What followed has been told in song and story; it need be repeated here but in epitome.  The first assault of the Merrimac was upon the Cumberland, a thirty-gun frigate.  Again and again the thirty heavy balls of the frigate rattled upon the impenetrable sides of the iron-clad monster, and bounded off uselessly into the deep.  The Merrimac came on at full speed, as heedless of this fusillade as though she was being fired at with peas.  As she approached, two heavy balls from her guns tore through the timbers of the Cumberland.  They were followed by a stunning blow from her iron beak, that opened a gaping wound in the defenceless side of her victim.  Then she drew off, leaving her broken beak sticking in the ship’s side, and began firing broadsides into the helpless frigate; raking her fore and aft with shell and grape, despite the fact that she had already got her death-blow, and was rapidly filling with water.

Never ship was fought more nobly than the doomed Cumberland.  With the decks sinking under their feet, the men fought with unflinching courage.  When the bow guns were under water, the rear guns were made to do double duty.  The captain was called on to surrender.  He sternly refused.  The last shot was fired from a gun on a level with the waves.  Then, with sails spread and flags flying, the Cumberland went down, carrying with her nearly one hundred of her crew, the remainder swimming ashore.  The water was deep, but the topmast of the doomed vessel still rose above the surface, with its pennant waving in the wind.  For months afterwards that old flag continued to fly, as if to say, “The Cumberland sinks, but never surrenders.”

The Congress, a fifty-gun frigate, was next attacked, and handled so severely that her commander ran her ashore, and soon after hoisted the white flag, destruction appearing inevitable.  Boats were sent by the enemy to take possession, but a sharp fire from the shore drove them off.

“Is this in accordance with military law?” asked one of the officers 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.