The History of the Twenty-ninth Regiment of Massachusetts Volunteer Infantry / in the Late War of the Rebellion

by William H. Osborne

It was reserved for the latter vessel to make the bravest fight of that terrible and eventful day. As soon as the “Merrimack” was within easy range, the sloop-of-war opened with a whole broadside; but the shot glanced harmlessly from the mailed sides of the foe; and now, with full head of steam, the enemy made a desperate and angry plunge toward his plucky antagonist, sending his ugly prow crashing through her timbers. The prow struck the “Cumberland” under her starboard fore-channels, making an enormous hole. For a few minutes, both vessels seemed to be sinking. The prow had wedged itself so firmly in the timbers as to render it difficult for the enemy to withdraw and save himself from the same fate he had designed for the ship. After a few trials, he succeeded, however, and backing off, took up a position directly across the bows of the “Cumberland,” and opened on her at very close range, the two vessels almost touching each other. In this position the “Cumberland” could only use her bow guns (some three or four); but these were worked with great energy, sending their heavy shot directly at the enemy’s ports.

The shell and canister of the “Merrimack” were sweeping the gun-decks of the “Cumberland” with fearful slaughter. At times, nearly every gun was unmanned, but other brave sailors came upon the bloody deck and renewed the unequal contest. The flag of the “Cumberland” was still flying defiantly from her mizzen-mast; the shouts and cries of friend and foe, the angry and excited commands of the officers, could be distinctly heard on shore.

The sick-bay of the “Cumberland” was filled to suffocation with blackened and bleeding victims, and, what added greater terror to the scene, she was now rapidly sinking. Despite the vigorous plying of the pumps, the water rose to the main hatchway in less than ten minutes after she was struck, flooding her forward powder-magazines, and rendering them useless. The noble ship now canted to port. Many sprang to save the wounded, while other brave tars still stood at their guns, delivering their last fire as the inrushing waters closed over them. Like a creature of flesh and blood in the agonies of death, the sloop-of-war trembled and creaked, her bows plunged into the dark water, her stern mounted high into the air, and down she went, with a roaring, rushing sound of the waves.

The water was now filled with struggling men striking for the shore. The beach was lined with enraged and pitying soldiers. Logs and planks were seized by them and thrown into the water, to aid the swimmers, and others rushing into the water to their arm-pits, seized the half-drowned sailors and brought them to the land. Others of the sailors were rescued by the steam-propeller “Whilden,” Capt. William Riggins, which put off to the scene of the disaster in the midst of the fire of the “Merrimack,” and thus saved the lives of many who would otherwise have found a watery grave. About one hundred of the dead and wounded of the “Cumberland” went down with the ship, and among them the Chaplain, the Rev. J. Lenhart.

The land-battery in Camp Butler, which was chiefly manned by members of the Twenty-ninth, and which mounted some five guns,—among them two 42-pounder James rifles,—was very active during the entire contest between the “Merrimack” and “Cumberland.” When the “Cumberland” sunk, the Confederate ram was a fair target for our men, but their shots were wholly powerless to do her harm. The “Merrimack” replied to several of our shots, one of her shells striking the parapet, and throwing the earth in clouds of dust over the gunners.

The river now presented a scene of great interest. The “Jamestown” and “Patrick Henry,” two Confederate steamers, had arrived, and taking up a position about two miles from our camp, began shelling it with great vigor. One of these missiles passed through a barrack of the First New York, while others cut off the tops of the pines about the camp. These two steamers divided their attentions about equally between the camp and the floating “Congress,” firing at the latter with murderous effect, and in shameful and savage violation of the rules of civilized warfare, the “Congress” displaying all the while her flag of truce.

An attempt was now made to capture our frigate, and tow her off, a prize of war. The steam-tug “Zouave” (Union) immediately ran down to her and towed her to our shore, fairly beaching her, before the Confederate steamers “Beaufort” and “Raleigh” arrived. Upon reaching the “Congress,” these steamers immediately hauled alongside. General Mansfield, observing this movement, ordered Captain Howard, with a section of his light battery, and Colonel Brown, with two companies of the Twentieth Indiana Regiment, to open fire upon these steamers. The order was promptly obeyed, and in a few moments our shots were striking the Confederate steamers, and whistling about the ears of their men, as they were attempting to clamber up the sides and into the ports of our ship, causing them to withdraw, and killing and wounding several of their number. Among the wounded were Buchanan, the commander of the “Merrimack,” who received a severe gunshot wound in the thigh, and Lieutenant Minot of the “Beaufort.” The crew of the “Congress,” her dead and wounded, and some of the valuable movable articles on her, were landed under a fire from the Confederate fleet. Early in the afternoon, the steam-frigate “Minnesota,” the “Roanoke,” and “St. Lawrence” (anchored near Fortress Monroe) attempted to come to the relief of our fleet in the James. The machinery of the “Roanoke” was out of order, and she was towed by two tugs; the “St. Lawrence,” not being a steam-vessel, was also towed. In order to enter the James, these vessels were obliged to pass within easy range of a battery on Sewall’s Point, which did them considerable damage. After passing into the mouth of the James, the “Minnesota” and “St. Lawrence” both grounded. The entire fleet of the enemy, headed by the “Merrimack,” now quitted the disabled “Congress” and steamed down to attack the “Minnesota” and “St. Lawrence.” The “Merrimack,” being of deep draught, could not approach nearer than a mile to either of these ships; and her firing being very inaccurate, she only succeeded in striking the “Minnesota” once. For awhile, the small Confederate steamers, armed with rifled cannon, and having the choice of both distance and position, did considerable damage to the “Minnesota,” but eventually the frigate drove them away.

By this time the day was far spent, the sun having already set; and when everybody on shore had begun to consider the sad day’s work ended, the huge monster, the “Merrimack,” was again observed approaching Camp Butler. This time she took the inner channel, and as she came along, her immense chimney towering up among the branches of the trees that overhung the river bank, belching forth volumes of smoke and sparks, her appearance was simply appalling. Arriving at a point where the channel winds in nearest to the shore, the camp was fairly within range of her bow gun. A sudden burst of light, a dismal, deafening roar, and the crashing of boards and timbers were heard almost simultaneously. The large shot passed entirely through the post hospital and the headquarters’ building of General Mansfield, tearing down the chimney of the latter, and nearly burying that venerable officer in the ruins. He was, fortunately, but little hurt, and soon emerged from the house white with plaster. This ended the hostilities of the 8th of March. The “Merrimack” now withdrew, and darkness soon settled down upon both land and water.

The night was one of great gloom and excitement in Camp Butler, as well as in all the Federal camps in the department. Mounted orderlies were riding in every direction, and rumors were rife of a land attack by the enemy’s troops under Magruder. In anticipation of such a movement, the garrison was re-enforced early in the evening by a body of infantry from Camp Hamilton, and every preparation was made to repel the assault.

While the day, which had just closed, had been rendered famous in history by its unexampled occurrences, the night which followed was destined to usher in scenes that will never fade from the memory of those who witnessed them. The frigate “Congress,” which lay hard aground on the sand-beach near the camp of the Twentieth Indiana Regiment, had been set on fire late in the afternoon, and the lurid flames now lit up the bay and strand with a brightness rivaling that of the day itself. Many of her guns were still shotted, and as the fire coiled about them, they began to discharge; a shot from one of them, skimming the surface of the water, entered and sank a schooner lying at our wharf. The flames had mounted each mast and spar, and were leaping out at every port with angry tongues. Heaps of shells, which had been brought from the magazines for the afternoon’s encounter, lay on the gun-decks; these now began to explode, and ever and anon they would dart up out of the roaring, crackling mass, high into the air, and course in every direction through the heavens.