Iron Thunder

by Avi

  In the turret, there was a wooden floor with four more hatches that could line up with other hatches in the deck below. That way, people could get in and out of the turret. You brought up cannon shot and powder bags the same way.

  Was this whole thing heavy? One hundred and twenty tons! And the guns weren’t in her yet!

  The turret had two gun holes. You rolled the cannons up to the holes with hand cranks and then fired.

  Maybe the turret was like nothing else in the world, but even so, I was still thinking about my predicament. I just knew Mr. Quinn—a lot madder than before—would be waiting for me, with no Garrett to protect me. Truth is, I was getting panicky.

  At quitting time, I started for the gates when Mr. O’Keefe came up alongside of me. “Hey, Tom,” he hailed me. “How was your day?” he asked as we walked side by side.

  “Okay,” I managed.

  “Remember my telling you about copperheads being at the launch?”

  I stopped and looked up at him. “What about them?”

  “Fellow over at smelting told me that they’ve been lurking around. Trying to find out about the Monitor.”

  I didn’t say anything, just kept walking. Then suddenly I stopped and blurted out, “One of them spoke to me.”

  Mr. O’Keefe stared down at me. “What did he say?”

  I studied my feet. “He … wanted to know about the ship. Crew. Cannons.”

  “You tell him anything?”

  I shook my head.

  “He threaten you?”

  That time I nodded.

  Mr. O’Keefe was silent for a while, then he said, “I’ll walk you to your home.”

  “Mr. O’Keefe, my ma doesn’t know about this.”

  “Don’t you think she needs to?”

  I couldn’t argue. In fact, I suppose I wanted her to know. “Neither does my sister.”

  “Sister now? You never said.”

  “She’s older than me.”

  I took Mr. O’Keefe up the steps to our rooms. My mother, flustered with having a visitor, put aside the laundry she was working on. Dora was even more quiet than usual.

  After I introduced them, I told my ma what I said to Mr. O’Keefe. I left out the money and the food. I was too ashamed. Even so, Ma became upset.

  “Did you tell him anything?”

  “Wouldn’t.”

  “Do you think that man’s going to come after you again?” asked Dora. The way she looked at me, I could tell she knew where that gold dollar had come from.

  “Miss Carroll,” said Mr. O’Keefe, “that’s my worry. I was thinking Tom here might stay at the Works.”

  “Sleep there?” I cried.

  “It won’t be for long,” said O’Keefe. “A month, maybe. Until the Monitor is gone.”

  “Would it be safe?” my ma asked.

  “Men are there all hours, keeping the furnaces going,” said O’Keefe. “Guards, too. No one could get at him.”

  Ma stared at her hands.

  It was Dora who said, “Ma, I think Mr. O’Keefe’s idea is right. Tom could sneak back from time to time.”

  “Won’t need to sneak,” said my friend, with a smile at Dora. “I’ll bring him myself.”

  It was all agreed. But just before we left to go back to the Works, I sidled up to Dora and whispered, “I gave the money back.”

  She kissed my cheek.

  Mr. O’Keefe walked me back to the Works. It was strange there. Not a lot of work was being done, though furnaces were glowing like hot, open mouths.

  From somewhere, Mr. O’Keefe got me an old blanket.

  “Where am I going to stay?” I asked as we moved toward the river side.

  “The safest place there is.”

  “Where’s that?”

  “On the Monitor.”

  The pacing guard knew me, knew O’Keefe.

  “Early for work, aren’t you?” said the guard.

  O’Keefe said, “Captain Ericsson wants him on board.”

  The guard waved us on.

  We climbed into the turret. It was completely empty and smelled of cold iron. The floor was awful hard, and it wasn’t exactly warm, either.

  “Better sleep here,” said O’Keefe. “Too much building clutter below deck.”

  Telling myself I wouldn’t be staying there too long, I slept okay. Guess I was the first person to sleep on the ship.

  But I suppose if I’d any idea what my staying there was going to bring, I might not have slept so well.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  I Get a Surprise

  NEXT MORNING I WOKE early. It was strange being all alone in the turret. Besides, I was cold, stiff, and feeling hungry. Still, I wasn’t sure whether to show myself or not. When I heard someone walking on the deck, I supposed it was Mr. O’Keefe. I crawled out of the turret only to come face-to-face with the new captain of the Monitor, John Worden. I’d seen him around, but never met him.

  Our captain, John Worden. When he took command, his beard reached his chest.

  He was a tall, thin man with a bushy beard. His skin wasn’t nut-brown like most sailors, but pale as a high-class lady. That was because he had been the very first prisoner of war. Seems the Rebs grabbed him, said he was a spy, and kept him in jail—for months.

  The Federals got him out, but when he came home to New York, he was sick. Even so, the navy offered him the job as the Monitor’s captain. (Those days the navy did not have a higher rank than lieutenant, but he was still captain of the Monitor, and we called him such.)

  His family didn’t want him to take it—not even when they learned that the pay was one hundred and fifty dollars a month! Despite bouts of fever, he took the position.

  We looked at each other, both surprised.

  “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Tom Carroll, sir. Captain Ericsson’s boy, sir.”

  “Ah, yes. I’ve seen you about. I’m Lieutenant Worden.”

  “Yes, sir. I know, sir.”

  “You’re here early.”

  “Slept on board, sir.”

  “You must like her.”

  “Yes, sir, I do.”

  He eyed me as though trying to decide what to do with me. Guess he made up his mind, because he said, “Come with me.”

  I had to follow.

  He marched down to the water’s edge—me a step behind. It was blustery cold, the East River frothing with white-capped waves.

  Waiting at the dock was a small boat with four sailors at oars. Worden got in. I stood by, watching. To my surprise, he told me to join him. I got in, too, and sat down, hardly knowing why he wanted me. He gave a command, and the boat set off downriver.

  Feeling uneasy, I found my voice to ask, “Sir? Where we going?”

  “We need a crew,” he said.

  Yes, sir.

  “Well, Tom—that is your name?”

  Yes, sir.

  “There have been so many bad rumors about the Monitor that the navy is fearful about placing sailors on her. Afraid they will mutiny. I suggested I go to the Sabine and the North Carolina. They’re full of sailors signed on for three years and waiting for assignments. I’m hoping they’ll volunteer.”

  “But … why did you want me, sir?”

  “You’ll see.”

  Since he wasn’t going to say any more, I just looked about.

  New York City with all its docks had more ships than I could count. Mostly sailing ships, though I saw some paddle steamers. I could see for myself how different the Monitor was. Made me kind of proud I was helping to build her.

  Captain Worden, being expected on the North Carolina, was piped aboard. I scrambled up the rope ladder behind him. Not that anyone noticed me.

  He was taken to the main deck, where the ship’s commander welcomed him. Sailors were called up—maybe two hundred in all—out on the forecastle deck. A mixed lot, they were: all sizes, ages, colors. The one thing all those men had in common that I could see was their blue sailor’s garb. Most were too young to have beards, bu
t plenty of others did. Lots had tattoos.

  They must have been told why we were there, because when Captain Worden climbed up on the capstan they listened to him with curiosity.

  I was standing right below.

  “Gentlemen,” he began, “I am Lieutenant Worden, commander of the navy’s ironclad, the Monitor. Newly made, she will shortly be off to her station in Hampton Roads, Virginia. There, one hundred miles from Richmond, the seat of the Rebel government, we’ll defend our nation, secure the Union, and maintain our sacred liberties. I am here seeking a volunteer crew.”

  The sailors stirred, but just listened.

  “I don’t know what you’ve heard about the Monitor,” Worden went on, “but I’m here to tell you that she’s something entirely new to naval warfare—the likes of which has never sailed the seas before. Supported strongly by President Lincoln, she is the stuff of fame and glory. She’s grand history yet unwritten. I promise you, she will do fierce battle. And I tell you just as honestly, the danger will be great. That said, I offer you a part to play and the inevitable thanks of a grateful nation.”

  Looking at him, I wondered if he meant what he said.

  “Is she safe?” he continued. “That’s the question all are asking. I would not command her if I thought otherwise. It was my choice. But of course we need a crew of brave character. So let me introduce you to the very first volunteer.”

  With that he reached down, and before I knew what was happening, he plucked me up from where I was. Made me stand before him.

  “This is Tom Carroll. As you can see, he’s only a boy. Yet he has volunteered to join me upon the Monitor as we go to sea and give battle to our enemy. He was so anxious to serve, he has already taken up quarters on her. Who among you will willingly join him?”

  I didn’t know if the captain truly thought I had volunteered. All I know is after he spoke, there was a great cry of “Huzzah!” from the men. Nothing for me to do but just stand there and grin.

  And forty men came forward to volunteer!

  The captain gave the same speech on the Sabine.

  By the end of the day, he had selected forty-eight men, mostly in their twenties. Depending on what they did on the boat, they’d earn between four to fifteen dollars a month.

  When they signed on, many of them just wrote an X because they couldn’t read or write. One man had the same name as me. Two were freed-men. Some were from faraway places, like Ireland and England. Even Sweden, where Captain Ericsson came from.

  Who among you will willingly join him?

  Around the same time, the navy named Mr. Dana Greene as executive officer—second in command. Only eight years older than I was! His deep black eyes and hair made him look fierce.

  Executive Officer Dana Greene. There were those who didn’t like him, but I found him a brave man.

  Later, I found out the names of some of the officers: Isaac Newton (people told me he was rich) was the chief engineer. He ran the main engines, the ones that made us go.

  Then there was Alban Stimers. Wasn’t really part of the crew. I think he was just watching over things for his good friend Captain Ericsson. I liked his great mustache and big sideburns.

  The paymaster was Mr. Keeler. He was from out west somewhere and talked funny.

  Dr. Logue was hired as our surgeon. When I saw his bag of tools—saws, knives, and pincers—he scared me plenty. Still, he was friendly enough and never seemed to stop talking. Really annoyed Mr. Keeler.

  And somehow a black-and-white cat got aboard and stayed. He was so long and lanky, someone named him Abe—after our president.

  That was our crew. In all, thirteen officers and forty-five common sailors doing all kinds of duty: store men, firemen, clerks, cooks, coal heavers, stewards, and gunners. And that cat.

  “Are you satisfied with your crew, sir?” I asked the captain the day after we had visited the Sabine and the North Carolina.

  The Monitor officers. This photograph was taken soon after the battle, when Captain Worden was still in the hospital.

  “I’m sure they’ll be reliable,” he said. “And remember, everyone has chosen to be there.”

  (Funny thing: though the sailors did volunteer, Paymaster Keeler told me later that some gave false names. That way they could jump ship if they didn’t like it. No one would find them.)

  Captain Worden cocked an eye at me and asked, “Will you be coming with us?”

  “Me, sir?”

  “Absolutely. You can go with the rank of first class boy.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’ll draw eight dollars in wages a month. Plus a uniform, two flannel shirts, socks, boots. Your own hammock and two blankets. All regular navy. You’ve already taken berth on the ship. You might as well stay. Just know, the Monitor will be heading south soon. What do you say?”

  I hardly knew what to think. I had never been away from my family. If I joined the Monitor’s crew, I’d be the youngest. I’d be headed off to a real battle. Why, I might even get killed!

  But then, I was already living on the Monitor, If I went out of the Iron Works onto the streets, I supposed Mr. Quinn would still be looking for me. Going on the Monitor meant I’d get away from Brooklyn and Mr. Quinn. With all that iron plate on the Monitor, I might be safer on her.

  And I’d helped build her. So I felt part of her. Since I was always there, always carrying messages, listening to Captain Ericsson, I knew all kinds of things about her. It even seemed Captain Worden wanted me to go. Eight dollars a month, too. My ma would like that part. Besides, the Navy would give me a uniform! And boots. A lot better than I was wearing. That was something, too.

  In the evening, when Mr. O’Keefe came to make sure I was all right, he brought along a grand dinner: ham, biscuits, and red-eye gravy. I told him of Captain Worden’s offer.

  “Go,” he said. “Be a fine chance for you. Might even be safer than staying.”

  That night as I lay in the turret wrapped in my blanket, I tried to make up my mind. There were lots of reasons to go, everything from the adventure of it to getting away from Brooklyn. As I thought it out, there was only one reason not to go: no one knew what would happen when the Monitor went off to battle.

  When I realized the only way I’d really have the answer was by going, I decided to enlist. So there I was, Tom Carroll, first class boy. On the Monitor.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  My Life Inside the Monitor

  BEING CAPTAIN ERICSSON’S boy—and now part of the crew—no one thought it odd my living on the Monitor. Still, it was strange. After all, the iron deck sat just eighteen inches above the water like an iron tablecloth that draped over the ship’s wooden hull. In other words, except for the deck and turret, the rest of the ship was below water. It was designed that way so there would not be much for the Rebs to shoot at.

  Since the ship was mostly below water, the crew had to have air to breathe. Good air was pulled below deck by belted fans driven by steam engines. The same engines pumped out the bad air and smoke through deck funnels. In fact, there was an argument between Captains Worden and Ericsson about those funnels. Worden said they weren’t tall enough to keep off the high seas.

  As always, Ericsson pulled up calculations to say otherwise. He wouldn’t give way.

  Worden, fed up, said, “Very well, sir: you build your vessel and I will sail her.”

  The navy wanted masts and sails on the Monitor. Captain Ericsson ignored that, too. We ran on steam, with a four-blade, nine-foot-diameter propeller. Ericsson had designed it. Pretty much the whole rear of the Monitor was for our engines, also designed by Ericsson. To run them we carried eighty tons of coal, enough for eight days. Engineer Newton told me our engines were like having four hundred horses working for us! But those engines were so loud, you heard clank-clank day and night. Like a heartbeat.

  Another odd thing about the Monitor was her steering. There was a square pilothouse set near the bow. Boxlike, it stuck up from the deck just four feet. It w
as made of thick iron bars, bolted together and then covered with a two-inch iron plate kept in place by its own weight. Had these narrow slits—no more than half an inch wide—between bars. Those gaps were what allowed them to look out.

  To get into this pilothouse you had to climb a ladder from below deck. There was only room for the captain, who gave orders; a pilot, who would know local waters; and a helmsman, who steered with a six-spoke steering wheel connected to the stern rudder with ropes that ran through the ship.

  In other words, on this whole, huge, iron ship, only the captain, the helmsman, and the pilot—squeezed tight—could see the outside world through a half-inch gap! That’s why Ericsson had put in a speaking tube: so people in the pilothouse could talk to the turret crew.

  The place where they made our food, the galley, forward of the engines, sat below the turret. It made me laugh to see the cooking stove. It was like what you might see in a home.

  Inside the Monitor it was dim, even gloomy, with only a little light from hanging oil lamps. There were these tiny windows, small disks of heavy glass set into the deck. They helped, but only during the day.

  All her thick metal made the ship hot during the day and cold at night. Let me tell you, we either sweated or near froze.

  Of course, the whole crew would live beneath the deck, sharing space with powder and shot. The place where the crew would sleep, called the berth deck, was just seventeen feet below the top of the turret. There was a sixteen by twenty-one foot space, where forty-nine of us would sleep in day/night batches. There were little lockers for private things.

  The berth deck felt much smaller and much more crowded than what is shown here.

  But it was hardly private. One of the crew showed me spy holes in the wall between the crew and officer’s space. I guess the officers planned to keep watch on us.

  Officers would eat in their own quarters on a fancy table with fine white china. There even was a butter dish with the ship’s name on it. But each officer had to bring his own forks and spoons.