CHAPTER III.
PENSACOLA, FLORIDA—IN REBEL LINES—FORT PICKENS—ADMIRAL PORTER AND THE NAVY.
The sail down the Alabama river from Montgomery to Mobile was most agreeable.
I do not now recollect any incident of the trip worthy of mention. I did not, of course, obtrude myself upon our ambassador's dignity, knowing that as long as the boat kept going he was not liable to escape from me.
There were some ladies aboard, and to these the gallant captain of the boat introduced his distinguished passenger, and among them they made up a card party, which occupied their attention long after I had gone to my room to sleep and dream of my home and "the girls I left behind me."
I became quite homesick that night, and would very much rather have been aboard a steamboat on the Mississippi river headed up stream than penned up in this queer-looking craft, loaded with rebels, which was carrying me, I imagined as I half slept, down to perdition.
There was a steam music machine on the boat somewhere, called a calliope, which made the night and day both hideous.
They played "Home, Sweet Home," among other selections, but even to my feelings, at that time, the musical expression was not exactly such as would bring tears to one's eyes.
The machine, however, served to rouse the lazy colored people all along the high banks of the river, who flocked to the shores like a lot of crows.
We reached Mobile in due time, and my dignitary and his "confidential companion," as I might be permitted to term myself, may be found properly registered in the books of the Battle House at Mobile, some time in the latter part of April, 1861.