On a morning that was like ideal May, the 8th of March, 1862, I sat on my horse by the river bank at Blinkhorn, opposite Newport News. My uncle, Colonel J. J. Phillips, was stationed there, and I had come to the camp and was one of the hundreds gathered on the bank of the Nansemond River at that point, all eyes turned with eager interest toward Hampton Roads, where lay our new battleship, the Virginia.

Like a phoenix, she had arisen from the wreck of the old frigate Merrimac. Grim, solemn, weird, builded low upon the water, she was not boat nor ram nor submarine, nor anything else hitherto known to the waves. Newly clad in her robe of iron, she was a veiled mystery, a forlorn hope, a theory, an armed engine, a steam battery protected by armor, an experiment destined to change the course of naval warfare. Being the first ship built in the Old Dominion, she was named for her State, Virginia. Commanded by Captain Buchanan and manned by a crew composed largely of landsmen who had volunteered from the Army, she had waited in Hampton Roads for the dawning of her day.

Through my field-glass I watched the Virginia gliding like a great white bird hovering between the pulsing, scintillant blue of the heavens above and the waters beneath. Accompanied by the gunboats Raleigh and Beaufort, she passed along amid the cheers of the enthusiastic onlookers thronging both banks and of the troops at the batteries around the harbor. An awesome feeling took possession of me, holding me silent until the enthusiasm of the crowd thrilled me and I waved my handkerchief in messages of Godspeed to the brave new craft.

Slowly she rounded Craney Island, lying like a blue-gray cloud over the water, her batteries turned toward the Norfolk shore. The troops waved their caps and sent up lusty cheers for the strange craft that looked, as some one afterward said, "like a huge terrapin with a large round chimney about the middle of its back." Having passed the island, she turned into the south channel and slowly moved on toward Newport News until, coming within firing range of the United States frigates Congress and Cumberland, she was greeted with broadsides from both. A flash of fire, pale against the white day, a puff of smoke, widening, drifting, wreathing around the mouth of the gun and floating off into space, a deep roar of thunder showed us that our Virginia was bearing well her brave old name.

The enthusiasm which had greeted her appearance was as nothing compared with the excitement that thrilled us now. Yells of encouragement and defiance rent the air. Handkerchiefs fluttered; hats were thrown aloft. Some of the men danced; others turned somersaults of enthusiasm. One soldier rushed to Colonel Phillips shouting, "Say, Colonel, say; can't we do something? Can't we help? For God's sake, let us do something to help them!"

Fortunately there was no bridge from the shore to the scene of action. Otherwise every man, woman and child among that seething crowd might have rushed into the fight, to the embarrassment of the plucky little Virginia. We could do our part only by going into paroxysms of patriotism, in which we all excelled.

The Virginia went on up the channel, turned and, coming back, ran full against the Cumberland, penetrating her side with the sharp prow of the Confederate ironclad. The frigate reeled, shuddered, and began slowly to settle, her guns roaring from her deck. The Congress came to her assistance, but the shots which rained from the two frigates fell harmlessly from the slanting sides of the Virginia.

With fascinated eyes I watched the Cumberland tossing upon the waves, gradually sinking, firing another volley as her bow went down, then disappearing under the water, the flag that floated from her masthead still fluttering above the sea.

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!"

He stepped into the boat and pulled off without looking behind and did not see that I followed and took a seat in the boat, with sketch-book and pencil, prepared to take battle views at first hand. Perhaps an artist of to-day might regard my sketch-book with some degree of scorn, constructed as it was of wall paper, turned plain side out, cut into leaves of convenient size, and bound together, the handiwork of my ingenious grandmother. It was the best the Confederacy could afford just then and perhaps it served the purpose as well as a more artistic outfit might have done. I shall never forget the look of horrified amazement that overspread my uncle's face as he chanced to look backward.

"You little dare-devil, you!" he called out, "I've a good mind to drown you!"

The absurdity of the situation flashed upon him and his shout of laughter rang over the water. We were too far out to admit of turning back to put me ashore and there was nothing he could do but endure my company.

"You needn't think I am going to try to keep you out of danger, you disobedient, incorrigible little minx," he said indignantly. "It would serve you right if you were shot."

I was not thinking of danger. It was my first chance at a sea-fight and I was not going to miss it.

Thus I watched the first battle of iron-clad warships. Apparently recognizing the fact that they had in a moment become useless lumber, the old-time wooden structures drew aside and observed the novel contest. The two little giants were almost touching and broadside after broadside poured into each other. My uncle was absorbed in watching the scene.

"Let me see! Let me see!" I cried all aquiver with excitement.

"I will not let you see, you miserable little wretch!" he replied.

Then relenting, he gave me the field-glass. "Well, here; look! Be careful or you will lose your balance and fall overboard, though I reckon it would be a good thing if you did. Teach you better than to put yourself where you have no business."

His sense of humor, as usual, saved the situation, and he laughed again. I think there was never a time since I routed him out at midnight to take a neck-breaking ride in a hail-storm that I was not an amusing, as well as a terrifying conundrum to my unfortunate uncle. He good-naturedly shared his glass with disobedient little me and I watched the contest.

The storm that rained upon the Virginia was of solid shot and shell, while it had been impossible to provide the Confederate ram with anything but shell. The armor of the Monitor was thicker than that of her antagonist but the inclination of the sides of the Virginia, causing the shot to glance harmlessly, offset that advantage. The Virginia suddenly ran aground and the Monitor was quick to avail herself of the mishap, but before we were certain of the peril of our champion she was off and making an effort to run down the Monitor. The bow of the Virginia was directly against her antagonist and we saw the Federal ship careen dangerously. When they separated a shell from our ironclad struck the pilot-house of the Monitor. We afterward learned that her commander, Lieutenant Worden, was disabled.

The Minnesota was helpless and as the Virginia turned toward her we expected that she would be sunk. But, probably to the delight of those on board the frigate as well as to the infinite dismay of us who looked on, our little steamer went on her way toward Sewell's Point and then to the Navy Yard. Our disappointment was very great and as we were rowing home my uncle said reflectively:

"By George, it looks as if the Lord was on the side of those damned Yankees."

It was the first time I had ever heard him admit the possibility that Providence could be on the wrong side of anything.

We heard later that, so certain seemed the destruction of the Minnesota, her captain was making preparations to fire and abandon her when, to his surprise, the Merrimac, or Virginia, as we renamed her, turned homeward.

Our captain afterward explained that he thought his last shot had disabled the Monitor and he dared not stay any longer in those waters because the Virginia had so heavy a draught that it was impossible for her to cross the bar after ebb-tide.