Pensacola and Fort Pickens--Neutrals and their
friends--Coasting--Sharks--The blockading fleet--The stars
and stripes, and stars and bars--Domestic feuds caused by the
war--Captain Adams and General Bragg--Interior of Fort Pickens.
_May 13th._ I was busy making arrangements to get to Pensacola, and
Fort Pickens, all day. The land journey was represented as being
most tedious and exceedingly comfortless in all respects, through
a waste of sand, in which we ran the chance of being smothered or
lost. And then I had set my mind on seeing Fort Pickens as well as
Pensacola, and it would be difficult, to say the least of it, to
get across from an enemy’s camp to the Federal fortress, and then
return again. The United States’ squadron blockaded the port of
Pensacola, but I thought it likely they would permit me to run in
to visit Fort Pickens, and that the Federals would allow me to sail
thence across to General Bragg, as they might be assured I would
not communicate any information of what I had seen in my character
as neutral to any but the journal in Europe, which I represented,
and in the interests of which I was bound to see and report all
that I could as to the state of both parties. It was, at all
events, worth while to make the attempt, and after a long search I
heard of a schooner which was ready for the voyage at a reasonable
rate, all things considered.
Mr. Forsyth asked if I had any objection to take with me three
gentlemen of Mobile, who were anxious to be of the party, as they
wanted to see their friends at Pensacola, where it was believed
a “fight” was to come off immediately. Since I came South I have
seen the daily announcement that “Braxton Bragg is ready,” and his
present state of preparation must be beyond all conception. But
here was a difficulty. I told Mr. Forsyth that I could not possibly
assent to any persons coming with me who were not neutrals, or
prepared to adhere to the obligations of neutrals. There was a
suggestion that I should say these gentlemen were my friends, but
as I had only seen two of them on board the steamer yesterday,
I could not accede to that idea. “Then if you are asked if Mr.
Ravesies is your friend, you will say he is not.” “Certainly.” “But
surely you don’t wish to have Mr. Ravesies hanged?” “No, I do not,
and I shall do nothing to cause him to be hanged; but if he meets
that fate by his own act, I can’t help it. I will not allow him to
accompany me under false pretences.”
At last it was agreed that Mr. Ravesies and his friends Mr. Bartré
and Mr. Lynes, being in no way employed by or connected with the
Confederate Government, should have a place in the little schooner
which we had picked out at the quayside and hired for the occasion,
and go on the voyage with the plain understanding that they were to
accept all the consequences of being citizens of Mobile.
Mr. Forsyth, Mr. Ravesies, and a couple of gentlemen dined with
me in the evening. After dinner, Mr. Forsyth, who, as mayor of
the town, is the Executive of the Vigilance Committee, took a copy
of _Harper’s Illustrated Paper_, which is a very poor imitation
of the _Illustrated London News_, and called my attention to the
announcement that Mr. Moses, their special artist, was travelling
with me in the South, as well as to an engraving, which purported
to be by Moses aforesaid. I could only say that I knew nothing of
the young designer, except what he told me, and that he led me to
believe he was furnishing sketches to the _London News_. As he was
in the hotel, though he did not live with me, I sent for him, and
the young gentleman, who was very pale and agitated on being shown
the advertisement and sketch, declared that he had renounced all
connection with Harper, that he was sketching for the _Illustrated
London News_, and that the advertisement was contrary to fact, and
utterly unknown to him; and so he was let go forth, and retired
uneasily. After dinner I went to the Bienville Club. “Rule No. 1”
is, “No gentleman shall be admitted in a state of intoxication,”
The club very social, very small, and very hospitable.
Later paid my respects to Mrs. Forsyth, whom I found anxiously
waiting for news of her young son, who had gone off to join the
Confederate army. She told me that nearly all the ladies in Mobile
are engaged in making cartridges, and in preparing lint or clothing
for the army. Not the smallest fear is entertained of the swarming
black population.
_May 14th._ Down to our yacht, the Diana, which is to be ready
this afternoon, and saw her cleared out a little--a broad-beamed,
flat-floored schooner, some fifty tons burthen, with a
centre board, badly caulked, and dirty enough--unfamiliar with
paint. The skipper was a long-legged, ungainly young fellow, with
long hair and an inexpressive face, just relieved by the twinkle of
a very “Yankee” eye; but that was all of the hated creature about
him, for a more earnest seceder I never heard.
His crew consisted of three rough, mechanical sort of men and a
negro cook. Having freighted the vessel with a small stock of
stores, a British flag, kindly lent by the acting Consul, Mr.
Magee, and a tablecloth to serve as a flag of truce, our party,
consisting of the gentlemen previously named, Mr. Ward, and the
young artist, weighed from the quay of Mobile at five o’clock in
the evening, with the manifest approbation of the small crowd who
had assembled to see us off, the rumour having spread through the
town that we were bound to see the great fight. The breeze was
favourable and steady; at nine o’clock, P.M., the lights of Fort
Morgan were on our port beam, and for some time we were expecting
to see the flash of a gun, as the skipper confidently declared they
would never allow us to pass unchallenged.
The darkness of the night might possibly have favoured us, or the
sentries were remiss; at all events, we were soon creeping through
the “Swash,” which is a narrow channel over the bar, through which
our skipper worked us by means of a sounding pole. The air was
delightful, and blew directly off the low shore, in a line parallel
to which we were moving. When the evening vapours passed away, the
stars shone out brilliantly, and though the wind was strong, and
sent us at a good eight knots through the water, there was scarcely
a ripple on the sea. Our course lay within a quarter of a mile
of the shore, which looked like a white ribbon fringed with fire,
from the ceaseless play of the phosphorescent surf. Above this belt
of sand rose the black, jagged outlines of a pine forest, through
which steal immense lagoons and marshy creeks.
Driftwood and trees strew the beach, and from Fort Morgan, for
forty miles, to the entrance of Pensacola, not a human habitation
disturbs the domain sacred to alligators, serpents, pelicans,
and wild-fowl. Some of the lagoons, like the Perdida, swell into
inland seas, deep buried in pine woods, and known only to the wild
creatures swarming along its brink and in its waters; once, if
report says true, frequented, however, by the filibusters and by
the pirates of the Spanish Main.
If the mosquitoes were as numerous and as persecuting in those days
as they are at present, the most adventurous youth would have soon
repented the infatuation which led him to join the brethren of the
Main. The mosquito is a great enemy to romance, and our skipper
tells us that there is no such place known in the world for them as
this coast.
As the Diana flew along the grim shore, we lay listlessly on the
deck admiring the excessive brightness of the stars, or watching
the trailing fire of her wake. Now and then great fish flew
off from the shallows, cleaving their path in flame; and one
shining gleam came up from leeward like a watery comet, till its
horrible outline was revealed close to us--a monster shark--which
accompanied us with an easy play of the fin, distinctly visible in
the wonderful phosphorescence, now shooting on ahead, now dropping
astern, till suddenly it dashed off seaward with tremendous
rapidity and strength on some errand of destruction, and vanished
in the waste of waters. Despite the multitudes of fish on the
coast, the Spaniards who colonise this ill-named Florida must have
had a trying life of it between the Indians, now hunted to death or
exiled by rigorous Uncle Sam, the mosquitoes, and the numberless
plagues which abound along these shores.
Hour after hour passed watching the play of large fish and the surf
on the beach; one by one the cigar-lights died out; and muffling
ourselves up on deck, or creeping into the little cabin, the party
slumbered. I was awoke by the Captain talking to one of his hands
close to me, and on looking up saw that he was staring through a
wonderful black tube, which he denominated his “tallowscope,” at
the shore.
Looking in the direction, I observed the glare of a fire in
the wood, which on examination through an opera glass resolved
itself into a steady central light, with some smaller specks
around it. “Wa’ll,” said the Captain, “I guess it is just some
of them d----d Yankees as is landed from their tarnation boats,
and is ‘conoitering’ for a road to Mobile.” There was an old iron
cannonade on board, and it struck me as a curious exemplification
of the recklessness of our American cousins, when the skipper said,
“Let us put a bag of bullets in the ould gun, and touch it off at
them;” which he no doubt would have done, seconded by one of our
party, who drew his revolver to contribute to the broadside, but
that I represented to them it was just as likely to be a party out
from the camp at Pensacola, and that, anyhow, I strongly objected
to any belligerent act whilst I was on board. It was very probably,
indeed, the watch-fire of a Confederate patrol, for the gentry of
the country have formed themselves into a body of regular cavalry
for such service; but the skipper declared that our chaps knew
better than to be showing their lights in that way, when we were
within ten miles of the entrance to Pensacola.
The skipper lay-to, as he, very wisely, did not like to run into
the centre of the United States squadron at night; but just at the
first glimpse of dawn the Diana resumed her course, and bowled
along merrily till, with the first rays of the sun, Fort M‘Rae,
Fort Pickens, and the masts of the squadron were visible ahead,
rising above the blended horizon of land and sea. We drew upon them
rapidly, and soon could make out the rival flags--the Stars and
Bars and Stars and Stripes--flouting defiance at each other.
On the land side on our left is Fort M‘Rae, and on the end of the
sand-bank, called Santa Rosa Island, directly opposite, rises the
outline of the much-talked-of Fort Pickens, which is not unlike
Fort Paul on a small scale. Through the glass the blockading
squadron is seen to consist of a sailing frigate, a sloop, and
three steamers; and as we are scrutinising them, a small schooner
glides from under the shelter of the guardship, and makes towards
us like a hawk on a sparrow. Hand over hand she comes, a great
swaggering ensign at her peak, and a gun all ready at her bow; and
rounding up alongside us a boat manned by four men is lowered, an
officer jumps in, and is soon under our counter. The officer, a
bluff, sailor-like looking fellow, in a uniform a little the worse
for wear, and wearing his beard as officers of the United States
navy generally do, fixed his eye upon the skipper--who did not seem
quite at his ease, and had, indeed, confessed to us that he had
been warned off by the Oriental, as the tender was named, only a
short time before--and said, “Hallo, sir, I think I have seen you
before: what schooner is this?” “The Diana of Mobile.” “I thought
so.” Stepping on deck, he said, “Gentlemen, I am Mr. Brown, Master
in the United States navy, in charge of the boarding schooner
Oriental.” We each gave our names; whereupon Mr. Brown says, “I
have no doubt it will be all right, be good enough to let me have
your papers. And now, sir, make sail, and lie-to under the quarter
of that steamer there, the Powhatan.” The Captain did not look at
all happy when the officer called his attention to the indorsement
on his papers; nor did the Mobile party seem very comfortable when
he remarked, “I suppose, gentlemen, you are quite well aware there
is a strict blockade of this port?”
In half an hour the schooner lay under the guns of the Powhatan,
which is a stumpy, thick-set, powerful steamer of the old
paddle-wheel kind, something like the Leopard. We proceeded
alongside in the cutter’s boat, and were ushered into the cabin,
where the officer commanding, Lieutenant David Porter, received
us, begged us to be seated, and then inquired into the object of
our visit, which he communicated to the flag-ship by signal, in
order to get instructions as to our disposal. Nothing could exceed
his courtesy; and I was most favourably impressed by himself,
his officers, and crew. He took me over the ship, which is armed
with 10-inch Dahlgrens and an 11-inch pivot gun, with rifled
field-pieces and howitzers on the sponsons. Her boarding nettings
were triced up, bows and weak portions padded with dead wood and
old sails, and everything ready for action.
Lieutenant Porter has been in and out of the harbour examining the
enemy’s works at all hours of the night, and he has marked off
on the chart, as he showed me, the bearings of the various spots
where he can sweep or enfilade their works. The crew, all things
considered, were very clean, and their personnel exceedingly fine.
We were not the only prize that was made by the Oriental this
morning. A ragged little schooner lay at the other side of the
Powhatan, the master of which stood rubbing his knuckles into his
eyes, and uttering dolorous expressions in broken English and
Italian, for he was a noble Roman of Civita Vecchia. Lieutenant
Porter let me into the secret. These small traders at Mobile,
pretending great zeal for the Confederate cause, load their vessels
with fruit, vegetables, and things of which they know the squadron
is much in want, as well as the garrison of the Confederate forts.
They set out with the most valiant intention of running the
blockade, and are duly captured by the squadron, the officers of
which are only too glad to pay fair prices for the cargoes. They
return to Mobile, keep their money in their pockets, and declare
they have been plundered by the Yankees. If they get in, they
demand still higher prices from the Confederates, and lay claim to
the most exalted patriotism.
By signal from the flag-ship Sabine, we were ordered to repair
on board to see the senior officer, Captain Adams; and for the
first time since I trod the deck of the old Leander in Balaklava
harbour, I stood on board a 50-gun sailing frigate. Captain
Adams, a grey-haired veteran of very gentle manners and great
urbanity received us in his cabin, and listened to my explanation
of the cause of my visit with interest. About myself there was no
difficulty; but he very justly observed he did not think it would
be right to let the gentlemen from Mobile examine Fort Pickens,
and then go among the Confederate camps. I am bound to say these
gentlemen scarcely seemed to desire or anticipate such a favour.
Major Vogdes, an engineer officer from the fort, who happened to be
on board, volunteered to take a letter from me to Colonel Harvey
Browne, requesting permission to visit it; and I finally arranged
with Captain Adams that the Diana was to be permitted to pass the
blockade into Pensacola harbour, and thence to return to Mobile, my
visit to Pickens depending on the pleasure of the Commandant of the
place. “I fear, Mr. Russell,” said Captain Adams, “in giving you
this permission, I expose myself to misrepresentation and unfounded
attacks. Gentlemen of the press in our country care little about
private character, and are, I fear, rather unscrupulous in what
they say; but I rely upon your character that no improper use
shall be made of this permission. You must hoist a flag of truce,
as General Bragg, who commands over there, has sent me word he
considers our blockade a declaration of war, and will fire upon any
vessel which approaches him from our fleet.”
In the course of conversation, whilst treating me to such
man-of-war luxuries as the friendly officer had at his disposal, he
gave me an illustration of the miseries of this cruel conflict--of
the unspeakable desolation of homes, of the bitterness of feeling
engendered in families. A Pennsylvanian by birth, he married long
ago a lady of Louisiana, where he resided on his plantation till
his ship was commissioned. He was absent on foreign service when
the feud first began, and received orders at sea, on the South
American station, to repair direct to blockade Pensacola. He has
just heard that one of his sons is enlisted in the Confederate
army, and that two others have joined the forces in Virginia; and
as he said sadly, “God knows, when I open my broadside, but that
I may be killing my own children.” But that was not all. One of
the Mobile gentlemen brought him a letter from his daughter, in
which she informs him that she has been elected vivandière to a New
Orleans regiment, with which she intends to push on to Washington,
and get a lock of old Abe Lincoln’s hair; and the letter concluded
with the charitable wish that her father might starve to death if
he persisted in his wicked blockade. But not the less determined
was the gallant old sailor to do his duty.
Mr. Ward, one of my companions, had sailed in the Sabine in the
Paraguay expedition, and I availed myself of his acquaintance with
his old comrades to take a glance round the ship. Wherever they
came from, four hundred more sailor-like, strong, handy young
fellows could not be seen than the crew; and the officers were as
hospitable as their limited resources in whisky grog, cheese, and
junk allowed them to be.
With thanks for his kindness and courtesy, I parted from Captain
Adams, feeling more than ever the terrible and earnest nature of
the impending conflict. May the kindly good old man be shielded on
the day of battle!
A ten-oared barge conveyed us to the Oriental, which, with flowing
sheet, ran down to the Powhatan. There I saw Captain Porter,
and told him that Captain Adams had given me permission to visit
the Confederate camp, and that I had written for leave to go on
shore at Port Pickens. An officer was in his cabin, to whom I was
introduced as Captain Poore, of the Brooklyn. “You don’t mean
to say, Mr. Russell,” said he, “that these editors of Southern
newspapers who are with you have leave to go on shore?” This was
rather a fishing question. “I assure you, Captain Poore, that there
is no editor of a Southern newspaper in my company.”
The boat which took us from the Powhatan to the Diana was in charge
of a young officer related to Captain Porter, who amused me by the
spirit with which he bandied remarks about the war with the Mobile
men, who had now recovered their equanimity, and were indulging in
what is called chaff about the blockade. “Well,” he said, “you were
the first to begin it; let us see whether you won’t be the first
to leave it off. I guess our Northern ice will pretty soon put out
your Southern fire.”
When we came on board, the skipper heard our orders to up stick and
away with an air of pity and incredulity; nor was it till I had
repeated it, he kicked up his crew from their sleep on deck, and
with a “Wa’ll, really, I never did see sich a thing!” made sail
towards the entrance to the harbour.
As we got abreast of Fort Pickens, I ordered tablecloth No. 1
to be hoisted to the peak; and through the glass I saw that our
appearance attracted no ordinary attention from the garrison
of Pickens close at hand on our right, and the more distant
Confederates on Fort M‘Rae and the sand-hills on our left. The
latter work is weak and badly built, quite under the command of
Pickens, but it is supported by the old Spanish fort of Barrancas
upon high ground further inland, and by numerous batteries at the
water-line and partly concealed amidst the woods which fringe
the shore as far as the navy yard of Warrington, near Pensacola.
The wind was light, but the tide bore us onwards towards the
Confederate works. Arms glanced in the blazing sun where regiments
were engaged at drill, clouds of dust rose from the sandy roads,
horsemen riding along the beach, groups of men in uniform, gave a
martial appearance to the place in unison with the black muzzles
of the guns which peeped from the white sand batteries from the
entrance of the harbour to the navy yard now close at hand. As
at Sumter Major Anderson permitted the Carolinians to erect the
batteries he might have so readily destroyed in the commencement,
so the Federal officers here have allowed General Bragg to work
away at his leisure, mounting cannon after cannon, throwing up
earthworks, and strengthening his batteries, till he has assumed so
formidable an attitude, that I doubt very much whether the fort and
the fleet combined can silence his fire.
On the low shore close to us were numerous wooden houses and
detached villas, surrounded by orange-groves. At last the captain
let go his anchor off the end of a wooden jetty, which was crowded
with ammunition, shot, shell, casks of provisions, and commissariat
stores. A small steamer was engaged in adding to the collection,
and numerous light craft gave evidence that all trade had not
ceased. Indeed, inside Santa Rosa Island, which runs for forty-five
miles from Pickens eastward parallel to the shore, there is a
considerable coasting traffic carried on for the benefit of the
Confederates.
The skipper went ashore with my letters to General Bragg, and
speedily returned with an orderly, who brought permission for the
Diana to come alongside the wharf. The Mobile gentlemen were soon
on shore, eager to seek their friends; and in a few seconds the
officer of the quartermaster-general’s department on duty came on
board to conduct me to the officers’ quarters, whilst waiting for
my reply from General Bragg.
The navy yard is surrounded by a high wall, the gates closely
guarded by sentries; the houses, gardens, workshops, factories,
forges, slips, and building-sheds are complete of their kind,
and cover upwards of three hundred acres; and with the forts
which protect the entrance, cost the United States Government not
less than six millions sterling. Inside these was the greatest
activity and life,--Zouave, Chasseurs, and all kind of military
eccentricities--were drilling, parading, exercising, sitting in the
shade, loading tumbrils, playing cards, or sleeping on the grass.
Tents were pitched under the trees and on the little lawns and
grass-covered quadrangles. The houses, each numbered and marked
with the name of the functionary to whose use it was assigned, were
models of neatness, with gardens in front, filled with glorious
tropical flowers. They were painted green and white, provided with
porticoes, Venetian blinds, verandahs, and colonnades, to protect
the inmates as much as possible from the blazing sun, which in the
dog-days is worthy of Calcutta. The old Fulton is the only ship on
the stocks. From the naval arsenal quantities of shot and shell
are constantly pouring to the batteries. Piles of cannon-balls
dot the grounds, but the only ordnance I saw were two old mortars
placed as ornaments in the main avenue, one dated 1776.
The quartermaster conducted me through shady walks into one of
the houses, then into a long room, and presented me _en masse_ to
a body of officers, mostly belonging to a Zouave regiment from
New Orleans, who were seated at a very comfortable dinner, with
abundance of champagne, claret, beer, and ice. They were all
young, full of life and spirits, except three or four graver and
older men, who were Europeans. One, a Dane, had fought against the
Prussians and Schleswig-Holsteiners at Idstedt and Friederichstadt;
another, an Italian, seemed to have been engaged indifferently in
fighting all over the South American continent; a third, a Pole,
had been at Comorn, and had participated in the revolutionary
guerilla of 1848. From these officers I learned that Mr. Jefferson
Davis, his wife, Mr. Wigfall, and Mr. Mallory, Secretary to the
Navy, had come down from Montgomery, and had been visiting the
works all day.
Every one here believes the attack so long threatened is to come
off at last and at once.
After dinner an aide-de-camp from General Bragg entered with a
request that I would accompany him to the commanding officer’s
quarters. As the sand outside the navy yard was deep, and rendered
walking very disagreeable, the young officer stopped a cart,
into which we got, and were proceeding on our way, when a tall,
elderly man, in a blue frock-coat with a gold star on the shoulder,
trowsers with a gold stripe and gilt buttons, rode past, followed
by an orderly, who looked more like a dragoon than anything I have
yet seen in the States. “There’s General Bragg,” quoth the aide,
and I was duly presented to the General, who reined up by the
waggon. He sent his orderly off at once for a light cart drawn by
a pair of mules, in which I completed my journey, and was safely
decarted at the door of a substantial house surrounded by trees of
lime, oak, and sycamore.
Led horses and orderlies thronged the front of the portico, and
gave it the usual head-quarterlike aspect. General Bragg received
me at the steps, and took me to his private room, where we
remained for a long time in conversation. He had retired from the
United States army after the Mexican war--in which, by the way,
he played a distinguished part, his name being generally coupled
with the phrase “a little more grape, Captain Bragg,” used in one
of the hottest encounters of that campaign--to his plantation
in Louisiana; but suddenly the Northern States declared their
intention of using force to free and sovereign States, which were
exercising their constitutional rights to secede from the Federal
Union.
Neither he nor his family were responsible for the system of
slavery. His ancestors found it established by law and flourishing,
and had left him property, consisting of slaves, which was granted
to him by the laws and constitution of the United States. Slaves
were necessary for the actual cultivation of the soil in the South;
Europeans and Yankees who settled there speedily became convinced
of that; and if a Northern population were settled in Louisiana
to-morrow, they would discover that they must till the land by the
labour of the black race, and that the only mode of making the
black race work, was to hold them in a condition of involuntary
servitude. “Only the other day, Colonel Harvey Browne, at Pickens,
over the way, carried off a number of negroes from Tortugas, and
put them to work at Santa Rosa. Why? Because his white soldiers
were not able for it. No. The North was bent on subjugating the
South, and as long as he had a drop of blood in his body, he would
resist such an infamous attempt.”
Before supper General Bragg opened his maps, and pointed out to me
in detail the position of all his works, the line of fire of each
gun, and the particular object to be expected from its effects.
“I know every inch of Pickens,” he said, “for I happened to be
stationed there as soon as I left Westpoint, and I don’t think
there is a stone in it that I am not as well acquainted with as
Harvey Browne.”
His staff, consisting of four intelligent young men, two of them
lately belonging to the United States army, supped with us, and
after a very agreeable evening, horses were ordered round to the
door, and I returned to the navy yard attended by the General’s
orderly, and provided with a pass and countersign. As a mark of
complete confidence, General Bragg told me, for my private ear,
that he had no present intention whatever of opening fire, and that
his batteries were far from being in a state, either as regards
armament or ammunition, which would justify him in meeting the fire
of the forts and the ships.
And so we bade good-by. “To-morrow,” said the General, “I will
send down one of my best horses and Mr. Ellis, my aide-de-camp, to
take you over all the works and batteries.” As I rode home with
my honest orderly beside instead of behind me, for he was of a
conversational turn, I was much perplexed in my mind, endeavouring
to determine which was right and which was wrong in this quarrel,
and at last, as at Montgomery, I was forced to ask myself if right
and wrong were geographical expressions depending for extension or
limitation on certain conditions of climate and lines of latitude
and longitude. Here was the General’s orderly beside me, an
intelligent middle-aged man, who had come to do battle with as much
sincerity--aye, and religious confidence--as ever actuated old John
Brown or any New England puritan to make war against slavery. “I
have left my old woman and the children to the care of the niggers;
I have turned up all my cotton land and planted it with corn, and
I don’t intend to go back alive till I’ve seen the back of the
last Yankee in our Southern States.” “And are wife and children
alone with the negroes?” “Yes, sir. There’s only one white man on
the plantation, an overseer sort of chap.” “Are not you afraid of
the slaves rising?” “They’re ignorant poor creatures, to be sure,
but as yet they’re faithful. Any way, I put my trust in God, and I
know He’ll watch over the house while I’m away fighting for this
good cause!” This man came from Mississippi, and had twenty-five
slaves, which represented a money value of at least £5000. He was
beyond the age of enthusiasm, and was actuated, no doubt, by strong
principles, to him unquestionable and sacred.
My pass and countersign, which were only once demanded, took me
through the sentries, and I got on board the schooner shortly
before midnight, and found nearly all the party on deck, enchanted
with their reception. More than once we were awoke by the vigilant
sentries, who would not let what Americans call “the balance” of
our friends on board till they had seen my authority to receive
them.