The Boy Spy
by Joseph Orton Kerbey · English · Gutenberg #34344 · 1,290,602 chars · public domain (US)
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Title: The Boy Spy
Author: Joseph Orton Kerbey
Release date: November 16, 2010 [eBook #34344]
Language: English
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/34344
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Produced by Chris Curnow, Sharon Verougstraete, Joseph
Cooper and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at
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[Illustration: "IF YOU ARE AROUND HERE WHEN WE BEGIN THE JOB, YOU WILL
FIND OUT ALL ABOUT THAT."]
THE BOY SPY
A SUBSTANTIALLY TRUE RECORD OF SECRET SERVICE DURING THE WAR
OF THE REBELLION. A CORRECT ACCOUNT OF EVENTS
WITNESSED BY A SOLDIER ATTACHED TO
HEADQUARTERS
THE ONLY PRACTICAL HISTORY OF WAR TELEGRAPHERS IN THE FIELD--A
FULL ACCOUNT OF THE MYSTERIES OF SIGNALING BY FLAGS,
TORCHES, AND ROCKETS--THRILLING SCENES OF
BATTLES, CAPTURES AND ESCAPES
BY
MAJOR J. O. KERBEY
CHICAGO.
M. A. DONOHUE & CO.
407-429 DEARBORN ST.
COPYRIGHT BY
J. O. KERBEY.
1887-88-89-90.
PREFACE.
The following unpretending narrative of some of the actual experiences
of a boy in the War of the Rebellion is fraternally dedicated to my
comrades of the G. A. R.
Part of these adventures were recorded in the press of the country at
the time of their occurrence, and more recently, in detached and crude
form, in different papers.
Through the kindly interest of many friends, and especially that of my
relative and comrade, Col. J. H. Madden, of Danville, Illinois, the
revised and collated Story is now offered to the public and corrected
from the original notes and MSS.
Yours in F. C. & L.,
THE AUTHOR.
CONTENTS.
[Transcriber's Note: Chapter XVIII was duplicated in the text. The Table
of Contents has been changed to reflect the chapter numbers given in the
text.]
CHAPTER. PAGE
I. Introductory 9
II. On Duty as a Spy at the Rebel Capital, Montgomery, Alabama--Living
in same Hotel with Jeff Davis and His Cabinet--Conspirators from
Washington Interviewed--Bounty Offered by Confederates before a Gun
Was Fired--Fort Sumter and Fort Pickens 19
III. Pensacola, Florida--In Rebel Lines--Fort Pickens--Admiral
Porter and the Navy 28
IV. Crossing the Bay to Fort Pickens, etc. 38
V. Rebel Newspapers--On Admiral Porter's Ship 52
VI. Admiral Porter Saves the Boy's Life--Interview with the Rebel
Flag-of-Truce Officers, Who Claim Him for a Victim--Scenes on Board
a Man-of-War--Return Home by Sea--Reception in New York--Telegraph
Acquaintances--New York Papers Record the Adventure in Full Page 65
VII. Reporting to the Secretary of War, at Washington--Ordered on
Another Scout to Virginia--In Patterson's Army, in Virginia, before
the Battle of Bull Run 80
VIII. A Night's Scout in Johnston's Army--Rebel Signals--Visitors
from the Union Army Headquarters Report to Rebel Headquarters--General
J. E. Johnston's Escape to Beauregard Reported to General
Patterson--Fitz-John Porter Responsible for the First Battle of Bull
Run, as He Was Cashiered for That of the Second Bull Run--An
Important Contribution to the War History of the Time--The Story
since Confirmed by the _Century_ Historians of Lincoln, Secretaries
Nicolay and Hay 94
IX. Reporting to General Bank's Headquarters for Duty--The Life of
Jeff Davis Threatened--Captured at Harper's Ferry--Interesting
Personal Letters Corroborating the Supposed Death of the "Boy Spy" 114
X. At Beauregard's Headquarters--On Duty at Manassas 125
XI. Important Documents Intercepted at Manassas, which Established
the Fact that the Rebel Army had no Intention, and Were not Able to
Advance after Manassas--The Rebel Army Demoralized by Success, and
Twenty-five Per Cent. Absent from Epidemic--On the Field after the
Battle--Observation Inside Rebel Camps--Talking with Richmond by
Wire--Captured by Rebel Picket in Sight of the Signal Lights at
Georgetown College 134
XII. Another Escape, etc. 154
XIII. One More Escape--"Yanking" the Telegraph Wires--"On to
Richmond!"--A Close Shave 166
XIV. On to Richmond--A Night of Terror--A Ghastly Find in the
Woods--Attacked by Bloodhounds--Other Miraculous Escapes--First
Visit to Fredericksburg--A Collection Taken up in a Church in
Virginia for the "Boy Spy"--Arrives in Richmond 178
XV. Sick In Richmond--Concealed by a Colored Boy and Unable to
Move--An Original Cipher Letter Sent Through the Blockade to
Washington that Tells the Whole Story in a Few Words--Meeting
with Maryland Refugees--The "Boy Spy" Serenaded--"Maryland, My
Maryland"--Jeff Davis' Office and Home--A Visit to Union Prisoners
at Libby Prison, etc. 195
XVI. Richmond--Hollywood--Jeff Davis--Breckinridge--Extra Billy
Smith--Mayor, Governor, etc. 214
XVII. Richmond--A Close Shave 227
XVIII. Richmond on an Autumn Morning--A Group of Good Looking
Soldiers--Jeff Davis Passes By--The Battle of Ball's
Bluff--Richmond Newspapers 238
XVIII. A Narrow Escape--Recognized by Texas Friends at a Richmond
Theatre--Personnel of the Maryland Battery--Refugees from
Ireland--Camp Lee, near Richmond--Our Captain--Lieutenant
Claiborne, of Mississippi--Our Section Drills--Horses for Our Use
in Town and Adjoining County--Visits of Ladies--Capitola--Popularity
of Refugees--The Entertainment for Marylanders--Tableau--Jeff
Davis Strikes the Chains from the Enslaved Maryland Beauty 245
XIX. Richmond, Fall 1861--Daily Visits to the War Office, Mechanics
Hall--Evenings Devoted to Visits in Town--Mixed up with Maryland
Ladies--Fort Pickens Opens Fire on Pensacola Batteries--General
Winder, of Maryland--Jeff Davis Inaugurated President--Shake Hands
with Jeff Davis 261
XX. One Sunday in Richmond--Jeff Davis' and General Lee's Homes and
Church--Recognized at Libby Prison--Visit to Texas Camp--A
"Difficulty" Renewed--Thrilling Experience--A Night in Richmond with
Texas Boys 272
XXI. Maryland "Refugees"--Coercing into the Union in East Tennessee
"Refugees"--Parson Brownlow Interviewed--A Happy Experience with
Maggie Craig--The Battle of Mill Spring--First Union Victory as
Seen from Inside the Rebel Army 293
XXII. Cruelty of General Ledbetter--Another Narrow Escape--Ordered
to Cumberland Gap--A Wearisome Journey--Arrived at the Gap--The
Stolen Letter--Alone in the Darkness--The North Star--Day Dawn 314
XXIII. Return Home from Cumberland Gap--Meeting with Parson
Brownlow on His Trip to Washington 339
XXIV. Arrival at Washington--Meets Hon. John Covode--J. W. Forney
and Senators--Testimony Before Committee on the Conduct of the
War--Remarkable Interviews with Secretary Stanton--A Visit to Mr.
Lincoln, at Washington--The Telegraph Corps--Again Ordered to the
Front, at Fredericksburg, Virginia 356
XXV. Geno--Fredericksburg--A Chapter of War History not in
_The Century_ Papers 377
XXVI. A Scout to Richmond Develops Important Information--No
Force in Front of McDowell to Prevent his Co-operating with
McClellan--The Secretary of War Responsible for the Failure of
the Peninsula Campaign--Our Spy as a War Correspondent Antagonizes
the War Department by Criticism in the Papers--Is Arrested on a
Technicality and Sent a Special Prisoner to Old Capitol by the
Secretary of War's Orders 396
XXVII. Old Capitol Prison--Belle Boyd, the Rebel Spy, a Companion
and Friend--A Disguised English Duke--Interesting Scenes and
Experiences in this Famous State Prison--Planning to Escape
Disguised as a Contraband--Released on Parole by Order of the
Secretary of War 412
XXVIII. Fired Out of Old Capitol Prison--"Don't Come Here
Again!"--My Friend the Jew Sutler--Out in a New Rig--At the
Canterbury Theatre 431
XXIX. Life at Headquarters Army of Potomac--Some Startling
Revelations as to the "True Inwardness," not to say Cussedness,
of Our High Union Officials--Interesting Descriptions of Family
Life at Headquarters--"Signals"--Ciphers--Again Volunteering for
Secret Service Inside the Rebel Army--A Remarkable Statement about
Burnside and Hooker--Introduction to General Meade--A Night on the
Rappahannock Interviewing Rebel Pickets 451
XXX. Conspiracies among Union Generals and Northern Politicians--The
Defense of that Unappreciated Army, the Cavalry--Hooker and Dead
Cavalrymen--Stoneman's Celebrated Raid to Richmond Truthfully
Described, and Its Failure to Capture Richmond Accounted for--A
Chapter on the "Secret Service" not Referred to in Official Reports
or Current War History 480
XXXI. Farewell to Fredericksburg--General Pleasonton--Cavalry
Fighting at Brandy and Aldie--Looking after Stuart's Rebel
Cavalry--A Couple of Close Calls--Chased by Mosby's Guerrillas--With
Custer in Frederick, Md., the Day before the Battle, Flirting with
the Girls 510
XXXII. Sent to Find General Buford--A Hasty Ride--The Battle of
Gettysburg--Cemetery Ridge--General Doubleday--General Hancock--The
Second Day of the Battle 519
XXXIII. Closing Chapter 548
ILLUSTRATIONS.
PAGE.
"If You are around Here when We Begin the Job, You Will Find out
all about That." _Frontispiece._
A Close Call at Gettysburg 537
"Ah! Sketching, Are You?" 66
An Interview with Parson Brownlow 304
"Are You Union, or Confederate?" 338
"Bill, Ain't He the Fellow?" 282
Cavalry Picket on the Rappahannock 473
"Colonel Mosby's Soldiers, I Reckon, Sir?" 516
Cumberland Gap--This Was Enough for Me 329
Geno Was Not only the Prettiest, but the Sweetest Girl I ever Saw 381
"Get Up Here, You Damned Old Traitor." 316
"Halt!" 150
He seemed to have Forgotten all about Dressing Himself 359
I'd Cut Him and Feed the Pieces to the Sharks 44
I had Stepped onto the Decaying Body of--_a Man_! 181
In an Instant He Put the Point of His Sword against My Breast 347
In Old Capitol Prison--Disguised as a Contraband 427
In Old Capitol Prison--I Admit that I Broke Down Completely 413
I Was Being "Toted" Back to the Rebel Army 158
I Whispered to Him as I Went Past: "Norfolk is Taken." 223
I "Yanked," or by a Dexterous "Twist of the Wrist," I Was Able to
Break the Wire 170
Landing Kerslop over the Side onto the Ground 177
Miss Mamie Wells Ministering to the Wounded [Transcriber's
Note: This illustration is not found in the text.] 400
On a Scout to Richmond 396
Recognized by Texans at Richmond Theatre 248
Refusing in Her very Decided Manner to Walk under "That Flag" 383
Tail Piece--To the Boy Spy 556
Tapping the Telegraph Wire--"Are the Yanks in Fredericksburg?" 493
"Thank God, I'm Safe among my Friends." 121
The Sergeant kindly Gave Him the Steel 441
"To Father: I am Safe; Are All Well at Home?" 352
We hastily Dressed and Ran Back from the Bank 95
You always Say _Down_ Here, and That You're Going to go up Home 197
THE BOY SPY.
CHAPTER I.
INTRODUCTORY.
A successful scout, or spy, is like a great poet in one respect: he is
born, not made--subject to the requisition of the military genius of the
time.
That I was not born to be hanged is a self-evident proposition. Whether
I was a successful scout or not, the reader of these pages must
determine.
It was my good fortune to have first seen the light under the shadow of
one of the spurs of the Blue Ridge Mountains, in the beautiful
Cumberland Valley, in the State of Pennsylvania, near Mason and Dixon's
line.
This same locality is distinguished as the birthplace of President James
Buchanan, and also that of Thomas A. Scott, President of the
Pennsylvania Railroad and its system, under whom I served. Mr. Scott
used to say he had leased this position for ninety-nine years with twice
the salary of the president of the United States.
My grandfather, who had been an officer in the Royal Navy, of Great
Britain, served in the same ships with Lord Nelson, had after the manner
of his class kept a record of his remarkable and thrilling services in
the British Navy during the wars of that period.
The discovery of this, grandfather's diary--amongst other war
papers--after his death, I may say, here, accounts in a manner for the
spirit of adventure in my disposition. I come by it naturally, and
following the precedent, submit this unpretending narrative, as another
grandfather's diary.
It appears that during the embargo declared during the war between the
United States and England in 1812, my grandfather was caught ashore, as
it were, in America.
His brother, George, was in the service of the East India Company, as a
judge advocate, and lived on the Island of Ceylon at that time.
Desiring to reach this brother, by getting a vessel at New Orleans, he
started to walk overland, through a hostile country, to the headwaters
of the Ohio and Mississippi Valley at Pittsburgh, where he could get a
canoe or boat.
It is a singular coincidence that this young English officer, in his
scouting through an enemy's country, traversed substantially the very
same ground--Winchester, Va., Harper's Ferry, Fredericksburg, etc.--that
I, his youthful grandson, tramped over as a scout in another war half a
century later.
It was while on this journey that he was taken sick, and during a long
illness he was nursed back to life by my grandmother, whom he
subsequently married, and there located as an American citizen.
He became the school-master of the community, and in course of time,
Thomas A. Scott was one of his brightest but most troublesome scholars.
In the process of this evolution, I became a messenger boy and student
of telegraphy in the office of Colonel Thos. A. Scott, who was then
superintendent of railways at Pittsburgh.
In the same office, as a private clerk and telegrapher, was Mr. Andrew
Carnegie, now widely known as a capitalist.
"Andy," as this distinguished philanthropist was then familiarly known,
and myself were "boys together," and the reader is permitted to refer to
him for--as he recently assured me, in his laughing and hearty
manner--that he would give me a good endorsement, as one of his wild
boys.
Under Mr. Andrew Carnegie's instruction I soon became a proficient
operator, and when but a boy very easily read a telegraph instrument by
sound, which in those days was considered an extraordinary acquirement.
Through Mr. Scott's kindly interest in myself, I had been promoted
rapidly in railway work, and before leaving Pittsburgh was chief or
division operator. This gave me very large responsibilities, for a boy
of my age, as the road then had but one track, and close watch had to be
kept of the various trains moving in the same or opposite directions. It
became a habit of Colonel Scott, on receiving news of any accident to a
train or bridge along the road, to have an engine fired up and be off at
once, with me along provided with a pocket instrument and a little coil
of copper wire. It seems now to me that such trips usually began at
night.
Arrived at the place of wreck, I would at once shin up a telegraph pole,
get the wire down, cut it, and establish a "field station" at once, the
nearest rail fence and a convenient bowlder furnishing desk and office
seat, where I worked while Colonel Scott remained in charge of the work.
He was thus at once put in direct communication with every train and
station on the road, and in as full personal control as if in his
comfortable Pittsburgh office. Such work perfected me in
field-telegraphing. At times, when a burned or broken bridge or a
wrecked train delayed traffic, trains would accumulate at the point, and
the noises of escaping steam from the engines, the progressing work, and
the babel of voices about me, made it utterly impossible to hear any
sound from my little magnet, or pocket instrument. I then discovered, by
sheer necessity, that I could read the messages coming, by watching the
movement of the armature of the magnet. The vibrations of a telegraph
armature are so slight as to be scarcely perceptible to the naked eye,
yet a break, or the separating of the points of contact, are necessary
to make the proper signals. Further experiences developed the phenomena
that when sound and sight failed I could read still by the sense of
feeling, by holding my finger-tips gently against the armature and
noting its pulsations. I thus became by practice not only proficient,
but expert in telegraphy. Telegraphers know, though the general public
may not, that messages can be sent by touching together the ends of a
cut telegraph wire, and can be received by holding the ends to the
tongue. My tongue, however, has always been too sensitive to take that
kind of "subtle fluid."
Telegraphers have many methods of secret communication with each other:
rattling teaspoons or tapping knives and forks at the table, or the
apparently aimless "Devil's tattoo" of the fingers on the table or
armchair are common methods, and I have heard of one in a tight corner
who _winked_ out a message appealing for help. It might be well to avoid
playing poker at a table where two telegraphers are chums, for it is
possible that one might learn when to stay in a little longer for the
raise and make a pot a little bigger.
When Colonel Thos. A. Scott became Assistant Secretary of War he called
into his service the railroaders and telegraphers whom he knew would be
serviceable and faithful to the government. I record here the statement
that the first to reach Washington upon Secretary Cameron's call, was
Mr. Scott and his Pennsylvania railroaders and telegraphers, who rebuilt
and operated the destroyed Baltimore & Ohio railways and telegraphs,
that enabled the first troops to reach the Capitol.
It was on account of my supposed qualification as a telegrapher that I
was subsequently detailed to enter the rebel lines and intercept their
telegraphic communication at their headquarters.
On one occasion, mentioned further on in this narrative, I was lounging
near the old wooden shanty near General Beauregard's headquarters at
Manassas Junction. I easily read important dispatches to and from
Richmond and elsewhere, and repeated the operation hour after hour,
several days and nights. It was unfortunately the case, however, that I
then had no means of rapid communication with Washington to transmit the
information gained, although in later years of the war it would have
been easy, as I was then a signal officer in the Army of the Potomac,
and might have utilized some retired tree-top and signaled over the
heads of the enemy to our own lines. This is rather anticipating my
story, and, as Uncle Rufus Hatch once said, when I was acting as his
private secretary, and he would become a little mixed in dictating
letters to me, "We must preserve the sequence."
It is more than likely that I was too young in those days to properly
appreciate the advantages of the rapid advancement I had gained in
position and salary, especially as the latter enabled me to make a fool
of myself; and here comes in my "first love story," which I tell,
because it had much to do with the adventures of which this narrative
treats.
"I loved a maid,
And she was wondrous fair to see,"
and I will designate her as No. 1, to distinguish this from numerous
other such affairs--on both sides of the lines. This affair, which
served to further train me for the duties that lay before me, resulted
in a visit, during the winter before the war broke out, to Western
Texas, where a wealthy bachelor uncle had a well-stocked plantation,
between San Antonio and Austin. There I became associated with the young
sons of the best Texas families, and acquired the ability--I had nearly
written agility--to ride a bucking broncho and become an expert shot
with a Colt's revolver.
My experience as a rather fresh young Pennsylvania boy among the young
Southern hot-bloods would make too long a chapter here, but suffice it
to say that a youthful tendency to give my opinion on political
questions, without regard to probable consequences, kept me in constant
hot water after President Lincoln's election.
Among the young men with whom I associated, through my uncle's standing
and influence, was a grandson of the famous Colonel Davy Crockett, with
whom I became involved in a difficulty, and, greatly to the astonishment
of the "boys," I promptly accepted his challenge to a pistol fight. Some
of our older and more sensible friends quickly put an end to the affair.
When my uncle (who was absent at Austin at the time) returned, he
furnished me with a pocketful of gold double-eagles and shipped me off
by stage to Galveston, whence I crossed the Gulf to New Orleans and came
up the Mississippi to my home.
Immediately preceding the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, following closely
upon my return from Texas, I came on to Washington City. The purpose of
this visit being solely a desire to gratify an aroused curiosity, by
witnessing the sights and incidents consequent upon the impending change
of the administration, about which there was much interest and
excitement. As I had plenty of time, but not much money, to spend, I
looked about for a cheap hotel, and was directed to the St. Charles,
which was then, as now, located on the corner of Third and Pennsylvania
avenues. Here I became domiciled, for the time being, and it so happened
that I was seated at the same table in the hotel with Senator Andy
Johnson, of Tennessee, who was living there, and perhaps through this
accidental circumstance it came about that I was so soon to be engaged
in the government's service.
Mr. Johnson, it will be remembered, had obtained some distinction by his
vigorous defense of the Union, in the Senate, at a time when nearly all
the rest of the Southern Senators were either openly or secretly
plotting treason. In my youthful enthusiasm for the cause of the Union,
which had become strengthened by the Southern associations of the
preceding months, I naturally gave to Mr. Johnson my earliest admiration
and sympathy. One day, while walking up Pennsylvania avenue, I was
surprised to see standing in front of Brown's, now the Metropolitan
Hotel, a certain gentleman, earnestly engaged in conversation with
Senator Wigfall, whom I had known in Texas as one of the prominent State
officials under the then existing administration of Governor Sam.
Houston. This gentleman, whose name I withhold, because he is living
to-day and is well-known throughout Texas, was also at that time a
business associate and a personal friend of the Texas uncle before
referred to.
I was pleasantly recognized, and at once introduced to Senator Wigfall
as the "nephew of my uncle." Mr. Wigfall's dogmatic manner impressed me
unfavorably, being so unlike that of Mr. Johnson.
I spent a great many evenings at Brown's Hotel, in the rooms of my Texas
friend, where were congregated every night, and late into the mornings,
too, nearly all of the Texas people who were at that time in the city.
In this way, without seeking their confidence, I became a silent and
attentive listener to the many schemes and plans that were brewing for
the overthrow of the government.
Among the frequent visitors were Wigfall and Hon. John C. Breckinridge,
of Kentucky, both of whom are now dead; but there are yet among the
living certain distinguished Congressmen, at present in Washington, who
were of that treasonable gang, who will not, I apprehend, deny the truth
of the facts I here state.
This gentleman's mission in Washington, as I learned incidentally during
his interviews with Senator Wigfall and others, was to secure the
passage through Congress of some appropriation bill of a special
character, for the benefit of Texas, which, if I rightly remember,
referred to lands or school funds, the object being to secure the
benefit of the act before that State should pass the secession
ordinance. It was understood and admitted during these talks of the
plotting traitors that Texas should, as a matter of course, secede, but
they must first take with them all they could obtain from the general
government, the delay in passing the ordinance being caused only by the
desire to first secure this money, which this agent had been sent here
to press through Wigfall and others in Congress, and upon the advices of
their success being reported to Texas, the act of secession would
promptly follow this twin robbery and conspiracy.
I happened to be present, in the crowded gallery of the Senate, when
Senator Wigfall, of Texas, during a speech in reply to Johnson, in an
indirect and insinuating way, while glancing significantly toward
Senator Johnson, quoted the celebrated words of Marmion: "Lord Angus,
thou has lied." This incident being discussed at our table one day, at
which Senator Johnson occupied the post of honor, I took a favorable
opportunity to intimate to him that I was in possession of facts that
would show Mr. Wigfall to be not only a traitor, but that he was then
scheming to first rob the government he had sworn to protect, and
afterward intended to destroy, and in my boyish way suggested that the
Senator should hurl the epithets back at him.
I did not for a moment consider that I was betraying any confidence in
thus telling of the traitorous schemes to which I had been an unwilling
listener.
Mr. Johnson seemed to be impressed with my statements, and for a while
lost interest in his dinner. In his free and kindly way he was easily
able to "draw me out" to his entire satisfaction, and secured from me
the story with the necessary "authorities and references." As he rose
from the table he walked around to my seat, shaking my hand cordially,
while he invited me to his room for a further conference.
After that day, while I remained in Washington City, during the time
preceding the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, and for some weeks following,
I became a welcome visitor at the Senator's room, oscillating between
the headquarters of the rebel conspirators at Brown's and the private
rooms of the leader of the Union cause, and thus was begun my first
secret-service work.
I had brought with me to Washington some letters from Mr. Scott and
other railroad friends, and also enjoyed through this connection a
personal acquaintance with "Old Glory to God," as the Hon. John Covode
was called during the war. This name originated from a telegram which
Mr. Covode wrote to a friend, in which he intended to convey the
intelligence of a great Union victory; but in the excitement of his big,
honest, loyal heart over a Union success, which in the early days was a
rarity, he neglected to mention the important fact of the victory, and
the telegram as received in Philadelphia simply read:
"TO JOHN W. FORNEY:
* * * * "Glory to God. "JOHN COVODE."
He spelled God with a little g, Philadelphia with an F, but he got there
just the same.
My days in the Capitol at that time were usually spent in the gallery of
the Senate, where were to be seen and heard the great leaders on both
sides. Some of the Southern Senators were making their farewell
speeches, the words of which I, in my youthful innocence, tried vainly
to reconcile with their action, as well as with the proceedings of a
peace Congress, which was being held at Willard's old hall on F street.
The evenings of these days I devoted to the observation of the
operations of the Southern conspirators at the hotel, and watched with
concern the preparations for the inauguration of Mr. Lincoln, who had
secretly arrived in the city.
In the course of my amateur work among the Southern leaders, it so
happened that Mr. Covode and Senator Johnson had been brought together,
and they became mutually interested in my services.
One day Mr. Covode said to me: "See here, young feller, you might do
some good for the government in this way. I've talked with Johnson about
you, and he says he'll help to get you fixed up by the War Department."
When I expressed a willingness to do anything, the old man said, in his
blunt, outspoken way:
"Hold on now till I tell you about this thing first." Then proceeding to
explain in his homely, honest words:
"There is a lot of money appropriated for secret service, and if you get
onto that your pay will be mighty good; but," he added, "it's damned
dangerous; for as sure as them fellers ketch you once they will hang
you, that's sure as your born."
When I observed that I wasn't born to be hanged, he said further, as he
fumbled over some papers in his hand:
"I don't know about that either, because Scott writes me a letter here
that says, 'you are smart enough, but you have,'" reading from the letter
to refresh his memory, "'unbounded but not well directed energy'." Which
I didn't know whether to consider complimentary or otherwise.
It was arranged that we should visit the Secretary of War together, to
consult in regard to this future service. We called on General Cameron,
the Secretary, one morning, to whom I was introduced by Mr. Covode, who
explained to the Secretary in a few words, in an undertone, what he
deemed to be my qualifications and advantages for employment in the
secret service.
There were no civil-service rules in force at that time. The Secretary's
office was crowded with persons waiting an opportunity to present to him
their claims. After looking around the room, the Secretary suggested
that, as this was a matter he would like to talk over when he was not so
busy, we had better call again.
In a few days afterward I went alone to the old War Department Building,
where I stood about for an hour or two, watching the crowd of
office-seekers, anxious to serve their country under the new
administration, but without getting an opportunity to get anywhere near
the Secretary's door.
This same operation became with me a daily duty for quite a while. One
morning I went earlier than usual, and met the Secretary as he passed
along the corridor to his office, and bluntly accosted him, handing him
some letters. I followed him into the room, and stood by the altar, or
desk, with a couple of other penitents who were on the anxious bench,
while he put on his spectacles and began to read the papers I had handed
him. Turning to me, he said: "Now I'm too busy to attend to this matter.
I intend to do something in this direction, but I've not had a chance to
look it up; suppose you come--" Here I interrupted him and said: "I'd
like to go down to Montgomery and see what's going on there." This
seemed to open a way out of a difficulty for the Secretary, and he at
once said:
"That's all right; you just do that, and let's see what you can do, and
I'll fix your matter up with Covode." Then turning to his desk he wrote
something on the back of one of my papers in a handwriting which, to say
the least, was mighty peculiar; something which I have never been able
to decipher; it was, however, an endorsement from the Secretary of War.
When I showed the Secretary's penmanship to Mr. Scott, suggesting to him
that I thought it was a request for him to furnish me with passes to
Montgomery, Alabama, and return, Scott appreciated the joke, and
promptly furnished me the necessary documents, saying, laughingly: "You
needn't be afraid to carry that paper along with you anywhere; there
isn't anybody that will be able to call it an incendiary document."
I transferred myself at once to the field of my observations from the
United States Capital at Washington to that of the Confederate States of
America, then forming at Montgomery, Alabama, traveling via Louisville,
stopping a day to see the wonders of the Mammoth Cave; thence, via
Chattanooga, Tennessee, and Augusta, Georgia, arriving late one night in
Montgomery.
CHAPTER II.
ON DUTY AS A SPY AT THE REBEL CAPITAL, MONTGOMERY, ALABAMA--LIVING IN
SAME HOTEL WITH JEFF DAVIS AND HIS CABINET--CONSPIRATORS FROM WASHINGTON
INTERVIEWED--BOUNTY OFFERED BY CONFEDERATES BEFORE A GUN WAS FIRED--FORT
SUMTER AND FORT PICKENS.
I was quartered at the Exchange Hotel, which was the headquarters and
home of the leading men of the new government then gathering from all
parts of the South. Here I spent some days in pretty close companionship
with these gentlemen, taking notes in a general way, and endeavoring to
learn all I could in regard to their plans.
I had learned, while skirmishing about Washington, to know at sight
nearly all of the prominent people who were active in this movement, and
perhaps the fact that I had been somewhat accustomed to being in their
society, and being quite youthful gave me an assurance that enabled me
to go about among them in a free and open way, without exciting any
suspicion.
There were among the guests, a recent arrival from Washington City, a
gentleman of some apparent prominence, as I judged from the amount of
attention he was receiving.
I made it a point to look closely after him, and soon gathered the
information that he had been a trusted employe of the Government, and at
the same time had been secretly furnishing the rebel leaders, for some
months, with information of the government's plans. He was at this time
the bearer of important papers to the rebel government. This gentleman's
name, which has escaped my memory in these twenty-five years, was placed
upon record in the War Department at the time.
Jeff Davis, who had been chosen President, and had but recently come
from his Mississippi home to Montgomery, attended by a committee of
distinguished Southerners, who had been deputed to notify him of his
election, lived at the same hotel, where I saw him frequently every day.
There were also to be seen in the hotel office, in the corridors, in
the barbers' shops, and even in the bar-room, groups of animated,
earnest, intensely earnest men, discussing the great "impending
conflict."
I walked about the streets of the Confederate Capital with perfect
freedom, visiting any place of interest that I could find. Throughout
the city there was not much in the way of enthusiasm; indeed, the fact
that was particularly noticeable then was the apparent difference in
this respect between the people at the hotel and the citizens.
Of course there were meetings and speeches, with the usual brass-band
accompaniment every evening, while, during the day, an occasional parade
up and down the principal streets of the town, headed by the martial
fife and drum, which were always played with delight and a great deal of
energy by the colored boys.
There was an absence of enthusiasm and excitement among the common
people, which was a disappointment to those who had expected so much.
The existence of an historical fact, which I have never seen printed,
is, that before a gun had been fired by either party, there were posted
on the walls of the Confederate Capital large handbills offering a
"bounty" to recruits to their army.
In my walks about town my attention was attracted by a bill, posted on a
fence, bearing in large letters the heading,
BOUNTY.
The word was at that time something entirely new to me, and as I was out
in search of information, I walked up closer to learn its meaning, and
was surprised at the information, as well as the advice the
advertisement contained, which was to the effect that certain moneys
would be paid all those who would enlist in a certain Alabama regiment.
Lest there should be a disposition to challenge the correctness of this
somewhat remarkable statement, I will mention now that this fact was
reported to the War Department, and a copy of this bounty advertisement
was also embodied in a letter that was intended to be a description of
the scenes at Montgomery, in April, 1861, during the firing on Sumter,
which I wrote at the time and mailed secretly in the Montgomery
Postoffice, addressed to Robert McKnight, then the editor of the
Pittsburgh _Chronicle_, to which I, with an apprehension of a possible
Rebel censorship, neglected to attach my name. Mr. McKnight, the next
time I saw him, laughingly asked me if I hadn't sent him such a letter,
saying he had printed it, with comments, at the time, which, as nearly
as I can remember, was between April 18th and 20th, 1861.
This was probably among the first letters published from a "war
correspondent," written from the actual seat of war.
Mr. Davis occupied a suite of rooms at the Exchange, on the left of the
first corridor, and there were always congregated about his door groups
of men, while others were constantly going and coming from his rooms.
I was a constant attendant about this door, and witnessed the many warm
greetings of welcome that were so cordially extended to each new arrival
as they reported to headquarters.
It seemed odd to hear those people talk about the "President," but of
course I had to meekly listen to their immense conceit about their
"government," as well as their expressions of contempt and hatred for
that to which but a short time before, when they had the control, they
were so devotedly attached.
In the same room with myself was a young fellow who had been at the
school at West Point, from which he had resigned to enter the rebel
service. He kept constantly talking to me about "My State," and the
"plebians" of the North, but, as he was able to furnish me with some
points, we became quite congenial friends and talked together, after
going to bed, sometimes until long after midnight. I was, of course,
when necessity or policy demanded it, one of the original secessionists.
The attention of everybody both North and South was being directed to
Fort Sumter, and a good deal of the war-talk we heard about the Rebel
headquarters was in regard to that.
This young fellow and I planned to go together to Charleston to see the
ball open there, and, with this object in view, he set about to learn
something of the plans of the "President," which kindness I duly
appreciated.
One day, while lounging about the hotel corridors, I learned from a
conversation between a group of highly exuberant Southern gentlemen,
which was being hilariously carried on, that President Davis and his
advisers had that day issued the necessary orders, or authority to
General Beauregard, to commence firing on the Union flag at Fort Sumter
the following day.
These gentlemen, none of whose names I remember, excepting Wm. L.
Yancey, were so intent upon their success in thus "precipitating" the
rebellion, that they took no notice of the innocent boy who was
apparently so intent at that moment upon some interesting item in the
paper, but I quietly gathered in all they had to say to each other, and
at the first opportunity set about planning to make use of this
information; but here I experienced, at the beginning of my career as a
spy, the same unfortunate conditions that had so often baffled me and
interfered with my success in the months and years following.
Though reckless and almost foolish in my boyish adventures, I was
sufficiently cautious and discreet to know that a telegram conveying
this news would not be permitted to go over the wires from Montgomery to
Washington, and to have filed such a message would have subjected me to
serious embarrassments.
There being no cipher facilities arranged so early in the war, I was
left entirely without resource, though I did entertain a project of
going to a neighboring town and from there arrange to manipulate the key
myself, and in this manner try to give the information, but I was forced
to abandon this scheme on learning, which I did by hanging about the
dingy little Montgomery telegraph office, that all their communications
were relayed or repeated once or twice either at Augusta or Chattanooga
and Charleston before reaching the North.
I did the next best thing, however, hastily writing a letter to
Washington, which I stealthily dropped into the postoffice, hurrying
away lest the clerk should discover who had dropped a letter addressed
to a foreign government without payment of additional postage.
Of those yet living who were witnesses of the "Great uprising of the
North," after the fall of Fort Sumter, none are likely ever to forget
the scenes which followed so quickly upon this first attempt of the
Southern fire-eaters to "precipitate the Cotton States into the
rebellion."
Solitary and alone I held my little indignation meeting in Montgomery,
the capital of the rebel government, where I was at the time, if not a
stranger in a strange land, at least an enemy in a foreign country. When
the news of Fort Sumter's fall reached Montgomery it was bulletined
"that every vestige of the hateful enemy has been gloriously driven from
the soil of the pioneer Palmetto State," and I recall, with
distinctness, that the universal comment then was: "We will next clean
them out in the same way from Florida," etc.
I felt that, in having failed to get this information to Washington in
advance, I had neglected a great opportunity to do the government an
important service, but in this I was mistaken, as events subsequently
proved that the authorities at Washington were powerless to prevent the
bombardment that was anticipated.
There was no person among that people to whom I dare talk, for fear of
betraying myself by giving vent to my feelings, so I walked wildly up
and down the one main street of Montgomery in a manner that at any other
time would have been considered eccentric, but, as everybody was wild
that day, my actions were not noticed. Feeling that I must blow off
steam some way or I should bust, I continued my walk out on the railroad
track beyond the outskirts of the town, in the direction of Charleston.
During my walk I met an old "Uncle," whom, from the color of his skin, I
knew to be a true friend of the government, and into the wide-awake ears
of this old man I poured a wild, incendiary harangue about what would
surely happen to this people. This was not a very sensible thing to do,
either, at that time, but I just had to say something to somebody, and
this was my only chance. After having thus exhausted my high pressure on
the poor old man, who must have thought me crazy, I discovered that my
legs were "exhausted," too, and turned my face wearily back toward the
city.
That night there were serenades and speeches, with the regular
brass-band accompaniment impromptu processions up and down the main
street, headed by the fife-and-drum music of the colored "boys," as all
the "likely" colored men were called down South at that time, even if
they were forty years old.
I had seen Jeff Davis once during the day, while in his room surrounded
by a crowd of enthusiastic friends, and, though I did not have occasion
to speak to "the President," I was close enough to him on the day he
gave the command to fire Sumter, to have killed him on the spot, and I
was about wild and crazy enough at the time to have made the attempt
without once considering the consequences to myself, if there had
occurred at the instant any immediate provocation.
Mr. Davis' manner and appearance always impressed me with a feeling of
kindness and even admiration. In the years following it became my fate
to have been near his person in disguise, frequently while in Richmond,
and I could at any time then have ended his career by sacrificing my own
life, if the exigencies of the government had in my imagination required
it.
I took note of the fact that a great deal was being said about what they
would do next, at Fort Pickens, in Pensacola Harbor. To this point I
directed my attention, determined that another such an affair as this at
Charleston should not escape me.
One night, shortly after I had reached Montgomery, when my West Point
companion and I had retired for the night, but were yet talking over the
great future of the South, as we did every night, he almost paralyzed me
by saying, "Well, stranger, you talk all right, of course, but do you
know that you remind me mightily of the fellows at the Point, who are
all the time meddling about the affairs of our Southern States."
Fortunately for me, perhaps, the room was dark at the time, which
enabled me the better to hide the embarrassment that daylight must have
shown in my face and manner. After recovering my breath a little, I put
on an indignant air and demanded a repetition of the remark. This served
to allay any suspicions that he may have been entertaining, for the
young fellow, in his gentlemanly and courteous manner, was at once
profuse in his explanations, which gave me the time to collect my
thoughts. I told him that I was the nephew of an English gentleman, who
lived away off in Western Texas, who owned any quantity of cattle and
niggers; I was then on my way, from school at the North, to my Texas
home, tarrying at Montgomery, _en route_, to meet some friends. This was
more than satisfactory to the young man, who seemed to take especial
pleasure after this in introducing me to any friends that we would come
across while together so constantly in Montgomery.
This mother tongue "provincialism" was one of the greatest difficulties
that I encountered in these Southern excursions, though at the time of
which I am now writing strangers were not scrutinized so closely as
became the rule soon after, when martial law was everywhere in
operation, and provost-marshals were exceedingly numerous. I had
endeavored to bridle my tongue as far as possible. My plan to quiet this
apprehension was to play the "refugee" from Maryland, "my Maryland," or
else, if the circumstances and surroundings were better adapted to it, I
was an English sympathizer who had but recently arrived in the country.
The Maryland racket was, however, the most popular, and it was also the
easiest worked, because I had another uncle living in Baltimore, whom I
had frequently visited, and, as has been stated, I was born almost on
the Maryland line of English stock.
While in Montgomery it did not seem necessary to hang about the
telegraph offices to obtain information. I availed myself however of
this "facility" to learn something more definite about the programme
they had laid out for Fort Pickens, in Pensacola Harbor, to which, after
the fall of Fort Sumter, the attention of both the North and the South
was being directed.
The "Government at Washington" which was at this time cut off from any
communication with its officers at Pickens except by sea, had, after the
manner of Major Anderson at Sumter, secretly withdrawn their little
handful of troops, who were under the command of Lieutenant Slemmer, a
native of Pennsylvania, step by step, as they were pressed by the
arrival each day of detachments of quite fresh militia from the
sovereign State of Florida, to Fort Barrancas first, then to Fort McRae,
on the mainland, and from thence to Pickens, which is located on the
extreme point of Santa Rosa Island, on the opposite side of the bay or
harbor from Forts McRae and Barrancas.
I was able to learn from the general character of its extensive
telegraph correspondence, which was being carried on over the wires,
that President Lincoln had in some way expressed, in the hearing of the
secret agents of the rebel government (who were in Washington and in
constant communication with the conspirators at Montgomery) an earnest
desire to reinforce Fort Pickens, with a view to holding possession of
that one point in the "Cotton State" that had seceded from the Union;
and the Navy Department at Washington, especially desiring to control
the harbor and navy yards located there, had, if I remember aright,
already dispatched by water a small fleet to their aid, but which would
require a week or ten days to reach Pensacola, they having to go around
by the ocean to Key West and up the Gulf of Mexico, doubling the entire
Peninsula of Florida.
As I had left Washington some time before, and had not had any
communication with the North while in Montgomery, all this information
was derived entirely through Rebel sources, and more particularly by the
noisy tongue of a telegraph sounder, which talked loud enough for me to
hear whenever I chose to get within sound of its brazen voice.
I was exceedingly anxious to get back North, that I might take some
active part in the coming struggle, but fate decreed otherwise; and,
instead of getting out of this tight place, it was my destiny to have
been led still deeper into the mire. I was within a day's travel of the
beleaguered little garrison at Fort Pickens, with a positive knowledge
that the government was coming to their assistance, and also the
information that at the same time the Rebel government had some designs
upon them, the exact nature of which I could not ascertain.
In this emergency, while I do not believe that I felt it a duty, I am
sure that I did think it would be a good thing for the fellows at
Pickens to be informed of the intentions of _both_ the governments
toward them, and as I could not then communicate with Secretary Cameron,
at Washington, I concluded to take the matter in my own hands, and find
out, if possible, just what was proposed, and endeavor to communicate
with Secretary Cameron.
By giving close attention to the guests at the hotel, who were mostly
officials of the newly made government, I ascertained by mere accident
that a certain gentleman was at that moment getting ready to leave the
hotel for the boat, on his way to Pensacola as a bearer of dispatches or
as a commissioner--there were lots of commissioners in those early
days--to settle the status of affairs at that point. This circumstance
decided my actions at once, and as I had seen enough of Montgomery, and
was besides becoming a little uneasy about my status there, I concluded
to accompany this commissioner and, if possible, anticipate him in
bearing my own dispatch to Lieutenant Slemmer, so I shadowed the
ambassador closely and walked up the gang plank at the same time he did;
as I remember very well the plank was very springy and the ambassador
of Jeff Davis and the secret agent of the Secretary of War kept step,
and marked time on the gang plank, both bound for the same destination
but on widely different errands.
CHAPTER III.
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA--IN REBEL LINES--FORT PICKENS--ADMIRAL PORTER AND THE
NAVY.
The sail down the Alabama river from Montgomery to Mobile was most
agreeable.
I do not now recollect any incident of the trip worthy of mention. I did
not, of course, obtrude myself upon our ambassador's dignity, knowing
that as long as the boat kept going he was not liable to escape from me.
There were some ladies aboard, and to these the gallant captain of the
boat introduced his distinguished passenger, and among them they made up
a card party, which occupied their attention long after I had gone to my
room to sleep and dream of my home and "the girls I left behind me."
I became quite homesick that night, and would very much rather have been
aboard a steamboat on the Mississippi river headed up stream than penned
up in this queer-looking craft, loaded with rebels, which was carrying
me, I imagined as I half slept, down to perdition.
There was a steam music machine on the boat somewhere, called a
calliope, which made the night and day both hideous.
They played "Home, Sweet Home," among other selections, but even to my
feelings, at that time, the musical expression was not exactly such as
would bring tears to one's eyes.
The machine, however, served to rouse the lazy colored people all along
the high banks of the river, who flocked to the shores like a lot of
crows.
We reached Mobile in due time, and my dignitary and his "confidential
companion," as I might be permitted to term myself, may be found
properly registered in the books of the Battle House at Mobile, some
time in the latter part of April, 1861.
I will mention how, also, that an account of this trip and its object
was written on the blank letter-heads of this hotel, addressed in a
careless handwriting to Mr. J. Covode, Washington, D. C., unsigned by
myself, and secretly dropped into the postoffice at Mobile. I imagined
that Mobile being a large city and having several routes of
communication with the North, my letter might, by some possibility, get
through, and, strange to relate, _it did_, and was subsequently quoted
by Mr. Covode in the Committee on the Conduct of War.
I lost sight of my "traveling companion" while in Mobile. You know it
would not have been either polite or discreet to have pressed my company
too closely on an official character like this, so it happened that he
left the hotel without consulting me, and I supposing, of course, that
he had left for Pensacola, made my arrangements to follow. To reach
Pensacola there was a big river or bay to cross from Mobile. When I got
aboard the little boat, the first thing I did, of course, was to look
quietly about for "my man." He was not aboard, as I found after the boat
had gotten out into the stream, when it was too late to turn back.
An old stage coach or hack was at that time the only conveyance to
Pensacola, except by water. The thing was piled full of humanity inside
and out--young and old men, who were fair representations of the
different types of the Southern character, all of whom were bent on
visiting the next battle-scene--then a point of great interest in the
South since the curtain had been rung down at Sumter.
They were all "feeling mighty good," too, as they say down there; every
blessed fellow seemed to be provided with an individual flask, and
during the dreadfully tiresome drag of the old coach across the sandy
and sometimes swampy roads of that part of Florida and Alabama our party
became quite hilarious.
Among them was a prominent official of one of the rebel military
companies, then located about Pensacola, who was quite disgusted at the
tardiness of their "Government" in not moving at once on Fort Pickens.
He and a fat old gentleman, who was more conservative, and defended the
authorities, discussed the military situation at length during the trip;
and as both had been over the ground at Pensacola, and were somewhat
familiar with the situation, they unintentionally gave me in advance
some interesting points to look up when we should reach there. Among
other things, they talked about a "masked battery" of ten-inch
Columbiads. Now, I didn't know at that time what a "masked battery"
could be, and had no idea that ten-inch Columbiads meant big cannon that
would throw a ball that measured ten inches in diameter.
I had formed a plan of procedure in advance, which was to pretend, as at
Montgomery, to be the nephew of an Englishman, on my way from school in
the North to my Texas home, and was just stopping over at Pensacola to
gratify my desire to see the "Yankees cleaned out" there. I had been
carefully advised early in this undertaking not to attempt to gather
information by asking questions, but, as a rule, to let others do the
talking, and to listen and confirm by observation, if possible. This was
good advice, volunteered by a discreet old man, who had bid me good-by
at Washington some weeks back; and that beautiful spring evening, as I
was being driven right into the camps of the rebel army, accompanied by
men who were the first real soldiers I had seen, I recalled with a
distinctness almost painful the words of caution and advice which at
that time I had scarcely heeded.
When the old hack reached Pensacola all were somewhat toned down, and
after a hearty supper and a hasty look around the outside of the dirty
little tavern at which we stopped, I went to bed, to sleep, perhaps to
dream of home and friends two thousand miles away. The distance seemed
to be increased ten-fold by the knowledge that the entire territory
between me and home was encompassed by a howling mob that would be only
too glad to tear me to pieces, as a stray dog among a pack of
bloodhounds, while the other path was the boundless ocean.
The soldiers who in the early days were not so well disciplined as in
after years, took possession of the hotel, at least all the down stairs
part of it, where there was liquor and eatables, and kept up such a
terrific row that sleep was almost impossible. Early next morning I was
out of my cot, and before breakfast I took a walk around the place.
The town of Pensacola is situated on the low, sandy mainland, on the
bay, and lies some distance from the navy yard, or that portion of
Pensacola which is occupied by the government for the Forts Barrancas
and McRae. This government reservation is quite extensive, including the
beautiful bay, navy yard and grounds, with officers' quarters, and shell
roads on the beach for some distance beyond the yard; on the further
extremity were built Forts Barrancas and McRae, which were at this time
in possession of the rebel soldiers.
Lieutenant Slemmer a short time previously moved his little force of
regulars across the bay to Fort Pickens, which was on a spit or spur of
Santa Rosa Island, almost immediately opposite, but I think about four
miles distant.
This sombre old Fort Pickens is built upon about as desolate and
isolated a spot as will be found anywhere on the coast from Maine to
Texas, but viewed as it was by me that morning, from the camps of the
rebels, standing behind their great masked batteries, in which were the
immense ten-inch Columbiads, I felt from the bottom of my soul that I
never saw anything so beautiful as the old walls of the fort, on which
the Stars and Stripes were defiantly floating in the breeze, right in
the face of their big guns, and in spite of all the big blustering talk
I had listened to for so many days.
How glad I was to see that flag there. I felt as if I could just jump
and yell with delight and then fly right over the bay, to get under its
folds once more. I had not seen the flag since leaving Washington, and
had heard of its surrender at Sumter in the hateful words of the Rebels.
I am not able to describe the feelings which came over me at this time,
and after a lapse of twenty-five years, while I am writing about it, the
same feelings come over me. Only those who have witnessed the picture of
the Stars and Stripes floating over a fortress, viewed from the
standpoint of an enemy's camp, can properly appreciate its beauty. All
my homesickness and forebodings of evil vanished at the sight, and with
redoubled energy I determined to discover and thwart any schemes that
might be brewing in the Rebel camp to bring down that beautiful emblem.
I became apprehensive lest I might be too late, and fearful that these
immense Columbiads, if once they belched forth their ten-inch shells,
would soon batter down the walls, and I determined that the presence of
this masked battery must be made known to the Commandant at the Fort. It
was upon this battery that the Rebels depended for success, as they had
said it was erected secretly, and the big guns were mounted at night.
Fort Pickens had not been built to resist an attack from the rear, as
none such had ever been contemplated; and the Rebel officers knowing the
weakness of this inside of the Fort, had erected their masked battery of
great guns to play upon that particular point. They were all positive,
too, that Lieutenant Slemmer and his men were in total ignorance of the
existence of this battery, which was correct, as subsequently
demonstrated.
I became so much interested in the exciting and strange surroundings, in
the very midst of which I found myself one morning at Pensacola, that I
had almost forgotten about our commissioner, who must have left Mobile
by way of the gulf in one of the old boats that plied between the two
cities. Anyway, I had no further use for him now, as everything was
right before my eyes, and I saw at once that they meant war.
It was understood, in a general way of course, that all these great
preparations opposite Fort Pickens was for the purpose of driving off
the "invaders" and capturing the old fort. That afternoon, after having
tramped about over the sandy beach until I was thoroughly fatigued, I
sat down in the rear of some earthworks that were being constructed
under the directions of some of their officers. After waiting for a
favorable opportunity, I ventured to ask one of them if there wasn't
enough big cannon already mounted to bombard that fort over there,
pointing toward Pickens. To which he replied curtly, "If you are around
here when we begin the job you will find out all about that." I did not
press the inquiry further just then, but I kept my eyes and ears open,
and made good use of my legs as well, and tramped about through that
miserable, sandy, dirty camp till I became too tired to go further.
The navy yard proper, which included the well-kept grounds around the
officers' quarters, about which were growing in beautiful luxuriance the
same tropical plants of that section, was between, or in rear of, the
rebel batteries and the town of Pensacola.
In my walks about the camps I strutted boldly through the open gates,
before which stood an armed sentry, and walked leisurely about the
beautiful grounds. I took occasion to try to talk to an old invalid
sailor who had been left at the hospital at that point by some
man-of-war. The conversation was not exactly of such a character as
would invite one to prolong a visit in the place, as all I could get out
from him was "Just mind what I tell ye, now, youngster, will you? The
Yaller Jack is bound to clean out this whole damn place before very
long; you better go home, and stay there, too." After this pleasant
conversation he hobbled off, without waiting for any further remarks
from me.
There was a telegraph office at Pensacola, which I visited. I learned of
a dispatch making some inquiry of the officials about the probability of
"reducing" the fort. I didn't exactly understand then what was meant by
"reducing" a fort, and imagined for a while that it referred in some way
to cutting down its proportions. On inquiry, however, I gathered its
true import, and learned also, by way of illustrations from the lips of
a Rebel officer, that "now that Columbiad battery, which is masked, and
has been built at night without the knowledge of the enemy, is the
machine that is going to do the 'reducing,' or, if you like it better,
demolishing of the fort, because," said he, as he became enthusiastic,
"that battery is so planted that it is out of range of any guns there
are at the fort, and it will work on the rear or weak side of the old
fort, too."
This conversation was held at the "tavern" during the evening, after
this blatant officer had refreshed himself after the day's work. I
ascertained that he had been an officer in the United States Army, and
was of course familiar with the exact condition of the affairs at the
Fort.
Each day, as soon as I had had breakfast, I would start out on my long
walks down past the navy yard, through and beyond the rebel earthworks.
There was not a single cannon pointed toward the fort or the ships,
which were lying out beyond, that I did not personally inspect.
I made a careful mental inventory of everything, and had the names of
the regiments, and each officer commanding them, carefully stowed away
in my memory, with the expectation, in some way not yet quite clear, of
sending the full details across that bay to the United States commander
at Pickens. That I was not suspected at all, is probably due to the fact
that at this same time visitors were of daily occurrence--ladies and
gentlemen came like excursion parties from Mobile and other convenient
points, as everybody expected there would be just such scenes as had
been witnessed at Charleston a few days previous.
The earthworks, as will be understood, extended for quite a long
distance on the beach and were intended also to oppose the entrance of
hostile ships to the harbor, it being well understood that the fort
could only receive their heavy supplies at the regular landing, or pier,
which, as before stated, was on the inside of the bay or the weak wall
of the fort. Any light supplies, as well as men and ammunition, must
necessarily be landed through the surf, on the outside of Santa Rosa
Island.
Fort McRae was an entirely round, turret-shaped old work, situated at
the extreme outer point. Next to it, and some distance inside, was Fort
Barrancas, while all along the beach--in suitable locations--were "sand
batteries" and the great masked battery.
Here I saw for the first time piles of sand-bags laying one above the
other, in tiers, like they now handle car-loads of wheat in
California--wicker baskets filled with sand, which we used to see in the
school-book pictures of the war with Mexico.
No persons were allowed to approach the masked battery, the existence of
which was ingeniously concealed from view by a dense growth, or thicket,
something like sage-bush, that had not been disturbed by the
excavations.
Sentries were placed some distance from this, who warned all visitors to
pass some distance to the rear, from which a good view could be had of
the entire work. To better conceal this terrible battery, squads of
soldiers were employed, diligently engaged in mounting guns on another
little battery in full view of the officers at Pickens.
Lieutenant Slemmer told me, when I saw him a few days after this, that
he had kept an officer on the lookout continually, and saw all this
work, and though they suspected that larger guns would be put into use,
they had failed to discover any signs of them.
I had formed an acquaintance with a young officer, I think of an Alabama
company, in whose company I had visited some points that were not easily
accessible to strangers. In this way, I got inside of "bomb proofs" and
magazines, and went through Fort McRae, which was then being used as a
guard-house or prison.
With my newly-found friend, I went in bathing in the evenings, and was
introduced by him to others, who had the privilege of using the boats,
and we frequently took short sails about the bay, but always back of the
navy yard, or between that and the town. Looking toward Pickens we could
see at any and all times the solitary sentinel on the ramparts, and
occasionally some signs of life about the "barn door" that faced toward
us. The number of vessels outside was being increased by new arrivals
occasionally, when some excitement would be created by the firing of
salutes.
One of the queer things, and that which seemed to interest the officers
as well as every soldier in sight, was the display of signal flags at
the fort, which would be answered by the appearance of a string of
bright little flags from the men-of-war, which were constantly dancing
up and down on the swell, while at anchor a couple of miles outside.
Even the colored boys and cooks would, at the appearance of this
phenomena, neglect their fires and spoil a dinner perhaps, to watch,
with an interest that became contagious, the operation of this
signaling. Many of them thought, no doubt, that this was an indication
of the commencement of hostilities, and anxiously hoped to hear a gun
next.
There was some apprehension among the officers that one of the
men-of-war might run past the batteries at night and destroy the navy
yard and town.
If there had been a signal officer on the ramparts of Fort Pickens with
a good glass, advised of my presence on the sandbank (with my subsequent
familiarity with army signaling), it would have been not only possible,
but entirely practicable, for me to have signaled by the mere movement
of my arms, or perhaps fingers, the information that was so important
that they should have. These additional war facilities did not come into
use for a year after, when the necessity arose for it.
There was loading with lumber at the pier at Pensacola a large
three-masted English sailing vessel to put to sea, some arrangement
having been made with the authorities on both sides to permit her to go
out. I had been figuring on a plan to get a letter over to the Fort
secretly. It did not at first occur to me that it would be possible to
cross myself with safety, and knowing that in passing out, this ship
would have to run in close by Fort Pickens, I set about to mature a plan
to make use of this opportunity, and with this object in view I spent
some time aboard the ship trying to make the acquaintance of someone.
But I found this to be too uncertain, and too slow besides. The infernal
Englishmen were openly hostile to the government. It was my daily custom
to sit on a sandbank right in the rear of my Rebel officers' camp, and,
while not otherwise occupied, I would gaze by the hour toward that
little band in the grim-looking old prison of a fort, and wish and plan
and pray that I could in some way have but one minute's talk with
Lieutenant Slemmer.
I felt that I must get word to him at any cost. I could not risk
swimming, on account of the numerous sharks in the water, which were
more to be feared than the harbor boats that patrolled up and down
between the two forces.
There were at Pensacola, as at all such places, small boats for hire to
fishing and pleasure parties. I concluded that by hiring one of these
boats for a few days' fishing, with a colored boatman to accompany me,
while ostensibly spending the day in sight of the guard-boats
fishing--innocently fishing for suckers--to disarm any suspicion, I
might have an opportunity, when it became dark, to crowd toward the
opposite shore of Santa Rosa Island, some distance from Fort Pickens;
and once on the island I could, under cover of night, steal down the
shore to the Fort, and communicate with the officers, and, still under
cover of the darkness, return to the mainland and make tracks through
the swamps towards Mobile or New Orleans.
In carrying out this plan, it was essential that I should find a colored
boatman to pilot and row me out on the bay, on whom I might safely trust
my return and escape from the place. By way of reconnoitering, or
practice, I hired such a boat for a couple of hours' pleasure, taking a
companion with me, and in this way I looked over the ground--or, rather,
water--and concluded that the scheme was feasible, and determined to put
it into execution as soon as possible.
In anticipation of this sudden departure, I made a final visit to the
camp of some of the friends, with whom I had become acquainted, that
night, to say good-by. In this way my Montgomery commissioner's errand
was accidentally brought to view. While talking about leaving, one of
the officers said, "You should wait a day or two and see the fun;" and
when I expressed a doubt as to the early commencement of the ball, he
continued, "Oh, but there is a bearer of dispatches here from
Montgomery, who says those Texas troops have been ordered here, and as
soon as they get here from New Orleans the plan is for us all to go over
on the island, away back, and, after the Columbiads have battered down
the walls, we're going to walk right into the Fort."
Here it was, then: the masked battery was to open the door and the
troops were to approach from the island, and this must succeed, as the
officers in the Fort certainly had no expectation of this sort of an
attack from the rear, and could not resist it.
The men must be prevented from landing on the island; I must go over
that night to post them, and I got there.
CHAPTER IV.
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.
CHAPTER V.
REBEL NEWSPAPERS--ON ADMIRAL PORTER'S SHIP.
While numerous newspaper attacks were being printed in the chivalrous
press of the South concerning a defenseless boy who had succeeded,
unaided and alone, in thwarting their plans to compel the surrender of
Fort Pickens, I, in blissful ignorance of it all, was quietly
experiencing the daily routine life aboard the blockading war ship,
which was anchored in full view of the Rebel batteries through which I
had been scouting but a few days previously.
I was, of course, something new and fresh on board the ship, and the way
those chaps went for me was peculiar.
Did you ever try to get into a hammock? I mean a _real_ hammock--one of
those made out of canvas cloth, which, rolled up--or slung, I think they
call it--looks like a big pudding.
I was put in charge of one of the petty officers, as they call them
aboard a ship, who correspond to the non-commissioned officers of the
army. My particular guardian was, I believe, the ship-chandler, an old
salt who had charge of a little den of a room, somewhere between decks,
which was crammed full of lamps or candles.
They were crowded with men and officers aboard the Powhattan at that
time, so I had to turn in with this mess. I was given a hammock--a nice,
clean lot of bedding was bundled up inside; it had a number painted on
it, to which my attention was carefully called; then I was shown the
corresponding number on deck where that particular hammock fitted in
like a chink in a log-house, and where, I was told, it had to be placed
at a certain "bell," or when the boatswain would sing out a certain
call.
When the time came to go for the hammocks the first night, I followed my
leader, shouldered the bag, and marched down in line with the rest. I
found afterward the most difficult thing to learn about the navy is to
get _into_ a hammock, stretched above your head, and the next difficult
thing is to stay in it, while the third trouble is to get out of it
without lighting on your head.
My old guardian was busy somewhere with his lights, and when the signal
came to turn in, every man of that immense crowd seemed to disappear,
like so many prairie dogs into their holes, leaving me standing alone on
the deck under my hammock. Then the petty officer, in his deep, bass
voice, said something to me about clearing that deck. I made a jump for
the thing, and hung half way across it, as if I were in a swing, able to
get neither one way or the other--the hammock would move every time I'd
move. Lots of bare heads were sticking out over the hammocks, offering
advice of all sorts; one chap proposed to give me a leg, which I
gratefully accepted, when he lifted me so quickly that I toppled over
the other side of the hammock on to the floor, where I lay saying my
evening prayers, while the whole lot of crows in the roosts above
laughed at my predicament. The show was beginning to create so much
noise down below that the fellow with the big voice was compelled to
interfere and put a stop to it, which he did by ordering one of the men
to hold my horse while I got aboard.
He kindly explained to me the _modus operandi_ of getting into a slung
hammock, which was, as we used to say in tactics, in one time and three
motions; first, grab the thing in a certain way with two hands, put one
foot in first, and then deftly lift the body up and drop in; once there,
the difficulty was not over, as it required some practice to keep
balanced while asleep, especially to a landsman like myself. I was
cautioned to part my hair in the middle, and lie there as stiff as a
corpse.
It was great fun for the sailors of that mess. In the morning, after a
fair night's rest, I was awakened by the man-of-war's reveille, and
literally tumbled out of the hammock, landing on all fours on deck, for
the thing was as hard to get out of as it was to get into. But now the
sailors, who had so much fun at my expense the night before, showed the
greatest kindness and did what they could to teach me to strap or lash
it up, and I was ready to take up my bed and walk with the rest of them,
and stored it away while it did not yet seem to be daylight.
I was invited to the best mess for breakfast, which I was able to enjoy
very much, and I spent the greater portion of the day on the big
wheel-house of the ship, pointing out to the officers the location of
the different batteries in the rebel line. The officers were quite
courteous and kind, and, as may be imagined, listened with the greatest
eagerness to the news which I was able to give them. The New York
_Herald_, which was the only thing in the shape of "papers" that I had
brought with me, was eagerly read, the officers almost quarreling for
its possession. It was finally settled by their cutting it up and
dividing the pieces around.
The Powhattan was one of the largest vessels of the old-fashioned
side-wheel class, and at that time was literally bristling with her
armour, having been hurriedly fitted out at Brooklyn Navy Yard at about
the same time the other vessels sailed to the intended relief of Sumter.
An old salt gave me his account of their trip out, which, as nearly as I
can recollect, was something like this:
"We had just returned from a cruise, ye know, to China, and wanted to
stay home a bit, because the Engineer Board condemned one of our boilers
as dangerous, so, of course, no one aboard thought of going to sea again
in her. Well, by thunder, one night they sent a draft of men aboard, and
the next morning we were steaming out somewhere--we all thought to some
other yard.
"The officers had what they called sealed orders, not to be opened till
we were outside, don't you know. That black-whiskered chap"--pointing
with his thumb toward Captain Porter's cabin--"was aboard, and we all
thought he was our sky pilot, as he was dressed just like a parson or
chaplain; but when we got out, and the orders were opened, he had
changed his black duds, and, by gad, he took us in tow, just like a
pirate king, and fetched us all down to this blasted hole to die of
Yaller Jack.
"On the voyage down, every man of us was worked to death; day and night,
all hands were going, unpacking boxes of arms that had been smuggled
aboard, and them brass things you see back of the purser's
'cow-house'"--as he called the wheel-house--"we boxed up like dead men
in coffins. Well, some of the men swore we were turned pirates; and a
lot more of us was dead sure we were going out as a privateer for Jeff
Davis. You see the sealed orders was to Captain Porter, and he had just
come aboard at night, and they say he came right over from Washington
City that same day, and, of course, he knew what was up, but no one else
did.
"We found out, though, after that. The plan for us was to run down and
go right straight ahead into the harbor, past the Fort and them Rebel
Batteries. If we was inside once, we could drive them off and get the
navy yard, you know, and they couldn't get onto the Island, don't you
know. Well, when we got near Pensacola, what did they do but begin to
burn some soft English coal, what was stored aboard, so's to make a
black smoke, don't you see, and make them Rebels believe we were an
Englishman going to Pensacola. Well, Porter was on hand, you bet, and
every other fellow was on hand, too, and we were going to run right
straight by the derned Batteries, without stopping or showing our
colors; but the 'Old Man,' as we termed the admiral, or Senior Officer
Alden, who had preceded us, as soon as we came up signaled to drop
anchor; and the Lord only knows how long we will stay, if that condemned
boiler don't bust.
"The old black-whiskered parson was mad, because he didn't get to go
ahead, and he mopes in his den all the time, just like a bear with a
sore head, cross at us all, as if we was to blame."
Rear-Admiral David D. Porter was, at that time, ranking as a lieutenant
in the navy, though he had been selected specially by Mr. Lincoln to
command the Powhattan on this relief expedition. As I saw him daily
aboard his ship, he appeared, to my eyes, to be a hearty, blustering,
handsome naval officer, in the prime of life, wearing a full, black
beard, which, with his sharp eyes and commanding presence, impressed me
with the idea that the old tar had suggested, as being a model pirate
chief.
Those who have not been aboard a man-of-war while in commission and
engaged in actual sea service, and have formed their impressions from
casual visits to a ship in port, would scarcely realize the changed
condition of affairs. The captain is a little king, with absolute power,
and lives in great style, all by himself, in his beautiful den of a
cabin, at the extreme aft-end of the ship. He _never_ comes forward, I
believe, and walks only on one side of the deck. I think he doesn't
permit anyone to approach his highness, except through the regular
channels.
He may be a good fellow ashore and will eat and drink with you at the
hotel bars, like any ordinary bit of humanity; but dear me, aboard his
ship he is a holy terror.
Not being an enlisted man myself, and only a sort of a refugee aboard
ship, wholly unacquainted with the new order of things, I was constantly
doing something or other that interfered with the rules, and, as a
consequence, was an object of disgust to the minor officers and, I
suspect, a source of amusement to a great many others.
Naval officers, I understand, never like to have a civilian aboard their
ships, probably because they are not amenable to the strict discipline,
and another reason is, that a common landsman does not pay that homage
and respect to their rank that is exacted of the seaman.
As I was promenading up and down the deck the first morning, an officer,
whom I was told was Lieutenant Perry, the executive officer, sent one of
the smartly-dressed marines to me, who approached pleasantly and said:
"The executive officer directs that you will please walk on the port
side of the deck." Well, I looked at my feet, then at the grinning
marine, and asked him what was the matter. I didn't know there was such
a thing as a port side of a deck; but he explained that the one little
place where I had been taking my morning air was reserved exclusively
for the captain of the ship.
The captain sent his orderly to escort me to his presence in his cabin;
the marine was, of course, all fixed up with his natty uniform,
white-crossed belts, and little sword, and as we approached the lion's
den, he knocked as if he were afraid somebody might hear him, and when a
gruff voice within sang out "Come!" he stiffened up as if he had heard
an order to "present"; then swinging open the door, swung around briskly
and saluted; and before he could say his little speech, the captain
spoke up:
"That will do, Orderly," when he went through the same motions as when
we entered, and left me alone with the bear.
The captain astonished me by reaching for my hand, and, gently pushing
me over to a huge sofa, sat down beside me, and began to talk in a most
cordial manner about my adventure at Montgomery and Pensacola, which
lasted quite a little while, and ended with an invitation to take
something, which I was forced to decline.
My interview with the captain seemed to have a wonderful influence not
only on the minds, but over the actions as well, of the petty officers
and sailors, who had been guying me so mercilessly every hour of my stay
among them. I was at once treated with the utmost consideration by
everybody on board, and it appeared to me that every old salt, who wore
a piping whistle at the end of a white cord about his neck, was anxious
to talk with me in confidence.
To excite the curiosity of a lot of old sailors aboard ship is like
bringing a swarm of mosquitoes about one's head; and the way I was
pestered with questions and cross-questions, as well as all sorts of
surmises and hints, would distract any one, excepting, perhaps, the
well-seasoned and tanned hides of their own kind.
Captain Porter is the only man on board the ship to whom I told my
story, though questioned in a gentlemanly manner by the other officers.
I was able to hold and keep my own counsel from them all. I was to them
a refugee, and that was all the satisfaction any of them got from me,
except that in a general way I was free to tell anybody all I knew about
the Rebel batteries and forces; but why I had gone to Pickens was
explained only to Captain Porter, who believed my story, from the
interview with Secretary of War Cameron down to getting aboard his ship.
Though I had nothing whatever to show as proof, having brought with me
to the ship only the rather scanty clothing I wore, having almost
stripped myself in anticipation of a swim for life while crossing the
bay.
Right here I may mention that my family preserves with the greatest care
a sailor shirt, on which is an elaborately embroidered star in colors,
in each corner of the broad silk collar, also a pair of white duck
sailor trousers. These useful as well as beautiful articles were
presented to me by some of the men aboard ship, for which present, I
have often thought since, I must have been indebted to Captain Porter's
influence, as the articles are of such value that the old fellow who
stowed them in my hammock would scarcely have parted with them without
some remuneration.
The needlework on these articles was all done aboard ship by the
stiffened and well-hardened fingers of an old sailor, and I do not
exaggerate in saying, for rare and delicate workmanship, they are not
excelled by anything I have seen in the same line since.
The monotony of life aboard ship was relieved somewhat by the every-day
drill of the marines, under command of Lieutenant Broome, whose name I
remember distinctly, as being associated in my mind with "a new broom,"
he always looked so sleek and nice in his fresh uniform. The sailors
were also drilled at the big guns, fore and aft, which they would pull
and haul about for hours at a time under the commands of some officer.
One day Captain Porter astonished the Rebels, as well as our own
officers, by a mock naval battle. At a certain hour and upon a given
signal, all hands were called to quarters unexpectedly, Captain Porter
appearing on the bridge with an immense big brass trumpet in his hands,
through which he bellowed out something which everybody but me seemed to
understand. Men went up the rigging like a lot of monkeys in trees;
others yanked out the big cutlasses. At the command, "Repel boarders!"
they would climb up the sides of the ship and cut and slash their
invisible enemies at a dreadful rate. Then suddenly an order came to
load the guns; and in an instant almost, men whom I had not seen popped
up out of the holds and handed to others, who had evidently been
expecting them, cartridges, which were rammed into the big mouths of the
cannons; then all stood still as death--but for an instant only--when
the brass trumpet belched out something about a "Broadside," and--Great
Scott! it makes me tremble while I write about it--every gun on that big
ship, great and small, went off at the same time, and almost lifted the
ship out of the water.
They kept firing and loading in this way for quite a little while,
Captain Porter, during this time, standing quietly and unconcernedly on
the bridge, with his watch in one hand and the trumpet in the other.
When he was ready, another order was fired through his telephone, and
the firing ceased as suddenly as it had begun.
During all this hubbub, when every fellow had a place to go and stay, I
was jumping around from one place to another, like a hen on a hot
griddle, trying to find some spot where I might not be in anybody's way.
When the firing ceased, the ship was rolling about and, as we were
encompassed by the smoke, it seemed as if we were sailing in a cloud in
mid air.
Captain Porter, from his position on the bridge, began at once to
catechize the different officers, precisely as a school-master would a
class, asking each in turn, as he pointed to him:
"How many rounds, Mr. Broome?" And if the answer was not satisfactory,
an explanation was demanded. I remember that the assistant engineer's
position was at the little brass pieces, elevated abaft the wheel-house,
and their work was not at all satisfactory to Captain Porter, who did
not hesitate to so express himself, much to the disgust of the engineers
and the amusement of the other officers.
When the cloud of smoke lifted and we could see over the water, we found
all the other ships of the squadron watching us, while the ramparts of
Fort Pickens was to be seen crowded with men, no doubt wondering what
was up. They, no doubt, supposed the ship's magazine was afire. The
Rebel Batteries were black with men, who imagined, of course, that the
ship was fighting some of their own craft.
It appeared afterward that this trick of Captain Porter's came very near
bringing on a conflict with the Rebs, as they prepared to open their
batteries on the fort. If the drill had continued a little longer it
would have resulted in bringing about a genuine fight. Perhaps this is
what Captain Porter desired.
There was some influence that fretted him very much at the time, which I
have never heard explained. It was well known that he was most eager for
the fight to begin.
Early one bright morning our lookout spluttered out something, to which
the officer on deck at the time--who was Lieutenant Queen, at present
commandant at the Washington Navy Yard, and to whom I was talking at
that instant--startled me by singing in my ear:
"Where away?"
The fellow above said something about two points on our port bow.
Mr. Queen left me abruptly to report to the captain, who soon appeared
on deck. I climbed up to a good place from which to look out, and gazed
in the direction in which Mr. Queen and the captain were pointing, but
failed to see anything myself.
Orders were issued to prepare a little boat that was attached to the
Powhattan, as a sort of dispatch boat, and an officer, whose name was
Brown--a fat, jolly young man whom Captain Porter seemed to think highly
of--was put in charge.
This little craft hoisted sail and went dancing about on the water like
a sea-bird. By this time two steamers were in sight, approaching us.
Who they were and what they were after was just what everybody wanted
to know; the old sailors, who are always croakers, had any quantity of
ridiculous stories about their errand and our rapidly approaching fate.
Signals went up on Fort Pickens, and I discovered, _first_, that signals
were being made from the Rebel Batteries, in rear of their Forts, and
reported the fact, the circumstance awaking in Captain Porter a lively
interest.
Tho little sea-bird, with Mr. Brown, went out toward the approaching
ships, as if to meet them; orders were given by somebody, I suppose, but
I failed to hear them, to weigh anchor, which was quietly done; then,
instead of the ships halting to communicate with Mr. Brown's signals,
they went nearer to the Rebel Batteries, while the black smoke poured
out of the chimneys, and the paddle-wheels whirled around.
All at once I jumped two feet high, because a gun behind me went off.
Still the wheels went round and round, and the water was foaming in
their wake. All hands and eyes were on the ship in the lead, when boom
went another gun; and there is where I saw the first hostile gun fired.
There was a splash in the water some distance this side of the ship, but
in her front, then another splash on the same line further on; this was
the first shot across her bow, and it had the immediate effect of
stopping those paddle-wheels as suddenly as if she had been hit in the
belly.
She "hove too"--there was a long confab with the captain of the boat,
which turned out to be ships from Mobile bound to Pensacola with
supplies--appealed from Porter to the old admiral, and the end of it all
was, the two boats loaded with supplies and probably ammunition, were
not permitted to go on past the Fort inside the bay to Pensacola, as
Captain Porter decidedly protested against it, and they were escorted
back to Mobile.
They were not war ships, and at that time some of our officers had
peculiar ideas of the rights of Rebels: as, for instance, the refusal to
allow my colored boy, Friday, to remain at the Fort because he was
property, etc.
In our mess I think there were four of as jolly, good-hearted tars as
may be found in any navy, who vied with each other in their efforts to
make my stay with them as comfortable as possible. I presume my
popularity was increased a little bit, from the fact that I really
couldn't swallow the gill of grog, nor use tobacco, that was issued to
every one who wanted it, and my portion was scrupulously drawn and
assigned to our mess.
I was here first introduced to sea biscuit, which you know is the naval
term of S. O. B. Every old soldier will know the meaning of those
cabalistic letters.
One fellow, who was so droll that he kept the mess in a roar all the
time, insisted that some of the sea biscuit then being issued by the
commissary had been left over from the Revolutionary War. They were
really as hard as a board; it was often as good as a show to watch the
antics of Jack trying to weld them, like iron, at the galley range, or
to put them under the rollers of the big cannon for a chuck stone.
The pickled pork he declared was alive with worms, and insisted upon
taking me up the main mast, to prove to me that great chunks of it were
able to crawl up the polished mast to the fore-top. While eating our
grub (as they call it), when the cook had prepared a particularly nice
dish of scouce (I think that's the way it's spelled), Jack would pretend
to be so hungry that he and another chum would get on all fours and
squeal for all the world like a lot of hogs in a pen.
Every day there would be signals exchanged between our ship and the
others, or with Fort Pickens, and occasionally boats from the other
vessels would come to our side bringing officers to visit our officers.
For some days my daily life was spent in this way. I began to imagine,
from some of the yarns that I was compelled to overhear from the sailors
at night, that something was going wrong with me; nothing had been
intimated to me directly by any of the officers, who were uniformly
courteous, excepting, perhaps, Lieutenant Perry, the executive officer
who had general charge of everything. On another occasion he had picked
me up sharply for daring to handle a marine glass that I saw on the
bridge one day and elevated toward the Rebels.
The sailors, who, of course went with the boats to the fort as oarsmen,
must have brought back some exaggerated stories about me, judging from
their actions and talk. If any of those who may read my story have ever
been compelled to listen to old sailors' or old soldiers' stories and
croakings, they will be able to sympathize with me in my misery. I can
think of no comparison that will approach so near my conception of the
situation as that of being caged in an insane asylum with a crowd of
cranky old lunatics, and being compelled to hear all they have to say
without being able to escape from the horror.
This Lieutenant Perry was, I believe, a nephew of Commodore Perry, of
Lake Erie fame, and perhaps a very capable officer, though I do not
recall having heard his name during the war, which followed so closely.
He was evidently prejudiced against me from the first day, probably
because I declined to be interviewed by him.
One day I was surprised by having him call me aside and commencing a
conversation about the war, during which I expressed some decided
opinions about the earnestness and sincerity of the Rebels. And I
probably gave vent to my disgust at the permitting my colored boy to be
sent back to slavery and possibly punishment.
A short time after this I was invited to the captain's cabin. On
entering, I found Mr. Perry and the captain in consultation. After a
pleasant greeting, Captain Porter said:
"We have just learned that the Rebels have a lot of big guns at
Montgomery which they are to send to Pensacola." When he got this far, I
interrupted him to say, "That is hardly correct, as I had been in
Montgomery, and they had no guns of any kind there." Perry spoke up and
said they meant Mobile. Porter continued, smilingly: "Yes, it's Mobile,
of course. Well, we want to spike those guns right there." Not for a
moment thinking they were putting up a job on me, I looked anxiously in
Porter's face for a clue to his meaning, in thus talking to me. Looking
me squarely in the eye, he said:
"Now the government pays handsomely for this service," patting his pants
pockets to make some keys rattle. Still I did not like the appearance of
things, and perhaps too abruptly interrupted to say:
"Yes, I know; but the Rebels aren't going to let any one do that."
Then ensued a long confab, in which Lieutenant Perry did most of the
talking.
Captain Porter finally said to me, with a peculiar look:
"Now I have some little file-shaped things, just made for that purpose;
all a man has to do is to quietly drop one of these into the vent, and
they don't even know it's there, till they want to fire the gun."
This looked plausible, and I began to feel as if I'd like to try that
simple little trick, but I told him candidly that I couldn't undertake
it; that they would surely hang me, if caught; and that it wouldn't be
well for me to run the risk just then.
"Oh," says Perry, "we will man a boat and land you on the beach ten miles
from Pensacola."
"Yes," spoke up Captain Porter, "we will put you ashore any place you
want to go."
Without a moment's thought, except a desire to do any service for my
country, I said to them, "All right, I'll go."
I knew nothing whatever at this time of the demands that were being made
by the rebel authorities upon the Fort to have me surrendered on a civil
process, and on the same general principles that had induced the Fort
officers to return the colored boy, was being brought to bear in my
case. It seems the officers of the Fort got rid of the knotty point by
informing the Rebel flag-of-truce boat that I was out of their control,
and in the hands of the naval authorities.
Application had been made to the flag-ship of the squadron, that being
the proper headquarters, but it seems that in some way Captain Porter's
instructions were direct and more recent than had been received by the
admiral, whose name, if I remember aright, was Adams or Alden; but of
this I am not positive. However, there was some sort of a conflict of
authority between Porter and the Admiral, and not altogether a cordial
feeling between them, as there were no visits or courtesies being
exchanged between them, as was customary in such situations.
I had myself seen from the deck of the Powhattan a little tug-boat
bobbing out to the Admiral's ship, but had no idea, of course, that I
was being the subject of negotiations, which were being carried on by
the opposing forces through their flags-of-truce.
The Admiral, who had desired the ships from Mobile to pass in
unmolested, was quite indifferent to my fate, and did not deign to
communicate with Mr. Porter or myself. No doubt if I had been aboard his
ship instead of Admiral Porter's, the true story of this episode would
never have been written; as I should have been surrendered, as a matter
of _courtesy_ to the Rebels, who would have further extended the
courtesy--at the end of a rope.
CHAPTER VI.
ADMIRAL PORTER SAVES THE BOY'S LIFE--INTERVIEW WITH THE REBEL
FLAG-OF-TRUCE OFFICERS, WHO CLAIM HIM FOR A VICTIM--SCENES ON BOARD A
MAN-OF-WAR--RETURN HOME BY SEA--RECEPTION IN NEW YORK--TELEGRAPH
ACQUAINTANCES--NEW YORK PAPERS RECORD THE ADVENTURE IN FULL PAGE.
It will be seen that the Admiral was willing that I should be
surrendered, and my life hung for several days in a balance, which,
thank God, was held by Captain Porter.
Perry, knowing of these negotiations, was himself convinced that I was a
Rebel Spy, whom they wanted to get back, and had kept a close watch on
my actions; and, I presume, had set half the ship's crew to pick me up
on any little circumstance which would serve to confirm his suspicions
that I was in the service of the rebellion.
One day I was sitting on the "back stairs," or on the platform of the
gangway aft the wheel-house, and, as the vessel had swung round, I
could, from my location, see right over the water to the rebel lines. My
position happened to be somewhat secluded, and I had in my hands a scrap
of an old New York _Ledger_, that one of the tars had loaned me. I saw
that I was being watched by Perry, who was in quiet consultation with
the officer of the deck. A marine with a loaded musket had been ordered
to look sharp that I did not fly over to the Rebs, I suppose.
While in this situation the thought burst upon me that I was a prisoner,
suspected by my own friends of being a spy in their camp.
The interview that I had had in the cabin, with Captain Porter and
Lieutenant Perry, the proposed trip to Mobile, with a dozen other little
incidents, rushed through my brain at once, but I was comforted by the
thought that the War Department would acknowledge my services. After
this feeling had passed away from my mind to some extent, I recalled
with bitterness some of Lieutenant Perry's actions and talks with me.
Carelessly glancing around to see that he was still on deck, I wrote on
the margin of that old paper some words that expressed, in language
more emphatic than politic, the opinion I entertained of a certain
officer, and whose conduct I should take care would be reported to the
ears of the Navy Department. Before I had finished, a hand was laid on
my shoulder; another reached down and snatched the paper from my hand;
the young officer, whom I had seen talking to Perry but a few moments
previously, said:
"Ah, sketching, are you?" as he took the paper and handed it to Mr.
Perry, who was at his back, and he read with a flushed face the ugly
comments on his brutality to a boy prisoner, who had done more for his
country in one night than he would accomplish in his life-time.
[Illustration: "AH! SKETCHING, ARE YOU?"]
For a boy, this was a pretty sharp trick, if it were not very discreet.
Mr. Perry roughly said, as I put my hands in my pockets and looked at
him defiantly:
"Take your hands out of your pockets when you talk to an officer, damn
you!" "Go forward, sir!" "Don't you come aft again!"
Mr. Perry, as the executive officer, had the control and management of
almost every detail aboard ship; and, of course, after his ridiculous
failure to catch me mapping, or sketching, which had become known all
over the ship, he entertained for me more positive and open dislike than
ever, so that I was henceforth, practically, his prisoner. I had enjoyed
full liberty to go about everywhere as I pleased, heretofore, and
lounged or lay about in the warm sun most of the time up by the
wheel-house; but now I understood that, by his arbitrary orders, I was
not to be allowed to go aft; which I interpreted to mean confinement to
the forecastle.
This was not so pleasant for me, as I could have no communication with
the officers, and lost the opportunity of seeing the marine drill, which
was a daily performance, that seemed to relieve the monotony of our
every-day life, which was indeed becoming quite tiresome to me.
However, I consoled myself with the reflection that I should soon be
able to get away to my home in the North. There had been a transport in
the squadron unloading supplies, which I had been given to understand
would take me off on her return to New York. I watched with eager
interest the unloading of this transport, which had to be tediously
and drudgingly performed by the use of lighters and pulleys over the
ship's side;--the rebs objected, you know, to our forces using the
Fort's piers, which was within range of their guns, though it will be
recalled that our Admiral did not prevent their ships going into the
harbor to unload their supplies.
I think it must have been some of Billy Wilson's Zouaves, or their
supplies, that were being unloaded. You will remember that about this
time that regiment of the roughs and toughs of New York City had been
sent down there, where they were permitted to encamp on the Island,
between the fires of the two forces; being natural enemies of both,
communication with them was necessarily limited.
Early one morning, one of the petty officers shook me out of the
hammock, saying:
"Bundle up quickly, to go aboard the transport."
If I didn't get out of the hammock that morning very gracefully, it was
because it was done suddenly. The man who called me stood by, as he
said, to help me get ready, as the ship was to sail at daylight. I had
no bag for my luggage, which consisted only of the gifts of the fine
sailor suit, mentioned heretofore, and what I wore on my person, so we
were not long in getting ready.
Hurrying up on deck, I went to the gangway aft, where the little gig, as
they call the little boat, was bobbing up and down on the swell, as the
waves beat against the ship's side. The sailor standing in the bow,
holding on to the steps, or rope balustrade, helped me to make the
little jump into the boat, which I felt was dancing with delight because
it was to take me off that old ship.
As I passed to the rear seat, each old tar had a kind word of good-by
for me, and I believe that I promised every one of them to go and see
their friends and sweethearts when I should get home. We waited awhile
for an officer who was getting the captain's mail ready. Soon Lieutenant
Queen came down the steps and scrambled to a seat beside me, saying,
pleasantly:
"Well, my boy, I wish I were going with you this morning."
He gave the order to let go and soon we were bouncing over the water
toward the transport, which was smoking and hissing away at a great rate
some distance from our ship but nearer the shore. When we pulled
alongside I braced myself for the climb up her side, when Lieutenant
Queen should give the signal. He had gone aboard ahead and delayed
sometime; presently he appeared at the ship's side and began to descend
to our boat again; I thought his manner a little queer, as I watched him
with astonishment; once in the boat, he was about to give the order to
pull off, when the captain of the transport hailed him and said:
"I'm sorry, but don't you forget to tell Porter it's not my fault."
After a little further talk in an undertone, Mr. Queen told the coxswain
to go ahead, and then turning to me said:
"There's some mistake, they say they can't take you, they have no room."
My feelings may be imagined--they can not be described. I was so
disappointed that I was literally struck dumb, and could not speak a
word on our return to the ship, and was led aboard by the good-hearted
old sailors as if I had just been rescued from a watery grave.
Going to our ship's side, I looked over the water in the early grey of
the morning and saw the transport, on which I had built my every hope of
home, slowly but surely steaming away toward home, and I still on the
ship _and a prisoner_. How long I stood there I do not know; probably
until the fast-sailing transport had almost gotten out of my dimmed
sight. I cried, of course I did, like a big baby, and on board a
man-of-war, too; and being too proud to show it, I kept my face
resolutely set toward the receding ship that was going home without me.
I didn't even have such a thing as a handkerchief to dry those tears,
bitter tears, which _would_ run down my cheeks and drop into the sea
below me.
Mr. Queen, who had reported his trip to Captain Porter, hunted me up to
say that "the captain would see that I was taken care of and sent home
all right."
Speaking in his kindly, sympathetic manner, seemed to renew my emotion,
and turning my wet cheeks to him I said, I fear somewhat harshly, "I'll
never again undertake anything that would get me aboard a naval
officer's ship."
He laughed good-naturedly, while he told me of his many disappointments
in not getting home from foreign countries, as he had planned, while in
the naval service. He said also that Captain Porter was mad about it,
because some one seemed determined to interfere with everything or
anything he wanted to accomplish, but he would fix me all right next
time, and, pointing to another transport, he said:
"You will go on that ship in a few days."
Some of the talks and hints which the old sailors had been firing at me
for days about a Rebel Spy, sent aboard to fire their magazine, or to
signal to the Rebels any attempt to run inside, and which I had taken at
the time as sailors' yarns, were now vividly recalled to my mind. These
things, coupled with the recent interview between Porter, Perry and
myself, in which I had been entrapped into an agreement to return
through their lines to spike some guns, all came upon me with a
sickening sensation.
I had been led by the talk of Perry, against my own judgment, and
doubting the feasibility of his plans, to agree that I should put ashore
alone, in a dismal swamp in Florida, ten miles from everything living
but alligators and snakes, in the dark of midnight, to find my way
across to Mobile to spike some guns.
Because I was willing to _do anything_ for the benefit of the Union
cause, not having a single thought of fear or danger to myself, this
disposition had been twisted and tortured by Mr. Perry, a United States
officer, into a virtual acknowledgment on my part that I was a Rebel and
was anxious to return to their camps.
I do not believe that Captain Porter agreed with Perry in this
conclusion.
If the object of these Rebels in their negotiation was to throw
discredit on my reports of their operations and plans--which they knew I
could correctly give--they succeeded only in the sense that I was
personally discredited. The officers at the Fort were grateful and glad
to receive my information. I know they were benefited by and acted upon
it; but the poor spy who enabled them to save their Fort, or at least
prevent disaster, was ignored. The officers, no doubt, took great credit
to themselves in their official reports.
I may be allowed to say right here that the spy's work, though often
most dangerous and important, is always thankless. That was my
experience at the outset of my career, but (unfortunately for me
perhaps) did not deter me from continuing in the same service.
I made up my mind to one thing, however; I stuck to it, and I was never
caught on board a man-of-war again, but confined my operations to solid
ground, where I could have more room and freedom, and be my own
executive officer.
The next day on board the ship was Sunday, and an eventful one to me. As
is customary aboard a man-of-war, it was inspection day. All soldiers
and sailors know what a Sunday inspection is, so I need not describe it.
At a certain hour I was invited aft, with the drove of a crew--to
"Meetin'," as the sailor said. All hands were congregated about the deck
according to a drill, which all understood, at a certain moment the
officer of the deck stepped to the captain's door and, after saluting in
the proper manner, invited the parson to the pulpit.
Captain Porter in full regimentals marched out in grand style, taking up
his position, and gravely opened a book from which he read some prayers
as effectively as a clergyman, after which there were orders read, and a
dismissal for a general holiday--relief from drill and routine work for
the balance of the day.
This was the first time I had been permitted to look at the captain
since my disappointment, and I most eagerly scanned his face for some
indication of his feeling toward me; once or twice I caught his eye, but
I found little comfort there. He was a fierce-looking fellow, and
particularly so when fixed up in his Sunday toggery.
The other ships of the squadron, as well as the fort and the Rebels,
seemed to be putting on their best attire and were feeling comfortable
in their Sunday dress.
Inside the harbor, the Rebels seemed to be enjoying Sunday excursions
with their little boats; the officers on the ships and the fort were
exchanging friendly visits.
I had, as a special Sunday privilege, I suppose, been told to resume the
freedom of the ship as at first, and was lounging in my haunt above,
where I could see all about us.
Along some time in the afternoon I noticed a little steam-tug steam out
past Fort Pickens, puffing and dancing along in the direction of the
admiral's flag-ship. The striking peculiarity about the little boat was,
that at her bow she floated a white flag, not larger than a bathing
towel, while on the rear staff were flaunted the Rebel colors.
My curiosity having been greatly excited by the sailors' talks of
flags-of-truce to the fort, in which I was in some unknown way connected
by them, I watched with intense interest every movement this little
craft made; she came on, dancing along between the shore and the
squadron until the flag-ship was almost abreast of her, then suddenly
turning, the fluttering white flag pointed directly to the admiral's
ship, and was lost to my sight behind her great sides.
Others on board were watching this also, and I could see that the
glances of the men would turn significantly from the little truce boat
to me.
Mr. Queen had gone off visiting, but Mr. Perry was on hand, sullen and
disagreeable.
They stopped so long aboard the Admiral's ship that one of the younger
officers ventured to say to me in a side whisper, feeling perhaps that I
needed some comfort: "Oh, they are just over for a Sunday visit to the
Admiral," and then walked briskly away from me as if afraid of being
seen by Perry talking to the Rebel Spy.
He had scarcely turned away from me when, on looking in the direction of
the flag-ship, I saw the white flag come bobbing out from under the
stern of the big ship. Were they going back to their Rebel camps? _No!_
they were bearing straight down on us, while they were waving adieus to
the officers, who were looking over the bulwarks of the ship they had
just quitted.
_Great God!_ my heart sank within me at the thought that they were after
me again, and the old Admiral had sent them to Captain Porter, with
orders to give me up.
I reckon I turned pale. I know that I felt that I would die in the water
beneath me before I would return with them to the Rebel lines. I was a
boy of strong impulse, and, if I must say it myself, I was not afraid of
death; but I determined in the instant I stood there watching that boat
come toward us so saucily that I would die rather than return with them.
The slightest provocation at that time would have made me leap
overboard. Luckily for me, the young officer who had spoken to me but a
few moments previously, ran rapidly up the few steps and called me
quickly to him, saying:
"Captain wants you in his cabin, right away."
I nervously followed him, and as he opened the cabin door I stepped
inside and saw Captain Porter in the act of buckling on his sword belt;
his face was strangely flushed, and, as he adjusted his sword into its
proper position at his side, and buttoned up his coat, turned sharply on
me, saying, as he shook his head significantly:
"Young fellow, that boat is coming after you; do you know that?"
I don't know just what I did reply, I was so stunned for a moment, but
the gallant, glorious old loyal son of the navy put the answer into my
head.
"You claim our protection, don't you."
"Yes, I do. I'll go overboard Captain, but I'll not return to the Rebel
lines."
"You don't need to. You have claimed my protection; you are a boy away
from home and among enemies; you are in my charge."
I tried to thank him, but he stopped me abruptly, saying:
"Never mind; you claim our protection, and, by God, you shall have it."
With this he glared out of his little window like a wild beast in a
cage, and I backed out of his presence with a heart overflowing with
thankfulness and gratitude, rejoiced that I had found one officer who
would use his authority to protect American citizens; who sought the
good of the country and the protection of our flag.
I went back to my perch just in time to see the white flag run under our
bow, and, looking down over the ship's side, I could see the tug was
filled with Rebel officers.
The officer of the deck received them courteously, and, after reporting
to Mr. Perry, they were invited aboard. Mr. Perry was most affable and
pleasant with them, as were, in fact, all the officers, and the Rebels
themselves seemed to be as jolly as if they were out for a frolic. There
was nothing in their manner or bearing toward each other that would lead
anyone to infer there was any prospect of a war.
After the preliminary courtesies had been exchanged, a couple of them
went into the captain's Cabin; what occurred there I never learned; the
interview, however, was a mighty short one; the Rebel emissaries came
out and without any further parley got aboard their flag-of-truce boat
and steered for their sand-banks.
I have a recollection of reading in our school histories an account of
one of our naval officers, while in an Austrian port, giving some such
protection to a naturalized citizen of the United States, and great
credit attached to this act; perhaps, I am prejudiced, but I doubt very
much if that officer did as grand and heroic an act as that of Captain
Porter in protecting a boy from the shabby, cowardly attempt of traitors
in arms against his flag, aided by the more contemptible conduct of our
own officers who were his superiors.
It required the nerve which subsequent events showed Captain Porter to
possess, and his name and deeds are everywhere recognized while that of
his superior, the Admiral, has been lost.
During the ten days I was anchored off Fort Pickens on board the
man-of-war Powhattan my enforced sojourn may be likened to that of a
"fish out of water."
In compelling an ignorant slave boatman to row me over the bay in the
cover of the night to Fort Pickens with this valuable information, I
was, according to law, as it was interpreted technically, guilty of a
threat or attempt to kill. This, with the fact that the slave, like the
boat and oar, was "property," added robbery to the indictment prepared
against me.
But as the slave had been so heartlessly and almost cruelly sent back to
his little boat, there was in fact no robbery, and all that could have
been claimed was the intention or intent to kill, etc. I did not
understand then, and have not since been able to learn, sufficient law
to properly satisfy myself on this question, but the facts are as has
been stated here.
On his return to the Rebels, the colored boy, no doubt, gave these
officials an exaggerated story of his experience with the bold
highwayman, or freebooter, in his boat on the bay, thinking in this way
to obtain for himself some immunity from the terrible punishment that
awaited all slaves who were caught out at night, which would be more
especially severe at such a time and under such circumstances as had
just happened to him.
The Rebel officers, of course, when they heard the dreadful story from
the lips of my boatman, at once began looking up the details of the
recent visit of the Texan among them, and readily gathered sufficient
data from my week's companionship and intercourse in their midst to
justify the conviction that I was a dangerous fellow, and had gone over
to the Yankees, knowing their hand and game too well.
It is probable that the object of the flags-of-truce was, primarily, to
create in the minds of our officers an impression that I was unworthy
and undeserving of belief. Before leaving Washington I had, while in
consultation with an official of the War Department, been given to
understand that, as a matter of policy, it would be more to my credit to
obtain information and report directly to the War Department; and I was
cautioned _not to acknowledge to any person_--friend or foe--that I was
on a secret errand. I had not, during my brief stay at the fort,
mentioned to any of the officers the fact that I was visiting in the
service of the War Department, and had only informed Captain Porter of
my hasty interview with the Secretary, admitting to him that the present
service was purely voluntary, but that I expected to be regularly
engaged on my return home. I had no papers of any kind in my possession,
and even if I had brought along with me the Secretary of War's
endorsement on my application, no person would have been able to have
read the Secretary's peculiar chirography.
Some of our officers, in April, 1861, were inclined to accept the
Rebels' interpretation of the laws, and those at Pickens were, I fear,
disposed, as a matter of mere courtesy to surrender on their demand my
person a victim of their unholy vengeance. At that time Ben Butler,
Fremont, or General Banks, had not had the opportunity to lay down the
law of the nation to the Rebels in arms against its authority; but,
luckily for me, I was aboard the ship commanded by Captain D. D. Porter,
and though I had in my uncertainty of mind for several days "been like
Mahomet's coffin, suspended between the earth and sky," I did not at the
time these negotiations were pending know that my life was hanging by so
slender a thread, or, more properly speaking, that I was liable to be
suspended by numerous threads woven together in the more substantial
form of a rope.
Captain Porter's interview, however, satisfied me at the time, but when
I witnessed with what cordiality and heartiness the Rebel officers were
being received aboard our ship, my mind was puzzled, and I recall now a
feeling of uncertainty or misgiving.
In a day or so after Captain Porter's reception and emphatic rejection
of whatever propositions the Rebel officers accompanying the truce boat
had made to him, in regard to giving into their hands for trial the
Yankee Spy, I bid Captain Porter and his ship a hearty and thankful
farewell, and the curtain was rung down on my Pinafore experiences.
The side-wheel transport steamer Philadelphia being ready to return to
the North, a day preceding her sailing I was placed aboard of her as a
dead-head passenger for New York.
There were quite a number of passengers aboard, among them Lieutenant
Slemmer and one other artillery officer, whose name I have forgotten,
who were going home for the benefit of their health; also a number of
mechanics who had been employed about some repairs on the Fort.
As seen from the deck of the transport, as we weighed anchor and pointed
her prow homeward-bound, I thought the sloop-of-war Powhattan, with her
companion ship, the Brooklyn, with their port-holes and big guns and men
aloft, to give us a parting salute, was one of the most beautiful sights
imaginable. How much better pleased I was with the view from this
standpoint than I had been with the sailing and saluting of the
transport which had sailed a few days previous, under just such
circumstances (except that I wasn't aboard of her on my way home).
Our captain had taken aboard some field-pieces of heavy artillery which
had not yet been stowed below. While we were yet in that portion of the
gulf where the water was comparatively so smooth, and the weather so
fine, our civilian captain amused himself by calling on all hands to
assist in mounting one of these guns on its field carriage, in the bow
of his old transport, while he entertained himself and the ship's
company with great stories of the danger from the newly-fledged
privateers that Jeff Davis so promptly issued his letters of reprisal
for.
We steamed along smoothly and slowly enough for a day or two without any
adventure. I have often wondered since what would have been the effect
on the old ship if that captain had taken a crazy notion to have fired
one of those big field-pieces.
When we reached Tortugas, or Fort Jefferson--which I believe is the name
of the immense affair which seems to rise straight out of the
water--there was considerable saluting and signaling with the flags on
the Fort as we approached the anchorage.
We stayed at Tortugas part of two days, storing away the guns, and I do
think they were two of the most intolerably hot days that I have ever
felt. As we lay at anchor, and when the sun was highest, it was
necessary to spread over the ship's deck the large canvas awning, which
the sailors said was to prevent the pitch calking from melting out and
to avoid "warping the ship."
Here I went ashore, if going inside an immense Fort can be called
shore--there certainly was no freedom about it--but it was a great
relief to one's legs to be able to stand and walk about on the ground
once more, even though it was inside of great walls, and the only
persons to be seen were the men of the garrison, their officers and a
few families.
During our voyage--after leaving Key West--our Fort Pickens officers,
Lieutenant Slemmer and his companion, had kept close to their
rooms--probably they were too sick to make an appearance--but when the
ship got into the bay, and as we ran up the river to the anchorage, Mr.
Slemmer's sick companion made his appearance dressed up in full
regimentals. As he sat on top of the pilot-house with our captain, with
his mantle thrown back over his shoulder, and showing the brilliant red
lining of the artillery uniform, he looked to me then as if he were
expecting to be received as a hero.
Lieutenant Slemmer, on the other hand, modest and retiring, did not show
himself at all; and, as soon as he got ashore, he scurried off to
Pennsylvania to meet his wife, who had previously been highly honored
and entertained after her return North through the rebel lines.
Your humble servant was not long in getting on solid ground, and, in
company with a Spanish exile from Cuba, we drove at once to the Astor
House. Here was lying in state, in their heavily draped parlor, the body
of Colonel Ellsworth, the funeral cortege being on the way from
Washington City to the burial place, somewhere east of New York.
It is not for me, in this narrative, to attempt anything like a
description of the exciting times I was permitted to witness in New York
City that Sunday. Those who have followed me in this effort to picture
my solitary and lonely adventures, away off in Florida, when my
attempts, voluntarily, to do something for my country, and for the
people who were then so terribly in earnest at home, will appreciate my
feelings of joy and happiness, over being once more among friends--and
such great, hearty, fighting friends, too, as everybody seemed to be at
that time.
The first thing I did was to go to a telegraph office; and, climbing up
four or five flights of stairs, I found Mr. Porter in charge of the
operating room, as chief operator and manager; and although I had never
met him personally, I was well acquainted by wire, having often worked
with him at the other end of a 300 mile wire.
Introducing myself, and briefly explaining my arrival from Florida, and
a desire to announce myself to friends at the other end of his wire, he
astonished me by at once saying:
"Why, bless me, is this _you_? There's been lots of talking over this
wire about you lately."
Then he related at length all he had seen and heard of my career through
the newspapers during all the time I was a helpless prisoner aboard the
Powhattan.
He had, as you may imagine, a great deal of news for me about myself, as
reported by the Southern press and extensively copied in the North.
I was soon put in communication over the wire with a brother operator
near my own home; and, strange as it may appear to those who are not
familiar with the humors of the telegraph, an operator's "touch," even
though a thousand miles distant, like the sound of a familiar voice, is
recognized by some peculiarity that attaches to the operator's style.
My old friend at the other end of the wire, on hearing my "sending" at
the New York end, told me afterward, that on that quiet Sunday morning,
when all alone in his office, he had been reading at that very moment a
newspaper account of my adventures, in which it was made to appear that
our officers had, in reply to the demand of the rebels, informed them,
that they--the Union officers--were going to hang this spy themselves;
and while he was yet thinking that as between the two, there was no hope
of my escape, his attention was called to the signal for his office to
receive a message. Hastily answering to "G. A.," or the telegrapher's go
ahead, he pulled out a pencil to note down the message. The first words
the brass tongue of the instrument sounded to his startled ears were:
"I am O. K."--this was my telegraphic signal--"Who are you?"
He said he knew as quickly as the words "I am," were sounded, that it
was me at the key; but, in his present state of mind, could not resist
the feeling that he was about to communicate with a spirit, or the
ghost of his friend, but, as the sounder became silent, or paused for a
reply, he recovered himself, and answered nervously that he was my old
friend Gilson.
Then we had a long, confidential talk in whispers, as it were, over the
long wire, in which much that I have tried to relate in these pages was
briefly gone over, while I was, in turn, informed of all that had been
done and said during my absence.
Word was sent to my father and to my sweethearts and all my friends. As
I rose to leave the office, and turned to thank my old fraternal
companion for his kindness and courtesy, in giving me this opportunity
to at once converse with my home, he suggested to me that, as I had been
so grossly misrepresented, I ought to see the New York papers and have
my story properly given to the world.
At his request, I agreed to meet him at the office in the evening, when
he would take me to the different offices of newspapers with which he,
as manager of the Associated Press, had friendly relations, and
introduce me to the editors.
Leaving Mr. Porter, I found my way next to Rev. Henry Ward Beecher's
Church, in Brooklyn, as being one of the necessary things to do in New
York on a Sunday morning. Here I got a back seat, in a crowded gallery,
and, as I had not yet gotten over the tumbling and rolling sensations
experienced aboard our old tub of a ship, as I sat there and tried to
ogle the pretty girls in the choir over Mr. Beecher's pulpit, the whole
church persisted in rocking and rolling, precisely as the ship had been
doing for a week.
The rest of the day I put in sending notes and messages to Washington,
and to friends whom I had left at home, but many of whom, I now learned,
were out in the army, at different points.
In the evening, I met my friend according to appointment, and together
we called at the New York _Herald_ office, where I was pleasantly
welcomed as a "fruitful subject," and the shrewd city editor pumped me
thoroughly dry before he let me out of that chair by his desk.
From there we went to the New York _Tribune_, where the same procedure
was gone through but at somewhat greater length. The next morning,
which, if I remember rightly, was May 28th, 1861, these two New York
papers printed with bold head-lines a full account of my recent
adventure.
The _Tribune_, I think, published one of their war maps, in which was
located the different Rebel batteries, but in such a mixed-up way that I
was unable to understand it myself.
However, it satisfied the people, and for a single day I was a greater
hero in New York than Lieutenant Slemmer.
Luckily for me, perhaps, I was anxious to get back home to see my number
one girl, and got out of the city before I could be wholly spoiled.
When I got over to Philadelphia, where I had some old railroad friends,
upon whom I called for passes home, I was also quite a big fellow among
my former railroad associates, and the passes were furnished without a
question as to my claims or rights. Fortunately, I survived it all.
I reckon I should have first reported to the War Department, at
Washington, but at that particular time I was much more concerned about
what No. 1 would think of it all, than I was for the opinion of the War
Department, so I first reported to her, and the first words I heard
were:
"Why, I thought you were hung!"
What a deadener that was! The word _hung_ fell from her lips into my
heart like the dull, sickening thud of the dropping victim from the
scaffold. But this isn't to be a love story, so I must pass over some of
the most interesting little events in the career I am trying to
describe, although they supply the motive for many of the acts and
incidents which to all my friends seemed queer.
CHAPTER VII.
REPORTING TO THE SECRETARY OF WAR, AT WASHINGTON--ORDERED ON ANOTHER
SCOUT TO VIRGINIA--IN PATTERSON'S ARMY, IN VIRGINIA, BEFORE THE BATTLE
OF BULL RUN.
I was having such a pleasant time at my home and among my young friends,
that I took no thought of reporting to the officials of the War
Department, at Washington. One day we were advised by the papers that
Senator Andy Johnson, the famous Unionist of Tennessee, would pass
through our town on his way to the Capital. This was about the time of
the outbreak of the reign of terror in East Tennessee, and the sturdy
Senator, with many others of the same fearless build, had been forced to
flee for his life. But while he was a hunted fugitive when south of the
Ohio River, his progress through the loyal States to Washington was a
right royal one.
As will be recalled, Mr. Johnson had been my first friend in Washington,
and it was through my association with himself and Mr. Covode that I had
entered the service.
When the train rolled up to the station, I was the first to board the
car, and, in my rather boyish way, pushed unceremoniously through the
crowd to where the Senator was holding an impromptu reception. He
greeted me very kindly by a hearty shake, as he bade me sit down by him,
and as soon as he found an opportunity, in his half-laughing, fatherly
way, began to catechize the boy.
As I have previously said, up to the meeting with the Senator, I had
been entirely neglectful of my proper duty of reporting to the War
Department a formal account of my movements since leaving Washington. I
assumed that, in a general way, the newspaper comments, which were quite
flattering in the North, would be sufficient.
This fact, with the frank confession that I really felt myself under
greater obligations to a little girl, and was more willing to do her
bidding than that of the Secretary of War, explains another of my many
mistakes during the war.
When I told Senator Johnson that I had not heard from the War Department
since leaving Washington in March--it was early in June now--he said at
once:
"Why, you had better come right along with me to Washington. You ought
to be there now."
Just then the train began to move off; a friend standing near me who had
heard the Senator's suggestion, emphatically seconded it, by saying:
"Go on; now is your chance; you might be too late if you wait here
longer."
I had no opportunity to say good-by to my folks, my friends, or my
sweetheart; but went off as impulsively as before on a scouting campaign
that, in effect, lasted until the close of the war.
During that night's railroad ride over the Alleghany Mountains, as I sat
alongside Mr. Johnson, as we sped along the Juniata, I told him my
story. The Senator was an attentive listener, and, before going to
sleep, directed that I should at once put myself in communication with
the War Department, and refer the secretary to himself and Mr. Covode.
In those days I did not consider a berth in a sleeping-car a necessary
condition for a night's ride, but found an empty seat, curled my five
feet six and-a-half inches of body into three and-a-half feet of space,
and slept the sound sleep of youth, while the train rapidly rolled
through the darkness toward the sunrise and daylight.
On my arrival in Washington, I went directly to the Seventh Avenue
Hotel, located at the northeast corner of Seventh and Pennsylvania
avenues and Market space. This was Mr. Covode's quarters when in the
city.
The clerk directed me to the parlor, where Mr. Covode was at that moment
receiving a delegation.
Recognizing me at once, he collared me as a school-master would a truant
boy whom he had caught unexpectedly. I was pleasantly hauled across the
room and introduced to Mr. John W. Forney, as a "young man from our own
State who had been down amongst the Rebels, and they couldn't catch him;
and if they had, he wouldn't be here now.--Ha! ha!"
I found myself quite well known in Washington wherever introduced by Mr.
Covode and his friends. It will be remembered that Mr. Forney was then
a prominent newspaper man, and no doubt he found in the boy, who had
just returned from a trip through Rebel armies, quite an interesting
news source for his papers.
I had been compelled to go over my story so much that I really became
quite surfeited with the whole business, and was glad enough when
evening came, that I could go off alone and have a nice little time
around the corner at the "Canterberry." Every old soldier who spent a
day or night in Washington will laugh when he reads anything about the
"Canterberry." I confess that for a time I became so greatly interested
in the famous bouffe singer, Julia Mortimer, that I had nearly forgotten
No. 1, and was becoming quite indifferent in regard to my appointment or
business with the War Department.
I found that it was about as difficult as before I left the city for
Montgomery to obtain a private hearing with the Secretary.
Upon the suggestion of these friends, who had interested themselves in
me, I was advised to make my application personally to the Secretary of
War for a commission in the regular army; all agreed that this would be
about the proper thing to do, it being understood that, in case I should
secure this, which would be a permanency, that I could, of course, be
detailed in the customary way, on special staff duty, in the field,
where there would be opportunity for me to make some use of the
information I had obtained of the Southern country and their armies.
With this object in view, I called at the War Department one day in
company with Mr. Covode.
Mr. Cameron was, as usual, very busy. There were a great many persons
waiting their turn for an audience. Mr. Covode was admitted out of the
regular order, because he, being a Congressman, had stated to the
attendants, in his positive way, that his business was most urgent, and
that he _must_ see the Secretary. Mr. Cameron received us at first
rather gruffly, when he learned that the object of this visit was to
secure an office; but, upon being reminded of a former appeal and
promise, and my recent services being brought to his attention in Mr.
Covode's glowing style, the Secretary turned to me laughing, in his
quiet way, and said:
"Well, there's no doubt but that you have the pluck necessary for the
army."
Then turning to Mr. Covode, abruptly interrupting him, as if to ask a
question:
"We would like to find out just now what the Rebel Johnston is doing
down in front of Pennsylvania."
Covode was ready to change the subject, and follow the Secretary's lead,
and at once spoke for me:
"Well, here's the boy to find out all about it."
He didn't seem to think it necessary to consult me about the matter at
all. Mr. Cameron, looking at me quizzically, said:
"I will have you in mind, and get you _something_ as soon as I can find
a suitable place."
Then turning about, as the attendant brought in a message from another
urgent Congressman, he said, in an authoritative manner:
"Covode, you go to Army Headquarters and tell them I sent you there with
this young man. They can use him to advantage, perhaps. I will see you
again."
I wasn't exactly satisfied with this outlook. I had thought that I was
through with the spy business, and had no desire to undertake any more
lonely and isolated trips through the enemy's country.
Since my return I had found that nearly all the young fellows of my
acquaintance were either in the army, or about to enter it, and I had
naturally imbibed the military fever which prevailed at this time. I
reckon every one of us expected, as a matter of course, to become
colonels or generals in short order, for gallant service in front of the
enemy, so it was not at all to my liking that I was being steered in the
direction of the rear of the Rebel lines again.
In my case, it was a doubly-dangerous undertaking, as I had so recently
been well advertised all over the South in their papers, and was, of
course, liable to be recognized and hung as a spy if I should be
captured any place in their lines. As I walked with Mr. Covode from the
old War Department Building I said something to him about my misgivings,
but in his hearty way he assured me by saying: "Oh, this isn't going to
last long." And then in a confidential manner he said: "Old Simon wants
to find out something; you just go ahead and do as he wants you to, and
it will be all right."
When we reached Army Headquarters we encountered a sentry on duty at
the door--a soldier of the regular army, who did not show Mr. Covode any
particular attention, not recognizing a Congressman in his rough
exterior. After some dilly-dallying we were admitted to the presence of
a military-looking fellow whose name I can not recall. Mr. Covode
introduced himself, and presented me as being sent by the Secretary of
War. This announcement at once seemed to put the officer in a better
humor with himself and his callers. Mr. Covode brusquely stated his
business; the officer attentively listened and sharply eyed me while Mr.
Covode went through with his story about my services at Pensacola.
"Does the Secretary want to procure any information as to General
Patterson's movements?"
(It will be remembered that at this time General Patterson was being
urged by the War Department to make a demonstration on Johnston, to
prevent him reinforcing Beauregard at Manassas.)
Mr. Covode answered: "We want all the information we can get from all
quarters, and he can get it too."
The officer said, smilingly: "Oh yes, of course; the young man is in the
secret service of the War Department."
Returning to the Secretary's office for some written authority to
present to General Patterson, we were directed by Mr. Cameron to one of
the clerks, who, after a short private conversation between Mr. Covode
and Mr. Cameron, was authorized to prepare a note of introduction. As he
handed the official envelope to me, he took occasion to observe, in a
very pleasant way:
"I would suggest that this young man should not permit any persons to
become acquainted with his business; the department prefers to hear from
their special agents in confidence, and _not through the newspapers_."
This hint given in this pleasant manner, I did not forget in following
months or years.
To my friend and tutelar saint, Mr. Covode, I again expressed my doubts
about any secret service, after returning from our brief interview with
Mr. Secretary-of-War Cameron and the official at Army Headquarters. Mr.
Covode apparently agreed with my conclusions, saying, as he reached for
the official-looking letter which the War Department clerk had given me,
and that I hesitatingly held in my hand: "Lets see that letter."
Putting on his old-fashioned round-eyed spectacles, he read half aloud,
in his deliberate way, as if studying out some hidden meaning:
"This will introduce to you Mr. O. K., a young man who has
gained some personal knowledge of the plans of the Rebels, and
who, I hope, may be of service to you in the same direction,
etc.
(Signed), "SIMON CAMERON, _Secretary of War_."
He read it over a second time, and then looking at me, as if he had
suddenly solved a problem said: "Didn't he tell you to report _direct_
to the War Department?"
"Yes," I remembered that I was advised to report to the War Department
first and not to the newspapers.
"Well," says Mr. Covode, "that's all right; you go up there and find
Patterson and present that letter, and he will give you authority to go
wherever you please, and you let us know here what's going on."
When I left the old man, I ventured a word as to my prospects for a
commission in the regular army, to which he gave the usual answer: "Oh,
that's all right," and added--
"Come and see me to-morrow and I'll give you some more letters to some
friends in Patterson's army."
After a restless night, I was early at Mr. Covode's room receiving a
pleasant good-morning. He said in a confidential whisper, but which was
loud enough for any person to have heard had we not been alone in the
room:
"I saw some of those people last night, and it is all right." That
wasn't very great encouragement to be sure, but, he added with a
significant wink, "You go up there at once and find out all you can, and
report _to me_ what's going on, particularly if there are any Rebels
going to attack Patterson's army," and he added, again with emphasis,
"Report to me here, quick as you can."
"Yes, but this letter is to report to General Patterson."
"That's all right; you are to report direct to the War Department, too."
I began to feel considerably mixed up by these contradictory
instructions, but all the satisfaction I could get from Mr. C.
was--"That's all right," to which he added, as I was leaving, "You tell
me all you can find out, and I'll make it all right at the War
Department."
As this letter had been prepared and signed by a clerk in the War
Department, the penmanship was, of course, in the regulation
copper-plate style, wholly unlike the former endorsement that I had
received in Mr. Cameron's own handwriting.
Though Patterson's army was in the neighborhood of Harper's Ferry and
Williamsport, Maryland, about fifty miles distant in a direct route from
Washington, I concluded that, with such a recommendation in my
possession, the furthest way round might be the nearest way home; I
would not risk the capture of that note by taking a short cut, so I made
a safe detour, going due north to Baltimore and Harrisburg, Pa., distant
over a hundred miles; thence I came back southwest through the
beautiful Cumberland Valley to Chambersburg and Hagerstown, about
seventy-five or eighty miles more ground.
Here I was almost literally dumped from the car into the midst of
General Patterson's army--a lively host of the gallant and patriotic
boys who had rushed to arms at the first call of President Lincoln for
the three-months men.
There have been books upon books published giving the history of this
campaign, any one of which probably contains a more satisfactory
description of the camp-life of those days than I would be able to give
here. This effort is necessarily a personal, and, to some extent a
private history only, of the campaigns of an individual scout, but I may
be indulged in the hope that some of the old boys, who will take the
trouble to follow me in these wanderings, may have been among those who
were in camp near Hagerstown along in June and July, 1861. With what
tenacity the mind clings to the remembrance of those early days of the
great war.
I recall, as if it were but yesterday, this first hunt through the
different camps for "Headquarters."
Jolly soldiers were to be found everywhere, either walking about the
roads in hilarious squads, or assembled in groups under the shade of
trees by the roadside, or perhaps crowding the porches and occupying all
the chairs in the neighboring houses. In after years, when
provost-marshals and camp-guards were established, the sky-larking was
not so common, and the crowds, then, were usually to be seen only around
some spring or well of water.
I recall now with amusement how ignorant some of the three-month boys of
'61 were about their own army-headquarters. Many to whom I applied for
information about the location of headquarters, referred me severally,
to their own colonels, while one young officer, I remember, pointed to a
mounted officer just riding past as the "General's Assistant."
I tramped through miles of dust that hot afternoon before I could get
onto General Patterson's track, and, when I finally discovered
headquarters, I learned that the General with some of his aides were
attending a dinner-party in the town and could not be seen before the
next day.
I did not deliver my letter of introduction to the officer, who I
thought at the time rather impudently demanded to know my business with
the General, but merely told him that I should call again to see the
General.
Having tried to perform a duty, and attended to business first, I set
about enjoying the holiday which it seemed to me the boys were having
all around. How like a circus it all seemed; some of the scenes then
enacted might be compared to that of a country fair, at which there was
being held, as an additional attraction to the country people, a militia
muster or a prize drill, such as we see now when the State troops
assemble one week in summer for their annual camp and drill. There was
so much free and easy mixture of civilians and ladies with the
soldiers--especially the officers--all were being constantly stirred up
by the bands, that seemed to break forth in melody from every grove.
There was, of course, the dust on the roads; the processions of thirsty
crowds to and from the springs or wells; it all seems now like an
immense picnic. Dear me, what bass drums there were in General
Patterson's army; wasn't there one to each company? The old-fashioned
bass drum, too, as big as a barn door, and noisy in proportion, and to
which was usually assigned the biggest fellow in the company the duty of
beating on both sides.
A Rebel officer once told me that they were able to estimate the
strength of McDowell's army before Manassas by the beating of bass drums
at parades each evening.
Along about sundown the usual preparations were made in all the camps
for the dress parade--the great feature of the day--which was being
witnessed by hundreds, and perhaps thousands, of ladies, old men, and
children, who would drive out from the town and surrounding country for
miles to witness it, to the delight of the soldiers. What a beautiful
sight, in June, 1861, was a full regiment of 1,000 freshly-uniformed,
healthy, fresh men in line on dress parade, with their gayly-attired
officers (staff and line), going through the "retreat" with fine musical
accompaniment. How smart the adjutant was, and what a tremendous fellow
the drum-major! On Sunday evenings, at this parade, the chaplain took a
hand in the drill, making a prayer, while the long line of the full
regiment stood at "parade rest," uncovered, with heads bowed, their
little fatigue caps being placed on the muzzle of the gun; the band
played "Old Hundred," and perhaps a chorus of a thousand male voices
sung the soul-thrilling melody of the grand old tune, which is sung in
Heaven. So it was in front of Hagerstown in June or July, 1861.
It was the fortune of war for me to be with the Army of the Potomac
again before Hagerstown in July, 1863--a week after the battle of
Gettysburg. But--ah, yes--the conditions were sadly changed; scarcely a
brigade of that army could muster then as many men as were in each
regiment in 1861. There were no visitors in camp; not a lady was to be
seen, except, perhaps, the hospital attendants, and the music was
confined to the tiresome routine of the "Reveille," "Tattoo" and "Taps."
My first day in General Patterson's army was so full of new and
soul-stirring sensations, as compared with the same experiences in the
rebel lines, that I was all in a ferment, and forgot about being tired,
hungry and worn out, until the evening parades were all over, and the
soldiers began to prepare their camp suppers.
While trudging wearily back to the town, some miles distant, to find
some supper and a bed, I had the opportunity to reflect seriously in my
own mind over the work that I had undertaken.
I wondered to myself if there were not Rebel spies in our army there. It
occurred to me at once that there were no obstacles for them to
overcome--the entire camp was free; everybody was welcomed
indiscriminately to the camp by the good-hearted soldiers; and officers
were only too eager to talk with every caller about all they knew of the
plans and strength of their own army. This, notwithstanding we were then
encamped in Maryland, among a people who, if not openly hostile to our
cause, were generally in sympathy with the secessionists, whose army was
within fighting distance and communication with their headquarters was
only a question of an hour or so.
Our officers and soldiers had certainly taken Hagerstown, Md., as I
found to my disgust when I reached the hotel after dark, finding every
bed and every corner of the old tavern was literally in possessions of
our forces, though, through the kindly interest of a citizen, I was
luckily provided with half a bed in a private house. Of course I slept
well, except that I was disturbed by a horrid nightmare. I had somehow
been transformed into a big brass drum, which a brawny fellow insisted
upon pounding upon my stomach, which probably hadn't succeeded in
digesting the cold supper.
The first thing next morning was to try and find General Patterson. My
experience of the previous day enabled me to steer in a straight course
this time, so I was not long in getting to headquarters; but seeing
General Patterson was not such an easy matter. His staff officers
volunteered to attend to business for their General, but I wouldn't, of
course, allow _any_ person to learn the character of my business. It was
only after I had written a note, stating that I had a letter from the
Secretary of War which I desired to present personally, that I was
permitted to approach the Commander.
I need not describe the old Philadelphia militia General. He had, as is
well-known, achieved some distinction during the Mexican War, and since
that had enjoyed a life of leisure in his native city, where he had, by
means of his wealth and accomplishments, become connected with the
aristocratic families of the Quaker City. He was, besides, a patron of
the military and the clubs; and being so favorably endorsed by prominent
people of the state, he was selected to command the troops of
Pennsylvania, then operating against General Joe Johnston of the rebel
army.
After some further delay, I was admitted to the presence of the old
general, who, I imagined, was surprised at my youthful appearance and
wondered that I had the temerity to beard such a grim old soldier as
himself in his den.
There were several other officers present, and also two gentlemen in
civilian's dress, one of whom was quite an elderly-looking gentleman
while his companion was a young fellow, whose appearance struck me at
once as being that of a Southerner. While General Patterson read my note
of introduction from the Secretary of War, I embraced the opportunity to
more closely observe the visitors, who were being entertained so
pleasantly by the officers.
I quickly gathered from the conversation that the elderly gentleman was
applying to our officers for some protection from our own soldiers, for
his property. He probably owned some cherry trees in the neighborhood of
the camp, or, perhaps, it may have been that the soldiers insisted on
using some of the water from an overflowing spring somewhere on his
ground. Whatever it was, he was receiving from the staff officers quite
emphatic assurances that he should receive all the protection he wanted,
and, moreover, the men guilty of trespassing on his ground should be
severely punished. The young fellow whom I assumed to be the son had
nothing to say.
After General Patterson had finished reading the note, he turned, and,
after looking me all over, through his glasses, as if I was some kind of
a curiosity who stood meekly and innocently before him, said: "Why, take
a seat." Then, turning to one of his aides, he said something in an
undertone as he handed him the letter. The aide, after reading it
carefully, stepped up to me and pleasantly but coolly invited me
outside, when he said: "The General requests that you will come to his
quarters this evening."
This wasn't exactly satisfactory to me, but I was glad enough to get
from the presence of the General's visitors, because I was apprehensive
that something might be said in their hearing that would identify me as
a scout.
My visit to General Patterson occurred about the time that General Joe
Johnston was manoeuvering in his front, with the object of getting away
from him to reinforce Beauregard at Manassas, in anticipation of the
impending battle there. Our Washington officials were uneasy as to the
outcome of this movement, and had been almost daily urging General
Patterson to make some demonstration in front of Johnston that would
prevent his leaving for Manassas.
Though I did not know it at the time, I have since learned that the War
Department, at Washington, while they would not employ scouts themselves
over the head of the Commander of the department, yet were willing
enough to avail themselves of the information of the scout who could
make his reports in an unofficial manner, through Mr. Covode, without
compromising the courtesy or etiquette of the War Office.
The whole country seemed to be alive with soldiers, all in a jolly good
humor, nicely dressed, well fed. Their camps were models of tent life.
There did not seem to me to be any preparation whatever for marching to
meet the enemy.
There was an immense amount of talk about what they intended to do.
General Patterson's army did move, of course; but--Well, to go on with
my story: I was most anxious to do something great myself, being so
filled with military ardor by the bass drums; perhaps the probability of
the war being closed before I should have the pleasure of participating
in a real fight with guns, was more constantly before my mind than any
other danger.
It seemed a long wait until evening, when I could again see General
Patterson, and unfold to him a plan I had formulated, to go inside the
Rebel lines that very night, and before morning find out, from a visit
to General Johnston's army, what he was likely to do. In my youthful
ardor I hoped I could return to General Patterson before breakfast time,
that he might have the fight that same day before dinner.
These were the wild feelings that were swelling in my breast when I
approached headquarters to meet General Patterson's appointment. I
walked boldly up to a group of officers who were loafing around
headquarters; a sentry challenged me; nothing daunted, I pointed to one
of the group--the same officer who had directed me to call--and asked to
see him.
My running into the sentry had made some little commotion, which served
to call the attention of the officer, who recognized me and ordered the
guard to allow me to pass. Meeting me half way, we walked to one side. I
believe this officer was Fitz-John Porter, who was then
chief-of-staff--I am not positive; anyway, I was courteously received,
and, after being seated, was put through a course of cross-examination
as to my recent experience in the south, pretty much--as I now recall
it--after the manner of a witness in his own defense.
Being satisfied that General Patterson had referred the whole subject to
this officer for his action, I told him briefly and pointedly that I was
willing and ready to undertake the service I proposed, and believed that
it was possible to ascertain the movements, and perhaps the plans of
General Johnston; that I could at least gather from their telegraph
communications to Richmond and Manassas the purport of any instructions
which were, of course, being sent to Johnston in that way over the
wires. I was perfectly willing, for the good of the cause, to undertake
the dangerous service of getting back through the lines with the
information.
Whatever may have been thought of the feasibility or propriety of this
project, Mr. Porter could scarcely have doubted my motive, but he
apparently looked upon me as a youthful enthusiast, or, as we term it
nowadays, a crank. He said:
"The General is not disposed to make much use of the service of scouts;
he thinks it altogether unnecessary in this instance."
If Fitz-John Porter had dashed a bucket of cold water in my face, it
would not at the time have had a more chilling effect than his few hard
words he uttered in this contemptible manner.
My proposition was not visionary, but entirely practical, and I venture
now the opinion that had the service been accepted in the proper spirit
it is possible that the despised spy might have brought to his shiftless
headquarters some reliable information of Johnston's proposed movement
to Manassas, which might have prevented his escape, and thus have turned
the tide of battle at Bull Run, which followed soon after the interview.
It is likely that the headquarters of the army were a little
over-sensitive on account of the well-known or the imagined interference
or meddling of the Washington authorities with their military
prerogatives. It has been fully explained in the "Century" history,
(since this story was first told) that General Scott, through the proper
channels, had been for days urging General Patterson to look carefully
after Johnston, and to prevent at all hazards his junction with
Beauregard.
The urgency of the Washington officials, taken in connection with the
letter I brought from the Secretary and Mr. Covode, may perhaps have
caused them to infer that they were considered neglectful and needed
some prompting and investigation; perhaps it may have been thought that
I had been sent out as a spy in their own camps. Any way, I was not a
willing party to any such schemes; my only object and desire was to
accomplish something for the benefit of the cause, and in this I had not
a thought of myself.
Returning sorrowfully and with my heart laden with disappointment to my
bed, I pondered long before sleeping as to my proper course. The longer
I considered all the circumstances connected with my being sent up
there, I realized more clearly the real meaning of Covode's words:
"Old Simon wants to find out something; you go ahead," and the repeated
hints to report "direct," came back to me with a greater significance
than when uttered by Mr. Covode in Washington.
My humiliating reception at headquarters had deeply affected my rather
sensitive feelings on the spy question. I had decided in my own mind to
return to Washington at once; but after reflection, while on my bed,
there was a revulsion of feeling from humiliation to anger; and, after
taking all things into consideration, I decided for myself, without
consulting any one, that I should, on my own responsibility and without
aid from our own officers, pass through our lines, enter the rebel
lines, ascertain their plans, and go direct via Manassas to Washington,
and report _personally_ to the Secretary of War.
CHAPTER VIII.
A NIGHT'S SCOUT IN JOHNSTON'S ARMY--REBEL SIGNALS--VISITORS FROM THE
UNION ARMY HEADQUARTERS REPORT TO REBEL HEADQUARTERS--GENERAL J. E.
JOHNSTON'S ESCAPE TO BEAUREGARD REPORTED TO GENERAL PATTERSON--FITZ-JOHN
PORTER RESPONSIBLE FOR THE FIRST BATTLE OF BULL RUN, AS HE WAS
CASHIERED FOR THAT OF THE SECOND BULL RUN--AN IMPORTANT CONTRIBUTION TO
THE WAR HISTORY OF THE TIME--THE STORY SINCE CONFIRMED BY THE "CENTURY"
HISTORIANS OF LINCOLN, SECRETARIES NICOLAY AND HAY.
In the morning I mailed a hastily-written note to Mr. Covode relating
briefly the result of the interview with General Patterson's principal
aide, and stating further that I would return to Washington via the
Rebel lines at Manassas, and report "direct" on my arrival.
I hunted up in one of the regiments a former acquaintance, who had some
knowledge of my Fort Pickens adventures through the papers. As our talk
naturally turned in this channel, he expressed a lively desire to engage
with me in any further undertakings of this character, and, before we
parted, it was mutually agreed that, if the arrangements could be made,
we should travel together as scouts.
I told my chum of my intention of going to Washington via Winchester and
Manassas, and suggested that he secure permission from his colonel to go
part of the way along; that he might return with any important
information that we should gather, while I should go on through to
Washington. It was agreed that he should be granted a leave of absence
for a certain time, but he was cautioned by all his friends not to
follow my lead, as it would surely result in his getting hanged. The
warnings served only to increase his anxiety to get started on a real
adventure.
As we could not get authority from our officers to go outside of our
lines, it was necessary that we should run the gauntlet of both the
picket-lines; our own were in sight and could probably be easily
managed, but we did not know anything whatever about the other.
[ILLUSTRATION: WE HASTILY DRESSED AND RAN BACK FROM THE BANK.]
I proposed that we should make the crossing of the river early in the
evening under pretence of bathing, swim to the other side of the river
with our clothes concealed in bushes held above the water. We were to
assume the character of Baltimore refugees desirous of entering the
rebel army. With this plan matured, and all the little minor points
agreed upon between us in case of capture or separation, we were both
eager for the night to come, that we might start upon the journey.
We both studied the Virginia landscape carefully during all of daylight,
and when evening began to draw its shadows around the hills and trees
our hearts beat quicker, in anticipation of the forthcoming adventure.
After sundown we joined a crowd who ha
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