Suddenly a long, low craft, looking something like an inverted cake-pan, came gliding out at the front of the stage. Then we knew we were looking at the feared and hated _Merrimac_. She opened fire on the ships. Then she circled round, and, putting on steam, rushed against one of them with her ram. The poor wooden vessel careened far over on one side. Then the _Merrimac_ drew back, and hurled two shots into her at short range. The big ship began to sink. She went clear away down out of sight--royals, trucks, and all. Next the _Merrimac_ went for the other ship; but just then we saw another queer craft sail on. “It was the immortal cheese-box on a plank”--the _Monitor_. The _Merrimac_ paused. The two iron-clads seemed to stop and look at each other. Then they rushed together. And how they spit fire and banged and butted! We boys were crazy with excitement. And when suddenly the _Merrimac_ blew up with a loud report, and the _Monitor_ displayed half a dozen American flags, we cheered till we were hoarse. It was not strictly according to history, but it was glorious. And we boys went right home, and began building a Grand Diorama of the War in the cellar of the St. Charles Hotel the next day. That diorama would have been a tremendous success but for one thing. Jim Rial’s brother dropped a match into the powder-bottle, which blew up the diorama and nearly blinded the boy. However, we built another diorama; and the boy got well. But to return to Gettysburg. When troops were being hurried forward to that point from every direction, thousands of soldiers passed through Pittsburg. Many of them were sent out by the Pittsburg and Connellsville Railroad to Uniontown, and thence to the front. Every afternoon I used to go to the Connellsville station, at the foot of Ross Street, and ride out on the four-o’clock train as far as the historic Braddock’s Field, where, you remember, the British commander Braddock refused to take Washington’s advice in the matter of Indian-fighting, and paid the penalty. This station was just ten miles out, and I could get back in time for supper. Attached to every train out in those days were several flat-cars with planks laid across from side to side for seats, and these cars were loaded with soldiers. I always rode in one of those cars, and listened in breathless awe to the conversation of those real live soldiers who were going out to fight. As I remember them now, they were hearty, good-natured fellows, very kind to the little boy who took so much interest in them. And when I returned to Pittsburg I used to dream about them at night, and wake up very early in the morning to listen for the sound of the guns of the approaching invaders. I was no worse than older people. Many a good woman in Pittsburg went on the roof very often to listen for those same guns.