The Boy Spy / A substantially true record of secret service during the war of the rebellion, a correct account of events witnessed by a soldier

by Joseph Orton Kerbey

CROSSING THE BAY TO FORT PICKENS, ETC.

Strategy was another of the new military terms which I had heard used a great deal by these Rebel officers during their conversations among themselves and with their daily visitors and admirers. The general subject of conversation was in reference to the plans to "reduce" Fort Pickens, which persisted so defiantly in hoisting in their faces at every sunrise the Stars and Stripes, and which was only lowered at sunset with a salute from the guns of the Fort and the ships, to be again floated as surely as the sun rose the next morning and the guns boomed out on the morning air their good morning salute.

This daily flaunting of the flag had became quite as irritating to these fellows as the red flag to a bull, every one of whom seemed to me to be impatient to take some sort of steps individually to at once end the war then and there and get home. In all their talks, to which I was an attentive listener during the several days that I spent in their camps, I do not now recall a single expression of doubt from any of them as to their final success in capturing the fort. With them it was only a question of time. The criticism or demonstration which seemed to be most general among citizens as well as the military was, that the tardiness or delay in ordering the assault, upon the part of the Montgomery officials, was "outrageous." But now that they had a knowledge of the recent arrival of the "Commissioner"—whose title was changed on his arrival at the seat of war to that of "General" and "Bearer of Dispatches"—all hands seemed more happy and contented.

It was well understood among the higher officers there that the plan of the authorities was, secretly, or under cover of night, to make a lodgement on the Island by the use of the shipping they had in the harbor, and, once securely established there, the masked battery would open upon the weak or unprotected side of the Fort, and open a breach through which the Rebel troops would be able to rush in and capture the little garrison, and "haul down the flag." I had obtained full information of the enemy's plans.

As I had so closely followed the course of events from Montgomery; had personally visited every fort and battery; had become familiar with the number and location of the troops, as well as with the character and calibre of every gun that was pointed at the flag on Pickens; and had, beside this—which was more important—secured valuable information as to the proposed surprise of that little garrison.

My only desire was to get this information to our commander at Fort Pickens, for their own and the country's good, coupled with a strong inclination to defeat these bombastic rebels. I had no thought of myself whatever, and did not, in my reckless enthusiasm, stop for a moment to consider that, in attempting to run the gauntlet of the harbor boats and the shore sentinels on both sides, I was risking my life as a spy. While I do not remember to have been inspired with any feelings of the "lofty patriotism," I am surely conscious of the fact that my motives were certainly unselfish and disinterested. That there was no mercenary motive, may be inferred from the simple fact that I have not in these twenty-five years ever claimed or received anything from the government in the way of pecuniary reward for this trip.

I began at once to make practical application of the strategy, about which I had heard so much in the enemy's camp, and which Mr. Lossing, the historian, says: "As an artifice or scheme for deceiving the enemy in war, is regarded as honorable, and which is seldom if ever applied without the aid of the scout or spy's service."

A reference to a map of the northwestern part of Florida will, at a glance, indicate the relative positions of the Rebel and Union forces with far greater distinctness than I am able to describe, though, after an absence of twenty-five years, every point is as firmly impressed on my mind as if it were but a week since I saw it all, and I venture the assertion that, if permitted to revisit the scenes in Florida, I could locate with exactness the ground occupied by every battery at that time.

Of course it was out of the question to have attempted to cross the bay to Fort Pickens anyway near the batteries, or in proximity to the navy yard, because that portion of the water lying within range of the guns was being very closely "outlooked" all the time, both by the sentinels and officers with their glasses at each of the Forts. They had nothing else to do, so put in the long hours scrutinizing everything that made an appearance on the water. This part of the bay was also constantly patrolled by a number of guard or harbor boats, which were quite swift, well manned, and armed with what I think they called swivel guns, placed in the bow of the boat—a piece of artillery that may be best described as a cross between a Chesapeake bay duck gun and a howitzer.

I think, too, there were torpedoes placed in the channel, which they did not want disturbed by anything smaller than a United States man-of-war, if any such should venture to run past their batteries. I was not apprehensive of becoming mixed up with any of these myself, because my route would necessarily be some distance away.

The ships-of-war, which were anchored outside the harbor, had been detected by the Rebel guard boats in their attempts to run their small muffled gigs, as they called them, close to the shore batteries on dark nights. On several occasions these nighthawks came so close to each other in their patrols that the whispered voices of each could be heard over the water. This naval outpost, or picket duty on the water, was conducted pretty much the same as is the usage on a dark night in the woods—both sides being too much scared to move or speak lest the other should get the first shot, and mutually rejoiced when the sound died away in the distance.

The ships outside were being manœuvered or changed every day. Sometimes quite a fleet would be in sight, and the next morning half of them had disappeared. It was understood, of course, that, in attacking the fort, the men-of-war would at once come to the assistance of its garrison with their guns, but, if a battery could be placed on the island, the ships could be driven out of range of supporting distance, and, beside this, a storm would necessitate their all getting out to sea, so their assistance would be quite conditional.

This is why the government and naval officers especially desired not only to retain Fort Pickens, but as well to silence the Rebel batteries opposite, and to secure and retain that most excellent harbor and navy yard on the gulf, so convenient for future operations against Mobile and New Orleans.

My only hope was to cross to the Island, some six or eight miles above the Fort (Pickens) and nearly opposite the town of Pensacola, whence, under cover of the night, I might crawl down the shore on the opposite side to the Fort. This scheme necessitated a good bit of boating, as it would be necessary to double the route so as to get back before daylight. In looking about for a boat, and a colored oarsman whom I could control or depend upon to get me over and back, and then keep quiet until I could get away toward New Orleans or Mobile, I selected a black young fellow of about my own age, and in whose good-natured countenance I thought I could discover a willingness to do anything he was told. From this chap I engaged a boat for a day's fishing, it being well understood at the time that no boats of any kind were permitted to be out after dark. I had, however, taken particular pains to let it be known at the boat-house, where the boats were usually kept, that myself and a friend, who was well known there as a rebel above suspicion, were going together to take a boat for a lark, and they should not be at all uneasy if we tied up for the night some place above town. I had, of course, no intention of taking my friend along, and this was just a little bit of "strategy" to deceive the enemy.

I had, in the hearing of a number of his comrades, directed the boatman to prepare enough bait and other little requirements for this trip to last us until late into the night. He was a jolly, good-natured, bare-footed, ragged fellow, the blackest I could find, and was tickled all to pieces with the taffy and little bit of money he got in advance, as well as with a prospect for something extra, if he should be detained very late that night.

In an apparently indifferent way I also took occasion to mention at the house where I had been boarding, that I was obliged to leave for Texas, and made all my preparations accordingly, but proposed to have first a day's fishing in company with some friend, and might possibly spend the night with them. I didn't have any baggage to bother about, having merely stopped off while en route to Texas.

When I got into that little boat that day, I doubt not that I looked as if I were desperately intent on having a day's fun and was fully equipped for handling any quantity of fish. I had taken off my coat—the weather in Florida at that season being quite warm and pleasant—and as I sat in the stern sheets of the little boat, with a steering oar in my hand, dressed only in a collarless shirt, pants and shoes, with a greyish slouch hat tipped back on my head, I have no doubt that my appearance was at least sufficiently careless or indifferent to disarm any apprehensions that might rise as to the real object of the trip.

It was necessary, in starting, to explain that my "companion" was detained, but would join us at a friend's house some distance above the town later in the afternoon, in the direction of which I as steersman pointed the bow of the boat, as we pulled out from the shore, bearing purposely in a direction leading farthest from the Island and the Fort.

My recollection is, that it is about four miles across the bay to the Island and six or eight miles down the bay to the outside point on which Fort Pickens is located. With the exception of this garrison, Santa Rosa may, in the language of the school-books, be called an uninhabited island. At the present time, however, Geronimo and his band of murdering Apache Indians are, with their military guard, the only inhabitants of the desolate place, and they are prisoners.

When we had gotten out from shore a good distance, we stopped for a while, just to try our luck, but as it was not a satisfactory location, after a little delay, we moved further off, when we would again drop our little anchor, to go through the same motions and move out, just a little bit, almost imperceptibly to those on shore each time.

Of course, my colored boy had no idea but that I really meant this fishing excursion for sport. He was full of fun and really enjoyed himself very much. I was uneasy, and imagined that everybody on shore had conspired to watch our little boat, which was drifting about aimlessly on the tide, a mile or so out from the rebel shore. On account of this apprehension, I was more careful to so direct our movements that suspicion would be disarmed, and, as far as practicable, I kept the bow of the boat pointed in the direction of Pensacola, actually backing out into the stream, when the tide would naturally keep us out.

My object was to keep up this sort of an appearance all afternoon, and then toward dusk (as I had told the oarsman) we would land further up, where my friend was visiting, and where I had agreed to meet him.

A race over the bay to Fort Pickens with a Rebel harbor boat was out of the question, even with a mile of a start, because they were not only quite fast and well manned, but their little cannon were entirely "too sudden" and could soon overtake us.

Did we catch any fish? will be asked. No, this is not a fish story, and I was myself too intent upon watching the movements of all the little boats along shore to pay much attention to the fish; in this case I was the sucker myself, that was hunting a hole in the meshes of the net that I might escape.

I had put the latest New York Herald in my coat pocket during the morning; this I got out and, as I sat in the stern sheets, I pretended in a careless way to become interested while the colored boy did the fishing. Along in the evening, about sundown, I saw with some alarm one of the little tug-boats come puffing around from the navy yard, and it seemed in my imagination that they were bearing directly toward us, as we were then far enough from the shore to have excited suspicion. To be prepared, I directed the boy to take the oars and we made a movement as if intending to return.

The tug came within hailing distance and, without shutting off their noisy steam-exhaust, hallooed something which I inferred was the patrol officer's notice that it was time to tie up. They passed on in to the pier at Pensacola, while we in the deepening twilight, while seemingly headed toward shore, were silently drifting with the tide further and further away.

Being in the stern, with a steering oar in my hand, the colored boy at the oars, with his face toward me and his back to the bow, he did not discover for quite a while through the now almost darkness that we were moving out to sea instead of going in to shore, as I had pretended. When he did get the bearings through his sluggish brain, he seemed all at once to have become awakened to a sense of the greatest fear. He stopped rowing abruptly and, looking about him in every direction, his eyes seemed to become almost wild with fright, showing a good deal of white through the darkness that seemed now to have come down upon us all at once; he said, huskily, as he attempted to turn the boat around with one oar: "Good Lawd, it's dark, and all niggers got to be in doors 'fore this. Ise gwine home, boss." When I tried to laugh him out of his terror, and explained that I had told his master at the pier that I was going to keep him out late, it did not satisfy him. He insisted on going straight back over the course I had been leading all day. The poor slave said: "Boss, it's de law, any nigger caught out at night gets thirty-nine lashes; and if dese soger-masters knowed I was over on this side, dey kill me, suah."

We were then probably a mile off the Island shore—the darkness and distance had concealed us from the rebel shore, and I must not, would not return then. I tried every way to prevail upon this poor ignorant slave to keep on rowing; that I would steer him to "my friend's house," which, in my mind's eye, had been Fort Pickens, but he wouldn't have it so; he knew, he said, "there wasn't nobody's house up on dat shore."

Under the circumstances, what could I do? He had the oars in his hands but wouldn't use them, while I, with my steering-oar, was helpless. I was within but a little distance of the shore that I had looked upon so often and so wistfully from the rebel side, yet this fellow could prevent my reaching it; and in attempting to force him to do my bidding I risked making a disturbance which would speedily bring the guard-boats to the spot. I do not claim that it was a brave act at all, but, realizing at the time that I must take command of the boat, I quietly reached for a stilletto, or dirk knife, which I had bought in anticipation of having to use or show as a quiet sort of weapon where any noises were to be avoided. With this bright steel blade pointing at the now terrified darkey, I ordered him to row, and if he dared take a hand off the oar I'd cut him and feed the pieces to the sharks in the bay.

I don't know what I should have done if he had resisted, but I think that at the moment I would have become a murderer, and, if necessary, have used not only the knife, but also the pistol, which I had by me.

Seeing my determination, and especially the knife, the "contraband" laid back on his oars and pulled for the shore lustily, looking neither to the right nor the left, but keeping both his white eyes riveted on my dagger and pistol.

I comforted him a little, because, you see, I'd got to get back, and it was necessary that he should keep still until I got away. I knew he would do this, because it would certainly have been punishment for himself to have admitted that he had been over to the Yankees.

I'D CUT HIM AND FEED THE PIECES TO THE SHARKS.

Now that I had committed an overt act in this attempt to reach the enemy, the die was cast for me, and I must carry it through. Imagine for a moment my feelings when the boy stopped rowing suddenly and, craning his neck over to the water in a listening attitude, said, huskily, "Boss, dats dem; dats de boat."

Great heavens, we were yet a long distance out from the Island, having been gradually working down instead of going directly over. My first impulse was to row madly for the shore, but the darkey knew better than I, when he said, "Best keep still, and don't talk, boss." Listening again, I could hear the voices distinctly, and it seemed to me through the darkness that they were right upon us; we floated quietly as a log in the water for a few terrible moments of suspense, I took off my shoes and stockings and prepared to jump overboard and swim for the shore, if we came to close quarters. If they captured me I'd be hung, while the slave's life was safe, because he was valued at about $1,800.

Resuming his oar, the boy said, "That's at the navy yard." "Why," I said, "are we near the navy yard?" "No, boss; but you can hear people talkin' a mighty long ways at night; we niggers is used to hearin' 'em; we git chased in every night." After this scare I "hugged" the shore pretty close; it seemed to me then to have been a long ways down that sandy beach, because of the suspense and uncertainty, perhaps. We stole along quietly, not knowing but that some trap might have been set along the Island to catch any contrabands who might want to run off from their masters, and again I did not know but what the rebels themselves might have a guard out there; and if I did see any persons, how was I to be sure that they were friends from Fort Pickens.

There are some sensations that can better be imagined than described. To add to my discomfort on that most eventful night in my life, I witnessed for the first time the strange, weird phenomenon of the phosphorescent water, which is, I believe, quite common in the South. To me, at this time, it had almost a supernatural appearance.

While gliding along smoothly between life and death, my nerves strung to the utmost tension, suddenly I noticed that the oars, as they were lifted from the water, were covered with a strange gleam and that the water into which I was drifting had turned to molten lead, without flame; and as we went along now quite rapidly, there was left in our wake a long, winding, wiggling, fiery serpent which, to my heated imagination, seemed to be a machination of the devil and his imps to illuminate our path for the benefit of his friends—the rebels.

If a picture could be made of this scene, which, I may say, was dramatic, it should represent our dingy little boat moving along a desolate shore in the darkness and solitude of a midnight in Florida; the black oarsman, with open mouth, the whites of his eyes showing most conspicuously, as he twisted his head around to look over the water in the direction of the Rebels. I sat in the stern of the boat, dressed in a slouch hat and open shirt, steering-oar in hand, looking back and around in a puzzled way at the glimmering will-o'the-wisp trail in our wake. The distant background would show the grim walls of Fort Pickens, with a few vessels riding at anchor beyond.

On the other side would be the outlines of the Rebel batteries, with their sentries, while on the water, the guard or harbor boats.

My colored boatman, however, did not pay any attention to this play of light about our boat; grimly he dipped and lifted the oars, the blades covered with a peculiar yellowish light, while the water, as it dropped back into the sea, splashed and sparkled as I had seen molten metal in the molds of the foundries at home. In reply to my hushed expression of surprise, the boatman said: "O, dat ain't nothin'; it's the fire out of some of dem big guns, I'se lookin' aftah."

We silently crept along in this halo of light, during which time I took the opportunity to explain to my boatman that I was a Yankee soldier, going to the Fort to see my friends. The moment that fellow was assured of my true character his whole nature seemed changed, and, instead of the cowering, terrified slave, unwillingly doing the bidding of a master, he became a wide-awake, energetic friend, most anxious to do me all the service possible. I have forgotten the faithful boy's name, but I hope some day to revisit these scenes and shall look up his history.

Great Scott! While we were talking in this way, we were startled by the sound of oars regularly beating in a muffled way, and which we knew to our horror were coming in our direction. Could it be possible that we were to be baffled at last? The boy shifted his oars one by one into the boat, laid his head over the water for a moment, when he whispered, "Dats a barge." I did not know what a "barge" was, while he explained that the sounds of rowing we were hearing came from a large, regular crew of disciplined boatmen in a big boat called a barge.

I judged that we could not be far from Pickens, but how could I tell whether the approaching boat contained our friends or our enemies. We all knew that the boats of both parties were engaged in prowling about every dark night. I had heard, while in the Rebel camps, that it was the only diversion they had, and volunteers for each night's adventure were numerous.

We kept "hugging the Island" pretty tight, and, as the sounds grew closer and more distinct as they came nearer and nearer, I again prepared to jump overboard and swim for the island.

As they came closer, I heard the suppressed voices, and was able to catch something like an order addressed to "Coxswain," which was the only word I could make out—that was enough, however. I knew that a coxswain was only to be found in an armed boat, and, of course, I believed they must be from the navy yard.

I slipped off my shoes and quietly dropped over the side of the boat into the water, being mighty careful, too, that the boat should be between me and the sounds, which were now quite distinct.

The boatman laid down in the bottom of the boat while I held on by both hands and paddled or towed it toward shore. Suddenly, as if a curtain had been raised, the barge, like a picture on the screen of a magic lantern, appeared and faded away, thank the Lord, some distance out from us, and the crew were rowing silently but swiftly in the direction from which we had just come.

I crawled back into the boat, my extremities dripping, and with reckless determination ordered the fellow to row right straight ahead. I was sick of this miserable agony of suspense and would end it, even if we ran into a man-of-war.

The boatman expressed the opinion that the boat from which we had been concealing ourselves was from the Fort, or belonged to the shipping outside, and I afterward learned that he was correct.

When we got a little further down the island shore, voices were again heard, this time from the land. Now I was sure we were all right, but I kept along quietly and smoothly until we were in sight of the old fort. I could now see objects moving about on the ground near the fort. We crept up still closer, and seeing a group of three persons standing together, a little ways back from the water, I rose to my feet and was about to hail them when we heard oars again from the outside.

I sat down again and begged the poor fellow to row for his life, which he did with a hearty good will; we then passed, without a challenge, a sentinel on the beach, and actually rode right up to the guard on the pier of the fort, and myself called their attention to our little boat.

A sergeant, who was within hearing, quickly ran up to the water's edge and roughly called a "halt," demanding to know our business; to which I replied: "I want to see Lieutenant Slemmer." We drew in shore; the sergeant took hold of the bow-string of our boat, and directed a soldier near by to call the officer of the guard, which was done in the most approved West Point style. All the same, however, I had gotten through their lines without a challenge, and if I had been bent on torpedo or dynamite business, it would have been possible that night to have surprised the garrison.

While waiting there, the old sergeant, who seemed to be very much incensed at my cheekiness, in running by his sentries, plied us with questions.

Pretty soon we were landed on the pier, and then I stood right under the gloomy shadow of the walls of Fort Pickens, talking with a young officer in the uniform of the United States service, and wearing the red sash of the officer of the day.

This young officer, whose name I have forgotten, received me cordially, and ordered the sergeant to take good care of my boatman. My idea had been, all along, to communicate with Lieutenant Slemmer, whom we had heard of in connection with the occupation of the Fort, and probably, also, because I had heard he was a Pennsylvanian, I imagined I should feel more freedom with him.

The officer of the day, to whom I expressed a desire to see Lieutenant Slemmer, said: "Certainly, sir, certainly. Will you please give me your name?" I merely said: "I am from Pennsylvania, and am going back soon, and wanted to tell him some news." The officer swung himself around and called to another sergeant "to make this gentleman as comfortable as possible till I return," which was a polite way of saying "don't let that fellow get away till I get back." He disappeared inside the cave-like entrance to the Fort.

Very soon two officers came out, to whom I was politely introduced as a young man from the other side to see Lieutenant Slemmer—the officer of the day explaining to me that Lieutenant Slemmer would be out just as soon as he could dress.

It was late at night, and they had all been sleeping in peace and security inside the Fort, while I was getting down the bay. During this interim it will be noted that not one of these officers had asked me a question. Though their curiosity was no doubt excited, they were all gentlemanly enough to believe that my business was of a private character with Lieutenant Slemmer alone.

It appears that the Fort had been reinforced, probably about the time that the attempt was made to reinforce Sumter, and at this time Lieutenant Slemmer was not in command at Pickens.

During the wait and while we were talking about the war prospects, I incidentally mentioned something about Sumter's fall; this was news, sad news to the little group of officers, and for a moment seemed to stagger them. When one of them expressed a mild doubt, thinking my information was from rebel sources, the other said:

"Oh, yes, it's true; it couldn't be otherwise." When I gave them about the date, they all recalled an unusual commotion and firing of salutes by the rebels over the bay, which they did not understand at the time, and this news explained.

It soon became known in the fort that they had a visitor with great news, and every blessed officer must have gotten out of bed to come outside and see me. I wondered at the time why I wasn't invited inside, though I could not have been more courteously treated than I was. It was quite a long time before Lieutenant Slemmer made an appearance, and when he approached me and was introduced by the officer of the day with "This is Lieutenant Slemmer," I looked up in surprise to see a tall, slim man, wearing glasses and looking for all the world like a Presbyterian preacher. He was the most distant, dignified fellow in the lot, and my first impressions were not at all favorable.

However, I briefly explained my business, and told him of the masked batteries and the proposed attack from the island. Without a word of thanks, or even a reply, he turned and told one of the officers, who had stood aside to permit us to talk privately, to call Captain Clitz; and while he was doing this Mr. Slemmer stood by me with his arms folded—the only words he spoke were: "Oh, that's it."

Soon Captain Clitz, who was a large, rather portly officer, approached, in company with my officer, and, without waiting for an introduction, he walked up to me with his hand out, smilingly saying, "Ah, how do you do?" and, turning to Slemmer, he said, "Mr. Slemmer, I'm very glad your friend called to see us."

There was a long, earnest talk on the wharf that night, which was listened to and participated in by all the group of officers. Lieutenant Slemmer—after Captain Clitz's greeting—said: "This is Captain Clitz, the commander here now." And to him all my communications were directed.

I was, of course, questioned and cross-questioned in regard to every point of detail which could be of interest to them, and I believe I was able to satisfy them on every point.

I had understood, and believed it true, that General Winfield Scott had joined the rebels, and when I mentioned this among the other items of news, my young officer of the day spoke up quickly, saying: "Oh, no, I can't believe that. General Scott may be dead, but he is not a traitor."

In comparison with Lieutenant Slemmer's dignified bearing, Captain Clitz's kindness and cordiality to me that night will ever be remembered with feelings of profound gratitude. While I was thus talking to the officers, the sergeant and his detail of men were busily engaged in questioning my colored boy, and from him they learned the story of our trip.

The sergeant was brought to task roundly, by the officer of the day, for the failure of his sentinel up on the beach to halt our boat before getting so close to the pier. His explanation was that they saw us but supposed it was the boat belonging to the garrison.

How long I should have been detained on that old pier, under the shadow of the walls of the fort, entertaining those officers, is uncertain, had I not had before me, like a spectre, the remembrance of the rebel sentries and guard-boats, that I must again run through to get back in safety. One of the officers very kindly proposed that they would man one of their boats and convey us as far up the beach as they could go, and thereby relieve us of the tiresome pull on the oars. While this was being arranged, I gave to Lieutenant Slemmer a more detailed account of the honors that were being paid to him in the North, in connection with Major Anderson, for his bravery in saving Pickens. And I also told him about the attentions which were being showered upon his wife, who, it seems, had been permitted to pass through the Rebel lines to her home in the North soon after his moving into Fort Pickens.

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.

---