Terry's Trials and Triumphs

by J. Macdonald Oxley

By this time a number of the sailors had gathered round, while several officers were looking over the bulwarks, and Terry's explanation was received with a murmur of astonishment. Standing in the awe they did of the captain of the ship, the idea of this slip of an Irish lad having the audacity to thrust himself on the launch not merely uninvited, but after having been flatly refused, was nothing short of astounding. They had not taken much interest in the boy before, but now they regarded him as quite a novel type, his proceeding had been so utterly out of the ordinary.

"Come up on deck, my boy, and get some dry clothes on you," called put one of the officers. "That was certainly a dashing attempt of yours, even if it didn't come off as you hoped."

Thus commanded, Terry ascended the gangway again, feeling sorely crestfallen, yet as determined as ever to seize the next opportunity that presented itself of getting away from the frigate. When given a sailor's suit that fitted him fairly enough, he at first refused to put it on; but Captain Afleck insisted, and so he yielded, on condition that he might resume his own garments as soon as they were dried.

Thanks to his being in uniform, he was allotted a hammock that night, and forgot his disappointment in the most comfortable sleep he had enjoyed since going on board the vessel, from which he was roused the next morning by an unusual bustle on deck, which foretold the nearness of some important enterprise.

When he came on deck, he found the Minnesota already well under way, making up Hampton Roads towards Newport News in company with two other frigates, the Roanoke and the St. Lawrence. There was intense excitement on board, and every one whose duty permitted him to be on deck seemed to be watching eagerly for something to appear out of the Elizabeth River to the southward. Presently an officer who stood on the main-truck with a powerful glass called out,—

"I see her! She's coming down past Craney Island Flats."

All eyes were at once strained in the direction indicated; but it was some time yet before there came into general view, just off Sewell's Point, so strange a craft that it was at once agreed it could be none other than the much-dreaded naval novelty of which such disturbing stories had been in circulation.

So far as Terry could make out, this mysterious marine marvel was like a queer-looking house afloat on a raft. There were no masts; a short, thick funnel explained how she was propelled. The roof of the house was flat, surrounded by a light iron railing, and boasting two slight poles, from which floated Confederate flags. The side walls sloped in at a decided angle, and the two ends were rounded off into a semicircular shape, the whole being heavily plated with iron.

From a single row of port-holes the muzzles of ten powerful rifled guns projected, the entire effect being warlike in the extreme; for the thing was evidently a fighting-machine, and nothing else, whose power for harm had yet to be gauged by actual experience.

At first the new-comer's course was pointed straight in the direction of the Minnesota, and there was not a man on board so indifferent to danger that he did not feel a keen thrill of apprehension as this strange and menacing antagonist came slowly onward.