The Americans were ready, guns charged and run out. Aboard the Monitor Lieutenant William Jeffers, in the armored bridge house, trained his telescope on the anchored ships. “We will attack the ironclad before she gets under way,” he said. “She must be either Warrior or Black Prince. To my knowledge those are the only two iron ships that the British Navy has. Our agents have supplied complete details on their construction and design.”
Warrior was swinging at anchor and getting up steam. The ship’s stern was toward the attacking Monitor and her first officer gasped at what he saw. “The stern, sir — why it is not armored. There seems to be some kind of apparatus there, a winch, a frame of some kind.”
“There is,” Jeffers said. “I’ve read the description in the report. To lessen drag when she is under sail the screw is lifted clear of the water. So the stern is unarmored. As is the bow.”
“We’ll pound her out of the water!”
“It won’t be that easy. The intelligence reports contained minute details about her construction. Her hull is made of one-inch-thick iron — but she is a ship within a ship. All of the main battery of guns are in the citadel, an armored box within the ship. Twenty-two of them, twenty-six 68-pounders and six 100-pounders. She outguns us in number but not in size of guns. Our Dahlgrens are weapons to reckon with. This citadel is made of four-inch wrought-iron plates backed by twelve inches of teak. She’ll not be easy to take.”
“But we can try?”
“We certainly can. Our shot bounced off the Merrimack because she had slanted sides. I want to see what a ball from an 11-inch Dahlgren will do against this citadel — with its vertical sides.”
It was a fly attac
king an elephant. The tiny iron Monitor, gushing smoke from her two stubby stacks, bustled toward the great length of Warrior. Somber and menacing in her black paint. Bulletproof lids covering the gun ports swung open and the muzzles of the big guns slid out. They were loaded and charged — and fired as one. A sheet of flame blasted out and the solid shot screamed across the gap between the two ships.
With no observable result. The turret had been rotated so that her guns faced away from the British ironclad. Most shot missed the low-lying target; the few that hit the eight-inch armor of the turret bounced away without doing any damage. Monitor chugged slowly on at her top speed of almost five knots. As she approached the great black ship steam hissed into the engine beneath the turret, turning the cog wheel that meshed with the gear under the base. The bogy wheels rumbled as the turret swung around so that both gun muzzles were scant feet from Warrior’s high flank.
And fired. Punching the cannonballs through the armor plate to wreak havoc and destruction in the gun deck. The guns recoiled on their slides, the tightened clamps squealing, metal to metal, as the massive guns were brought to a stop.
“Reload!”
The jointed shafts pushed the hissing sponges down the gun barrels. Then the charges were rammed into place, followed by the cannonballs held by steel claws, lifted by chain winches. Within two minutes they were reloaded and the sweating, filthy crewmen hauled on the lines to pull the guns back into firing position.
By this time Monitor had swung around the iron ship’s stern with her guns almost touching the high rudder. Despite the force of guns in her main battery, there was only a single swivel gun mounted aft. This fired ineffectively.
Then the two heavy guns fired as one, smashing the round shot into the stern and through the single inch of iron of the hull. Monitor drifted there, engines stopped while the guns were reloaded. Marines lined the rail above her and bullets spanged against iron with no effect. Two minutes ticked slowly by. Clouds of smoke billowed from Warrior’s funnels as she got up steam. Her anchors were raised now and the massive black bulk began to turn to bring her guns to bear on her tiny attacker.
Then Monitor fired again. The ship’s boat hanging in the stern there was smashed — and then the massive rudder.
Warrior’s screw was turning now and the massive ship began to move away. With the rudder gone they could not turn, but at least they might escape the deadly attack.
With her guns silent Monitor’s crew could hear clanging impacts on the iron above their heads as the marines leaned over the rails and fired their muskets to no avail. But when the tiny Union vessel moved out from behind the stern and along the enemy’s starboard side she faced the greater menace of the 68- and 100-pounders yet again. Muzzles fully depressed they fired on the roll as Monitor appeared in their sights. Iron pounded iron, crashing and clanging against turret and hull.
With no visible results. Round shot could not penetrate as Merrimack had discovered. But Merrimack had been immune to the return fire as well. Not the British. Monitor stayed in position alongside the ironclad, turret turned about as they reloaded. Reloading and firing every two minutes. Warrior finally had to stop her engines since she was heading toward shore. Monitor matched her every move. Firing steadily, punching through the armor of the citadel, destroying the guns and sending fragments of iron and wood scything through the gunners.
Around this two-ship action a naval battle was raging. It was a devastating conflict, wooden ship against wooden ship. However all of the ships of the American fleet were all steam-powered — this gave them the fighting edge against those British ships driven by sail. The guns roared fire and shot, while in the distance the unarmed transports stood out to sea to escape the carnage.
With most of the British armorclad’s main guns out of action, the unarmored American ships now approached and joined the battle against Warrior. Their smaller guns could not penetrate the armor — but they could sweep the decks. Her three immense masts were made of wood, as were her yards. Under the hail of shells from the Americans first the mainmast went, falling to the deck with a crumbling roar, her yards and sails crushing those below. Her mizzenmast went next, adding to the death and destruction. Canvas and broken spars hung over her sides blocking the gun ports so that the firing died away.
Monitor pulled away as Captain Jeffers nodded at the destruction she had brought. “A good bit of work. We’ll leave her that last mast because she will not be going anyplace for awhile.”
“If ever!” the first officer shouted, pointing. “Narragansett has grappled her by the stern — her marines are boarding!”
“Well done. With the iron ship out of the battle we have those wooden warships to think about. We must help the rest of our fleet. Free some of them to go after the transports. We must destroy as many as we can before they scatter. If they don’t strike we’ll sink them.”
His smile was cold, his anger deep.
“This will be a bloody nose for the bloody British Navy that they will long remember.”
A MOMENTOUS OCCASION
“I may have had worse days, John, though I really can’t remember when.”
The President sat in his battered armchair looking fixedly at the telegram that Nicolay had handed him. He was gaunt and losing weight, so much so that his shabby black suit hung loosely, wrinkled. Since Willie’s death he was scarcely eating, barely sleeping. His dark skin was now sallow, his eyes surrounded by black rings. This new war was going very badly. A horsefly hummed angrily about the room, battering itself again and again into the glass of the half-open window. In the room just off of Lincoln’s office the newly installed telegraph clattered away as another message was received.
“Bad news reaches me much faster now that we have that infernal machine so close and handy,” Lincoln said. “Has the Secretary of War seen this?”