VICTORY — OR DEFEAT?
Captain Johns was secure in the knowledge that his ship could defeat any enemy vessel that she might encounter at sea. Dictator’s armor was the heaviest — her guns some of the largest ever mounted on a ship. Each of her turrets, one forward and one aft, held two of the largest cannon Parrott had ever designed. They fired the new hardened steel pointed shells that had proven highly successful in penetrating armor on the testing range. He was sure that they would prove just as successful at sea. Now, instead of taking a route from the Azores to the Irish Sea that might avoid other ships, he proceeded directly towards his destination.
At twelve knots. He hammered the bridge rail with frustration. But the First Engineer would not vouch for the boilers if the pressure were raised. Well at least they were moving, no longer sitting at anchor. The first mate came out of the Chart Room and he waved him over.
“How is our progress?”
“Slow but sure, sir. Since we are taking the most direct course to Belfast we won’t see the coast of Ireland until we are past the Isle of Man. We should be past Dublin by now…”
“Smoke on the horizon, dead ahead,” the lookout called out. “More than one vessel.”
Slow as the Dictator was, the convoy ahead was even slower, held to the speed of her slowest ship — the paddlewheel packet ship. Aboard the Valiant Captain Fosbery contained his anger, looking ahead at the three troop-ships lumbering along in Intrepid’s wake. They should be raising the Isle of Man soon. Then Ireland.
These were well-traveled waters, and they had passed two ships already today, so the smoke on the horizon astern seemed of no importance. Until the first mate, who had been watching its progress, lowered his glasses.
“An iron ship, sir. No masts. A good-sized one, I do believe.”
Fosbery watched her now, with a growing sense of horror at her swift approach.
“I don’t recognize her, sir,” the first mate said.
“You wouldn’t. She’s not one of ours. Damnation — look at the size of the guns in that forward turret!”
Intrepid increased her speed and passed the troop ships until she was within signaling distance of Valiant. They exchanged messages, then reduced speed to let the convoy past them. Their station was between their charges and the enemy. They must do battle, whatever the odds.
Aboard the American warship all eyes were on the convoy ahead. “Warrior class,” Captain Johns said with great pleasure. “Armor bow and stern now, as well as slanted armor to protect the citadel.” He had seen the reports sent over from the War Department: Fox’s Irish shipyard workers had been most thorough in their reports. “Now let us see how well th
ey stand up to our twelve-inch shells. Distance?”
“Thirteen hundred yards,” the gun-layer called out.
“Within range. One gun fire.”
A few moments later there was a great explosion of sound and the steel ship shivered at the recoil of the gun. Standing directly behind the turret, Johns could see the black smear of the shell rising up against the blue sky, then hurtling down towards the enemy ships. A mighty plume of water rose up from the sea, almost washing over the two ironclads.
“Short!” the captain called out. “The next one will be right into them!”
The next explosion was smaller, muffled. But the guns hadn’t fired.
With horror Captain Johns felt the ship slow down, losing way as her propeller stopped turning.
The boiler again…
The two British ironclads, that had been willing to fight to the death in the hopes that they could keep this monster from their charges, could not believe what they were seeing. The American Goliath had lost way, had stopped and was wallowing in the waves. Valiant send up a white plume of steam in a long whistle of victory. They put on speed and hurried after their charges.
Behind them Dictator grew smaller and smaller until she vanished from sight.
Less than a hundred miles ahead of them Avenger and Virginia looked at the black bulk of the British ironclad standing just off the Irish coast. This was undoubtedly the same ship that had sunk the USS Stalwart. They were here to avenge their dead comrades. In line they steamed forward.
Conqueror moved out to sea now so she could have room to maneuver. Swung to bring her guns to bear as the American ironclads rushed down on her.
Avenger was first in line and passed less than twenty yards from the British ship. Their broadsides exploded at almost the same time: sheets of flame and smoke joined the two ships. Above the sound of the explosions metal clanged on metal. As they separated neither ship seemed to have suffered serious damage. They were well matched in both guns and armor.
Not so the Virginia. Before Conqueror could reload her port guns the American ironclad was on her. Conqueror tried to turn so her starboard guns could bear — but she had not enough time. The two guns in the forward turret fired. Twelve-inch Parrott breech-loaders firing pointed steel armor-piercing shells. The first time these guns had been fired in anger.
The two shells exploded as one. The smoke blew away and when Virginia’s rear turret passed the other ship a great hole could be seen in her armored side. Both rear turret guns fired into the gaping wound.
Conqueror had been mortally wounded by the four explosive shells. Smoke poured out of the jagged opening — then there was another explosion and sheets of flame appeared. Her magazine had exploded. As the American ships turned, she settled lower in the water as her bow rose up. Then the great ship sank with a mighty bubbling roar.