such a seizure of the ship without authority and against orders would have been an unforgivable act. The laws of the American Navy were very clear on this point; no engineer could encroach on the prime prerogative of line officers, that of command. Rescuing the Merrimack would have demonstrated great initiative and daring, but it would also have been a most serious breach of naval discipline. Isherwood also realized, looking back over the affair, that an adequate excuse for such unauthorized action did not exist at the time, but only emerged later with the dramatic consequences of the Confederate seizure and conversion of this steam frigate into the ironclad Virginia. Yet had he rescued the Merrimack, “the disasters which followed her detention, and which are my justification for the desire to take the matter into my own hands, would not have happened,”26 thus forcing him to rely only on the saving of a fine warship to explain his actions—an insufficient excuse for the Navy.
Isherwood prepared to return to Washington, leaving behind the pride of the Navy’s steam fleet, although by this time Virginia had seceded from the Union and there was no further need to placate her citizens. Still unable to act, Commodore McCauley remained at his post, dimly hoping for the reinforcements which would never come.
Meanwhile, secessionist elements in Norfolk, outraged at Isherwood’s attempts to snatch the coveted Merrimack from their grasp, determined to capture the Engineer in Chief and to hold him as a prisoner of war. Fortunately for Isherwood, a sympathetic friend in Norfolk discovered the plot, warned the Engineer, and arranged for his secret departure. Obtaining a cabin in his own name on the regular Chesapeake Bay steamer, Isherwood’s friend boarded the ship with the Engineer in Chief’s trunk, then slipped ashore and rode to the Atlantic Hotel where Isherwood was smuggled into his carriage, which then returned to the ship. Boarding inconspicuously, Isherwood locked himself in the cabin until the steamer was safely on its way to Washington. The party of Confederates assembled on the wharf to capture him waited in vain and discovered the deception only after they had returned to the hotel in search of Isherwood.27
On the morning of April 19, the Old Bay Line steamer arrived in Washington where Isherwood and Alden, who had also decided to leave Norfolk, reported to Welles. Furious at Alden’s failure to rescue the Merrimack, the Secretary still hoped to discover a way by which the Navy Yard might be defended, but subsequent discussions with military advisors brought Welles and the President to the reluctant conclusion that the yard must fall to the Confederates.
At this point, McCauley, finally despairing of any help and expecting his yard at any moment to be overrun by Virginian troops, took the situation into his own hands. He promptly scuttled all the vessels in port, including the Merrimack, whose engines and boilers, however, were still intact. Shortly afterward, a Union naval force led by Commodore Hiram Paulding arrived at the yard and attempted to destroy the entire installation; but when the Confederate forces moved in they were able to seize not only the smoldering and partly submerged Merrimack, but also a large amount of cannon and naval stores which would later prove to be of immeasurable value to their cause.
Responsibility for the loss of the Navy Yard rested on many shoulders. Welles and Lincoln had delayed initially through fear of provoking secession. McCauley and Alden, the senile Commodore and the Commander with “heroic drawing room resolution and good intentions.” had vacillated and retreated into impotent inaction, although one might argue that they should have received more explicit and forceful orders from the Navy Department. Only Benjamin Isherwood emerged from the episode with his reputation entirely untarnished. In his circumscribed field of action, he had moved with notable speed and decision. Furthermore, he made a vigorous effort to the limits of his authority to rescue the Merrimack. Failing in this endeavor, he had no alternative but to return to Washington.
Isherwood’s importance in this episode rests on several historical might-have-been’s; for the successful removal of the Merrimack would certainly have altered the course of naval operations in the Civil War, and might have drastically changed the course of American naval technology and strategy for a generation. Without the challenge of the Confederate ironclad built on the hull and machinery of the old Merrimack, John Ericsson’s revolutionary ironclad Monitor might not have appeared or engaged in the dramatic encounter at Hampton Roads. This battle, so influential in encouraging the development of ram tactics and in starting the American Navy off on a “monitor craze” which proved to be a strategic handicap in later years, might never have occurred without the effective challenge by the formidable Confederate ironclad which, phoenix-like, had risen from the ashes of the Merrimack.
Ironically, Isherwood was to a degree fortunate in his failure to prevent the loss of the Merrimack. His actions in this situation demonstrated that energy and resourcefulness which Welles had sought in choosing his new Engineer in Chief. Free from any blame for the Merrimack’s loss, Isherwood had earned the respect and confidence of his superior; and by wisely acknowledging the limitations of his authority, he had avoided a bitter conflict with officers of the line at a time when such conflict would have shattered the effectiveness of the Union Navy.
II. Building the Union Navy
“The first act I had to perform as Engineer-in-Chief,” Isherwood later recalled, “was to prepare machinery for the war service, as the war was then upon us.”1
At the beginning of March, 1861, the American Navy consisted of ninety vessels, of which forty-two were in commission. There were only twelve stationed in the home squadron, and of these, just four ships, with twenty-five guns among them, were in Northern ports.2 To hastily reassemble a fleet spread all over the world was a difficult task for the Navy Department; far more challenging would be the effective use of these few ships.
The most obvious role for the Navy at the beginning of the Civil War was to blockade southern supply routes. This was a staggering undertaking. From Alexandria, Virginia to Brownsville, Texas stretched 3,550 miles of coast, much of which was “double coastline,” providing a continuous, shallow inner waterway in which Confederate blockade-runners and coasters could operate with relative impunity. By his institution of a formal blockade of the South on April 19, 1861, President Lincoln gave his Secretary of the Navy the task of patrolling 189 harbors and navigable river mouths with a handful of naval vessels. If it were successful, this “Anaconda Policy” of strangling the South through disrupting its trade and economy would devastate the Confederacy by attrition, while complementing the military strategy of the Union Army.3
To achieve a successful blockade, Secretary Welles had to improvise a large fleet of steamers, capable of staying continually on station without breakdown, and fast enough to discourage all but the swiftest Confederate blockade-runners. For such warships, Welles once again turned to his Engineer in Chief.
Benjamin Isherwood, in 1861, presented an appearance and manner which alone were convincing evidence of his ability to meet the Secretary’s most stringent demands. Isherwood was a heavy-set man, with immensely broad shoulders and a thick chest. Although five feet, ten inches in height, he did not appear to be that tall because of his massive frame; yet his quick movements and alert manner dispelled any impression of corpulence. And the combination of his dark, masculine features, curly hair, and sensitive, if often forbidding countenance, won him an accolade as “the handsomest man in Washington” during the Civil War.4
Although reputed to be a great conversationalist, especially with the ladies of the Capital, Isherwood was not the charming bon vivant his well-meaning friends have portrayed. Passionately devoted to thoroughness and accuracy, and indifferent to his personal reputation with others, Isherwood was not an easy companion. His enormous energies far exceeded those of most of his associates; and his basic impatience, under the pressure of the war years, grew into an unremitting intolerance of stupidity, laziness, and error. He had neither time nor desire to cultivate people, regardless of their importance, and this
