CROSSING THE BAY TO FORT PICKENS, ETC.
Strategy was another of the new military terms which I had heard used a
great deal by these Rebel officers during their conversations among
themselves and with their daily visitors and admirers. The general
subject of conversation was in reference to the plans to "reduce" Fort
Pickens, which persisted so defiantly in hoisting in their faces at
every sunrise the Stars and Stripes, and which was only lowered at
sunset with a salute from the guns of the Fort and the ships, to be
again floated as surely as the sun rose the next morning and the guns
boomed out on the morning air their good morning salute.
This daily flaunting of the flag had became quite as irritating to these
fellows as the red flag to a bull, every one of whom seemed to me to be
impatient to take some sort of steps individually to at once end the war
then and there and get home. In all their talks, to which I was an
attentive listener during the several days that I spent in their camps,
I do not now recall a single expression of doubt from any of them as to
their final success in capturing the fort. With them it was only a
question of time. The criticism or demonstration which seemed to be most
general among citizens as well as the military was, that the tardiness
or delay in ordering the assault, upon the part of the Montgomery
officials, was "outrageous." But now that they had a knowledge of the
recent arrival of the "Commissioner"--whose title was changed on his
arrival at the seat of war to that of "General" and "Bearer of
Dispatches"--all hands seemed more happy and contented.
It was well understood among the higher officers there that the plan of
the authorities was, secretly, or under cover of night, to make a
lodgement on the Island by the use of the shipping they had in the
harbor, and, once securely established there, the masked battery would
open upon the weak or unprotected side of the Fort, and open a breach
through which the Rebel troops would be able to rush in and capture the
little garrison, and "haul down the flag." I had obtained full
information of the enemy's plans.
As I had so closely followed the course of events from Montgomery; had
personally visited every fort and battery; had become familiar with the
number and location of the troops, as well as with the character and
calibre of every gun that was pointed at the flag on Pickens; and had,
beside this--which was more important--secured valuable information as
to the proposed surprise of that little garrison.
My only desire was to get this information to our commander at Fort
Pickens, for their own and the country's good, coupled with a strong
inclination to defeat these bombastic rebels. I had no thought of myself
whatever, and did not, in my reckless enthusiasm, stop for a moment to
consider that, in attempting to run the gauntlet of the harbor boats and
the shore sentinels on both sides, I was risking my life as a spy. While
I do not remember to have been inspired with any feelings of the "lofty
patriotism," I am surely conscious of the fact that my motives were
certainly unselfish and disinterested. That there was no mercenary
motive, may be inferred from the simple fact that I have not in these
twenty-five years ever claimed or received anything from the government
in the way of pecuniary reward for this trip.
I began at once to make practical application of the strategy, about
which I had heard so much in the enemy's camp, and which Mr. Lossing,
the historian, says: "As an artifice or scheme for deceiving the enemy
in war, is regarded as honorable, and which is seldom if ever applied
without the aid of the scout or spy's service."
A reference to a map of the northwestern part of Florida will, at a
glance, indicate the relative positions of the Rebel and Union forces
with far greater distinctness than I am able to describe, though, after
an absence of twenty-five years, every point is as firmly impressed on
my mind as if it were but a week since I saw it all, and I venture the
assertion that, if permitted to revisit the scenes in Florida, I could
locate with exactness the ground occupied by every battery at that time.
Of course it was out of the question to have attempted to cross the bay
to Fort Pickens anyway near the batteries, or in proximity to the navy
yard, because that portion of the water lying within range of the guns
was being very closely "outlooked" all the time, both by the sentinels
and officers with their glasses at each of the Forts. They had nothing
else to do, so put in the long hours scrutinizing everything that made
an appearance on the water. This part of the bay was also constantly
patrolled by a number of guard or harbor boats, which were quite swift,
well manned, and armed with what I think they called swivel guns, placed
in the bow of the boat--a piece of artillery that may be best described
as a cross between a Chesapeake bay duck gun and a howitzer.
I think, too, there were torpedoes placed in the channel, which they did
not want disturbed by anything smaller than a United States man-of-war,
if any such should venture to run past their batteries. I was not
apprehensive of becoming mixed up with any of these myself, because my
route would necessarily be some distance away.
The ships-of-war, which were anchored outside the harbor, had been
detected by the Rebel guard boats in their attempts to run their small
muffled gigs, as they called them, close to the shore batteries on dark
nights. On several occasions these nighthawks came so close to each
other in their patrols that the whispered voices of each could be heard
over the water. This naval outpost, or picket duty on the water, was
conducted pretty much the same as is the usage on a dark night in the
woods--both sides being too much scared to move or speak lest the other
should get the first shot, and mutually rejoiced when the sound died
away in the distance.
The ships outside were being manoeuvered or changed every day. Sometimes
quite a fleet would be in sight, and the next morning half of them had
disappeared. It was understood, of course, that, in attacking the fort,
the men-of-war would at once come to the assistance of its garrison with
their guns, but, if a battery could be placed on the island, the ships
could be driven out of range of supporting distance, and, beside this, a
storm would necessitate their all getting out to sea, so their
assistance would be quite conditional.
This is why the government and naval officers especially desired not
only to retain Fort Pickens, but as well to silence the Rebel batteries
opposite, and to secure and retain that most excellent harbor and navy
yard on the gulf, so convenient for future operations against Mobile and
New Orleans.
My only hope was to cross to the Island, some six or eight miles above
the Fort (Pickens) and nearly opposite the town of Pensacola, whence,
under cover of the night, I might crawl down the shore on the opposite
side to the Fort. This scheme necessitated a good bit of boating, as it
would be necessary to double the route so as to get back before
daylight. In looking about for a boat, and a colored oarsman whom I
could control or depend upon to get me over and back, and then keep
quiet until I could get away toward New Orleans or Mobile, I selected a
black young fellow of about my own age, and in whose good-natured
countenance I thought I could discover a willingness to do anything he
was told. From this chap I engaged a boat for a day's fishing, it being
well understood at the time that no boats of any kind were permitted to
be out after dark. I had, however, taken particular pains to let it be
known at the boat-house, where the boats were usually kept, that myself
and a friend, who was well known there as a rebel above suspicion, were
going together to take a boat for a lark, and they should not be at all
uneasy if we tied up for the night some place above town. I had, of
course, no intention of taking my friend along, and this was just a
little bit of "strategy" to deceive the enemy.
I had, in the hearing of a number of his comrades, directed the boatman
to prepare enough bait and other little requirements for this trip to
last us until late into the night. He was a jolly, good-natured,
bare-footed, ragged fellow, the blackest I could find, and was tickled
all to pieces with the taffy and little bit of money he got in advance,
as well as with a prospect for something extra, if he should be detained
very late that night.
In an apparently indifferent way I also took occasion to mention at the
house where I had been boarding, that I was obliged to leave for Texas,
and made all my preparations accordingly, but proposed to have first a
day's fishing in company with some friend, and might possibly spend the
night with them. I didn't have any baggage to bother about, having
merely stopped off while _en route_ to Texas.
When I got into that little boat that day, I doubt not that I looked as
if I were desperately intent on having a day's fun and was fully
equipped for handling any quantity of fish. I had taken off my coat--the
weather in Florida at that season being quite warm and pleasant--and as
I sat in the stern sheets of the little boat, with a steering oar in my
hand, dressed only in a collarless shirt, pants and shoes, with a
greyish slouch hat tipped back on my head, I have no doubt that my
appearance was at least sufficiently careless or indifferent to disarm
any apprehensions that might rise as to the real object of the trip.
It was necessary, in starting, to explain that my "companion" was
detained, but would join us at a friend's house some distance above the
town later in the afternoon, in the direction of which I as steersman
pointed the bow of the boat, as we pulled out from the shore, bearing
purposely in a direction leading farthest from the Island and the Fort.
My recollection is, that it is about four miles across the bay to the
Island and six or eight miles down the bay to the outside point on which
Fort Pickens is located. With the exception of this garrison, Santa Rosa
may, in the language of the school-books, be called an uninhabited
island. At the present time, however, Geronimo and his band of murdering
Apache Indians are, with their military guard, the only inhabitants of
the desolate place, and they are prisoners.
When we had gotten out from shore a good distance, we stopped for a
while, just to try our luck, but as it was not a satisfactory location,
after a little delay, we moved further off, when we would again drop our
little anchor, to go through the same motions and move out, just a
little bit, almost imperceptibly to those on shore each time.
Of course, my colored boy had no idea but that I really meant this
fishing excursion for sport. He was full of fun and really enjoyed
himself very much. I was uneasy, and imagined that everybody on shore
had conspired to watch our little boat, which was drifting about
aimlessly on the tide, a mile or so out from the rebel shore. On account
of this apprehension, I was more careful to so direct our movements that
suspicion would be disarmed, and, as far as practicable, I kept the bow
of the boat pointed in the direction of Pensacola, actually backing out
into the stream, when the tide would naturally keep us out.
My object was to keep up this sort of an appearance all afternoon, and
then toward dusk (as I had told the oarsman) we would land further up,
where my friend was visiting, and where I had agreed to meet him.
A race over the bay to Fort Pickens with a Rebel harbor boat was out of
the question, even with a mile of a start, because they were not only
quite fast and well manned, but their little cannon were entirely "too
sudden" and could soon overtake us.
Did we catch any fish? will be asked. No, this is not a fish story, and
I was myself too intent upon watching the movements of all the little
boats along shore to pay much attention to the fish; in this case I was
the sucker myself, that was hunting a hole in the meshes of the net that
I might escape.
I had put the latest New York _Herald_ in my coat pocket during the
morning; this I got out and, as I sat in the stern sheets, I pretended
in a careless way to become interested while the colored boy did the
fishing. Along in the evening, about sundown, I saw with some alarm one
of the little tug-boats come puffing around from the navy yard, and it
seemed in my imagination that they were bearing directly toward us, as
we were then far enough from the shore to have excited suspicion. To be
prepared, I directed the boy to take the oars and we made a movement as
if intending to return.
The tug came within hailing distance and, without shutting off their
noisy steam-exhaust, hallooed something which I inferred was the patrol
officer's notice that it was time to tie up. They passed on in to the
pier at Pensacola, while we in the deepening twilight, while seemingly
headed toward shore, were silently drifting with the tide further and
further away.
Being in the stern, with a steering oar in my hand, the colored boy at
the oars, with his face toward me and his back to the bow, he did not
discover for quite a while through the now almost darkness that we were
moving out to sea instead of going in to shore, as I had pretended. When
he did get the bearings through his sluggish brain, he seemed all at
once to have become awakened to a sense of the greatest fear. He stopped
rowing abruptly and, looking about him in every direction, his eyes
seemed to become almost wild with fright, showing a good deal of white
through the darkness that seemed now to have come down upon us all at
once; he said, huskily, as he attempted to turn the boat around with one
oar: "Good Lawd, it's dark, and all niggers got to be in doors 'fore
this. Ise gwine home, boss." When I tried to laugh him out of his
terror, and explained that I had told his master at the pier that I was
going to keep him out late, it did not satisfy him. He insisted on going
straight back over the course I had been leading all day. The poor slave
said: "Boss, it's de law, any nigger caught out at night gets thirty-nine
lashes; and if dese soger-masters knowed I was over on this side, dey
kill me, suah."
We were then probably a mile off the Island shore--the darkness and
distance had concealed us from the rebel shore, and I must not, _would_
not return then. I tried every way to prevail upon this poor ignorant
slave to keep on rowing; that I would steer him to "my friend's house,"
which, in my mind's eye, had been Fort Pickens, but he wouldn't have it
so; he knew, he said, "there wasn't nobody's house up on dat shore."
Under the circumstances, what could I do? He had the oars in his hands
but wouldn't use them, while I, with my steering-oar, was helpless. I
was within but a little distance of the shore that I had looked upon so
often and so wistfully from the rebel side, yet this fellow could
prevent my reaching it; and in attempting to force him to do my bidding
I risked making a disturbance which would speedily bring the guard-boats
to the spot. I do not claim that it was a brave act at all, but,
realizing at the time that I must take command of the boat, I quietly
reached for a stilletto, or dirk knife, which I had bought in
anticipation of having to use or show as a quiet sort of weapon where
any noises were to be avoided. With this bright steel blade pointing at
the now terrified darkey, I ordered him to row, and if he dared take a
hand off the oar I'd cut him and feed the pieces to the sharks in the
bay.
I don't know what I should have done if he had resisted, but I think
that at the moment I would have become a murderer, and, if necessary,
have used not only the knife, but also the pistol, which I had by me.
Seeing my determination, and especially the knife, the "contraband" laid
back on his oars and pulled for the shore lustily, looking neither to
the right nor the left, but keeping both his white eyes riveted on my
dagger and pistol.
I comforted him a little, because, you see, I'd got to get back, and it
was necessary that he should keep still until I got away. I knew he
would do this, because it would certainly have been punishment for
himself to have admitted that he had been over to the Yankees.
Now that I had committed an overt act in this attempt to reach the
enemy, the die was cast for me, and I must carry it through. Imagine for
a moment my feelings when the boy stopped rowing suddenly and, craning
his neck over to the water in a listening attitude, said, huskily,
"Boss, dats dem; dats de boat."
Great heavens, we were yet a long distance out from the Island, having
been gradually working down instead of going directly over. My first
impulse was to row madly for the shore, but the darkey knew better than
I, when he said, "Best keep still, and don't talk, boss." Listening
again, I could hear the voices distinctly, and it seemed to me through
the darkness that they were right upon us; we floated quietly as a log
in the water for a few terrible moments of suspense, I took off my shoes
and stockings and prepared to jump overboard and swim for the shore, if
we came to close quarters. If they captured me I'd be hung, while the
slave's life was safe, because he was valued at about $1,800.
Resuming his oar, the boy said, "That's at the navy yard." "Why," I
said, "are we near the navy yard?" "No, boss; but you can hear people
talkin' a mighty long ways at night; we niggers is used to hearin' 'em;
we git chased in every night." After this scare I "hugged" the shore
pretty close; it seemed to me then to have been a long ways down that
sandy beach, because of the suspense and uncertainty, perhaps. We stole
along quietly, not knowing but that some trap might have been set along
the Island to catch any contrabands who might want to run off from their
masters, and again I did not know but what the rebels themselves might
have a guard out there; and if I did see any persons, how was I to be
sure that they were friends from Fort Pickens.
There are some sensations that can better be imagined than described. To
add to my discomfort on that most eventful night in my life, I witnessed
for the first time the strange, weird phenomenon of the phosphorescent
water, which is, I believe, quite common in the South. To me, at this
time, it had almost a supernatural appearance.
While gliding along smoothly between life and death, my nerves strung to
the utmost tension, suddenly I noticed that the oars, as they were
lifted from the water, were covered with a strange gleam and that the
water into which I was drifting had turned to molten lead, without
flame; and as we went along now quite rapidly, there was left in our
wake a long, winding, wiggling, fiery serpent which, to my heated
imagination, seemed to be a machination of the devil and his imps to
illuminate our path for the benefit of his friends--the rebels.
If a picture could be made of this scene, which, I may say, was
dramatic, it should represent our dingy little boat moving along a
desolate shore in the darkness and solitude of a midnight in Florida;
the black oarsman, with open mouth, the whites of his eyes showing most
conspicuously, as he twisted his head around to look over the water in
the direction of the Rebels. I sat in the stern of the boat, dressed in
a slouch hat and open shirt, steering-oar in hand, looking back and
around in a puzzled way at the glimmering will-o'the-wisp trail in our
wake. The distant background would show the grim walls of Fort Pickens,
with a few vessels riding at anchor beyond.
On the other side would be the outlines of the Rebel batteries, with
their sentries, while on the water, the guard or harbor boats.
My colored boatman, however, did not pay any attention to this play of
light about our boat; grimly he dipped and lifted the oars, the blades
covered with a peculiar yellowish light, while the water, as it dropped
back into the sea, splashed and sparkled as I had seen molten metal in
the molds of the foundries at home. In reply to my hushed expression of
surprise, the boatman said: "O, dat ain't nothin'; it's the fire out of
some of dem big guns, I'se lookin' aftah."
We silently crept along in this halo of light, during which time I took
the opportunity to explain to my boatman that I was a Yankee soldier,
going to the Fort to see my friends. The moment that fellow was assured
of my true character his whole nature seemed changed, and, instead of
the cowering, terrified slave, unwillingly doing the bidding of a
master, he became a wide-awake, energetic friend, most anxious to do me
all the service possible. I have forgotten the faithful boy's name, but
I hope some day to revisit these scenes and shall look up his history.
Great Scott! While we were talking in this way, we were startled by the
sound of oars regularly beating in a muffled way, and which we knew to
our horror were coming in our direction. Could it be possible that we
were to be baffled at last? The boy shifted his oars one by one into
the boat, laid his head over the water for a moment, when he whispered,
"Dats a barge." I did not know what a "barge" was, while he explained
that the sounds of rowing we were hearing came from a large, regular
crew of disciplined boatmen in a big boat called a barge.
I judged that we could not be far from Pickens, but how could I tell
whether the approaching boat contained our friends or our enemies. We
all knew that the boats of both parties were engaged in prowling about
every dark night. I had heard, while in the Rebel camps, that it was the
only diversion they had, and volunteers for each night's adventure were
numerous.
We kept "hugging the Island" pretty tight, and, as the sounds grew
closer and more distinct as they came nearer and nearer, I again
prepared to jump overboard and swim for the island.
As they came closer, I heard the suppressed voices, and was able to
catch something like an order addressed to "Coxswain," which was the
only word I could make out--that was enough, however. I knew that a
coxswain was only to be found in an armed boat, and, of course, I
believed they must be from the navy yard.
I slipped off my shoes and quietly dropped over the side of the boat
into the water, being mighty careful, too, that the boat should be
between me and the sounds, which were now quite distinct.
The boatman laid down in the bottom of the boat while I held on by both
hands and paddled or towed it toward shore. Suddenly, as if a curtain
had been raised, the barge, like a picture on the screen of a magic
lantern, appeared and faded away, thank the Lord, some distance out from
us, and the crew were rowing silently but swiftly in the direction from
which we had just come.
I crawled back into the boat, my extremities dripping, and with reckless
determination ordered the fellow to row right straight ahead. I was sick
of this miserable agony of suspense and would end it, even if we ran
into a man-of-war.
The boatman expressed the opinion that the boat from which we had been
concealing ourselves was from the Fort, or belonged to the shipping
outside, and I afterward learned that he was correct.
When we got a little further down the island shore, voices were again
heard, this time from the land. Now I was sure we were all right, but I
kept along quietly and smoothly until we were in sight of the old fort.
I could now see objects moving about on the ground near the fort. We
crept up still closer, and seeing a group of three persons standing
together, a little ways back from the water, I rose to my feet and was
about to hail them when we heard oars again from the outside.
I sat down again and begged the poor fellow to row for his life, which
he did with a hearty good will; we then passed, without a challenge, a
sentinel on the beach, and actually rode right up to the guard on the
pier of the fort, and myself called their attention to our little boat.
A sergeant, who was within hearing, quickly ran up to the water's edge
and roughly called a "halt," demanding to know our business; to which I
replied: "I want to see Lieutenant Slemmer." We drew in shore; the
sergeant took hold of the bow-string of our boat, and directed a soldier
near by to call the officer of the guard, which was done in the most
approved West Point style. All the same, however, I had gotten through
their lines without a challenge, and if I had been bent on torpedo or
dynamite business, it would have been possible that night to have
surprised the garrison.
While waiting there, the old sergeant, who seemed to be very much
incensed at my cheekiness, in running by his sentries, plied us with
questions.
Pretty soon we were landed on the pier, and then I stood right under the
gloomy shadow of the walls of Fort Pickens, talking with a young officer
in the uniform of the United States service, and wearing the red sash of
the officer of the day.
This young officer, whose name I have forgotten, received me cordially,
and ordered the sergeant to take good care of my boatman. My idea had
been, all along, to communicate with Lieutenant Slemmer, whom we had
heard of in connection with the occupation of the Fort, and probably,
also, because I had heard he was a Pennsylvanian, I imagined I should
feel more freedom with him.
The officer of the day, to whom I expressed a desire to see Lieutenant
Slemmer, said: "Certainly, sir, certainly. Will you please give me your
name?" I merely said: "I am from Pennsylvania, and am going back soon,
and wanted to tell him some news." The officer swung himself around and
called to another sergeant "to make this gentleman as comfortable as
possible till I return," which was a polite way of saying "don't let
that fellow get away till I get back." He disappeared inside the
cave-like entrance to the Fort.
Very soon two officers came out, to whom I was politely introduced as a
young man from the other side to see Lieutenant Slemmer--the officer of
the day explaining to me that Lieutenant Slemmer would be out just as
soon as he could dress.
It was late at night, and they had all been sleeping in peace and
security inside the Fort, while I was getting down the bay. During this
interim it will be noted that not one of these officers had asked me a
question. Though their curiosity was no doubt excited, they were all
gentlemanly enough to believe that my business was of a private
character with Lieutenant Slemmer alone.
It appears that the Fort had been reinforced, probably about the time
that the attempt was made to reinforce Sumter, and at this time
Lieutenant Slemmer was not in command at Pickens.
During the wait and while we were talking about the war prospects, I
incidentally mentioned something about Sumter's fall; this was news, sad
news to the little group of officers, and for a moment seemed to stagger
them. When one of them expressed a mild doubt, thinking my information
was from rebel sources, the other said:
"Oh, yes, it's true; it couldn't be otherwise." When I gave them about
the date, they all recalled an unusual commotion and firing of salutes
by the rebels over the bay, which they did not understand at the time,
and this news explained.
It soon became known in the fort that they had a visitor with great
news, and every blessed officer must have gotten out of bed to come
outside and see me. I wondered at the time why I wasn't invited inside,
though I could not have been more courteously treated than I was. It was
quite a long time before Lieutenant Slemmer made an appearance, and when
he approached me and was introduced by the officer of the day with "This
is Lieutenant Slemmer," I looked up in surprise to see a tall, slim man,
wearing glasses and looking for all the world like a Presbyterian
preacher. He was the most distant, dignified fellow in the lot, and my
first impressions were not at all favorable.
However, I briefly explained my business, and told him of the masked
batteries and the proposed attack from the island. Without a word of
thanks, or even a reply, he turned and told one of the officers, who had
stood aside to permit us to talk privately, to call Captain Clitz; and
while he was doing this Mr. Slemmer stood by me with his arms
folded--the only words he spoke were: "Oh, that's it."
Soon Captain Clitz, who was a large, rather portly officer, approached,
in company with my officer, and, without waiting for an introduction, he
walked up to me with his hand out, smilingly saying, "Ah, how do you
do?" and, turning to Slemmer, he said, "Mr. Slemmer, I'm very glad your
friend called to see us."
There was a long, earnest talk on the wharf that night, which was
listened to and participated in by all the group of officers. Lieutenant
Slemmer--after Captain Clitz's greeting--said: "This is Captain Clitz,
the commander here now." And to him all my communications were directed.
I was, of course, questioned and cross-questioned in regard to every
point of detail which could be of interest to them, and I believe I was
able to satisfy them on every point.
I had understood, and believed it true, that General Winfield Scott had
joined the rebels, and when I mentioned this among the other items of
news, my young officer of the day spoke up quickly, saying: "Oh, no, I
can't believe that. General Scott may be dead, but he is not a traitor."
In comparison with Lieutenant Slemmer's dignified bearing, Captain
Clitz's kindness and cordiality to me that night will ever be remembered
with feelings of profound gratitude. While I was thus talking to the
officers, the sergeant and his detail of men were busily engaged in
questioning my colored boy, and from him they learned the story of our
trip.
The sergeant was brought to task roundly, by the officer of the day, for
the failure of his sentinel up on the beach to halt our boat before
getting so close to the pier. His explanation was that they saw us but
supposed it was the boat belonging to the garrison.
How long I should have been detained on that old pier, under the shadow
of the walls of the fort, entertaining those officers, is uncertain, had
I not had before me, like a spectre, the remembrance of the rebel
sentries and guard-boats, that I must again run through to get back in
safety. One of the officers very kindly proposed that they would man one
of their boats and convey us as far up the beach as they could go, and
thereby relieve us of the tiresome pull on the oars. While this was
being arranged, I gave to Lieutenant Slemmer a more detailed account of
the honors that were being paid to him in the North, in connection with
Major Anderson, for his bravery in saving Pickens. And I also told him
about the attentions which were being showered upon his wife, who, it
seems, had been permitted to pass through the Rebel lines to her home in
the North soon after his moving into Fort Pickens.
To Mrs. Slemmer, it seems, was due some of the credit and glory of this
movement.
After receiving from Captain Clitz his hearty acknowledgment, and a
farewell shake-hands from all the officers, I got aboard the well-manned
barge for a return voyage, our little boat being towed in the rear.
Getting into the boat seemed to bring to mind the shipping outside, and
I incidentally asked if any of their boats might be going to Mobile
soon, thinking that would save me the dangerous jaunt over the swamps. I
had no fears but that I should land all right at Pensacola, but I did
feel some apprehension about my boy being able to avert the questions
that I knew he would be asked on his return.
Captain Clitz spoke up from the end of the pier, "There are no boats
likely to go to Mobile, but one of the transports will return to New
York soon; would you prefer to go that way?"
After a little explanation, it was settled that I should take the ship
home, and my colored boy went back alone--at that time they were not
taking care of contrabands--and I was rowed out to the shipping, and
that night slept sweetly in a hammock on board Captain Porter's ship,
the Powhattan.