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.