"Where away?"
The fellow above said something about two points on our port bow.
Mr. Queen left me abruptly to report to the captain, who soon appeared on deck. I climbed up to a good place from which to look out, and gazed in the direction in which Mr. Queen and the captain were pointing, but failed to see anything myself.
Orders were issued to prepare a little boat that was attached to the Powhattan, as a sort of dispatch boat, and an officer, whose name was Brown—a fat, jolly young man whom Captain Porter seemed to think highly of—was put in charge.
This little craft hoisted sail and went dancing about on the water like a sea-bird. By this time two steamers were in sight, approaching us.
Who they were and what they were after was just what everybodywanted to know; the old sailors, who are always croakers, had any quantity of ridiculous stories about their errand and our rapidly approaching fate.
Signals went up on Fort Pickens, and I discovered,first, that signals were being made from the Rebel Batteries, in rear of their Forts, and reported the fact, the circumstance awaking in Captain Porter a lively interest.
Tho little sea-bird, with Mr. Brown, went out toward the approaching ships, as if to meet them; orders were given by somebody, I suppose, but I failed to hear them, to weigh anchor, which was quietly done; then, instead of the ships halting to communicate with Mr. Brown's signals, they went nearer to the Rebel Batteries, while the black smoke poured out of the chimneys, and the paddle-wheels whirled around.
All at once I jumped two feet high, because a gun behind me went off. Still the wheels went round and round, and the water was foaming in their wake. All hands and eyes were on the ship in the lead, when boom went another gun; and there is where I saw the first hostile gun fired. There was a splash in the water some distance this side of the ship, but in her front, then another splash on the same line further on; this was the first shot across her bow, and it had the immediate effect of stopping those paddle-wheels as suddenly as if she had been hit in the belly.
She "hove too"—there was a long confab with the captain of the boat, which turned out to be ships from Mobile bound to Pensacola with supplies—appealed from Porter to the old admiral, and the end of it all was, the two boats loaded with supplies and probably ammunition, were not permitted to go on past the Fort inside the bay to Pensacola, as Captain Porter decidedly protested against it, and they were escorted back to Mobile.
They were not war ships, and at that time some of our officers had peculiar ideas of the rights of Rebels: as, for instance, the refusal to allow my colored boy, Friday, to remain at the Fort because he was property, etc.
In our mess I think there were four of as jolly, good-hearted tars as may be found in any navy, who vied with each other in their efforts to make my stay with them as comfortable as possible. I presume my popularity was increased a little bit, from the fact thatI really couldn't swallow the gill of grog, nor use tobacco, that was issued to every one who wanted it, and my portion was scrupulously drawn and assigned to our mess.
I was here first introduced to sea biscuit, which you know is the naval term of S. O. B. Every old soldier will know the meaning of those cabalistic letters.
One fellow, who was so droll that he kept the mess in a roar all the time, insisted that some of the sea biscuit then being issued by the commissary had been left over from the Revolutionary War. They were really as hard as a board; it was often as good as a show to watch the antics of Jack trying to weld them, like iron, at the galley range, or to put them under the rollers of the big cannon for a chuck stone.
The pickled pork he declared was alive with worms, and insisted upon taking me up the main mast, to prove to me that great chunks of it were able to crawl up the polished mast to the fore-top. While eating our grub (as they call it), when the cook had prepared a particularly nice dish of scouce (I think that's the way it's spelled), Jack would pretend to be so hungry that he and another chum would get on all fours and squeal for all the world like a lot of hogs in a pen.
Every day there would be signals exchanged between our ship and the others, or with Fort Pickens, and occasionally boats from the other vessels would come to our side bringing officers to visit our officers.
For some days my daily life was spent in this way. I began to imagine, from some of the yarns that I was compelled to overhear from the sailors at night, that something was going wrong with me; nothing had been intimated to me directly by any of the officers, who were uniformly courteous, excepting, perhaps, Lieutenant Perry, the executive officer who had general charge of everything. On another occasion he had picked me up sharply for daring to handle a marine glass that I saw on the bridge one day and elevated toward the Rebels.
The sailors, who, of course went with the boats to the fort as oarsmen, must have brought back some exaggerated stories about me, judging from their actions and talk. If any of those who may read my story have ever been compelled to listen to old sailors'or old soldiers' stories and croakings, they will be able to sympathize with me in my misery. I can think of no comparison that will approach so near my conception of the situation as that of being caged in an insane asylum with a crowd of cranky old lunatics, and being compelled to hear all they have to say without being able to escape from the horror.
This Lieutenant Perry was, I believe, a nephew of Commodore Perry, of Lake Erie fame, and perhaps a very capable officer, though I do not recall having heard his name during the war, which followed so closely. He was evidently prejudiced against me from the first day, probably because I declined to be interviewed by him.
One day I was surprised by having him call me aside and commencing a conversation about the war, during which I expressed some decided opinions about the earnestness and sincerity of the Rebels. And I probably gave vent to my disgust at the permitting my colored boy to be sent back to slavery and possibly punishment.
A short time after this I was invited to the captain's cabin. On entering, I found Mr. Perry and the captain in consultation. After a pleasant greeting, Captain Porter said:
"We have just learned that the Rebels have a lot of big guns at Montgomery which they are to send to Pensacola." When he got this far, I interrupted him to say, "That is hardly correct, as I had been in Montgomery, and they had no guns of any kind there." Perry spoke up and said they meant Mobile. Porter continued, smilingly: "Yes, it's Mobile, of course. Well, we want to spike those guns right there." Not for a moment thinking they were putting up a job on me, I looked anxiously in Porter's face for a clue to his meaning, in thus talking to me. Looking me squarely in the eye, he said:
"Now the government pays handsomely for this service," patting his pants pockets to make some keys rattle. Still I did not like the appearance of things, and perhaps too abruptly interrupted to say:
"Yes, I know; but the Rebels aren't going to let any one do that."
Then ensued a long confab, in which Lieutenant Perry did most of the talking.
Captain Porter finally said to me, with a peculiar look:
"Now I have some little file-shaped things, just made for that purpose; all a man has to do is to quietly drop one of these into the vent, and they don't even know it's there, till they want to fire the gun."
This looked plausible, and I began to feel as if I'd like to try that simple little trick, but I told him candidly that I couldn't undertake it; that they would surely hang me, if caught; and that it wouldn't be well for me to run the risk just then.
"Oh," says Perry, "we will man a boat and land you on the beach ten miles from Pensacola."
"Yes," spoke up Captain Porter, "we will put you ashore any place you want to go."
Without a moment's thought, except a desire to do any service for my country, I said to them, "All right, I'll go."
I knew nothing whatever at this time of the demands that were being made by the rebel authorities upon the Fort to have me surrendered on a civil process, and on the same general principles that had induced the Fort officers to return the colored boy, was being brought to bear in my case. It seems the officers of the Fort got rid of the knotty point by informing the Rebel flag-of-truce boat that I was out of their control, and in the hands of the naval authorities.
Application had been made to the flag-ship of the squadron, that being the proper headquarters, but it seems that in some way Captain Porter's instructions were direct and more recent than had been received by the admiral, whose name, if I remember aright, was Adams or Alden; but of this I am not positive. However, there was some sort of a conflict of authority between Porter and the Admiral, and not altogether a cordial feeling between them, as there were no visits or courtesies being exchanged between them, as was customary in such situations.
I had myself seen from the deck of the Powhattan a little tug-boat bobbing out to the Admiral's ship, but had no idea, of course, that I was being the subject of negotiations, which were being carried on by the opposing forces through their flags-of-truce.
The Admiral, who had desired the ships from Mobile to pass in unmolested, was quite indifferent to my fate, and did not deign tocommunicate with Mr. Porter or myself. No doubt if I had been aboard his ship instead of Admiral Porter's, the true story of this episode would never have been written; as I should have been surrendered, as a matter ofcourtesyto the Rebels, who would have further extended the courtesy—at the end of a rope.
It will be seen that the Admiral was willing that I should be surrendered, and my life hung for several days in a balance, which, thank God, was held by Captain Porter.
Perry, knowing of these negotiations, was himself convinced that I was a Rebel Spy, whom they wanted to get back, and had kept a close watch on my actions; and, I presume, had set half the ship's crew to pick me up on any little circumstance which would serve to confirm his suspicions that I was in the service of the rebellion.
One day I was sitting on the "back stairs," or on the platform of the gangway aft the wheel-house, and, as the vessel had swung round, I could, from my location, see right over the water to the rebel lines. My position happened to be somewhat secluded, and I had in my hands a scrap of an old New YorkLedger, that one of the tars had loaned me. I saw that I was being watched by Perry, who was in quiet consultation with the officer of the deck. A marine with a loaded musket had been ordered to look sharp that I did not fly over to the Rebs, I suppose.
While in this situation the thought burst upon me that I was a prisoner, suspected by my own friends of being a spy in their camp.
The interview that I had had in the cabin, with Captain Porter and Lieutenant Perry, the proposed trip to Mobile, with a dozen other little incidents, rushed through my brain at once, but I was comforted by the thought that the War Department would acknowledge my services. After this feeling had passed away from my mind to some extent, I recalled with bitterness some of Lieutenant Perry's actions and talks with me. Carelessly glancing around to see that he was still on deck, I wrote on the margin of that oldpaper some words that expressed, in language more emphatic than politic, the opinion I entertained of a certain officer, and whose conduct I should take care would be reported to the ears of the Navy Department. Before I had finished, a hand was laid on my shoulder; another reached down and snatched the paper from my hand; the young officer, whom I had seen talking to Perry but a few moments previously, said:
"Ah, sketching, are you?" as he took the paper and handed it to Mr. Perry, who was at his back, and he read with a flushed face the ugly comments on his brutality to a boy prisoner, who had done more for his country in one night than he would accomplish in his life-time.
"AH! SKETCHING, ARE YOU?""AH! SKETCHING, ARE YOU?"
For a boy, this was a pretty sharp trick, if it were not very discreet. Mr. Perry roughly said, as I put my hands in my pockets and looked at him defiantly:
"Take your hands out of your pockets when you talk to an officer, damn you!" "Go forward, sir!" "Don't you come aft again!"
Mr. Perry, as the executive officer, had the control and management of almost every detail aboard ship; and, of course, after his ridiculous failure to catch me mapping, or sketching, which had become known all over the ship, he entertained for me more positive and open dislike than ever, so that I was henceforth, practically, his prisoner. I had enjoyed full liberty to go about everywhere as I pleased, heretofore, and lounged or lay about in the warm sun most of the time up by the wheel-house; but now I understood that, by his arbitrary orders, I was not to be allowed to go aft; which I interpreted to mean confinement to the forecastle.
This was not so pleasant for me, as I could have no communication with the officers, and lost the opportunity of seeing the marine drill, which was a daily performance, that seemed to relieve the monotony of our every-day life, which was indeed becoming quite tiresome to me.
However, I consoled myself with the reflection that I should soon be able to get away to my home in the North. There had been a transport in the squadron unloading supplies, which I had been given to understand would take me off on her return to New York. I watched with eager interest the unloading of this transport, whichhad to be tediously and drudgingly performed by the use of lighters and pulleys over the ship's side;—the rebs objected, you know, to our forces using the Fort's piers, which was within range of their guns, though it will be recalled that our Admiral did not prevent their ships going into the harbor to unload their supplies.
I think it must have been some of Billy Wilson's Zouaves, or their supplies, that were being unloaded. You will remember that about this time that regiment of the roughs and toughs of New York City had been sent down there, where they were permitted to encamp on the Island, between the fires of the two forces; being natural enemies of both, communication with them was necessarily limited.
Early one morning, one of the petty officers shook me out of the hammock, saying:
"Bundle up quickly, to go aboard the transport."
If I didn't get out of the hammock that morning very gracefully, it was because it was done suddenly. The man who called me stood by, as he said, to help me get ready, as the ship was to sail at daylight. I had no bag for my luggage, which consisted only of the gifts of the fine sailor suit, mentioned heretofore, and what I wore on my person, so we were not long in getting ready.
Hurrying up on deck, I went to the gangway aft, where the little gig, as they call the little boat, was bobbing up and down on the swell, as the waves beat against the ship's side. The sailor standing in the bow, holding on to the steps, or rope balustrade, helped me to make the little jump into the boat, which I felt was dancing with delight because it was to take me off that old ship.
As I passed to the rear seat, each old tar had a kind word of good-by for me, and I believe that I promised every one of them to go and see their friends and sweethearts when I should get home. We waited awhile for an officer who was getting the captain's mail ready. Soon Lieutenant Queen came down the steps and scrambled to a seat beside me, saying, pleasantly:
"Well, my boy, I wish I were going with you this morning."
He gave the order to let go and soon we were bouncing over the water toward the transport, which was smoking and hissing away at a great rate some distance from our ship but nearer the shore. When we pulled alongside I braced myself for the climb up her side, whenLieutenant Queen should give the signal. He had gone aboard ahead and delayed sometime; presently he appeared at the ship's side and began to descend to our boat again; I thought his manner a little queer, as I watched him with astonishment; once in the boat, he was about to give the order to pull off, when the captain of the transport hailed him and said:
"I'm sorry, but don't you forget to tell Porter it's not my fault."
After a little further talk in an undertone, Mr. Queen told the coxswain to go ahead, and then turning to me said:
"There's some mistake, they say they can't take you, they have no room."
My feelings may be imagined—they can not be described. I was so disappointed that I was literally struck dumb, and could not speak a word on our return to the ship, and was led aboard by the good-hearted old sailors as if I had just been rescued from a watery grave.
Going to our ship's side, I looked over the water in the early grey of the morning and saw the transport, on which I had built my every hope of home, slowly but surely steaming away toward home, and I still on the shipand a prisoner. How long I stood there I do not know; probably until the fast-sailing transport had almost gotten out of my dimmed sight. I cried, of course I did, like a big baby, and on board a man-of-war, too; and being too proud to show it, I kept my face resolutely set toward the receding ship that was going home without me.
I didn't even have such a thing as a handkerchief to dry those tears, bitter tears, whichwouldrun down my cheeks and drop into the sea below me.
Mr. Queen, who had reported his trip to Captain Porter, hunted me up to say that "the captain would see that I was taken care of and sent home all right."
Speaking in his kindly, sympathetic manner, seemed to renew my emotion, and turning my wet cheeks to him I said, I fear somewhat harshly, "I'll never again undertake anything that would get me aboard a naval officer's ship."
He laughed good-naturedly, while he told me of his many disappointments in not getting home from foreign countries, as he hadplanned, while in the naval service. He said also that Captain Porter was mad about it, because some one seemed determined to interfere with everything or anything he wanted to accomplish, but he would fix me all right next time, and, pointing to another transport, he said:
"You will go on that ship in a few days."
Some of the talks and hints which the old sailors had been firing at me for days about a Rebel Spy, sent aboard to fire their magazine, or to signal to the Rebels any attempt to run inside, and which I had taken at the time as sailors' yarns, were now vividly recalled to my mind. These things, coupled with the recent interview between Porter, Perry and myself, in which I had been entrapped into an agreement to return through their lines to spike some guns, all came upon me with a sickening sensation.
I had been led by the talk of Perry, against my own judgment, and doubting the feasibility of his plans, to agree that I should put ashore alone, in a dismal swamp in Florida, ten miles from everything living but alligators and snakes, in the dark of midnight, to find my way across to Mobile to spike some guns.
Because I was willing todo anythingfor the benefit of the Union cause, not having a single thought of fear or danger to myself, this disposition had been twisted and tortured by Mr. Perry, a United States officer, into a virtual acknowledgment on my part that I was a Rebel and was anxious to return to their camps.
I do not believe that Captain Porter agreed with Perry in this conclusion.
If the object of these Rebels in their negotiation was to throw discredit on my reports of their operations and plans—which they knew I could correctly give—they succeeded only in the sense that I was personally discredited. The officers at the Fort were grateful and glad to receive my information. I know they were benefited by and acted upon it; but the poor spy who enabled them to save their Fort, or at least prevent disaster, was ignored. The officers, no doubt, took great credit to themselves in their official reports.
I may be allowed to say right here that the spy's work, though often most dangerous and important, is always thankless. That was my experience at the outset of my career, but (unfortunately for me perhaps) did not deter me from continuing in the same service.
I made up my mind to one thing, however; I stuck to it, and I was never caught on board a man-of-war again, but confined my operations to solid ground, where I could have more room and freedom, and be my own executive officer.
The next day on board the ship was Sunday, and an eventful one to me. As is customary aboard a man-of-war, it was inspection day. All soldiers and sailors know what a Sunday inspection is, so I need not describe it.
At a certain hour I was invited aft, with the drove of a crew—to "Meetin'," as the sailor said. All hands were congregated about the deck according to a drill, which all understood, at a certain moment the officer of the deck stepped to the captain's door and, after saluting in the proper manner, invited the parson to the pulpit.
Captain Porter in full regimentals marched out in grand style, taking up his position, and gravely opened a book from which he read some prayers as effectively as a clergyman, after which there were orders read, and a dismissal for a general holiday—relief from drill and routine work for the balance of the day.
This was the first time I had been permitted to look at the captain since my disappointment, and I most eagerly scanned his face for some indication of his feeling toward me; once or twice I caught his eye, but I found little comfort there. He was a fierce-looking fellow, and particularly so when fixed up in his Sunday toggery.
The other ships of the squadron, as well as the fort and the Rebels, seemed to be putting on their best attire and were feeling comfortable in their Sunday dress.
Inside the harbor, the Rebels seemed to be enjoying Sunday excursions with their little boats; the officers on the ships and the fort were exchanging friendly visits.
I had, as a special Sunday privilege, I suppose, been told to resume the freedom of the ship as at first, and was lounging in my haunt above, where I could see all about us.
Along some time in the afternoon I noticed a little steam-tug steam out past Fort Pickens, puffing and dancing along in the direction of the admiral's flag-ship. The striking peculiarity about the little boat was, that at her bow she floated a white flag, not larger than a bathing towel, while on the rear staff were flaunted the Rebel colors.
My curiosity having been greatly excited by the sailors' talks of flags-of-truce to the fort, in which I was in some unknown way connected by them, I watched with intense interest every movement this little craft made; she came on, dancing along between the shore and the squadron until the flag-ship was almost abreast of her, then suddenly turning, the fluttering white flag pointed directly to the admiral's ship, and was lost to my sight behind her great sides.
Others on board were watching this also, and I could see that the glances of the men would turn significantly from the little truce boat to me.
Mr. Queen had gone off visiting, but Mr. Perry was on hand, sullen and disagreeable.
They stopped so long aboard the Admiral's ship that one of the younger officers ventured to say to me in a side whisper, feeling perhaps that I needed some comfort: "Oh, they are just over for a Sunday visit to the Admiral," and then walked briskly away from me as if afraid of being seen by Perry talking to the Rebel Spy.
He had scarcely turned away from me when, on looking in the direction of the flag-ship, I saw the white flag come bobbing out from under the stern of the big ship. Were they going back to their Rebel camps?No!they were bearing straight down on us, while they were waving adieus to the officers, who were looking over the bulwarks of the ship they had just quitted.
Great God!my heart sank within me at the thought that they were after me again, and the old Admiral had sent them to Captain Porter, with orders to give me up.
I reckon I turned pale. I know that I felt that I would die in the water beneath me before I would return with them to the Rebel lines. I was a boy of strong impulse, and, if I must say it myself, I was not afraid of death; but I determined in the instant I stood there watching that boat come toward us so saucily that I would die rather than return with them.
The slightest provocation at that time would have made me leap overboard. Luckily for me, the young officer who had spoken to me but a few moments previously, ran rapidly up the few steps and called me quickly to him, saying:
"Captain wants you in his cabin, right away."
I nervously followed him, and as he opened the cabin door I steppedinside and saw Captain Porter in the act of buckling on his sword belt; his face was strangely flushed, and, as he adjusted his sword into its proper position at his side, and buttoned up his coat, turned sharply on me, saying, as he shook his head significantly:
"Young fellow, that boat is coming after you; do you know that?"
I don't know just what I did reply, I was so stunned for a moment, but the gallant, glorious old loyal son of the navy put the answer into my head.
"You claim our protection, don't you."
"Yes, I do. I'll go overboard Captain, but I'll not return to the Rebel lines."
"You don't need to. You have claimed my protection; you are a boy away from home and among enemies; you are in my charge."
I tried to thank him, but he stopped me abruptly, saying:
"Never mind; you claim our protection, and, by God, you shall have it."
With this he glared out of his little window like a wild beast in a cage, and I backed out of his presence with a heart overflowing with thankfulness and gratitude, rejoiced that I had found one officer who would use his authority to protect American citizens; who sought the good of the country and the protection of our flag.
I went back to my perch just in time to see the white flag run under our bow, and, looking down over the ship's side, I could see the tug was filled with Rebel officers.
The officer of the deck received them courteously, and, after reporting to Mr. Perry, they were invited aboard. Mr. Perry was most affable and pleasant with them, as were, in fact, all the officers, and the Rebels themselves seemed to be as jolly as if they were out for a frolic. There was nothing in their manner or bearing toward each other that would lead anyone to infer there was any prospect of a war.
After the preliminary courtesies had been exchanged, a couple of them went into the captain's Cabin; what occurred there I never learned; the interview, however, was a mighty short one; the Rebel emissaries came out and without any further parley got aboard their flag-of-truce boat and steered for their sand-banks.
I have a recollection of reading in our school histories an accountof one of our naval officers, while in an Austrian port, giving some such protection to a naturalized citizen of the United States, and great credit attached to this act; perhaps, I am prejudiced, but I doubt very much if that officer did as grand and heroic an act as that of Captain Porter in protecting a boy from the shabby, cowardly attempt of traitors in arms against his flag, aided by the more contemptible conduct of our own officers who were his superiors.
It required the nerve which subsequent events showed Captain Porter to possess, and his name and deeds are everywhere recognized while that of his superior, the Admiral, has been lost.
During the ten days I was anchored off Fort Pickens on board the man-of-war Powhattan my enforced sojourn may be likened to that of a "fish out of water."
In compelling an ignorant slave boatman to row me over the bay in the cover of the night to Fort Pickens with this valuable information, I was, according to law, as it was interpreted technically, guilty of a threat or attempt to kill. This, with the fact that the slave, like the boat and oar, was "property," added robbery to the indictment prepared against me.
But as the slave had been so heartlessly and almost cruelly sent back to his little boat, there was in fact no robbery, and all that could have been claimed was the intention or intent to kill, etc. I did not understand then, and have not since been able to learn, sufficient law to properly satisfy myself on this question, but the facts are as has been stated here.
On his return to the Rebels, the colored boy, no doubt, gave these officials an exaggerated story of his experience with the bold highwayman, or freebooter, in his boat on the bay, thinking in this way to obtain for himself some immunity from the terrible punishment that awaited all slaves who were caught out at night, which would be more especially severe at such a time and under such circumstances as had just happened to him.
The Rebel officers, of course, when they heard the dreadful story from the lips of my boatman, at once began looking up the details of the recent visit of the Texan among them, and readily gathered sufficient data from my week's companionship and intercourse in their midst to justify the conviction that I was a dangerous fellow, and had gone over to the Yankees, knowing their hand and game too well.
It is probable that the object of the flags-of-truce was, primarily, to create in the minds of our officers an impression that I was unworthy and undeserving of belief. Before leaving Washington I had, while in consultation with an official of the War Department, been given to understand that, as a matter of policy, it would be more to my credit to obtain information and report directly to the War Department; and I was cautionednot to acknowledge to any person—friend or foe—that I was on a secret errand. I had not, during my brief stay at the fort, mentioned to any of the officers the fact that I was visiting in the service of the War Department, and had only informed Captain Porter of my hasty interview with the Secretary, admitting to him that the present service was purely voluntary, but that I expected to be regularly engaged on my return home. I had no papers of any kind in my possession, and even if I had brought along with me the Secretary of War's endorsement on my application, no person would have been able to have read the Secretary's peculiar chirography.
Some of our officers, in April, 1861, were inclined to accept the Rebels' interpretation of the laws, and those at Pickens were, I fear, disposed, as a matter of mere courtesy to surrender on their demand my person a victim of their unholy vengeance. At that time Ben Butler, Fremont, or General Banks, had not had the opportunity to lay down the law of the nation to the Rebels in arms against its authority; but, luckily for me, I was aboard the ship commanded by Captain D. D. Porter, and though I had in my uncertainty of mind for several days "been like Mahomet's coffin, suspended between the earth and sky," I did not at the time these negotiations were pending know that my life was hanging by so slender a thread, or, more properly speaking, that I was liable to be suspended by numerous threads woven together in the more substantial form of a rope.
Captain Porter's interview, however, satisfied me at the time, but when I witnessed with what cordiality and heartiness the Rebel officers were being received aboard our ship, my mind was puzzled, and I recall now a feeling of uncertainty or misgiving.
In a day or so after Captain Porter's reception and emphatic rejection of whatever propositions the Rebel officers accompanying the truce boat had made to him, in regard to giving into their hands for trial the Yankee Spy, I bid Captain Porter and his ship a heartyand thankful farewell, and the curtain was rung down on my Pinafore experiences.
The side-wheel transport steamer Philadelphia being ready to return to the North, a day preceding her sailing I was placed aboard of her as a dead-head passenger for New York.
There were quite a number of passengers aboard, among them Lieutenant Slemmer and one other artillery officer, whose name I have forgotten, who were going home for the benefit of their health; also a number of mechanics who had been employed about some repairs on the Fort.
As seen from the deck of the transport, as we weighed anchor and pointed her prow homeward-bound, I thought the sloop-of-war Powhattan, with her companion ship, the Brooklyn, with their port-holes and big guns and men aloft, to give us a parting salute, was one of the most beautiful sights imaginable. How much better pleased I was with the view from this standpoint than I had been with the sailing and saluting of the transport which had sailed a few days previous, under just such circumstances (except that I wasn't aboard of her on my way home).
Our captain had taken aboard some field-pieces of heavy artillery which had not yet been stowed below. While we were yet in that portion of the gulf where the water was comparatively so smooth, and the weather so fine, our civilian captain amused himself by calling on all hands to assist in mounting one of these guns on its field carriage, in the bow of his old transport, while he entertained himself and the ship's company with great stories of the danger from the newly-fledged privateers that Jeff Davis so promptly issued his letters of reprisal for.
We steamed along smoothly and slowly enough for a day or two without any adventure. I have often wondered since what would have been the effect on the old ship if that captain had taken a crazy notion to have fired one of those big field-pieces.
When we reached Tortugas, or Fort Jefferson—which I believe is the name of the immense affair which seems to rise straight out of the water—there was considerable saluting and signaling with the flags on the Fort as we approached the anchorage.
We stayed at Tortugas part of two days, storing away the guns, and I do think they were two of the most intolerably hot days thatI have ever felt. As we lay at anchor, and when the sun was highest, it was necessary to spread over the ship's deck the large canvas awning, which the sailors said was to prevent the pitch calking from melting out and to avoid "warping the ship."
Here I went ashore, if going inside an immense Fort can be called shore—there certainly was no freedom about it—but it was a great relief to one's legs to be able to stand and walk about on the ground once more, even though it was inside of great walls, and the only persons to be seen were the men of the garrison, their officers and a few families.
During our voyage—after leaving Key West—our Fort Pickens officers, Lieutenant Slemmer and his companion, had kept close to their rooms—probably they were too sick to make an appearance—but when the ship got into the bay, and as we ran up the river to the anchorage, Mr. Slemmer's sick companion made his appearance dressed up in full regimentals. As he sat on top of the pilot-house with our captain, with his mantle thrown back over his shoulder, and showing the brilliant red lining of the artillery uniform, he looked to me then as if he were expecting to be received as a hero.
Lieutenant Slemmer, on the other hand, modest and retiring, did not show himself at all; and, as soon as he got ashore, he scurried off to Pennsylvania to meet his wife, who had previously been highly honored and entertained after her return North through the rebel lines.
Your humble servant was not long in getting on solid ground, and, in company with a Spanish exile from Cuba, we drove at once to the Astor House. Here was lying in state, in their heavily draped parlor, the body of Colonel Ellsworth, the funeral cortege being on the way from Washington City to the burial place, somewhere east of New York.
It is not for me, in this narrative, to attempt anything like a description of the exciting times I was permitted to witness in New York City that Sunday. Those who have followed me in this effort to picture my solitary and lonely adventures, away off in Florida, when my attempts, voluntarily, to do something for my country, and for the people who were then so terribly in earnest at home, will appreciate my feelings of joy and happiness, over being once more among friends—and such great, hearty, fighting friends, too, as everybody seemed to be at that time.
The first thing I did was to go to a telegraph office; and, climbing up four or five flights of stairs, I found Mr. Porter in charge of the operating room, as chief operator and manager; and although I had never met him personally, I was well acquainted by wire, having often worked with him at the other end of a 300 mile wire.
Introducing myself, and briefly explaining my arrival from Florida, and a desire to announce myself to friends at the other end of his wire, he astonished me by at once saying:
"Why, bless me, is thisyou?There's been lots of talking over this wire about you lately."
Then he related at length all he had seen and heard of my career through the newspapers during all the time I was a helpless prisoner aboard the Powhattan.
He had, as you may imagine, a great deal of news for me about myself, as reported by the Southern press and extensively copied in the North.
I was soon put in communication over the wire with a brother operator near my own home; and, strange as it may appear to those who are not familiar with the humors of the telegraph, an operator's "touch," even though a thousand miles distant, like the sound of a familiar voice, is recognized by some peculiarity that attaches to the operator's style.
My old friend at the other end of the wire, on hearing my "sending" at the New York end, told me afterward, that on that quiet Sunday morning, when all alone in his office, he had been reading at that very moment a newspaper account of my adventures, in which it was made to appear that our officers had, in reply to the demand of the rebels, informed them, that they—the Union officers—were going to hang this spy themselves; and while he was yet thinking that as between the two, there was no hope of my escape, his attention was called to the signal for his office to receive a message. Hastily answering to "G. A.," or the telegrapher's go ahead, he pulled out a pencil to note down the message. The first words the brass tongue of the instrument sounded to his startled ears were:
"I am O. K."—this was my telegraphic signal—"Who are you?"
He said he knew as quickly as the words "I am," were sounded, that it was me at the key; but, in his present state of mind, could not resist the feeling that he was about to communicate with a spirit,or the ghost of his friend, but, as the sounder became silent, or paused for a reply, he recovered himself, and answered nervously that he was my old friend Gilson.
Then we had a long, confidential talk in whispers, as it were, over the long wire, in which much that I have tried to relate in these pages was briefly gone over, while I was, in turn, informed of all that had been done and said during my absence.
Word was sent to my father and to my sweethearts and all my friends. As I rose to leave the office, and turned to thank my old fraternal companion for his kindness and courtesy, in giving me this opportunity to at once converse with my home, he suggested to me that, as I had been so grossly misrepresented, I ought to see the New York papers and have my story properly given to the world.
At his request, I agreed to meet him at the office in the evening, when he would take me to the different offices of newspapers with which he, as manager of the Associated Press, had friendly relations, and introduce me to the editors.
Leaving Mr. Porter, I found my way next to Rev. Henry Ward Beecher's Church, in Brooklyn, as being one of the necessary things to do in New York on a Sunday morning. Here I got a back seat, in a crowded gallery, and, as I had not yet gotten over the tumbling and rolling sensations experienced aboard our old tub of a ship, as I sat there and tried to ogle the pretty girls in the choir over Mr. Beecher's pulpit, the whole church persisted in rocking and rolling, precisely as the ship had been doing for a week.
The rest of the day I put in sending notes and messages to Washington, and to friends whom I had left at home, but many of whom, I now learned, were out in the army, at different points.
In the evening, I met my friend according to appointment, and together we called at the New YorkHeraldoffice, where I was pleasantly welcomed as a "fruitful subject," and the shrewd city editor pumped me thoroughly dry before he let me out of that chair by his desk.
From there we went to the New YorkTribune, where the same procedure was gone through but at somewhat greater length. The next morning, which, if I remember rightly, was May 28th, 1861, these two New York papers printed with bold head-lines a full account of my recent adventure.
TheTribune, I think, published one of their war maps, in which was located the different Rebel batteries, but in such a mixed-up way that I was unable to understand it myself.
However, it satisfied the people, and for a single day I was a greater hero in New York than Lieutenant Slemmer.
Luckily for me, perhaps, I was anxious to get back home to see my number one girl, and got out of the city before I could be wholly spoiled.
When I got over to Philadelphia, where I had some old railroad friends, upon whom I called for passes home, I was also quite a big fellow among my former railroad associates, and the passes were furnished without a question as to my claims or rights. Fortunately, I survived it all.
I reckon I should have first reported to the War Department, at Washington, but at that particular time I was much more concerned about what No. 1 would think of it all, than I was for the opinion of the War Department, so I first reported to her, and the first words I heard were:
"Why, I thought you were hung!"
What a deadener that was! The wordhungfell from her lips into my heart like the dull, sickening thud of the dropping victim from the scaffold. But this isn't to be a love story, so I must pass over some of the most interesting little events in the career I am trying to describe, although they supply the motive for many of the acts and incidents which to all my friends seemed queer.
I was having such a pleasant time at my home and among my young friends, that I took no thought of reporting to the officials of the War Department, at Washington. One day we were advised by the papers that Senator Andy Johnson, the famous Unionist of Tennessee, would pass through our town on his way to the Capital. This was about the time of the outbreak of the reign of terror in East Tennessee, and the sturdy Senator, with many others of the same fearless build, had been forced to flee for his life. But while he was a hunted fugitive when south of the Ohio River, his progress through the loyal States to Washington was a right royal one.
As will be recalled, Mr. Johnson had been my first friend in Washington, and it was through my association with himself and Mr. Covode that I had entered the service.
When the train rolled up to the station, I was the first to board the car, and, in my rather boyish way, pushed unceremoniously through the crowd to where the Senator was holding an impromptu reception. He greeted me very kindly by a hearty shake, as he bade me sit down by him, and as soon as he found an opportunity, in his half-laughing, fatherly way, began to catechize the boy.
As I have previously said, up to the meeting with the Senator, I had been entirely neglectful of my proper duty of reporting to the War Department a formal account of my movements since leaving Washington. I assumed that, in a general way, the newspaper comments, which were quite flattering in the North, would be sufficient.
This fact, with the frank confession that I really felt myself under greater obligations to a little girl, and was more willing to do her bidding than that of the Secretary of War, explains another of my many mistakes during the war.
When I told Senator Johnson that I had not heard from the War Department since leaving Washington in March—it was early in June now—he said at once:
"Why, you had better come right along with me to Washington. You ought to be there now."
Just then the train began to move off; a friend standing near me who had heard the Senator's suggestion, emphatically seconded it, by saying:
"Go on; now is your chance; you might be too late if you wait here longer."
I had no opportunity to say good-by to my folks, my friends, or my sweetheart; but went off as impulsively as before on a scouting campaign that, in effect, lasted until the close of the war.
During that night's railroad ride over the Alleghany Mountains, as I sat alongside Mr. Johnson, as we sped along the Juniata, I told him my story. The Senator was an attentive listener, and, before going to sleep, directed that I should at once put myself in communication with the War Department, and refer the secretary to himself and Mr. Covode.
In those days I did not consider a berth in a sleeping-car a necessary condition for a night's ride, but found an empty seat, curled my five feet six and-a-half inches of body into three and-a-half feet of space, and slept the sound sleep of youth, while the train rapidly rolled through the darkness toward the sunrise and daylight.
On my arrival in Washington, I went directly to the Seventh Avenue Hotel, located at the northeast corner of Seventh and Pennsylvania avenues and Market space. This was Mr. Covode's quarters when in the city.
The clerk directed me to the parlor, where Mr. Covode was at that moment receiving a delegation.
Recognizing me at once, he collared me as a school-master would a truant boy whom he had caught unexpectedly. I was pleasantly hauled across the room and introduced to Mr. John W. Forney, as a "young man from our own State who had been down amongst the Rebels, and they couldn't catch him; and if they had, he wouldn't be here now.—Ha! ha!"
I found myself quite well known in Washington wherever introduced by Mr. Covode and his friends. It will be remembered thatMr. Forney was then a prominent newspaper man, and no doubt he found in the boy, who had just returned from a trip through Rebel armies, quite an interesting news source for his papers.
I had been compelled to go over my story so much that I really became quite surfeited with the whole business, and was glad enough when evening came, that I could go off alone and have a nice little time around the corner at the "Canterberry." Every old soldier who spent a day or night in Washington will laugh when he reads anything about the "Canterberry." I confess that for a time I became so greatly interested in the famous bouffe singer, Julia Mortimer, that I had nearly forgotten No. 1, and was becoming quite indifferent in regard to my appointment or business with the War Department.
I found that it was about as difficult as before I left the city for Montgomery to obtain a private hearing with the Secretary.
Upon the suggestion of these friends, who had interested themselves in me, I was advised to make my application personally to the Secretary of War for a commission in the regular army; all agreed that this would be about the proper thing to do, it being understood that, in case I should secure this, which would be a permanency, that I could, of course, be detailed in the customary way, on special staff duty, in the field, where there would be opportunity for me to make some use of the information I had obtained of the Southern country and their armies.
With this object in view, I called at the War Department one day in company with Mr. Covode.
Mr. Cameron was, as usual, very busy. There were a great many persons waiting their turn for an audience. Mr. Covode was admitted out of the regular order, because he, being a Congressman, had stated to the attendants, in his positive way, that his business was most urgent, and that hemustsee the Secretary. Mr. Cameron received us at first rather gruffly, when he learned that the object of this visit was to secure an office; but, upon being reminded of a former appeal and promise, and my recent services being brought to his attention in Mr. Covode's glowing style, the Secretary turned to me laughing, in his quiet way, and said:
"Well, there's no doubt but that you have the pluck necessary for the army."
Then turning to Mr. Covode, abruptly interrupting him, as if to ask a question:
"We would like to find out just now what the Rebel Johnston is doing down in front of Pennsylvania."
Covode was ready to change the subject, and follow the Secretary's lead, and at once spoke for me:
"Well, here's the boy to find out all about it."
He didn't seem to think it necessary to consult me about the matter at all. Mr. Cameron, looking at me quizzically, said:
"I will have you in mind, and get yousomethingas soon as I can find a suitable place."
Then turning about, as the attendant brought in a message from another urgent Congressman, he said, in an authoritative manner:
"Covode, you go to Army Headquarters and tell them I sent you there with this young man. They can use him to advantage, perhaps. I will see you again."
I wasn't exactly satisfied with this outlook. I had thought that I was through with the spy business, and had no desire to undertake any more lonely and isolated trips through the enemy's country.
Since my return I had found that nearly all the young fellows of my acquaintance were either in the army, or about to enter it, and I had naturally imbibed the military fever which prevailed at this time. I reckon every one of us expected, as a matter of course, to become colonels or generals in short order, for gallant service in front of the enemy, so it was not at all to my liking that I was being steered in the direction of the rear of the Rebel lines again.
In my case, it was a doubly-dangerous undertaking, as I had so recently been well advertised all over the South in their papers, and was, of course, liable to be recognized and hung as a spy if I should be captured any place in their lines. As I walked with Mr. Covode from the old War Department Building I said something to him about my misgivings, but in his hearty way he assured me by saying: "Oh, this isn't going to last long." And then in a confidential manner he said: "Old Simon wants to find out something; you just go ahead and do as he wants you to, and it will be all right."
When we reached Army Headquarters we encountered a sentryon duty at the door—a soldier of the regular army, who did not show Mr. Covode any particular attention, not recognizing a Congressman in his rough exterior. After some dilly-dallying we were admitted to the presence of a military-looking fellow whose name I can not recall. Mr. Covode introduced himself, and presented me as being sent by the Secretary of War. This announcement at once seemed to put the officer in a better humor with himself and his callers. Mr. Covode brusquely stated his business; the officer attentively listened and sharply eyed me while Mr. Covode went through with his story about my services at Pensacola.
"Does the Secretary want to procure any information as to General Patterson's movements?"
(It will be remembered that at this time General Patterson was being urged by the War Department to make a demonstration on Johnston, to prevent him reinforcing Beauregard at Manassas.)
Mr. Covode answered: "We want all the information we can get from all quarters, and he can get it too."
The officer said, smilingly: "Oh yes, of course; the young man is in the secret service of the War Department."
Returning to the Secretary's office for some written authority to present to General Patterson, we were directed by Mr. Cameron to one of the clerks, who, after a short private conversation between Mr. Covode and Mr. Cameron, was authorized to prepare a note of introduction. As he handed the official envelope to me, he took occasion to observe, in a very pleasant way:
"I would suggest that this young man should not permit any persons to become acquainted with his business; the department prefers to hear from their special agents in confidence, andnot through the newspapers." This hint given in this pleasant manner, I did not forget in following months or years.
To my friend and tutelar saint, Mr. Covode, I again expressed my doubts about any secret service, after returning from our brief interview with Mr. Secretary-of-War Cameron and the official at Army Headquarters. Mr. Covode apparently agreed with my conclusions, saying, as he reached for the official-looking letter which the War Department clerk had given me, and that I hesitatingly held in my hand: "Lets see that letter."
Putting on his old-fashioned round-eyed spectacles, he read halfaloud, in his deliberate way, as if studying out some hidden meaning:
"This will introduce to you Mr. O. K., a young man who has gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and who, I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction, etc.(Signed),        "Simon Cameron,Secretary of War."
"This will introduce to you Mr. O. K., a young man who has gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and who, I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction, etc.
(Signed),        "Simon Cameron,Secretary of War."
He read it over a second time, and then looking at me, as if he had suddenly solved a problem said: "Didn't he tell you to reportdirectto the War Department?"
"Yes," I remembered that I was advised to report to the War Department first and not to the newspapers.
"Well," says Mr. Covode, "that's all right; you go up there and find Patterson and present that letter, and he will give you authority to go wherever you please, and you let us know here what's going on."
When I left the old man, I ventured a word as to my prospects for a commission in the regular army, to which he gave the usual answer: "Oh, that's all right," and added—
"Come and see me to-morrow and I'll give you some more letters to some friends in Patterson's army."
After a restless night, I was early at Mr. Covode's room receiving a pleasant good-morning. He said in a confidential whisper, but which was loud enough for any person to have heard had we not been alone in the room:
"I saw some of those people last night, and it is all right." That wasn't very great encouragement to be sure, but, he added with a significant wink, "You go up there at once and find out all you can, and reportto mewhat's going on, particularly if there are any Rebels going to attack Patterson's army," and he added, again with emphasis, "Report to me here, quick as you can."
"Yes, but this letter is to report to General Patterson."
"That's all right; you are to report direct to the War Department, too."
I began to feel considerably mixed up by these contradictory instructions, but all the satisfaction I could get from Mr. C. was—"That's all right," to which he added, as I was leaving, "You tell me all you can find out, and I'll make it all right at the War Department."
As this letter had been prepared and signed by a clerk in the War Department, the penmanship was, of course, in the regulation copper-plate style, wholly unlike the former endorsement that I had received in Mr. Cameron's own handwriting.
Though Patterson's army was in the neighborhood of Harper's Ferry and Williamsport, Maryland, about fifty miles distant in a direct route from Washington, I concluded that, with such a recommendation in my possession, the furthest way round might be the nearest way home; I would not risk the capture of that note by taking a short cut, so I made a safe detour, going due north to Baltimore andHarrisburg, Pa., distant over a hundred miles; thence I came back southwest through the beautiful Cumberland Valley to Chambersburg and Hagerstown, about seventy-five or eighty miles more ground.
Here I was almost literally dumped from the car into the midst of General Patterson's army—a lively host of the gallant and patriotic boys who had rushed to arms at the first call of President Lincoln for the three-months men.
There have been books upon books published giving the history of this campaign, any one of which probably contains a more satisfactory description of the camp-life of those days than I would be able to give here. This effort is necessarily a personal, and, to some extent a private history only, of the campaigns of an individual scout, but I may be indulged in the hope that some of the old boys, who will take the trouble to follow me in these wanderings, may have been among those who were in camp near Hagerstown along in June and July, 1861. With what tenacity the mind clings to the remembrance of those early days of the great war.
I recall, as if it were but yesterday, this first hunt through the different camps for "Headquarters."
Jolly soldiers were to be found everywhere, either walking about the roads in hilarious squads, or assembled in groups under the shade of trees by the roadside, or perhaps crowding the porches and occupying all the chairs in the neighboring houses. In after years, when provost-marshals and camp-guards were established, the sky-larking was not so common, and the crowds, then, were usually to be seen only around some spring or well of water.
I recall now with amusement how ignorant some of the three-month boys of '61 were about their own army-headquarters. Many to whom I applied for information about the location of headquarters, referred me severally, to their own colonels, while one young officer, I remember, pointed to a mounted officer just riding past as the "General's Assistant."
I tramped through miles of dust that hot afternoon before I could get onto General Patterson's track, and, when I finally discovered headquarters, I learned that the General with some of his aides were attending a dinner-party in the town and could not be seen before the next day.
I did not deliver my letter of introduction to the officer, who I thought at the time rather impudently demanded to know my business with the General, but merely told him that I should call again to see the General.
Having tried to perform a duty, and attended to business first, I set about enjoying the holiday which it seemed to me the boys were having all around. How like a circus it all seemed; some of the scenes then enacted might be compared to that of a country fair, at which there was being held, as an additional attraction to the country people, a militia muster or a prize drill, such as we see now when the State troops assemble one week in summer for their annual camp and drill. There was so much free and easy mixture of civilians and ladies with the soldiers—especially the officers—all were being constantly stirred up by the bands, that seemed to break forth in melody from every grove. There was, of course, the dust on the roads; the processions of thirsty crowds to and from the springs or wells; it all seems now like an immense picnic. Dear me, what bass drums there were in General Patterson's army; wasn't there one to each company? The old-fashioned bass drum, too, as big as a barn door, and noisy in proportion, and to which was usually assigned the biggest fellow in the company the duty of beating on both sides.
A Rebel officer once told me that they were able to estimate the strength of McDowell's army before Manassas by the beating of bass drums at parades each evening.
Along about sundown the usual preparations were made in all the camps for the dress parade—the great feature of the day—which was being witnessed by hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of ladies,old men, and children, who would drive out from the town and surrounding country for miles to witness it, to the delight of the soldiers. What a beautiful sight, in June, 1861, was a full regiment of 1,000 freshly-uniformed, healthy, fresh men in line on dress parade, with their gayly-attired officers (staff and line), going through the "retreat" with fine musical accompaniment. How smart the adjutant was, and what a tremendous fellow the drum-major! On Sunday evenings, at this parade, the chaplain took a hand in the drill, making a prayer, while the long line of the full regiment stood at "parade rest," uncovered, with heads bowed, their little fatigue caps being placed on the muzzle of the gun; the band played "Old Hundred," and perhaps a chorus of a thousand male voices sung the soul-thrilling melody of the grand old tune, which is sung in Heaven. So it was in front of Hagerstown in June or July, 1861.
It was the fortune of war for me to be with the Army of the Potomac again before Hagerstown in July, 1863—a week after the battle of Gettysburg. But—ah, yes—the conditions were sadly changed; scarcely a brigade of that army could muster then as many men as were in each regiment in 1861. There were no visitors in camp; not a lady was to be seen, except, perhaps, the hospital attendants, and the music was confined to the tiresome routine of the "Reveille," "Tattoo" and "Taps."
My first day in General Patterson's army was so full of new and soul-stirring sensations, as compared with the same experiences in the rebel lines, that I was all in a ferment, and forgot about being tired, hungry and worn out, until the evening parades were all over, and the soldiers began to prepare their camp suppers.
While trudging wearily back to the town, some miles distant, to find some supper and a bed, I had the opportunity to reflect seriously in my own mind over the work that I had undertaken.
I wondered to myself if there were not Rebel spies in our army there. It occurred to me at once that there were no obstacles for them to overcome—the entire camp was free; everybody was welcomed indiscriminately to the camp by the good-hearted soldiers; and officers were only too eager to talk with every caller about all they knew of the plans and strength of their own army. This, notwithstanding we were then encamped in Maryland, among a people who, if not openly hostile to our cause, were generally in sympathy with the secessionists, whose army was within fighting distance and communication with their headquarters was only a question of an hour or so.
Our officers and soldiers had certainly taken Hagerstown, Md., as I found to my disgust when I reached the hotel after dark, finding every bed and every corner of the old tavern was literally in possessions of our forces, though, through the kindly interest of a citizen, I was luckily provided with half a bed in a private house. Of course I slept well, except that I was disturbed by a horrid nightmare. I had somehow been transformed into a big brass drum, which a brawny fellow insisted upon pounding upon my stomach, which probably hadn't succeeded in digesting the cold supper.
The first thing next morning was to try and find General Patterson. My experience of the previous day enabled me to steer in a straight course this time, so I was not long in getting to headquarters; but seeing General Patterson was not such an easy matter. His staff officers volunteered to attend to business for their General, but I wouldn't, of course, allowanyperson to learn the character of my business. It was only after I had written a note, stating that I had a letter from the Secretary of War which I desired to present personally, that I was permitted to approach the Commander.
I need not describe the old Philadelphia militia General. He had, as is well-known, achieved some distinction during the Mexican War, and since that had enjoyed a life of leisure in his native city, where he had, by means of his wealth and accomplishments, become connected with the aristocratic families of the Quaker City. He was, besides, a patron of the military and the clubs; and being so favorably endorsed by prominent people of the State, he was selected to command the troops of Pennsylvania, then operating against General Joe Johnston of the rebel army.
After some further delay, I was admitted to the presence of the old general, who, I imagined, was surprised at my youthful appearance and wondered that I had the temerity to beard such a grim old soldier as himself in his den.
There were several other officers present, and also two gentlemen in civilian's dress, one of whom was quite an elderly-looking gentleman while his companion was a young fellow, whose appearancestruck me at once as being that of a Southerner. While General Patterson read my note of introduction from the Secretary of War, I embraced the opportunity to more closely observe the visitors, who were being entertained so pleasantly by the officers.
I quickly gathered from the conversation that the elderly gentleman was applying to our officers for some protection from our own soldiers, for his property. He probably owned some cherry trees in the neighborhood of the camp, or, perhaps, it may have been that the soldiers insisted on using some of the water from an overflowing spring somewhere on his ground. Whatever it was, he was receiving from the staff officers quite emphatic assurances that he should receive all the protection he wanted, and, moreover, the men guilty of trespassing on his ground should be severely punished. The young fellow whom I assumed to be the son had nothing to say.
After General Patterson had finished reading the note, he turned, and, after looking me all over, through his glasses, as if I was some kind of a curiosity who stood meekly and innocently before him, said: "Why, take a seat." Then, turning to one of his aides, he said something in an undertone as he handed him the letter. The aide, after reading it carefully, stepped up to me and pleasantly but coolly invited me outside, when he said: "The General requests that you will come to his quarters this evening."
This wasn't exactly satisfactory to me, but I was glad enough to get from the presence of the General's visitors, because I was apprehensive that something might be said in their hearing that would identify me as a scout.
My visit to General Patterson occurred about the time that General Joe Johnston was manœuvering in his front, with the object of getting away from him to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas, in anticipation of the impending battle there. Our Washington officials were uneasy as to the outcome of this movement, and had been almost daily urging General Patterson to make some demonstration in front of Johnston that would prevent his leaving for Manassas.
Though I did not know it at the time, I have since learned that the War Department, at Washington, while they would not employ scouts themselves over the head of the Commander of the department, yet were willing enough to avail themselves of the information of the scout who could make his reports in an unofficial manner, through Mr. Covode, without compromising the courtesy or etiquette of the War Office.
The whole country seemed to be alive with soldiers, all in a jolly good humor, nicely dressed, well fed. Their camps were models of tent life.