in the camp. "Since the ship has surrendered, has
not the enemy the right to take possession of her?"

This legal knot was quickly and decisively cut by General
Mansfield, in an unanswerable decision.

"I know the d----d ship has surrendered," he said. "But _we_
haven't." And the firing continued.

The Merrimac, not being able to seize her prize, opened fire
with hot shot on the Congress, and quickly set her on fire.
Night was now at hand, and the conquering iron-clad drew
off. The Congress continued to burn, her loaded guns roaring
her requiem one after another, as the fire spread along her
decks. About one o'clock her magazine was reached, and she
blew up with a tremendous explosion, the shock being so
great as to prostrate many of those on the shore.

So ended that momentous day. It had shown one thing
conclusively, that "wooden walls" could no longer "rule the
wave." Iron had proved its superiority in naval
construction. The next day was to behold another novel
sight,--the struggle of iron with iron.

Morning came. The atmosphere was hazy. Only as the mist
slowly lifted were the gladiators of that liquid arena
successively made visible. Here, just above the water,
defiantly floated the flag of the sunken Cumberland. There
smoked the still-burning hull of the Congress. Here, up the
bay, steamed the Merrimac, with two attendants, the Yorktown
and the Patrick Henry. Yonder lay the great hull of the
steam-frigate Minnesota, which had taken some part in the
battle of the day before, but had unfortunately gone ashore
on a mud-bank, from which the utmost efforts failed to force
her off. Other Union naval vessels were visible in the
distance.

The Merrimac made her way towards the Minnesota, as towards
a certain prey. Her commander felt confident that an hour or
two would enable him to reduce this great vessel to the
condition of her recent companions.

Yet an odd sight met his vision. Alongside the Minnesota
floated the strangest-looking craft that human eye had ever
gazed upon. An insignificant affair it appeared; a
"cheese-box on a raft" it was irreverently designated. The
deck, a level expanse of iron, came scarcely above the
surface. Above it rose a circular turret, capable of being
revolved, and with port-holes for two great guns, among the
largest up to that time used in naval warfare.

How this odd contrivance came there so opportunely may be
briefly told. It was the conception of John Ericsson, the