I was invited to the best mess for breakfast, which I was able to enjoy very much, and I spent the greater portion of the day on the big wheel-house of the ship, pointing out to the officers the location of the different batteries in the rebel line. The officers were quite courteous and kind, and, as may be imagined, listened with the greatest eagerness to the news which I was able to give them. The New York Herald, which was the only thing in the shape of "papers" that I had brought with me, was eagerly read, the officers almost quarreling for its possession. It was finally settled by their cutting it up and dividing the pieces around.
The Powhattan was one of the largest vessels of the old-fashioned side-wheel class, and at that time was literally bristling with her armour, having been hurriedly fitted out at Brooklyn Navy Yard at about the same time the other vessels sailed to the intended relief of Sumter.
An old salt gave me his account of their trip out, which, as nearly as I can recollect, was something like this:
"We had just returned from a cruise, ye know, to China, and wanted to stay home a bit, because the Engineer Board condemned one of our boilers as dangerous, so, of course, no one aboard thought of going to sea again in her. Well, by thunder, one night they sent a draft of men aboard, and the next morning we were steaming out somewhere—we all thought to some other yard.
"The officers had what they called sealed orders, not to be opened till we were outside, don't you know. That black-whiskered chap"—pointing with his thumb toward Captain Porter's cabin—"was aboard, and we all thought he was our sky pilot, as he was dressed just like a parson or chaplain; but when we got out, and the orders were opened, he had changed his black duds, and, by gad, he took us in tow, just like a pirate king, and fetched us all down to this blasted hole to die of Yaller Jack.
"On the voyage down, every man of us was worked to death; day and night, all hands were going, unpacking boxes of arms that had been smuggled aboard, and them brass things you see back of the purser's 'cow-house'"—as he called the wheel-house—"we boxed up like dead men in coffins. Well, some of the men swore we were turned pirates; and a lot more of us was dead sure we were going out as a privateer for Jeff Davis. You see the sealed orders was to Captain Porter, and he had just come aboard at night, and they say he came right over from Washington City that same day, and, of course, he knew what was up, but no one else did.
"We found out, though, after that. The plan for us was to run down and go right straight ahead into the harbor, past the Fort and them Rebel Batteries. If we was inside once, we could drive them off and get the navy yard, you know, and they couldn't get onto the Island, don't you know. Well, when we got near Pensacola, what did they do but begin to burn some soft English coal, what was stored aboard, so's to make a black smoke, don't you see, and make them Rebels believe we were an Englishman going to Pensacola. Well, Porter was on hand, you bet, and every other fellow was on hand, too, and we were going to run right straight by the derned Batteries, without stopping or showing our colors; but the 'Old Man,' as we termed the admiral, or Senior Officer Alden, who had preceded us, as soon as we came up signaled to drop anchor; and the Lord only knows how long we will stay, if that condemned boiler don't bust.
"The old black-whiskered parson was mad, because he didn't get to go ahead, and he mopes in his den all the time, just like a bear with a sore head, cross at us all, as if we was to blame."
Rear-Admiral David D. Porter was, at that time, ranking as a lieutenant in the navy, though he had been selected specially by Mr. Lincoln to command the Powhattan on this relief expedition. As I saw him daily aboard his ship, he appeared, to my eyes, to be a hearty, blustering, handsome naval officer, in the prime of life, wearing a full, black beard, which, with his sharp eyes and commanding presence, impressed me with the idea that the old tar had suggested, as being a model pirate chief.
Those who have not been aboard a man-of-war while in commission and engaged in actual sea service, and have formed their impressions from casual visits to a ship in port, would scarcely realize the changed condition of affairs. The captain is a little king, with absolute power, and lives in great style, all by himself, in his beautiful den of a cabin, at the extreme aft-end of the ship. He never comes forward, I believe, and walks only on one side of the deck. I think he doesn't permit anyone to approach his highness, except through the regular channels.