Pictorial history of the war for the Union, volume 1 (of 2) : $b A complete and reliable history of the war from its commencement to its close ... together with a complete chronological analysis of the warStephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
History
Pictorial history of the war for the Union, volume 1 (of 2) : $b A complete and reliable history of the war from its commencement to its close ... together with a complete chronological analysis of the war
Stephens, Ann S. (Ann Sophia)
United States -- History -- Civil War, 1861-1865
Lieutenant-commanding John S. Worden; Lieutenant and Executive Officer,
S. D. Green; Acting Masters, I. N. Stoddard, J. W. Webber; Acting
Assistant-Paymaster, Wm. E. Keeler; Acting Assistant-Surgeon, D. C.
Logue; Government Inspector, Alban C. Stimers; First Assistant-Engineer,
Isaac Newton; Second Assistant-Engineer, Albert S. Campbell; Third
Assistant-Engineers, R. W. Sands, M. T. Sunstron; Acting Masters’-Mate,
George Frederickson.
The voyage to Fortress Monroe was safely terminated by the arrival of
the vessel with her consort about eight o’clock on the evening of the
eighth. Important events had transpired in Hampton Roads on that day.
The Merrimac had steamed down towards the sloop-of-war Cumberland,
blockading James river, and demanded a surrender. This was refused, when
the monster turned ponderously, and bringing her bow to bear on the
Cumberland, dashed into her side, rending the timbers as she went. She
then drew her iron prow from the shattered vessel, scattering a storm of
splintered wood on the water, and receding to a safe distance, poured a
broadside in from her guns. The crippled Cumberland, still vibrating in
all her timbers, returned the broadside. This was answered and returned
without intermission for fifteen minutes. During this time shot and
shell boomed over the water, crashed into the doomed vessel, and fell
like mighty hail on the iron coat of the Merrimac. But while every shot
told on the quivering woodwork of the Cumberland, the Merrimac threw off
the iron missiles as a rock beats back the tempest, sending in her
volleys more triumphantly each moment. The brave old man-of-war stood up
to the slaughter much as a blinded horse, forced among the wild bulls of
a Spanish arena falls, gored to the heart, but fighting desperately.
Half full of water, which still came pouring in through her wounded
side, recoiling like a living thing from each outburst of shot and
shell, she at last settled slowly to the waters’ edge, and sunk, pouring
out a defiant broadside as she went down, with the stars and stripes
floating at her mast-head.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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