The reveille of the Zouaves, note for note the same as that
which, in the Crimea, so often woke up poor fellows who slept the long sleep
ere nightfall, roused us this morning early, and then the clang of trumpets and
the roll of drums beating French calls summoned the volunteers to early parade.
As there was a heavy dew, and many winged things about last night, I turned in
to my berth below, where four human beings were supposed to lie in layers, like
mummies beneath a pyramid, and there, after contention with cockroaches, sank
to rest. No wonder I was rather puzzled to know where I was now; for in
addition to the music and the familiar sounds outside, I was somewhat perturbed
in my mental calculations by bringing my head sharply in contact with a beam of
the deck which had the best of it; but, at last, facts accomplished themselves
and got into place, much aided by the appearance of the negro cook with a cup
of coffee in his hand, who asked, “Mosieu! Capitaine vant to ax vedder you take
some bitter, sar! Lisbon bitter, sar.” I saw the captain on deck busily engaged
in the manufacture of a liquid which I was adjured by all the party on deck to
take, if I wished to make a Redan or a Malakoff of my stomach, and accordingly
I swallowed a petit verve of a very strong, and intensely bitter
preparation of brandy and tonic roots, sweetened with sugar, for which Mobile
is famous.
The noise of our arrival had gone abroad; haply the report
of the good things with which the men of Mobile had laden the craft, for a few
officers came aboard even at that early hour, and we asked two who were known
to our friends to stay for breakfast. That meal, to which the negro cook
applied his whole mind and all the galley, consisted of an ugly looking but well-flavored
fish from the waters outside us, fried ham and onions, biscuit, coffee, iced
water and Bordeaux, served with charming simplicity, and no way calculated to
move the ire of Horace by a display of Persic apparatus.
A more greasy, oniony meal was never better enjoyed. One of
our guests was a jolly Yorkshire farmer-looking man, up to about 16 stone
weight, with any hounds, dressed in a tunic of green baize or frieze, with
scarlet worsted braid down the front, gold lace on the cuffs and collar, and a felt
wide-awake, with a bunch of feathers in it. He wiped the sweat off his brow,
and swore that he would never give in, and that the whole of the company of
riflemen whom he commanded, if not as heavy, were quite as patriotic. He was
evidently a kindly affectionate man, without a trace of malice in his
composition, but his sentiments were quite ferocious when he came to speak of
the Yankees. He was a large slave-owner, and therefore a man of fortune, and he
spoke with all the fervor of a capitalist menaced by a set of Red Republicans.
His companion, who wore a plain blue uniform, spoke sensibly
about a matter with which sense has rarely any thing to do — namely uniform.
Many of the United States volunteers adopt the same gray colors so much in
vogue among the Confederates. The officers of both armies wear similar distinguishing
marks of rank, and he was quite right in supposing that in night marches, or in
serious actions on a large scale, much confusion and loss would be caused by
men of the same army firing on each other, or mistaking enemies for friends.
Whilst we were talking, large shoals of mullet and other
fish were flying before the porpoises, red fish, and other enemies, in the
tide-way astern of the schooner. Once, as a large white fish came leaping up to
the surface, a gleam of something still whiter shot through the waves, and a
boiling whirl, tinged with crimson, which gradually melted off in the tide,
marked where the fish had been.
“There's a ground sheark as has got his breakfast,” quoth
the Skipper. “There's quite a many of them about here.” Now and then a turtle
showed his head, exciting desiderium tam cari captis, above the envied
flood which he honored with his presence.
Far away toward Pensacola, floated three British ensigns,
from as many merchantmen, which as yet had fifteen days to clear out from the
blockaded port. Fort Pickens had hoisted the stars and stripes to the wind, and
Fort M'Rae, as if to irritate its neighbor, displayed a flag almost identical,
but for the “lone star,” which the glass detected instead of the ordinary
galaxy — the star of Florida.
Lieutenant Ellis, General Bragg's aide-de-camp, came on
board at an early hour in order to take me round the works, and I was soon on
the back of the General's charger, safely ensconced between the raised pummel
and cantle of a great brass-bound saddle, with emblazoned saddle-cloth and
mighty stirrups of brass, fit for the fattest marshal that ever led an army of
France to victory; but General Bragg is longer in the leg than the Duke of
Malakoff or Marshal Canrobert, and all my efforts to touch with my toe the
wonderful supports which, in consonance with the American idea, dangled far
beneath, were ineffectual.
As our road lay by head-quarters, the aide-de-camp took me
into the court and called out “Orderly;” and at the summons a smart
soldier-like young fellow came to the front, took me three holes up, and as I
was riding away touched his cap and said, “I beg your pardon, sir, but I often
saw you in the Crimea.” He had been in the 11th Hussars, and on the day of
Balaklava he was following close to Lord Cardigan and Captain Nolan, when his
horse was killed by a round shot. As he was endeavoring to escape on foot the
Cossacks took him prisoner, and he remained for eleven months in captivity in
Russia, till he was exchanged at Odessa, toward the close of the war; then,
being one of two sergeants who were permitted to get their discharge, he left
the service. “But here you are again,” said I, “soldiering once more, and
merely acting as an orderly!” “Well, that's true enough, but I came over here,
thinking to better myself as some of our fellows did, and then the war broke
out, and I entered one of what they called their cavalry regiments — Lord bless
you, sir, it would just break your heart to see them — and here I am now, and
the general has made me an orderly. He is a kind man, sir, and the pay is good,
but they are not like the old lot; I do not know what my lord would think of
them.” The man's name was Montague, and he told me his father lived “at a place
called Windsor,” twenty-one miles from London. Lieutenant Ellis said he was a
very clean, smart, well-conducted soldier.
From head-quarters we started on our little tour of
inspection of the batteries. Certainly, any thing more calculated to shake
confidence in American journalism could not be seen; for I had been led to
believe that the works were of the most formidable description, mounting
hundreds of guns. Where hundreds was written, tens would have been nearer the
truth.
I visited ten out of the thirteen batteries which General
Bragg has erected against Fort Pickens. I saw but five heavy siege guns in the
whole of the works among the fifty or fifty-five pieces with which they were
armed. There may be about eighty altogether on the lines, which describe an arc
of 135 degrees for about three miles round Pickens, at an average distance of a
mile and one third. I was rather interested with Fort Barrancas, built by the
Spaniards long ago — an old work on the old plan, weakly armed, but possessing
a tolerable command from the face of fire.
In all the batteries there were covered galleries in the rear,
connected with the magazines, and called “rat-holes,” intended by the
constructors as a refuge for the men whenever a shell from Pickens dropped in.
The rush to the rat-hole does not impress one as being very conducive to a
sustained and heavy fire, or at all likely to improve the morale of the
gunners. The working parties, as they were called — volunteers from Mississippi
and Alabama, great long-bearded fellows in flannel shirts and slouched hats,
uniformless in all save brightly burnished arms and resolute purpose — were
lying about among the works, or contributing languidly to their completion.
Considerable improvements were in the course of execution;
but the officers were not always agreed as to the work to be done. Captain A.,
at the wheelbarrows: “Now then, you men, wheel up these sand-bags, and range
them just at this corner.” Major B.: “My good Captain A., what do you want the
bags there for? Did I not tell you, these merlons were not to be finished till
we had completed the parapet on the front?” Captain A.: “Well, Major, so you
did, and your order made me think you knew darned little about your business;
and so I am going to do a little engineering of my own.”
Altogether, I was quite satisfied General Bragg was
perfectly correct in refusing to open big fire on Fort Pickens and on the
fleet, which ought certainly to have knocked his works about his ears, in spite
of his advantages of position, and of some well-placed mortar batteries among
the brushwood, at distances from Pickens of 2500 and 2800 yards. The magazines
of the batteries I visited did not contain ammunition for more than one day's
ordinary firing. The shot were badly cast, with projecting flanges from the
mould, which would be very injurious to soft metal guns in firing. As to men,
as in guns, the Southern papers had lied consumedly. I could not say how many
were in Pensacola itself, for I did not visit the camp: at the outside guess of
the numbers there was 2000. I saw, however, all the camps here, and I doubt
exceedingly if General Bragg — who at this time is represented to have any
number from 30,000 to 50,000 men under his command — has 8000 troops to support
his batteries, or 10,000, including Pensacola, all told.
If hospitality consists in the most liberal participation of
all the owner has with his visitors, here, indeed, Philemon has his type in
every tent. As we rode along through every battery, by every officer's quarters
some great Mississippian or Alabamian came forward with “Captain Ellis, I am
glad to see you.” “Colonel,” to me, “won't you get down and have a drink?” Mr.
Ellis duly introduces me. The Colonel with effusion grasps my hand and says, as
if he had just gained the particular object of his existence, “Sir, I am very
glad indeed to know you. I hope you have been pretty well since you have been
in our country, sir. Here, Pompey, take the colonel's horse. “Step in, sir, and
have a drink.” Then comes out the great big whiskey bottle, and an immense
amount of adhesion to the first law of nature is required to get you off with
less than half-a-pint of “Bourbon;” but the most trying thing to a stranger is
the fact that when he is going away, the officer, who has been so delighted to
see him, does not seem to care a farthing for his guest or his health.
The truth is, these introductions are ceremonial
observances, and compliances with the universal curiosity of Americans to know
people they meet. The Englishman bows frigidly to his acquaintance on the first
introduction, and if he likes him shakes hands with him on leaving — a much
more sensible and justifiable proceeding. The American's warmth at the first
interview must be artificial, and the indifference at parting is ill-bred and
in bad taste. I had already observed this on many occasions, especially at
Montgomery, where I noticed it to Colonel Wigfall, but the custom is not
incompatible with the most profuse hospitality, nor with the desire to render
service.
On my return to head-quarters I found General Bragg in his
room, engaged in writing an official letter in reply to my request to be
permitted to visit Fort Pickens, in which he gave me full permission to do as I
pleased. Not only this, but he had prepared a number of letters of introduction
to the military authorities, and to his personal friends at New Orleans,
requesting them to give me every facility and friendly assistance in their
power. He asked me my opinion about the batteries and their armament, which I
freely gave him quantum valeat. “Well,” he said, “I think your
conclusions are pretty just; but, nevertheless, some fine day I shall be forced
to try the mettle of our friends on the opposite side.” All I could say was, “May
God defend the right.” “A good saying, to which I say, Amen. And drink with you
to it.”
There was a room outside, full of generals and colonels, to
whom I was duly introduced, but the time for departure had come, and I bade
good-by to the general and rode down in the wrharf. I had always heard,
during my brief sojourn in the North, that the Southern people were exceedingly
illiterate and ignorant. It may be so, but I am bound to say that I observed a
large proportion of the soldiers, on their way to the navy yard, engaged in
reading newspapers, though they did not neglect the various drinking bars and
exchanges, which were only too numerous in the vicinity of the camps.
The schooner was all ready for sea, but the Mobile gentleman
had gone off to Pensacola, and as I did not desire to invite them to visit Fort
Pickens — where, indeed, they would have most likely met with a refusal — I
resolved to sail without them and to return to the navy yard in the evening, in
order to take them back on our homeward voyage. “Now then, captain, cast loose;
we are going to Fort Pickens.” The worthy seaman had by this time become
utterly at sea, and did not appear to know whether he belonged to the
Confederate States, Abraham Lincoln, or the British navy. But this order roused
him a little, and looking at me with all his eyes, he exclaimed, “Why, you
don't mean to say you are going to make me bring the Diana alongside that
darned Yankee Fort!” Our table-cloth, somewhat maculated with gravy, was
hoisted once more to the peak, and, after some formalities between the
guardians of the jetty and ourselves, the schooner canted round in the tideway,
and with a fine light breeze ran down toward the stars and stripes.
What magical power there is in the colors of a piece of
bunting! My companions, I dare say, felt as proud of their flag as if their
ancestors had fought under it at Acre or Jerusalem. And yet how fictitious its
influence! Death, and dishonor worse than death, to desert it one day!
Patriotism and glory to leave it in the dust, and fight under its rival, the
next! How indignant would George Washington have been, if the Frenchman at Fort
du Quesne had asked him to abandon the old rag which Braddock held aloft in the
wilderness, and to serve under the very fieur-de-lys which the same great
George hailed with so much joy but a few years afterwards, when it was advanced
to the front at Yorktown, to win one of its few victories over the Lions and
the Harp. And in this Confederate flag there is a meaning which cannot die — it
marks the birthplace of a new nationality, and its place must know it forever.
Even the flag of a rebellion leaves indelible colors in the political
atmosphere. The hopes that sustained it may vanish in the gloom of night, but
the national faith still believes that its sun will rise on some glorious
morrow. Hard must it be for this race, so arrogant, so great, to see stripe and
star torn from the fair standard with which they would fain have shadowed all
the kingdoms of the world; but their great continent is large enough for many
nations.
“And now,” said the skipper, “I think we'd best lie to —
them cussed Yankees on the beach is shouting to us.” And so they were. A sentry
on the end of a wooden jetty sung out, “Hallo you there! Stand off or I'll
fire,” and “drew a bead-line on us.” At the same time the skipper hailed, “Please
to send a boat off to go ashore.” “No, sir! Come in your own boat!” cried the
officer of the guard. Our own boat! A very skiff of Charon! Leaky, rotten,
lop-sided. We were a hundred yards from the beach, and it was to be hoped that
with all its burden, it could not go down in such a short row. As I stepped in,
however, followed by my two companions, the water flew in as if forced by a
pump, and when the sailors came after us the skipper said, through a mouthful
of juice, “Deevid! pull your hardest, for there an't a more terrible place for shearks
along the whole coast.” Deevid and his friend pulled like men, and our hopes
rose with the water in the boat and the decreasing distance to shore. They worked
like Doggett's badgers, and in five minutes we were out of “sheark” depth and
alongside the jetty, where Major Vogdes, Mr. Brown, of the Oriental, and an
officer, introduced as Captain Barry of the United States artillery, were waiting
to receive us. Major Vogdes said that Colonel Brown would most gladly permit me
to go over the fort, but that he could not receive any of the other gentlemen
of the party; they were permitted to wander about at their discretion.. Some
friends whom they picked up amongst the officers took them on a ride along the
island, which is merely a sand-bank covered with coarse vegetation, a few
trees, and pools of brackish water.
If I were selecting a summer habitation I should certainly
not choose Fort Pickens. It is, like all other American works I have seen,
strong on the sea faces and weak toward the land. The outer gate was closed,
but at a talismanic knock from Captain Barry, the wicket was thrown open by the
guard, and we passed through a vaulted gallery into the parade-ground, which
was full of men engaged in strengthening the place, and digging deep pits in
the centre as shell traps. The men were United States regulars, not comparable
in physique to the Southern volunteers, but infinitely superior in cleanliness
and soldierly smartness. The officer on duty led me to one of the angles of the
fort and turned in to a covered way, which had been ingeniously contrived by
tilting up gun platforms and beams of wood at an angle against the wall, and
piling earth and sand banks against them for several feet in thickness. The
casemates, which otherwise would have been exposed to a plunging fire in the
rear, were thus effectually protected.
Emerging from this dark passage I entered one of the
bomb-proofs, fitted up as a bed-room, and thence proceeded to the casemate, in
which Colonel Harvey Browne has his head-quarters. After some conversation, he
took me out upon the parapet and went all over the defences.
Fort Pickens is an oblique, and somewhat narrow parallelogram,
with one obtuse angle facing the sea and the other toward the land. The bastion
at the acute angle toward Barrancas is the weakest part of the work, and men
were engaged in throwing up an extempore glacis to cover the wall and the
casemates from fire. The guns were of what is considered small calibre in these
days, 32 and 42 pounders, with four or five heavy columbiads. An immense amount
of work has been done within the last three weeks, but as yet the preparations
are by no means complete. From the walls, which are made of a hard baked brick,
nine feet in thickness, there is a good view of the enemy's position. There is
a broad ditch round the work, now dry, and probably not intended for water. The
cuvette has lately been cleared out, and in proof of the agreeable nature of
the locality, the officers told me that sixty very fine rattle-snakes were
killed by the workmen during the operation.
As I was looking at the works from the wall, Captain Yogdes
made a sly remark now and then, blinking his eyes and looking closely at my
face to see if he could extract any information. “There are the quarters of
your friend General Bragg; he pretends, we hear, that it is an hospital, but we
will soon have him out when we open fire.” “Oh, indeed.” “That's their best
battery beside the light-house; we can't well make out whether there are ten,
eleven, or twelve guns in it.” Then Captain Vogdes became quite meditative, and
thought aloud, “Well, I'm sure, Colonel, they've got a strong entrenched camp
in that wood behind their morter batteries. I'm quite sure of it — we must look
to that with our long range guns.” What the engineer saw, must have been
certain absurd little furrows in the sand, which the Confederates have thrown
up about three feet in front of their tents, but whether to carry off or to
hold rain water, or as cover for rattle-snakes, the best judge cannot
determine.
The Confederates have been greatly delighted with the idea
that Pickens will be almost untenable during the summer for the United States
troops, on account of the heat and mosquitos, not to speak of yellow fever; but
in fact they are far better off than the troops on shore — the casemates are
exceedingly well ventilated, light and airy. Mosquitos, yellow fever, and
dysentery, will make no distinction between Trojan and Tyrian. On the whole, I
should prefer being inside, to being outside Pickens, in case of a bombardment;
and there can be no doubt the entire destruction of the navy yard and station
by the Federals can be accomplished whenever they please. Colonel Browne
pointed out the tall chimney at Warrenton smoking away, and said, “There, sir,
is the whole reason of Bragg's forbearance, as it is called. Do you see ? —
they are casting shot and shell there as fast as they can. They know well if
they opened a gun on us I could lay that yard and all their works there in ruin;”
and Colonel Harvey Browne seems quite the man for the work — a resolute,
energetic veteran, animated by the utmost dislike to secession and its leaders,
and full of what are called “Union Principles,” which are rapidly becoming the
mere expression of a desire to destroy life, liberty, property, any thing in
fact which opposes itself to the consolidation of the Federal government.
Probably no person has ever been permitted to visit two
hostile camps within sight of each other save myself. I was neither spy,
herald, nor ambassador; and both sides trusted to me fully on the understanding
that I would not make use of any information here, but that it might be
communicated to the world at the other side of the Atlantic.
Apropos of this, Colonel Browne told me an amusing
story, which shows that cuteness is not altogether confined to the Yankees.
Some days ago a gentleman was found wandering about the island, who stated he
was a correspondent of a New York paper. Colonel Browne was not satisfied with
the account he gave of himself, and sent him on board one of the ships of the
fleet, to be confined as a prisoner. Soon afterwards a flag of truce came over
from the Confederates, carrying a letter from General Bragg, requesting Colonel
Browne to give up the prisoner, as he had escaped to the island after
committing a felony, and enclosing a warrant signed by a justice of the peace
for his arrest. Colonel Browne laughed at the ruse, and keeps his
prisoner.
As it was approaching evening and I had seen every thing in
the fort, the hospital, casemates, magazines, bakehouses, tasted the rations,
and drank the whiskey, I set out for the schooner, accompanied by Colonel
Browne and Captain Barry and other officers, and picking up my friends at the
bakehouse outside.
Having bidden our acquaintances good-by, we got on board the
Diana, which steered toward the Warrington navy yard, to take the rest of the
party on board. The sentries along the beach and on the batteries grounded
arms, and stared with surprise as the Diana, with her tablecloth flying,
crossed over from Fort Pickens, and ran slowly along the Confederate works.
Whilst we were spying for the Mobile gentlemen, the mate took it into his head
to take up the Confederate bunting, and wave it over the quarter. “Hollo,
what's that you're doing?” “It's only a signal to the gentlemen on shore.” “Wave
some other flag, if you please, when we are in these waters, with a flag of
truce flying.”
After standing off and on for some time, the Mobilians at
last boarded us in a boat. They were full of excitement, quite eager to stay
and see the bombardment which must come off in twenty-four hours. Before we
left Mobile harbor I had made a bet for a small sum that neither side would
attack within the next few days; but now I could not even shake my head one way
or the other, and it required the utmost self-possession and artifice of which
I was master to evade the acute inquiries and suggestions of my good friends. I
was determined to go — they were equally bent upon remaining; and so we parted
after a short but very pleasant cruise together.
We had arranged with Mr. Brown that we would look out for
him on leaving the harbor, and a bottle of wine was put in the remnants of our
ice to drink farewell; but it was almost dark as the Diana shot out seawards
between Pickens and M'Rae; and for some anxious minutes we were doubtful which
would be the first to take a shot at us. Our tablecloth still fluttered; but
the color might be invisible. A lantern was hoisted astern by my order as soon
as the schooner was clear of the forts; and with a cool sea-breeze we glided
out into the night, the black form of the Powhattan being just visible, the
rest of the squadron lost in the darkness. We strained our eyes for the
Oriental, but in vain; and it occurred to us that it would scarcely be a very
safe proceeding to stand from the Confederate forts down toward the guard-ship,
unless under the convoy of the Oriental. It seemed quite certain she must be
cruising some way to the westward, waiting for us.
The wind was from the north, on the best point for our
return; and the Diana, heeling over in the smooth water, proceeded on her way
toward Mobile, running so close to the shore that I could shy a biscuit on the
sand. She seemed to breathe the wind through her sails, and flew with a crest
of flame at her bow, and a bubbling wake of meteor-like streams flowing astern,
as though liquid metal were flowing from a furnace.
The night was exceedingly lovely, but after the heat of the
day the horizon was somewhat hazy. “No sign of the Oriental on our lee-bow?” “Nothing
at all in sight, sir, ahead or astern.” Sharks and large fish ran off from the
shallows as we passed, and rushed out seawards in runs of brilliant light. The
Perdida was left far astern.
On sped the Diana, but no Oriental came in view. I felt
exceedingly tired, heated, and fagged; had been up early, ridden in a broiling
sun, gone through batteries, examined forts, sailed backwards and forwards, so
I was glad to turn in out of the night dew, and, leaving injunctions to the
captain to keep a bright look out for the Federal boarding schooner, I went to
sleep without the smallest notion that I had seen my last of Mr. Brown.
I had been two or three hours asleep when I was awoke by the
negro cook, who was leaning over the berth, and, with teeth chattering, said, “Monsieur!
nous sommes perdus! un bâtiment
de guerre nous poursuit — il va tirer
bientôt. Nous
serons coulé! Oh,
Mon Dieu! Oh, Mon Dieu!” I started up and popped my head through the hatchway.
The skipper himself was at the helm, glancing from the compass to the quivering
reef points of the mainsail. “What's the matter, captain?” “Waal, sir,” said
the captain, speaking very slowly, “There has been a something a running after
us for nigh the last two hours, but he ain't a gaining on us. I don't think
he'll kitch us up nohow this time; if the wind holds this pint a leetle, Diana
will beat him.”
The confidence of coasting captains in their own craft is an
hallucination which no risk or danger will ever prevent them from cherishing
most tenderly. There's not a skipper from Hartlepool to Whitstable who does not
believe his Maryanne Smith or the Two Grandmothers is able, “on certain pints,”
to bump her fat bows, and drag her coal-scuttle shaped stern faster through the
sea than any clipper afloat. I was once told by the captain of a Margate Billy
Boy he believed he could run to windward of any frigate in Her Majesty's
service.
“But, good heavens, man, it may be the Oriental — no doubt
it is Mr. Brown who is looking after us.” “Ah! Waal, may be. Whoever it is, he
creeped quite close up on me in the dark. It give me quite a sterk when I seen
him. ‘May be,’ says I, ‘he is a privateering — pirating — chap.’ So I runs in
shore as close as I could; gets my centre board in, and, says I, ‘I’ll see what
you're made of, my boy.’ And so we goes on. He ain't a-gaining on us, I can
tell you.”
I looked through the glass, and could just make out, half or
three quarters of a mile astern, and to leeward, a vessel looking quite black,
which seemed to be standing on in pursuit of us. The shore was so close, we
could almost have leaped into the surf, for when the centre board was up the
Diana did not draw much more than four feet of water. The skipper held grimly
on. “You had better shake your wind, and see who it is; it may be Mr. Brown.” “No,
sir, Mr. Brown or no, I can't help carrying on now; there's a bank runs
all along outside of us, and if I don't hold my course I'll be on it in one
minute.” I confess I was rather annoyed, but the captain was master of the
situation. He said, that if it had been the Oriental she would have fired a
blank gun to bring us to as soon as she saw us. To my inquiries why he did not
awaken me when she was first made out, he innocently replied, “You was in such
a beautiful sleep, I thought it would be regular cruelty to disturb you.”
By creeping close in shore the Diana was enabled to keep to
windward of the stranger, who was seen once or twice to bump or strike, for her
sails shivered. “There, she's struck again.” “She's off once more,” and the
chase is renewed. Every moment I expected to have my eyes blinded by the flash of
her bow gun, but for some reason or another, possibly because she did not wish
to check her way, the Oriental — privateer, or whatever it was — saved her
powder.
A stern chase is a long chase. It is two o'clock in the
morning — the skipper grinned with delight. “I’ll lead him into a pretty mess
if he follows me through the ‘Swash,’ whoever he is.” We were but ten miles
from Fort Morgan. Nearer and nearer to the shore creeps the Diana.
“Take a cast of the lead, John;” “Nine feet.” “Good. Again.”
“Seven feet.” “Again.” “Five feet.” “Charlie, bring the lantern.” We were now
in the “Swash,” with a boiling tideway.
Just at the moment that the negro uncovered the lantern out
it went, a fact which elicited the most remarkable amount of imprecations ear
ever heard. The captain went dancing mad in intervals of deadly calmness, and
gave his commands to the crew, and strange oaths to the cook alternately, as
the mate sung out, “Five feet and a half.” “About she goes! Confound you, you
black scoundrel, I'll teach you,” &c, &c. “Six feet! Eight feet and a
half!” “About she comes again.” “Five feet! Four feet and a half.” (Oh, Lord!
Six inches under our keel!) And so we went, with a measurement between us and
death of inches, not by any means agreeable, in which the captain showed
remarkable coolness and skill in the management of his craft, combined with a
most unseemly animosity toward his unfortunate cook.
It was very little short of a miracle that we got past the “Elbow,”
as the most narrow part of the channel is called, for it was just at the
critical moment the binnacle light was extinguished, and went out with a
splutter, and there we hail, nor was gun fired — still we stood on. “Captain,
had you not better lie to? They'll be sending a round shot after us presently.”
“No, sir. They are all asleep in that fort,” replied the indomitable
skipper.
Down went his helm and away ran the Diana into Mobile Bay,
and was soon safe in the haze beyond shot or shell, running toward the opposite
shore. This was glory enough, for the Diana of Mobile. The wind blew straight
from the North into our teeth, and at bright sunrise she was only a few miles
inside the bay.
All the livelong day was spent in tacking from one low shore
to another low shore, through water which looked like pea soup. We had to be
sure the pleasure of seeing Mobile from every point of view, east and west,
with all the varieties between northing and southing, and numerous changes in
the position of steeples, sandhills, and villas, the sun roasting us all the
time and boiling the pitch out of the seams.
The greatest excitement of the day was an encounter with a
young alligator, making an involuntary voyage out to sea in the tide-way. The
crew said he was drowning, having lost his way or being exhausted by struggling
with the current. He was about ten feet long, and appeared to be so utterly
done up that he would willingly have come aboard as he passed within two yards
of us; but desponding as he was, it would have been positive cruelty to have
added him to the number of our party.
The next event of the day was dinner, in which Charlie out-rivalled
himself by a tremendous fry of onions and sliced Bologna sausage, and a piece
of pig, which had not decided whether it was to be pork or bacon.
Having been fourteen hours beating some twenty-seven miles,
I was landed at last at a wharf in the suburbs of the town about five o'clock
in the evening. On my way to the Battle House I met seven distinct companies
marching through the streets to drill, and the air was filled with sounds of
bugling and drumming. In the evening a number of gentlemen called upon me to
inquire what I thought of Fort Pickens and Pensacola, and I had some difficulty
in carrying their very home questions, but at last adopted a formula which
appeared to please them — I assured my friends I thought it would be an
exceedingly tough business whenever the bombardment took place.
One of the most important steps which I have yet heard of
has excited little attention, namely, the refusal of the officer commanding
Fort MacHenry, at Baltimore, to obey a writ of habeas corpus issued by a
judge of that city for the person of a soldier of his garrison. This military
officer takes upon himself to aver there is a state of civil war in Baltimore,
which he considers sufficient legal cause for the suspension of the writ.
SOURCE: William Howard Russell, My Diary North and
South, p. 210-24
