The Wind Along the River by Jacquelyn Cook

Author:Jacquelyn Cook [Cook, Jacquelyn]
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BelleBooks Inc.

Chapter 9

Catesby Jones? Who is he? How can one man—make such a difference?” Emma stammered. “How can everything change so quickly?” The excitement in Jonathan’s voice had carried around the entrance hall. The men pressed closer. The ladies paused, draped along the staircase, dabbing at dripping curls.

With all eyes upon him, Jonathan explained. “Jones is a hero of one of our greater Confederate victories! It will be handed down in history as one of the prime achievements of this war,” he declared in ringing tones. “The first battle between ships of iron!”

“Iron?”

“Iron ships?”

Curiosity buzzed through the group. Some of the girls shrugged and continued up the stairs to change their rain-soaked frocks, but Emma remained. Clinging to the banister, she strained to see Jonathan’s face. A sickened feeling that this news held portent for her life with him made her clutch her hands together as he shared news he had received.

“As you all know, when the United States Navy left the Grosport Navy Yard across from Norfolk when Virginia seceded, they didn’t have time to take all their vessels so they set some afire. There was one, the USS Merrimack, which burned to the waterline and sank.” His dark eyes were gleaming with excitement. “Our men have raised her hull, cut off the sides, and covered what was left with iron plates. They renamed their armored warship the CSS Virginia.”

Emma plucked at the wet dimity clinging to her throat and held her breath. Jonathan had completely forgotten her presence.

“Can’t you just imagine what she looked like?” He gestured wildly. “The five Yankee vessels dozing in the harbor at Hampton Roads must have thought a giant turtle had risen from the sea sprouting guns. The Cumberland opened fire; but the shells bounced off that hard shell, and the Virginia—or Merrimack, if you please—took one snap at the Cumberland’s wooden sides and sank her, then burned the Congress with red-hot shot from her guns.”

A cheer resounded through the entry hall.

“Lieutenant Jones was the executive officer—wait . . . ” Jonathan held up his hand to stifle another cheer. “There’s more. The next morning when they returned to finish the job, an iron raft came out to meet them, the Federals’ ironclad, the Monitor. She was only a quarter the size of the Virginia with only one gun set in the center like a big, round cheesebox, but . . . ,” he paused for effect, “it revolved—making it a hopeless target.”

“The battle lasted four hours,” Horry Dent piped up from the doorway, unable to control his excitement. “Thousands of people stood on the shore cheering them on.”

“When Admiral Buchanan was severely wounded, Jones became commander and dueled the Monitor,” Jonathan continued. “They finally withdrew. Neither could do much harm to the other’s iron sides.”

“All the old navies of the world will be useless,” shouted Myles Collier above the ensuing clamor. “We’ll have to discard wooden vessels and build ironclads—” He started for the door as if ready to begin, then stopped short,

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