The story of the most famous ship duel known to the history of the world, the battle between the Monitor and the Merrimac, begins on June 10, 1861, when Lieut. John M. Brooke, C.S.N., formerly of the American navy, was assigned to assist the Confederate Navy Department in designing an ironclad that should be able to gain control of the navigable waters in and about the Chesapeake Bay. Brooke “entered upon this duty at once, and a few days thereafter submitted to the department, as the results of his investigations, rough drawings of a casemated vessel, with submerged ends and inclined iron-plated sides. The ends of the vessel and the eaves of the casemate, according to his plan, were to be submerged two feet; and a light bulwark or false bow was designed to divide the water and prevent it from banking up on the forward part of the shield with the vessel in motion, and also to serve as a tank to regulate the ship’s draft. His design was approved by the department,” and Constructor J. L. Porter was brought up from Norfolk to Richmond to assist in making the working drawings. Porter had already been considering this subject, and brought with him a model of a light-draft, screw-driven scow, that was to support a “casemated battery, with inclined iron-covered sides and ends.” In the opinion of Brooke this would have been, “for ordinary purposes, a good boat for harbor defence,” but a blunt-ended hull was, naturally, not to the liking of a naval man, and he proposed to have the ends of the hull “prolonged and shaped like those of any fast vessel, and submerged two feet under water, so that nothing was to be seen afloat but the shield itself.”

Plans were drawn for such a ship, and, with Chief Engineer W. P. Williamson, Brooke went looking for engines to drive the proposed ironclad, but failed to find any. It was in this emergency that Williamson thought of the hulk of the Merrimac, that had been partly burned and sunk at Norfolk. Her engines were old and in bad order when she arrived at Norfolk before the trouble began, and new ones were to have been provided. Moreover, the fire and the soaking in sea-water had injured them; but Williamson knew that they could be made to work. Both Porter and Brooke “thought the draft too great, but were nevertheless of the opinion that it was the best thing that could be done,” and the order to transform the old frigate into a floating fort was issued. Williamson “thoroughly overhauled her engines, supplied deficiencies, and repaired defects, and improved greatly the motive power of the vessel.” Porter “cut the ship down, submerged her ends, performed all the duties of constructor, and originated all the interior arrangements.” The casemate was built according to the plans of his model.

“Mr. Brooke attended daily to the iron armor, constructed targets, ascertained by actual tests the resistance offered by inclined planes of iron to heavy ordnance, and determined interesting and important facts in connection therewith, and which were of great importance in the construction of the ship; devised and prepared the models and drawings of the ship’s heavy ordnance, being guns of a class never before made, and of extraordinary power and strength.”

Porter having got the hull in the dry dock, cut it down to where the berth deck had been. Then he laid a heavy timber deck over the entire hull, and on this, amidships, he erected a casemate, with its walls inclined in at an angle of “about thirty-six degrees,” according to one of her officers, and forty-five according to another. This casemate was two feet thick, and was made of twelve-inch timbers standing on end, covered with eight-inch timbers laid horizontally, which were in turn covered with oak plank four inches thick. On these were laid iron plates two inches thick and eight inches wide, placed horizontally, with another layer of the same dimensions over them placed vertically. The side-walls of this casemate projected down and out over the sides of the hulk, like the eaves of a country house, to protect the water-line, and the hull itself was plated with one-inch iron for two feet below the deck, although the design called for three-inch iron. The inclined sides were carried up high enough to give seven feet head room inside, and then a heavy flat deck twenty feet wide, with hatches in it, was laid across. On the bow, two feet below the water-line, was bolted a cast-iron wedge that projected two feet from the stem, and was for use as a ram.

The battery of the Merrimac contained six of the nine-inch Dahlgrens found in the Norfolk Navy Yard, and four rifles designed by Brooke. Two of these rifles were mounted as pivots at bow and stern, and two smaller ones were in the broadside. The pivots were cast-iron muzzle-loading rifles of seven-inch calibre, and they weighed 14,500 pounds each. The reader will appreciate the weight of the gun when it is told that the best gun in the British navy at that time was the 68-pounder, having a calibre of eight inches and weighing 9,500 pounds. Moreover, Brooke’s heavy casting was reinforced by wrought-iron bands shrunk on. The broadside guns were of the same construction, but weighed 9,000 pounds and were of four-inch calibre. Brooke’s guns were far and away the best then afloat.

When ready for a trial trip, with all weights on board, the Merrimac drew twenty-two feet six inches of water. Her crew numbered 320. She was commanded by Flag Officer Franklin Buchanan, and Lieut. Catesby Ap R. Jones was chief officer. Another lieutenant was John Taylor Wood, and both of these lieutenants have written accounts of the ship. They agree in saying that the engines were in wretched order, and that the great draft of the ship was a serious disadvantage in the waters where she was to be used is manifest. Nevertheless, for smooth water she was the most powerful ship afloat. She was named the Virginia, and should have been called so in history, for she was a rebuilt ship; but it is too late to change history now.

Of course, the government heard about the building of a floating battery on the Merrimac hull. The spy service of the government was never as good as that of the Confederates, and the news obtained was not always appreciated. Porter tells of seeing a mechanic who had fled from the Norfolk Navy Yard ill-treated when taken on board the government flagship to tell what he knew. This matter is referred to, not to make an ill-natured criticism of a government officer, but to show how important it is in time of war to make a full and just estimate of the power of the enemy.

The Confederates began the work of converting the Merrimac in June, 1861. There were several frigates in the Union navy that might have been converted, with Northern resources, into more powerful ironclad batteries than the Merrimac was, but nothing was done until Congress met, and on August 3d made an appropriation for ironclads. Then designs were called for, and three were selected for acceptance after long consideration. One of these proved a failure as an ironclad. One proved a great success a year or so later (she was called the New Ironsides), and, fortunately, the third was of a design that might be built quickly and yet prove efficient. This ship was from the brain of John Ericsson, who had already revolutionized the navies of the world by introducing the submerged screw propeller; and the name which he gave to the marvel he produced, at once became generic.

Although Congress appropriated the money for ironclads on August 3d, the board appointed to consider plans did not convene until the 8th. It took them until September 8th to make up their minds, and it was not until October 4, 1861, that the final contract with Ericsson was signed. This was a needless delay, and this fact is worth emphasizing because it is not unlikely that similar delays will be experienced whenever the nation is again unexpectedly plunged into war.

But if the authorities were dilatory, the mechanics were not. The keel was stretched in that part of the Brooklyn water front called Greenpoint, before the end of the month, although working plans had to be laid in the mould loft and contracts for materials made. Three gangs of men were employed, working eight hours each in succession; the iron was kept hot from the day the work began until January 30, 1862, when the hull was sent afloat in the waters of the East River, under the name of Monitor.

The hull of the Monitor, as it stood on the land, was in a way something like that of the common ferryboat. There was a smooth, rounded hull, 124 feet long, thirty-four wide, and about six feet deep, with a superstructure laid flat across the top of this hull and projecting out like a guard-rail on all sides.

It projected three feet and eight inches on each side, and twenty-five feet at each end. But this overhanging part was really a super-added hull; it was a flat-bottomed hull, 172 feet long, forty-one wide, and five feet deep, laid on top of the lower hull, and secured to it by a single row of rivets. As a whole, the Monitor was unlike any other hull ever built. And it is no disparagement of the genius of Ericsson to say that no sailorman could ever have dreamed of such a thing even when in a delirium from drink.

This hull was made of boiler-iron riveted to suitable frames, and the vertical sides of the overhang were protected by five one-inch iron plates bolted on and backed by heavy oak timbers. A heavy timber deck, supported on big wooden beams, was protected from a plunging fire by two layers of half-inch iron plates. On the centre of this hull rose a round turret, twenty feet in diameter inside and nine feet high, made of eight one-inch iron plates. It was supported on a pivot, to which an engine was geared so that it could be readily turned in either direction. Her deck was one foot above the water-line. She carried two eleven-inch smooth-bore guns, firing solid shot weighing from 170 to 180 pounds. Her speed was between four and five knots. A novel feature was the absence of smoke-stacks in action; they were taken apart and laid flat on deck, which gave an all-round fire abaft. The draught to the furnaces was maintained by powerful blowers. Forward of the turret stood a pilot-house made of iron logs, nine inches square, built up log-cabin fashion by notching and bolting the ends together. Her anchor was suspended in a well under the bow, the cable passing through a pipe beneath the deck to a winch further aft. The propeller was, of course, concealed under the overhang aft. In short, her machinery was altogether below the water-line, while her guns were placed as near the centre of gravity as could well be imagined, and were well protected. It is perhaps as well to say here as elsewhere that with such modifications as experience has suggested, the Monitor type is, in the opinion of many of the American captains who have commanded them, not only the best protected, but the most efficient and the safest style of coast-defence ships.

As the month of January, 1862, came on, the Confederates learned from their spies that the Monitor was rapidly nearing completion, and the number of men at work on the Merrimac was doubled. They had already been pushing the work as fast as daywork could do it, but with the added force, the Merrimac rapidly assumed the form where she might be placed in commission. The collecting of a crew proved a matter of some trouble, for the people of the South were all soldiers rather than seamen; but by visiting the various armies, Captain Buchanan was able to select a thoroughly good crew for the work—men who could fix the boilers, steer the ship, and work the guns to the best advantage. The fact that many of them did not know a royal halliard from futtock shroud was of no importance, for, like the latest of warships, the Merrimac had neither halliards nor shrouds. With the arrival of the crew the eagerness of the officers to try their ship increased. She had never steamed a mile in her new form—she had never steamed at all save only to turn her shaft at the dock to see whether the engines would work or not; but this did not matter. The men were fore and fit, and on Saturday, March 8th, they would show what the ship was good for.

A glance at the map shows that the waters of the James River come down from the northwest, those of the Nansemond come from the southwest, and those of the Elizabeth come up from the south to unite in Hampton Roads, and flow out to the northeast to empty into Chesapeake Bay. Old Point Comfort, with Fortress Monroe, guarded the north side of the mouth of Hampton Roads, but away south, on the route to Norfolk, was Sewell’s Point, where the Confederates had erected strong batteries that completely commanded the channel running south from Hampton Roads to Norfolk. Over on the northwest corner, so to speak, of Hampton Roads lay Newport News Point, which was held by the government; so the government ships were in the habit of anchoring along the northerly side of Hampton Roads all the way from Fortress Monroe to Newport News, a distance of seven miles. They were in plain sight of the Confederate batteries on Sewell’s Point, but far out of range, for it is a wide stretch of water.

On the morning of March 8, 1862, the steam frigates St. Lawrence, Roanoke, and Minnesota were anchored at wide intervals, in the order named, in a line southwest from Fortress Monroe toward Newport News Point, while the sailing frigate Congress lay just east of Newport News Point, and the sailing sloop-of-war Cumberland lay just a little to the west of the point. It was a lovely day of the early spring. The ships swung easily to their cables; the small boats wabbled over the tiny waves as they tugged at the painters that held them fast to the wide-spread booms. The wash-clothes, on well-filled lines stretched in the rigging, fluttered in the gentle breeze. There was nothing to indicate that any officer had any care or thought of the ironclad ship that for months past the Confederates had been building at Norfolk. And as a matter of fact they did not give the ironclad a serious thought, for they were conservatives. What could a newfangled notion like this ironclad do, any way? Hadn’t Lord Howard Douglas and other good English authorities proved to the satisfaction of the experienced men of the world that a ship plated with iron would really prove more dangerous to her crew than to an enemy in the oft-approved frigates of the day? He had.

The morning wore away in peace, but at noon exactly, the crew of the Cumberland saw the long trail of smoke from steamers that were boldly coming up the channel from Norfolk. A careful lookout kept watch of that smoke until it was seen that the steamers were three in number, of which one, although it made more smoke than both the others, did not look at all like a ship, but like a low black box instead. There was no mistaking her character, however. She looked as the escaped colored people had said the new ironclad looked, and the drums beat the long call to quarters.

Over on the Congress, lying east of Newport News Point, there was a similar stir while signal flags fluttered aloft to warn the big steam frigates lying up to the northeast toward Fortress Monroe.

Capt. John Marston, who was senior officer and commanded the Roanoke, reports that he had already seen the enemy coming. At 12.45 o’clock they passed Sewell’s Point, over on the south shore, and on getting out into deep water they headed away to the west toward Newport News.

The Merrimac had left Norfolk for a trial trip, but the crew had slushed her walls to make the Yankee shells slip off, and their enthusiasm made them determine to give her such a trial as no new-idea ship ever had either before or since. Running across to Newport News, the Merrimac headed for the Cumberland, that lay beyond the point. The government crews were at their quarters, and while yet the Merrimac was three-quarters of a mile away, the Cumberland’s ten-inch pivot began to talk. Then the frigate Congress opened fire. The Merrimac passed her broadside to broadside, for the Congress swung head to the east with the young flood-tide. It was an experienced crew on the Congress, and her shot rattled and burst against the Merrimac’s side—rattled and burst “like peas from a pea-shooter.” They made the slush there sizzle and smoke, but they did no damage whatever. As the Merrimac passed the Congress, however, and opened fire with her broadside, the shot struck home, carrying death on every side.

One broadside only, and then she was gone. She was going to begin on the Cumberland. Lieut. George U. Morris was in command of the Cumberland, for Capt. William Radford was away on other duty. But Morris was equal to the emergency. As the Merrimac drew near, the Cumberland’s guns were loaded with solid shot and the heaviest service charge of powder. The broadside guns were carefully aimed, and almost every shot struck the moving target—struck it and bounded clear or burst into harmless fragments. There was nothing they could do to impede the coming monster. And then, when the Merrimac was within a few yards, her long bow rifle blazed forth. It was aimed by Lieut. Charles Simms, and it killed and wounded “most of the crew of the after pivot gun of the Cumberland.”

The Cumberland returned the shot with a broadside, but the Merrimac was now upon her; the long bow, that was just awash, slid through the water and into the side of the old sloop just under the fore rigging. The crash of the timbers was heard above the roar of the guns. The Cumberland shivered and heeled slightly to the blow, while the Merrimac hung for a moment in the wound she had made, and then backed off, firing every gun that would bear, while the water went roaring into the Cumberland through the hole where the ram had struck.

Heading to the west, the Merrimac steamed slowly away astern of the wounded ship, and then turned to come back again. While the Merrimac turned she raked the Cumberland first with the big stern pivot and then with the broadside guns, killing and wounding many, and then ranging up beside her, hailed and demanded that she surrender.

The Cumberland was now settling down forward under the weight of water there; it was plain that she must sink. It was certain that her shot could not pierce the side of the ironclad. But Lieutenant Morris replied:

“Never! I’ll sink alongside.” And then the Cumberland’s “gun’s crews kicked off their shoes, and stripped to the waist. Tanks of cartridges were hoisted on the gun-deck and opened, and round after round was fired at the ironclad. A shell passing through the hatch burst in the sick-bay, killing four of the wounded. On the berth-deck, the wounded men were lifted upon racks and mess-chests, to keep them from drowning; and as the water rose, those who fell on the upper decks were carried amidships and left there. Already, the boats had been lowered and made fast in a line on the shore side. At half-past three, the forward magazine was drowned, and five minutes later the order was given to the men to leave quarters and save themselves.”

The water had risen at this time to the gun-deck, and the ship was heeling swiftly to port. There was need of haste if the crew were to save themselves even by swimming, but with their feet in the rising flood one crew lingered to fire a last shot. And as its smoke rolled from the ship’s side she sank out of sight with her flag flying.

“Never did a crew fight a ship with more spirit and hardihood than these brave fellows of the Cumberland while the vessel was going down. Nor was it a mere idle display of gallantry, this holding on to the last; for in these days, in naval battles,” “c’est le dernier coup qui peut-être nous rendra victorieux” (the last shot may give us the victory). “Tirez, tirez toujours!”

Flag and all disappeared as the ship went down, but the water was only fifty-four feet deep, and when she struck bottom she righted, and the peaks of her masts appeared once more to flutter the old flag in the sunlight.

And let it be told to the honor of the Cumberland’s crew, who fought till their feet were wet by the water above the deck of the sinking ship, that their shot did more damage than any others fired at the Merrimac, not excepting the Monitor’s; for they shot off the muzzles of two of the Confederate guns and burst a shell in a port where its fragments killed two and wounded several others.

There were 376 souls on board the Cumberland when she went into action. Of these, 117 were lost and twenty-three were missing.

“The gallantry of her officers and crew was the theme of great praise, and painting and poetry celebrated their heroism. Lieutenant Morris, who was commanding in the absence of Captain Radford, was the recipient of special commendations from the Secretary of the Navy in a letter to him on the 21st March. Just a week later, twelve citizens of Philadelphia, all personal strangers to him, presented to Lieutenant Morris, at the house of R. W. Leaming, an elegant sword, saying in a letter to him, that it could have ‘no worthier recipient than the brave sailor who fought his ship while a plank floated, fired his last broadside in sinking, and went down with his flag flying at the peak.’ On the sword was the motto in Latin, ‘I sink, but never surrender.’”

From the Cumberland the Merrimac turned to the government batteries on shore, which were silenced for brief intervals, and then she began on the Congress. Lieut. Joseph B. Smith was in command that day. Seeing the fate of the Cumberland, he made sail to fly toward Fortress Monroe, but unfortunately grounded. Two Confederate gunboats that had come with the Merrimac got under the stern of the Congress and opened a hot fire where only two guns would bear on them, and then finally came the Merrimac to take a raking position at a distance of 150 yards. She could not use the ram because the water was shoal, but her powerful battery knocked the guns of the Congress to pieces and “searched the ship.” Just before the last stern gun was disabled the powder cartridges ceased coming to it. The division lieutenant went to learn why. “After my eyes became a little accustomed to the darkness and the sharp smoke from burning oak,” he wrote, “I saw that the line of cooks and wardroom servants stationed to pass full boxes had been raked by a shell, and every one of them either killed or wounded.” For an hour the crew of the Congress stood to their guns, and then, Lieutenant Smith having been killed, and the ship being on fire in several places, Lieut. Austin Pendergrast hoisted a white flag.

Meantime the flagship Roanoke had sent the Minnesota over toward Newport News to attack the Merrimac, and had herself followed with the St. Lawrence. But only the Minnesota got near enough to fight. The other two “very prudently ran aground not far from Fortress Monroe.”

“As soon as the Congress surrendered, Commander Buchanan ordered the gun-boats Beaufort and Raleigh to steam alongside, take off her crew, and set fire to the ship. Lieutenant Pendergrast surrendered to Lieutenant Parker, of the Beaufort. Delivering his sword and colors, he was directed by Lieutenant Parker to return to his ship and have the wounded transferred as rapidly as possible. All this time the shore batteries and small-arm men were keeping up an incessant fire on our vessels. Two of the officers of the Raleigh, Lieutenant Taylor and Midshipman Hutter, were killed while assisting the Union wounded out of the Congress. A number of the enemy’s men were killed by the same fire. Finally it became so hot that the gun-boats were obliged to haul off with only thirty prisoners, leaving Lieutenant Pendergrast and most of his crew on board, and they all afterward escaped on shore by swimming or in small boats. While this was going on, the white flag was flying at her mainmast-head. Not being able to take possession of his prize, the commodore ordered hot shot to be used, and in a short time she was in flames fore and aft. While directing this, both himself and his flag-lieutenant, Minor, were severely wounded. The command then devolved upon Lieut. Catesby Jones.

“Our loss in killed and wounded was twenty-one. The armor was hardly damaged, though at one time our ship was the focus on which were directed at least one hundred heavy guns afloat and ashore. But nothing outside escaped. Two guns were disabled by having their muzzles shot off. The ram was left in the side of the Cumberland. One anchor, the smoke-stack, and the steam-pipes were shot away. Railings, stanchions, boat-davits, everything was swept clean. The flag-staff was repeatedly knocked over, and finally a boarding-pike was used. Commodore Buchanan and the other wounded were sent to the Naval Hospital, and after making preparations for the next day’s fight, we slept at our guns, dreaming of other victories in the morning.”

The quotations above are from John Taylor Wood’s story of the action, as printed in the Century Magazine, and Wood was a lieutenant on the Merrimac. There is no dispute as to the facts which he there relates. The points especially worth observing in this account are these: The government batteries on shore continued their fire at the Confederates after the Congress showed the white flag, and this fire killed friend and foe alike. The commanding officer of the Congress “was directed by Lieutenant Parker to return to his ship and have the wounded transferred,” and the Confederate “gunboats were obliged to haul off with only thirty prisoners, leaving Lieutenant Pendergrast” on the Congress. Captain Buchanan’s report of the fight says that the firing on the Confederate gunboats was “vile treachery”; and Scharf’s history says that “very great indignation was felt and expressed by the Confederates,” because the officers of the Congress who had surrendered did not hasten on board the last Confederate gunboat leaving the side of the surrendered ship. It says their remaining on the Congress was “to the discredit of the honor of American sailors.” Admiral Porter says, regarding Buchanan’s firing red-hot shot at the Congress when the white flag was flying and many wounded as well as the unhurt were on board, “this was certainly most inhuman, since the crew of the Congress were not responsible for the act of the troops on shore.”

It was a right fierce battle, and the things done were inevitable under the circumstances—inevitable because of the passions excited by actual conflict. If another battle of the kind be conceivable, then just such doings must follow in its wake.

In after years Secretary of the Navy Welles wrote an account of the effect this first raid of the Merrimac had upon a Cabinet meeting at Washington. Because it showed a lamentable ignorance of the real power of the ship, and because the losses of the day were wholly due to needless delays in preparing to meet the new style of warship, it is worth while quoting one paragraph from his article:

“‘The Merrimac,’ said Stanton, ‘will change the whole character of the war; she will destroy, seriatim, every naval vessel; she will lay all the cities on the seaboard under contribution. I shall immediately recall Burnside; Port Royal must be abandoned. I will notify the governors and municipal authorities in the North to take instant measures to protect their harbors.’ He had no doubt, he said, that the monster was at this moment on her way to Washington; and, looking out of the window, which commanded a view of the Potomac for many miles, ‘Not unlikely, we shall have a shell or cannon-ball from one of her guns in the White House before we leave this room.’ Mr. Seward, usually buoyant and self-reliant, overwhelmed with the intelligence, listened in responsive sympathy to Stanton, and was greatly depressed, as, indeed, were all the members.”

But that was not all nor the worst of the panic. Assistant Secretary of War John Tucker wrote to Commodore Vanderbilt of New York to ask “for what sum you will contract to destroy the Merrimac ... answer by telegraph, as there is no time to be lost.” Humiliating as such panics are, they must not be forgotten; they must be remembered because they are humiliating, in order that they may be avoided in future.

By the time the Congress was ablaze beyond remedy, five o’clock had come, and the ebb-tide had run so far that the Merrimac could not go to look after the Minnesota, which was grounded some distance off toward Fortress Monroe. Moreover, another day was coming, and to the mind of Lieutenant Jones, who now commanded, he would much better return to Sewell’s Point for the night and take the others on the first of the flood-tide next day. That he would have destroyed them at leisure next day, had no new element come into the conflict, is now unquestioned. But a new and a remarkable element—the Monitor—was at hand.