Construction
Epic battle - U.S.S. Monitor vs. C.S.S. Virginia
The mission continues...
The Washington Navy Yard
"The Monitor is no more."

“...I propose to name the new battery Monitor.”

The USS Monitor is one of the most significant ships in American history. This unique vessel was the design of Swedish-American inventor and engineer, John Ericsson. Ericsson submitted his design for a system of sub-aquatic warfare” to the United States Navy Department in the 1840s, but the plan went virtually unnoticed. In 1854, Ericsson submitted his design to Napoleon III. The French Emperor graciously thanked Ericsson but informed him that his country was already heavily invested in building armored vessels of their own design.

When the American Civil War erupted in December 1860, neither the Union nor the Confederacy was prepared to wage an extended campaign. In August 1861, the United States Navy Department placed advertisements in Northern newspapers soliciting designs for armored vessels. The newly formed “Ironclad Board” received hundreds of designs. Some had merit, but most were conceptual designs that were not favorably reviewed.

Ericsson did not respond to the newspaper advertisements. He did write a letter to Abraham Lincoln in August 1861, offering his services, but the letter went unanswered. Had it not been for the intervention of Cornelius Bushnell, the Monitor might not have been built. Bushnell was advised to seek out Ericsson on a matter of armor thickness and displacement of a vessel design Bushnell had submitted to the Navy Board. After concluding the business with Bushnell’s ship, Ericsson brought out a box that contained a pasteboard model of the vessel he had offered to France. Bushnell listened as Ericsson described his warship and finally asked if he could take the model back to Washington and present it to the Navy Board. Ericsson agreed.

Bushnell’s presentation to the Ironclad Board did not go well. One officer, referring to Ericsson’s model, told Bushnell to “take the little thing home and worship it, as it would not be idolatry, because it was in the image of nothing in the heaven above or on the earth beneath or in the waters under the earth.”

Bushnell returned to New York and told Ericsson that his design had been well received and that he had been instructed to ask Ericsson to come to Washington and answer additional questions about his ship. History has failed to record who was more surprised at Ericsson’s appearance at the Navy Department. In a letter dated November 16, 1877, Ericsson recalled, “I was coldly received, and learned to my surprise, that said Board had actually rejected my Monitor plan.” The Ironclad Board had several problems with Ericsson’s design, but their main issue was a matter of displacement. Ericsson then began “an elaborate demonstration proving that the vessel had great stability.” At the conclusion of this demonstration one of the Board members told Ericsson, “Sir, I have learned more about the stability of a vessel from what you have said than I ever knew before.” Ericsson was so confident that at the end of the meeting he told the Board, “I deem it your duty to the country to give me the order to build the vessel before I leave the room.” Ericsson received their approval to begin construction on his vessel. The keel was laid even before the contract was drawn up.

The naval officer who said that Ericsson’s design was like nothing in heaven or on earth was right. The world had never seen ship such as Ericsson was going to build. The concept was a complete departure from traditional warship design.

Ericsson referred to his vessel as having an upper and a lower hull. The lower hull was built entirely of 3/8-inch iron plate and framing. This thin shell was protected by the upper hull which extended 3 feet out over the sides. This overhang ran completely around the vessel, and extended almost 20 feet out past the lower hull at the stern. The upper hull had a flat deck with only 18 inches of freeboard. The sides of the upper hull were 32 inches thick, the outer 5 inches being layers of 1-inch-thick iron plate. The only structural wood incorporated into the design was in the ship’s upper deck and this was covered with two layers of 1/2-inch-thick iron plate. An armored pilot house was located near the bow of the vessel. Just forward of the pilot house was the ship’s anchor well. This arrangement allowed the anchor to be raised or lowered at will without ever having to expose a man to the fire of the enemy. Placed almost midships was the revolving turret. It had an interior diameter of 20 feet and was 9 feet tall. The turret armor consisted of 8 layers of 1-inch-thick iron plate assembled around an iron skeleton. Two 11-inch Dahlgren smoothbore cannon were mounted inside the turret. The massive cannon slid in and out of position on iron rails. Recoil was kept in check by specially designed friction carriages.

The turret was powered by two donkey engines and was controlled by an operator inside the turret. One of the Monitor’s officers claimed that the turret could be started and stopped at any point with great precision. The turret operated at a maximum speed of two revolutions per minute.

The deck aft of the turret had openings for the two smoke holes from the boilers. Iron boxes, 6 feet tall, were set in place over these openings and served as the ship’s smokestacks. Just aft of the smoke box openings were two similar openings for the ship’s forced-draft ventilation system. These openings also had iron boxes fitted to them. All of the iron boxes were removed prior to battle so that the only structures visible on the ship’s flat deck were the turret and the pilot house.

Below decks, the living spaces of the officers and enlisted men were different from traditional warship arrangements. The officers’ quarters and the ward room were located in the forward part of the ship. Small cubicles were incorporated as berthing for the ship’s officers, while the crew lived amidships, under the turret. From the midships bulkhead aft, the entire space was devoted to the ship’s machinery.

In addition to the revolving turret, the Monitor is credited with having many other “firsts,” which included the first below-waterline flushing toilets, the first steam-powered ventilation systems, and unique sounding devices that allowed water depth to be recorded without exposing members of the crew to enemy fire. One of the Monitor’s engineers claimed that there were at least forty patentable inventions incorporated into the ship’s design.

As the vessel was nearing completion, Ericsson wrote to Secretary of the Navy Gustavus Fox, “In accordance with your request, I now submit for your approbation a name for the floating battery building at Greenpoint. The impregnable and aggressive character of this structure will admonish the leaders of the Southern Rebellion that the batteries on the banks of their rivers will no longer present barriers to the entrance of the Union forces. The iron-clad intruder will thus prove a severe monitor to those leaders. But there are other leaders who will also be startled and admonished by the booming guns from the impregnable iron turret. ‘Downing Street’ will hardly view with indifference this last ‘Yankee notion,’ this monitor. To the Lords of the Admiralty the new craft will be a monitor, suggesting doubts as to the propriety of completing those four steel-clad ships at three and a half million apiece. On these and many similar grounds, I propose to name the new battery Monitor.”

Ericsson’s prototype warship was launched on January 30, 1862. It was ninety-eight days after the first keel plates were laid. The shore of the East River was crowded with spectators and skeptics, many of whom had come to see “Ericsson’s Folly” slip beneath the black river water. Ericsson proudly stood on the stern of his ship as it slid down the ways and floated to within 3 inches of his predicted waterline.

“The pygmy aspect of the newcomer...”

The USS Monitor arrived in Hampton Roads late the evening of March 8, 1862. The scene that greeted the officers and crew was one of devastation. The Confederate ironclad Virginia (ex-USS Merrimack) had made her debut earlier that day, destroying two of the Navy’s powerful wooden warships and leaving one seriously damaged and aground. The Union fleet was demoralized by what had taken place that day.

The Monitor’s orders were to protect the grounded steam-frigate Minnesota. As the ironclad pulled along side, the Monitor’s executive officer noted how “the pigmy aspect of the new comer” did little to comfort the crew of the Minnesota. One sailor peering over the side of the Minnesota commented on “How insignificant she looked, she was but a speck on the dark blue sea at night, almost a laughable object by day.” The Surgeon of the destroyed USS Congress lamented, “...she seemed so small and trifling that we feared she would only constitute additional prey for the leviathan.”

The crew of the Monitor spent a restless night in anticipation of the coming battle and were up early the morning of March 9. At about 8:00 a lookout spotted the Virginia emerging from the fog. The Confederate ship was still a half hour away but the Monitor’s crew sprang to life. The ship’s deck was cleared for action: the iron smoke and ventilator boxes were removed, iron covers were placed into the deck lights and all the hatches were closed.

The Monitor already had steam up and headed directly for the Virginia. John Worden, commander of the Monitor, planned to engage the Confederate ironclad as far from the Minnesota as possible. The Virginia was already firing at the Minnesota and the wooden warship was responding with broadsides. The Monitor fired her first gun at 8:20 A.M. and one of the most celebrated naval battles in history was under way. There was still apprehension inside the Monitor. When the first shell from the Confederate ship slammed into the turret, it made a huge dent but did not penetrate. Ericsson’s ironclad was going to be a match for the Confederate ship.

For almost four hours the two ships battled, with cannon fire exchanged at ranges varying from 100 yards to point blank. At times the ships were touching. The Monitor easily outmaneuvered the larger Virginia; its shallow draft allowed it the run of Hampton Roads while the Virginia was confined to the channels.

The Virginia had been built along the design of a traditional broadside warship. The commander had difficulty bringing his guns to bear on the Union ship. The Monitor’s revolving turret gave the crew the advantage in finding their target. As each gun was fired, the turret was turned away from the enemy and reloaded. The revolving turret also allowed the guns to follow the Virginia and to fire when the gunner was satisfied that the target was within range.

On board the Virginia, her gun crews delivered broadsides when the opportunity arose. Most of the shots passed over the flat deck of the Union ironclad. Historic accounts from within the Confederate ship reveal a sense of frustration. When one of the Virginia’s gun divisions ceased firing, an officer asked why they were not firing at the enemy. The response was, “I find I can do her no more harm than snapping my fingers at her.” The Confederate sailors had nothing to aim at except the turret and the small iron pilot house. Shots from the Monitor almost always found a target.

About four hours into the battle, a well-placed shot from the Virginia’s stern gun hit the Monitor’s pilot house. Captain Worden was blinded by the explosion of the shell. In the confusion that followed his wounding, the Monitor was ordered into shallow water where the confederate ship could not follow. Lieutenant Catesby ap Jones, commanding the Virginia, believed that the Monitor had left the battle because the shot had inflicted serious injury on the ship. He intended to attack and destroy the Minnesota, but was informed by his pilots that they could not get any closer than one mile to the grounded vessel because of the tide. The Confederates surveyed their vessel, which had been involved in two days of intense combat. Lt. Jones decided to return to the Gosport Navy Yard and assess the damage to his ship.

About a half hour after leaving the battle, the Monitor returned, ready to renew the engagement. Lieutenant Samuel Dana Greene, now in command, saw the Confederate ship heading towards Norfolk in what he thought was “a sinking condition.” His orders from Worden were to protect the Minnesota, so instead of following the Virginia, the Monitor returned to the side of the grounded warship.

Although both sides would claim victory, the battle was a draw. Neither ship had been able to seriously damage the other. However, it was obvious that no wooden warship could have remained afloat after enduring such fire as the two ironclads had suffered.

The results of the battle were felt worldwide. A reporter from the London Times who witnessed the battle wrote, “Whereas we had available for immediate purposes one hundred and forty-nine first class warships, we now have two, these two being the Warrior and her sister Ironside. There is not now a ship in the English Navy, apart from these two, that it would not be madness to trust to an engagement with that little Monitor.” Ericsson had been correct: “Downing Street” did not view the Monitor with indifference.

“A bright light ...over Sewall’s Point...”

The USS Monitor and the CSS Virginia did not meet in combat again. The Confederates began evacuating the Norfolk area on May 10, 1862, leaving the crew of the Virginia without a secure port. The ship would never be able to run the heavy blockade at Fort Monroe, so Josiah Tattnall, now the commander, followed the advice of his pilots and attempted to lighten the ship’s draft to move up the James River towards Richmond. After working for a day to remove tons of ballast, the Confederate ironclad’s vulnerable wooden hull was dangerously close to the surface. The pilots then informed Tattnall that strong westerly winds had made the water level in the James River lower than originally estimated. Tattnall had two choices: take the Virginia out for a last futile battle, or destroy his ship to prevent its capture. Tattnall opted to destroy the Virginia rather than risk losing his crew to casualties or a Union prison camp.

The CSS Virginia was run aground on Craney Island and set afire by her crew. The Confederate sailors waited until their ship was totally engulfed in flames and then made their way to Richmond. Shortly after 4:00 A.M. on May 11, 1862, the Virginia exploded with tremendous force. The shock wave was felt by the Union forces 4 miles away at Fort Monroe. The Monitor’s Paymaster noted in a letter to his wife that “A little after midnight a bright light was seen over Sewall’s Point which continued increasing until about four o’clock in the morning when a sudden flash & a dull heavy report brought us all on deck....”

With the Norfolk area abandoned and the Virginia destroyed, the Union command speculated that the James River was left virtually undefended. An expedition was organized to see if the Union Navy could take Richmond by water. The Monitor was ordered to accompany Bushnell’s Galena, the Union Navy’s new ironclad, and three wooden gunboats up the James River. On May 15, 1862, the Union squadron encountered Fort Darling, a strong battery on the river bank, 7 miles below Richmond. The battery was situated high up on Drewry’s Bluff, 90 feet above the river. Below the battery, the Confederates had obstructed the river with a formidable barrier which the Union ships could not pass. Lieutenant John Rodgers, commanding the Galena, had been ordered to give his new ironclad a “fair trial.” He swung the armored sloop into position about 1,100 yards below the battery, dropped anchor, and opened fire.

The guns in the fort were manned by Confederate artillerymen and sailors from the CSS Virginia. The Monitor was unable to elevate her guns high enough to hit the battery. For the most part, the Confederates ignored the Monitor and concentrated their fire on the Galena. Rodgers’ ship was heavily damaged. At the end of two hours, the Galena had been hit more than ninety times. Forty shots had come through the armor and the gun deck was severely damaged. The Monitor had been hit only three times and, other than adding more dents to her armor, suffered no significant damage.

The Monitor spent the remainder of the spring of 1862 in the vicinity of City Point patrolling the James River and enforcing the Union blockade. In late June, Union General George B. McClellan’s forces were being beaten back after attempting to capture Richmond by land. The Union Army’s supply base was quickly moved from the Pamunkey River to the James River and scores of transports and supply ships converged at Harrison’s Landing. The Monitor and the other ships of Rodgers’ squadron were assigned to guard duty.

The Union Army had been beaten back to the banks of the James River and was in serious danger of being destroyed. A firm last stand was made at Malvern Hill on July 1, 1862. The Union Army held off repeated assaults by the Confederates who had hundreds of cannon emplaced on the side of Malvern Hill. Large guns from the Federal ships seriously hampered the attacking forces and contributed to repulsing the attacks. The Monitor did not take part in the defense of Malvern Hill but was ordered to stay at Harrison’s Landing and provide protection for the Union supply vessels.

After the battle of Malvern Hill, the Union Army dug in around Harrison’s Landing. The Monitor and the other ships of the Squadron resumed patrol duties, protecting the river approaches and the Union supply line.

On July 4, 1862, the Monitor and the USS Maratanza captured the Confederate tug Teaser while on patrol. On July 9, President Lincoln and members of the Navy Department paid a visit to the Monitor. Also on that day, photographer James F. Gibson came aboard and made a series of photographs of the ship. These eight stereoscopic views are the only known photographs of the Monitor.

The summer of 1862 was one of intense heat for the men on the Monitor. Log entries recorded temperatures as high as 130 degrees. When possible, the crew slept outside on the Monitor’s black iron decks. Their only protection from the heat was canvas awnings suspended across the deck and the sparse shade they could find by anchoring the ship beneath trees overhanging the river banks.

By August 6, months of hard service were beginning to take their toll on the Monitor. Its bottom was so fouled that the ship could barely make 2 knots and machinery breakdowns were almost a daily occurrence. The engineers expected that the ship would be sent to the Washington Navy Yard for repairs and refurbishing but the Monitor could not be spared from guard duty.

The Washington Navy Yard

In August, McClellan began withdrawing his army. As the number of troops diminished, so did the number of ships needed to support them. On August 28, the Monitor returned to Hampton Roads and the routine of blockade duty in a secure port. On September 30, 1862, the Monitor received orders to the Washington Navy Yard. The ship arrived under tow on October 3. After the vessel was turned over to the Yard mechanics, most of the officers and crew were released on an extended furlough.

The Monitor underwent several weeks of repairs and alterations. The “Ericsson vibrating lever” engine was rebuilt and put through a series of tests by the Navy’s chief engineer. A permanent telescoping smoke stack was fitted to the deck and taller ventilator boxes were added. Davits and cranes were installed for lifting the Monitor‘s new boats. The berth deck was raised about 3 feet and the side compartments were moved back 2 feet on each side. This provided the ship with much-needed storage capacity. Everything below decks was given a fresh coat of paint and a new canvas carpeting. All of the battle damage was repaired with iron patches and each scar labeled according to its origin: Merrimack, Merrimack’s Prow, Minnesota, Fort Darling, etc. The two XI-inch Dahlgren cannon had their breeches engraved as a tribute to the battle with the Virginia and to the two men who had made the ship famous:

Monitor & Merrimac Worden

Monitor & Merrimac Ericsson

“The Monitor is No More”

By November 8, 1862, all of the repairs and modifications were complete and the Monitor received orders to return to blockade duty in Hampton Roads. In mid-December 1862, the ship received its last major modification: a “boiler plate” rifle shield was added to the top of the turret. There is little information concerning the dimensions of this shield, but it was probably similar to the shields incorporated on later class monitors, which were 3/4-inch thick and 5 feet high. The shield provided protection to personnel on top of the turret.

In late December the Monitor received orders to proceed south to rendezvous with other monitors at Beaufort, North Carolina. Just before sunset on December 30, 1862, the Monitor was under tow by the USS Rhode Island when squalls began to develop off the North Carolina coast. Sensing worse times to come, Captain Trenchard, commanding the side-wheeler, gave the order that any signal from the ironclad was to be answered immediately.

The squalls turned into a full-blown storm, and the seas began to pour over the Monitor’s flat deck. Many of the ship’s officers stood on top of the turret and watched the deck disappear in a succession of huge waves. Sometimes the ship would ride up and over one wave and fall back onto the next with a shuddering slap. The crew was concerned, but there seemed to be little danger. The pumps were handling the water that was coming into the ship. The Monitor’s paymaster, William Keeler, noted, “At 5 o’clock we sat down to dinner, everyone cheerful & happy...though the sea was rolling and foaming over our heads....”

Commander John P. Bankhead was on top of the Monitor’s turret where a temporary helm had been fitted for the trip to Beaufort. Bankhead “made signal” and the Rhode Island slowed her engines. As the Monitor pulled alongside, Bankhead yelled through a speaking trumpet to the watch officer on the Rhode Island that if the Monitor should get into difficulty during the night, he would hoist a red signal lantern from the turret.

After dinner, Keeler returned to the top of the turret:

“It was dark....We were now off Hatteras, the Cape Horn of the Atlantic coast. The wind was blowing violently; the heavy seas rolled over our bows dashing against the heavy pilot house &, surging aft, would strike the solid turret with a force to make it tremble, sending off on either side a boiling foaming torrent of water.”

Before the Monitor left Hampton Roads, the turret had been “keyed up” and oakum packed into the gap between the turret and the deck ring. As the seas continued to crash into the turret, the vibration caused the packing to wash out, leaving large gaps in the seal. Water began to pour into the ship from under the turret. One crewman noticed water rushing in from the anchor room. The order was given to start the Worthington pump and, for a while, the water in the bilge began to subside. But on deck the situation had grown more serious. One of the thick hawsers serving as a tow line had worn through and snapped. With only one line tying the Monitor to the Rhode Island, the ironclad began to tow badly. The winds had changed direction and the seas were now coming from several directions at once.

Water had begun coming in through the hatches, coal scuttles, and blower openings. The coal in the bunkers was getting wet, and the leather belts driving the ventilation blowers began to stretch and slip. The wet coal burned with a “sickly glare” as the coal heavers attempted to maintain the heat in the boilers. But the coal smoldered instead of burning, and toxic gasses began to fill the engine room. The lanterns glowed dimly in the thick air.

Keeler and several others were still on the turret, watching as

...”her bow would rise on a huge billow & before she could sink into the intervening hollow, the succeeding wave would strike her under her heavy armor with a report like thunder & a violence that threatened to tear apart the sheet iron bottom & the heavy armor which it supported. Then she would slide down a watery mountain into the hollow beyond & plunging her bow into the black rolling billow would go down, down, down under the surging wave till naught could be seen but the top of the black ‘cheese box’ isolated in a sea of hissing seething foam extending as far as we could see around us.

The water level in the hold began to increase. It flooded through the deck until it was only a foot below the coal beds of the furnaces. A steam-powered centrifugal pump capable of moving 23,000 gallons per minute was started. Seaman Francis Butts reported seeing a stream of water “eighteen foot high” shoot up from the Monitor. The centrifugal pump kept the water level from increasing but did nothing to lower it.

Captain Bankhead ordered the engine stopped and all steam applied to the pumps. It was now just past 10:00 P.M. Bankhead also ordered the crew to “make the signal for assistance.” On board the Rhode Island, Captain Trenchard was advised of the Monitor’s signal and at his command, the cry went out, “Boats away to the rescue!”

Bankhead called for volunteers to go forward to cut the remaining tow line. Three men volunteered; two were swept overboard but the third severed the line with a hatchet and pulled himself back to the turret along a life line. The Rhode Island backed her engines and attempted to get alongside the Monitor, but the seas slammed the ironclad into the side of the wooden side wheeler, threatening to punch the sharp iron deck through the other vessel. The first boat over from the Rhode Island was caught between the two ships. The boat crew managed to keep the boat afloat and positioned along side the Monitor. Trenchard, realizing the danger, ordered the Rhode Island to pull ahead. The tow line from the Monitor became fouled in the Rhode Island’s paddle wheel, giving Trenchard no choice but to stop his engines and free the line.

As the Rhode Island drifted away, Bankhead ordered the Monitor’s anchor played out with all chain. Four hundred feet of chain played out before the anchor held and the Monitor swung around to face the sea. In the meantime, two more boats were lowered from the Rhode Island, which had drifted almost a mile away from the ironclad.

The water once again began to increase below decks; water was now waist deep in the engine room. Bankhead gave the order for the men to “save themselves” and to take to the boats pulling along side. Keeler described the events:

It was a scene well calculated to appall the boldest heart. Mountains of water were rushing across our decks & foaming along our sides; the small boats were pitching & tossing about on them or crashing against our sides, mere playthings on the billows; the howling of the tempest, the roar & dash of the waters; the hoarse orders through speaking trumpets of the officers; the response of the men; the shouts of encouragement & words of caution: the bubbling cry of some strong Swimmer in his agony; & the whole scene lit up by the ghastly glare of the blue lights burning on our consort, formed a panorama of horror which time can never efface from my memory.

As the second boat arrived at the Monitor, the first was loaded and beginning the return trip to the Rhode Island. The 3rd cutter, also approaching, was caught on a breaker and propelled directly towards the side of the first boat. The Monitor’s surgeon, Grenville Weeks, saw the approaching collision, stood up in the over-laden boat and caught the bow of the cutter so that the boats collided obliquely. Weeks’ bravery was costly: three of his fingers would have to be amputated after he arrived on board the Rhode Island.

Bankhead noted the slow, sluggish motion of his ship and realized that the Monitor would not remain afloat much longer. There was a group of men on top of the turret, apparently too frightened to attempt to board the small boats, when the last boat was loaded and began to pull for the Rhode Island. Master’s Mate Rodney Browne, in command of the cutter, promised to return for those remaining on the Monitor.

The Rhode Island had freed the fouled tow line and was again underway, reaching the first boat and then the second. Rodney Browne’s boat pulled up as the second boat was unloading. As he pulled along side, the Monitor crewmen scrambled for the lines that were hanging over the Rhode Island’s side. Once the boat was unloaded, Browne ordered his crew to pull for the Monitor, which was now about two miles distant.

On board the Rhode Island, survivors from the Monitor stood at the stern watching the red and white lights of their ship rise on the waves and disappear in the troughs. It was close to 1:00 A.M., New Years Eve, when the red light on the Monitor disappeared for the last time.

The 3rd cutter was about a quarter mile from the Monitor when the red light disappeared. Rodney Browne ordered his men to continue pulling for the site, but all they found were eddies in the water which they assumed to have been made by the sinking ironclad. Browne and his crew searched for survivors but found none.

Browne and his crew now attempted to reach the Rhode Island but the cutter was unable to make headway against the heavy seas. The Rhode Island could be seen moving in circles, launching flares. The ship searched for survivors throughout the night and most of the next day. Finding no one, the Rhode Island continued on to Beaufort to deliver the survivors and the news of the loss of the Monitor.

Rodney Browne and the crew of the cutter spent a harrowing night at sea, but were rescued the next day by the schooner A. Colby. They were reunited with their ship in Beaufort three days later.