Email this page to friends About the Author Born in Ohio and raised in Wisconsin, Steven Wilson has been fascinated by history since he was a child. One of his first books, a birthday present from his aunt, was THE CIVIL WAR by Bruce Catton. He was equally enthralled by motion pictures, working in his great-uncle's theater at the age of seven, hauling tins of un-popped popcorn to the concession counter. Buy Voyage of the Gray Wolves by Steven Wilson He's held a variety of jobs including tower clock repairman, factory worker, shoe salesman, stock boy, roofer, construction worker and now, museum curator. Wilson began writing novels in 1993, after a sketchy attempt to write short stories. His eclectic interests include motion picture history, movie soundtracks, 19th Century military history, and World War II. He works fulltime as a curator and museum consultant and writes part-time. He considers research as least as important as the writing, and plans to write some non-fiction works in the future. Website: www.huntersandthehunted.com/ E-Mail: readermail@HuntersAndTheHunted.Com Related Links History Directory: Civil War Steven Wilson Archives

The immortal duel: the USS Monitor versus the CSS Virginia (Image from John Ericsson Memorial).

It was a pivotal moment in American (and world) naval history -- the emergence of the iron-clad battleship C.S.S. Virginia during the Civil War.

Read Part 1

It was an unprecedented victory and an unmitigated disaster. C.S.S. Virginia had sailed into Hampton Roads, relatively unharmed by the hammer blows of the Union cannonballs balls that had bounced off her iron side. The confederate ship tore into the blockading Union ships with impunity and exacted a terrible payment for their presence. The Cumberland sunk after being rammed by Virginia and pierced the confederate vessels cannon fire. Now all that remained of that proud Union vessel were the tops of her skeletal masts, jutting like pitiful tombstones from the cold waters of the Roads.

Virginia then turned on U.S.S. Congress who tried to lose her opponent in the shallow waters off Newport News. She ran aground instead, a motionless target for the guns of Virginia. But the confederate vessel could not come alongside Congress, as she had Cumberland, and drive point-blank fire into her wooden hull. The rebel vessel drew over twenty feet of water and was in real danger of running aground if she followed her quarry too closely. She stayed nearly five hundred feet from Congress and began systematically tearing her to pieces. The Union ship could bring few guns to bear on Virginia and even if she could, they would have been ineffective; the iron plating and stout timber frame of Virginia made her virtually impervious to enemy fire. Any shell that struck the confederate vessel’s sloped sides simply ricocheted into the twilight.

U.S.S. Minnesota, Roanoke and St. Lawrence rushed to help their sister but ran aground. Four of the five rebel gunboats that had accompanied Virginia, danced around the dying Congress, her wooden timbers and rigging ablaze, pouring rounds into the Union ship. For nearly an hour Congress endured the fusillade until it became apparent that her fight was over. Virginia turned on Minnesota, intent on adding one more mark to the tally but there was less than two hours of daylight left and there was a real chance that the formidable but ponderous C.S.S. Virginia would run aground as well. Minnesota was saved, at least for the moment, when the confederate vessel broke off the action after an hour.

Battle between the USS Monitor and the CSS Virginia on March 9, 1862, as illustrated in Century Illustrated Magazine, XXIX, March 1885. (Monitor collection, NOAA)

Near dark, in the light of the roaring flames that consumed Congress, a low, strange, unappealing craft steamed calmly into Hampton Roads. The somber light of that fire illuminated the destruction caused by an iron vessel of a new age of warfare at sea, and revealed the Union’s answer to the Virginia. This was a new age, a new type of war, and a new day for the navies of the world. And U.S.S. Monitor was a new ship.

Her creation had been as stormy as Virginia’s had been resolute. Where the Confederate Secretary of Navy Stephen Mallory had clearly seen the need for a radical vessel, the United States naval officers of the commission created to select a Union response to the confederate ironclad, were unlikely to consider John Ericsson’s innovative design. Firstly, it didn’t look like a ship. Take it home and worship it, one member said of the model of the odd looking, little craft. Secondly, the brittle Ericsson was a difficult man to get along with; he was absolutely convinced of his own genius. Thirdly, it was a gun of Ericsson’s design that blew up aboard the U.S.S. Princeton nearly two decades before killing, among others, several high ranking members of the federal government. In disgust, Ericsson concentrated on civilian affairs, leaving the military to care for itself.

When the Union called for ironclads, Ericsson’s design made its way into the competition. It is reported that after viewing the model of Ericsson’s ironclad, President Lincoln (himself an inventor of sorts and the only president to hold a United States Patent), commented: “All I can say is what the little girl exclaimed when she put her foot into her stocking—‘It strikes me there’s something in it.’” The statement may have been apocryphal—much of Lincoln’s life is; but there was something of interest in Ericsson’s design. It’s revolving turret, although not the first such considered, gave the ship’s two guns a wide-arc. The day of massive broadsides from virtually stationary guns, was over. There was some concern that the cannon’s thunderous firing so close to the deck would concuss the men, or damage the boilers—at least to the nervous chief of the navy’s Dock’s Bureau. She couldn’t fire directly over the bow; that was true enough—the four and one-half foot pilot house projected out of the deck. And the elevation astern had to be no less than 50 degrees, so that the discharge of the guns did not damage the boiler. But Ericsson assured the navy that despite its limitations, his invention was capable of it taking on anything that the Confederates could muster. Its low free-board made it difficult for enemy ships to strike, even if it also made it extremely unseaworthy. Finally, Monitor drew about half as much water than its adversary.

Union officials knew all about the Virginia and her potential threat (Secretary of War Edwin Stanton was convinced the horrible machine would steam up the Potomac River and destroy Washington—he need not have worried; Virginia in the shallow Potomac River would have been more of a danger to herself than the Yankees); and rushed to complete Monitor. She was to cost $275,000, Ericsson was told, and she must be completed in 100 days. She was completed under-budget and just twenty-days over the time allotted and her twin 11-inch guns, at least according to Admiral David Dixon Porter, made her “the strongest fighting vessel in the world.” And just to make sure some shellbacks understood the Monitor’s potential, he threw in: “she can whip anything afloat.” She had only to whip Virginia, and as Monitor sailed into Hampton Roads in the darkness, she could see the results of the Confederate vessel’s handiwork by the bright fires of her victims.

The Union vessel, whose name was given to the coastal-class vessels mounting huge guns, was commanded by John L. Worden, a career naval officer who had been captured early in the war and released. He shared the cramped pilot house of the Monitor with a helmsman and pilot, peering through 5/8 th inch slits. Ericsson had intended to place the pilot house on the turret but there hadn’t been time. The Monitor anchored in the Roads and the ship’s officers heard what had happened that day. It was certain, everyone agreed, that C.S.S. Virginia would come down the next morning at high tide, and finish the job.

The fires from Congress were largely out, but there was a thin veil of smoke hanging in the air above her when Virginia came down to the Roads. Her venture the day before had taken quite a bit from her; her bow still leaked where the ram had been, her engines objected to anything more than dead slow, her steering was sluggish, and the draft for her furnaces was compromised by the smoke stack perforated by Union shot and shell. Her captain on Sunday, March 9, 1862 was Lieutenant Catesby A.P. Jones, who was called upon to replace Commodore John Buchanan who had been wounded the day before. Jones saw the Monitor entering the Roads the night before and considered it Virginia’s true adversary.

It was time for the main event. Virginia closed with Minnesota who lay aground, and out from the shadow of the wooden vessel came Monitor, steaming resolutely toward Virginia. The confederate ship fired her 7-inch rifled bow-chaser at Monitor but missed. The only target of consequence on the Union ship was the turret which housed two 11-inch Dahlgren cannons under the command of Lieutenant S. Dana Greene. As the Monitor moved in she fired two 170-pound projectiles that struck the sloped side of the Virginia and bounced high into the air. Had the shells been wrought iron instead of cast, and had the charges been the full thirty pounds instead of fifteen, and had the guns been depressed a bit more, there is a good chance that the damage to Virginia would have been considerable. Instead, Virginia quickly shook off the hits. Now it was her turn to bring her broadside to bear at point-blank range.

Her guns erupted with a roar and a cloud of smoke that erased any chance of visibility, even though the two ships were nearly touching. The Monitor’s turret received several blows but the damage anticipated by Ericsson’s critics never materialized. Luckily for her, Virginia possessed no solid shot; firing that ammunition at point-blank range she might have changed Monitor’s sobriquet to “Swiss cheese box on a raft.” Neither Monitor nor Virginia could gain the upper hand; both ships were powerful, powerfully armed, although Monitor was much quicker than the Confederate ship (Virginia was probably not capable of anything more than five knots), and both ironclads were superbly commanded. The truth is that they simply exchanged blow for blow, their cannon’s roaring through the spring air while men watched from shore and surrounding vessels.

Just after eleven Monitor’s pilothouse was struck by a shell. The explosion drove powder, smoke and debris through the steering slits and into Worden’s face and eyes. When Greene rushed forward from the turret, he found Worden staggering out of the pilothouse, blood covering his face. Worden, severely wounded (he would recover completely and receive the thanks of Congress and a grateful nation), was led to his cabin, and Greene assumed command. By this time the ship had drifted into shallow waters and Virginia would not follow her. What happened for the next hour or so was some long-range sniping by both vessels until Virginia withdrew, content that Monitor, defeated, had abandoned the battle.

Both ships had suffered some damage but nothing that would have required either to give up the fight. The Confederate ship’s engines had probably given all that was expected of them and the troublesome leak continued at the ram. Monitor’s guns were low on ammunition; getting shell and powder through the second deck required lining the turret opening perfectly with the shell scuttle. And the gun port stoppers had proved heavy and cumbersome. They were primitive vessels in some aspects but mostly they were deadly adversaries that circumstances had combined to keep afloat, even after their momentous battle.

Virginia steamed back to Norfolk while Monitor hung close to the fleet. The commanders of both vessels declared victory and if ever a battle could have two fathers, it was this one. The Virginia survived her encounter with Monitor, although she did not sink any Union vessels. The Monitor had prevented additional damage to the Union fleet, although she had not destroyed Virginia. Both famous ships would later on end their days without ever again going to war. Virginia would be blown up to prevent her from falling into Union hands. Monitor’s low-free board would finally do her in; she sank off Cape Hatteras, North Carolina but not before siring dozens of ironclad ships with revolving turrets. John Ericsson had been vindicated.

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