Iron Maiden

by Jim Musgrave

  Smoke from the cannon fire exchange enveloped both ships, but on board the Cumberland, men were being burned alive; slipping in the blood and gore and screaming, they flung themselves off the ship by the dozens, small, momentary phoenixes in the waters off Newport News. The Union cannon fire blew the ironclad's launches away, riddled its smokestack and shot off its anchors as well as the muzzles of two of her guns, but they could not penetrate her armor. And, amidst it all, Buchanan kept up his relentless cry, "She's almost done for, men! Keep firing!"

  Panic began to sweep the crew of the Virginia when the ram would not pull out of the hull of the Cumberland. "We're all a-gonna drown!" a young seaman yelled, and he left his post at one of the cannons, and attempted to desert ship. Commander Jones ran over to him and shouted, "Get back to your gun, sailor, or I'll have you arrested!" The sailor, more frightened of his commanding officer, did what he was told, but the Virginia seemed to be stuck for good inside the sinking enemy vessel.

  The greased sides of the Virginia were so hot from the ricocheting shells that the men could hear the iron plates crackle and pop. She literally seemed to be frying, from stem to stern.

  One sailor took a big whiff of the odor and said, "Jack, don't this smell like hell?"

  "It sure does, and I think we'll all be there in a few minutes," said another.

  Just when it seemed both ships were going to go under, a huge tidal swell hit the ships, and the resulting motion broke the ram off inside the Cumberland. When this happened, the Virginia was released from her death-grip, and was free to pull back from certain destruction.

  "Back her down slowly," Jones yelled to the enginemen, below decks. Gradually, the giant ironclad pulled away from the sinking Cumberland, until she was again back in the channel. Sailors on board the Virginia watched, in stupefied rapture, as the former champion of the United States Navy slipped slowly under the waves, settling to the bottom of the James River just after 3:35 PM. At least 121 sailors died with her, including many wounded who went down with the ship.

  Commander Jones was right about the other ships getting stranded in the shoals. As the Virginia turned around to attack, she confronted what looked like a row of wounded geese stuck in the shallows of Hampton Roads. In addition to the Congress, which was stranded off Newport News Point, the frigates Minnesota, Roanoke, and St. Lawrence had all run aground at Hampton Flats while attempting to come to aid of their stricken sister, the Cumberland.

  As she was unable to bring any but her stern guns to bear, the nearby Congress became the Virginia's next victim. Once again, Buchanan began to urge his men on. "We'll get us another one, men! Get to those guns and be ready to fire at my command!" The ironclad then made her slow journey toward the waiting frigate, trapped in the mud of the flats.

  "Fire at will!" yelled Buchanan, and the cannons began to blast out their fury on the hapless Congress. For a solid hour, the wooden frigate was unable to return any fire, and the damage was tremendous. Many fires were ignited, and men were diving from the ship in flames. Finally, the ship's captain raised the white flag of surrender.

  Two Confederate gunboats, seeing the Congress's flag of capitulation, moved next to the ship to remove the Union wounded and take them prisoner. Suddenly, without warning, a unit of Federal soldiers onshore began shooting at the sailors from the gunboats as they tried to rescue the survivors on the Congress. Several sailors fell over the railing, shot to death.

  Buchanan was furious! He pushed his way through the smoke and sailors to the top of the Virginia's deck, so he could better see what was happening. "Destroy that ship!" he shouted, going berserk. "They're firing on her white flag!" Admiral Franklin Buchanan was still cursing from the shot- riddled railing when a musket ball from one of the guns of the onshore Union soldiers struck him in the right thigh.

  "Jonesy! It seems as though we've ruffled those ducks' feathers. They're now firing back!" said Buchanan, and he slumped to the ground. Two sailors rushed to his aid and dragged him to safety. As he was being dragged, Buck shouted to his executive officer, Catesby Jones, "Plug hot shot into her and don't leave her until she's afire!"

  Jones carried out his orders swiftly, and, in minutes, the Congress was an inferno. Then, with less than an hour of daylight remaining, Jones backed the Virginia off and headed toward the last duck on the pond: the Minnesota.

  However, the same bad luck that captured the Congress in the mud with nowhere to turn, had turned to fortune for the Minnesota, as the Union frigate was now trapped off Salter's Creek, and when the Virginia attempted to approach, Jones quickly realized he could never get close enough to the Yankee ship to inflict mortal damage. The giant ironclad was too heavy in the water.

  Thwarted by the coming darkness and the ebbing tide, Jones fired upon the Minnesota for several minutes, from a distance, but he then broke away and headed back toward Sewell's Point. The tide would come again tomorrow, and the frigate would still be there. Hopefully, Jones thought, he would be able to send her to the bottom before that blasted new ironclad, the Monitor, showed her colors in the Roads.

  That night, Jones counted his losses at two men dead and nine wounded, including Admiral Franklin Buchanan. Nearly 100 indentations from the enemy's cannons pockmarked his vessel's armor. The Union, on the other hand, suffered more than 280 casualties all told, as well as the total destruction of two of the most important ships blocking the South's central tactical harbor. Jones was proud of his men, and he was proud of the Confederate States of America.

  Chapter Thirty-Five: Panic in Washington and London

  Washington, D. C., March 8, 1862.

  The telegraph lines to Washington, D. C. were buzzing with the news about the attack on the Union blockade in Virginia. The horrible loss of the two big ships in a few short hours demonstrated the awesome power of the South's new super weapon. Secretary of War Edwin M. Stanton, who heard the reports early Sunday morning, prepared to have barges sunk in the Potomac River for the protection of the capitol. In a gloomy meeting with President Lincoln and his cabinet, Stanton said, "The whole character of war has changed."

  Several times during this meeting, Lincoln and Stanton went to the window and looked out over the river. "Mister President, the danger is clear and present. This giant Virginia could send a cannonball through this window at any moment."

  Secretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles, had a calmer demeanor and a cooler head. "Our intelligence says this craft was carrying too much armor to finish off the Minnesota, which had run aground at Salter's Creek. How can this ship make it up the Potomac? She would run aground before she could get out of Hampton Roads."

  William Seward, the vain Secretary of State who had been defeated by Lincoln in the Republican primaries, agreed. "Yes, we have more problems with France and England. They were observing the battle in Virginia and were going to give the South assistance, depending on how well this ironclad fared against us. If the Rebels get aid from Europe, then we will surely have more trouble than we need right now."

  Lincoln picked-up the little model of the U.S.S. Monitor from his desk, stood up and walked to the window again. "Where is our little ironclad right now, Gideon? This Monitor," he said, gazing out at the Potomac, and turning the tiny turret gun around and around in small circles.

  Welles perked up. "She was held up in a storm, but if all goes well, she should arrive at Hampton Roads tomorrow morning, Mister President."

  Lincoln smiled. "My bones tell me our cheese box on a raft will stop this Virginia. Admiral Buchanan was wounded and is no longer calling the shots on the Merrimack. This Catesby Jones knows little or nothing about our secret ironclad. Could be this Ericsson's Folly just might run up Virginia's skirt and whistle Dixie!"

  * * *

  London, England, March 8, 1862.

  Penelope Andrews was taking a bath when Amelia Ericsson burst into the house. She ran right past Smythe, the family butler, and opened the door. She was quite out of breath, and her chest was heaving. "Pen, you've got to come with me!
John's been shot, and he's in hospital in New York. Somebody tried to assassinate him!"

  Penelope sat up in the tub and took a towel from her friend. She stood up and wrapped the towel around her dripping torso. "What? Who would do such a thing?" she asked, as she stepped gingerly out of the water.

  "The bloody government wouldn't tell me much. They just said John had been shot, and he would be recuperating at the St. Luke's Hospital of Columbia University. Oh, Penny, I must go to John. I would never forgive myself if something were to happen," her voice trailed off, and she began to sob deeply. "I've been such a horrible wife! I should have stayed with him in America, but I am spoiled rotten!"

  Penelope Andrews took her friend by the arm and led her over to the couch inside the spacious lavatory. "Come, sit. Yes, of course I'll go with you to America. It shall be our adventure! It's time I tracked down my Walter and see what he's up to. We'll have a grand time together, Amelia!"

  The younger Penelope comforted the older woman for some time, and they both made a decision to book the first passage to America they could arrange. War could not stop their love, and it most certainly would not come between them and their men. However, they knew they would have to proceed clandestinely, as their parents would not be cooperative. These were dangerous times, and two British women alone in a country under siege was not what parents desire of their only daughters. But, to the two young women, this was an escapade of a lifetime.

  Chapter Thirty-Six: The Arrival of the Iron Maiden

  March 9, 1862, Hampton Roads, Virginia

  Chip Jefferson had enjoyed the trip down to Hampton Roads—even the storm—and he was quite excited about the prospects of being in battle against the giant Confederate ship, the Virginia. He followed the Captain around like his shadow, and he asked him many questions about what would happen when they confronted the enemy. Captain Worden was very patient, and he answered Chip's questions with tolerance and kindness. In fact, the Captain was a bit concerned with having such a young man on board during these dangerous times.

  This concern hit a high point when Chip picked up a telegram from the War Department that lay on the Captain's wardroom table. The contents discussed what had happened in Hampton Roads on March 8, and Chip's eyes grew wide with wonder as he read about the "Union ships sunk and hundreds of men killed," and his imagination became infused with pictures of his own body being torn in two by a gigantic cannon shell that had a face that looked like John Ericsson's. Chip still believed the inventor was up to no good, and he was keeping up his surveillance of Lieutenant Greene and his whereabouts on the ship.

  Mister Greene was the Executive Officer, and his combat duty was to command the revolving turret guns, the first such inventions to be used in war. The South had only one, 11-inch Dahlgren in all of Hampton Roads, and their little Monitor had two sitting inside her turret. However, Greene also knew that the key to his escape to Easter Island was how well he could keep those guns from hitting anything on the Virginia, which would deliver a deathblow. He had stayed up every night on the way down from New York, trying to plot his methods, and he at last believed he could pull it off without anyone getting suspicious. The final test would be combat, and Greene also believed anything could happen when the firing began. Captain Ericsson had told him to "stay focused on your purpose," and so Greene behaved in a very focused manner. He was brief and direct with his men, and he was also without any humor, and this made him an unpopular sort aboard the small vessel. Gone were his volumes of Whitman and Emerson, and he no longer wrote in his journal. Instead, he had become a man on a mission, and his job was a totally private one, known only to him and to John Ericsson.

  When they arrived at their battle station, at eleven p.m. on March 8, the crew of Monitor was nervous, and they also knew they had to stop this Virginia from doing any more damage. Captain Worden had called them all to general quarters on the previous day, in order to explain their purpose for being at Hampton Roads.

  "Men, events in history call us to action. Today, the combined forces of the rebellious Confederacy attacked us, and two of our Union's frigates, the Cumberland and the Congress, have been destroyed. It is the worst day in American naval history, and our duty is to see to it that no more ships or lives are lost to this juggernaut of insanity called the U.S.S. Monitor.

  I need all of your mental and physical attention to do this job. We shall overcome for the sake of our United States of America, and for the sake of freedom from slavery!" All the men cheered, and Chip felt proud to be serving under such a distinguished captain.

  However, between one and two a.m., on March 9, 1862, as the little Monitor was sailing into Hampton Roads, the aft weapons magazine on board the Congress blew up, sending thousands of luminous missiles into the gloomy sky. It almost looked like a Fourth of July celebration, if the crew had not known about the Rebel ironclad and what she had done to the Congress that morning. The men did not sleep much at all that evening, as they were anchored beside the last remaining frigate, the Minnesota. All those aboard the Union blockade's guardian knew that they were the only hope of protection for this ship against the demon giant, the Merrimack.

  * * *

  Captain Catesby Jones was now commanding officer of the Virginia, and as he steamed out of the protection of Sewell's Point, he remembered the tale of his old Surgeon, John Mason, aged 62, who reported seeing the little Monitor the previous night when the Congress blew up. "She was like a black cat crossing in front of that exploding Yankee ship. I've never seen a stranger looking craft! She reminded me of the torture instrument used in Nuremberg, Germany, called the Iron Maiden. I expect inside that black ship there are men who are being suffocated or torn apart by metal spikes. I wouldn't put it past those Yanks to torture their own men!"

  That evening, at officers' mess, Doctor Mason treated the group with his after-dinner tale about the medieval torture device, the Iron Maiden, described in a novel he had in his possession called The Blood Countess. Doctor Mason read to the other men from the book, and they wondered together in transfixed attention. "Sharing the room with the rack wheel at the Thurzo was an iron maiden, a metal statue of a woman. This was a great example of this sort of object, a unique construction from one of Germany's greatest clock makers. She had breasts, arms, legs, and two faces, one in front and one in back. The front face was round, with oval eyes that peered down with a look that could be alternately filled with pity and enigmatically amused. The small mouth was finely etched with hair-thin wrinkles. The eyes in the back face were closed, but the mouth was slightly open, as if she was about to whisper something. Long fine blond hair covered her head and came down in two braids over her ears, past her waist. She was dressed in a ballooning dress of worn velvet folded thousands of times, spilling over her feet. Her bare breasts were round and shiny from the generations of furtive schoolchildren who had rubbed them on visits to the museum. Two strands of pearls and a gold necklace with a black stone on the end were draped about her curved swan's neck. She opened from the front...along a seam between her breasts that was invisible when she was closed. The trigger that caused her to open was hidden in the black stone at the end of the gold chain. When the stone was pressed, her hands moved to embrace the person who had set off the hidden mechanism. When she opened, she revealed a hollow interior with sharp iron spikes. Her arms pulled in her victim, and then she closed up, piercing her prey."

  Jones stood up after the reading, stretched, and addressed his fellow officers, "I'm turning in now, gentlemen. If the Union is sending us contraptions like this, then I'll need a good night's rest to greet such a woman!"

  When he and his crew retired that night, they hoped to accomplish a lot the next day. The Minnesota was aground, the Roanoke and St. Lawrence had retired below Old Point, and the enemy was greatly demoralized. This Monitor was but a rumor, but the purpose was clear for Jones. If he did not destroy the rest of the blockade, then the cause of the South would be set back, perhaps indefinitely.

  It was n
ow 0800 hours, and the James River Squadron was under weigh. Jones steered his vessel directly toward the Minnesota, closely attended by the Patrick Henry. The little black demon was about a third of a mile distant when it began to fire. Jones decided to confront her, as he could not get a clear broadside to fire at the Minnesota. The blasted Ericsson contraption was blocking the way!

  * * *

  Greene could see her from his vantage point inside the gun turret. The iron pressing in upon him from all sides, the booming backfire of the two cannons splitting his eardrums, and the heat from the pressure build up were all combining to make him lose focus. I can't let them hit the ship, he thought, gripping onto the bulkhead for dear life.

  * * *

  On the previous day, Greene had written in his journal, for the first time, in order to maintain his focus on events:

  It was at the close of this dispiriting trial trip, in which all hands had been exhausted in their efforts to keep the novel craft afloat, that the Monitor passed Cape Henry at 4 P. M. on Saturday, March 8th. At this point was heard the distant booming of heavy guns, which our captain rightly judged to be an engagement with the Merrimack, twenty miles away. He at once ordered the vessel stripped of her sea-rig, the turret keyed up, and every preparation made for battle. As we approached Hampton Roads we could see the fine old Congress burning brightly, and soon a pilot came on board and told of the arrival of the Merrimack, the disaster to the Cumberland and the Congress, and the dismay of the Union forces. The Monitor was pushed with all haste, and reached the Roanoke (Captain Marston), anchored in the Roads, at 9 A. M Worden immediately reported his arrival to Captain Marston, who suggested that he should go to the assistance of the Minnesota, then aground off Newport News. As no pilot was available, Captain Worden accepted the volunteer services of Acting Master Samuel Howard, who earnestly sought the duty. An atmosphere of gloom pervaded the fleet, and the pygmy aspect of the newcomer did not inspire confidence among those who had witnessed the destruction of the day before. Skillfully piloted by Howard, we proceeded on our way, our path illuminated by the blaze of the Congress. Reaching the Minnesota, hard and fast aground, near midnight, we anchored, and Worden reported to Captain Van Brunt. Between 1 and 2 A. M the Congress blew up, not instantaneously, but successively; her powder-tanks seemed to explode, each shower of sparks rivaling the other in its height, until they appeared to reach the zenith — a grand but mournful sight. Near us, too, lay the Cumberland at the bottom of the river, with her silent crew of brave men, who died while fighting, their guns to the water's edge, and whose colors were still flying at the peak.