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.