The Other Side of Lincoln. Welby Thomas Cox, Jr.

      As the Cumberland went down fighting, the tradition of the wooden warships, dating from the ancient empires went down with it. But the hopes and aspirations of the Confederacy was once again buoyed by innovation. The day would end resolutely... but the north would rise again.

      When morning of the next day came, the wounded Commodore Buchanan saw for the first time the Union’s answer to the dilemma placed upon the Bay by the Confederates. In the night, the Monitor had taken up a position next to the crippled Minnesota to wait the light of day. Under the command of Lieutenant John L Worden (1818-1897), the crew of fifty-seven had weathered the sea voyage and the very likely threat of sinking the vessel which floated on the water like Huck Finn’s raft. Except this raft sat about eighteen inches above the water, at 172 feet long and forty-one and 1/2 feet wide it wasn’t very impressive but it was a thing from the future and all the participants that day waited with deep emotion for the beginning of what...they did not know, except they knew it would not be good.

      Cautious spectators crowded the shores on both sides. The two ironclads locked onto each other, guns blasting. Watching with astonishment aboard the helpless Minnesota, Commander G.J. VanBrunt later recalled, “Gun after gun was fired by the Monitor, which was returned with whole broadsides by the Rebels, with no more affect, apparently, as so many snow-balls lobbed by children at play.”

      Like prizefighters exchanging blows, the two vessels battled for hours. An explosion near the pilothouse temporarily blinded the commander of the Union ironclad, and it went momentarily out of control. Lieutenant Jones, now in command of the Confederate’s vessel because Commodore Buchanan had been wounded, thought the Union ship was withdrawing. His craft now leaking, his crews exhausted by two days of nearly non-stop battering and short on powder and shot, Jones ordered the vessel to return to Norfolk. However, the Union ironclad was undamaged; seeing the Ribs depart, it took up position once again by the grounded Minnesota, whose crew had been prepared for the worst, rejoiced as the new Hero of Hampton Road bobbed in the water none-the-less for wear and, a seemingly good investment for the Union at $275,000 if it could be kept from fractious waters. The day was clearly a draw

      and Commander Worden with limited vision was taken to Washington to meet with a joyous Commander-in-chief.

      Inconclusive in the sense that neither ironclad emerged a clear victor, the long-term advantage went to the Union. Future historians would fault the Confederacy for a failure to follow through with the vessel, which had brought so much damage to the wooden ships of the north blockading the water routes to the south...Monday morning quarterbacks agreed that it wasn’t in the best interest of either ironclad to go against each other but to be used to slip in and out of action as a weapon of deterrent. The Union ironclad did prevent the south’s vessel from breaking the Union’s effective blockade, as well as providing another Union disaster, which the President could ill afford. The Confederate navy would soon abandon Norfolk, and the Union would be far more capable of producing more ironclads.

      Ironically, neither vessel ever figured prominently in the war again. The Virginia was run aground by her crew on May 11, and set afire to prevent her capture. The Union ironclad lasted only a few more months; she foundered in heavy seas and went down with sixteen crew members on December 31, 1862. Future naval historians argue that the open sea was the place where the Confederates should have engaged the enemy, the low-slung Monitor would not have been able to advance a battle in the churning sea and the Virginia would have ruled the day.