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THE LOSS OF THE MONITOR
as previously written
by
Francis B. Butts
for the
Rhode Island Soldiers & Sailors Historical Society
in the Century Magazine: December 1885
 |
Francis
Butts, Landsman, USS Monitor.
From the Collections of The Mariners' Museum |
At daybreak
on the 20th of December, 1862, at Fort Monroe, the Monitor
hove short her anchor, and by ten o'clock in the forenoon she
was under way for Charleston, South Carolina, in charge of Commander
J. B. Bankhead. The Rhode Island, a powerful side-wheeled
steamer, was to be our convoy, and to hasten our speed she took
us in tow with two long twelve-inch hawsers. The weather was
heavy with dark, stormy-looking clouds and a westerly wind.
We passed out of the Roads and rounded Cape Henry, proceeding
on our course with but little change in the weather up to the
next day at noon, when the wind shifted to the south-south-west
and increased to a gale. At twelve o'clock it was my trick at
the lee wheel, and being a good hand I was kept there. At dark
we were about seventy miles at sea, and directly off Cape Hatteras.
The sea rolled high and pitched together in the peculiar manner
only seen at Hatteras. The Rhode Island steamed slowly
and steadily ahead. The sea rolled over us as if our vessel
were a rock in the ocean only a few inches above the water,
and men who stood abaft on the deck of the Rhode Island
have told me that several times we were thought to have gone
down. It seemed that for minutes we were out of sight, as the
heavy seas entirely submerged the vessel. The wheel had been
temporarily rigged on top of the turret, where all the officers,
except those on duty in the engine-room, now were. I heard their
remarks, and watched closely the movements of the vessel, so
that I exactly understood our condition. The vessel was making
very heavy weather, riding one huge wave, plunging through the
next as if shooting straight for the bottom of the ocean, and
splashing down upon another with such force that her hull would
tremble, and with a shock that would sometimes take us off our
feet, while a fourth would leap upon us and break far above
the turret, so that if we had not been protected by a rifle-armor
that was securely fastened and rose to the height of a man's
chest, we should have been washed away. I had volunteered for
service on the Monitor while she lay at the Washington
Navy Yard in November. This going to sea in an iron-clad I began
to think was the dearest part of my bargain. I thought of what
I had been taught in the service, that a man always gets into
trouble if he volunteers.
About eight o'clock, while I was taking a message from the captain
to the engineer, I saw the water pouring in through the coal-bunkers
in sudden volumes as it swept over the deck. About that time
the engineer reported that the coal was too wet to keep up steam,
which had run down from its usual pressure of eighty pounds
to twenty. The water in the vessel was gaining rapidly over
the small pumps, and I heard the captain order the chief engineer
to start the main pump, a very powerful one of new invention.
This was done, and I saw a stream of water eight inches in diameter
spouting up from beneath the waves.
About half-past eight the first signals of distress to the Rhode
Island were burned. She lay to, and we rode the sea more
comfortably than when we were being towed. The Rhode Island
was obliged to turn slowly ahead to keep from drifting upon
us and to prevent the tow-lines from being caught in her wheels.
At one time, when she drifted close alongside, our captain shouted
through his trumpet that we were sinking, and asking the steamer
to send us her boats. The Monitor steamed ahead again
with renewed difficulties, and I was ordered to leave the wheel
and was kept employed as messenger by the captain. The chief
engineer reported that the coal was so wet that he could not
keep up the steam, and I heard the captain order him to slow
down and put all steam that could be spared upon the pumps.
As there was danger of being towed under by our consort, the
tow-lines were ordered to be cut, and I saw James Fenwick, quarter-gunner,
swept from the deck and carried by a heavy sea lee-ward and
out of sight in attempting to obey the order. Our daring boatswain's
mate, John Stocking, then succeeded in reaching the bows of
the vessel, and I saw him swept by a heavy sea far away into
the darkness.
About half-past ten o'clock our anchor was let go with all the
cable, and struck bottom in about sixty fathoms of water; this
brought us out of the trough of the sea, and we rode it more
comfortably. The fires could no longer be kept up with the wet
coal. The small pumps were choked up with water, or, as the
engineer reported, were drowned, and the main pump had almost
stopped working from lack of power. This was reported to the
captain, and he ordered me to see if there was any water in
the ward-room. This was the first time I had been below the
berth-deck. I went forward and saw the water running in through
the hawse-pipe, an eight-inch hole, in full force, as in dropping
the anchor the cable had torn away the packing that had kept
this place tight. I reported my observations, and at the same
time heard the chief engineer report that the water had reached
the ash-pits and was gaining very rapidly. The captain ordered
him to stop the main engine and turn all steam on the pumps,
which I noticed soon worked again.
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Go to Main Category:
The Monitor from the James River to Cape Hatteras:
May-December, 1862
Go to other documents in this category:
Battle at Drewery's Bluff
Chronology of Sinking
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