders provided a steam-tug to save the passengers in case she went to the bottom. But the Monitor, after the first graceful dip, sat like a wild duck on a mere, being flat-bottomed, having a turret 9 feet high, capable of revolving, with two circular portholes to fire from. Captain Ericsson, a Swede, was her architect.
The South had seized all the forts and dockyards below Chesapeake Bay, and had struck great consternation into the Federal hearts. When the Federals burnt and evacuated the Norfolk Navy Yard they scuttled the steam frigate Merrimac; but the Confederates raised her, plated her with railroad iron, and fitted her with a slanting roof to serve as a shield. The Merrimac, when finished, did not take the water so gracefully as the Monitor, for her weight was so enormous that she nearly broke her back in launching. It was known that both sides were at work upon some monster of the deep, but which would be ready first no one could predict.
However, on the 8th of March the Merrimac left Norfolk, accompanied by two other war vessels—the Jamestown and Yorktown—and followed by a little fleet of armed tugs. She was heading for Newport News, where there was a Federal garrison, guarded by the sailing frigates the Cumberland and the Congress, which rode at anchor within half a mile of the shore battery. Their boats were hanging at the booms, and the week’s washing fluttered in the rigging—as peaceful a scene as could be imagined.
But the look-out on Fortress Monroe caught sight of a monster vessel ploughing the waves, and signalled to the war-ships to get under way. The Minnesota had her steam up and soon went off towards Newport News, where the Cumberland and Congress lay on blockading duty. The crew of the Cumberland, seeing a strange ship come round Craney Island, recognized her as the expected ironclad. All hands were beat to quarters, and the Cumberland swung across the channel in order to bring her broadside to bear. The slanting roof of the Merrimac puzzled them, and the long iron ram churned up the water as she advanced relentlessly and in silence. At the distance of a mile the Cumberland began to use her pivot guns, but the Merrimac made no reply, only steamed majestically on, though broadside after broadside was poured upon her like hail; but the heavy shot glanced off harmlessly, and ever the Merrimac came closer and closer.
As she passed the Congress the Merrimac fired one broadside, and then, leaving her to the tender mercies of the Jamestown and the Yorktown, made straight for the Cumberland. Both the Federal ships discharged their broadsides against the armoured monster. She just quivered under the blow and came on in silence. The National battery at Newport News opened upon her at point-blank range, and every man on board the Cumberland drew a breath of relief. “Now,” they thought, “our massive guns will teach her a lesson.” But it seemed as if the Merrimac had received no damage. Not a soul could be seen on her decks, not a splinter on her sides; but she was coming towards them—coming madly, as it seemed, to destruction.
What did the Merrimac mean? Why did she not fire her guns? The crew on the Cumberland soon found out, when the great ram struck their frigate amidships with a shock that threw every man down on the deck, crushed in the ribs, and heeled the ship over till her topsail yards almost splashed the water. The Merrimac reversed her engines and backed away under a murderous broadside, replying as she too turned her broadside with a deadly volley of shot and shell, which swept her enemy’s decks of guns and men. Meanwhile the water was pouring into the terrible gaping wound in the side of the Cumberland; but Lieutenant Morris, who was in command, fought her to the last with unflinching courage. Yet once again the Merrimac turned her prow and crushed in close upon the old wound, and the great oak ribs snapped like twigs under the weight of iron. The Cumberland began to ride lower in the water, but still aimed with calm accuracy at the Merrimac, riddling her smoke-stack and bending her anchor. But the Merrimac lay off a little and poured a storm of shot into the sinking frigate, dealing death and mutilation. Yet Morris refused to yield, and the whole crew in their desperate plight thought of nothing but saving the honour of the flag. One sailor, with both his legs shot off, hobbled up to his gun on bleeding stumps and pulled the lanyard, then fell in a swoon by the gun.
“She is sinking!” was the cry; but they still fought on, though the frigate was settling deeper every minute. Then the water came gurgling into the portholes, and choked the guns and drowned the gunners. The last gunner was knee-deep in water when he fired the last shot, and then the Cumberland careened over on her side. Down she sank amid a whirl of circling waters, a caldron of wave and air—caught in one, and vomiting steam all around and over the dying vessel, and in a moment 400 men were on the verge of death, some being carried down into the revolving vortex, some being cast up on the outside, some swimming frantically towards the shore, or reaching desperately for fragments of wreck. About 100 went down with the ship. The chaplain went down with the wounded who were below deck.