Stricken by the President’s pain and suffering, Cameron could not speak. He rose, head shaking with remorse, and slowly left the room.

The James River cuts through Virginia, the heart of the Confederacy. After leaving Richmond, the Confederate capital, it rolls slowly through the rich countryside toward the sea. It is joined by the Elizabeth River just before it flows into the wide estuary known as Hampton Roads.

A chill mist rose from the surface of the Elizabeth River this March morning, the first light of dawn barely penetrating. Gaunt trees lined the riverbanks; a bluejay sat on a limb overhanging the water, singing coarsely — then was suddenly silent. Disturbed by the dark form that had appeared out of the mist below he took fright and flew off. Birdsong was replaced by a gasping sound, like the breath of some water monster. The monster itself slid slowly into sight, its breath the puffing of a steam engine, dark smoke roiling up from a single, tall funnel.

It was steel-plated, slant-sided, slow and ungainly, its forward motion barely able to stir ripples from the river’s glassy surface. As it slipped by it could be seen that its gray armored flanks were pierced with gun ports, now shut and sealed; an immense ram was fixed to the ship’s bow. An armored pilot house was on the foredeck just above the four-foot iron beak. Inside the pilot house the ship’s commanding officer, Flag Officer Franklin Buchanan, stood behind the helmsman at the wheel.

He was not a happy man. His ship was a clobbered together collection of compromises. Her wooden hull was the burnt shell of the USS Merrimack, fired by the Yankees when they had retreated from Norfolk and the great naval yard there. That sodden hull was supposed to be the salvation of the Confederacy. The burnt strakes and hull had been cut away until sound wood was reached. Onto this hull had been constructed an armored superstructure of pine and oak, covered with iron cladding, to shield the ten large guns that she carried. Now the Merrimack, renamed the CSS Virginia, was going into battle for the first time. And painfully slowly. The single-cylinder engine, always feeble and under-powered, had been under water for a long time before the hull was raised and it was salvaged. The engine was old and badly maintained to begin with, it had suffered no good during its immersion. Nor was the engine equal to the task of moving the heavy craft at more than the feeble speed of five knots.

But they were at least under way at last and the ship would soon taste battle. They would have attacked earlier but severe spring storms had lashed the coast for days, sending mountainous seas rolling across the bay and crashing into the shore. The shallow draft Virginia would never have survived. But now the storm had ended, the waves died down during the night — and the ironclad could finally be put to the test.

Flag Officer Buchanan turned and clambered partway down the steps to the engine room, called out loudly above the clanking and hiss of steam.

“Too slow, Lieutenant Jones, too slow by far. Can we not raise more steam?” The grease-covered officer shouted back.

“No, sir. This is the most we can do. I have too much pressure as it is — any more and something will blow.”

Buchanan went back to his station. As they clanked slowly out into the James River they were joined by four small wooden sidewheel gunboats. The Patrick Henry was the largest, mounting a total of six guns, but the tiny Teaser had only a single gun.

This was the force that was to challenge the might of the warships of the United States Navy.

The mist was gone now as they slowly chugged out into the open waters of Hampton Roads. Once past Norfolk they would be in the open sea.

Where they would face the blockading Yankee warships, for here was where the throttling blockade began. So vital was this entrance to the heart of the Confederacy that a small fleet of Union ships was stationed here. Buchanan had never seen them, but he had received daily reports of their strength and condition.

Here were the 40-gun steam frigates Roanoke and Minnesota. Accompanying them were the sailing frigates the 50-gun Congress and Cumberland with 24 guns. Over 150 cannon in complete control of the entrance to the Charles River. He knew that it would take at least another small fleet to defeat them. The South did not have a fleet.

All that they had was this single, botched together and untried ironclad. And four tiny, unarmored steamboats.

Never tested in battle, ludicrous and rumbling, almost leisurely, the CSS Virginia steered for the blockading ships.

“Ports open,” Buchanan shouted. “Prepare for action!”

The lookout on the USS Mount Vernon, the ship closest to shore, saw smoke appear above Sewall’s Point and thought a fire had been lit. He was about to report it when the dark shape emerged into view. A ship, but what kind of a ship? Its length shortened as the bow swung toward him and he raised the alarm. He may not have seen a vessel like this before — but he could recognize the Confederate flag at her stern. This could very well be the armorclad craft they had all been expecting, the ship that was supposed to bring victory to the South.

The Mount Vernon raised a signal flag to alert the fleet. It was not noticed. Her captain ordered a gun to be fired at the approaching ironclad. This single shot was the first shot fired in the Battle of Hampton Roads.

Puffing leisurely up the South Channel toward the anchored warships the Virginia looked more ridiculous than menacing. Until her gun ports opened and the black muzzles of her guns appeared. Buchanan singled out Cumberland for his first attack. Still a mile away she opened fire with the bow gun loaded with grape shot that killed or wounded the crew at the pivot gun.

The drums sounded beat to quarters on the Northern frigate and the crew ran to their stations. But the attack was so sudden and unexpected that they even had washing suspended from the rigging. They did their best. The crew swarmed aloft to set sail while the guncrews leaned into the tackle. Within scant minutes the Cumberland’s guns roared their first broadside. The attacker was closer now and the broadside of solid shot crashed into Virginia’s armor plating, four inches of thick iron that was backed by two feet of pine and oak.

The shot hit — and bounced away. None penetrated the armor nor did they slow in any way her steady and ponderous approach.

“Steady,” Buchanan said to the coxswain, “steady.” The ironclad’s armor rang like a giant bell as the round shot struck and screamed away. “Hold her there — I want to hit the hull midship.”

Before the frigate’s guns could be loaded again the ram struck Cumberland with a tremendous crash, driving into her wooden hull and through it. Water gushed in through the immense opening and the ship commenced to sink — threatening to drag the ironclad down with her.

“Full speed astern!”

The threat was a real one and the Virginia’s forward deck was already under water. There was the constant crack of lead on iron as marksmen on the Cumberland fired their muskets at point-blank range. They were no more effective than the cannon had been.

But the Virginia had condemned herself. Her feeble engine could not drag her free of the sinking ship. Water was already flooding onto her deck, splashing through ventilation openings under her armor. The hope of the South was being destroyed in her first ship action.

But the strain on the ram was too much — it broke off and the ironclad was free. As the Virginia backed away the ocean poured through the gaping opening in the other ship’s hull. The attacker turned its attention toward the rest of the fleet.