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.

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