May 14th. Down to our yacht, the Diana, which is to be ready this afternoon, and saw her cleared out a little—a broad-beamed, flat-floored schooner, some fifty tons burthen, with a centre-board, badly caulked, and dirty enough—unfamiliar with paint. The skipper was a long-legged, ungainly young fellow, with long hair and an inexpressive face, just relieved by the twinkle of a very “Yankee” eye; but that was all of the hated creature about him, for a more earnest seceder I never heard.
His crew consisted of three rough, mechanical sort of men and a negro cook. Having freighted the vessel with a small stock of stores, a British flag, kindly lent by the acting Consul, Mr. Magee, and a tablecloth to serve as a flag of truce, our party, consisting of the gentlemen previously named, Mr. Ward, and the young artist, weighed from the quay of Mobile at five o’clock in the evening, with the manifest approbation of the small crowd who had assembled to see us off, the rumor having spread through the town that we were bound to see the great fight. The breeze was favorable and steady; at nine o’clock, p.m., the lights of Fort Morgan were on our port beam, and for some time we were expecting to see the flash of a gun, as the skipper confidently declared they would never allow us to pass unchallenged.
The darkness of the night might possibly have favored us, or the sentries were remiss; at all events, we were soon creeping through the “Swash,” which is a narrow channel over the bar, through which our skipper worked us by means of a sounding pole. The air was delightful, and blew directly off the low shore, in a line parallel to which we were moving. When the evening vapors passed away, the stars shone out brilliantly, and though the wind was strong, and sent us at a good eight knots through the water, there was scarcely a ripple on the sea. Our course lay within a quarter of a mile of the shore, which looked like a white ribbon fringed with fire, from the ceaseless play of the phosphorescent surf. Above this belt of sand rose the black, jagged outlines of a pine forest, through which steal immense lagoons and marshy creeks.
Driftwood and trees strew the beach, and from Fort Morgan, for forty miles, to the entrance of Pensacola, not a human habitation disturbs the domain sacred to alligators, serpents, pelicans, and wild-fowl. Some of the lagoons, like the Perdida, swell into inland seas, deep buried in pine woods, and known only to the wild creatures swarming along its brink and in its waters; once, if report says true, frequented, however, by the filibusters and by the pirates of the Spanish Main.
If the mosquitoes were as numerous and as persecuting in those days as they are at present, the most adventurous youth would have soon repented the infatuation which led him to join the brethren of the Main. The mosquito is a great enemy to romance, and our skipper tells us that there is no such place known in the world for them as this coast.
As the Diana flew along the grim shore, we lay listlessly on the deck admiring the excessive brightness of the stars, or watching the trailing fire of her wake. Now and then great fish flew off from the shallows, cleaving their path in flame; and one shining gleam came up from leeward like a watery comet, till its horrible outline was revealed close to us—a monster shark—which accompanied us with an easy play of the fin, distinctly visible in the wonderful phosphorescence, now shooting on ahead, now dropping astern, till suddenly it dashed off seaward with tremendous rapidity and strength on some errand of destruction, and vanished in the waste of waters. Despite the multitudes of fish on the coast, the Spaniards who colonize this ill-named Florida must have had a trying life of it between the Indians, now hunted to death or exiled by rigorous Uncle Sam, the mosquitoes, and the numberless plagues which abound along these shores.
Hour after hour passed watching the play of large fish and the surf on the beach; one by one the cigar-lights died out; and muffling ourselves up on deck, or creeping into the little cabin, the party slumbered. I was awoke by the Captain talking to one of his hands close to me, and on looking up saw that he was staring through a wonderful black tube, which he denominated his “tallowscope,” at the shore.
Looking in the direction, I observed the glare of a fire in the wood, which on examination through an opera glass resolved itself into a steady central light, with some smaller specks around it. “Wa’ll,” said the Captain, “I guess it is just some of them d—d Yankees as is landed from their tarnation boats, and is ‘conoitering’ for a road to Mobile.” There was an old iron cannonade on board, and it struck me as a curious exemplification of the recklessness of our American cousins, when the skipper said, “Let us put a bag of bullets in the ould gun, and touch it off at them;” which he no doubt would have done, seconded by one of our party, who drew his revolver to contribute to the broadside, but that I represented to them it was just as likely to be a party out from the camp at Pensacola, and that, anyhow, I strongly objected to any belligerent act whilst I was on board. It was very probably, indeed, the watch-fire of a Confederate patrol, for the gentry of the country have formed themselves into a body of regular cavalry for such service; but the skipper declared that our chaps knew better than to be showing their lights in that way, when we were within ten miles of the entrance to Pensacola.
The skipper lay-to, as he, very wisely, did not like to run into the centre of the United States squadron at night; but just at the first glimpse of dawn the Diana resumed her course, and bowled along merrily till, with the first rays of the sun, Fort M’Rae, Fort Pickens, and the masts of the squadron were visible aahead, rising above the blended horizon of land and sea. We drew upon them rapidly, and soon could make out the rival flags—the Stars and Bars and Stars and Stripes—flouting defiance at each other.
On the land side on our left is Fort M’Rae, and on the end of the sand-bank, called Santa Rosa Island, directly opposite, rises the outline of the much-talked-of Fort Pickens, which is not unlike Fort Paul on a small scale. Through the glass the blockading squadron is seen to consist of a sailing frigate, a sloop, and three steamers; and as we are scrutinizing them, a small schooner glides from under the shelter of the guard-ship, and makes towards us like a hawk on a sparrow. Hand over hand she comes, a great swaggering ensign at her peak, and a gun all ready at her bow; and rounding up alongside us a boat manned by four men is lowered, an officer jumps in, and is soon under our counter. The officer, a bluff, sailor-like looking fellow, in a uniform a little the worse for wear, and wearing his beard as officers of the United States navy generally do, fixed-his eye upon the skipper—who did not seem quite at his ease, and had, indeed, confessed to us that he had been warned off by the Oriental, as the tender was named, only a short time before—and said, “Hallo, sir, I think I have seen you before: what schooner is this?” “The Diana of Mobile.” “I thought so.” Stepping on deck, he said, “Gentlemen, I am Mr. Brown, Master in the United States navy, in charge of the boarding schooner Oriental.” We each gave our names; whereupon Mr. Brown says, “I have no doubt it will be all right, be good enough to let me have your papers. And now, sir, make sail, and lie-to under the quarter of that steamer there, the Powhatan.” The Captain did not look at all happy when the officer called his attention to the indorsement on his papers; nor did the Mobile party seem very comfortable when he remarked, ” I suppose, gentlemen, you are quite well aware there is a strict blockade of this port?”
In half an hour the schooner lay under the guns of the Powhatan, which is a stumpy, thick-set, powerful steamer of the old paddle-wheel kind, something like the Leopard. We proceeded alongside in the cutter’s boat, and were ushered into the cabin, where the officer commanding, Lieutenant David Porter, received us, begged us to be seated, and then inquired into the object of our visit, which he communicated to the flag-ship by signal, in order to get instructions as to our disposal. Nothing could exceed his courtesy; and I was most favorably impressed by himself, his officers, and crew. He took me over the ship, which is armed with 10-inch Dahlgrens and an 11-inch pivot gun, with rifled fieldpieces and howitzers on the sponsons. Her boarding nettings were triced up, bows and weak portions padded with dead wood and old sails, and everything ready for action.
Lieutenant Porter has been in and out of the harbor examining the enemy’s works at all hours of the night, and he has marked off on the chart, as he showed me, the bearings of the various spots where he can sweep or enfilade their works. The crew, all things considered, were very clean, and their personnel exceedingly fine.
We were not the only prize that was made by the Oriental this morning. A ragged little schooner lay at the other side of the Powhatan, the master of which stood rubbing his knuckles into his eyes, and uttering dolorous expressions in broken English and Italian, for he was a noble Roman of Civita Vecchia. Lieutenant Porter let me into the secret. These small traders at Mobile, pretending great zeal for the Confederate cause, load their vessels with fruit, vegetables, and things of which they know the squadron is much in want, as well as the garrison of the Confederate forts. They set out with the most valiant intention of running the blockade, and are duly captured by the squadron, the officers of which are only too glad to pay fair prices for the cargoes. They return to Mobile, keep their money in their pockets, and declare they have been plundered by the Yankees. If they get in, they demand still higher prices from the Confederates, and lay claim to the most exalted patriotism.
By signal from the flag-ship Sabine, we were ordered to repair on board to see the senior officer, Captain Adams; and for the first time since I trod the deck of the old Leander in Balaklava harbor, I stood on board a 50-gun sailing frigate. Captain Adams, a grey-haired veteran of very gentle manners and great urbanity received us in his cabin, and listened to my explanation of the cause of my visit with interest. About myself there was no difficulty; but he very justly observed he did not think it would be right to let the gentlemen from Mobile examine Fort Pickens, and then go among the Confederate camps. I am bound to say these gentlemen scarcely seemed to desire or anticipate such a favor.
Major Vogdes, an engineer officer from the fort, who happened to be on board, volunteered to take a letter from me to Colonel Harvey Browne, requesting permission to visit it; and I finally arranged with Captain Adams that the Diana was to be permitted to pass the blockade into Pensacola harbor, and thence to return to Mobile, my visit to Pickens depending on the pleasure of the Commandant of the place. “I fear, Mr. Russell,” said Captain Adams, “in giving you this permission, I expose myself to misrepresentation and unfounded attacks. Gentlemen of the press in our country care little about private character, and are, I fear, rather unscrupulous in what they say; but I rely upon your character that no improper use shall be made of this permission. You must hoist a flag of truce, as General Bragg, who commands over there, has sent me word he considers our blockade a declaration of war, and will fire upon any vessel which approaches him from our fleet.”
In the course of conversation, whilst treating me to such man-of-war luxuries as the friendly officer had at his disposal, he gave me an illustration of the miseries of this cruel conflict—of the unspeakable desolation of homes, of the bitterness of feeling engendered in families. A Pennsylvanian by birth, he married long ago a lady of Louisiana, where he resided on his plantation till his ship was commissioned. He was absent on foreign service when the feud first began, and received orders at sea, on the South American station, to repair direct to blockade Pensacola. He has just heard that one of his sons is enlisted in the Confederate army, and that two others have joined the forces in Virginia; and as he said sadly, “God knows, when I open my broadside, but that I may be killing my own children.” But that was not all. One of the Mobile gentlemen brought him a letter from his daughter, in which she informs him that she has been elected vivandiere to a New Orleans regiment, with which she intends to push on to Washington, and get a lock of old Abe Lincoln’s hair; and the letter concluded with the charitable wish that her father might starve to death if he persisted in his wicked blockade. But not the less determined was the gallant old sailor to do his duty.
Mr. Ward, one of my companions, had sailed in the Sabine in the Paraguay expedition, and I availed myself of his acquaintance with his old comrades to take a glance round the ship. Wherever they came from, four hundred more sailor-like, strong, handy young fellows could not be seen than the crew; and the officers were as hospitable as their limited resources in whisky grog, cheese, and junk allowed them to be.
With thanks for his kindness and courtesy, I parted from Captain Adams, feeling more than ever the terrible and earnest nature of the impending conflict. May the kindly good old man be shielded on the day of battle!
A ten-oared barge conveyed us to the Oriental, which, with flowing sheet, ran down to the Powhatan.
There I saw Captain Porter, and told him that Captain Adams had given me permission to visit the Confederate camp, and that I had written for leave to go on shore at Fort Pickens. An officer was in his cabin, to whom I was introduced as Captain Poore, of the Brooklyn. “You don’t mean to say, Mr. Russell,” said he, “that these editors of Southern newspapers who are with you have leave to go on shore?” This was rather a fishing question. “I assure you. Captain Poore, that there is no editor of a Southern newspaper in my company.”
The boat which took us from the Powhatan to the Diana was in charge of a young officer related to Captain Porter, who amused me by the spirit with which he bandied remarks about the war with the Mobile men, who had now recovered their equanimity, and were indulging in what is called chaff about the blockade. “Well,” he said, “you were the first to begin it; let us see whether you won’t be the first to leave it off. I guess our Northern ice will pretty soon put out your Southern fire.”
When we came on board, the skipper heard our orders to up stick and away with an air of pity and incredulity; nor was it till I had repeated it, he kicked up his crew from their sleep on deck, and with a “Wa’ll, really, I never did see sich a thing!” made sail towards the entrance to the harbour.
As we got abreast of Fort Pickens, I ordered tablecloth No. 1 to be hoisted to the peak; and through the glass I saw that our appearance attracted no ordinary attention from the garrison of Pickens close at hand on our right, and the more distant Confederates on Fort M’Rae and the sand-hills on our left. The latter work is weak and badly built, quite under the command of Pickens, but it is supported by the old Spanish fort of Barrancas upon high ground further inland, and by numerous batteries at the water-line and partly concealed amidst the woods which fringe the shore as far as the navy yard of Warrington, near Pensacola. The wind was light, but the tide bore us onwards towards the Confederate works. Arms glanced in the blazing sun where regiments were engaged at drill, clouds of dust rose from the sandy roads, horsemen riding along the beach, groups of men in uniform, gave a martial appearance to the place in unison with the black muzzles of the guns which peeped from the white sand batteries from the entrance of the harbor to the navy yard now close at hand. As at Sumter Major Anderson permitted the Carolinians to erect the batteries he might have so readily destroyed in the commencement, so the Federal officers here have allowed General Bragg to work away at his leisure, mounting cannon after cannon, throwing up earthworks, and strengthening his batteries, till he has assumed so formidable an attitude, that I doubt very much whether the fort and the fleet combined can silence his fire.
On the low shore close to us were numerous wooden houses and detached villas, surrounded by orange groves. At last the captain let go his anchor off the end of a wooden jetty, which was crowded with ammunition, shot, shell, casks of provisions, and commissariat stores. A small steamer was engaged in adding to the collection, and numerous light craft gave evidence that all trade had not ceased. Indeed, inside Santa Rosa Island, which runs for forty-five miles from Pickens eastward parallel to the shore, there is a considerable coasting traffic carried on for the benefit of the Confederates.
The skipper went ashore with my letters to General Bragg, and speedily returned with an orderly, who brought permission for the Diana to come alongside the wharf. The Mobile gentlemen were soon on shore, eager to seek their friends; and in a few seconds the officer of the quartermaster-general’s department on duty came on board to conduct me to the officers’ quarters, whilst waiting for my reply from General Bragg.
The navy yard is surrounded by a high wall, the gates closely guarded by sentries; the houses, gardens, workshops, factories, forges, slips, and building sheds are complete of their kind, and cover upwards of three hundred acres ; and with the forts which protect the entrance, cost the United States Government not less than six millions sterling. Inside these was the greatest activity and life,—Zouave, Chasseurs, and all kind of military eccentricities—were drilling, parading, exercising, sitting in the shade, loading tumbrils, playing cards, or sleeping on the grass. Tents were pitched under the trees and on the little lawns and grass-covered quadrangles. The houses, each numbered and marked with the name of the functionary to whose use it was assigned, were models of neatness, with gardens in front, filled with glorious tropical flowers. They were painted green and white, provided with porticoes, Venetian blinds, verandahs, and colonnades, to protect the inmates as much as possible from the blazing sun, which in the dog-days is worthy of Calcutta. The old Fulton is the only ship on the stocks. From the naval arsenal quantities of shot and shell are constantly pouring to the batteries. Piles of cannon-balls dot the grounds, but the only ordnance I saw were two old mortars placed as ornaments in the main avenue, one dated 1776.
The quartermaster conducted me through shady walks into one of the houses, then into a long room, and presented me en masse to a body of officers, mostly belonging to a Zouave regiment from New Orleans, who were seated at a very comfortable dinner, with abundance of champagne, claret, beer, and ice. They were all young, full of life and spirits, except three or four graver and older men, who were Europeans. One, a Dane, had fought against the Prussians and Schleswig-Holsteiners at Idstedt and Friederichstadt; another, an Italian, seemed to have been engaged indifferently in fighting all over the South American continent; a third, a Pole, had been at Comorn, and had participated in the revolutionary guerilla of 1848. From these officers I learned that Mr. Jefferson Davis, his wife, Mr. Wigfall, and Mr. Mallory, Secretary to the Navy, had come down from Montgomery, and had been visiting the works all day.
Every one here believes the attack so long threatened is to come off at last and at once.
After dinner an aide-de-camp from General Bragg entered with a request that I would accompany him to the commanding officer’s quarters. As the sand outside the navy yard was deep, and rendered walking very disagreeable, the young officer stopped a cart, into which we got, and were proceeding on our way, when a tall, elderly man, in a blue frock-coat with a gold star on the shoulder, trousers with a gold stripe and gilt buttons, rode past, followed by an orderly, who looked more like a dragoon than anything I have yet seen in the States. “There’s General Bragg,” quoth the aide, and I was duly presented to the General, who reined up by the wagon. He sent his orderly off at once for a light cart drawn by a pair of mules, in which I completed my journey, and was safely decarted at the door of a substantial house surrounded by trees of lime, oak, and sycamore.
Led horses and orderlies thronged the front of the portico, and gave it the usual head-quarters-like aspect. General Bragg received me at the steps, and took me to his private room, where we remained for a long time in conversation. He had retired from the United States army after the Mexican war—in which, by the way, he played a distinguished part, his name being generally coupled with the phrase “a little more grape, Captain Bragg,” used in one of the hottest encounters of that campaign—to his plantation in Louisiana; but suddenly the Northern States declared their intention of using force to free and sovereign States, which were exercising their constitutional rights to secede from the Federal Union.
Neither he nor his family were responsible for the system of slavery. His 
ancestors found it established by law and flourishing, and had left him property, consisting of slaves, which was granted to him by the laws and constitution of the United States. Slaves were necessary for the actual cultivation of the soil in the South; Europeans and Yankees who settled there speedily became convinced of that; and if a Northern population were settled in Louisiana to-morrow, they would discover that they must till the land by the labor of the black race, and that the only mode of making the black race work, was to hold them in a condition of involuntary servitude. “Only the other day, Colonel Harvey Browne, at Pickens, over the way, carried off a number of negroes from Tortugas, and put them to work at Santa Rosa. Why? Because his white soldiers were not able for it. No. The North was bent on subjugating the South, and as long as he had a drop of blood in his body, he would resist such an infamous attempt.”
Before supper General Bragg opened his maps, and pointed out to me in detail the position of all his works, the line of fire of each gun, and the particular object to be expected from its effects. “I know every inch of Pickens,” he said, “for I happened to be stationed there as soon as I left West Point, and I don’t think there is a stone in it that I am not as well acquainted with as Harvey Browne.”
His staff, consisting of four intelligent young men, two of them lately belonging to the United States army, supped with us, and after a very agreeable evening, horses were ordered round to the door, and I returned to the navy yard attended by the General’s orderly, and provided with a pass and countersign. As a mark of complete confidence, General Bragg told me, for my private ear, that he had no present intention whatever of opening fire, and that his batteries were far from being in a state, either as regards armament or ammunition, which would justify him in meeting the fire of the forts and the ships.
And so we bade good-by. “To-morrow,” said the General, “I will send down one of my best horses and Mr. Ellis, my aide-de-camp, to take you over all the works and batteries.” As I rode home with my honest orderly beside instead of behind me, for he was of a conversational turn, I was much perplexed in my mind, endeavoring to determine which was right and which was wrong in this quarrel, and at last, as at Montgomery, I was forced to ask myself if right and wrong were geographical expressions depending for extension or limitation on certain conditions of climate and lines of latitude and longitude. Here was the General’s orderly beside me, an intelligent middle-aged man, who had come to do battle with as much sincerity –aye, and religious confidence–as ever actuated old John Brown or any New England puritan to make war against slavery. “I have left my old woman and the children to the care of the niggers; I have turned up all my cotton land and planted it with corn, and I don’t intend to go back alive till I’ve seen the back of the last Yankee in our Southern States.” “And are wife and children alone with the negroes?” “Yes, sir. There’s only one white man on the plantation, an overseer sort of chap.” “Are not you afraid of the slaves rising?” “They’re ignorant poor creatures, to be sure, but as yet they’re faithful. Any way, I put my trust in God, and I know He’ll watch over the house while I’m away fighting for this good cause!’ This man came from Mississippi, and had twenty-five slaves, which represented a money value of at least £5000. He was beyond the age of enthusiasm, and was actuated, no doubt, by strong principles, to him unquestionable and sacred.
My pass and countersign, which were only once demanded, took me through the sentries, and I got on board the schooner shortly before midnight, and found nearly all the party on deck, enchanted with their reception. More than once we were awoke by the vigilant sentries, who would not let what Americans call “the balance” of our friends on board till they had seen my authority to receive them.