And clouds of billowing smoke as well. Dark streaks of cannon projectiles could be seen, exploding into white smoke. Lieutenant Worden climbed to the top of the turret for a better view.
“Might be a Secesh ship trying to run the blockade,” one of the sailors said; little hope in his voice. Worden shook his head in a silent no.
“Too much, too much firing from too many ships. The Virginia must be out and among the fleet. Iron against wood — they don’t have a chance.”
“That’s our job to take her on — that’s what we have to do!” one of the men shouted.
“We’ll never get there before dark,” a sailor said, looking up at the sky, then at the horizon.
“Then we will be there in the morning,” Lieutenant Worden said grimly. “If that ironclad is among our fleet, and she survives this day, she will surely be back in the morning. But when dawn breaks and Virginia appears, we are going to be there waiting for her. It will be iron against iron this time. Then those Rebels will know that they have been in a fight.”
Standing out to sea, at the mouth of Hampton Roads, the watching French and British were unaware of the small, black, ugly vessel that had dropped anchor after dark at Fortress Monroe, the Union bastion on the other side of the Roads. What they had witnessed that day when Virginia had attacked the Northern fleet had been more of a massacre than a battle. In the morning they expected more of the same.
But would it be different when the untested Monitor faced up to the battle-proven Virginia in the morning?
Monitor raised her anchor in the night and steamed out into Hampton Roads. The warm spring night was lit by the newly-risen moon — but far brighter was the glare from the burning Congress. Explosions racked her as loaded guns and powder magazines exploded. The crew of Monitor had been told of the day’s disastrous events; the reality was far more shocking than words could ever be. By ten o’clock she had stationed herself between the badly damaged Minnesota and the shore. Her crew waited sleepless throughout the night while steam tugs tried to free the stranded warship. Though stranded and vulnerable by daylight, Minnesota had not given up the fight. She took aboard more cannon balls and powder from the fort during the night.
At two in the morning the battleship was refloated — but soon grounded again. The Monitor approached her and dropped anchor. Worden sent Lieutenant Greene aboard to talk to her commander.
“Thank God that you have arrived,” Captain Van Brunt said, pointing to the still-burning Congress. “That will be us in the morning if we don’t get out of these shallows. Our guns can’t make a dent in that infernal contraption, though we will keep on trying.”
“Perhaps ours can. In any case we will station ourselves between your ship and the enemy. She will have to get by us to reach you and that will take some doing.”
At a little after nine o’clock next morning the history of naval warfare changed forever. Modern warfare began. When the Virginia made her leisurely way toward the stranded Union warship, Monitor was placed squarely between the ironclad and her prey.
Aboard the Virginia the sailors cleared for action once again. But Lieutenant Jones was unhappy.
“What’s happening there?” he called out, his view restricted by the armored eyeslit. Midshipman Littlepage climbed up the armor to see better.
“The tugs are leaving. But there is a raft of some kind close to her. Something on it — as though they were taking her boilers and machinery ashore.”
“Nonsense! Not at this time.” He pulled himself up to see better and grimaced with anger. “Damnation! That’s no raft — and that is a monstrous gun turret. It must be Ericsson’s battery.”
It could not have come at a worse time. His plans to finish off the Minnesota then disperse the rest of the blockading fleet were in peril.
Virginia was determined to finish off the wounded ship. At the range of a mile she fired at the stranded ship and saw some of her shells strike home. But the small iron ship could not be long ignored. Puffing clouds of smoke it drove directly toward its larger opponent until it was just alongside. “Stop engines,” Worden ordered. “Commence firing.” The first gun crew heaved the swinging shield away from the gunport, ran the gun out and Greene pulled the lockstring. The gun boomed out, deafening the men, doing more harm inside the turret by its blast than it inflicted on its target. The cannon ball hit the other’s armor and bounced away.
The Virginia fired her broadside and the battle of iron against iron was begun.
The Monitor rode so low in the ocean that her decks were awash. All that could be seen above water, other than a small armored pilothouse, was her immense central turret. Both targets were almost impossible to hit. The few balls that hit their target merely ricocheted away.
And every three minutes the 120-ton structure was rotated by its steam engine so that the two immense guns housed inside could be brought to bear. Their large target could not be missed. Agile and under perfect control, the smaller ship darted about the clumsy, almost uncontrollable Southern ironclad.
For two hours, the muzzles of their guns almost touching, the two warships hammered solid shell into each other. Disaster almost struck the Virginia when her prow grounded in a mudbank. For a quarter of an hour her feeble engine struggled to free her while Monitor moved about her firing steadily. Soon the larger ship’s funnel was so holed with shot and disabled that there was scarcely any draft for her engine. Solid shot had blown off the ends of the muzzles of two of her guns. They could still fire but when they did so the flames of the discharge set fire to the wooden surrounds.
The Monitor however did suffer one casualty. Her commander was looking through the armored slit in the pilothouse when a cannon ball struck squarely against it. He screamed with pain when fragments of paint and metal were blown into his eyes. He was taken below where the ship’s doctor did what he could to repair the damage. He saved one eye — but Worden was blinded in the other.
The battle continued, and ended only when the tide began to turn. The sluggish Virginia broke contact and made her way slowly back up the channel while her undefeated opponent still remained on guard between her and her prey.
Virginia returned to her base while Monitor waited like a bulldog at the gate for her to return.
She never did. The tall funnel was riddled with holes, while some of the armor plate was hanging free. Her faulty engines were beyond repair, her weight was so great that her draft was too deep for her to do battle anywhere except in the calm waters of Hampton Roads.
The warship that had forever changed naval warfare would never fight again.
The blockade was once again sound. The noose was again tightening about the South.
There were optimists in the North who felt that the war was as good as won.
SHILOH
Confederate General Albert Sidney Johnston was of course a gentleman, as well as being a not unkind man. He wished for a moment that he was not a gentleman, so he would not have to see Matilda Mason. There was a war to be fought after all. No, that wouldn’t cut. All the orders had been issued, the troops deployed, so there was really nothing more for him to do until the attack began. She had been waiting to see him for two days now and he knew he could not put the meeting off any longer for he had run out of excuses. It was undeniable that she was indeed a close friend of his family so if word got back that he had refused to see her…