The Little Monitor and the Merrimac
By Charles Martin in 1862
The year is 1862, and the American Civil War is raging. Within this conflict, a naval drama unfolded in the waters off Newport News, Virginia, a drama etched into history as the clash between the Monitor and the Merrimac. This is the account of that event, a narrative unfolding in three distinct acts, separated by hours of tense anticipation.
Act One begins in 1861. The North Atlantic squadron of the Union Navy maintained a presence in Hampton Roads, save for the frigate Congress and the razee Cumberland, which were stationed at Newport News, diligently blockading the James River and Norfolk. Meanwhile, the Confederate ram Merrimac was undergoing a significant transformation within the dry dock of the Norfolk Navy Yard. The Merrimac, originally a wooden vessel in the U.S. Navy, was being drastically altered. Its upper structure was cut down, and its hull was reinforced with sloping iron plates, a radical departure from traditional naval design.
The Union, acutely aware of the threat posed by the Merrimac, devised a counter-strategy. The plan was to keep the Confederate vessel confined to the dry dock for as long as possible, awaiting the arrival of their own ironclad, the Monitor. Once the Monitor arrived, it would be dispatched to engage the Merrimac in battle, with the firm belief that an opportunity would arise to pierce the Confederate ram’s armor and send it to the bottom of the harbor. The Merrimac instilled terror in both sides, and the question on everyone’s mind was, "When will the Merrimac come out?"
As February 1862 drew to a close, the Monitor neared completion in New York City, built with the intent to defeat the Merrimac. Preparations were made for its voyage to Hampton Roads, where it would be towed by a steamer. Rumors began to circulate, suggesting that the Monitor had encountered problems with its steering gear before even reaching Sandy Hook. There was even talk of towing it to Washington, D.C., for repairs. Confederate spies, eager to gather intelligence, reported that the Monitor was a failure. They claimed its steering was defective, the turret rotated with difficulty, and the accumulation of smoke from its guns, combined with poor ventilation, would render it uninhabitable during battle.
With no Monitor to contend with, the Southern press and populace grew increasingly impatient and critical, the focus shifting to the Merrimac. Demands arose: Why did it remain idle? Why wasn’t it sent out to destroy the Congress and the Cumberland, which had long threatened Norfolk? The clamor grew for the Merrimac to sweep away the Union fleet at Hampton Roads, starve out Fortress Monroe, and even venture north to Baltimore, New York, and Boston to inflict destruction and plunder. This public pressure, not always a reliable guide, ultimately prevailed. The ram was floated, manned, and armed. On the bright and sunny morning of March 8, it steamed down the Elizabeth River to execute the initial phase of its mission. This mission to defeat the Merrimac was long awaited by many.
Norfolk and Portsmouth erupted in excitement as residents flocked to the banks of the James River, eager to witness a naval battle and, hopefully, a Confederate victory. However, the constant warnings about the Merrimac had diminished its perceived threat. Some argued that if the Merrimac was truly effective, it would have already emerged to destroy the Union ships. When it was sighted at the mouth of the river that morning, many dismissed it as merely a trial run or a demonstration. Yet, the Merrimac steadily advanced along the opposite shore, prompting both the Congress and the Cumberland to prepare for action. The boats of the Cumberland were lowered, lashed together in a line, and anchored between the ship and the shore, approximately an eighth of a mile distant.
The stage was set for a dramatic confrontation. Two large sailing frigates, becalmed at slack water, were anchored in a narrow channel, unable to maneuver. They were forced to endure the onslaught of the Merrimac, relying on their guns until they either succumbed to the damage or sank at their moorings. A tug, the Zouave, once used to tow canal boats in Albany, attempted to assist. The Congress, being the senior ship, was the tug’s initial focus. The Congress slipped its cable in an attempt to get underway, but the tug, straining to its limit, suffered an engine failure. The Congress ran aground, aligning with the shoreline. The Zouave drifted down the river, firing its small guns at the Merrimac as it passed. Command of both ships devolved to the first lieutenants. Onboard the Cumberland, the crew remained on deck, watching the slow, deliberate approach of the Merrimac. The pilot declared that the Confederate vessel had missed the channel and drew too much water to effectively use its ram. Undeterred, the Merrimac continued its advance, accompanied by two gunboats, the Yorktown and the Teaser. The Union sailors returned to their battle stations. A platform had been erected on the Merrimac‘s roof, where its captain stood. As the two ships drew closer, he hailed the Cumberland, demanding surrender. The defiant reply was a resounding "Never!"
The order to fire was given. The starboard battery of the Cumberland unleashed a volley of shots, which harmlessly struck the Merrimac‘s iron roof. The Merrimac responded with a shell that decimated the forward pivot gun crew, killing and wounding ten men. A second shell struck the marines at the after pivot gun. The Yorktown and the Teaser maintained a constant barrage. The Merrimac bore down on the Cumberland, ramming it just aft of the starboard bow. The ram pierced the Cumberland‘s hull with ease. The Merrimac attempted to back away, but the rising tide caught its immense length at a right angle to the Cumberland, causing it to swing around. The weakened ram broke off, remaining lodged in the Cumberland. The battle intensified, broadsides exchanged, the deck of the Cumberland became slick with the blood of the wounded and dying. The dead and injured were moved amidships to clear the guns. The crew, seized by a frenzied determination, stripped to their trousers, tied handkerchiefs around their heads, kicked off their shoes, and fought with a primal ferocity. For forty-two minutes, they loaded and fired their guns, even as the water rushed into the ship’s ports. The final gun was fired as the Cumberland succumbed to the depths.
The Merrimac then turned its attention to the grounded Congress. The Union ship continued to fire its guns until red-hot shot from the Merrimac ignited the Congress, forcing the crew to abandon their stations. The Congress, seasoned by forty years at sea, burned intensely. Its commanding officer was killed, and its deck was littered with casualties. The offshore wind pushed the flames away from the shore, allowing the crew and wounded to take refuge under the windward bulwark. Sharpshooters on shore drove off an enemy tug. The crew and wounded of the Congress were safely evacuated. The ship continued to burn throughout the afternoon and evening, its loaded guns firing sporadically over the camp. At midnight, the fire reached the magazines, and the Congress was destroyed by a massive explosion.
The news of the Merrimac‘s sortie reached the Union fleet at Hampton Roads, prompting the Minnesota to leave its anchorage and rush to the battle. However, its pilot ran the ship aground off the Elizabeth River, leaving it helpless. The Merrimac turned back towards Norfolk, having sustained damage from the guns of the Congress and the Cumberland. Otherwise, it would have destroyed the Minnesota. Instead, accompanied by the Yorktown and Teaser, it retreated up the river.
Act Three unfolded on Sunday morning, March 9. The Merrimac emerged once more, intent on finishing its task by destroying the Minnesota. As it approached its target, the Monitor appeared from behind the helpless ship, having arrived silently during the night. Its presence was unknown to most in the camp. Like David facing Goliath, the Monitor prepared to engage the Merrimac. Spectators lined the beach, eager to witness the world’s first battle between ironclad warships. The day was calm, and the smoke from the guns hung thick over the water, obscuring the low-lying vessels. Confident in their invulnerability, the two ships fought at close range. The flashes of their guns were visible from the shore, and the thunderous impacts of the heavy shot against the armor plates reverberated through the air. This was truly a new type of naval combat, and the arrival of the Monitor changed the entire dynamic of the fight.
The Merrimac never engaged in another fight, and was eventually destroyed by the rebels. The Merrimac ceased firing, the smoke cleared, and it rammed the Monitor, but it had left its ram lodged in the Cumberland. The Monitor evaded the blow, turned, and resumed the attack. By 1:00 p.m., the battle had raged since 8:30 a.m. The crews of both ships were suffocating under the confines of their ironclad vessels. The frames supporting the iron roof of the Merrimac were sprung and shattered. The turret of the Monitor was dented by a shot and rotated with difficulty. The captain of the Merrimac was wounded in the leg, while the captain of the Monitor was temporarily blinded by powder. The battle ended in a draw. The Merrimac, leaking badly, retreated to Norfolk, while the Monitor returned to Hampton Roads.
The battle of the Monitor and the Merrimac was a pivotal moment in naval history, marking the transition from wooden warships to ironclads. The clash, though tactically indecisive, had a profound impact on naval strategy and design worldwide. This is the story of the Monitor and the Merrimac.
