For days we had seen that frigate with her mate, the Congress, threatening us, a blot upon our waters, a monster, a thing of evil, waiting for the moment of fate. But it was pitiful to watch her go down, and I think every heart there felt a pride in that pennant waving defiantly above the water, even while we cheered our victorious Virginia. She went on, turned and came back to attack the Congress which, in trying to escape, ran aground. She was soon ablaze, banners of flame flapping out from her rigging. In an hour her flag fell.
We were told afterward that in one of the ships which we could dimly descry in the distance, an old man waited for the battle and for tidings of his son, commander of the Congress. When they told him that the flag was down he said sadly, "Then Joe is dead!" He knew by that signal that his son "Joe," Captain Joseph B. Smith, had fallen.
The Raleigh and Beaufort drew up beside the flaming Congress, under a heavy fire from the Federal batteries on the Newport News shore which not only did execution upon the crews of the Confederate gunboats, but proved fatal to some of the prisoners from the burning frigate. The Virginia's launch rowed toward the Congress and was struck by a volley from the Federal battery.
Beyond the Congress the Minnesota lay aground. Before the surrender of the Congress the Patrick Henry, Thomas Jefferson and Teazer, the James River squadron, passed the Federal batteries, the Patrick Henry was struck through the boiler and was towed out of action by the Thomas Jefferson, returning after repairs and running up close to the grounded Minnesota, being light and able to come nearer than the heavier ironclad. Till night fell we watched the gunboats raining shot upon the Minnesota, the Virginia, from her greater distance, occasionally firing ponderously upon the grounded frigate. When darkness prevented correct aim the Virginia and her sturdy little assistants retired, slowly moving to Sewell's Point. We returned to our homes, awed by the grandeur of the scene, sorrowful for the lost lives, but triumphant in the victory won by our brave little craft.
Those who watched through the hours of darkness beheld a brilliant fire-scene displayed against the velvety night. Steadily the Congress had flamed upward, paling the stars in its red glow. At midnight banners of flame, showers of stars, fiery serpents writhing upward in sinuous pathways through the dense columns of smoke, marked the end.
That night a new-comer arrived and next morning was lying behind the grounded Minnesota—a queer object, afterward described as "a tin can on a shingle." It was Erickson's little Monitor, commanded by Captain Worden and manned by a volunteer crew, for no one was ordered for service on the odd little craft with its revolving turret. The position was risky and no officer wanted to reflect later that he had sent men to death on a wild experiment.
Those who could get a clear view of the stranger thought that she was a raft sent to save the crew of the Minnesota, but she steamed up toward the Virginia with a war-like expression which left no doubt as to her real character. From tidings sent from New York we had expected the new invention down in our waters, but our imagination had not wound itself around anything so funny looking and we did not recognize her until she revealed herself.
I was early at my post, eager to see the end of the fray. My uncle had his boat ready to put out to the scene of action.
"Oh, uncle, may I go?" I cried, running after him.
"No, no!" he shouted. "Go back!"