No further doubts were expressed as to my ability to row, and I got into a fifty-cents-an-hour boat, and rowed out into the harbor.
“Be careful,” was the owner’s admonition as I pulled away, “that you don’t get caught in a squall and be driven away. The weather is uncertain in March.”
“No danger,” I replied, and my boat glided out to where there was a stiff breeze blowing, and was soon dancing on the waves.
I moved toward the southeast a mile or so, rested awhile near a ship that was lying at anchor, and had a chat with one of the mates. I was beginning to pull away from the ship, when I heard an excited voice toward my right sing out:
“Look out there! Where the deuce are you going?”
Immediately followed a confusion of voices, the ringing of bells, and the shriek of a steam whistle. I turned in the direction, and was somewhat alarmed to discover that I was about to cross the bow of a propeller, that came dashing along. Had I pulled the oars but once more, nothing would have saved me from being run down. My boat would have been shivered to pieces, I would have been stunned and my chances of being saved from a watery grave would have been as one against a hundred. With all the presence of mind I could command, I “backed oars,” and checked my boat, which of its own accord turned side-wise; and the propeller rushed by at such a trifling distance from me as to strike the blade of my right-hand oar.
“Whew! my young man,” said the mate with whom I had been talking—for he still stood by the bulwark—“you came near going down.”
I fully realized this, and quite satisfied with my row, put back for shore. The wind had increased, and I now noticed, for the first time, that some dark clouds were coming from the west. I had a good mile to row against the wind, which, as well as the waves, was every moment increasing in violence. I was yet a quarter of a mile from the dock in which the boat belonged, when a regular squall came on. Then I had a time of it. Throwing off my coat and hat, and placing them in the bottom of the boat, I grasped my oars and pulled away with all the strength and energy I possessed. I made rather slow time, and when within one hundred yards of port, perceived that I was just making out to lie still against the wind. I was nearly exhausted, and felt like throwing down my oars in despair; but seeing what a short distance was yet to be accomplished, I nerved myself for a final effort; and such a battle as I had with the wind and waves no one need want to engage in. After ten minutes of the most strenuous exertion, I arrived in the dock, trembling from exhaustion, perspiring from exercise, and wet all over with spray.
I concluded, taking my narrow escape into consideration, that rowing in the harbor was no delightful recreation, and solemnly vowed never again to venture out there in a row-boat. I kept my word faithfully till next afternoon; when the weather being very delightful, I broke it, went out again, and had a very pleasant row in the same boat.
At four o’clock one evening I left Baltimore for Harper’s Ferry, via the Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, having first sent my trunk back to Philadelphia by express. I arrived at Harper’s Ferry by nine o’clock. A great many soldiers were there—for it will be recollected that the war was not yet ended—and I found it difficult to secure a comfortable lodging. Every private house was acting the part of an hotel, furnishing supper to many soldiers and a few sorry-looking travelers; while those desiring a night’s lodging were packed into rooms at the rate of from seven to twenty-seven in each.