VOYAGE ACROSS THE ATLANTIC PURSUED--CHRISTMAS-DAY ON BOARD THE
SUMTER--CAPE FLY-AWAY, AND THE CURIOUS ILLUSION PRODUCED BY IT--THE SUMTER
PASSES FROM THE DESERT PARTS OF THE SEA, INTO A TRACT OF COMMERCE ONCE
MORE--BOARDS A LARGE FLEET OF SHIPS IN ONE DAY, BUT FINDS NO ENEMY AMONG
THEM--ARRIVAL AT CADIZ.
The punishment administered to the two delinquent sentinels mentioned in
the last chapter, had the most salutary effect. Seamen are very much like
children, requiring the reins to be tightened upon them from time to time.
I made it a rule on board the _Sumter_, that punishment should follow the
offence, with _promptitude_, and _certainty_, rather than severity; and
this excellent rule had already performed marvels, in the matter of
disciplining my ship.
_Sunday, December 15th._--A fine bright morning, with a moderate breeze
from the north-west, and the weather just cool enough to be delightfully
bracing. We mustered the crew this morning, and read the articles of war
for the first time in three weeks, owing to the bad weather. I did not
inspect the ship below, according to custom, the sea being still rough,
and the water ankle-deep on the gun-deck in consequence. Our new prisoners
always looked upon the muster ceremonies on board the _Sumter_, with
curiosity, as though they were surprised to find so much order and
discipline, and so much attention to dress and ceremony, on board the
"pirate" of which they had read, and whose "cut" they had so often
admired, in their truth-loving and truth-telling newspapers. The latitude,
to-day, is 34 deg., and the longitude 42 deg. 05'.
We were quite surprised to find so much bad weather in the parallel, on
which we were crossing the Atlantic. I had purposely chosen this parallel,
that my little cock-boat of a ship might not be knocked in pieces, by the
storms of the North Atlantic, and yet the reader has seen how roughly we
have been handled. Nor were the fates more propitious for the next few
days. Gale followed gale, with angry skies, and cloud and rain; there
sometimes being lightning around the entire horizon, with now rolling, now
crashing thunder. I had intended when I left the West Indies to touch at
Fayal, in the Azores, for coal and water, but I found these islands so
guarded and defended, by the Genius of the storm, that it would require
several days of patience and toil, to enable me to reach an anchorage in
one of them. I therefore determined to pass them, and haul up for the
southern coast of Spain, running finally into Cadiz.
Christmas day was passed by us on the lonely sea, in as doleful a manner
as can well be conceived. The weather is thus described in my journal.
"Thermometer 63 deg.; barometer 29.80. Heavy rain squalls--weather dirty,
with lightning all around the horizon, indicating a change of wind at any
moment. Under short sail during the night." The only other record of the
day was that we "spliced the main brace;" that is, gave Jack an extra
glass of grog. Groups of idle sailors lay about the decks, "overhauling a
range of their memories;" how they had spent the last Christmas-day, in
some "Wapping," or "Wide Water street," with the brimming goblet in hand,
and the merry music of the dance sounding in their ears. Nor were the
memories of the officers idle. They clasped in fancy their loved ones, now
sad and lonely, to their bosoms once more, and listened to the prattle of
the little ones they had left behind. Not the least curious of the changes
that had taken place since the last Christmas day, was the change in their
own official positions. They were, most of them, on that day, afloat under
the "old flag." That flag now looked to them strange and foreign. They had
some of their own countrymen on board; not, as of yore, as welcome
visitors, but as prisoners. These, too, wore a changed aspect--enemy,
instead of friend, being written upon their faces. The two "rival
nations," spoken of by De Tocqueville, stood face to face. Nature is
stronger than man. She will not permit her laws to be violated with
impunity, and if this war does not separate these _two nations_, other
wars will. If we succeed in preserving the principle of State
sovereignty--the only principle which can save this whole country, North
and South, from utter wreck and ruin--all will be well, whatever
combinations of particular States may be made, from time to time. The
States being free, liberty will be saved, and they will gravitate
naturally, like unto like--the Puritan clinging to the Puritan, and the
Cavalier to the Cavalier. But if this principle be overthrown, if the mad
idea be carried out, that all the American people must be moulded into a
common mass, and form one consolidated government, under the rule of a
_majority_--for no constitution will then restrain them--Constitutional
liberty will disappear, and no man can predict the future--except in so
far, that it is impossible for the Puritan, and the Cavalier to live
together in peace.
On the next day, we witnessed a curious natural illusion. The look-out
called land ho! from the mast-head. The officer of the watch saw the land
at the same time from the deck, and sent a midshipman below to inform me
that we had made "high land, right ahead." I came at once upon deck, and
there, sure enough, was the land--a beautiful island, with its blue
mountains, its plains, its wood-lands, its coast, all perfect. It was
afternoon. The weather had been stormy, but had partially cleared. The sun
was near his setting, and threw his departing rays full upon the newly
discovered island, hanging over it, as a symbol that, for a time, there
was to be a truce with the storm, a magnificent rainbow. So beautiful was
the scene, and so perfect the illusion--there being no land within a
couple of hundred miles of us--that all the crew had come on deck to
witness it; and there was not one of them who would not have bet a month's
pay that what he looked upon was a reality.
The chief engineer was standing by me looking upon the supposed landscape,
with perfect rapture. Lowering the telescope through which I had been
viewing it, I said to him, "You see, now, Mr. F., how often men are
deceived. You would no doubt swear that that is land." "Why should I not,
sir?" said he. "Simply," rejoined I, "because it is Cape Fly-away." He
turned and looked at me with astonishment, as though I were quizzing him,
and said, "You surely do not mean to say, Captain, that that is not land;
it is not possible that one's senses can be so much deceived." "Like
yourself, I should have sworn it was land, if I did not know, from the
position of the ship, that there is no land within a couple of hundred
miles of us." Reaching out his hand for my glass, I gave it to him, and as
he viewed the island through it, I was much amused at his ejaculations of
admiration, now at this beauty, and now at that. "Why," said he, "there is
the very coast, sand beach and all, with beautiful bays and indentations,
as though inviting the _Sumter_ to run in and anchor." As the sun sank
lower and lower, withdrawing now one ray, and now another, first the
rainbow began to disappear, and then the lower strata of the island to
grow a little gray, and then the upper, until, as the sun dipped, the
whole gorgeous fabric, of mountain, woodland, plain, and coast, was
converted into a leaden-colored cloud-bank. The engineer handing me my
glass, said, "Captain, I will be a cautious witness hereafter, in a court
of justice, when I am questioned as to a fact, which has only been
revealed to me through a single sense." "I see," I replied, "that you are
becoming a philosopher. Many metaphysicians have maintained that all
nature is a mere phantasmagoria, so far as our senses are capable of
informing us."
For the last two weeks, we had been crossing a desert tract of the ocean,
where a sail is seldom seen. We now began to approach one of the beaten
highways, over which a constant stream of travel is passing--the road
leading from the various ports of Europe to the equator and the coast of
Brazil, and thence east and west, as may be the destination of the
wayfarer.
_December 28th._--A fine, bright day, with the wind light from the
south-west. At daylight, "Sail ho!" came ringing from the mast-head. The
sail crossing our bows, we took in our studding-sails, hauled up
south-east, to intercept her, and got up steam. Our latitude being 35 deg.
17', and longitude 20 deg. 53', we were within striking distance of Cadiz
or Gibraltar, and could afford now to use a little steam. The chase did
not reward us, however, as she proved to be English--being the ship
_Richibucto_, from Liverpool, for Vera Cruz, laden with salt. We received
from her some English newspapers, which gave us several items of
interesting intelligence. All England was in mourning for the death of
Prince Albert. The _Trent_ affair was causing great excitement, and the
Confederate States steamer _Nashville_, Captain Pegram, had arrived at
Southampton, having burned a large Yankee ship, the _Harvey Birch_. This
ship having been burned in the English Channel, much attention was
attracted to the act; especially as the ship was tea-laden, and supposed
to be worth near half a million of dollars.
The next day was rainy, with a light wind from the south-east. Only two
sails were seen, and to neither of them did we give chase; but on the
morning of the 30th of December, we fell in with a perfect stream of
ships. "Sail ho!" was shouted at daylight from the mast-head, and repeated
at short intervals, until as many as twenty-five were reported. We at once
got up steam, and commenced chasing; but though we chased diligently, one
ship after another, from eight o'clock in the morning until four in the
afternoon, we did not overhaul a single ship of the enemy! We actually
boarded sixteen sail, a number of others showing us their colors. The
ships boarded were of the following nationalities:--Four Dutch, seven
English, two French, one Swedish, one Prussian, one Hamburg. Here was
quite a representation of the nations of Europe, and I amused myself
taking the vote of these ships, according to our American fashion, upon
the war. Their sentiments were elicited as follows:--I would first show
them the United States colors, pretending to be a Federal cruiser; I would
then haul down these colors, and show them the Confederate flag. The
result was that but one ship--the Prussian--saluted the United States
flag, and that all the other ships, with one or two exceptions, saluted
the Confederate States flag. We were then beating the enemy, and the
nations of the earth were worshipping success.
So large a fleet of ships--not being a convoy--so far out at sea, was
quite a curiosity, and may serve to show the landsman how accurately we
have mapped out, upon the ocean, the principal highways of commerce.
There were no mile-posts on the road these ships were travelling, it is
true, but the road was none the less "blazed" out, for all that--the
blazes being on the wind and current charts. The night succeeding this
busy day set in cloudy and ugly, with a fresh breeze blowing from the
eastward; and so continuous was the stream of ships, all sailing in the
contrary direction from ourselves, that we had serious apprehensions of
being run over. To guard against this, we set our side-lights, and
stationed extra look-outs. Several ships passed us during the night,
hurrying forward on the wings of the wind, at a rapid rate, and sometimes
coming so close, in the darkness, as almost to make one's hair stand on
end. The next morning the weather became clear and beautiful, and the
stream of ships had ceased.
The reader may be curious to know the explanation of this current of
ships. It is simple enough. They were all Mediterranean ships. At the
strait of Gibraltar there is a constant current setting into the
Mediterranean. This current is of considerable strength, and the
consequence is, that when the wind also sets into the strait--that is to
say, when it is from the westward--it is impossible for a sailing-ship to
get out of the strait into the Atlantic. She is obliged to come to anchor
in the bay of Gibraltar, and wait for a change of wind. This is sometimes
a long time in coming--the westerly winds continuing here, not
unfrequently, two and three weeks at a time. As a matter of course, a
large number of ships collect in the bay, waiting for an opportunity of
exit. I have seen as many as a hundred sail at one time. In a few hours
after a change of wind takes place, this immense fleet will all be under
way, and such of them as are bound to the equator and the coast of Brazil,
the United States, West Indies, and South America, will be found
travelling the blazed road of which I have spoken; some taking the forks
of the road, at their respective branching-off places, and others keeping
the main track to the equator. Hence the exodus the reader has witnessed.
Perhaps the reader needs another explanation--how it was, that amid all
that fleet of ships, there was not one Yankee. This explanation is almost
as easy as the other. Commerce is a sensitive plant, and at the rude
touch of war it had contracted its branches. The enemy was fast losing his
Mediterranean trade, under the operation of high premiums for war risks.
We began now to observe a notable change in the weather, as affected by
the winds. Along the entire length of the American coast, the clear winds
are the west winds, the rain-winds being the east winds. Here the rule is
reversed; the west winds bringing us rains, and the east winds clear
weather. The reason is quite obvious. The east winds, sweeping over the
continent of Europe, have nearly all of their moisture wrung out of them
before they reach the sea; hence the dryness of these winds, when they
salute the mariner cruising along the European coasts. Starting now from
the European seas as dry winds, they traverse a large extent of water
before they reach the coasts of the United States. During the whole of
this travel, these thirsty winds are drinking their fill from the sea, and
by the time they reach Portland or Boston, they are heavily laden with
moisture, which they now begin to let down again upon the land. Hence,
those long, gloomy, rainy, rheumatic, easterly storms, that prevail along
our coast in the fall and winter months. The reader has now only to take
up the west wind, as it leaves the Pacific Ocean, as a wet wind, and
follow it across the American continent, and see how dry the mountains
wring it before it reaches the Atlantic, to see why it should bring us
fair weather. The change was very curious to us at first, until we became
a little used to it.
Another change was quite remarkable, and that was the great difference in
temperature which we experienced with reference to latitude. Here we were,
in midwinter, or near it, off the south coast of Spain, in latitude 36
deg., nearly that of Cape Henry at the entrance of the Chesapeake Bay, and
unless the weather was wet, we had not felt the necessity of a pea-jacket.
Whence this difference? The cause, or causes, whatever they are, must, of
course, be local; for other things being equal, the heat should be the
same, on the same parallel of latitude, all around the globe which we
inhabit. Captain Matthew F. Maury, of the late Confederate States' Navy,
to whom all nations accord, as by common consent, the title of
Philosopher of the Seas, accounts for this difference of temperature in
the following manner: "Modern ingenuity has suggested a beautiful mode of
warming houses in winter. It is done by means of hot water. The furnace
and the caldron are sometimes placed at a distance from the apartment to
be warmed. It is so at the Observatory. In this case, pipes are used to
conduct the heated water from the caldron under the Superintendent's
dwelling, over into one of the basement rooms of the Observatory, a
distance of one hundred feet. These pipes are then flared out, so as to
present a large cooling surface; after which they are united into one
again, through which the water, being now cooled, returns of its own
accord to the caldron. Thus, cool water is returning all the time, and
flowing in at the bottom of the caldron, while hot water is continually
flowing out at the top. The ventilation of the Observatory is so arranged
that the circulation of the atmosphere through it is led from this
basement room, where the pipes are, to all parts of the building; and in
the process of this circulation, the warmth conveyed by the water to the
basement, is taken thence by the air; and distributed all over the rooms.
"Now, to compare small things with great, we have, in the warm waters
which are confined in the Gulf of Mexico, just such a heating apparatus
for Great Britain, the North Atlantic, and Western Europe. The furnace is
the torrid zone; the Mexican Gulf and Caribbean Sea are the caldrons; the
Gulf Stream is the conducting-pipe. From the Grand Banks of New Foundland
to the shores of Europe is the basement--the hot-air chambers--in which
this pipe is flared out so as to present a large cooling surface. Here the
circulation of the atmosphere is arranged by nature, and it is such that
the warmth conveyed into this warm-air chamber of mid-ocean is taken up by
the genial west winds, and dispensed in the most benign manner, throughout
Great Britain and the west of Europe. The maximum temperature of the
water-heated air-chamber of the Observatory, is about 90 deg. The maximum
temperature of the Gulf Stream is 86 deg., or about 9 deg. in excess of
the ocean temperature due the latitude. Increasing its latitude, 10 deg.,
it loses but 2 deg. of temperature; and after having run three thousand
miles toward the north, it still preserves, even in winter, the heat of
summer.
"With this temperature it crosses the 40th degree of North latitude, and
there, overflowing its liquid banks, it spreads itself out for thousands
of square leagues over the cold waters around, and covers the ocean with a
mantle of warmth that serves so much to mitigate in Europe, the rigors of
winter. Moving now slowly, but dispensing its genial influences more
freely, it finally meets the British Islands. By these it is divided, one
part going into the polar basin of Spitzbergen, the other entering the Bay
of Biscay, but each with a warmth considerably above the ocean
temperature. Such an immense volume of heated water cannot fail to carry
with it beyond the seas a mild and moist atmosphere. And this it is which
so much softens climates there. We know not, except approximately in one
or two places, what the depth or the under temperature of the Gulf Stream
may be; but assuming the temperature and velocity, at the depth of two
hundred fathoms to be those of the surface, and taking the well-known
difference between the capacity of air, and of water for specific heat as
the argument, a simple calculation will show that the quantity of heat
discharged over the Atlantic from the waters of the Gulf Stream in a
winter's day would be sufficient to raise the whole column of atmosphere
that rests upon France, and the British Islands from the freezing-point to
summer heat. Every west wind that blows, crosses the stream on its way to
Europe, and carries with it a portion of this heat to temper there the
northern winds of winter. It is the influence of this stream upon
climates, that makes Erin the 'Emerald Isle of the Sea,' and that clothes
the shores of Albion in evergreen robes; while in the same latitude on
this side, the coasts of Labrador are fast bound in fetters of ice."
To pursue Captain Maury's theory a little farther: the flow of tepid
waters does not cease at the Bay of Biscay, but continues along the coasts
of Spain and Portugal, thence along the coast of Africa, past Madeira and
the Canaries, to the Cape de Verdes; where it joins the great equatorial
current flowing westward, with which it returns again into the Gulf of
Mexico. The _Sumter_, being between Madeira and the coast of Spain, was
within its influence. One word before I part with my friend Maury. In
common with thousands of mariners all over the world, I owe him a debt of
gratitude, for his gigantic labors in the scientific fields of our
profession; for the sailor may claim the philosophy of the seas as a part
of his profession. A knowledge of the winds and the waves, and the laws
which govern their motions is as necessary to the seaman as is the art of
handling his ship, and to no man so much as to Maury is he indebted for a
knowledge of these laws. Other distinguished co-laborers, as Reid,
Redfield, Espy, have contributed to the science, but none in so eminent a
degree. They dealt in specialties--as, for instance, the storm--but he has
grasped the whole science of meteorology--dealing as well in the
meteorology of the water, if I may use the expression, as in that of the
atmosphere.
A Tennesseean by birth, he did not hesitate when the hour came, "that
tried men's souls." Poor, and with a large family, he gave up the
comfortable position of Superintendent of the National Observatory, which
he held under the Federal Government, and cast his fortunes with the
people of his State. He had not the courage to be a traitor, and sell
himself for gold. The State of Tennessee gave him birth; she carried him
into the Federal Union, and she brought him out of it. Scarcely any man
who withdrew from the old service has been so vindictively, and furiously
assailed as Maury. The nationalists of the North,--and I mean by
nationalists, the whole body of the Northern people, who ignored the
rights of the States, and claimed that the Federal Government was
paramount,--had taken especial pride in Maury and his labors. He, as well
as the country at large, belonged to them. They petted and caressed him,
and pitted him against the philosophers of the world, with true Yankee
conceit. They had the biggest country, and the cleverest men in the world,
and Maury was one of these.
But Maury, resisting all these blandishments, showed, to their horror,
when the hour of trial came, that he was a Southern gentleman, and not a
Puritan. The change of sentiment was instantaneous and ludicrous. Their
self-conceit had received an awful blow, and there is no wound so damaging
as that which has been given to self-conceit. Almost everything else may
be forgiven, but this never can. Maury became at once a "rebel" and a
"traitor," and everything else that was vile. He was not even a
philosopher any longer, but a humbug and a cheat. In science, as in other
pursuits, there are rivalries and jealousies. The writer of these pages,
having been stationed at the seat of the Federal Government for a year or
two preceding the war, was witness of some of the rivalries and jealousies
of Maury, on the part of certain small philosophers, who thought the world
had not done justice to themselves. These now opened upon the dethroned
monarch of the seas, as live asses will kick at dead lions, and there was
no end to the partisan abuse that was heaped upon the late Chief of the
National Observatory.
Maury had been a Federal naval officer, as well as philosopher, and some
of his late _confreres_ of the Federal service, who, in former years, had
picked up intellectual crumbs from the table of the philosopher, and were
content to move in orbits at a very respectful distance from him; now,
raised by capricious fortune to _place_, joined in the malignant outcry
against him. Philosopher of the Seas! Thou mayest afford to smile at these
vain attempts to humble thee. Science, which can never be appreciated by
small natures, has no nationality. Thou art a citizen of the world, and
thy historic fame does not depend upon the vile traducers of whom I have
spoken. These creatures, in the course of a few short years, will rot in
unknown graves; thy fame will be immortal! Thou hast revealed to us the
secrets of the depths of the ocean, traced its currents, discoursed to us
of its storms and its calms, and taught us which of its roads to travel,
and which to avoid. Every mariner, for countless ages to come, as he takes
down his chart, to shape his course across the seas, will think of thee!
He will think of thee as he casts his lead into the deep sea; he will
think of thee, as he draws a bucket of water from it, to examine its
animalculae; he will think of thee as he sees the storm gathering thick and
ominous; he will think of thee as he approaches the calm-belts, and
especially the calm-belt of the equator, with its mysterious cloud-ring;
he will think of thee as he is scudding before the "brave west winds" of
the Southern hemisphere; in short, there is no phenomenon of the sea that
will not recall to him thine image. This is the living monument which
thou hast constructed for thyself; and which all the rage of the Puritan
cannot shake.
_December 31st._--The last day of the year, as though it would atone to us
for some of the bad weather its previous days had given us, is charming.
There is not a cloud, as big as a man's hat, anywhere to be seen, and the
air is so elastic that it is a positive pleasure to breathe it. The
temperature is just cool enough to be comfortable, though the wind is from
the north. At daylight, a couple of sail were reported from aloft, but, as
they were at a great distance, and out of our course, we did not chase.
Indeed, we have become quite discouraged since our experience of
yesterday. A third sail was seen at noon, also at a great distance. These
are probably the laggards of the great Mediterranean wind-bound fleet. We
observed, to-day, in latitude 35 deg. 22'; the longitude being 16 deg. 27'.
It becoming quite calm at eight P. M., I put the ship under steam; being
about 490 miles from Cadiz.
_January 1st_, 1862.--Nearly calm; wind light from the south-west, and sky
partially overcast. The sea is smooth, and we are making nine knots, the
hour. We made an excellent run during the past night, and are approaching
the Spanish coast very rapidly. Nothing seen during the day. At nine P. M.
a sail passed us, a gleam of whose light we caught for a moment in the
darkness. The light being lost almost as soon as seen, we did not attempt
to chase. Latitude 35 deg. 53'; longitude 13 deg. 14'.
On the next day we overhauled a French, and a Spanish ship. It had been my
intention, when leaving Martinique, to cruise a few days off Cadiz, before
entering the port, and for this purpose I had reserved a three days'
supply of fuel; but, unfortunately, the day before our arrival we took
another gale of wind, which shook us so severely, that the ship's leak
increased very rapidly; the engineer reporting that it was as much as he
could do to keep her free, with the bilge pumps, under short steam. The
leak was evidently through the sleeve of the propeller, and was becoming
alarming. I therefore abandoned the idea of cruising, and ran directly for
the land. Night set in before anything could be seen, but having every
confidence in my chronometers, I ran without any hesitation for the
Light, although we had been forty-one days at sea, without testing our
instruments by a sight of land. We made the light--a fine Fresnel, with a
red flash--during the mid-watch, and soon afterward got soundings. We now
slowed down the engine, and ran in by the lead, until we judged ourselves
four or five miles distant from the light, when we hove to. The next
morning revealed Cadiz, fraught with so many ancient, and modern memories,
in all its glory, though the weather was gloomy and the clouds dripping
rain.
"Fair Cadiz, rising o'er the dark blue sea!"
as Byron calls thee, thou art indeed lovely! with thy white
Moresque-looking houses, and gayly curtained balconies, thy church-domes
which carry us back in architecture a thousand years, and thy harbor
thronged with shipping. Once the Gades of the Phoenician, now the Cadiz
of the nineteenth century, thou art perhaps the only living city that can
run thy record back so far into the past.
We fired a gun, and hoisted a jack for a pilot, and one boarding us soon
afterward, we steamed into the harbor. The Confederate States' flag was
flying from our peak, and we could see that there were many curious
telescopes turned upon us, as we passed successively the forts and the
different quays lined with shipping. As the harbor opened upon us, a
magnificent spectacle presented itself. On our left was the somewhat
distant coast of Andalusia, whose name is synonymous with all that is
lovely in scenery, or beautiful in woman. One almost fancies as he looks
upon it, that he hears the amorous tinkle of the guitar, and inhales the
fragrance of the orange grove. Seville is its chief city, and who has not
read the couplet,
"_Quien no ha visto Sevilla
No ha visto maravilla_,"
which may be rendered into the vernacular thus:
"He who hath not Seville seen,
Hath not seen wonders, I ween."
The landscape, still green in mid-winter, was dotted with villas and
villages, all white, contrasting prettily with the groves in which they
were embowered. Casting the eye forward, it rested upon the picturesque
hills of the far-famed wine district of Xeres, with its vineyards,
wine-presses, and pack-mules. Some famous old wine estates were pointed
out to us by the pilot.
We ran through a fleet of shipping before reaching our anchorage off the
main quay, the latter lined on both sides with market-boats; and as much
more shipping lay beyond us. I was, indeed, quite surprised to find the
harbor, which is spacious, so thronged. It spoke well for the reviving
industry of Spain. With a little fancy one might imagine her still the
mistress of the "Indies," and that these were her galleons come to pour
the mineral treasures of half a world in her lap. All nations were
represented, though the Spanish flag predominated. Wearing this flag there
were many fine specimens of naval architecture--especially lines of
steamships plying between Cadiz, the West Indies, and South America. A
number of the merchant-ships of different nations hoisted their flags in
honor of the _Sumter_ as she passed; and one Yankee ship--there being
three or four of them in the harbor--hoisted hers, as much as to say, "You
see we are not afraid to show it."