The sail down the Alabama river from Montgomery to Mobile was most agreeable.
I do not now recollect any incident of the trip worthy of mention. I did not, of course, obtrude myself upon our ambassador's dignity, knowing that as long as the boat kept going he was not liable to escape from me.
There were some ladies aboard, and to these the gallant captain of the boat introduced his distinguished passenger, and among them they made up a card party, which occupied their attention long after I had gone to my room to sleep and dream of my home and "the girls I left behind me."
I became quite homesick that night, and would very much rather have been aboard a steamboat on the Mississippi river headed up stream than penned up in this queer-looking craft, loaded with rebels, which was carrying me, I imagined as I half slept, down to perdition.
There was a steam music machine on the boat somewhere, called a calliope, which made the night and day both hideous.
They played "Home, Sweet Home," among other selections, but even to my feelings, at that time, the musical expression was not exactly such as would bring tears to one's eyes.
The machine, however, served to rouse the lazy colored people all along the high banks of the river, who flocked to the shores like a lot of crows.
We reached Mobile in due time, and my dignitary and his "confidential companion," as I might be permitted to term myself, may be found properly registered in the books of the Battle House at Mobile, some time in the latter part of April, 1861.
I will mention how, also, that an account of this trip and its object was written on the blank letter-heads of this hotel, addressed in a careless handwriting to Mr. J. Covode, Washington, D. C., unsigned by myself, and secretly dropped into the postoffice atMobile. I imagined that Mobile being a large city and having several routes of communication with the North, my letter might, by some possibility, get through, and, strange to relate,it did, and was subsequently quoted by Mr. Covode in the Committee on the Conduct of War.
I lost sight of my "traveling companion" while in Mobile. You know it would not have been either polite or discreet to have pressed my company too closely on an official character like this, so it happened that he left the hotel without consulting me, and I supposing, of course, that he had left for Pensacola, made my arrangements to follow. To reach Pensacola there was a big river or bay to cross from Mobile. When I got aboard the little boat, the first thing I did, of course, was to look quietly about for "my man." He was not aboard, as I found after the boat had gotten out into the stream, when it was too late to turn back.
An old stage coach or hack was at that time the only conveyance to Pensacola, except by water. The thing was piled full of humanity inside and out—young and old men, who were fair representations of the different types of the Southern character, all of whom were bent on visiting the next battle-scene—then a point of great interest in the South since the curtain had been rung down at Sumter.
They were all "feeling mighty good," too, as they say down there; every blessed fellow seemed to be provided with an individual flask, and during the dreadfully tiresome drag of the old coach across the sandy and sometimes swampy roads of that part of Florida and Alabama our party became quite hilarious.
Among them was a prominent official of one of the rebel military companies, then located about Pensacola, who was quite disgusted at the tardiness of their "Government" in not moving at once on Fort Pickens. He and a fat old gentleman, who was more conservative, and defended the authorities, discussed the military situation at length during the trip; and as both had been over the ground at Pensacola, and were somewhat familiar with the situation, they unintentionally gave me in advance some interesting points to look up when we should reach there. Among other things, they talked about a "masked battery" of ten-inch Columbiads. Now, I didn't know at that time what a "masked battery" could be, and had no idea that ten-inch Columbiads meant big cannon that would throw a ball that measured ten inches in diameter.
I had formed a plan of procedure in advance, which was to pretend, as at Montgomery, to be the nephew of an Englishman, on my way from school in the North to my Texas home, and was just stopping over at Pensacola to gratify my desire to see the "Yankees cleaned out" there. I had been carefully advised early in this undertaking not to attempt to gather information by asking questions, but, as a rule, to let others do the talking, and to listen and confirm by observation, if possible. This was good advice, volunteered by a discreet old man, who had bid me good-by at Washington some weeks back; and that beautiful spring evening, as I was being driven right into the camps of the rebel army, accompanied by men who were the first real soldiers I had seen, I recalled with a distinctness almost painful the words of caution and advice which at that time I had scarcely heeded.
When the old hack reached Pensacola all were somewhat toned down, and after a hearty supper and a hasty look around the outside of the dirty little tavern at which we stopped, I went to bed, to sleep, perhaps to dream of home and friends two thousand miles away. The distance seemed to be increased ten-fold by the knowledge that the entire territory between me and home was encompassed by a howling mob that would be only too glad to tear me to pieces, as a stray dog among a pack of bloodhounds, while the other path was the boundless ocean.
The soldiers who in the early days were not so well disciplined as in after years, took possession of the hotel, at least all the down stairs part of it, where there was liquor and eatables, and kept up such a terrific row that sleep was almost impossible. Early next morning I was out of my cot, and before breakfast I took a walk around the place.
The town of Pensacola is situated on the low, sandy mainland, on the bay, and lies some distance from the navy yard, or that portion of Pensacola which is occupied by the government for the Forts Barrancas and McRae. This government reservation is quite extensive, including the beautiful bay, navy yard and grounds, with officers' quarters, and shell roads on the beach for some distance beyond the yard; on the further extremity were built Forts Barrancas and McRae, which were at this time in possession of the rebel soldiers.
Lieutenant Slemmer a short time previously moved his little force of regulars across the bay to Fort Pickens, which was on a spit or spur of Santa Rosa Island, almost immediately opposite, but I think about four miles distant.
This sombre old Fort Pickens is built upon about as desolate and isolated a spot as will be found anywhere on the coast from Maine to Texas, but viewed as it was by me that morning, from the camps of the rebels, standing behind their great masked batteries, in which were the immense ten-inch Columbiads, I felt from the bottom of my soul that I never saw anything so beautiful as the old walls of the fort, on which the Stars and Stripes were defiantly floating in the breeze, right in the face of their big guns, and in spite of all the big blustering talk I had listened to for so many days.
How glad I was to see that flag there. I felt as if I could just jump and yell with delight and then fly right over the bay, to get under its folds once more. I had not seen the flag since leaving Washington, and had heard of its surrender at Sumter in the hateful words of the Rebels. I am not able to describe the feelings which came over me at this time, and after a lapse of twenty-five years, while I am writing about it, the same feelings come over me. Only those who have witnessed the picture of the Stars and Stripes floating over a fortress, viewed from the standpoint of an enemy's camp, can properly appreciate its beauty. All my homesickness and forebodings of evil vanished at the sight, and with redoubled energy I determined to discover and thwart any schemes that might be brewing in the Rebel camp to bring down that beautiful emblem. I became apprehensive lest I might be too late, and fearful that these immense Columbiads, if once they belched forth their ten-inch shells, would soon batter down the walls, and I determined that the presence of this masked battery must be made known to the Commandant at the Fort. It was upon this battery that the Rebels depended for success, as they had said it was erected secretly, and the big guns were mounted at night. Fort Pickens had not been built to resist an attack from the rear, as none such had ever been contemplated; and the Rebel officers knowing the weakness of this inside of the Fort, had erected their masked battery of great guns to play upon that particular point. They were all positive, too, that Lieutenant Slemmer and his men were in total ignorance of the existence of this battery, which was correct, as subsequently demonstrated.
I became so much interested in the exciting and strange surroundings, in the very midst of which I found myself one morning at Pensacola, that I had almost forgotten about our commissioner, who must have left Mobile by way of the gulf in one of the old boats that plied between the two cities. Anyway, I had no further use for him now, as everything was right before my eyes, and I saw at once that they meant war.
It was understood, in a general way of course, that all these great preparations opposite Fort Pickens was for the purpose of driving off the "invaders" and capturing the old fort. That afternoon, after having tramped about over the sandy beach until I was thoroughly fatigued, I sat down in the rear of some earthworks that were being constructed under the directions of some of their officers. After waiting for a favorable opportunity, I ventured to ask one of them if there wasn't enough big cannon already mounted to bombard that fort over there, pointing toward Pickens. To which he replied curtly, "If you are around here when we begin the job you will find out all about that." I did not press the inquiry further just then, but I kept my eyes and ears open, and made good use of my legs as well, and tramped about through that miserable, sandy, dirty camp till I became too tired to go further.
The navy yard proper, which included the well-kept grounds around the officers' quarters, about which were growing in beautiful luxuriance the same tropical plants of that section, was between, or in rear of, the rebel batteries and the town of Pensacola.
In my walks about the camps I strutted boldly through the open gates, before which stood an armed sentry, and walked leisurely about the beautiful grounds. I took occasion to try to talk to an old invalid sailor who had been left at the hospital at that point by some man-of-war. The conversation was not exactly of such a character as would invite one to prolong a visit in the place, as all I could get out from him was "Just mind what I tell ye, now, youngster, will you? The Yaller Jack is bound to clean out this whole damn place before very long; you better go home, and stay there, too." After this pleasant conversation he hobbled off, without waiting for any further remarks from me.
There was a telegraph office at Pensacola, which I visited. I learned of a dispatch making some inquiry of the officials about the probability of "reducing" the fort. I didn't exactly understand then what was meant by "reducing" a fort, and imagined for a while that it referred in some way to cutting down its proportions. On inquiry, however, I gathered its true import, and learned also, by way of illustrations from the lips of a Rebel officer, that "now that Columbiad battery, which is masked, and has been built at night without the knowledge of the enemy, is the machine that is going to do the 'reducing,' or, if you like it better, demolishing of the fort, because," said he, as he became enthusiastic, "that battery is so planted that it is out of range of any guns there are at the fort, and it will work on the rear or weak side of the old fort, too."
This conversation was held at the "tavern" during the evening, after this blatant officer had refreshed himself after the day's work. I ascertained that he had been an officer in the United States Army, and was of course familiar with the exact condition of the affairs at the Fort.
Each day, as soon as I had had breakfast, I would start out on my long walks down past the navy yard, through and beyond the rebel earthworks. There was not a single cannon pointed toward the fort or the ships, which were lying out beyond, that I did not personally inspect.
I made a careful mental inventory of everything, and had the names of the regiments, and each officer commanding them, carefully stowed away in my memory, with the expectation, in some way not yet quite clear, of sending the full details across that bay to the United States commander at Pickens. That I was not suspected at all, is probably due to the fact that at this same time visitors were of daily occurrence—ladies and gentlemen came like excursion parties from Mobile and other convenient points, as everybody expected there would be just such scenes as had been witnessed at Charleston a few days previous.
The earthworks, as will be understood, extended for quite a long distance on the beach and were intended also to oppose the entrance of hostile ships to the harbor, it being well understood that the fort could only receive their heavy supplies at the regular landing, or pier, which, as before stated, was on the inside of the bayor the weak wall of the fort. Any light supplies, as well as men and ammunition, must necessarily be landed through the surf, on the outside of Santa Rosa Island.
Fort McRae was an entirely round, turret-shaped old work, situated at the extreme outer point. Next to it, and some distance inside, was Fort Barrancas, while all along the beach—in suitable locations—were "sand batteries" and the great masked battery.
Here I saw for the first time piles of sand-bags laying one above the other, in tiers, like they now handle car-loads of wheat in California—wicker baskets filled with sand, which we used to see in the school-book pictures of the war with Mexico.
No persons were allowed to approach the masked battery, the existence of which was ingeniously concealed from view by a dense growth, or thicket, something like sage-bush, that had not been disturbed by the excavations.
Sentries were placed some distance from this, who warned all visitors to pass some distance to the rear, from which a good view could be had of the entire work. To better conceal this terrible battery, squads of soldiers were employed, diligently engaged in mounting guns on another little battery in full view of the officers at Pickens.
Lieutenant Slemmer told me, when I saw him a few days after this, that he had kept an officer on the lookout continually, and saw all this work, and though they suspected that larger guns would be put into use, they had failed to discover any signs of them.
I had formed an acquaintance with a young officer, I think of an Alabama company, in whose company I had visited some points that were not easily accessible to strangers. In this way, I got inside of "bomb proofs" and magazines, and went through FortMcRae, which was then being used as a guard-house or prison.
With my newly-found friend, I went in bathing in the evenings, and was introduced by him to others, who had the privilege of using the boats, and we frequently took short sails about the bay, but always back of the navy yard, or between that and the town. Looking toward Pickens we could see at any and all times the solitary sentinel on the ramparts, and occasionally some signs of life about the "barn door" that faced toward us. The number of vessels outside was being increased by new arrivals occasionally, when some excitement would be created by the firing of salutes.
One of the queer things, and that which seemed to interest the officers as well as every soldier in sight, was the display of signal flags at the fort, which would be answered by the appearance of a string of bright little flags from the men-of-war, which were constantly dancing up and down on the swell, while at anchor a couple of miles outside. Even the colored boys and cooks would, at the appearance of this phenomena, neglect their fires and spoil a dinner perhaps, to watch, with an interest that became contagious, the operation of this signaling. Many of them thought, no doubt, that this was an indication of the commencement of hostilities, and anxiously hoped to hear a gun next.
There was some apprehension among the officers that one of the men-of-war might run past the batteries at night and destroy the navy yard and town.
If there had been a signal officer on the ramparts of Fort Pickens with a good glass, advised of my presence on the sandbank (with my subsequent familiarity with army signaling), it would have been not only possible, but entirely practicable, for me to have signaled by the mere movement of my arms, or perhaps fingers, the information that was so important that they should have. These additional war facilities did not come into use for a year after, when the necessity arose for it.
There was loading with lumber at the pier at Pensacola a large three-masted English sailing vessel to put to sea, some arrangement having been made with the authorities on both sides to permit her to go out. I had been figuring on a plan to get a letter over to the Fort secretly. It did not at first occur to me that it would be possible to cross myself with safety, and knowing that in passing out, this ship would have to run in close by Fort Pickens, I set about to mature a plan to make use of this opportunity, and with this object in view I spent some time aboard the ship trying to make the acquaintance of someone.
But I found this to be too uncertain, and too slow besides. The infernal Englishmen were openly hostile to the government. It was my daily custom to sit on a sandbank right in the rear of my Rebel officers' camp, and, while not otherwise occupied, I would gaze by the hour toward that little band in the grim-looking oldprison of a fort, and wish and plan and pray that I could in some way have but one minute's talk with Lieutenant Slemmer.
I felt that I must get word to him at any cost. I could not risk swimming, on account of the numerous sharks in the water, which were more to be feared than the harbor boats that patrolled up and down between the two forces.
There were atPensacola, as at all such places, small boats for hire to fishing and pleasure parties. I concluded that by hiring one of these boats for a few days' fishing, with a colored boatman to accompany me, while ostensibly spending the day in sight of the guard-boats fishing—innocently fishing for suckers—to disarm any suspicion, I might have an opportunity, when it became dark, to crowd toward the opposite shore of Santa Rosa Island, some distance from Fort Pickens; and once on the island I could, under cover of night, steal down the shore to the Fort, and communicate with the officers, and, still under cover of the darkness, return to the mainland and make tracks through the swamps towards Mobile or New Orleans.
In carrying out this plan, it was essential that I should find a colored boatman to pilot and row me out on the bay, on whom I might safely trust my return and escape from the place. By way of reconnoitering, or practice, I hired such a boat for a couple of hours' pleasure, taking a companion with me, and in this way I looked over the ground—or, rather, water—and concluded that the scheme was feasible, and determined to put it into execution as soon as possible.
In anticipation of this sudden departure, I made a final visit to the camp of some of the friends, with whom I had become acquainted, that night, to say good-by. In this way my Montgomery commissioner's errand was accidentally brought to view. While talking about leaving, one of the officers said, "You should wait a day or two and see the fun;" and when I expressed a doubt as to the early commencement of the ball, he continued, "Oh, but there is a bearer of dispatches here from Montgomery, who says those Texas troops have been ordered here, and as soon as they get here from New Orleans the plan is for us all to go over on the island, away back, and, after the Columbiads have battered down the walls, we're going to walk right into the Fort."
Here it was, then: the masked battery was to open the door andthe troops were to approach from the island, and this must succeed, as the officers in the Fort certainly had no expectation of this sort of an attack from the rear, and could not resist it.
The men must be prevented from landing on the island; I must go over that night to post them, and I got there.
Strategy was another of the new military terms which I had heard used a great deal by these Rebel officers during their conversations among themselves and with their daily visitors and admirers. The general subject of conversation was in reference to the plans to "reduce" Fort Pickens, which persisted so defiantly in hoisting in their faces at every sunrise the Stars and Stripes, and which was only lowered at sunset with a salute from the guns of the Fort and the ships, to be again floated as surely as the sun rose the next morning and the guns boomed out on the morning air their good morning salute.
This daily flaunting of the flag had became quite as irritating to these fellows as the red flag to a bull, every one of whom seemed to me to be impatient to take some sort of steps individually to at once end the war then and there and get home. In all their talks, to which I was an attentive listener during the several days that I spent in their camps, I do not now recall a single expression of doubt from any of them as to their final success in capturing the fort. With them it was only a question of time. The criticism or demonstration which seemed to be most general among citizens as well as the military was, that the tardiness or delay in ordering the assault, upon the part of the Montgomery officials, was "outrageous." But now that they had a knowledge of the recent arrival of the "Commissioner"—whose title was changed on his arrival at the seat of war to that of "General" and "Bearer of Dispatches"—all hands seemed more happy and contented.
It was well understood among the higher officers there that the plan of the authorities was, secretly, or under cover of night, to make a lodgement on the Island by the use of the shipping they had in the harbor, and, once securely established there, the masked battery would open upon the weak or unprotected side of the Fort, and open a breach through which the Rebel troops would be able to rush in and capture the little garrison, and "haul down the flag." I had obtained full information of the enemy's plans.
As I had so closely followed the course of events from Montgomery; had personally visited every fort and battery; had become familiar with the number and location of the troops, as well as with the character and calibre of every gun that was pointed at the flag on Pickens; and had, beside this—which was more important—secured valuable information as to the proposed surprise of that little garrison.
My only desire was to get this information to our commander at Fort Pickens, for their own and the country's good, coupled with a strong inclination to defeat these bombastic rebels. I had no thought of myself whatever, and did not, in my reckless enthusiasm, stop for a moment to consider that, in attempting to run the gauntlet of the harbor boats and the shore sentinels on both sides, I was risking my life as a spy. While I do not remember to have been inspired with any feelings of the "lofty patriotism," I am surely conscious of the fact that my motives were certainly unselfish and disinterested. That there was no mercenary motive, may be inferred from the simple fact that I have not in these twenty-five years ever claimed or received anything from the government in the way of pecuniary reward for this trip.
I began at once to make practical application of the strategy, about which I had heard so much in the enemy's camp, and which Mr. Lossing, the historian, says: "As an artifice or scheme for deceiving the enemy in war, is regarded as honorable, and which is seldom if ever applied without the aid of the scout or spy's service."
A reference to a map of the northwestern part of Florida will, at a glance, indicate the relative positions of the Rebel and Union forces with far greater distinctness than I am able to describe, though, after an absence of twenty-five years, every point is as firmly impressed on my mind as if it were but a week since I saw it all, and I venture the assertion that, if permitted to revisit the scenes in Florida, I could locate with exactness the ground occupied by every battery at that time.
Of course it was out of the question to have attempted to cross the bay to Fort Pickens anyway near the batteries, or in proximity to the navy yard, because that portion of the water lying within range of the guns was being very closely "outlooked" all the time, both by the sentinels and officers with their glasses at each of theForts. They had nothing else to do, so put in the long hours scrutinizing everything that made an appearance on the water. This part of the bay was also constantly patrolled by a number of guard or harbor boats, which were quite swift, well manned, and armed with what I think they called swivel guns, placed in the bow of the boat—a piece of artillery that may be best described as a cross between a Chesapeake bay duck gun and a howitzer.
I think, too, there were torpedoes placed in the channel, which they did not want disturbed by anything smaller than a United States man-of-war, if any such should venture to run past their batteries. I was not apprehensive of becoming mixed up with any of these myself, because my route would necessarily be some distance away.
The ships-of-war, which were anchored outside the harbor, had been detected by the Rebel guard boats in their attempts to run their small muffled gigs, as they called them, close to the shore batteries on dark nights. On several occasions these nighthawks came so close to each other in their patrols that the whispered voices of each could be heard over the water. This naval outpost, or picket duty on the water, was conducted pretty much the same as is the usage on a dark night in the woods—both sides being too much scared to move or speak lest the other should get the first shot, and mutually rejoiced when the sound died away in the distance.
The ships outside were being manœuvered or changed every day. Sometimes quite a fleet would be in sight, and the next morning half of them had disappeared. It was understood, of course, that, in attacking the fort, the men-of-war would at once come to the assistance of its garrison with their guns, but, if a battery could be placed on the island, the ships could be driven out of range of supporting distance, and, beside this, a storm would necessitate their all getting out to sea, so their assistance would be quite conditional.
This is why the government and naval officers especially desired not only to retain Fort Pickens, but as well to silence the Rebel batteries opposite, and to secure and retain that most excellent harbor and navy yard on the gulf, so convenient for future operations against Mobile and New Orleans.
My only hope was to cross to the Island, some six or eight miles above the Fort (Pickens) and nearly opposite the town of Pensacola, whence, under cover of the night, I might crawl down the shore on the opposite side to the Fort. This scheme necessitated a good bit of boating, as it would be necessary to double the route so as to get back before daylight. In looking about for a boat, and a colored oarsman whom I could control or depend upon to get me over and back, and then keep quiet until I could get away toward New Orleans or Mobile, I selected a black young fellow of about my own age, and in whose good-natured countenance I thought I could discover a willingness to do anything he was told. From this chap I engaged a boat for a day's fishing, it being well understood at the time that no boats of any kind were permitted to be out after dark. I had, however, taken particular pains to let it be known at the boat-house, where the boats were usually kept, that myself and a friend, who was well known there as a rebel above suspicion, were going together to take a boat for a lark, and they should not be at all uneasy if we tied up for the night some place above town. I had, of course, no intention of taking my friend along, and this was just a little bit of "strategy" to deceive the enemy.
I had, in the hearing of a number of his comrades, directed the boatman to prepare enough bait and other little requirements for this trip to last us until late into the night. He was a jolly, good-natured, bare-footed, ragged fellow, the blackest I could find, and was tickled all to pieces with the taffy and little bit of money he got in advance, as well as with a prospect for something extra, if he should be detained very late that night.
In an apparently indifferent way I also took occasion to mention at the house where I had been boarding, that I was obliged to leave for Texas, and made all my preparations accordingly, but proposed to have first a day's fishing in company with some friend, and might possibly spend the night with them. I didn't have any baggage to bother about, having merely stopped off whileen routeto Texas.
When I got into that little boat that day, I doubt not that I looked as if I were desperately intent on having a day's fun and was fully equipped for handling any quantity of fish. I had taken off my coat—the weather in Florida at that season being quite warm and pleasant—and as I sat in the stern sheets of the little boat, with a steering oar in my hand, dressed only in a collarless shirt, pants and shoes, with a greyish slouch hat tipped back on my head,I have no doubt that my appearance was at least sufficiently careless or indifferent to disarm any apprehensions that might rise as to the real object of the trip.
It was necessary, in starting, to explain that my "companion" was detained, but would join us at a friend's house some distance above the town later in the afternoon, in the direction of which I as steersman pointed the bow of the boat, as we pulled out from the shore, bearing purposely in a direction leading farthest from the Island and the Fort.
My recollection is, that it is about four miles across the bay to the Island and six or eight miles down the bay to the outside point on which Fort Pickens is located. With the exception of this garrison, Santa Rosa may, in the language of the school-books, be called an uninhabited island. At the present time, however, Geronimo and his band of murdering Apache Indians are, with their military guard, the only inhabitants of the desolate place, and they are prisoners.
When we had gotten out from shore a good distance, we stopped for a while, just to try our luck, but as it was not a satisfactory location, after a little delay, we moved further off, when we would again drop our little anchor, to go through the same motions and move out, just a little bit, almost imperceptibly to those on shore each time.
Of course, my colored boy had no idea but that I really meant this fishing excursion for sport. He was full of fun and really enjoyed himself very much. I was uneasy, and imagined that everybody on shore had conspired to watch our little boat, which was drifting about aimlessly on the tide, a mile or so out from the rebel shore. On account of this apprehension, I was more careful to so direct our movements that suspicion would be disarmed, and, as far as practicable, I kept the bow of the boat pointed in the direction of Pensacola, actually backing out into the stream, when the tide would naturally keep us out.
My object was to keep up this sort of an appearance all afternoon, and then toward dusk (as I had told the oarsman) we would land further up, where my friend was visiting, and where I had agreed to meet him.
A race over the bay to Fort Pickens with a Rebel harbor boatwas out of the question, even with a mile of a start, because they were not only quite fast and well manned, but their little cannon were entirely "too sudden" and could soon overtake us.
Did we catch any fish? will be asked. No, this is not a fish story, and I was myself too intent upon watching the movements of all the little boats along shore to pay much attention to the fish; in this case I was the sucker myself, that was hunting a hole in the meshes of the net that I might escape.
I had put the latest New YorkHeraldin my coat pocket during the morning; this I got out and, as I sat in the stern sheets, I pretended in a careless way to become interested while the colored boy did the fishing. Along in the evening, about sundown, I saw with some alarm one of the little tug-boats come puffing around from the navy yard, and it seemed in my imagination that they were bearing directly toward us, as we were then far enough from the shore to have excited suspicion. To be prepared, I directed the boy to take the oars and we made a movement as if intending to return.
The tug came within hailing distance and, without shutting off their noisy steam-exhaust, hallooed something which I inferred was the patrol officer's notice that it was time to tie up. They passed on in to the pier at Pensacola, while we in the deepening twilight, while seemingly headed toward shore, were silently drifting with the tide further and further away.
Being in the stern, with a steering oar in my hand, the colored boy at the oars, with his face toward me and his back to the bow, he did not discover for quite a while through the now almost darkness that we were moving out to sea instead of going in to shore, as I had pretended. When he did get the bearings through his sluggish brain, he seemed all at once to have become awakened to a sense of the greatest fear. He stopped rowing abruptly and, looking about him in every direction, his eyes seemed to become almost wild with fright, showing a good deal of white through the darkness that seemed now to have come down upon us all at once; he said, huskily, as he attempted to turn the boat around with one oar: "Good Lawd, it's dark, and all niggers got to be in doors 'fore this. Ise gwine home, boss." When I tried to laugh him out of his terror, and explained that I had told his master at the pier that I wasgoing to keep him out late, it did not satisfy him. He insisted on going straight back over the course I had been leading all day. The poor slave said: "Boss, it's de law, any nigger caught out at night gets thirty-nine lashes; and if dese soger-masters knowed I was over on this side, dey kill me, suah."
We were then probably a mile off the Island shore—the darkness and distance had concealed us from the rebel shore, and I must not,wouldnot return then. I tried every way to prevail upon this poor ignorant slave to keep on rowing; that I would steer him to "my friend's house," which, in my mind's eye, had been Fort Pickens, but he wouldn't have it so; he knew, he said, "there wasn't nobody's house up on dat shore."
Under the circumstances, what could I do? He had the oars in his hands but wouldn't use them, while I, with my steering-oar, was helpless. I was within but a little distance of the shore that I had looked upon so often and so wistfully from the rebel side, yet this fellow could prevent my reaching it; and in attempting to force him to do my bidding I risked making a disturbance which would speedily bring the guard-boats to the spot. I do not claim that it was a brave act at all, but, realizing at the time that I must take command of the boat, I quietly reached for a stilletto, or dirk knife, which I had bought in anticipation of having to use or show as a quiet sort of weapon where any noises were to be avoided. With this bright steel blade pointing at the now terrified darkey, I ordered him to row, and if he dared take a hand off the oar I'd cut him and feed the pieces to the sharks in the bay.
I don't know what I should have done if he had resisted, but I think that at the moment I would have become a murderer, and, if necessary, have used not only the knife, but also the pistol, which I had by me.
Seeing my determination, and especially the knife, the "contraband" laid back on his oars and pulled for the shore lustily, looking neither to the right nor the left, but keeping both his white eyes riveted on my dagger and pistol.
I comforted him a little, because, you see, I'd got to get back, and it was necessary that he should keep still until I got away. I knew he would do this, because it would certainly have been punishment for himself to have admitted that he had been over to the Yankees.
I'D CUT HIM AND FEED THE PIECES TO THE SHARKS.I'D CUT HIM AND FEED THE PIECES TO THE SHARKS.
Now that I had committed an overt act in this attempt to reach the enemy, the die was cast for me, and I must carry it through. Imagine for a moment my feelings when the boy stopped rowing suddenly and, craning his neck over to the water in a listening attitude, said, huskily, "Boss, dats dem; dats de boat."
Great heavens, we were yet a long distance out from the Island, having been gradually working down instead of going directly over. My first impulse was to row madly for the shore, but the darkey knew better than I, when he said, "Best keep still, and don't talk, boss." Listening again, I could hear the voices distinctly, and it seemed to me through the darkness that they were right upon us; we floated quietly as a log in the water for a few terrible moments of suspense, I took off my shoes and stockings and prepared to jump overboard and swim for the shore, if we came to close quarters. If they captured me I'd be hung, while the slave's life was safe, because he was valued at about $1,800.
Resuming his oar, the boy said, "That's at the navy yard." "Why," I said, "are we near the navy yard?" "No, boss; but you can hear people talkin' a mighty long ways at night; we niggers is used to hearin' 'em; we git chased in every night." After this scare I "hugged" the shore pretty close; it seemed to me then to have been a long ways down that sandy beach, because of the suspense and uncertainty, perhaps. We stole along quietly, not knowing but that some trap might have been set along the Island to catch any contrabands who might want to run off from their masters, and again I did not know but what the rebels themselves might have a guard out there; and if I did see any persons, how was I to be sure that they were friends from Fort Pickens.
There are some sensations that can better be imagined than described. To add to my discomfort on that most eventful night in my life, I witnessed for the first time the strange, weird phenomenon of the phosphorescent water, which is, I believe, quite common in the South. To me, at this time, it had almost a supernatural appearance.
While gliding along smoothly between life and death, my nerves strung to the utmost tension, suddenly I noticed that the oars, as they were lifted from the water, were covered with a strange gleam and that the water into which I was drifting had turned to moltenlead, without flame; and as we went along now quite rapidly, there was left in our wake a long, winding, wiggling, fiery serpent which, to my heated imagination, seemed to be a machination of the devil and his imps to illuminate our path for the benefit of his friends—the rebels.
If a picture could be made of this scene, which, I may say, was dramatic, it should represent our dingy little boat moving along a desolate shore in the darkness and solitude of a midnight in Florida; the black oarsman, with open mouth, the whites of his eyes showing most conspicuously, as he twisted his head around to look over the water in the direction of the Rebels. I sat in the stern of the boat, dressed in a slouch hat and open shirt, steering-oar in hand, looking back and around in a puzzled way at the glimmering will-o'the-wisp trail in our wake. The distant background would show the grim walls of Fort Pickens, with a few vessels riding at anchor beyond.
On the other side would be the outlines of the Rebel batteries, with their sentries, while on the water, the guard or harbor boats.
My colored boatman, however, did not pay any attention to this play of light about our boat; grimly he dipped and lifted the oars, the blades covered with a peculiar yellowish light, while the water, as it dropped back into the sea, splashed and sparkled as I had seen molten metal in the molds of the foundries at home. In reply to my hushed expression of surprise, the boatman said: "O, dat ain't nothin'; it's the fire out of some of dem big guns, I'se lookin' aftah."
We silently crept along in this halo of light, during which time I took the opportunity to explain to my boatman that I was a Yankee soldier, going to the Fort to see my friends. The moment that fellow was assured of my true character his whole nature seemed changed, and, instead of the cowering, terrified slave, unwillingly doing the bidding of a master, he became a wide-awake, energetic friend, most anxious to do me all the service possible. I have forgotten the faithful boy's name, but I hope some day to revisit these scenes and shall look up his history.
Great Scott! While we were talking in this way, we were startled by the sound of oars regularly beating in a muffled way, and which we knew to our horror were coming in our direction. Could it be possible that we were to be baffled at last? The boy shifted his oarsone by one into the boat, laid his head over the water for a moment, when he whispered, "Dats a barge." I did not know what a "barge" was, while he explained that the sounds of rowing we were hearing came from a large, regular crew of disciplined boatmen in a big boat called a barge.
I judged that we could not be far from Pickens, but how could I tell whether the approaching boat contained our friends or our enemies. We all knew that the boats of both parties were engaged in prowling about every dark night. I had heard, while in the Rebel camps, that it was the only diversion they had, and volunteers for each night's adventure were numerous.
We kept "hugging the Island" pretty tight, and, as the sounds grew closer and more distinct as they came nearer and nearer, I again prepared to jump overboard and swim for the island.
As they came closer, I heard the suppressed voices, and was able to catch something like an order addressed to "Coxswain," which was the only word I could make out—that was enough, however. I knew that a coxswain was only to be found in an armed boat, and, of course, I believed they must be from the navy yard.
I slipped off my shoes and quietly dropped over the side of the boat into the water, being mighty careful, too, that the boat should be between me and the sounds, which were now quite distinct.
The boatman laid down in the bottom of the boat while I held on by both hands and paddled or towed it toward shore. Suddenly, as if a curtain had been raised, the barge, like a picture on the screen of a magic lantern, appeared and faded away, thank the Lord, some distance out from us, and the crew were rowing silently but swiftly in the direction from which we had just come.
I crawled back into the boat, my extremities dripping, and with reckless determination ordered the fellow to row right straight ahead. I was sick of this miserable agony of suspense and would end it, even if we ran into a man-of-war.
The boatman expressed the opinion that the boat from which we had been concealing ourselves was from the Fort, or belonged to the shipping outside, and I afterward learned that he was correct.
When we got a little further down the island shore, voices were again heard, this time from the land. Now I was sure we were all right, but I kept along quietly and smoothly until we were in sightof the old fort. I could now see objects moving about on the ground near the fort. We crept up still closer, and seeing a group of three persons standing together, a little ways back from the water, I rose to my feet and was about to hail them when we heard oars again from the outside.
I sat down again and begged the poor fellow to row for his life, which he did with a hearty good will; we then passed, without a challenge, a sentinel on the beach, and actually rode right up to the guard on the pier of the fort, and myself called their attention to our little boat.
A sergeant, who was within hearing, quickly ran up to the water's edge and roughly called a "halt," demanding to know our business; to which I replied: "I want to see Lieutenant Slemmer." We drew in shore; the sergeant took hold of the bow-string of our boat, and directed a soldier near by to call the officer of the guard, which was done in the most approved West Point style. All the same, however, I had gotten through their lines without a challenge, and if I had been bent on torpedo or dynamite business, it would have been possible that night to have surprised the garrison.
While waiting there, the old sergeant, who seemed to be very much incensed at my cheekiness, in running by his sentries, plied us with questions.
Pretty soon we were landed on the pier, and then I stood right under the gloomy shadow of the walls of Fort Pickens, talking with a young officer in the uniform of the United States service, and wearing the red sash of the officer of the day.
This young officer, whose name I have forgotten, received me cordially, and ordered the sergeant to take good care of my boatman. My idea had been, all along, to communicate with Lieutenant Slemmer, whom we had heard of in connection with the occupation of the Fort, and probably, also, because I had heard he was a Pennsylvanian, I imagined I should feel more freedom with him.
The officer of the day, to whom I expressed a desire to see Lieutenant Slemmer, said: "Certainly, sir, certainly. Will you please give me your name?" I merely said: "I am from Pennsylvania, and am going back soon, and wanted to tell him some news." The officer swung himself around and called to another sergeant "to make this gentleman as comfortable as possible till I return," whichwas a polite way of saying "don't let that fellow get away till I get back." He disappeared inside the cave-like entrance to the Fort.
Very soon two officers came out, to whom I was politely introduced as a young man from the other side to see Lieutenant Slemmer—the officer of the day explaining to me that Lieutenant Slemmer would be out just as soon as he could dress.
It was late at night, and they had all been sleeping in peace and security inside the Fort, while I was getting down the bay. During this interim it will be noted that not one of these officers had asked me a question. Though their curiosity was no doubt excited, they were all gentlemanly enough to believe that my business was of a private character with Lieutenant Slemmer alone.
It appears that the Fort had been reinforced, probably about the time that the attempt was made to reinforce Sumter, and at this time Lieutenant Slemmer was not in command at Pickens.
During the wait and while we were talking about the war prospects, I incidentally mentioned something about Sumter's fall; this was news, sad news to the little group of officers, and for a moment seemed to stagger them. When one of them expressed a mild doubt, thinking my information was from rebel sources, the other said:
"Oh, yes, it's true; it couldn't be otherwise." When I gave them about the date, they all recalled an unusual commotion and firing of salutes by the rebels over the bay, which they did not understand at the time, and this news explained.
It soon became known in the fort that they had a visitor with great news, and every blessed officer must have gotten out of bed to come outside and see me. I wondered at the time why I wasn't invited inside, though I could not have been more courteously treated than I was. It was quite a long time before Lieutenant Slemmer made an appearance, and when he approached me and was introduced by the officer of the day with "This is Lieutenant Slemmer," I looked up in surprise to see a tall, slim man, wearing glasses and looking for all the world like a Presbyterian preacher. He was the most distant, dignified fellow in the lot, and my first impressions were not at all favorable.
However, I briefly explained my business, and told him of the masked batteries and the proposed attack from the island. Withouta word of thanks, or even a reply, he turned and told one of the officers, who had stood aside to permit us to talk privately, to call Captain Clitz; and while he was doing this Mr. Slemmer stood by me with his arms folded—the only words he spoke were: "Oh, that's it."
Soon Captain Clitz, who was a large, rather portly officer, approached, in company with my officer, and, without waiting for an introduction, he walked up to me with his hand out, smilingly saying, "Ah, how do you do?" and, turning to Slemmer, he said, "Mr. Slemmer, I'm very glad your friend called to see us."
There was a long, earnest talk on the wharf that night, which was listened to and participated in by all the group of officers. Lieutenant Slemmer—after Captain Clitz's greeting—said: "This is Captain Clitz, the commander here now." And to him all my communications were directed.
I was, of course, questioned and cross-questioned in regard to every point of detail which could be of interest to them, and I believe I was able to satisfy them on every point.
I had understood, and believed it true, that General Winfield Scott had joined the rebels, and when I mentioned this among the other items of news, my young officer of the day spoke up quickly, saying: "Oh, no, I can't believe that. General Scott may be dead, but he is not a traitor."
In comparison with Lieutenant Slemmer's dignified bearing, Captain Clitz's kindness and cordiality to me that night will ever be remembered with feelings of profound gratitude. While I was thus talking to the officers, the sergeant and his detail of men were busily engaged in questioning my colored boy, and from him they learned the story of our trip.
The sergeant was brought to task roundly, by the officer of the day, for the failure of his sentinel up on the beach to halt our boat before getting so close to the pier. His explanation was that they saw us but supposed it was the boat belonging to the garrison.
How long I should have been detained on that old pier, under the shadow of the walls of the fort, entertaining those officers, is uncertain, had I not had before me, like a spectre, the remembrance of the rebel sentries and guard-boats, that I must again run through to get back in safety. One of the officers very kindly proposed that they would man one of their boats and convey us as far up the beachas they could go, and thereby relieve us of the tiresome pull on the oars. While this was being arranged, I gave to Lieutenant Slemmer a more detailed account of the honors that were being paid to him in the North, in connection with Major Anderson, for his bravery in saving Pickens. And I also told him about the attentions which were being showered upon his wife, who, it seems, had been permitted to pass through the Rebel lines to her home in the North soon after his moving into Fort Pickens.
To Mrs. Slemmer, it seems, was due some of the credit and glory of this movement.
After receiving from Captain Clitz his hearty acknowledgment, and a farewell shake-hands from all the officers, I got aboard the well-manned barge for a return voyage, our little boat being towed in the rear.
Getting into the boat seemed to bring to mind the shipping outside, and I incidentally asked if any of their boats might be going to Mobile soon, thinking that would save me the dangerous jaunt over the swamps. I had no fears but that I should land all right at Pensacola, but I did feel some apprehension about my boy being able to avert the questions that I knew he would be asked on his return.
Captain Clitz spoke up from the end of the pier, "There are no boats likely to go to Mobile, but one of the transports will return to New York soon; would you prefer to go that way?"
After a little explanation, it was settled that I should take the ship home, and my colored boy went back alone—at that time they were not taking care of contrabands—and I was rowed out to the shipping, and that night slept sweetly in a hammock on board Captain Porter's ship, the Powhattan.
While numerous newspaper attacks were being printed in the chivalrous press of the South concerning a defenseless boy who had succeeded, unaided and alone, in thwarting their plans to compel the surrender of Fort Pickens, I, in blissful ignorance of it all, was quietly experiencing the daily routine life aboard the blockading war ship, which was anchored in full view of the Rebel batteries through which I had been scouting but a few days previously.
I was, of course, something new and fresh on board the ship, and the way those chaps went for me was peculiar.
Did you ever try to get into a hammock? I mean arealhammock—one of those made out of canvas cloth, which, rolled up—or slung, I think they call it—looks like a big pudding.
I was put in charge of one of the petty officers, as they call them aboard a ship, who correspond to the non-commissioned officers of the army. My particular guardian was, I believe, the ship-chandler, an old salt who had charge of a little den of a room, somewhere between decks, which was crammed full of lamps or candles.
They were crowded with men and officers aboard the Powhattan at that time, so I had to turn in with this mess. I was given a hammock—a nice, clean lot of bedding was bundled up inside; it had a number painted on it, to which my attention was carefully called; then I was shown the corresponding number on deck where that particular hammock fitted in like a chink in a log-house, and where, I was told, it had to be placed at a certain "bell," or when the boatswain would sing out a certain call.
When the time came to go for the hammocks the first night, I followed my leader, shouldered the bag, and marched down in line with the rest. I found afterward the most difficult thing to learn about the navy is to getintoa hammock, stretched above your head, and the next difficult thing is to stay in it, while the third trouble is to get out of it without lighting on your head.
My old guardian was busy somewhere with his lights, and whenthe signal came to turn in, every man of that immense crowd seemed to disappear, like so many prairie dogs into their holes, leaving me standing alone on the deck under my hammock. Then the petty officer, in his deep, bass voice, said something to me about clearing that deck. I made a jump for the thing, and hung half way across it, as if I were in a swing, able to get neither one way or the other—the hammock would move every time I'd move. Lots of bare heads were sticking out over the hammocks, offering advice of all sorts; one chap proposed to give me a leg, which I gratefully accepted, when he lifted me so quickly that I toppled over the other side of the hammock on to the floor, where I lay saying my evening prayers, while the whole lot of crows in the roosts above laughed at my predicament. The show was beginning to create so much noise down below that the fellow with the big voice was compelled to interfere and put a stop to it, which he did by ordering one of the men to hold my horse while I got aboard.
He kindly explained to me themodus operandiof getting into a slung hammock, which was, as we used to say in tactics, in one time and three motions; first, grab the thing in a certain way with two hands, put one foot in first, and then deftly lift the body up and drop in; once there, the difficulty was not over, as it required some practice to keep balanced while asleep, especially to a landsman like myself. I was cautioned to part my hair in the middle, and lie there as stiff as a corpse.
It was great fun for the sailors of that mess. In the morning, after a fair night's rest, I was awakened by the man-of-war's reveille, and literally tumbled out of the hammock, landing on all fours on deck, for the thing was as hard to get out of as it was to get into. But now the sailors, who had so much fun at my expense the night before, showed the greatest kindness and did what they could to teach me to strap or lash it up, and I was ready to take up my bed and walk with the rest of them, and stored it away while it did not yet seem to be daylight.
I was invited to the best mess for breakfast, which I was able to enjoy very much, and I spent the greater portion of the day on the big wheel-house of the ship, pointing out to the officers the location of the different batteries in the rebel line. The officers were quite courteous and kind, and, as may be imagined, listenedwith the greatest eagerness to the news which I was able to give them. The New YorkHerald, which was the only thing in the shape of "papers" that I had brought with me, was eagerly read, the officers almost quarreling for its possession. It was finally settled by their cutting it up and dividing the pieces around.
The Powhattan was one of the largest vessels of the old-fashioned side-wheel class, and at that time was literally bristling with her armour, having been hurriedly fitted out at Brooklyn Navy Yard at about the same time the other vessels sailed to the intended relief of Sumter.
An old salt gave me his account of their trip out, which, as nearly as I can recollect, was something like this:
"We had just returned from a cruise, ye know, to China, and wanted to stay home a bit, because the Engineer Board condemned one of our boilers as dangerous, so, of course, no one aboard thought of going to sea again in her. Well, by thunder, one night they sent a draft of men aboard, and the next morning we were steaming out somewhere—we all thought to some other yard.
"The officers had what they called sealed orders, not to be opened till we were outside, don't you know. That black-whiskered chap"—pointing with his thumb toward Captain Porter's cabin—"was aboard, and we all thought he was our sky pilot, as he was dressed just like a parson or chaplain; but when we got out, and the orders were opened, he had changed his black duds, and, by gad, he took us in tow, just like a pirate king, and fetched us all down to this blasted hole to die of Yaller Jack.
"On the voyage down, every man of us was worked to death; day and night, all hands were going, unpacking boxes of arms that had been smuggled aboard, and them brass things you see back of the purser's 'cow-house'"—as he called the wheel-house—"we boxed up like dead men in coffins. Well, some of the men swore we were turned pirates; and a lot more of us was dead sure we were going out as a privateer for Jeff Davis. You see the sealed orders was to Captain Porter, and he had just come aboard at night, and they say he came right over from Washington City that same day, and, of course, he knew what was up, but no one else did.
"We found out, though, after that. The plan for us was to run down and go right straight ahead into the harbor, past the Fort andthem Rebel Batteries. If we was inside once, we could drive them off and get the navy yard, you know, and they couldn't get onto the Island, don't you know. Well, when we got near Pensacola, what did they do but begin to burn some soft English coal, what was stored aboard, so's to make a black smoke, don't you see, and make them Rebels believe we were an Englishman going to Pensacola. Well, Porter was on hand, you bet, and every other fellow was on hand, too, and we were going to run right straight by the derned Batteries, without stopping or showing our colors; but the 'Old Man,' as we termed the admiral, or Senior Officer Alden, who had preceded us, as soon as we came up signaled to drop anchor; and the Lord only knows how long we will stay, if that condemned boiler don't bust.
"The old black-whiskered parson was mad, because he didn't get to go ahead, and he mopes in his den all the time, just like a bear with a sore head, cross at us all, as if we was to blame."
Rear-Admiral David D. Porter was, at that time, ranking as a lieutenant in the navy, though he had been selected specially by Mr. Lincoln to command the Powhattan on this relief expedition. As I saw him daily aboard his ship, he appeared, to my eyes, to be a hearty, blustering, handsome naval officer, in the prime of life, wearing a full, black beard, which, with his sharp eyes and commanding presence, impressed me with the idea that the old tar had suggested, as being a model pirate chief.
Those who have not been aboard a man-of-war while in commission and engaged in actual sea service, and have formed their impressions from casual visits to a ship in port, would scarcely realize the changed condition of affairs. The captain is a little king, with absolute power, and lives in great style, all by himself, in his beautiful den of a cabin, at the extreme aft-end of the ship. Henevercomes forward, I believe, and walks only on one side of the deck. I think he doesn't permit anyone to approach his highness, except through the regular channels.
He may be a good fellow ashore and will eat and drink with you at the hotel bars, like any ordinary bit of humanity; but dear me, aboard his ship he is a holy terror.
Not being an enlisted man myself, and only a sort of a refugee aboard ship, wholly unacquainted with the new order of things, I was constantly doing something or other that interfered with therules, and, as a consequence, was an object of disgust to the minor officers and, I suspect, a source of amusement to a great many others.
Naval officers, I understand, never like to have a civilian aboard their ships, probably because they are not amenable to the strict discipline, and another reason is, that a common landsman does not pay that homage and respect to their rank that is exacted of the seaman.
As I was promenading up and down the deck the first morning, an officer, whom I was told was Lieutenant Perry, the executive officer, sent one of the smartly-dressed marines to me, who approached pleasantly and said:
"The executive officer directs that you will please walk on the port side of the deck." Well, I looked at my feet, then at the grinning marine, and asked him what was the matter. I didn't know there was such a thing as a port side of a deck; but he explained that the one little place where I had been taking my morning air was reserved exclusively for the captain of the ship.
The captain sent his orderly to escort me to his presence in his cabin; the marine was, of course, all fixed up with his natty uniform, white-crossed belts, and little sword, and as we approached the lion's den, he knocked as if he were afraid somebody might hear him, and when a gruff voice within sang out "Come!" he stiffened up as if he had heard an order to "present"; then swinging open the door, swung around briskly and saluted; and before he could say his little speech, the captain spoke up:
"That will do, Orderly," when he went through the same motions as when we entered, and left me alone with the bear.
The captain astonished me by reaching for my hand, and, gently pushing me over to a huge sofa, sat down beside me, and began to talk in a most cordial manner about my adventure at Montgomery and Pensacola, which lasted quite a little while, and ended with an invitation to take something, which I was forced to decline.
My interview with the captain seemed to have a wonderful influence not only on the minds, but over the actions as well, of the petty officers and sailors, who had been guying me so mercilessly every hour of my stay among them. I was at once treated with the utmost consideration by everybody on board, andit appeared to me that every old salt, who wore a piping whistle at the end of a white cord about his neck, was anxious to talk with me in confidence.
To excite the curiosity of a lot of old sailors aboard ship is like bringing a swarm of mosquitoes about one's head; and the way I was pestered with questions and cross-questions, as well as all sorts of surmises and hints, would distract any one, excepting, perhaps, the well-seasoned and tanned hides of their own kind.
Captain Porter is the only man on board the ship to whom I told my story, though questioned in a gentlemanly manner by the other officers. I was able to hold and keep my own counsel from them all. I was to them a refugee, and that was all the satisfaction any of them got from me, except that in a general way I was free to tell anybody all I knew about the Rebel batteries and forces; but why I had gone to Pickens was explained only to Captain Porter, who believed my story, from the interview with Secretary of War Cameron down to getting aboard his ship. Though I had nothing whatever to show as proof, having brought with me to the ship only the rather scanty clothing I wore, having almost stripped myself in anticipation of a swim for life while crossing the bay.
Right here I may mention that my family preserves with the greatest care a sailor shirt, on which is an elaborately embroidered star in colors, in each corner of the broad silk collar, also a pair of white duck sailor trousers. These useful as well as beautiful articles were presented to me by some of the men aboard ship, for which present, I have often thought since, I must have been indebted to Captain Porter's influence, as the articles are of such value that the old fellow who stowed them in my hammock would scarcely have parted with them without some remuneration.
The needlework on these articles was all done aboard ship by the stiffened and well-hardened fingers of an old sailor, and I do not exaggerate in saying, for rare and delicate workmanship, they are not excelled by anything I have seen in the same line since.
The monotony of life aboard ship was relieved somewhat by the every-day drill of the marines, under command of Lieutenant Broome, whose name I remember distinctly, as being associated in my mind with "a new broom," he always looked so sleek and nice in his fresh uniform. The sailors were also drilled at the big guns,fore and aft, which they would pull and haul about for hours at a time under the commands of some officer.
One day Captain Porter astonished the Rebels, as well as our own officers, by a mock naval battle. At a certain hour and upon a given signal, all hands were called to quarters unexpectedly, Captain Porter appearing on the bridge with an immense big brass trumpet in his hands, through which he bellowed out something which everybody but me seemed to understand. Men went up the rigging like a lot of monkeys in trees; others yanked out the big cutlasses. At the command, "Repel boarders!" they would climb up the sides of the ship and cut and slash their invisible enemies at a dreadful rate. Then suddenly an order came to load the guns; and in an instant almost, men whom I had not seen popped up out of the holds and handed to others, who had evidently been expecting them, cartridges, which were rammed into the big mouths of the cannons; then all stood still as death—but for an instant only—when the brass trumpet belched out something about a "Broadside," and—Great Scott! it makes me tremble while I write about it—every gun on that big ship, great and small, went off at the same time, and almost lifted the ship out of the water.
They kept firing and loading in this way for quite a little while, Captain Porter, during this time, standing quietly and unconcernedly on the bridge, with his watch in one hand and the trumpet in the other. When he was ready, another order was fired through his telephone, and the firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
During all this hubbub, when every fellow had a place to go and stay, I was jumping around from one place to another, like a hen on a hot griddle, trying to find some spot where I might not be in anybody's way. When the firing ceased, the ship was rolling about and, as we were encompassed by the smoke, it seemed as if we were sailing in a cloud in mid air.
Captain Porter, from his position on the bridge, began at once to catechize the different officers, precisely as a school-master would a class, asking each in turn, as he pointed to him:
"How many rounds, Mr. Broome?" And if the answer was not satisfactory, an explanation was demanded. I remember that the assistant engineer's position was at the little brass pieces, elevated abaft the wheel-house, and their work was not at all satisfactory to Captain Porter, who did not hesitate to so express himself, much to the disgust of the engineers and the amusement of the other officers.
When the cloud of smoke lifted and we could see over the water, we found all the other ships of the squadron watching us, while the ramparts of Fort Pickens was to be seen crowded with men, no doubt wondering what was up. They, no doubt, supposed the ship's magazine was afire. The Rebel Batteries were black with men, who imagined, of course, that the ship was fighting some of their own craft.
It appeared afterward that this trick of Captain Porter's came very near bringing on a conflict with the Rebs, as they prepared to open their batteries on the fort. If the drill had continued a little longer it would have resulted in bringing about a genuine fight. Perhaps this is what Captain Porter desired.
There was some influence that fretted him very much at the time, which I have never heard explained. It was well known that he was most eager for the fight to begin.
Early one bright morning our lookout spluttered out something, to which the officer on deck at the time—who was Lieutenant Queen, at present commandant at the Washington Navy Yard, and to whom I was talking at that instant—startled me by singing in my ear: