CHAPTER VII.

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.