The two little river steamers that
accompanied the raft seemed to be towing it.
"What 'ell, Bill, is that thing?" a sailor asked his mate on the
_Congress_.
Bill scanned the horizon.
"I give it up, sir," he admitted. "I been a sailin' the seas for forty
years--but that's one on me!"
A battle signal suddenly flashed from the _Cumberland_ and down came the
wash lines.
The _Beaufort_ with a single thirty-two-pounder rifle mounted in her bow
was steaming alongside the port of the strange craft. A puff of white
smoke flared from her single gun and its dull roar waked the still
beautiful waters of the Virginia harbor.
The _Merrimac_ flung her big battle flag into the sky and her tiny
escorts dropped down stream to give her free play. The _Congress_ and
the _Cumberland_ were surprised, but they slipped their anchors in a
jiffy, swung their guns in haste and began pouring a storm of shot on
the iron sides of the coming foe.
The _Merrimac_ moved forward with slow, steady throb as though the shot
that rained on her slanting sides were so many pebbles thrown by school
boys. She passed the _Congress_ and pointed her ugly prow for the
_Cumberland_. The ship poured her broadside squarely into the face of
the Merrimac without damage and the bow gun roared an answer that
pierced her bulwarks.
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