greeting with a shot from one of her
stern guns, and received in response a shower of grape.

Broadsides were then exchanged, resulting in fearful slaughter to the
crew of the _Congress_ and damage to the guns. An officer of the
_Congress_ was a favorite brother of Captain Buchanan of the _Merrimac_.
But such relation effected naught in the exigencies of war.

Before the _Congress_ could recover herself, the _Merrimac_ headed for
the _Cumberland_. The fires of the Cumberland, as she approached, had no
effect upon her armored sides.

Into the _Cumberland_ she ran her powerful iron prow, crashing in her
timbers and strewing her decks with the maimed, the dead, and dying.

Again she turned her attention to the _Congress_, remembering also the
frigate _Minnesota_ with her fiery baptisms. Upon the _Congress_ she
soon forced a surrender. The _Minnesota_ found refuge in flight.

Her work upon the _Cumberland_ was complete. And albeit the vessel had
been rammed and was sinking, her men ascended to the spar deck and
fought till the waters engulfed them. The last shot was fired from a gun
half submerged in the water.

As the ship settled to the bottom she careened slightly and then righted
herself; and the flag, as if defying the fate that threatened its
destruction, still flew above the masthead.

[Illustration: AND THE FLAG, AS IF DEFYING THE FATE THAT THREATENED
ITS DESTRUCTION, STILL FLEW ABOVE THE MASTHEAD.]

There, close to the waves--her colors almost touching the water--the
captain, who was absent from his ship, found his flag upon his return. A
harbinger as it proved of the issue that was to be.

THE CUMBERLAND

AT anchor in Hampton Roads we lay,
On board of the _Cumberland_, sloop of war;
And at times from the fortress across the bay
The alarum of drums swept past,
Or a bugle blast
From the camp on the shore.

Then far away to the south uprose
A little feather of snow-white smoke,
And we knew that the iron ship of our foes
Was steadily steering its course
To try the force
Of our ribs of oak.

Down upon us heavily runs,
Silent and sullen, the floating fort;
Then comes a puff of smoke from her guns,
And leaps the terrible death,
With fiery breath,
From each open port.

We are not idle, but send her straight
Defiance back in a full broadside!
As hail rebounds from a roof of slate,