THE GREAT NAVAL COMBAT.
When Terry saw the ugly black ironclad bearing down upon the
_Minnesota_, he could not suppress a cry of consternation.
"Oh, whirra! whirra!" he burst forth, dancing from one foot to the
other, and swinging his arms about in the extremity of his excitement,
"the murderin' thing is coming right for us, and it's smashing us to
bits entirely she'll be."
That the captain of the frigate held the same opinion, however
differently he might have expressed it, was soon manifest from the
manoeuvring of his ship; for instead of remaining out in the north
channel, where there was sufficient depth of water for the _Merrimac_
to move freely, he turned his vessel's bow seaward, and kept on in that
direction until she had grounded on a shoal about midway between
Fortress Monroe and Newport News Point.
All danger from the irresistible ram was now over, as the ironclad
could not approach within some hundreds of yards without getting
aground herself, which would have put an end to her career; so those on
board the _Minnesota_ began to pluck up courage again. Even Terry felt
more composed when he realized that the "murderin' thing," as he called
it, had to keep a respectful distance.
But they were not permitted to enjoy this little bit of comfort long.
The big frigate, towering high above the water, offered only too easy a
target to the rifled guns of the _Merrimac_, and presently their
destructive missiles began to come crashing through her wooden sides as
though they had been paper, inflicting fearful damage and slaughter.
Yet nothing daunted by the immediate presence of danger and death, the
men of the _Minnesota_ plied their own formidable battery; and although
the cannon-balls' bounced harmlessly off the impregnable sides of the
ironclad, they did their work against her attendant gunboats, so that
both had ere long to retire from the combat.
The decks of the frigate soon presented a pitiable sight. The heavy
guns of the _Merrimac_ had again and again raked them with dreadful
effect, and the dead and the dying lay strewn about, confused with
splintered beams and shattered gun-carriages. The ship's surgeons,
recking nothing of their own danger, were busy binding up wounds, and
having the poor sufferers borne below; while through the smoke-laden
air rang the shouts of those still serving the guns, mingled with the
groans of their comrades writhing in agony.
In the midst of it all was Terry. When the first shot struck the
bulwarks of the frigate, and smashing its way through slew three
stalwart sailors and badly wounded two others, he threw himself flat on
the deck behind the foremast, completely overcome with sheer horror and
fright. There he remained for some minutes, every boom of the cannon
sending fresh shudders through his boyish frame.
Presently, amid the occasional pauses in the thunder of the artillery,
a moaning cry reached his ear: "Water, water! for God's sake a drop of
water!" He had heard it several times before, even in his warm fresh
heart, the impulse to help began to tell upon the paralyzing panic that
had smitten him. But when, for the fourth time, the piteous wail
pierced its way to him, "Oh for water! Won't some one bring me water?"
he could lie still no longer.
Getting upon his hands and knees--for he did not dare rise to his full
height--he crept across the deck to where the sufferer lay. He found a
young sailor, not many years older than himself, dreadfully wounded by
a cannon-ball, and suffering agonies from thirst. He was half-hidden
by an overturned gun-carriage, and had been overlooked by the surgeon
in the wild confusion.
"Water! water!" he panted, looking at Terry with imploring eyes, for he
could not move a limb. "For the love of God, bring me some water!"
Terry knew well enough where the water-butts were, but to reach them
meant his running the gauntlet of shot and splinter, whose dreadful
effects lay all about him. Naturally he shrank from the risk, and
looked around in hopes of seeing some of the crew who might undertake
it.
But all who were not already _hors de combat_ had their hands full.
Whatever was to be done for the poor young fellow must be done by him.
The next wail for water decided him. Bending his head as though he
were facing a snowstorm, he darted across the deck to the water-butts.
Right at hand was a pannikin. Hastily filling it, he retraced his
steps, going more slowly now because of his burden, and had just got
half-way when a heavy ball smashed into the bulwarks at his left,
sending out a heavy shower of splinters, one of which struck the
pannikin from his hand, spilling its precious contents upon the deck.
It was a hair-breadth escape, and Terry dropped to the deck as though
he had been struck. But this was the end of his panic. So soon as he
realized that he was untouched, he sprang to his feet again, and
shaking his fist in the direction of the _Merrimac_, cried defiantly,
"You didn't do it that time. Try it again, will ye? I'll carry the
water in spite of ye!" Then picking up the pannikin he refilled it,
and this time succeeded in bearing it safely to the sufferer, who, when
he had taken a long, deep draught, looked into the boy's face, saying
gratefully,--
"God bless you for that, even if you are a little rebel at heart."
Not until then did Terry recognize in the man he was helping the sailor
whose ire he had aroused by refusing to enter into the ship's service,
and his heart glowed at the thought that he had shown him that he could
not refuse an appeal for aid even from him.
Throughout the rest of that awful afternoon Terry toiled like a beaver,
bearing water to the wounded and to those working the guns, and earning
countless blessings from the grateful sailors. He seemed to bear a
charmed life. Men fell all round him, while he went unscathed. Again
and again the surgeon thanked him for his timely assistance. In spite
of all the peril, he never felt happier in his life. He was completely
lifted out of himself, and intoxicated with the joy of whole-souled
service for others.
As the afternoon advanced, the situation of the _Minnesota_ became
increasingly desperate. Of course, being aground, she could not sink;
but the rifled guns of the _Merrimac_ had torn great gaping holes in
her high sides. She had lost many of her men, and had once been set on
fire. Indeed, her surrender or destruction seemed inevitable, when a
diversion took place which postponed either unhappy alternative for
that day at all events.
Besides the _Minnesota_, there were two other Federal frigates lying in
Hampton Roads, the _Roanoke_ and the _St. Lawrence_, and they likewise
had been run aground for fear of the terrible ram. As if satisfied
with the damage done to the _Minnesota_, and confident that no escape
was possible for her, the _Merrimac_ now gave attention to her two
consorts, and proceeded to bombard them with her heavy guns.
They returned broadsides with great spirit, and the cannonade continued
vigorously on both sides, until an ebbing tide and oncoming darkness
warned those in command of the deep-draught ironclad that it was full
time to be taking her back towards Norfolk. Accordingly she drew off,
and after a couple of parting shots from her stern pivot-guns, steamed
slowly back to Sewell's Point, where she anchored for the night.
Unspeakable was the relief on board the three frigates at her
withdrawal, and relieved from duty at the guns, their crews at once set
to work to repair damages as best they might, knowing full well that
they had respite only until daylight.
Terry continued his errands of mercy until his help was no longer
required; then, after getting something to eat, he went up to his
favourite place in the bow, utterly tired out, and threw himself down
to rest.
Here Captain Afleck found him, and together they talked over the events
of the day. The captain had not been quite so fortunate as Terry,
having received a painful, though not serious, scalp wound. He made
light of it, however, and had much to say in praise of his companion
for his brave service as a helper of the wounded.
"You'll be the talk of the town, my boy, when we get back to Halifax,"
said he. "Ye've seen more than any lad of your age in the country, I
can tell you; and it's a great story you'll have to tell them at
Drummond and Brown's when you take your place there again."
A happy smile lit up Terry's face, so begrimed with powder smoke that
the multitudinous freckles were no longer distinguishable. He had
quite forgotten Halifax and all belonging to it in the excitement of
the battle; but Captain Afleck's words brought his thoughts back, and
the idea of his being a kind of hero at Drummond and Brown's, where now
they probably considered him little better than a rascal, was
exceedingly grateful.
He was just about to say something in reply, when his attention was
claimed by the wonderful scene now before his eyes; and clasping
Captain Afleck's arm, he exclaimed, in a tone of mingled awe and
admiration, "Just look, will ye, captain! did ye ever see the like of
that in your life before?"
By this time night had fallen mild and calm. The moon in her second
quarter was just rising over the rippling waters, but her silvery light
for those on board the _Minnesota_ paled in the presence of the
brilliant illumination proceeding from the burning frigate _Congress_.
As the flames crept up the rigging, every mast, spar, and rope flashed
out in fiery silhouette against the dark sky beyond. The hull, aground
upon the shoal, was plainly visible, each porthole showing in the black
sides like the mouth of a fiery furnace, while from time to time the
boom of a loaded gun, or the crash of an exploded shell, gave startling
emphasis to the superb spectacle.
Having no duty to perform, the captain and Terry could give themselves
up to watching the destruction of the noble vessel, and they stayed at
the bow until presently a monstrous sheaf of flame rose from her to an
immense height. The sky seemed rent in twain by a blinding flash, and
then came a loud, deafening report that told the whole story. The
flames had reached the powder-magazine, and their work was complete.
In the silence that followed, Captain Afleck, taking Terry's hand, said
with a profound sigh, "Come, Terry, let us get to sleep. It breaks my
heart to see a fine ship blown to bits like that."
They went below, and finding a quiet corner, threw themselves down to
get what rest they could before facing the dangers of another day.
On going on deck the next morning, Terry's attention was at once
attracted by the sailors bending over the bulwarks of the ship,
evidently much interested in something that lay alongside. Following
their example, he saw below an extraordinary-looking craft, which might
not inaptly have been compared to a huge tin can set on a gigantic
shingle.
It was none other than the famous _Monitor_, an even more remarkable
vessel than the _Merrimac_, which had come post-haste from New York,
and arrived just in time to do battle with the hitherto irresistible
rebel ram.
Little as Terry pretended to know about war-ships, he felt quite
competent not merely to wonder but to laugh at this latest addition to
the Federal fleet; she seemed so absurdly inadequate to cope with the
big powerful _Merrimac_. A flat iron-plated raft with pointed ends,
bearing in the middle a round turret not ten feet high, also plated
with iron, and at the bow a small square iron hut for use as a
pilot-house; while from the round port-holes in the turret projected
the muzzles of two eleven-inch rifled guns, which constituted her
entire armament. Such was the _Monitor_.
He was still engaged in studying this queer-looking craft, and feeling
sorely tempted to ask some questions of the men who were busy about her
decks getting her ready for action, when the crash of a heavy ball
against the other side of the _Minnesota_ told him that the _Merrimac_
had already come over from Sewell's Point to complete her unfinished
work.
It was also the signal for the _Monitor_ to move out from her
hiding-place behind the lofty frigate. Like some strange sea-monster,
she swung round the other's stern, and steaming forward so as to come
between her and her assailant, dauntlessly challenged the latter to
single combat.
Then there took place right before Terry's eyes a naval conflict
without parallel in the history of the world, in every respect the most
momentous battle ever waged upon the water. Of course, Terry did not
realize this, but that did not in any wise lessen the breathless
interest with which he watched every move and manoeuvre of the struggle.
For the first few minutes there was a pause, as though the two
adversaries were surveying each other with a view of choosing the best
method of attack. Then they began to advance cautiously until they had
got well within range, when almost simultaneously they opened fire.
This was at about eight o'clock in the morning, and thenceforward until
noon the cannonading continued furiously, with hardly any intermission.
The ironclads fought like two gladiators in an arena, now closing in on
each other until they were almost touching, then sheering off until
they were half-a-mile apart. The _Monitor_ had a great advantage over
the _Merrimac_ in that she drew only half as much water, and was
consequently able to move about far more freely than her cumbrous
opponent, who had to confine herself to the deep-water channel. Even
as it was she once ran aground, and was with the greatest difficulty
got afloat again.
Although Terry had come to Hampton Roads a warm little sympathizer with
the South, his feelings had undergone considerable change as he
observed the splendid bravery of the Northern sailors; and now, while
he watched the contending ironclads, he found his heart going out
towards the little _Monitor_ rather than towards the big black
_Merrimac_.
"Sure it doesn't seem fair play at all," he exclaimed to Captain
Afleck, in a decided tone of indignation. "That small little thing's
no match for the big fellow. There ought to be two of them anyhow to
make it even."
But the captain, noting the advantage held by the _Monitor_, and the
fact that the bombardment of her antagonist had no more effect upon her
coat of mail than had hers upon the _Merrimac_, shook his head
doubtfully.
"It's a more even fight than you think, Terry," said he, "and I'm not
saying but what I'd be willing to bet on the little one yet. But see,
they must be going to try to run her down, like they did the
_Cumberland_."
Sure enough, despairing of driving her doughty opponent off the field
with broadsides, the _Merrimac_ determined to try the effect of her
ram. For nearly an hour she had been manoeuvring for a position, and
at last an opportunity offered. Putting on full speed, she charged
forcibly down; but just in time the _Monitor_ turned aside, and the ram
glanced off without doing any damage.
At seeing this Terry clapped his hands as heartily as if he had been a
thorough-going Yankee.
"Sold again!" he cried, as the _Merrimac_ sullenly sheered off.
"You're not so smart after all."
The firing continued for some time longer, and then those on board the
_Minnesota_ were startled to see the _Monitor_ coming back towards them
with all the appearance of withdrawing from the fight. The Merrimac
could not follow on account of the shallowness of the water, but
remained out in the channel awaiting the other's return. Instead of
returning, however, the _Monitor_ swung round, and steamed off in the
direction of Fortress Monroe, leaving the helpless _Minnesota_ at the
mercy of the enemy.
"O Captain Afleck!" cried Terry, in keen alarm, "what will become of us
now? That murderin' thing will smash us all to pieces, seein' there's
nothing to hinder it."
The situation of the _Minnesota_ certainly was as serious as it could
well be. Many of the guns had been rendered useless in the conflict of
the preceding day. Full half of the crew were killed or wounded, and
most of the officers were unfit for duty. If the _Merrimac_ should
resume her work of destruction, there was slight chance of any one on
board surviving the catastrophe.