Perhaps at no time in the long and glorious history of the U. S. Navy has it been more embarrassed, more criticized, or more frustrated than during an interval of two months in the spring of the second year of the Civil War. This period, which Senator Samuel C. Pomeroy pronounced, “a national nightmare,” marks the career of the Confederate ironclad, Merrimack. This strange-looking vessel caused the Navy to undergo perhaps its most humiliating and painful experience.
The story of the surprising and sudden emergence of the southern ironclad, Merrimack (Southerners call her Virginia)1 at Hampton Roads and her devastating attack upon the helpless wooden ships of the Union fleet on that fateful Saturday afternoon of 8 March 1862—just 100 years ago this month —is well known. Cumberland was rammed and sunk; Congress was lost; and other fine Union vessels were seriously damaged. Minnesota, aground, was awaiting her end when the ironclad, unable to finish her job because of the ebbing tide, was forced to head homeward. The Union Navy had received a stunning blow; Hampton Roads that evening was in panic and confusion.
Still more familiar is the tale of the arrival, that very night, of the diminutive Monitor. As in a story book, she came in the nick of time after a perilous voyage out of New York and anchored alongside the helpless Minnesota.
When Merrimack, looking “like a house submerged to the eaves, borne onward by a flood,” reappeared with her consorts from Norfolk on Sunday morning, she discovered the absurd-looking, impudent, little Monitor, resembling “a cheese box on a raft,” assuming the role of protector. The latter had slightly better speed (perhaps six knots), but scarcely one-fourth her opponent’s tonnage. Immediately, the northern ironclad took on the bulky Merrimack in a duel. Hollywood could scarcely have improvised a more dramatic moment.
Thousands of excited people on shore and aboard nearby ships, waving caps and handkerchiefs, stood absorbed—sometimes almost breathless, and ofttimes cheering lustily. They were witnessing that Sunday morning an awesome but futile four-hour battle, the first ever fought between ironclads. The ships fired at ranges of less than a hundred yards; occasionally they touched. At times the smoke of battle completely hid both vessels from the spectators. It was probably the strangest and most picturesque naval combat in all history—this David-Goliath sort of duel.
The ships bombarded each other unmercifully with no more effect (so it seemed to the onlooker) than “so many pebbles thrown by a child.” Lieutenant Eggleston in Merrimack, when asked why he had ceased firing momentarily replied that he could “do her as much damage” by snapping “his fingers every three minutes.”
Merrimack was being fought by Lieutenant Catesby ap R. Jones, her executive officer and acting commanding officer. Merrimack never had a captain as such. The Confederate flag officer Franklin Buchanan, who commanded the Hampton Roads and James River naval defenses, carried his flag in Merrimack. He apparently thought very highly of Lieutenant Jones, who, although he had had 25 years naval experience, was only 40 years old, and considered too junior to be promoted to captain. Buchanan’s solution to this problem was to have executive officer Jones function as acting commanding officer. Lieutenant Jones performed in this dual capacity from start to finish of the encounter. (Buchanan was wounded in the first day’s action by a sharpshooter from the shore.)
Jones, when not engaging the Monitor, continued to bombard the stranded Minnesota until he was convinced that she would never move again. As it happened, a shell finally struck Monitor's pilot house, temporarily blinding her commanding officer, Lieutenant John L. Worden.
At this point, Monitor withdrew to reorganize her command and evaluate her damage. The somewhat crippled Merrimack, baffled by the sudden withdrawal of the northern vessel, after perhaps a 20-minute wait, headed homeward. When Monitor finally turned about, ready to renew the fight, she saw her opponent steaming back to Norfolk. To this day, the debate goes on as to which vessel won the battle or was last to leave the scene of action.2 On the other hand, there is no question about the significance of the encounter in Hampton Roads which dramatized for the world the revolution that was taking place in naval warfare.
One of the first to board Monitor to offer congratulations was the dynamic, jovial Assistant Secretary of the Navy, Gustavus V. Fox, who found the crew considerably blackened from powder and smoke and in a state of exhaustion. He had come from Washington especially to welcome Monitor to Hampton Roads and to order her up the Potomac to engage Confederate shore batteries, and, naturally, remained to see the fight—from a front-row seat in a tug.
So much for the two-day, historic, naval conflict.
A Tense Cabinet Meeting
What was the reaction of official Washington to the world-stirring event of Saturday, 8 March? How did the Lincoln government receive the shocking news of the havoc Merrimack wrought on its wooden ships that day? Word of the Navy’s worst defeat until that time had reached Washington on Sunday morning. A cabinet meeting was called immediately. It was during that session that the Monitor-Merrimack battle took place, but no word of it reached Washington until late Sunday afternoon, when Fox reported on the battle in the first message over the newly completed Hampton Roads-to-Washington telegraph line.
Alarm characterized the atmosphere during this grave and prolonged cabinet meeting. Gideon Welles, Secretary of the Navy, spent a troubled day. William H. Seward, Secretary of State, always buoyant and talkative, became quiet, obviously overwhelmed by the turn of events. The tall, handsome, and humorless Secretary of the Treasury, Salmon P. Chase, itemized in great detail, ship by ship, the cost of Saturday’s battle.
Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton (according to John Hay, the President’s private secretary) acted “fearfully stampeded” and was full of dire predictions. He was certain that Merrimack would destroy every vessel in the Union service, lay under contribution the great cities on the Atlantic coast, come up the Potomac River, disperse Congress, and knock the dome off the Capitol. It was clear to him that the “whole character of the war” had been changed. So imminent seemed the danger that he expected a cannon ball to land in the White House before the end of the meeting. Repeatedly, he and the President went to the window to assure themselves that Merrimack, at that very moment, was not coming up the river.
After much discussion, President Lincoln, weary and troubled, anticipating the south-era vessel’s next move, called for his carriage. Leaving the room, his head down, he muttered, “Frightful news,” and then drove to the Navy Yard to seek the advice of Captain Dahlgren, the Commandant. He received no encouragement.
The blame for Saturday’s defeat rested squarely on Welles and his Navy. The blustering Secretary of War, while pacing the floor, eyed the Secretary of the Navy with distrust. In addition, he felt utter contempt for the two- gun, Monitor which had recently been completed and was, even then, at Hampton Roads facing the “ugly monster.” Turning on Welles with unrestrained scorn, the Secretary of War demanded that he explain his plan for checking the southern ironclad and preventing her from reaching Washington.
Welles reiterated his confidence in Monitor and insisted that, in any event, he didn’t believe the heavily armored Confederate vessel could survive a trip northward. This only angered Stanton. “Grandfather” Welles— always conspicuous with his silvery whiskers and elaborate wig which was never quite securely anchored—suffered keenly under the railing inflicted upon him. He rarely offered a retort.
Stanton’s disdainful attitude toward Welles was no doubt due to the fact that he knew that the man who really ran the Navy Department, and to whom Lincoln turned for advice on naval affairs, was G. V. Fox, who was still in Hampton Roads. Welles seldom if ever took action on purely naval affairs without Fox’s knowledge.
Stanton Acts to Protect the North
Having no faith in Welles and the Navy, Stanton decided that, if the North were to be protected from the southern ironclad, the War Department would have to take over the Navy’s responsibility. Not always sensitive to proprieties touching problems of other departments, he went into action and had a busy Sunday of it.
The battle between the two secretaries that day—which rivaled that of Monitor and Merrimack—was one of many conflicts. The newly- appointed Stanton not only entertained a great dislike for the Secretary of the Navy, but also felt (as Welles himself said) that the “Navy was secondary and subject to the control and direction” of the Secretary of War. President Lincoln, however, supported Welles’s view on departmental equality and often acted as peacemaker. Since Welles was under attack nationally during the following weeks, Stanton seized this opportunity. Their relationship did improve, but Stanton’s arrogant attitude and his tendency to “run” other departments continued to cause friction.
As a first step in taking over the Navy’s responsibilities, Stanton wired the Governors of New York, Massachusetts, and Maine advising them to take immediate steps to defend their harbors against the “southern monster” by building large timber rafts and other devices. Next he turned to the defense of the Capital. In this instance, he ordered Captain Dahlgren to obtain “some sixty” canal boats which were to be loaded with stone and sunk in the river below Washington. When the surprised Welles received word of Dahlgren’s activities, he immediately cancelled the project. In a conference with Lincoln and Stanton the next day, however, the President stipulated that the work should go on, but that the boats were not to be sunk until it was known that the ironclad was approaching. Then the busy Stanton wired Henry B. Renwick, a prominent New York engineer, to call together leading naval engineering brains to discuss secretly the “best plan of speedily accomplishing the capture or destruction of the Merrimack.''' He was urged to “communicate hourly” with the War Department. The fear which gripped the Capital that Sunday began to spread rapidly through the North, especially to the coastal cities.
In fairness to Stanton, it should be remembered that the responsibility for shore defense fell to the War Department. Then, too, his great concern both for the security of Fortress Monroe and the safety of General McClellan’s proposed peninsula campaign is understandable.
Toward the close of that endless, gruelling Sunday, the word came from Assistant Secretary of the Navy Fox, giving an eye-witness account of the famous Monitor-Merrimack duel fought that morning—while the cabinet was feverishly evaluating the impact of Saturday’s catastrophe. How did the Lincoln government receive the news of Sunday’s battle? The message, when first received, somewhat lifted the tension in the cabinet, but it came far from ending the alarm since the stark fact remained that the dreaded Merrimack had not been destroyed. She was not seriously injured according to observer Fox who was closest to the enemy—at his vantage point in the tug— save those stationed in Monitor. And she still lurked menacingly in Norfolk harbor. Nor had the skepticism of many naval officers concerning the capabilities of Monitor—sometimes dubbed “Ericsson’s Folly”—been dispelled.
The government at Washington remained apprehensive because of the indecisive encounter. President Lincoln, always the realist, moved with caution. Fearing another test of strength, he at once ordered that Monitor “be not too much exposed” and that she not go “sky-larking” up to Norfolk unattended. He was deeply disquieted to hear the wounded Lieutenant Worden say that Monitor could be “boarded and captured very easily.” Flag Officer Goldsborough, commander of the Union forces in Hampton Roads, also agreed that it was unwise “to count too largely on her prowess” since she was “scarcely enough for the Merrimack.”
The Press and the People Receive the News
The story of the two battles “broke” in the Monday morning papers. Of course, the northern press widely proclaimed a complete victory for Monitor and the people’s enthusiasm was unbounded. “The Monitor Victorious, The Merrimac towed off in a sinking condition,” characteristically headlined the New York Daily Tribune. Many papers reported that Merrimack was “fatally wounded.” The Philadelphia Bulletin observed that she was “now a much sadder and wiser Mac”; and the Boston Morning Journal categorically said that the “career of their iron monster was ended.” Monitor was now a hero and publicly acclaimed the savior of the Union.
The press in unison “shuddered” to think that Monitor might have arrived too late or that it might have been defeated that Sunday. If either tragedy had occurred, it was generally agreed that the southern vessel would have hastened to bombard Washington, New York, and the other Union cities, leaving them in ashes while, at the same time, levying on other coastal cities for money to continue the war.
Such a venture, said the New York Daily Tribune might have gone far toward winning the war for the Confederacy if Monitor had not arrived “just as she did and proved herself the miracle” that she was. The New York Times noted that the national cause had had both “an escape and a triumph” and declared that the arrival of the northern ironclad was a “Providential occurrence.” Commonly used terms in the first reports of the Monitor-Merrimack battle were “interposing hand of Providence,” the “hand of God,” “Divine interference” and so on.
The southern press and people were likewise jubilant, hailing the battle as an “overwhelming victory” for their side, anticipating still greater conquests. Their early reports of the duel were also highly exaggerated. The Raleigh Standard, for instance, maintained that Merrimack was a “perfect success,” boasting that after she had rammed Monitor, the latter (with all hands at the pumps and in a sinking condition), headed “instantly” homeward.
Public Clamor over Naval Unpreparedness
Even while the North was rejoicing over the “victory” of Monitor, there was arising a demand for an explanation of how it happened that Merrimack caught the Union Navy by surprise. Casualties for the North totaled possibly 400; for the South, less than a dozen. It was known that the naval authorities at Hampton Roads had received ample warning of an impending attack. Indeed, the day before, word came that Merrimack’s flags were flying, that she had taken on a crew and was ready for action.
But when the southern ironclad emerged the next day at noon, Commodore Golds- borough was many miles away in the Carolina Sounds, covering the Roanoke Island operations and aftermath. Captain William Radford of Cumberland was attending a court- martial in Roanoke and although he rode posthaste on horseback, he arrived just as his ship Was sinking. The tugs which had been ordered for towing the sailing vessels out of danger were nowhere in sight.
Officers in the French sloop-of-war Gassendi, anchored in the Roads, noticed Merrimack’’ s coming 15 minutes before a Union gunboat fired the warning signal. They were surprised to witness the confusion and lack of teamwork among the Union ships.
The Boston Evening Transcript called Saturday’s performance “criminal stupidity” and “exceedingly mortifying” to the American people. “Why was the Congress placed in such a dangerous position with only half her complement of men?” it queried. “Why were our naval commanders entirely surprised by the attack, when they should have been fully apprised of every movement of so formidable a combatant as a mail-clad steam vessel of war?” The Newark Daily Advertiser in disgust asked, “Are we of the North, awake or asleep? Are we alive, or are we dead?” The World (New York) came out denouncing the Navy Department, saying it deserved the severest censure since the “press had teemed with repeated warnings” for several months.
The northern ships were not stripped for action. Cumberland and Congress had boats hanging to lower booms, and unsuspecting tars were on deck washing clothes, some of which was drying on the rigging. The New York Daily Tribune wailed that it could not understand how our principal ships were caught “without stearri up and without pilots,” adding that the surprise seemed “to have been complete.” Then it asked:
Who was responsible for the Roanoke’s lying four months in Hampton Roads with a broken shaft? . . . Who ran the Minnesota aground in water that should have been as familiar to her pilot as the bottom of his wash basin? Who ought to have kept a lookout for the Merrimack, and known just how she was to be met in case she came out?
Not only was Roanoke without a functioning engine in this crisis, but her crew was 180 short of full complement. She was depending on two tugs to haul her into action if Merrimack should sally forth. When the latter did so on 8 March, Roanoke soon grounded and her commanding officer, Captain Marston, the senior officer in Hampton Roads, never reached the scene of action. The Philadelphia Daily News sarcastically inquired, “Who ever heard of a blockading squadron all aground.” “Why is the Country, at this terrible hour, cursed with such slackness of defense?” cried the Boston Post. The Boston Daily Advertiser, angered by the tragedy, exclaimed that the story read as though “everyone in the vicinity of Fortress Monroe was asleep on Saturday morning” and that the “Providential” arrival of Monitor in no way removed the “deep stain” left by the disaster. In similar vein, The New York Herald demanded a good reason for the “absence of anything in the shape of an ironplated ship.”
No one could assert that the northern vessels were on the alert that Saturday—notwithstanding the repeated warnings during a period of several months. Fox later wrote that some of the naval authorities at Hampton Roads had not taken the threat of the ironclad seriously and had even “laughed at the Merrimack's coming.” That the northern forces were caught napping that afternoon seems clear. That the tragedy and defeat that day could have been prevented seems, even a hundred years later, equally clear.
As in all disasters, charges of skulduggery arose and accusations of disloyalty in high places occasionally appeared in the press.
The Bangor Daily Whig and Courier (Maine) referred to Saturday’s fiasco as inexcusable carelessness or “something worse” and several days later presented “evidence” of gross incompetency, if not the “blackest treachery.” In an angry editorial, the Philadelphia Daily News spoke of the disaster as unwarranted stupidity or “unheard-of treason.” Referring to Captain Marston of Roanoke, it asked, “Was he afraid to meet the enemy?” And again, “Did he desire that the secessionists should obtain a victory over the Government?” This attack was concluded with a demand that Captain Marston be “cashiered as an unfaithful officer.” The Daily Missouri Democrat (St. Louis) called its readers’ attention to the “mystery” of Minnesota's running aground by an experienced pilot “as if on purpose.” It hinted that perhaps this was done to prevent her from lending aid to the distressed Cumberland and Congress. The Philadelphia Inquirer observed that these two ships were so stationed in the Roads, “as to invite their sad fate.” The Sunday Dispatch (New York) felt strongly that President Lincoln should dismiss Welles from his cabinet and “cause Commodore Goldsborough and Captain Fox to be cashiered.”
Stunned and distressed, the Congress in Washington demanded the facts. The U. S. Senate on 11 March, adopted a resolution offered by Senator Henry Wilson (Massachusetts) to investigate the circumstances of Saturday’s “deplorable calamity” and to determine responsibility for the tragic disaster.
Welles Under Fire
The brunt of the criticism naturally fell upon the sensitive Secretary of the Navy. At the moment, he was under attack principally on three counts; first, the naval forces at Hampton Roads on Saturday were neither prepared nor on the alert; second, Monitor had made a belated appearance; third, this was the only ironclad available to meet the national crisis.
Some said Welles’s ideas were too conservative, that he was a man of the “old sailing wooden ship school,” that he was “behind the age,” that he was out of touch with the “spirit of the times,” and that, at the age of 60, he was too old for the post.
The Boston Daily Evening Traveler claimed that eminent authorities had urged upon Welles the need for ironclads when he took office, but that his advisers “sneered at vessels of this class,” pronouncing them “humbugs.”
When bemoaning the tardy arrival of Monitor, the New York Herald asserted that Mr. Welles possessed the means of creating half-a-dozen ironclads months earlier, had he understood the problem and comprehended the immense advantage of these vessels.
What alarmed the Boston Evening Transcript at this critical time was the unwillingness of those in authority to adopt new methods or to investigate proposed improvements. The discouraged Boston Daily Evening Traveler lamented that the “misgivings” regarding the Navy’s ability to meet the emergency were increasing.
The northern press was also restive because of what was called the Navy’s want of initiative. The New York Times wanted to know why the Confederates were permitted to refit and strengthen the disabled Merrimack at leisure. “Why,” it said, “if our mailed champions are what they are represented to be, do they not seek the enemy, and at once terminate the general suspense?”
Some accused the Navy Department of laxness, saying that it had been “taken in” when the Confederate authorities several weeks earlier had “planted” a false report in the southern press to the effect that Merrimack was a complete failure. This ruse, it was said, caused the gullible Secretary to relax.
Several weeks after the “fateful Saturday,” The New York Times thus summarized the country’s lack of confidence in the Navy Department:
What the next naval disaster may be, we shall all know after it occurs. The Merrimack is about to run out of Norfolk again; and, though the Navy Department assures us, with a solemn nod, that everything is in readiness for her, it must be said that the previous utterances of that Department have not been so strictly verified as to afford any great confidence in its present assurances.
Finally, the Times pointed out that the “long series of National disgraces” which the country had experienced, were not due to our Navy, but to the “administration of our Navy Department.”
And, late in March, the Boston Evening Transcript, having often alluded to the “incapacity of Secretary Welles,” observed that the “press of all shades of political opinion” was now censuring the Secretary of the Navy.
Welles was under great pressure to resign. The New York Chamber of Commerce resolved that the chief cause of the disaster at Hampton Roads lay in the “culpable neglect” of naval authorities. In Boston, a petition was circulated requesting the Secretary’s removal. Frank Leslie's Illustrated Newspaper summed up the hostility toward Welles as follows:
Retire, O Gideon, to an onion farm,
Ply any trade that’s innocent and slow,
Do anything, where you can do no harm,
Go anywhere, you fancy—only go.
Stanton Attempts to Eliminate the Merrimack
The Secretary of War became increasingly convinced that the crisis precipitated by Merrimack was too big a job for Welles and the Navy. His distrust of Monitor was heightened when word arrived on 10 March from Engineer Renwick’s committee in New York indicating that the northern ironclad was not, in their opinion, equal to her assignment. Having written off Monitor, Stanton decided that the War Department would have to destroy the “ugly monster” independently.
Following in the same vein, he felt that naval officers were not up to an emergency of this sort, being “circumscribed by their education,” and handicapped by their training. It was his opinion that Goldsborough was “too old and pompous to fight.” Rather, Stanton reasoned, he would put his confidence in the ideas, initiative, and drive of big businessmen. It was logical, therefore, that he should turn to Cornelius Vanderbilt, the millionaire steamboat-king of New York City.
So it came about that six days after the Monitor-Merrimack duel, Stanton made a frantic appeal to Vanderbilt to save the U. S. fleet and prevent the ravaging of northern coastal cities, with this telegram from the War Department:
War Department
March 15, 1862
C. Vanderbilt, Esq., New York:
The Secretary of War directs me to ask you for what sum you will contract to destroy the Merrimack or prevent her from coming out from Norfolk, you to sink or destroy her if she gets out?
Answer by telegraph, as there is no time to be lost.
John Tucker
Assistant Secretary of War
For the War Department to negotiate a contract with a private citizen for the destruction of an enemy warship was to introduce as revolutionary an idea into war-making as the ironclads themselves had heralded.
It is probable that Vanderbilt received the telegram from Washington with warm satisfaction. Never noted for his modesty or lack of confidence, he was not one to hesitate a moment in a situation like this. This telegram was sent immediately:
March 15, 1862
New York City
Hon. E. M. Stanton:
Mr. Vanderbilt desires me to say he can make no satisfactory reply to the inquiry made of him, but will be in Washington on Monday next to confer with the Department.
W. B. Dinsmore
Who was this Cornelius Vanderbilt who singlehandedly was to take over the Navy’s task of destroying Merrimack and upon whose broad shoulders the fate of the nation now seemed to rest? He was a successful New York businessman of 68—loud, arrogant, profane, eccentric, vain, tobacco-chewing—internationally famous in merchant-shipping circles. He had become a millionaire of tremendous power and influence. Indeed, he had amassed the first of America’s colossal fortunes.
Upon his arrival at the Secretary of War’s office in Washington, Vanderbilt immediately informed Stanton that he had little time to waste and hoped that the worrisome problem could be handled expeditiously. He readily agreed to see the President, and the two hurried to the White House. Welles was not invited to the conference.
The President promptly put this question: “How can you stop this rebel ram, and for how much money will you do it?” Vanderbilt replied that he felt confident he could protect the fleet and prevent Merrimack from leaving Hampton Roads; also, that he would charge nothing for his services and was happy to help the government in this emergency. The President, relieved, inquired how he would do the job and Vanderbilt answered:
I will take my ship, the C. Vanderbilt, cover her machinery, etc., with 500 bales of cotton, raise the steam, and rush with overwhelming force on the iron-clad, sink her before she can escape, or cripple us.
Before undertaking this important mission, he wished it clearly understood that Monitor had to be out of the way when he was doing his work; neither did he want any interference from other naval vessels; he refused also to be subjected, in any way, to control from naval officers.
Five days after the White House conference, Stanton, at the direction of the President, confirmed by letter the agreement with Vanderbilt. He expressed Mr. Lincoln’s thanks for the renowned Vanderbilt, specifiying that she would be employed in the service of the War Department, but under the steamship-king’s “supervision, direction, and command.” He was assured that the Navy would not handicap him in any way.
On 23 March the War Department’s newly acquired Vanderbilt arrived at Hampton Roads. She was equipped with a ram and her bow filled in solidly, guns mounted, and other changes made.
When Vanderbilt learned that his ship would be working “temporarily” with the Navy, he conferred with Commodore Golds- borough. They were in complete agreement relative to the proper handling of the vessel and the wealthy New Yorker, having been agreeably impressed, rated the Commodore a “trump.” Surprised at finding the Union’s naval forces so strong, Vanderbilt concluded that Merrimack would not venture out again. So, after giving detailed instructions to Captain LeFevre, who commanded Vanderbilt, the steamboat-king returned to New York to more important duties.
The North Becomes Jittery Again
Almost simultaneous with the joy and satisfaction of the little Monitor’s “victory” came realization that another test of strength was almost inevitable. It was generally known that the “defeated” Merrimack was in the process of being repaired and made more formidable, and the Union people therefore soon realized that they were still in jeopardy.
The press agreed that the “plucky little Monitor" had done well against the giant Merrimack. It agreed also that this small vessel alone stood between the defenseless North and the powerful ironclad. It was recognized, however, that Monitor might readily be disabled, thus rendering the Navy at Hampton Roads powerless. In turn, the coastal cities would be in danger.
The consensus of the press was summed up by the Providence Daily Post when it wrote that it could “almost worship” Monitor in gratitude for her service that Sunday, but it hastened to point out that Merrimack was larger and heavier and, under favorable circumstances, might run down the northern vessel. It concluded that it would feel safer with a dozen ironclads on the coast.
Immediately after the famous battle, the press, conscious of the Union’s narrow escape, came out almost unanimously for a big ironclad building program which the worried governors of the coastal states readily supported. Along with others, The New York Herald demanded that henceforth “not a single wooden vessel” should be built; The World (New York) agreed that every dollar put into wooden hulks “except for transports and tugboats” might as well be thrown into the sea. A little later it observed that Monitor cost $275,000 but had proven herself “worth one hundred million.” (By the end of the year, some 30 greatly improved ironclads were underway, each containing the most significant feature of the first Monitor—the revolving turret system of mounting guns.)
The Lincoln government from the first had understood the import of what happened on 9 March. On the other hand, a full realization of the facts came by degrees to the public, causing a gradual turning from over-confidence to grave apprehension concerning their safety. The old haunting fears returned.
Moreover, the public was learning that the Lincoln government was greatly disturbed because of the situation at Hampton Roads and that the governors and mayors of the coastal states and cities were worried—demanding the protection of ironclads. One week after “Black Saturday,” Welles wrote to Golds- borough; “There is a degree of apprehension in regard to the armored steamer Merrimack which is difficult to allay.” The tragedy of 8 March, as many newspapers pointed out, was still a vivid memory. And the unwillingness of the Washington government to order Monitor to seek out and fight the southern vessel had a continuing disquieting effect.
Meanwhile, more and more people began to question Monitor’s ability to defeat or even check the newly strengthened Merrimack were she to venture forth again. The general anxiety was evidenced by thousands of schemes and suggestions for destroying the southern menace, which poured into the Navy Department during these unhappy weeks. Fantastic and impractical as most of them were, they did indicate that the public was uneasy and lacked confidence in the Navy’s ability to meet the crisis.
Newspaper editors, while assuming the role of naval experts, advanced their suggestions for nullifying the danger of the southern ironclad. They advocated schemes such as the capture of Norfolk; the obstruction of the channel leading from Norfolk; the use of ocean rams; and, as already noted, the building of many ironclads. The Navy Department was pressured from many areas. On one occasion, Welles received a delegation of “highly respectable gentlemen” from Boston, Philadelphia, and New York (headed by Mayor Opdyke of the latter city), who presented their pet scheme—a plan for sinking ships in the channel out of Norfolk—in order to thwart Merrimack.
The South appreciated fully the ironclad’s worth as a weapon of torment. Judah P. Benjamin, the Confederate Secretary of War, commented upon the “vast advantages” gained from the “enemy’s fright at the bare idea of the Virginia reappearing” in Hampton Roads. Their Secretary of the Navy, Stephen R. Mallory, gloated over the “wholesome fear” the North entertained for their vessel of war.
No Repeat Performance
Since neither Monitor nor Merrimack was clearly victorious on 9 March, it was logical that each would initiate new tactics, should they meet again—which each was willing to do, under respectively propitious circumstances. In both cases, the new tactics involved the use of additional vessels to insure victory.
In the case of Monitor, definite instructions from Washington had ordered her to fall back if Merrimack appeared and to engage her “seriously” only when found in a position that would permit Vanderbilt and similar ships to ram her. Before the end of March, there were seven steamships available to act as rams under Goldsborough. Boarders were to be repelled with scalding water from especially designed hoses.
Merrimack, on the other hand, had orders to entice Monitor into deep water where she could be boarded readily and captured. This was to be accomplished with the aid of 150 volunteers who would accompany the southern vessel and her satellites. At the proper moment, they were to board the northern ironclad, throw combustibles down the ventilators, wedge the turret, and blind the steersman by throwing canvas over the pilot house, thus taking over the vessel.
It was evident that a second encounter between the gladiators would not be a repeat performance. The coup de grdce was, in each case, to be delivered by forces other than the ironclads themselves. Apparently each ironclad sensed her opponent’s tactics and feared each other’s consorts more than she feared her former antagonist.
Several times during the next two months, the Merrimack came out looking for trouble, but she did not engage Monitor. Nor did she tempt the latter’s attendant ships to strike by placing herself where she could be rammed. Both sides practiced caution; especially Monitor. Each was willing to fight on her own terms. So each awaited an opening that never came. In the case of both governments, each held its chief hope (its ironclad) in leash, since the safety of certain respective, strategic areas depended on the survival of their protector. A disaster to Merrimack would have exposed Norfolk, the James River, and perhaps Richmond. The loss of Monitor probably would have endangered General McClellan’s operations.
The Merrimack Reappears
On 11 April, the long awaited Merrimack defiantly advanced upon Hampton Roads— a direct challenge to Monitor. Union sloops, schooners, and brigs hurriedly sought the shelter of Fortress Monroe. The southern ironclad moved about leisurely, then ordered one of her gunboats to capture three northern merchant ships almost within gunshot of the Union forces. Monitor at her regular anchorage, and other northern ships (with steam up), watched the proceedings at a distance, but did not attempt to protect the ships which were taken as prizes. The southern challenge was not accepted—and no Union ships moved except those which retreated.
The refusal of Monitor to fight on 11 April shocked and angered the North. Again Welles seemed in bad repute. He was gaining a reputation for “paralyzing” the Navy. Deeply aroused, The New York Times registered the public conviction that the timid and dilatory policy at Hampton Roads was occasioned by the conservatism of the Navy Department. It held Welles responsible for the defensive attitude of Monitor, declaring, “We presume that there is no doubt of the Secretary’s loyalty. Is he mad?” Furthermore, they continued, all hands “chafed at the disgraceful position in which they were placed, while the enemy insultingly dared them to conflict.”
Monitor's crew was so distressed that they wrote a letter to their former Captain, John Worden, expressing the hope for his early return to the ship, complaining that they were now being called “cowards.” William Keeler, the ship’s paymaster, in a letter home wrote: “We are very willing and anxious for another interview,” but added “I believe the Department is going to build a big glass case to put us in for fear of harm coming to us.”
The New York Herald taunted Mr. Welles for his “masterly inactivity.” It was the “wretched imbecility” of the Navy Department, it said, which paralyzed the best sailors and the best Navy in the world. And, it added, “the criminality of the Navy Department” does not “end here,” saying:
But space fails us to enumerate half the silly blunders and foolish mistakes of the head of the Navy Department in connection with the Merrimac business ... If, in the mean time, the rebels will only send a gunboat or two up the Potomac, and throw a large shell directly into the sleeping apartment of the venerable head of the Navy Department, we will forgive them all the other damage they may do us.
It seemed clear to the Herald that nothing had been done to prepare the Navy for victory during the month following the tragedy of 8 March and that the Navy Department was responsible to the country “for palpable neglect.” This same newspaper deprecated the fact that ships from the French and English navies were present to witness the Union’s “national disgrace” on 11 April.
Unfortunately for Mr. Welles, he was not free to disclose the fact that President Lincoln himself had ordered this defensive role for Monitor. Since Merrimack did not attack Monitor nor accommodate Goldsborough’s forces by placing herself as a good target for the rams, no second battle occurred. Doubtless, it was Lincoln’s theory that containment of Merrimack was equivalent to victory.
End of Two Heroes
As it happened, both vessels came to an abrupt and unexpected end before the year was out. Two months after the famous duel, when the Confederates were forced to evacuate Norfolk, they destroyed Merrimack to avoid her capture by the Unionists. This was a cruel blow to the people of the South who mourned her as a greatly beloved national hero.
On the contrary, the people of the North received the word with rejoicing and relief. The news arrived on Sunday, 11 May, at the time of the morning church services. The Boston Daily Advertiser reported as follows:
The good news ran like wildfire over the city into the neighboring towns; in hotels and on the corners of the streets were gathered knots of listeners. ... In churches, in and out of town, the dispatches were read, and fervent prayers of thanksgiving went up for the bloodless but not less glorious victory.
Many ministers substituted the Star Spangled Banner for the last hymn. “The Great Bugbear Out of the Way”—announced the New York Herald, with relief, the next day. At the same time, the New York Times noted that the career of the Merrimack was fitly ended, “by an act of suicide” on the very spot rendered historic by the combat two months earlier.
Seven months later, Monitor foundered in a gale off Cape Hatteras, carrying part of her crew with her to the bottom. “The sadness reached every household and the nation wept.” Two American heroes had gone.
How Great a Threat; How Formidable Was the Merrimack?
What really were the facts regarding this mysterious and frightening southern ironclad? The true character and potentialities of the Merrimack were not generally known in the South and certainly not in the North. The success of this vessel at Hampton Roads, particularly on Saturday, came as a happy surprise to the discouraged Confederates.
As a consequence, exaggerated claims were entertained. It was common belief that Washington and other Union cities would soon be leveled to the ground; that the blockade would be raised; and that victory for the South would be merely a matter of time.
The fears of the Unionists—as groundless and fantastic as the hopes of the Confederates —persuaded them that no deviltry was impossible of achievement by the “ugly monster.” But the hopes and fears, in the main, were illusory.
Confederate Commodore Josiah Tattnall later said that the prevailing misconceptions concerning the character of Merrimack were based on ignorance. Her defects, he stated, were grave; she was unable to enter the Atlantic under any circumstances, or even the Chesapeake. In no sense, he continued, was she an oceangoing vessel; she would have foundered in an ordinary sea, having failed, on several occasions, on the 10-mile run from Norfolk to Hampton Roads. Indeed he said, 30 to 40 minutes were required to turn the clumsy vessel around.
The defects of Merrimack were obviously known to her officers and men, but they were not publicized as were those of Monitor. Lieutenant Jeffers, the commanding officer of the latter, in the weeks following the famous contest, claimed that the defeat of Merrimack would have been easy had he known as much about her weaknesses as the Confederates knew (from northern publications) about the defects of the Union ship.
How formidable was Merrimack? This “ugly monster,” the “confounded Merrimack,” had indeed cruelly plagued Welles, terrified the people of the northern coastal cities and, according to Fox, rested like a “nightmare” upon the Navy Department. The extent of damage inflicted was far-reaching; so much so that, “For two months the Union prestige and morale had been shaken to the very depths.” It was the element of uncertainty which gave her, in the main, the paralyzing power she exerted. Perhaps no vessel in history has had a greater nuisance value. The clumsy, slow-moving, defective, harbor-bound, but heroic Merrimack had given our Navy its worst headache.
1. See comment by John D. Hayes regarding the Merrimack/Virginia, page 107 this issue.
2. R. W. Daly, a professor at the U. S. Naval Academy, in a recent and scholarly study as to “who won?” comes to the conclusion that, due to her long- lasting effect in Northern naval strategy, the Southern ironclad was the strategic victor. See How the Merrimac Won (New York: Thomas Y. Crowell Co., 1957).