  Our Wooden Walls—The Victory—Siege of Toulon—Battle of St. Vincent—Nelson’s Bridge—Trafalgar’s glorious Day—The Day for such Battles gone—Iron v. Wood—Lessons of the Crimean War—Moral Effect of the Presence of our Fleets—Bombardment of Sebastopol—Red-hot Shot and Gibraltar—The Ironclad Movement—The Warrior—Experiences with Ironclads—The Merrimac in Hampton Roads—A speedily decided Action—The Cumberland sunk and Congress burned—The first Monitor—Engagement with the Merrimac—Notes on recent Actions—The Shah and Huascar—An Ironclad tackled by a Merchantman. Illustration If the reader should at any time find himself a visitor to the first naval port of Great Britain—which he need not be told is Portsmouth—he will find, lying placidly in the noble harbour, which is large enough to accommodate a whole fleet, a vessel of modern-antique appearance, and evidently very carefully preserved. Should he happen to be there on October 21st, he would find the ship gaily decorated with wreaths of evergreen and flags, her appearance attracting to her side an unusual number of visitors in small boats from the shore. Nor will he be surprised at this when he learns that it is none other than the famous Victory, that carried Nelson’s flag on the sad but glorious day of Trafalgar, and went bravely through so many a storm of war and weather. Very little of the oft-shattered hulk of the original vessel remains, it is true—she has been so often renewed and patched and painted; yet the lines and form of the old three-decker remain to show us what the flag-ship of Hood, and Jervis, and Nelson was in general appearance. She towers grandly out of the water, making the few sailors and loiterers on deck look like marionettes—mere miniature men; and as our wherry approaches the entrance-port, we admire the really graceful lines of the planks, diminishing in perspective. The triple battery of formidable guns, peeping from under the stout old ports which overshadowed them, the enormous cables and spare anchors, and the immensely thick masts, heavy shrouds and rigging, which she had in old times, must have given an impression of solidity in this good old “heart of oak” which is wanting even in [pg 5] THE “VICTORY” AT PORTSMOUTH THE “VICTORY” AT PORTSMOUTH. The Victory was one of the largest ships of war of her day and generation. She was rated for 100 guns, but really carried 102, and was classed first-rate with such ships as the Royal Sovereign and Britannia, both of 100, carrying only two in excess of the “brave old TÉmÉraire”—made still more famous by Turner’s great picture—and the Dreadnought, which [pg 6] The good ship of which we have spoken more particularly is now enjoying a well-earned repose, after passing nearly unscathed through the very thick of battles inscribed on the most brilliant page of our national history. Her part was in reality a very prominent one; and a glance at a few of the engagements at which she was present may serve to show us what she and other ships like her were made of, and what they were able to effect in naval warfare. The Victory had been built nearly thirty years when, in 1793, she first came prominently to the front, at the occupation and subsequent siege of Toulon, as the flag-ship of Lord Hood, then in command of a large fleet destined for the Mediterranean. France was at that moment in a very revolutionary condition, but in Toulon there was a strong feeling of loyalty for the Bourbons and monarchical institutions. In the harbour a large French fleet was assembled—some seventeen vessels of the line, besides many other smaller craft—while several large ships of war were refitting and building; the whole under the command of the Comte de Trogoff, an ardent Royalist. On the appearance of the British fleet in the offing, two commissioners came out to the flag-ship, the Victory, to treat for the conditional surrender of the port and shipping. The Government had not miscalculated the disaffection existing, and the negotiations being completely successful, 1,700 of our soldiers, sailors, and marines were landed, and shortly afterwards, when a Spanish fleet appeared, an English governor and a Spanish commandant were appointed, while Louis XVII. was proclaimed king. But it is needless to say that the French Republic strongly objected to all this, and soon assembled a force numbering 45,000 men for the recapture of Toulon. The English and their Royalist allies numbered under 13,000, and it became evident that the city must be evacuated, although not until it should be half destroyed. The important service of destroying the ships and magazines had been mainly entrusted to Captain Sir Sidney Smith, who performed his difficult task with wonderful precision and order, and without the loss of one man. Shots and shells were plunged into the very arsenal, and trains were laid up to the magazines and storehouses; a fire-ship was towed into the basin, and in a few hours gave out flames and shot, accompanied by terrible explosions. The Spanish admiral had undertaken the destruction of the shipping in the basin, and to scuttle two powder-vessels, but his men, in their flurry, managed to ignite one of them in place of sinking it, and the explosion which occurred can be better imagined than described. The explosion shook the Union gunboat to pieces, killing the commander and three of the crew; and a second boat was blown into the air, but her crew were miraculously saved. Having completed the destruction of the arsenal, Sir Sidney proceeded towards the basin in front of the town, across which a boom had been laid, where he and his men were received with such volleys of musketry that they turned their attention in another direction. In the inner road were lying two large 74-gun [pg 7] When Sir John Jervis hoisted his flag on board the Victory it marked an epoch not merely in our career of conquest, but also in the history of the navy as a navy. Jervis, though then over sixty years of age, was hale and hearty, and if sometimes stern and severe as a disciplinarian, should long be remembered as one who honestly and constantly strove to raise the character of the service to its highest condition of efficiency, and he was brave as a lion. As the Spanish fleet loomed through the morning fog, off Cape St. Vincent, it was found that Cordova’s force consisted of twenty-nine large men-of-war, exclusive of a dozen 34-gun frigates, seventy transports, and other vessels. Jervis was walking the quarter-deck as the successive reports were brought to him. “There are eighteen sail of the line, Sir John.” “Very well, sir.” “There are twenty sail, Sir John.” “Very well, sir.” “There are twenty-seven sail of the line, Sir John; nearly double our own.” “Enough, sir, no more of [pg 8] The grand fleet of Spain included six ships of 112 guns each, and the flag-ship Santissima Trinidada, a four-decker, carrying 130. There were, besides, twenty-two vessels of eighty and seventy-four guns. To this large force Jervis could only oppose fifteen vessels of the line, only two of which carried 100 guns, three of ninety-eight guns, one of ninety, and the remainder, with one exception, seventy-four each. Owing to gross mismanagement on the part of the Spaniards, their vessels were scattered about in all directions, and six5 of them were separated wholly from the main body, neither could they rejoin it. The English vessels advanced in two lines, compactly and steadily, and as they neared the Spaniards, were signalled from the Victory to tack in succession. Nelson, on the Captain, was in the rear of the line, and he perceived that the Spaniards were bearing up before the wind, either with the intention of trying to join their separated ships, or perhaps to avoid an engagement altogether. By disobeying the admiral’s signal, he managed to run clear athwart the bows of the Spanish ships, and was soon engaged with the great Santissima Trinidada, four other of the larger vessels, and two smaller ones. Trowbridge, in the Culloden, immediately came to the support, and for nearly an hour the unequal contest continued, till the Blenheim passed between them and the enemy, and gave them a little respite, pouring in her fire upon the Spaniards. One of the Spanish seventy-fours struck, and Nelson thought that the Salvador, of 112 guns, struck also. “Collingwood,” wrote Nelson, “disdaining the parade of taking possession of beaten enemies, most gallantly pushed up, with every sail set, to save his old friend and messmate, who was, to appearance, in a critical situation,” for the Captain was being peppered by five vessels of the enemy’s fleet, and shortly afterwards was rendered absolutely incapable—not a sail, shroud, or rope left, with a topmast and the steering-wheel shot away. As Dr. Bennett sings6— “Ringed round by five three-deckers, she had fought through all the fight, And now, a log upon the waves, she lay—a glorious sight— All crippled, but still full of fight, for still her broadsides roared, Still death and wounds, fear and defeat, into the Don she poured.” Two of Nelson’s antagonists were now nearly hors de combat, one of them, the San Nicolas, in trying to escape from Collingwood’s fire, having got foul of the San Josef. Nelson resolved in an instant to board and capture both—an unparalleled feat, which, however, was accomplished, although “To get at the San Josef, it seemed beyond a hope; Out then our admiral spoke, and well his words our blood could stir— ‘In, boarders, to their seventy-four! We’ll make a bridge of her.’ ” The “bridge” was soon taken; but a steady fire of musketry was poured upon them from the San Josef. Nelson directed his people to fire into the stern, and sending for more boarders, led the way up the main-chains, exclaiming, “Westminster Abbey or victory!” In a few moments the officers and crew surrendered; and on the quarter-deck of a Spanish first-rate he received the swords of the vanquished, which he handed to William Fearney, [pg 9] It will be hardly necessary here to point out the altered circumstances of naval warfare at the present day. A wooden vessel of the old type, with large and numerous portholes, and affording other opportunities for entering or climbing the sides, is a very different affair to the modern smooth-walled iron vessel, on which a fly would hardly get a foothold, with few openings or weak points, and where the grappling-iron would be useless. Apart from this, with heavy guns carrying with great accuracy, and the facilities afforded by steam, we shall seldom hear, in the future, of a fight at close quarters; skilful manoeuvring, impossible with a sailing vessel, will doubtless be more in vogue. ROCKS NEAR CAPE ST. VINCENT. ROCKS NEAR CAPE ST. VINCENT. Meantime, the Victory had not been idle. In conjunction with two of the fleet, she had succeeded in silencing the Salvador del Mundi, a first-rate of 112 guns. When, after the fight, Nelson went on board the Victory, Sir John Jervis took him to his arms, and insisted that he should keep the sword taken from the Spanish rear-admiral. When it was hinted, during some private conversation, that Nelson’s move was unauthorised, [pg 10] The battle had now lasted from noon, and at five p.m. four Spanish line-of-battle vessels had lowered their colours. Even the great Santissima Trinidada might then have become a prize but for the return of the vessels which had been cut off from the fleet in the morning, and which alone saved her. Her colours had been shot away, and she had hoisted English colours in token of submission, when the other ships came up, and Cordova reconsidered his step. Jervis did not think that his fleet was quite equal to a fresh conflict; and the Spaniards showed no desire to renew the fight. They had lost on the four prizes, alone, 261 killed, and 342 wounded, and in all, probably, nearly double the above. The British loss was seventy-three killed, and 227 wounded. Of Trafalgar and of Nelson, both day and man so intimately associated with our good ship, what can yet be said or sung that has gone unsaid, unsung?—how when he left Portsmouth the crowds pressed forward to obtain one last look at their hero—England’s greatest hero—and “knelt down before him, and blessed him as he passed;”7 that beautiful prayer, indited in his cabin, “May the great God whom I worship grant to my country, and for the benefit of Europe in general, a great and glorious victory, and may no misconduct in any one tarnish it, and may humanity after victory be the predominant feature of the British fleet,” or the now historical signal which flew from the mizen top-gallant mast of that noble old ship, and which has become one of the grand mottoes of our tongue, are facts as familiar to every reader as household words. The part directly played by the Victory herself in the battle of Trafalgar was second to none. From the very first she received a raking fire from all sides, which must have been indeed severe, when we find the words extorted from Nelson, “This is too warm work to last long,” addressed to Captain Hardy. At that moment fifty of his men were lying dead or wounded, while the Victory’s mizen-mast and wheel were shot away, and her sails hanging in ribbons. To the terrible cannonading of the enemy, Nelson had not yet returned a shot. He had determined to be in the very thick of the fight, and was reserving his fire. Now it was that Captain Hardy represented to Nelson the impracticability of passing through the enemy’s line without running on board one of their ships; he was coolly told to take his choice. The Victory was accordingly turned on board the Redoubtable, the commander of which, Captain Lucas, in a resolute endeavour to block the passage, himself ran his bowsprit into the figurehead of the Bucentaure, and the two vessels became locked together. Not many minutes later, Captain Harvey, of the TÉmÉraire, seeing the position of the Victory with her two assailants, fell on board the Redoubtable, on the other side, so that these four ships formed as compact a tier as though moored together. The Victory fired her middle and lower deck guns into the Redoubtable, which returned the fire from her main-deck, employing also musketry and brass pieces of larger size with most destructive effects from the tops. “Redoubtable they called her—a curse upon her name! ’Twas from her tops the bullet that killed our hero Within a few minutes of Lord Nelson’s fall, several officers and about forty men were either killed or wounded from this source. But a few minutes afterwards the Redoubtable fell on board the TÉmÉraire, the French ship’s bowsprit passing over the British ship. Now came one of the warmest episodes of the fight. The crew of the TÉmÉraire lashed their vessel to their assailants’ ship, and poured in a raking fire. But the French captain, having discovered that—owing, perhaps, to the sympathy exhibited for the dying hero on board the Victory, and her excessive losses in men—her quarter-deck was quite deserted, now ordered an attempt at boarding the latter. This cost our flag-ship the lives of Captain Adair and eighteen men, but at the same moment the TÉmÉraire opened fire on the Redoubtable with such effect that Captain Lucas and 200 men were themselves placed hors de combat. In the contest we have been relating, the coolness of the Victory’s men was signally evinced. “When the guns on the lower deck were run out, their muzzles came in contact with the sides of the Redoubtable, and now was seen an astounding spectacle. Knowing that there was danger of the French ship taking fire, the fireman of each gun on board the British ship stood ready with a bucketful of water to dash into the hole made by the shot of his gun—thus beautifully illustrating Nelson’s prayer, ‘that the British might be distinguished by humanity in victory.’ Less considerate than her antagonist, the Redoubtable threw hand-grenades from her tops, which, falling on board herself, set fire to her, ... and the flame communicated with the foresail of the TÉmÉraire, and caught some ropes and canvas on the booms of the Victory, risking the destruction of all; but by immense exertions the fire was subdued in the British ships, whose crews lent their assistance to extinguish the flames on board the Redoubtable, by throwing buckets of water upon her chains and forecastle.”8 Setting aside, for the purpose of clearness, the episode of the taking of the Fougueux, which got foul of the TÉmÉraire and speedily surrendered, we find, five minutes later, the main and mizen masts of the Redoubtable falling—the former in such a way across the TÉmÉraire that it formed a bridge, over which the boarding-party passed and took quiet possession. Captain Lucas had so stoutly defended his flag, that, out of a crew of 643, only 123 were in a condition to continue the fight; 522 were lying killed or wounded. The Bucentaure soon met her fate, after being defended with nearly equal bravery. The French admiral, Villeneuve, who was on board, said bitterly, just before surrendering, “Le Bucentaure a rempli sa tÂche; la mienne n’est pas encore achevÉe.” Let the reader remember that the above are but a few episodes of the most complete and glorious victory ever obtained in naval warfare. Without the loss of one single vessel to the conqueror, more than half the ships of the enemy were captured or destroyed, while the remainder escaped into harbour to rot in utter uselessness. Twenty-one vessels were lost for ever to France and Spain. It is to be hoped and believed that no such contest will ever again be needed; but should it be needed, it will have to be fought by very different means. The instance of four great ships locked together, dealing death and destruction to each other, has never been paralleled. Imagine that [pg 13] THE “VICTORY” AT CLOSE QUARTERS WITH THE “REDOUBTABLE” THE “VICTORY” AT CLOSE QUARTERS WITH THE “REDOUBTABLE.” “And still, though seventy years, boys, Have gone, who, without pride, Names his name—tells his fame Who at Trafalgar died?” May we always have a Nelson in the hour of national need! The day for such battles as this is over; there may be others as gloriously fought, but never again by the same means. Ships, armaments, and modes of attack and defence are, and will be, increasingly different. Those who have read Nelson’s private letters and journals will remember how he gloried in the appreciation of his subordinate officers just before Trafalgar’s happy and yet fatal day, when he had explained to them his intention to attack the enemy with what was practically a wedge-formed fleet. He was determined to break their line, and, Nelson-like, he did. But that which he facetiously christened the “Nelson touch” would itself nowadays be broken up in a few minutes and thrown into utter confusion by any powerfully-armed vessel hovering about under steam. Or if the wedge of wooden vessels were allowed to form, as they approached the apex, a couple of ironclads would take them in hand coolly, one by one, and send them to the bottom, while their guns might as well shoot peas at the ironclads as the shot of former days. Taking the Victory as a fair type of the best war-ships of her day (a day when there was not that painful uncertainty with regard to naval construction and armament existing now, in spite of our vaunted progress), we still know that in the presence of a powerful steam-frigate with heavy guns, or an 11,000-ton ironclad, she would be literally nowhere. She was one of the last specimens, and a very perfect specimen, too, of the wooden age. This is the age of iron and steam. One of the largest vessels of her day, she is now excelled by hundreds employed in ordinary commerce. The Royal Navy to-day possesses frigates nearly three times her tonnage, while we have ironclads of five times the same. The monster Great Eastern, which has proved a monstrous mistake, is 22,500 tons. But size is by no means the only consideration in constructing vessels of war, and, indeed, there are good reasons to believe that, in the end, vessels of moderate dimensions will be preferred for most purposes of actual warfare. Of the advantages of steam-power there can, of course, be only one opinion; but as regards iron versus oak, there are many points which may be urged in favour of either, with a preponderance in favour of the former. A strong iron ship, strange as it may appear, is not more than half the weight of a wooden vessel of the same size and class. It will, to the unthinking, seem absurd to say that an iron ship is more buoyant than one of oak, but the fact is that the proportion of actual weight in iron and wooden vessels of ordinary construction is about six to twenty. The iron [pg 14] “Hereafter, naval powers prepared with the necessary fleet will be able to transport the base of operations to any point on the enemy’s coast, turn the strongest positions, and baffle the best-arranged combinations. Thanks to steam, the sea has become a means of communication more certain and more simple than the land; and fleets will be able to act the part of movable bases of operations, rendering them very formidable to powers which, possessing coasts, will not have any navy sufficiently powerful to cause their being respected.”9 So far as navy to navy is concerned, this is undoubtedly true; yet there is another side to the question. A fort is sometimes able to inflict far greater damage upon its naval assailants than the latter can inflict upon it. A single shot may send a ship to the bottom, whilst the fire from the ship during action is more or less inaccurate. At Sebastopol, a whole French fleet, firing at ranges of 1,600 to 1,800 yards, failed to make any great impression on a fort close to the water’s edge; while a wretched earthen battery, mounting only five guns, inflicted terrible losses and injury on four powerful English men-of-war, actually disabling two of them, without itself losing one man or having a gun dismounted; while, as has been often calculated, the cost of a single sloop of war with its equipment will construct a fine fort which will last almost for [pg 15] The lessons of the Crimean war, as regards the navy, were few, but of the gravest importance, and they have led to results of which we cannot yet determine the end. The war opened by a Russian attack on a Turkish squadron at Sinope, November 20th, 1853.10 That determined the fact that a whole fleet might be annihilated in an hour or so by the use of large shells. No more necessity for grappling and close quarters; the iron age was full in view, and wooden walls had outlived their usefulness, and must perish. But the lesson had to be again impressed, and that upon a large English and French fleet. Yet, in fairness to our navy, it must be remembered that the Russians had spent every attention to rendering Sebastopol nearly impregnable on the sea-side, while a distinguished writer,11 who was present throughout the siege, assures us that until the preceding spring they had been quite indifferent in regard to the strength of the fortifications on the land-side. And the presence of the allied fleets was the undeniable cause of one Russian fleet being sunk in the harbour of Sebastopol, while another dared not venture out, season after season, from behind stone fortresses in the shallow waters of Cronstadt.12 A great naval authority thinks that, while England was, at the time, almost totally deficient in the class of vessels essential to attacking the fleets and fortifications of Russia, the fact that the former never dared “to accept the challenge of any British squadron, however small, is one the record of which we certainly may read without shame.” But of that period it would be more pleasant to write exultingly than apologetically. When the Allies had decided to commence the bombardment of Sebastopol, on October 17th, 1854, it was understood that the fleet should co-operate, and that the attack should be made by the line-of-battle ships in a semicircle. They were ready at one p.m. to commence [pg 16] Here we may for a moment be allowed to digress and remind the reader of the important part played by red-hot shot at that greatest of all great sieges—Gibraltar. As each accession to the enemy’s force arrived, General Elliott calmly built more furnaces and more grates for heating his most effective means of defence. Just as one of their wooden batteries was on the point of completion, he gave it what was termed at the time a dose of “cayenne pepper;” in other words, with red-hot shot and shells he set it on fire. When the ordnance portable furnaces for heating shot proved insufficient to supply the demands of the artillery, he ordered large bonfires to be kindled, on which the cannon-balls were thrown; and these supplies were termed by the soldiers “hot potatoes” for the enemy. But the great triumph of red-hot shot was on that memorable 13th of September, 1782, when forty-six sail of the line, and a countless fleet of gun and mortar boats attacked the fortress. With all these appliances of warfare, the great confidence of the enemy—or rather, combined enemies—was in their floating batteries, planned by D’Arcon, an eminent French engineer, and which had cost a good half million sterling. They were supposed to be impervious to shells or red-hot shot. After persistently firing at the fleet, Elliott started the admiral’s ship and one of the batteries commanded by the Prince of Nassau. This was but the commencement of the end. The unwieldy leviathans could not be shifted from their moorings, and they lay helpless and immovable, and yet dangerous to their neighbours; for they were filled with the instruments of destruction. Early the next morning eight of these vaunted batteries “indicated the efficacy of the red-hot defence. The light produced by the flames was nearly equal to noonday, and greatly exposed the enemy to observation, enabling the artillery to be pointed upon them with the utmost precision. The rock and neighbouring objects are stated to have been highly illuminated by the constant flashes of cannon and the flames of the burning ships, forming a mingled scene of sublimity and terror.”13 “An indistinct clamour, with lamentable cries and groans, arose from all quarters.”14 When 400 pieces of artillery were playing on the rock at the same moment, Elliott returned the compliment with a shower of red-hot balls, bombs, and carcases, that filled the air, with little or no intermission. The Count d’Artois had hastened from Paris to [pg 18] THE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR THE SIEGE OF GIBRALTAR The partial failure of the navy to co-operate successfully with the land-forces, so far as bombardment was concerned, during the Crimean war, has had much to do with the adoption of the costly ironclad floating fortresses, armed with enormously powerful guns, of the present day. The earliest form, indeed, was adopted during the above war, but not used to any great extent or advantage. The late Emperor of the French15 saw that the coming necessity or necessary evil would be some form of strongly-armoured and protected floating battery that could cope with fortresses ashore, and this was the germ of the ironclad movement. The first batteries of this kind, used successfully at Kinburn, were otherwise unseaworthy and unmanageable, and were little more than heavily-plated and more or less covered barges. The two earliest European ironclads were La Gloire in France and the Warrior in England—the latter launched in 1860. Neither of these vessels presented any great departure from the established types of build in large ships of war. The Warrior is an undeniably fine, handsome-looking frigate, masted and rigged as usual, but she and her sister-ship, the Black Prince, are about the only ironclads to which these remarks apply—every form and variety of construction having been adopted since. As regarded size, she was considerably larger than the largest frigate or ship of the line of our navy, although greatly exceeded by many ironclads subsequently built. She is 380 feet in length, and her displacement of more than 9,100 tons was 3,000 tons greater than that of the largest of the wooden men-of-war she was superseding. The Warrior is still among the fastest of the iron-armoured fleet. Considered as an ironclad, however, she is a weak example. Her armour, which protects only three-fifths of her sides, is but four and a half inches thick, with eighteen inches of (wood) backing, and five-eighths of an inch of what is technically called “skin-plating,” for protection inside. The remote possibility of a red-hot shot or shell falling inside has to be considered. Her bow and stern, rudder-head and steering-gear, would, of course, be the vulnerable points. From this small beginning—one armoured vessel—our ironclad fleet has grown with [pg 19] But apart from the lessons of the Crimea, and the activity and rivalry of foreign powers, attention was seriously drawn to the ironclad question by the events of the day. It was easy to guess and theorise concerning this new feature in warfare, but early in 1862 practical proof was afforded of its power. The naval engagement which took place in Hampton Roads, near the outset of the great American civil war, was the first time in which an ironclad ship was brought into collision with wooden vessels, and also the first time in which two distinct varieties of the species were brought into collision with each other. The Southerners had, when the strife commenced, seized and partially burned the Merrimac, a steam-frigate belonging to the United States navy, then lying at the Norfolk Navy-yard. The hulk was regarded as nearly worthless,16 until, looking about for ways and means to annoy their opponents, they hit on the idea of armouring her, in the best manner attainable at the moment; and for awhile at least, this condemned wreck, resuscitated, patched up, and covered with iron plates,17 became the terror of the enemy. She was provided with an iron prow or ram capable of inflicting a severe blow under water. Her hull, cut down to within three feet of the water-line, was covered by a bomb-proof, sloping-roofed house, which extended over the screw and rudder. This was built of oak and pine, covered with iron; the latter being four and a half inches thick, and the former aggregating twenty inches in thickness. While the hull was generally iron-plated, the bow and stern were covered with steel. There were no masts—nothing seen above but the “smoke-stack” (funnel), pilot-house, and flagstaff. She carried eight powerful guns, most of them eleven-inch. “As she came ploughing through the water,” wrote one eyewitness of her movements, “she looked like a huge half-submerged crocodile.” The Southerners re-christened her the Virginia, but her older name has clung to her. The smaller vessels with her contributed little to the issue of the fight, but those opposed to her were of no inconsiderable size. The Congress, Cumberland, [pg 20] THE ORIGINAL “MERRIMAC.” THE ORIGINAL “MERRIMAC.” The engagement was fought in the Hampton Roads, which is virtually an outlet of the James River, Virginia. The latter, like the Thames, has considerable breadth and many shallows near its mouth. The Merrimac left Norfolk Navy-yard (which holds to the James River somewhat the position that Sheerness does to the Thames) hurriedly on the morning of the 8th, and steamed steadily towards the enemy’s fleet, accompanied by some smaller vessels of war and a few tug-boats. “Meanwhile, the shapeless iron mass Came moving o’er the wave, As gloomy as a passing hearse, As silent as the grave.” The morning was still and calm as that of a Sabbath-day. That the Merrimac was not expected was evidenced by the boats at the booms, and the sailors’ clothes still hanging in the rigging of the enemy’s vessels. “Did they see the long, dark hull? Had they made it out? Was it ignorance, apathy, or composure that made them so indifferent? or were they provided with torpedoes, which could sink even the Merrimac in a minute?” were questions mooted on the Southern side by those watching on board the boats and from the shore. As soon, however, as she was plainly discerned, the crews of the Cumberland, Congress, and other vessels were beat to quarters, and preparations made for the fight. “The engagement,” wrote the Confederate Secretary of the Navy, “commenced at half-past three p.m., and at four p.m. Captain Buchanan had sunk the Cumberland, captured and burned the Congress, disabled and driven the Minnesota ashore, and defeated the St. Lawrence and Roanoake, which sought shelter under the guns of Fortress Monroe. Two of the enemy’s small steamers were blown up, and the two transport steamers were captured.” This, as will be seen, must, as regards time, be taken cum grano salis, but in its main points is correct. The Merrimac commenced the action by discharging a broadside at the Congress, one shell from which killed or disabled a number of men at the guns, and then kept on towards the Cumberland, which she approached with full steam on, striking her on the port side near the bow, her stem knocking two of the ports into one, and her ram striking the vessel under the water-line. Almost instantaneously a large shell was discharged from her forward gun, which raked the gun-deck of the doomed ship, and killed ten men. Five minutes later the ship began to sink by the head, a large hole having been made [pg 21] “Shall we give them a broadside, my boys, as she goes? Shall we send yet another to tell, In iron-tongued words, to Columbia’s foes, How bravely her sons say ‘Farewell?’ ” The word was passed for each man to save himself. Even then, one man, an active little fellow, named Matthew Tenney, whose courage had been conspicuous during the action, determined to fire once more, the next gun to his own being then under water, the vessel going down by the head. He succeeded, but at the cost of his life, for immediately afterwards, attempting to scramble out of the port-hole, the water suddenly rushed in with such force that he was washed back and drowned. Scores of poor fellows were unable to reach the upper deck, and were carried down with the vessel. The Cumberland sank in water up to the cross-trees, and went down with her flag still flying from the peak.19 The whole number lost was not less than 120 souls. Her top-masts, with the pennant flying far above the water, long marked the locality of one of the bravest and most desperate defences ever made “By men who knew that all else was wrong But to die when a sailor ought.” The Cumberland being utterly demolished, the Merrimac turned her attention to the Congress. The Southerners showed their chivalric instincts at this juncture by not firing on the boats, or on a small steamer, which were engaged in picking up the survivors of the Cumberland’s crew. The officers of the Congress, seeing the fate of the Cumberland, determined that the Merrimac should not, at least, sink their vessel. They therefore got all sail on the ship, and attempted to run ashore. The Merrimac was soon close on them, and delivered a broadside, which was terribly destructive, a shell killing, at one of the guns, every man engaged except one. Backing, and then returning several times, she delivered broadside after broadside at less than 100 yards’ distance. The Congress replied manfully and obstinately, but with little effect. One shot is supposed to have entered one of the ironclad’s port-holes, and dismounted a gun, as there was no further firing from that port, and a few splinters of iron were struck off her sloping mailed roof, but this was all. The guns of the Merrimac appeared to have been specially trained on the after-magazine of the Congress, and shot after shot entered that part of the ship. Thus, slowly drifting down with the current, and again steaming up, the Merrimac continued for an hour to fire into her opponent. Several times the Congress was on fire, but the flames were kept under. At length the ship was on fire in so many places, and the flames gathering with such force, that it was hopeless and suicidal to keep up the defence any longer. [pg 23] Having settled the fate of these two ships, the Merrimac had, about 5 o’clock in the afternoon, started to tackle the Minnesota. Here, as was afterwards proved, the commander of the former had the intention of capturing the latter as a prize, and had no wish to destroy her. He, therefore, stood off about a mile distant, and with the Yorktown and Jamestown, threw shot and shell at the frigate, doing it considerable damage, and killing six men. One shell entered near her waist, passed through the chief engineer’s room, knocking two rooms into one, and wounded several men; a shot passed through the main-mast. At nightfall the Merrimac, satisfied with her afternoon’s work of death and destruction, steamed in under Sewall’s Point. “The day,” said the Baltimore American, “thus closed most dismally for our side, and with the most gloomy apprehensions of what would occur the next day. The Minnesota was at the mercy of the Merrimac, and there appeared no reason why the iron monster might not clear the Roads of our fleet, destroy all the stores and warehouses on the beach, drive our troops into the fortress, and command Hampton Roads against any number of wooden vessels the Government might send there. Saturday was a terribly dismal night at Fortress Monroe.” But about nine o’clock that evening Ericsson’s battery, the Monitor,20 arrived in Hampton Roads, and hope revived in the breasts of the despondent Northerners. She was not a very formidable-looking craft, for, lying low on the water, with a plain structure amidships, a small pilot-house forward, and a diminutive funnel aft, she might have been taken for a raft. It was only on board that her real strength might be discovered. She carried armour about five inches thick over a large part of her, and had practically two hulls, the lower of which had sides inclining at an angle of 51° from the vertical line. It was considered that no shot could hurt this lower hull, on account of the angle at which it must strike it. The revolving turret, an iron cylinder, nine feet high, and twenty feet in diameter, eight or nine inches thick everywhere, and about the portholes eleven inches, was moved round by steam-power. When the two heavy Dahlgren guns were [pg 24] This was a war of surprises and sudden changes. It is doubtful if the Southerners knew what to make of the strange-looking battery which steamed towards them next morning, or whether they despised it. The Merrimac and the Monitor kept on approaching each other, the former waiting until she would choose her distance, and the latter apparently not knowing what to make of her queer-looking antagonist. The first shot from the Monitor was fired when about one hundred yards distant from the Merrimac, and this distance was subsequently reduced to fifty yards; and at no time during the furious cannonading that ensued were the vessels more than two hundred yards apart. The scene was in plain view from Fortress Monroe, and in the main facts all the spectators agree. At first the fight was very furious, and the guns of the Monitor were fired rapidly. The latter carried only two guns, to its opponent’s eight, and received two or three shots for every one she gave. Finding that she was much more formidable than she looked, the Merrimac attempted to run her down; but her superior speed and quicker handling enabled her to dodge and turn rapidly. “Once the Merrimac struck her near midships, but only to prove that the battery could not be run down nor shot down. She spun round like a top; and as she got her bearing again, sent one of her formidable missiles into her huge opponent. “The officers of the Monitor at this time had gained such confidence in the impregnability of their battery that they no longer fired at random nor hastily. The fight then assumed its most interesting aspect. The Monitor went round the Merrimac repeatedly, probing her sides, seeking for weak points, and reserving her fire with coolness, until she had the right spot and the right range, and made her experiments accordingly. In this way the Merrimac received three shots.... Neither of these three shots rebounded at all, but appeared to cut their way clear through iron and wood into the ship.”21 Soon after receiving the third shot, the Merrimac made off at full speed, and the contest was not renewed. Thus ended this particular episode of the American war. ENGAGEMENT BETWEEN THE “MERRIMAC” AND “MONITOR.” ENGAGEMENT BETWEEN THE “MERRIMAC” AND “MONITOR.” Lieutenant Worden was in the pilot-house of the Monitor when the Merrimac directed a whole broadside at her, and was, besides being thrown down and stunned by the concussion, temporarily blinded by the minute fragments of shells and powder driven through the eye-holes—only an inch each in diameter—made through the iron to enable them to keep a look-out. He was carried away, but, on recovering consciousness, his first thoughts reverted to the action. “Have I saved the Minnesota?” said he, eagerly. “Yes; and whipped the Merrimac!” was the answer. “Then,” replied he, “I don’t care what becomes of me.” The concussion in the turret is described as something terrible; and several of the men, though not otherwise hurt, were rendered insensible for the time. Each side claimed that they had seriously damaged the other, but there seems to have been no foundation for these assertions in facts. But although this, the original Monitor, was efficient, if not omnipotent, in the calm [pg 026] THE PERUVIAN IRONCLAD HUASCAR ATTACKED BY TWO CHILIAN IRONCLADS. THE PERUVIAN IRONCLAD HUASCAR ATTACKED BY TWO CHILIAN IRONCLADS. Since the conclusion of the American war, the ironclad question has assumed serious aspects, and many facts could be cited to show that they have not by any means always confirmed the first impressions of their strength and invulnerability. Two recent cases will be fresh in the memories of our readers. The first is the recent engagement off Peru between the Peruvian ironclad turret-ship Huascar and the British unarmoured men-of-war Shah and Amethyst. With the political aspect of the affair we have nothing, of course, to do, in our present work. It was really a question between the guns quite as much as between the vessels. The Huascar is only a moderately-strong armoured vessel, her plates being the same thickness as those of the earliest English ironclad, the Warrior, and her armament is two 300-pounders in her turret, and three shell-guns. On the other hand, the Shah, the principal one of the two British vessels, is only a large iron vessel sheathed in wood, and not armoured at all; but she carries, besides smaller guns, a formidable armament in the shape of two 12-ton and sixteen 6½-ton guns. An eyewitness of the engagement states22 that, after three hours’ firing, at a distance of from 400 to 3,000 yards, the only damage inflicted by the opposing vessels was a hole in the Huascar’s side, made by a shell, the bursting of which killed one man. “One 9-in. shot (from a 12-ton gun) also penetrated three inches into the turret without effecting any material damage. There were nearly 100 dents of various depths in the plates, but none of sufficient depth to materially injure them. The upper works—boats, and everything destructible by shell—were, of course, destroyed. Her colours were also shot down.” According to theory, the Shah’s two larger guns should have penetrated the Huascar’s sides when fired at upwards of 3,000 yards’ distance. The facts are very different, doubtless because the shots struck the armour obliquely, at any angles but right ones. The Huascar was admirably handled and manoeuvred, but her gunnery was so indifferent that none of the shots even struck the Shah, except to cut away a couple of ropes, and the latter kept up so hot a fire of shells that the crew of the former were completely demoralised, and the officers had to train and fire the guns. She eventually escaped to Iquique, under cover of a pitchy-dark night. The same correspondent admits, however, that the Shah, although a magnificent vessel, is not fitted for the South American station, since Peru has three ironclads, Chili two, and Brazil and the River Plate Republics several, against which no ordinary English man-of-war could cope, were the former properly handled. THE PERUVIAN IRONCLAD HUASCAR [pg 27]THE PERUVIAN IRONCLAD HUASCAR. The recent story of the saucy Russian merchantman,23 which not merely dared the Turkish ironclad, but fought her for five hours, and inflicted quite as much damage as she received, will also be remembered, although it may be taken just for what it is worth. One Captain Baranoff, of the Imperial Russian Navy, had, in an article published in the Golos, of St. Petersburg, recommended his Government to abandon ironclads, avoid naval battles, and confine operations at sea to the letting loose of a number of cruisers against the enemy’s merchantmen. Where a naval engagement was inevitable, he “preferred fighting with small craft, making up by agility and speed what they lacked in cuirass, and if the worst came to the worst, easily replaced by other specimens of the same type.” The article created much notice; and at the beginning of the present war, the author was given to understand by the Russian Admiralty that he should have an opportunity of proving his theories by deeds. The Vesta, an ordinary iron steamer of light build, was selected; she had been employed previously in no more warlike functions than the conveyance of corn and tallow from Russia to foreign ports. She was equipped immediately with a few 6-in. mortars, her decks being strengthened to receive them, but no other changes were made. On the morning of the 23rd of July, cruising in the Black Sea, Captain Baranoff encountered the Turkish ironclad Assari Tefvik, a formidable vessel armoured with twelve inches of iron, and carrying 12-ton guns, and nothing daunted by the disproportion in size and strength, immediately engaged her. Both vessels were skilfully manoeuvred, the ironclad moving about with extraordinary alertness and speed. She was only hit three times with large balls; the second went through her deck, “kindling a fire which was quickly extinguished;” the third was believed to have injured the turret. Meantime, the Vesta was herself badly injured, a grenade hitting her close to the powder-magazine, which would have soon blown up but for the rapid measures taken by her commander. Her rudder was struck and partially disabled, but still she was not sunk, as she should have been, according to all theoretical considerations. She eventually steamed back again to Sebastopol—after two other vessels had come to the ironclad’s assistance—covered with glory, having for five hours worried, and somewhat injured, a giant vessel to which, in proportion, she was but a weak and miserable dwarf. It will be obvious that from neither of the above cases can any positive inferences be safely drawn. In the former case, the weaker vessel had the stronger guns, and so matters were partially balanced; in the second example, the ironclad ought to have easily sunk the merchantman by means of her heavy guns, even from a great distance—but she didn’t. The ironclad question will engage our attention again, as it will, we fear, that of the nation, for a very long time to come. |
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