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.
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.