Naval History Blog

Loading the 3-ton cannon onto a trailer for transport. UAB photograph.

This morning, UAB welcomed members of the Maryland Archaeology Conservation (MAC) Laboratory team for the transport of a Civil War iron cannon. The 3-ton cannon was made in Liverpool, U.K. in 1862 and served aboard Confederate commerce raider CSS Alabama until she was sunk in 1864 by USS Kearsarge. The cannon was recovered from the shipwreck in 2002 and conserved at Texas A&M University’s Conservation Research Laboratory (CRL). It will be displayed under a UAB Loan Agreement in the MAC Lab facility at Jefferson Patterson Park & Museum in St. Leonard, MD until 2015, with the possibility of renewing the loan at that time. UAB is very pleased to have the cannon available for public appreciation and thanks colleagues at MAC Lab for making this successful partnership possible.

The cannon ready for transporation to MAC Lab.

During the American Civil War the vast majority of guns mounted in Confederate forts not be easily penetrate the armor on Union monitors. Even so, ironclads were fragile machines, especially vulnerable when stationary and struck repeatedly by enemy fire. When these iron behemoths accidently ran aground in the shallow coastal waters of the South, it sometimes took the heroics of flesh and blood to save them from destruction.

On the evening of 16 November 1863, Confederate batteries at Fort Moultrie, near Charleston, South Carolina, unexpectedly opened a very heavy, long-range fire on Federal troops in their field works on Morris Island. The Union Army commander, Maj. Gen. Quincy A. Gilmore, immediately requested help from the Navy, and Rear Adm. John Dahlgren ordered the monitors on picket duty, including U.S.S. Lehigh, to move up and cover approaches to the Union position in case the Southerners intended to launch a boat attack. Cmdr. Andrew Bryson ordered his ship, Lehigh, to anchor in three and one half fathoms of water at half-ebb tide, believing the monitor would be perfectly safe. During the flood tide that night, however, the vessel swung and gently grounded on a sand bar.

Upon discovering after daylight that Lehigh was aground, nine different Confederate batteries opened an intense bombardment at about 2300 yards, firing over 300 rounds and striking the ironclad twenty-two times, including eleven hits on the deck plating, six of which broke through the armor. One hit struck the hull, bent the plating in and eventually started a leak that let in nine inches of water per hour. The monitors Nahant and Montauk came to her assistance, the former making three attempts to pass a line with small boats to begin a tow. Gunner’s Mate George Leland, Coxswain Thomas Irving, and Assistant Naval Surgeon William Longshaw twice succeeded in passing the line under heavy fire, only to have it severed by enemy guns. The third attempt by Seaman Horatio Young, Landsman William Williams, and Landsman Frank Giles succeeded as well, and this time it served to provide the tow that rescued Lehigh from her precarious position. Dahlgren praised all for risking their lives to save an invaluable warship, and the enlisted men each received the Medal of Honor for their heroism under heavy enemy fire.

On the night of 5 October 1863, David faced Goliath. It would not be the epic showdown of biblical times during the American Civil War, but one of explosions, iron, and rushing water under the moonlight of Charleston.

USS New Ironsides, a casemate ironclad steamer boasting fourteen eleven-inch smoothbores, was at the time considered the most formidable warship in the world. It proved to be nearly impenetrable to the Charleston harbor defenses. The Union “Goliath” and its Captain, S.C. Rowan, waited for any answer the Confederates had to test the mighty ship. Little did they know its “Davidian” foe would pack such a punch given its comparable size.

The Confederate semi-submersible ship David did not have rocks and slings. Instead, its armament consisted of a single spar torpedo attached to its bow. As the cigar-shaped vessel was designed to operate in shallow water, its five foot draft allowed her to sneak up on enemies seemingly undetected. Around 9 p.m. on the 5th, CSS David slipped into Charleston Harbor unnoticed, avoiding the blockading monitors as it sailed toward the pride of the Union fleet. It was not until the David was 50 yards from the Union ship that a sailor spotted her. David successfully rammed its spar torpedo into the starboard quarter of the New Ironsides, exploding seven feet below the water line. From the account of New Ironsides Captain S.C. Rowan:

“At 9 p.m. discovered a very peculiar looking steamer which at first appeared like a boat standing toward our starboard beam from seaward; hailed her rapidly four times, and she making no reply, fired into her with musketry; she returned fire, dangerously wounding Ensign C.W. Howard in charge of the deck [. . .] the steamer struck us near No. 6 port, starboard side, exploding a large torpedo, shaking the vessel and throwing up an immense column of water, part of which fell on our decks.”

The blast threw water on the deck and the smokestack of the David, which put out a fire in the engine. The explosion knocked down armory bulkhead and store rooms aboard the New Ironsides in the wake of the torpedo’s explosion. Amidst the confusion, David floated attached by her spar, unable to reverse without steam power. As a result, Union sailors rained down rifle and pistol fire onto their aggressor. The Captain of the David ordered to abandon ship, and the crew set out swimming for nearby Morris Island. As they headed toward the shore, Assistant Engineer J.H. Tomb swam back to the wounded ship and got its engine working again. David limped back to safety in Charleston, picking up her remaining crew along the way.

Although the attack caused a large fissure into the side of the New Ironsides, the damage was superficial. One Union sailor died, and two others suffered minor injuries. Two of David’s crew were captured from the attack. Yet if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of Tomb, David’s story would begin and end in 1863. Remarkably, New Ironsides left the blockade for Philadelphia for repairs. Its damages were superficial. CSS David went on to unsuccessfully attack USS Memphis in March 1864 in the North Edisto River and the USS Wabash the following month. Although the ultimate fate of the David is uncertain, several similar vessels were captured in Charleston after its capture in February 1865.

Today marks the 147th anniversary of the event.

USS New Ironsides, a casemate ironclad steamer boasting fourteen eleven-inch smoothbores, was at the time considered the most formidable warship in the world. It proved to be nearly impenetrable to the Charleston harbor defenses. The Union “Goliath” and its Captain, S.C. Rowan, waited for any answer the Confederates had to test the mighty ship. Little did they know its “Davidian” foe would pack such a punch given its comparable size.

The Confederate semi-submersible ship David did not have rocks and slings. Instead, its armament consisted of a single spar torpedo attached to its bow. As the cigar-shaped vessel was designed to operate in shallow water, its five foot draft allowed her to sneak up on enemies seemingly undetected. Around 9 p.m. on the 5th, CSS David slipped into Charleston Harbor unnoticed, avoiding the blockading monitors as it sailed toward the pride of the Union fleet. It was not until the David was 50 yards from the Union ship that a sailor spotted her. David successfully rammed its spar torpedo into the starboard quarter of the New Ironsides, exploding seven feet below the water line. From the account of New Ironsides Captain S.C. Rowan:

“At 9 p.m. discovered a very peculiar looking steamer which at first appeared like a boat standing toward our starboard beam from seaward; hailed her rapidly four times, and she making no reply, fired into her with musketry; she returned fire, dangerously wounding Ensign C.W. Howard in charge of the deck [. . .] the steamer struck us near No. 6 port, starboard side, exploding a large torpedo, shaking the vessel and throwing up an immense column of water, part of which fell on our decks.”

The blast threw water on the deck and the smokestack of the David, which put out a fire in the engine. The explosion knocked down armory bulkhead and store rooms aboard the New Ironsides in the wake of the torpedo’s explosion. Amidst the confusion, David floated attached by her spar, unable to reverse without steam power. As a result, Union sailors rained down rifle and pistol fire onto their aggressor. The Captain of the David ordered to abandon ship, and the crew set out swimming for nearby Morris Island. As they headed toward the shore, Assistant Engineer J.H. Tomb swam back to the wounded ship and got its engine working again. David limped back to safety in Charleston, picking up her remaining crew along the way.

Although the attack caused a large fissure into the side of the New Ironsides, the damage was superficial. One Union sailor died, and two others suffered minor injuries. Two of David’s crew were captured from the attack. Yet if it wasn’t for the quick thinking of Tomb, David’s story would begin and end in 1863.

Remarkably, New Ironsides remained on duty without repair until May 1864. Its damages were superficial. CSS David went on to unsuccessfully attack USS Memphis in March 1864 in the North Edisto River and the USS Wabash the following month. Although the ultimate fate of the David is uncertain, several similar vessels were captured in Charleston after its capture in February 1865.

Today marks the 147th anniversary of the event.

In the middle of the Civil War, two brothers in Bristol, Rhode Island started a ship yard that would make their name, Herreshoff, one of the most respected engineering names in the world: the Herreshoff Manufacturing Company.

John Brown Herreshoff was completely blind at age 15.  He managed his own sail-boat building company until his brother, Nathaniel, joined him in 1878.  John’s blindness did not prevent him from receiving commissions for boats that were renowned for their seaworthiness, speed and beauty.  He used hull models and full hull models to make suggestions to improve the performance of the vessels.

Nathanael Greene Herreshoff, John’s brother, was known as the “Wizard of Rhode Island.” Nathan had worked long at building boats, and through photographic memory, he could help his brother correct ship designs.  The brothers’ clean design and efficient engines captured the attention of the U.S. Navy.  They were asked to place bids for new Navy torpedo boats.

The Herreshoff steam generator boilers were a significant breakthrough in small steam powered boat design.  Their extremely light boiler design enabled them to fire up to a full head of steam in minutes.  Not only were these water craft light, they were also fast.

The “Lighting” a double ender craft, was ordered by the US Bureau of Naval Ordnance, to be built at a cost of $5,000.00.  The entire boat was so well built and so light that it could be stopped within her own length, while moving at full speed. She was a great test bed, and just too small to be a torpedo boat.

The brothers built the high-speed motor yacht, Stiletto and included a new engine design that gave her a remarkable speed of a sustained 20 knots and top speed of 26.5 knots, which was unheard of at that time. The hull was light-weight, wooden with five watertight bulkheads, and large compartments for engine room and crew. She had a forward conning tower that would earmark the outward design of all torpedo boats for years to come.

The Stiletto was purchased by the U.S.Navy on March 3, 1887, then ordered to the Naval Torpedo Station at Newport Rhode Island and later designated by the Navy as Wooden Torpedo Boat No. 1.  This ship fired a torpedo from a deck mount in 1892. Thus she was the U.S. Navy boat to launch a self-propelled torpedo.

The Herreshoff company built six torpedo boats for the U.S. Navy from 1890 to 1897: (Cushing, TB-1, Porter,TB-6, Dupont,TB-7, Morris,TB-14, Talbot,TB-15, and Gwin,TB-16).  All of the boats served in the Spanish American war.

The brothers experienced great difficulty in dealing with the federal government and naval officials.   They faced a constant battle to receive funds and complained about hundreds of hours negotiating with clerks.   Like many, the brothers actually lost money on government orders.  After the Gwin was completed, they turned their talents to building racing and pleasure yachts.

These two remarkable men left their mark on American and world maritime history.  The Navy was wise to recognize these American innovators at a time of rapid naval development.  The problem of government machinery, however, has always been with us.

Lashed in the rigging of Hartford’s mainmast high above the deck, Rear Admiral David Glasgow Farragut had a bird’s-eye view of his squadron of eighteen ships as it fought past the booming guns of Fort Morgan into Mobile Bay, Alabama. Everything was going according to plan until the monitor Tecumseh suddenly rolled to starboard, her bow knifing into the water and stern rearing up with the propeller still spinning, then plunged out of sight like an arrow shot from a bow. Farragut knew instantly that Tecumseh had struck a torpedo, as mines were called in those days. As the gunfire from the Confederate fort intensified, Brooklyn, the lead ship in the main column just ahead of Hartford, started backing down, her skipper reporting a line of torpedoes across the channel.

Farragut realized that the decisive moment had arrived. The column was bunching up under the enemy guns. To try to maneuver around the torpedoes would lengthen the ships’ exposure to the cannonade. To go forward would hazard the fleet against the torpedoes. To retreat was out of the question. Farragut reflected on everything he knew about the Confederate defenses, offered a silent prayer, and then acted. “Damn the torpedoes!” he shouted. “Full speed ahead!”

Farragut’s ships passed through the enemy’s underwater defenses to confront a Confederate squadron of four ships. The Union ships quickly defeated or ran aground the three smaller ships. The fourth ship, a heavy ram, surrendered after an intense hour-long battle. The last major Confederate port in the south was now sealed.

Fuller, Howard J. Clad in Iron: The American Civil War and the Challenge of British Naval Power. Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 2008.

     Civil War naval histories are itself a niche market in the spectrum of scholarship written about the five year conflict. As we draw near the beginning of the sesquicentennial celebration of the American Civil War, a cursory examination of previous scholarship reveals an obsession with fleet operations and technology. It is no surprise then that monographs written about famous naval battles and leaders of the Union and Confederacy will continue to increase in their appeal. Yet what is perceived as new scholarship about the dawn of modern naval warfare more often a metaphorical “slight of hand” to previous arguments. University of Wolverhampton Senior War Studies lecturer Howard J. Fuller’s recent work, Clad in Iron: The American Civil War and the Challenge of British Naval Power, breaks this chain, offering readers an interesting and insightful interpretation to the Civil War’s most overlooked aspect.

     Amidst the greatest test in our nation’s history, massive technological, political, and social change occurred on all fronts in the United States. Between these lines of conventional wisdom, a far more pressing issue occurred between policymakers in Washington and London over the threat of war. Fuller discusses these issues thoroughly from a naval perspective, examining the diplomatic and strategic goals of Britain’s budding ironclad navy in direct response to American sea power.

     Clad in Iron is not a narrative of conflict so often found in Civil War historiography. The focus instead resides in how conflict was ultimately avoided with Britain. Even in the wake of an international crisis like the TrentAffair, an unnecessary war between Britain would be an equally unprepared one between fleets on either side of the Atlantic. That possibility of war from the British perspective, Fuller suggests, became a necessary challenge to the growth of a large maritime force in the pre-Dreadnaught era. Victory in 1865 became a dual one over the Confederacy militarily and the British diplomatically.

     Clad in Iron begins with an informative discussion on why Anglo-French naval policy before the Civil War inexorably altered the course of change in America. Although the British ironclad program “began purely as a response to the establishment of the French ironclad fleet of Napoleon III,” focus shifted after the introduction of the American program in the first two years of the war. It is interesting to note how Fuller details the naval rivalry between France’s La Gloire and Britain’s Warrior occurred well before the Monitor and Virginiaever engaged in combat. Naval architects like Captain Cowper Coles and Dupuy de Lôme are given due credit to the evolution and revolution of ironclad navies normally reserved only for John Ericsson.

     Several chapters are devoted to the “war within,” as the debate and hesitancy of Union political and military officials mirrored that of Great Britain. The need to satisfy Washington of a sufficient coastal force with the possibility of foreign intervention became the ammunition to the argument for the ambitious program initiated by Ericsson. Fuller posits the necessity of such ambition in correlation to the “vested interest” of Britain in the failure of the southern blockade. He notes how Union War Secretary William H. Seward feared British reception during the beginning years of the war under the backdrop of events like the 1861 Trent Affair and Battle of Hampton Roads. The best chapter in the book, “Two Ironclad Adversaries,” sums up a large portion of this central theme. Fuller feels that necessity of an effective ironclad navy was built in direct response to both the Confederacy and Great Britain, one being “actual” and the other “potential.”

     With regards to Hampton Roads, it is one of Fuller’s main points to mention how Monitors were used not for their capacity to become the scourge of Confederate fleets and coastal force, but as a technological “check” to competing programs in Britain as well. The Trent Affair is used “in direct contrast to the battle of Hampton Roads,” because “the Anglo-American naval balance of power was completely upset” in a mere three month window. Fuller also suggests the greatest loser in mid-19th century naval innovations was the French. Through clash of armor, Union and Confederate ironclad warships confirmed British suspicions while damning the French’s narrow disregard for such vessels. It would be multi-turreted ships that survived and evolved after the war, not broadside and sail ironclads as the French suspected. The Monitor’s innovation brought forth the emergence of the first turreted capital ship in the Royal Navy, HMS Devastation. Fuller makes good use of the ironclad-era to detail how events occurring in one conflict continually shaped others.

     One of Clad in Iron’s hallmarks is the method Fuller uses to formulate his arguments. Interpretations of events are taken from letters and reports written by sailors, foreign ministers, and politicians. The analysis is evenhanded and methodical, often offering comparisons in minute details like tonnage and budgetary restrictions. Indeed, Fuller intends to leave no stone unturned. More interesting is the analysis of print media in the United States and Great Britain. Fuller makes the reader believe that the threat of foreign intervention was at a state of near paranoia in both countries, with its only solution through the use of iron-wielded steam power, not amassed troops and musket fire.

     Flaws to Clad in Iron are merely superficial. More attention might be paid in future scholarship on the relationship Britain and Confederate blockade running, which is mentioned only in passing. Fuller also gives very little credit to the Union’s broadside ironclad USS New Ironsides, which many consider to be a comparable vessel to the Monitor.

     Civil War historians will champion the level of care taken by Fuller to accurately document and chronicle the challenge British naval experts and politicians had on the American ironclad program. His work is highly recommended for scholars and layman alike who might find interest in the unspoken foe across the Atlantic chessboard. Clad in Iron is not the definitive Civil War naval history written on the heels of the sesquicentennial, but it is a fantastic and fresh start.

As we celebrate the 148th anniversary of the CSS Virginia‘s final day (11 May 1862), it is important to note how the legendary “Mistress of Hampton Roads” is remembered.  Although she is two years away from being properly celebrated by the Civil War Navy Sesquicentennial, her importance in the annals of naval history remains a yearly affair. 

At the beginning of the American Civil War, Confederate Secretary of the Navy Stephen Mallory puzzled over an effective way to break the Union Blockade.  How does one wrestle the “great snake” without succumbing to its venom in the process?  With no naval might at the start of the war, Mallory knew he had his hands full.  The limited material of the Confederacy as a whole had to be used to the fullest of capabilities.  Mallory needed to play magician from the outset.  How does one create a navy from nothing?  Smoke and mirrors aside, the “rabbit” he needed to pull from his hat needed to effectively test his foes in Washington would be tough.  Eventually, it was decided the best chance to meet these demands was to create the CSS Virginia.  Perhaps Mallory did find his rabbit.  The Virginia proved to be a formidable opponent to the might of the US Navy until its own vanishing act in May 1862. 

Virginia’s career, albeit short, still resides in the memories of those who study and admire her.  Although there were two other attempts to bring the combatants of the “first duel of ironclads” back together in April and May 1862, sadly they failed to engage in general action again.  When the Federals fired on Confederate batteries at Sewell’s Point on 8 May, Virginia decided to stand down from conflict for fear of being ambushed and attacked by a larger Union foe.  Her enormous draft would not allow her to engage the Federal flotilla near Fortress Monroe.  The realization proved ominous. 

 Two days later on 10 May, four Union infantry regiments landed off Ocean View near Willoughby Point.  General Benjamin Huger, commanding Confederate Forces in Norfolk, decided to evacuate the city and its fortifications.  Virginia, upon this realization, would have to follow suit for fear of capture by overwhelming forces.  Mallory ordered her to protect the mouth of the James River, the main artery to the Confederate heart in Richmond, yet the odds were stacked against the famed “mistress.”  As historian Raimondo Luraghi noted in his History of the Confederate Navy, Virginia’s only choice was to “immediately sail up the James river before the enemy could arrive at its estuary overland, attack and destroy (John) Rodgers’s flotilla, and then help defend the Confederate capital, Richmond.”  (History of the Confederate Navy, 165)

Confederates decided to evacuate and subsequently destroy (again) Norfolk Navy Yard as they withdrew from the coast from Union forces.  Virginia intended to follow.  Attempts made to lighten her draft proved a failure.  It was decided that her crew would destroy her.  On 11 May, her sailors watched from the woods on Craney Island as the ship went up in flames, among them Catesby ap R. Jones, the daring Lieutenant who fought the Monitor to a draw two months previous. 

Burning of CSS Virginia, 11 May 1862.  Painting by Colonel Samuel Wetherill, 11^th Pennsylvania Cavalry.  The picture shows the destruction of the Virginia by her crew off Craney Island in Hampton Roads. (NHHC)

An UN-Civil War of Names

Not unlike battlefields spanning east to west, Civil War-era ships are remembered based on regional differences.  Much of this is attributed to the notion that “winners write the history,” and commemorates them as such by their own choosing.  For instance, the battle of Shiloh in April 1862 is often referred to as Pittsburg Landing.  The bloodiest single day of the American Civil War, Antietam (or Antietam Creek), is revered by some geographically as Sharpsburg.    

For the CSS Virginia, however, the debate continues over how she is properly named.  And why not?  Almost any mention of something involving the Confederate Navy has a picture of the Virginia on it.  Upon first glance on the CSS Virginia’s official website, the first tab on the left side of the screen reads in bold letters NOT the “Merrimac,” and continues with this description:

“The misspelling continues today. The fact that the battle at Hampton Roads is often called the battle of “the Merrimack and the Monitor” rather than “the Virginia and the Monitor” may be because much of the press coverage (and hence history) was by Union newspapers and magazines who, along with the Union military, may have knowingly continued to use the prior name of the ship rather than her proper name. Throughout the Official Records, Federal sources referred to the ship as the “Merrimack” while Confederate sources refer to her as the “Virginia.” (It appears that the compilers of the Official Records would use the name “Merrimack” regardless of whether the original document had used “Merrimac” or “Merrimack.”) Harper’s Weekly refers to the ship as “Merrimac“. Some Southern sources did refer to the ship as the “Merrimac[k].’”  (cssvirginia.org)

One author which speaks differently of this name is Ivan Musicant.  In his 1995 work Divided Waters: The Naval History of the Civil War, Musicant’s only mention of the Virginia itself is a “see also” to the Merrimack’s indexed pages.  Merrimack, in Musicant’s eyes, takes place of all things Virginia, including the Battle of Hampton Roads, which is a duel between the Monitor and Merrimack.  Virginia is textually included only when scantly mentioning the ironclad ram built and named in honor of the original ship, then named CSS Virginia II (Divided Waters, 430). 

Maybe Musicant is right.  After all, a part of the original ship Merrimack, which was named after the Merrimack River, still existed on Virginia.  Then again, when parts of ships were used to outfit newer vessels, most were not named after only parts of the whole.  So then maybe the folks at CSSVirginia.org are correct.  What about just calling it “The Rebel Monster,” like many Union sailors often did during the Civil War.  One recent Civil War work worth reading, Ari Hoogenboom’s 2008 study Gustavus Vasa Fox of the Union Navy, uses both Virginia and Merrimack interchangeably in the text and index.  Maybe there is hope for a middle ground after all. 

Other monographs and online resources, such as the Naval History and Heritage Command, refer to the ship as the “ex-USS Merrimack.”  The NHHC write-up acknowledges the conversion and rechristening of the steam frigate to ironclad, giving her its proper name when it was commissioned as CSS Virginia in February 1862.  Even the Merrimack falls victim to incorrect spelling.  NHHC historians note that before, during, and after the war, Merrimack’s name was often mispelled “Merrimack,” and is oftentimes confused with the USS Merrimac, a 684-ton side-wheel steamship built by England and captured by USS Iroquois in 1863. 

Other disputes in the correct usage of the ship are more widely known.  The Monitor Merrimac Bridge tunnel, which connects the Peninsula to the Hampton Roads Beltway, is one such example.  Similarly, one of the showcases at the 1907 Jamestown Exposition in Hampton Roads, VA was a diorama of the “Battle of the Merrimac and the Monitor.”  According to one source, the amount of tickets sold to the event at one point exceeded Exposition attendance.  Sterling silver spoons sold at the Exposition commemorated the Merrimac and Monitor, not the Virginia.  This may seem rather odd as the event itself was held in close proximity to the 8-9 March engagement itself. 

Source: www.souvenirspoons.com

One of the more interesting examples of the battle over the Virginia and Merrimack was included in The Daybook, the official publication of the Hampton Roads Naval Museum.  The article was titled the “First Annual Bamboozle Awards,” given to those ships which best exemplify the strange and curious throughout American naval history.  The last “award” was given to the CSS Virginia under the category “Most Confusing.”  Calhoun, writing in Clark Kent fashion as the “Museum Sage,” says it best:

“No vessel has been so confused and verbally abused as this ship. Many visitors who come to the museum see the model of this ironclad and instantly called it Merrimack. This the Sage can understand. After all that is why we have the museum here in the first place, to educate the public on Naval history. What the Sage can not understand, nor excuse, are when historians and other Civil War “experts,” refer to this ironclad as Merrimack. The Sage has seen many Civil War histories for sale in book stores written by professional historians that call the ironclad by the wrong name. Of further insult is when Merrimack is spelled without the “k.” The ship was named after the Merrimack River, thus the Merrimac spelling is incorrect.” (The Daybook)

These examples follow the same ideas put in place from the CSSVirginia.org website.  When one looks at the myriad uses of information and misinformation from the battle itself, it dulls the conflict, leaving only the ship’s name, and not the memory or pride of the men who served on her during the Civil War.  It’s dizzying, if not confusing.  More often than not, every victory for Virginia is countered by one of the Merrimack or Merrimac. 

Some will always call it Merrimack.  Others will always call it Virginia.  You can hear faint sounds of Louis Armstrong singing “Let’s Call the Whole Thing Off” in the background.  What came first, the chicken or the egg? Merrimack or Virginia?  Agree to disagree? 

Is there a way to find a resolve, or should opposing camps fight a renewed “civil war” over names?   In a conflict where thousands of books are produced each year in its memory, it seems that this renewed fight will continue not with cannon fire, but with words.  As a commemorative committee, the Civil War Navy Sesquicentennial is interested in understanding what readers of this blog feel is the best way to celebrate Virginia’s storied past.   For more information on the Civil War Navy Sesquicentennial, visit the blog here.

Print Sources

Calhoun, Gordon.  “The First Annual Bamboozle Awards.”  The Daybook.  Vol. 3, no. 6 (Sept.-Oct. 1997). 

Hoogenboom, Ari.  Gustavus Vasa Fox of the Union Navy.  Baltimore: The Johns Hopkins University Press, 2008. 

Luraghi, Raimondo.  A History of the Confederate Navy.  Annapolis: Naval Institute Press, 1996. 

Musicant, Ivan.  Divided Waters: The Naval History of the Civil War.  Edison, NJ: Castle Books, 2000. 

Websites

Civil War News (Review of Gustavus Vasa Fox of the Union Navy):

http://www.civilwarnews.com/reviews/2009br/may/gustavus_hoogenboom_b050911.html

The Official CSS Virginia Homepage:

http://www.cssvirginia.org

Naval History and Heritage Command:

http://www.history.navy.mil

http://www.history.navy.mil/library/online/cssvirginia.htm

Souvenir Spoons:

http://www.souvenirspoons.com/framesstories/merrimacandmonitor.html