USS Cairo gets a much-needed deep cleaning at Vicksburg. The hope is one day the ironclad removed from the Yazoo River will be moved inside to safeguard its future

A conservator studies the white oak and yellow pine used in construction (NPS photo)

The first step in ensuring long-term protection of the remnants of USS Cairo, the first armored vessel sunk by an electrically detonated torpedo, has included the removal of 555 pounds of dirt and debris – and counting.

Terra Mare Conservation has been at Vicksburg National Military Park in Mississippi since September, conducting dry and wet cleaning of the canopy-covered Union vessel. Park officials say it’s the first time in more than a decade the vessel has undergone “critically needed cleaning and conservation work.”

Superintendent Carrie A. Mardorf told the Picket in an email that nothing is being rebuilt or replaced. “The NPS is taking a strictly preservation approach to the gunboat.”

Terra Mare also is repairing and stabilizing any damaged areas of the white oak and yellow pine used in construction. Corrosion on the bow and cannons is being treated and paint is being touched up.

The Cairo and accompanying museum officially opened in 1980 (NPS)

The ironclad sank in the Yazoo River on Dec. 12, 1862, after it struck a floating Confederate mine. It went down in 12 minutes. Recovered in the 1960s, the Cairo has been a popular draw at the Civil War park since the late 1970s.

The park has posted a couple updates on Facebook, prompting some commenters to ask why the famed wreck is not in a building, away from the elements..

“Enclosing the USS Cairo in an interior setting with climate control is ultimately the best way to preserve the boat for future generations,” Mardorf told the Picket. “All of the recent science and studies that the park has completed in the past year recommend protecting the gunboat with an interior enclosure; however, doing so would require specialized construction funding.”

Congress is currently considering reauthorization of the Great American Outdoors Act (GAOA), she said. “If renewed, GAOA may provide some funding for the long-term preservation of the USS Cairo.”

Recent work on the site and vacuum bags containing dirt and debris (NPS)

For now, conservators are giving the warship TLC and a top-to-bottom cleaning, removing dirt, dust, pollen, rodent and bird nests, bird guano and trash.

“The biggest surprise thus far has been the amount of dirt removed. As Terra Mare cleans, they are learning a lot more about the condition of the wood and metals, which will be summarized in a final report for the park,” said Mardorf.

The team this week is cleaning the metal pilot house and boilers.

Work is expected to conclude in mid-November. Further temporary closures of the exhibit are possible to protect the public from airborne particles.

The USS Cairo has been treated with a variety of chemical sprays and coatings since the 1970s. Additional studies will be carried out to determine if fungal and insect infestations are present, according to a park summary of the project. “Long-term, the park will embark on a regular, cyclic cleaning and conservation schedule for the ship.”

Mardorf says all of what the public sees is original, with the exception of the 1980s Glulam structure that holds the boat in place.  

The end comes in the Yazoo River above Vicksburg

The USS Cairo’s fame has far exceeded its brief history. Built in a hurry in Mound City, Ill., and commissioned in January 1862, the ironclad sank only 11 months later.

The USS Cairo at anchor in 1862 (Library of Congress)

At 175 feet long and with a top speed of six knots, the vessel carried 13 guns and 251 officers and men. Seven shallow-draft City Class river ironclads prowled the Mississippi River and connecting shallow waterways, menacing Confederate supply lines and shore batteries, the National Park Service says.

The Cairo saw limited action at Plum Point (Fort Pillow), Tenn., in May 1862 and Memphis the following month. Before the Federal attack on Haynes Bluff, Cairo skipper Lt. Cmdr. Thomas O. Selfridge Jr. (below) led a small flotilla of gunboats into the hazardous confines of the Yazoo River on Dec. 12, 1862.

“Tasked with destroying Confederate batteries and clearing the river of torpedoes (underwater mines) the flotilla inched its way up the murky waters. As the Cairo reached a point seven miles north of Vicksburg the flotilla came under fire and the aggressive Selfridge ordered his guns to the ready and called for full steam, bringing the ironclad into action,” the NPS says.

“Seconds later, disaster struck. Cairo was rocked by two explosions in quick succession. The first tore and gaping hole into the port (left) bow of the wooden hulled ironclad. The second detonated a moment later near the armored belt amidships on the starboard side. The hole on the bow proved to be catastrophic.”

Selfridge ordered the Cairo to be beached and the crew to abandon ship. The Cairo slid from the river bank into 36 feet of water with no loss of life. About a half dozen sailors were injured.

Mud protected the ironclad for almost 100 years

The ill-fated ironclad disappeared into history for nearly a century.

Using maps and an old military compass, the legendary Ed Bearss, a historian at Vicksburg National Military Park at the time, and two comrades found the mud-encased ironclad in 1956.

Despite financial shortfalls, barge problems and a zero-visibility river that deposited silt at an alarming rate, the vessel was eventually raised in 1960 and 1964-65.

A portion of the casemate rests on a barge in the Yazoo River (NPS)

Hopes of lifting the ironclad and her cargo of artifacts intact were crushed in October 1964 when the three-inch cables being used to lift the Cairo cut deeply into its wooden hull. It then became a question of saving as much of the vessel as possible. The decision was made to recover the USS Cairo in three sections.

Barges carried the remnants to Pascagoula, Ms. The wreck was moved in 1977 to the Vicksburg park, where it was partially reconstructed and placed on a concrete foundation.

The recovery of artifacts revealed a trove of weapons, munitions, naval stores, and personal property that help tell the story of the sailors that once called the ship home, according to the NPS.

The USS Monitor overcame doubters. Its crew trusted the ironclad, even during the terrible storm that sank the famous ironclad.

Monitor crew in July 1862 on James River in Va.  (Library of Congress)

Robert Williams (right)

On a summer day in 1862, a contingent of the USS Monitor’s crew gathered in front of its battle-scarred turret. A few sailors played checkers while others gazed toward a camera.

None of them looked more intensely at the photographer than Robert Williams, a fireman first class from Wales. His sleeves were rolled up, exposing his brawny, crossed forearms.

“There is a cockiness,” said David Alberg, superintendent of the Monitor National Marine Sanctuary, which protects the remnants of the Monitor. “That is the look of the hero.”

But that air of confidence couldn’t have been predicted just a few months before.

On March 6, 1862, the new Union ironclad – its radical design dubbed “Ericsson’s folly” by its doubters -- steamed down New York City’s East River for the short journey to Virginia. There were doubts about whether the Monitor could withstand the seas and intense enemy firepower; it fired only two cannons from the revolving turret.

“People thought these 70 men were going to their deaths,” Alberg told the Picket. “The crew was unconvinced. Many were seasick.”

But the small ship quickly challenged the heavily armored CSS Virginia upon arrival and ended the latter’s rampage against Federal ships. The stalemate at Hampton Road changed naval warfare and foreshadowed the end of wooden warships.

Harper's Weekly rendering of Monitor sinking (public domain)

While much of the USS Monitor’s wreckage remains where it sank during a storm off Cape Hatteras, N.C, on Dec. 31, 1862, the turret, guns, anchor, engine components and thousands of artifacts are housed at the Mariners’ Museum and Park in Newport News, Va.

An exhibit that opened last year features personal items – including shoes, a comb, buttons and pocket knives -- found near or with the remains of two sailors found in the turret when it was recovered in 2002. Sixteen men, including four officers, perished when the Monitor went down.

Despite advanced forensics testing and physical descriptions of sailors noted during their Civil War service, the identities of the two crew members remain unknown.

Sailor 1 is believed to be William H. Eagan, 21, or Jacob Nicklis (Nickles), 21. Sailor 2 is likely either William Bryan, 31, or Williams, 30, who worked in the engine room. A spoon on display has the initials “J.N.” and is believed to have belonged to Nicklis. In the top photo in this post, Bryan may be the kneeling man to Williams' right.

Judging from contemporary accounts and what was found in the turret (discarded footwear, silverware and clothing), there was a mad rush to escape through the turret when it became clear the Monitor was going to sink.

David Alberg

Lifeboats from the steamer USS Rhode Island, which was towing the ironclad to Beaufort, N.C., plowed through 30-foot waves to scoop up survivors in midnight maelstrom. Some onboard likely couldn’t swim, while others’ best chance was leaping from the deck into a rescue boat.

It’s unclear why the two men found in the turret remained on board. “They probably said, ‘Maybe the storm will lie down and they will send another boat back,’” said Alberg.

In the minds of the crew, he said, the ironclad had gone from an “iron coffin” on March 6 to an icon in December. “And it had served them well.” Amid the storm, their confidence “kept them on that boat.” 

USS Monitor was 'a strange ship'

Like much of the US Navy, the Monitor’s crew was a cross-section of 19^th century America. A few, including Williams and Eagan, were born in Europe. Three African-Americans were lost with the vessel off Hatteras.

The crew lived below the waterline, and oil lamps burned to make up for the lack of natural light in the iron vessel. Officers had better food and quarters while the enlisted men slept on hammocks in a common room behind the wardroom.

The USS Monitor is a “strange ship” for those accustomed to canal boats and traditional wooden vessels, said John Quarstein, director emeritus of the USS Monitor Center at the museum. For example, it had pressurized commodes. “Half of those people had never seen a commode.”

As one can imagine, life on the boat was almost unbearable during the summer months. A photo taken after the CSS Virginia clash shows a shade awning above the turret.

The crew did a fair bit of drilling, said Quarstein, and their work was subject to weekly inspections.

Panels in crew exhibit at Mariners' Museum (Picket photos)

Not a lot is known about Bryan and Eagan.

Bryan, like Williams, served on the ironclad during the battle with the Virginia. The New York native was an experienced yeoman.

Nicklis and Eagan, a relatively inexperienced landsman born in Ireland, were replacements brought on at the Washington Navy Yard while the boat was undergoing repairs in the autumn of 1862. By then, crowds cheered the Monitor and its occupants.

A good bit is known about Nicklis because of surviving letters in the museum’s collection, written to his father from Oct. 27, 1862, to Dec. 28, 1862. The young seaman from Buffalo, New York, stood 5 feet 7 inches and had a ruddy complexion.

Nicklis had enlisted in the Navy at age 16, but re-enlisted in 1862 for a one-year term.

Officers on the deck in July 1862 (Library of Congress)

Throughout his letters, Nicklis expresses his misgiving on serving on board the Monitor. He states that the turret is “getting weak” and that “they say we will have a pretty rough time a going around Hatteras but I hope it will not be the case.” 

The USS Monitor returned to Hampton Roads in November after it was repaired, and then it was ordered on Christmas Eve to steam to Beaufort.

Terrifying storm put it under

The pride of the US Navy left on Dec. 29, 1862. Two days later, it encountered a strong storm that had it floundering in the Atlantic waves. Not built to withstand the forces of the open seas, the ironclad bounced up and down, resulting in loosened bolts that allowed water to come in.

Landsman Francis Butts, standing atop the structure, later wrote that the waves “would leap upon us and break far above the turret” with “a shock that would sometimes take us off our feet.”

Commander John Bankhead ordered a red lantern (right) be hoisted to signal distress to the Rhode Island. The line between the two vessels was cut to minimize the chance of them colliding. The flooding continued during the rescues by leaky and overloaded lifeboats. Eventually, Bankhead ordered the crew to abandon ship.

Quarstein, author of “The Monitor Boys,” called the rescue of 47 USS Monitor crew members “a tremendous story of heroism” by the crew of the Rhode Island’s commander, Stephen Decatur Trenchard.

There was no requirement at the time of being a proficient swimmer, and most of the men knew if they fell into the water they were lost. A few slipped off the deck to their deaths, while others missed lifeboats.

“The people who are left in the turret when the second boat goes back, they are called to get into the boat by Bankhead. They are either too afraid or they think the boat is so overloaded.”

Rhode Island Acting Master’s Mate D. Rodney Browne and members of his crew rowed back for them (at least one member of the USS Monitor crew was below deck). The USS Monitor was gone.

Quarstein estimates about half of the 16 who died drowned, while the remaining went down when the USS Monitor capsized, turned over and hit the bottom.

Clash of the CSS Virginia and Monitor (Library of Congress)

Deep affection for Monitor's service

The USS Monitor retains its special place in US naval history. While it never engaged with the CSS Virginia again (the latter was destroyed to avoid capture after it was bottled up by the Monitor), the boat took part in the Battle of Drewry’s Bluff, firing on a Confederate fort on Virginia’s James River.

But it’s best remembered for its heroics on March 9, 1862, a day after the Virginia sank the USS Cumberland and pulverized the USS Congress, which was set afire after capture.

The Monitor’s skipper at the time, Lt. John Worden, was ordered to protect the steam frigate USS Minnesota. The Virginia plowed toward the Minnesota but the Monitor interceded and the two circled for hours, firing broadsides and looking for weakness in the other’s armor. Both sides claimed victory.

The Minnesota was saved outright by the Monitor. According to the USS Monitor Center, “One Minnesota crew member had his tombstone designed to look like the Monitor -- the ship that saved his life.”

Fast forward to March 2013, when the remains of the two unidentified men found in the turret were buried with full military honors at Arlington National Cemetery. (The bodies of the other 14 have not been recovered)

Reverse of coin has image of old USS Minnesota (NOAA)

Alberg, the superintendent of the Monitor marine sanctuary, told the Picket he has vivid memories of the day. About 140 descendants of the crew were on hand. “Some were of men who clearly survived. I have a photo of a lady laying her hands on the casket. I was very moved at how all 140 people viewed them as theirs.”

Front of coin (NOAA)

He keeps a coin given to him that day by the commanding officer of the new advanced nuclear submarine USS Minnesota. The reverse side includes an image of the Civil War-era USS Minnesota.

The gift was a token of appreciation – 151 years later – for the Monitor’s saving of the Minnesota.

“That short 10-second exchange will stick with me forever,” said Alberg. “It really showed … the power of the Monitor story."

• Part 1: These two sailors went down with the USS Monitor. Now you can see items they carried or were found near them.

Submarine H.L. Hunley: 'Difference of opinion' arises at talk claiming torpedo shock wave killed its 8 crew members

(Courtesy of Friends of the Hunley)

Rachel Lance made a big splash this summer when her research on what may have caused the Civil War submarine H.L. Hunley to disappear got national attention.

Testing and analysis eliminated several theories and showed the eight crew members were killed by blast injuries caused by the detonation of their own torpedo, she wrote. Some news coverage had headlines indicating the mystery of the Confederate vessel’s loss may finally have been settled.

Dr. Lance

But there’s been pushback, including from the Friends of the Hunley and the U.S. Navy, which conducted its own tests. One of those experts challenged Lance’s theory after she spoke Monday in Washington, D.C., about the first submarine to sink an enemy vessel.

Dr. Lance, who conducted three years of research and tests on a 6-foot scale model of the 40-foot Confederate sub, detailed her findings at the William G. McGowan Theater at the National Archives. Research included studying human respiration and the transmission of blast energy.

When the torpedo blew up, sinking the USS Housatonic in Charleston Harbor, shock waves passed through the iron hull of the sub and fatally injured the crew, Lance said, reiterating findings she and others described in a paper published in August. She did the research while a PhD candidate at Duke University.

After the Hunley was raised in 2000, conservators found the men were still at their stations, indicating there was no rush to escape or movement to bring air into the boat. There were no obvious physical injuries.

Evidence of blast injuries

Lance said she ruled out suffocation, a “lucky shot” that brought torrents of water through a hole in the conning tour, and a concussive force. Rather, she said, it was pressure from the explosion. The torpedo was still attached to the Hunley by a spar when it was set off.

1/6th scale model used in testing (National Archives YouTube broadcast)

“The blast does not move you. It does not throw you,” she said. “It does not break bones. It does not destroy the material of your brain. That is exactly how the crew was found.”

On Feb. 17, 1864, the Hunley left its base on Sullivan’s Island and placed its torpedo into the Housatonic, one of many blockade vessels on the edge of the harbor. Those on board desperately opened fire on the attackers. Five U.S. sailors were killed in the explosion and a chaotic scene ensued as other Federal ships came to the rescue. The Hunley vanished, and there have been many theories – but no proof -- of what happened to it.

While Lance’s research brought a sense that the mystery had been solved, the Friends of the Hunley – a part of the Hunley Project, which was not involved in the new research – was skeptical and said the matter has not been resolved.

A week after the findings of Lance’s team were released, the Friends of the Hunley issued a press release that said Lance’s work is “unsubstantiated.”

“While the likely cause of the submarine’s demise has not been concluded, the scenario of a concussive wave killing the Hunley crew has been deemed not likely by those working on the actual submarine and who have access to this key data,” the organization said.

Lance did not have access to detailed forensic and structural information about the sub, it said. “As tempting as it may be, we are careful not to jump to definitive conclusions until all the research has been evaluated,” Friends executive Kellen Correia said in the statement.

A difference of opinion

At the Q&A that followed Lance’s talk Monday, Robert Neyland, who was involved in the recovery of the submarine and is head of the Naval History and Heritage Command’s Underwater Archaeology Branch, said there is a "difference of opinion."

Whereas Lance’s team had to use a smaller test explosive charge because of safety concerns, another team was able to do a full-scale test of a black powder charge for a 135-pound torpedo, Neyland said. “We have come up with different results that counter that.” 

Conrad Wise painting of H.L. Hunley (Wikipedia)

The blast did not cause fatal injuries to the Hunley crew, he said. “Maybe some heave on the motion of the submarine, but it would not have injured the crew.”

Lance, who previously worked with Navy civil service, said she has collaborated with some of the other scientists and agrees with some of their data. But she said two different theories have incorrectly been blended in the discussion. She said the other researchers’ project was on the theory of concussion. “They were not studying the (wave) propagation through the hull.” That confusion has been used to try to discredit her results, Lance said.

The researcher is a biomedical engineer and has studied respiratory physiology. She told the audience that one misconception is that a blast of the type she said killed the Hunley crew would have caused their bodies to move and show obvious injury.

While her team did not have the money to build a full-scale model, Lance said, the use of 6-foot scale model CSS Tiny was sufficient to replicate the impact of the torpedo detonation on the Hunley crew. The model included ballast tanks and was tested several times in North Carolina ponds.

Lance’s talk was promoted and carried on YouTube by the National Archives, where she found research materials that buttressed her theory.

Navy's study of pressure wave from Housatonic blast

Several scenarios, or combination, possible

Earlier this year, a new archaeological report issued by the U.S. Navy, South Carolina Hunley Commission and Friends of the Hunley looked at six theories on what might have happened. Among those are that a Federal vessel hit the sub, the Hunley submerged and lost oxygen, or the hull was breached.

Those organizations have cautioned that it could have been a combination of factors that caused the disappearance.

The Navy found the “imparted load” of the blast to the submarine was “relatively modest.” The primary response of the Hunley to the explosion was a rapid vertical motion resulting from the flow of water around the bubble, it said.

Hole in conning tower has raised questions (Friends of the Hunley)

While the archaeological report said there’s a possibility that a “lucky shot” from small arms fire by the Housatonic crew caused enough damage to a conning tower, leading to its sinking, Lance disagreed.

Analysis doesn’t show a clean bullet hole or wide fracturing of the armor from a shot, she said. A study of tides and currents on that cold, moonlit night showed it took 13-14 minutes for the sub to drift to where it was found nearly 140 years later. A shot from a single bullet meant it would take 58 minutes to sink, and the hole that it is evident on the tower would have caused it to sink in about 5 minutes, she said.

“Why were they not pumping out the water, or trying to get out of the boat?” Lance said.

Her team also ruled out suffocation.

“The crew had about a 30-minute air supply before they would have had painful and uncomfortable symptoms from carbon dioxide,” Lance said. “They made no efforts to try to save themselves or bring air into the boat.”

And the researchers ruled out the concussion, or blunt force, theory. There was no sign of skull fractures or other potentially fatal fractures. “They did not necessarily hit their heads hard enough to cause any kind of significant trauma.”

Lance also addressed accounts by a lone Housatonic sailor and Confederate battery officer on shore of seeing a blue light coming from the sub, a signal that it succeeded in its mission. She said the sailor had been exposed to miserable conditions in the water while awaiting rescue, a factor that may have affected his recollection.

As for the citing by the Rebel officer, there was no corroboration, no evidence of a signal fire to guide the sub home and the officer was several miles from the sub, meaning he would have had a hard time distinguishing a light, the engineer said.

Pressure waves fatal, she says

So that leaves, she said, blast, or wave, trauma that pushed into the submarine and killed the crew. Such strong pressure would rupture lungs and damage neurons and blood vessels and cause traumatic brain injuries that left the organ intact. The brains of the Hunley crew were found to be intact, she said.

USS Housatonic (Wikipedia -- public domain)

“It is just pressure waves. …. We are not saying people are getting hit, just the pressure exposure.”

The Navy has questioned why World War II submariners survived close depth charges while the Hunley crew did not survive the torpedo blast. Lance said modern hull armor is much thicker and would have provided more protection.

Lance said the watch of sub commander Lt. George Dixon provides further evidence of a traumatic blast. The hands stopped at 8:23 p.m, the estimated time the torpedo went off.

The audience saw a rendering showing the position of Dixon’s skeletal remains. It appears the officer’s body was locked in place by silt that filled the submarine after it sank.

“He seems to have simply been slumped over to the side. The position of his legs indicate he likely was still sitting on his bench.”

Recalling SS Sultana: Disaster on the river

Overcrowded SS Sultana the day before disaster (Library of Congress)

The SS Sultana, packed with Union soldiers heading home after the end of the Civil War, went down in the Mississippi River north of Memphis, Tenn., after an explosion and raging fire 149 years ago, on April 27, 1865. The staggering loss of 1,800 souls got hardly any attention at the time because the nation was weary of war and mourning the loss of assassinated President Abraham Lincoln. In 2012, The Picket did extensive reporting on several angles of the disaster. Here they all are:
• Exhibit recalls largest disaster in U.S. maritime history
• Working model captures every detail of Sultana
• Disaster took lives of those who suffered so much 
• Will Sultana earn more prominent place in history?