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The Battle of March 8, 1862
As recalled by H. Ashton Ramsey, Chief Engineer of the CSS Virginia
As we rounded into view the white-winged
sailing craft that sprinkled the bay and long lines of tugs
and small boats scurried to the far shore like chickens on the
approach of a hovering hawk. They had seen our black hull which
looked like the roof of a barn afloat. Suddenly huge volumes
of smoke began to pour from the funnels of the frigates Minnesota
and Roanoke at Old Point. They had seen us, too, and
were getting up steam. Bright colored signal flags were run
up and down the masts of all the ships of the Federal fleet.
The Congress shook out her topsails. Down came the clothes
line on the Cumberland, and boats were lowered and dropped
astern.
Our crew was summoned to the gun deck,
and Buchanan addressed us: "Sailors, in a few minutes you will
have the long looked for opportunity of showing your devotion
to our cause. Remember that you are about to strike for your
country and your homes. The Confederacy expects every man to
do his duty. Beat to quarters." Every terse, burning word is
engraved on my memory, though fifty years have passed since
they were spoken.
Just as he had finished, the mess caterer
touched my elbow and whispered: "Better get your lunch now,
Mr. Ramsey. It will be your last chance. The galley-fires must
be put out when the magazines are opened."
On my way I saw Assistant-Surgeon Garnett
at a table laying out lint and surgical implements. I had no
appetite, and merely tasted some cold tongue and a cup of coffee.
Passing along the gun deck, I saw the pale and determined countenances
of the guns' crews as they stood motionless at their posts,
with set lips unsmiling, contrasting with the careless expressions
of sailors when practiced at "fighting quarters" on a man-of-war.
This was the real thing.
As we approached the Federal ships we
were met by a veritable storm of shells which must have sunk
any ship then afloat — except the Merrimac. They struck
our sloping sides, were deflected upward to burst harmlessly
in the air, or rolled down and fell hissing into the water,
dashing spray up into our ports.
As we drew nearer the Cumberland,
above the roar of battle rang the voice of Buchanan, "Do you
surrender?"
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George
U. Morris, Captain of the USS Cumberland
From the Collections of The Mariners' Museum
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CSS
Virginia ramming the USS Cumberland
From the Collections of The Mariners' Museum
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"Never!" retorted the gallant Morris.
The crux of what followed was down in
the engine-room. Two gongs, the signal to stop, were quickly
followed by three, the signal to reverse. There was an ominous
pause, then a crash, shaking us all off our feet. The engines
labored. The vessel was shaken in every fiber. Our bow was visibly
depressed. We seemed to be bearing down with a weight on our
prow. Thud, thud, thud, came the rain of shot on our shield
from the double-decked battery of the Congress. There
was a terrible crash in the fire-room. For a moment we thought
one of the boilers had burst. No, it was the explosion of a
shell in our stack. Was any one hit? No, thank God! The firemen
had been warned to keep away from the up-take, so the fragments
of shell fell harmlessly on the iron floor-plates.
We had rushed on the doomed ship, relentless
as fate, crashing through her barricade of heavy spars and torpedo
fenders, striking her below her starboard fore-chains, and crushing
far into her. For a moment the whole weight of her hung on our
prow and threatened to carry us down with her, the return wave
of the collision curling up into our bow port.
The Cumberland began to sink
slowly, bow first, but continued to fight desperately for the
forty minutes that elapsed after her doom was sealed, while
we were engaged with both the Cumberland and the Congress,
being right between them.
We had left our cast-iron beak in the
side of the Cumberland. Like the wasp, we could sting
but once, leaving it in the wound.
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Go to Main Category:
The Battle of Hampton Roads: March 8 & 9, 1862
Go to other documents in this category:
"Watching the Merrimac" - R.E.
Colston
"The Men of the Cumberland" -
Rev. R.T.S. Lowell
"In the Monitor Turret" - S.D.
Greene
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