By J.
T. Headley
Comprising the early life and
public services of the prominent naval commanders who, with Grant and Sherman
and their generals, brought to a triumphant close the great rebellion of
1861-1865. (First edition 1867)
(Return to table of contents of this book)
CHAPTER
XXVI
CAPTAIN
JOHN LORIMER WORDEN
HIS
NATIVITY—EARLY SERVICES—SERVES IN THE WAR WITH MEXICO—FIRST LIEUTENANT IN
THE BROOKLYN NAVY YARD—BEFORE HOSTILITIES COMMENCED IN 1861 WAS SENT TO
PENSACOLA WITH SECRET DESPATCHES—HIS SUCCESS AND AFTER
IMPRISONMENT—EXCHANGED—LOSES HIS HEALTH—PUT IN COMMAND OF THE NEW
MONITOR—FIGHT WITH THE MERRIMAC IN HAMPTON ROADS—IS WOUNDED—COMMANDS THE
MONTAUK—ATTACKS FORT McALL1STER—DESTROYS THE PRIVATEER NASHVILLE—TAKES
PART IN THE ATTACK OF THE IRON-CLADS ON FORT SUMTER—HIS PRESENT COMMAND
The hero of the first Monitor,
and the first prisoner of war, was born at Mount Pleasant, Dutchess County,
March 12, 1818. He entered. the navy in 1834, and was promoted to lieutenant in
1840. After nine years of service, he was ordered to the National Observatory at
Washington, where he remained till the Mexican war, when he was transferred to
the store-ship Southampton, of the
Pacific squadron. At the close of the war, he was made first lieutenant of the
Brooklyn Navy Yard.
In April, 1861, when war was
found to be inevitable, he was sent by the Government as bearer of dispatches to
Captain Adams of the frigate Sabine,
commanding the fleet at Pensacola. These dispatches he committed to memory and
then destroyed them. This fleet had been sent to Fort Pickens with two companies
of artillery, to reinforce it whenever orders were sent to do so. These
dispatches contained such orders, and were destroyed lest the rebels should get
possession of them, and prevent them reaching their destination. Lieutenant
Worden arrived at Pensacola by way of Richmond and Montgomery on the 11th of the
month. He here had an interview with General Bragg, and obtained from him a
permit to visit Captain Adams, stating in reply to an interrogation as to his
object, that he had a verbal communication from the Secretary of War to him.
Going on board he delivered his message, and received a written reply in return,
acknowledging the reception of the dispatches, and stating that they should be
carried out.
Fort Pickens was reinforced by
Captain Vogdes that night. In the meantime, Worden was on the cars, whirling
north. But when within five miles of Montgomery, five officers of the rebel army
came in and arrested him, and took him to the Adjutant General. Montgomery was
at that time the rebel capital, and a cabinet meeting was immediately called to
consult on his case. He was finally remanded to the custody of the Deputy
Marshal, in whose rooms he remained a prisoner for two days, and was then placed
in the county jail. Worden boldly demanded the reason for his arrest and
confinement, but could get no answer. He heard, however, it was because he had
violated his word of honor, as well as Captain Adams, who, Bragg declared, had
made an agreement with him, that no attempt either to reinforce or take the fort
without previous notice, should be’ made by either party. It afterwards turned
out, that Bragg had actually resolved to seize the fort the very night it was
reinforced.
Worden remained in prison for
seven months, or until the 13th of November. He was well treated and allowed to
purchase such provisions as he chose. A great many Southern officers who were
formerly acquainted with him in the service visited him, and used every effort,
but in vain, to obtain his release on parole. Until mail connection with the
North was cut off he was allowed to write to his friends and receive letters
from them, but all except those from his family were opened and read before he
was allowed to see them. After the fight at Santa Rosa Island, Major Vogdes and
twenty-two of Wilson’s men were placed in prison with him.
His confinement during the hot
summer months broke down his health, and on the 13th of November, Quartermaster
Calhoun informed him that he was released on parole, and ordered to report
himself to the Adjutant General at Richmond. Having given his word not to
divulge anything which he might learn on his journey to the disadvantage of the
Confederacy, he next morning set out for Richmond, where he arrived on Sunday
evening the seventeenth. After an interview with the Adjutant General and Acting
Secretary of War Benjamin, he was sent to Norfolk and exchanged.
His health was so much
impaired, that he was compelled to remain in New York till the next February, to
recruit.
The following month, March, he
was placed in command of Ericsson’s Monitor,
and ordered to proceed to Hampton Roads. He arrived there on the evening of the
eighth, and immediately went out to the protection of the Minnesota, lying hard aground just below Newport News.
Worden found a terrible state
of things on his arrival. The iron-clad Merrimac
had come out that very day, and sent two of our vessels to the bottom. The most
intense excitement prevailed, and all wondered what the morning would bring
forth. Lieutenant Morris, in temporary command of the Cumberland, had fought his ship bravely, but his terrific broadsides
had no effect on the monster, and she kept on her way shaking the heavy shot
like peas from her mailed sides, and struck the frigate with a force that
careened her far over, and stove a hole in her side as big as a hogshead.
Delivering a broadside as she backed off, she came on again, striking her
amidships. She then lay off and deliberately hurled the shells from her
100-pound Armstrong guns into the sinking ship. These monstrous missiles of
death tore through the wooden sides of the Cumberland
with a destructive power that was awful to witness. Guns went spinning over the
deck, great masses of splintered timbers flew about like straws in a gale, while
dismembered, mangled bodies lay strewed over the gory deck. But Morris, aided by
Lieutenants Davenport, Selfridge, and other subordinate officers, disdained to
surrender, and poured in the heavy broadsides with a rapidity and power that
would have sent any wooden vessel that ever floated to the bottom. But they made
no impression apparently on this mailed monster. To the report that the ship was
sinking, these noble officers replied only with fiercer broadsides. They
determined that the flag above them should never be struck, and like Paul Jones,
when told that his vessel was on fire and sinking, replied: "If we can do
no better, we will sink alongside," they too resolved to fight on, while a
gun could be fired, and then go down with their colors proudly flying. At length
the waters rushed through the port-holes, as the noble frigate slowly settled
over them. Still not a man faltered, and the pivot-guns on deck gave a last shot
as with a sudden lurch the vessel went to the bottom, carrying her dead and
wounded with her.
Some attempted to escape by
swimming, and many were picked up by a propeller, but nearly a hundred of the
gallant crew went to the bottom with her, and among them the Chaplain.
The work of destruction had
been completed in forty-five minutes, and then the Merrimac, turned to the Congress,
which, seeing the fate of the Cumberland,
hoisted sail and endeavored to escape, but got hopelessly aground. The Merrimac
now steamed to within about a hundred yards, and then lay to and deliberately
raked the frigate from stem to stern with her enormous shells. The carnage was
awful. The rebel steamers Jamestown
and Yorktown also came up and poured in their fire, and soon the decks
of the Congress presented a ghastly
spectacle. Added to all, she was set on fire in three places, and the flames,
fanned by a brisk wind, soon roared along her decks. Out of feelings of humanity
to the wounded, who would be roasted alive in the burning ship, the colors were
hauled down. But while a boat was coming to take off the prisoners, some
sharpshooters on shore kept up their fire, which so incensed the commander of
the Merrimac, that he ordered another
broadside to be poured into the surrendered vessel, which caused great
slaughter.
Leaving the Congress
to consume away until her magazine was reached, the Merrimac
now turned to the Minnesota and Lawrence,
both of which had unaccountably got aground. That all these vessels should get
aground, and thus become helpless targets for the enemy, is certainly very
strange.
As the Merrimac approached the Minnesota,
she received one of the broadsides of the latter, and fired in turn, but she
could not get within a mile, and fearing to get aground in the dark she retired
to her anchorage, behind Craney Island, to wait till morning before completing
her work of destruction.
This was the state of things
at the time of Worden’s arrival. The Monitor
was a small vessel, mounting only two guns in her revolving turret, and wholly
untried in combat. Those who hailed her arrival as a savior were confounded at
her insignificant appearance. It required a great deal of faith to believe she
could cope with a vessel that had just destroyed two frigates.
It was a sad Saturday
night—Fortress Monroe was thronged with fugitives, the heavens were aflame
with the burning Congress, which at
last exploded with the sound of thunder—the Merrimac
was apparently uninjured, and, "What will the Sabbath morning bring?” was
the mournful question that trembled on every lip.
Worden lay all night alongside
of the Minnesota, in case a nocturnal
attack should be attempted.
The morning broke bright and
beautiful-not a cloud obscured the sky, and every glass was turned in the
direction from which the Merrimac was
expected to come. Soon she was seen approaching, accompanied by her consorts of
the day before. The Minnesota at once
beat to quarters. Worden ordered the iron hatches to be closed, the dead light
covers put on, and the little Monitor
put in perfect fighting trim, while he and some of his officers stood on the top
of the turret and watched the movements of the approaching vessels. These were
followed by steamers filled with gentlemen and ladies from Norfolk, who were
coming out to see the crowning victory. As the Merrimac approached the Minnesota,
Worden steamed out and ran boldly down to meet her. The enemy seemed nonplussed
at the bold approach of what seemed scarcely big enough to be a New York
ferryboat. It looked more like a raft with a round tub upon it nine feet high,
and twenty feet in diameter. The commander of the Minnesota watched her progress with the deepest anxiety, for on the
success of this new, untried experiment rested the salvation of his ship. To his
astonishment, he saw Worden lay her right alongside of the Merrimac,
where she looked like a fly beside an ox. But small as she was, her guns threw
shot weighing a hundred and seventy pounds, and the first that struck the Merrimac woke her commander up to a sense of the danger that menaced
him, and he opened a whole broadside on the tiny structure; heavy enough, one
would think, to blow her out of the water. But the turret was the only thing to
fire at, and most of the shot flew harmlessly over her, while those that did
strike the turret, glanced off. It was a marvelous spectacle that little thing
holding at bay and worrying such a monster.
The Merrimac, finding that she could do nothing with her pertinacious
little adversary, turned her attention once more to the Minnesota, and steaming towards her, received a broadside from the
latter, which, as Van Brunt, her commander, said, "would have blown out of
the water any timber-built ship in the world." The heavy shot, however,
rattled harmlessly against the sides of the Merrimac,
when she, in turn, sent a rifled shell into the Minnesota, which tore through the chief engineer’s state-room, the
engineers’ mess-room, amidships, and bursting in the boatswain’s room,
knocked four rooms into one in its headlong passage, and set the vessel on fire.
A second exploded the boiler of the tug Dragon alongside, causing for a while,
great alarm. But all this time, Worden in his "cheese-tub," as the
rebels called her, was crowding all steam to overtake his powerful adversary,
and by the time the latter had fired his third shell was again between the two
vessels, covering with amazing audacity the Minnesota.
Exasperated at her inability either to shake off her puny antagonist or cripple
her, the Merrimac now determined to
run into and over her, and sink her by mere weight—and turning, ran full speed
upon her. She struck the little Monitor
with tremendous force, and her bow passed over the deck. But at that close range
Worden planted one of his heavy shot square on the iron roof; with such
resistless force that it went clean through. The monster backed off with a
shudder, and then, enraged at the invulnerability of her antagonist,
concentrated her entire fire on the turret. Worden was stationed at the
pilothouse, while Green managed the guns, and Stimers turned the turret. The two
vessels at times almost touched, and the explosion of their monster guns at this
short range was most terrific. Titanic hammers seemed incessantly falling on
their iron armor—so fierce and fast flew the shot. One shot struck the turret
with such force that it knocked down Lieutenant Stimers and two men. Another
struck the pilot-house, breaking in two an iron log a foot thick. It hit just
outside of where Worden had his eye, knocking him senseless, while the small
particles of iron driven off by the concussion, flew into his eyes, completely
blinding him for the time being. But it was soon evident that the Merrimac
was getting the worst of it. Worden had found his way into her vitals, and would
soon send her to the bottom, and so she wheeled out of the conflict and under
the convoy of two tugs, limped away to her moorings. The Monitor
followed her a short distance, but Worden having received orders to act strictly
on the defensive, and not leave the fleet, he soon ceased to follow his
thoroughly humbled antagonist.
Lieutenant Wise, who had
watched the conflict from the shore, now jumped into a boat and rowed off to the
Monitor. As he descended through the
"man hole" to the cabin below, everything was as calm and quiet as
though nothing extraordinary had happened. One officer stood by the mirror,
leisurely combing his hair, another was washing some blood from his hands, while
the gallant commander lay on a settee with his eyes bandaged, but giving no sign
of the excruciating pain that racked him. The first words he uttered on
recovering from the stunning effect of the shot was:
"Have I saved the Minnesota?"
"Yes," was the
reply, "and whipped the Merrimac."
"Then," said he,
"I don’t care what becomes of me."
He had saved more
than the Minnesota—how much that more was, one shudders to contemplate. It
is a wonder—when we remember how the iron-clads afterwards suffered before
Charleston—that the turret did not get jammed so that it would not revolve; or
one, at least, of the two cannon, did not have its muzzle broken off under the
close and awful cannonade to which she was exposed.
Some will call it a wonderful
piece of luck, while the devout man will see in it a remarkable interference of
Providence in our behalf. Never was a government so warned as ours had been of
this very catastrophe, and never did one show such apathy under it.
Lieutenant Worden was now laid
up for some time; but as soon as he was able, he again asked for active service,
and being promoted to commander, was placed in command of the Montauk,
attached to the South Atlantic Blockading Squadron. In January, 1863, Dupont
sent him down to operate up the great Ogeechee River; to capture, if he could,
the fort at Genesis Point, and destroy the Nashville
that lay under its protection. With four other vessels, he for nearly four hours
bombarded the fort, and withdrew only after his ammunition was expended-very
little damage, however, was done on either side. A few days after he renewed the
attack with like results-though his vessel was hit forty-six times.
The last of this month, having
ascertained that the Nashville had got
aground just above Fort McAllister, he steamed up, and though under a tremendous
cannonade from the latter, set her on fire with his shells, completely
destroying her.
In the attack of the
iron-clads on Sumter the following April, he carried his ship into action with
his usual gallantry, and retired only on the signal of Dupont. He was hit
fourteen times, and though no one had had greater experience than he in the
power of iron-clads, he said that if the attack had been continued, it would
have ended in disaster. Worden was afterwards detached from this ship—his
health having failed him, and he was engaged in no other important action during
the war. He is now on duty on the coast of South America.