by Jim Musgrave
As they entered the exhibit, Ericsson was struck by the life-like quality of the wax figures. The first display, a collection of Mexican Generals from the war, looked life-like and realistic, down to the touches of green guacamole sauce left on the beard of General Antonio Lopez de Santa Anna Perez de Lebron, as he dined in his tent with his "Yellow Rose of Texas," the voluptuous mulatto slave, Emily Morgan.
"He looks so authentic one would expect him to break into Spanish!" said Greene, chuckling.
"Yes, I've read that Mrs. Pelby studied under the famous Madame Tussaud in Paris. When I was in Europe, I saw her Chamber of Horrors. It featured quite frightening depictions of notorious murderers throughout history," Ericsson pointed out.
The mechanical panoramic pictures next attracted their attention. The first was a "Vue du Pont Neuf a Paris"-steamers in motion, carriages passing, and omnibuses proceeding to their respective stations-all beautifully represented. The next picture was a steam engine in operation. The third was a scissors-grinder at work. The fourth depicted stonecutters sawing a block of marble. The fifth picture was a railroad bridge, with cars passing over. The seventh showed opera-dancers, with all gayety and beauty. The eighth was the musical concert of monkeys. They noticed the delicacy of the principal performer's touch, the motion of his fingers, the beating of his foot to the tune; the leader was beating time and accompanying the music with his voice.
"How is it these mechanical wonders are so much more entertaining as works of art?" Ericsson asked, as he was an inventor who really had no use for seeing inventions in their reality. "I have always enjoyed the abstract quality of invention more than the final result. I suppose I am more of an artist than an engineer."
"That's fine, Captain. My father is quite similar to you in that respect. I remember his spending fourteen hours designing the decorative display of our Christmas tree, but he spent not one second doing the work!" Greene said.
"I say! Come over here! This display is quite fascinating," Ericsson called to the younger man. He was standing beside the recreation of "The Last Supper of Our Lord, with Disciples." Inside the alcove, the Michelangelo painting was depicted with wax figures for all twelve disciples and Jesus. The figure of Judas was quite striking, and he seemed to be skulking, looking down in obvious guilt.
"And here, they have the trial of Jesus before Pontius Pilate," said Greene, moving up to the next exhibit. Ericsson, still observing the details of The Last Supper, finally moved on to where Greene was standing, in the shadows, in front of the trial. Jesus stood on a raised platform, and there were several Roman soldiers also standing to the sides, armed with swords, spears and shields.
"I'm glad we'll be traveling together after this battle. I really believe we will have a much more fulfilling life on Easter Island," said Ericsson, putting a fatherly arm around the younger man's shoulders and looking into his dark, youthful face. There was a look of sublime innocence in Greene's countenance that Ericsson had admired from the moment they first met. It was this innocence that the elder man had lost many years before, but he wanted very much to recapture it.
Greene was staring ahead, observing the trial figures, when one of the figures moved! Yes, he could clearly see it. The wax soldier on the left was moving an arm under his tunic!
Before the gun could be drawn, Greene pushed Ericsson as hard as he could toward the other side of the room. "Get out! He's got a gun!" he shouted, and they both ran toward the exit, about fifty feet away.
"Stop! Traitors!" yelled Booth, pointing at Ericsson and pulling the trigger of his Colt pistol. The bullet ricocheted off one of the columns of granite next to Ericsson's head. Greene pushed the older man down to the ground, and Ericsson gasped in panic. Others in the room stampeded for the exits, and the women and children screamed in terror.
The second shot hit Ericsson, and he grunted from the impact and the immediate rush of pain. "Christ! I'm hit!" he yelled.
Two policemen were running into the museum, their pistols drawn. The Roman soldier had disappeared behind the curtain on the raised platform. He had knocked down the wax figure of Jesus in his haste to depart.
Chapter Thirty-Two: Hospital
March 7, 1862, New York City
John Ericsson was rushed over by police carriage to St. Luke's Hospital adjacent to Columbia University that was located at Madison Avenue and 49th Street. Lieutenant Greene rode over with him. The bullet had gone through his left arm, at the elbow, and the blood flow was stopped with a tourniquet. The police found the bullet lodged inside the wall, and they extracted it, hoping they could find a gun to match. Nobody had reported seeing any strangers near the Wax Museum, and there were no witnesses to the shooting other than Ericsson and Greene. Most of the people reacted when the shots were fired, but they did not see who fired.
Greene stood at the side of the bed as the doctor; a tall, thin and graying Union Officer named Laidlaw administered a dressing to Ericsson's arm. "He'll be recuperating for a few days, but he should be fine," said Dr. Laidlaw.
"Thank goodness for small favors!" said Ericsson, sitting up in the bed and scowling. "How am I supposed to be there when my ship gets underway to attack that Confederate monster in Hampton Roads?"
"Don't worry, Captain, we'll take care of everything. You must think of your health," said Greene, gazing out the window at a pigeon cooing on the ledge.
"Oh, you damned Romantic! What do you know about war?" Ericsson burst out, but he immediately regretted what he said. "I'm sorry, my boy. I'm just completely frustrated by being locked-in like this. I'm not used to being confined."
"You'll not get any better by leaving this hospital," said the doctor. "In fact, you might even get worse."
"All right, all right! I shall stay restrained in this mummy costume. Mister Greene, I want you to write to me every day you're aboard ship. I want to know every second's detail about your mission," said Ericsson, pulling at the long sling on his arm, which was attached to a suspension device connected to the wall.
"Don't worry, Captain. I'll give you a detailed report every day. Would you like Teletype messages as well, once we get into the heat of battle?" said Greene.
"Yes, by all means. I want to know exactly how the battle goes," Ericsson responded, and he winked at Greene, hoping to give the young man the inner message.
"I think Captain Ericsson now needs rest. There will be a Union guard stationed outside this door, day and night, until he gets well enough to leave," said the doctor, and he opened the door for Greene to leave.
Greene stood at the door a moment. "Sir, I am so sorry about what happened. I should have jumped in front of you. It's all my fault."
Ericsson laughed, "Nonsense! They were lying in wait for me, and nothing was going to stop that assassin from his duty. This is war, Mister Greene, and it most likely won't be our final confrontation with such devious forces. You stay safe and accomplish your mission. That's all I care about."
"Aye, aye, Sir!" said Greene, saluting and going out the door.
Chapter Thirty-Three: Buck the Berserker
March 8, 1862, Hampton Roads, Virginia
Admiral Franklin Buchanan came aboard the Virginia at 0630 hours. As the only veteran in the South who knew how the Union Navy conducted the business of war, "Old Buck" at 62, was a natural selection for the duty he was chosen to accomplish. His tall, Irish presence was immediately felt by the crew as he was piped aboard by the boatswain, one William Ranger, a former shopkeeper from Richmond, who had just that morning discovered what it was like to be aboard a vessel that moved on water. Buck was the first officer chosen to preside over the new Midshipmen's Academy at Annapolis, Maryland.
The crew that day believed they were going to go out to test their new ship, as the newly laid armor was still untried, and the cannons had yet to be test fired. When they saw their new Captain come aboard, they quickly began to rush around to get the ship ready for sea. However, this task was not a very pretty sight, as most of these men had never before served
aboard a seagoing vessel. As Buck saluted the boatswain's mate and came aboard, he watched the men as they tripped all over themselves attempting to do the bidding of the petty officers, whose voices rang out with impatience all over the deck. "Get that gun crew amidships! Admiral's come aboard; we've got to heave to, men! Blast it all; what are you doing over there?" Many of the men were slopping grease on the slanted black iron casing, which made the vessel look, from a distance, like the roof of a huge barn that was belching smoke. The grease was put there to deflect the cannon fire of the enemy.
Buchanan finally found Commander Catesby Ap Roger Jones on the bow, attempting to show a young seaman how to hoist the Command Flag of the James River Squadron. "Give her a pull, Sailor. Hand over hand, like this!" Jones shouted, demonstrating for the lad.
"Commander, please come with me to my cabin. I need to speak with you before we get underway." Buchanan strode away from the two men, waving his hand forward, as if he were summoning his favorite hunting dog.
"Aye, Admiral! I'll be right there. Sailor, you finish this up. I'll have someone come to check on your work," said Jones, quickly following after his commanding officer who had already entered the side hatch leading to Officers' Country.
Admiral Buchanan was like a man possessed. He knew his plan, as he had spent many sleepless nights going over it in his mind like a repeating dream. He was the only officer who volunteered to command such a ship as the Virginia, and he did so because he had spoken with John Brooke, and he had seen his designs for the armor plating and the new rifled cannons to be placed on board. Buck knew it was the chance of a lifetime to command such a ship, and his daring nature drew him to the task with an increased fervor. There had been a terrific storm on March 7th, and Buck's plan to attack had to be postponed for the 8th.
When Commander Jones entered the Admiral's cabin, Buchanan was busy laying out a map of the Hampton Roads harbor. He began drawing a series of lines and "x" marks on the map, looking up at Jones from time to time, a crazed, almost demonic expression on his face. Jones could think of the only comparison he knew. The Flag Officer of the Confederate Navy looked like a Berserker, the Scandinavian warrior who was so ferocious in battle that he often shape-shifted into the form of a wolf, bear and other species of terrible animal. Jones expected Buchanan to morph into said beast at any moment.
"Commander, we will be attacking without mercy. There is no other way to defeat these frigates with our inexperienced crew. They have never experienced the ravages of war, and I'm concerned if they don't get their baptism of fire, then we may not be able to carry on." Buchanan moved his large hand over the first "x."
"This Cumberland will be our first victim. She's the only Yankee ship with a gun capable of penetrating our armor. I'm going to ram her, Commander. This will also give our men the baptism they will need. Until they can see what killing means—up close—they will never be any good to us." The Admiral's face took on a hard aspect, like a man who has resigned himself to death long ago.
"Buck, I know you're right about this. You were the head of the Naval Academy, and I trust your judgment about young men. But, don't you think you had better give these boys some kind of a speech before we attack the center of the blockade? They deserve your inspiration, at the least, don't you agree?"
Buchanan stood up straight and gazed steadily into the eyes of his old friend. "You know I wouldn't pass up a good speech, Jonesy. That's why they give us the big responsibilities, am I correct? Muster the men on the gun decks when we enter the harbor. I'll tell them just before we make our run at the Cumberland. We are making naval history, and they should never forget our cause."
"Yes, and when we pierce this ship with our fifteen- hundred pound ram, the others will come to her aid. These Yankees don't know the depths of our harbor, Admiral. They'll be grounded on the shoals in no time. They'll be like sitting ducks." Catesby smiled.
"And it's a fine day for Southern duck hunting, Jonesy.
And we've got the guns to blast em!"
* * *
Several foreign ships were anchored in Hampton Roads that day, and the officers aboard the sloop-of-war Gassendi, which had been moored there for months anticipating the confrontation between the Monitor and the Virginia, were the first to spot the giant ironclad as she moved past Craney Island. The captain of the Gassendi began a betting pool that morning, and most of the wagers were in favor of the giant Virginia and against the Union vessel. Rumor had circulated that Napoleon III had rejected the plans for the Monitor years before, and this new ship looked as menacing as a "half-submerged crocodile."
The Southern community had assembled along the banks of the Elizabeth and James Rivers to watch the first confrontation between a steam-powered ironclad and wooden ships. Many people were chattering, cheering and pointing at the monster as she moved into view around the peninsula on a clear, mild late-winter morning.
The powerful Federal blockading fleet had no warning that the giant Virginia was approaching. It was "wash day" for the Union Navy, and the ships' crew was blinded by the hundreds of uniforms—blues on the port side and whites on the starboard side—hanging from the rigging of each vessel.
Admiral Buchanan and Commander Jones watched this strange and colorful sight as they steamed into the harbor. Buck knew it was time to call the men to arms. "Commander, have the men assemble on the gun deck on the double!"
"Aye, aye, Admiral!" said Jones, and he gave the order to the Master-at-Arms. Soon, the entire crew, except for the underway watch, was assembled in uneven lines along the gigantic gun deck of the Virginia. The Boatswain blew his whistle, and Admiral Buchanan entered the hatch and stood in front of his men. Commander Jones stood at attention next to him.
"Men, this is not a drill. We are going after these damned blockaders and free our new Confederacy from this tyrannical monster! I know most of you have never seen combat on the water, and I am here to encourage you. The enemy would have you forget your families and your friends and give in to their domination. The South cannot exist without the freedom to determine our own destiny! These men we fight want to take this freedom from you, and we cannot permit it! Many men will lose their lives today, but one thing is certain. You have chosen to fight rather than to submit to tyranny. Now, for the sacred honor of our Confederate States of America, and for our families, who look to us for protection, you must now go to your guns!"
Chapter Thirty-Four: Attack!
March 8, 1862, Hampton Roads, Virginia
The Virginia's immediate targets were the U.S.S. Congress and the U.S.S. Cumberland, both of which were sailing ships, without steam power, and therefore extremely vulnerable. Once Buchanan had disposed of those two, circumstances would dictate where he would strike next. There would be plenty of choices.
Also in the Roads for the Northern blockade were two sister ships of the Merrimack, the steam frigates Minnesota and Roanoke, as well as the steamer Cambridge, the store ship Brandywine, the sloop of war St. Lawrence, three coal ships, a hospital ship, five tugboats, a side-wheeler steamer, and a sailing bark, altogether a large, well-manned squadron mounting a total of 188 guns. Against this powerful force Buchanan had the ten-gun Virginia, along with a ragtag assortment of castoffs, including the twelve-gun Patrick Henry, the two-gun Jamestown, and the Teaser, Beaufort, and Raleigh, all of one gun, for a total of twenty-seven guns.
Buchanan had received a letter from Confederate Naval Secretary Mallory dated March 7 that dramatically expressed the high hopes for the Virginia held by the South, and incorporated the worst fears of the North: "I submit for your consideration the attack of New York by the Virginia. Can the Virginia steam to New York and attack and burn the city? She can, I doubt not, pass Old Point safely, and in good weather and a smooth sea she could doubtless go to New York. Once in the bay she could shell and burn the city and the shipping. Such an event would eclipse all the glories of all the combats of the sea, would place every man in it preeminently high, and would strike a blow from which the enemy
could never recover. Peace would inevitably follow. Bankers would withdraw their capital from the city, the Brooklyn navy-yard and its magazines and all the lower part of the city would be destroyed, and such an event, by a single ship, would do more to achieve an immediate independence than would the results of many campaigns. Can the ship go there? Please give me your views."
This one letter had given Buck the impetus he needed to plan his attack. Now, as he crossed the waters of the Hampton Roads harbor, he momentarily had visions of completing the Secretary's request. However, he also knew that there was another threat from the Yankees that was probably on its way at that very moment. John Ericsson's craft, the Monitor, was also an ironclad, and she was fast enough and small enough to maneuver the Roads much easier than his bulky giant. The North had put her money into developing a ship that had a revolving turret instead of many guns, and this frightened Buck. He had taught Physics at the Naval Academy, and he knew his ship was too low in the water to be able to do anything to counter a revolving cannon. His only hope would be to destroy the blockade before the Monitor arrived, and then see about getting the Virginia into Norfolk to be outfitted for a possible run up to New York.
As the sailors on board the Cumberland saw the giant ship coming at them, they really didn't know what was happening. Their superiors had not prepared them for what they now saw. The first lookout to spot her, after the U.S.S. Congress, which was passed on the way, fired a warning signal, said to his officer-of-the-deck, "Will you look here at this, Sir?
Don't she look like some half-submerged crocodile comin' at us?"
When the Virginia struck the starboard superstructure of the Cumberland, just under the fore rigging, Admiral Franklin Buchanan began to shout and pace the gun decks, urging his men forward. The daring assault had opened a seven-foot-wide wound in the Union ship's side. "We've got her now, men! Keep firing! She'll go down!"