But they were at least under way at last and the ship would soon taste battle. They would have attacked earlier but severe spring storms had lashed the coast for days, sending mountainous seas rolling across the bay and crashing into the shore. The shallow draft Virginia would never have survived. But now the storm had ended, the waves died down during the night — and the ironclad could finally be put to the test.
Flag Officer Buchanan turned and clambered partway down the steps to the engine room, called out loudly above the clanking and hiss of steam.
“Too slow, Lieutenant Jones, too slow by far. Can we not raise more steam?” The grease-covered officer shouted back.
“No, sir. This is the most we can do. I have too much pressure as it is — any more and something will blow.”
Buchanan went back to his station. As they clanked slowly out into the James River they were joined by four small wooden sidewheel gunboats. The Patrick Henry was the largest, mounting a total of six guns, but the tiny Teaser had only a single gun.
This was the force that was to challenge the might of the warships of the United States Navy.
The mist was gone now as they slowly chugged out into the open waters of Hampton Roads. Once past Norfolk they would be in the open sea.
Where they would face the blockading Yankee warships, for here was where the throttling blockade began. So vital was this entrance to the heart of the Confederacy that a small fleet of Union ships was stationed here. Buchanan had never seen them, but he had received daily reports
of their strength and condition.
Here were the 40-gun steam frigates Roanoke and Minnesota. Accompanying them were the sailing frigates the 50-gun Congress and Cumberland with 24 guns. Over 150 cannon in complete control of the entrance to the Charles River. He knew that it would take at least another small fleet to defeat them. The South did not have a fleet.
All that they had was this single, botched together and untried ironclad. And four tiny, unarmored steamboats.
Never tested in battle, ludicrous and rumbling, almost leisurely, the CSS Virginia steered for the blockading ships.
“Ports open,” Buchanan shouted. “Prepare for action!”
The lookout on the USS Mount Vernon, the ship closest to shore, saw smoke appear above Sewall’s Point and thought a fire had been lit. He was about to report it when the dark shape emerged into view. A ship, but what kind of a ship? Its length shortened as the bow swung toward him and he raised the alarm. He may not have seen a vessel like this before — but he could recognize the Confederate flag at her stern. This could very well be the armorclad craft they had all been expecting, the ship that was supposed to bring victory to the South.
The Mount Vernon raised a signal flag to alert the fleet. It was not noticed. Her captain ordered a gun to be fired at the approaching ironclad. This single shot was the first shot fired in the Battle of Hampton Roads.
Puffing leisurely up the South Channel toward the anchored warships the Virginia looked more ridiculous than menacing. Until her gun ports opened and the black muzzles of her guns appeared. Buchanan singled out Cumberland for his first attack. Still a mile away she opened fire with the bow gun loaded with grape shot that killed or wounded the crew at the pivot gun.
The drums sounded beat to quarters on the Northern frigate and the crew ran to their stations. But the attack was so sudden and unexpected that they even had washing suspended from the rigging. They did their best. The crew swarmed aloft to set sail while the guncrews leaned into the tackle. Within scant minutes the Cumberland’s guns roared their first broadside. The attacker was closer now and the broadside of solid shot crashed into Virginia’s armor plating, four inches of thick iron that was backed by two feet of pine and oak.
The shot hit — and bounced away. None penetrated the armor nor did they slow in any way her steady and ponderous approach.
“Steady,” Buchanan said to the coxswain, “steady.” The ironclad’s armor rang like a giant bell as the round shot struck and screamed away. “Hold her there — I want to hit the hull midship.”
Before the frigate’s guns could be loaded again the ram struck Cumberland with a tremendous crash, driving into her wooden hull and through it. Water gushed in through the immense opening and the ship commenced to sink — threatening to drag the ironclad down with her.
“Full speed astern!”
The threat was a real one and the Virginia’s forward deck was already under water. There was the constant crack of lead on iron as marksmen on the Cumberland fired their muskets at point-blank range. They were no more effective than the cannon had been.
But the Virginia had condemned herself. Her feeble engine could not drag her free of the sinking ship. Water was already flooding onto her deck, splashing through ventilation openings under her armor. The hope of the South was being destroyed in her first ship action.
But the strain on the ram was too much — it broke off and the ironclad was free. As the Virginia backed away the ocean poured through the gaping opening in the other ship’s hull. The attacker turned its attention toward the rest of the fleet.
But Cumberland did not strike her colors — nor did she stop firing. Because of this Virginia stayed beside her, firing steadily despite the solid shot that clanged impotently against her armor, fired until the Yankee warship was burning, sinking. Yet the surviving gun crews stayed at their stations, still firing. The crash of iron on steel sounded one last time before she sank.
Then the armorclad was into the Union fleet. During the attack on the Cumberland, Congress had set sail and with the aid of the tugboat, Zouave, had run ashore. Trapped there she was being pounded by the small Confederate gunboats. Now Virginia joined them in the attack. Crossing the frigate’s stern Virginia sent round after round through her frail wooden hull until it was ablaze from stem to stern.
Hot, exhausted, filthy — the crew of the ironclad still raised a victorious cheer as their ship turned toward the rest of the blockading fleet.
The steam-powered Minnesota could have escaped from the slow and ponderous attacker. Her commander and her crew did not see it that way. Using her greater mobility she circled the Virginia trying to press any advantage. There was none. Her cannonballs caused no damage, while her own wooden hull was penetrated again and again. By afternoon she was badly damaged and run aground. Only the turn of the tide saved her. Virginia had to stay in the deep channel or she would be aground as well.
“Break off the engagement,” Buchanan ordered, peering out at the setting sun and the turning tide. “Set course back to the river.”
As darkness began to fall the ironclad Confederate steamship, slightly damaged, with few wounded, chugged back into harbor. Buchanan and his crew celebrated, looking forward to the morning when they would bring their ship out again to destroy the beached Minnesota. And any other wooden ship of the Union navy. The fleet would be destroyed, the blockade lifted, the South saved.