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

During the ten days I was anchored off Fort Pickens on board the man-of-war Powhattan my enforced sojourn may be likened to that of a "fish out of water."

In compelling an ignorant slave boatman to row me over the bay in the cover of the night to Fort Pickens with this valuable information, I was, according to law, as it was interpreted technically, guilty of a threat or attempt to kill. This, with the fact that the slave, like the boat and oar, was "property," added robbery to the indictment prepared against me.

But as the slave had been so heartlessly and almost cruelly sent back to his little boat, there was in fact no robbery, and all that could have been claimed was the intention or intent to kill, etc. I did not understand then, and have not since been able to learn, sufficient law to properly satisfy myself on this question, but the facts are as has been stated here.

On his return to the Rebels, the colored boy, no doubt, gave these officials an exaggerated story of his experience with the bold highwayman, or freebooter, in his boat on the bay, thinking in this way to obtain for himself some immunity from the terrible punishment that awaited all slaves who were caught out at night, which would be more especially severe at such a time and under such circumstances as had just happened to him.

The Rebel officers, of course, when they heard the dreadful story from the lips of my boatman, at once began looking up the details of the recent visit of the Texan among them, and readily gathered sufficient data from my week's companionship and intercourse in their midst to justify the conviction that I was a dangerous fellow, and had gone over to the Yankees, knowing their hand and game too well.

It is probable that the object of the flags-of-truce was, primarily, to create in the minds of our officers an impression that I was unworthy and undeserving of belief. Before leaving Washington I had, while in consultation with an official of the War Department, been given to understand that, as a matter of policy, it would be more to my credit to obtain information and report directly to the War Department; and I was cautioned not to acknowledge to any person—friend or foe—that I was on a secret errand. I had not, during my brief stay at the fort, mentioned to any of the officers the fact that I was visiting in the service of the War Department, and had only informed Captain Porter of my hasty interview with the Secretary, admitting to him that the present service was purely voluntary, but that I expected to be regularly engaged on my return home. I had no papers of any kind in my possession, and even if I had brought along with me the Secretary of War's endorsement on my application, no person would have been able to have read the Secretary's peculiar chirography.

Some of our officers, in April, 1861, were inclined to accept the Rebels' interpretation of the laws, and those at Pickens were, I fear, disposed, as a matter of mere courtesy to surrender on their demand my person a victim of their unholy vengeance. At that time Ben Butler, Fremont, or General Banks, had not had the opportunity to lay down the law of the nation to the Rebels in arms against its authority; but, luckily for me, I was aboard the ship commanded by Captain D. D. Porter, and though I had in my uncertainty of mind for several days "been like Mahomet's coffin, suspended between the earth and sky," I did not at the time these negotiations were pending know that my life was hanging by so slender a thread, or, more properly speaking, that I was liable to be suspended by numerous threads woven together in the more substantial form of a rope.

Captain Porter's interview, however, satisfied me at the time, but when I witnessed with what cordiality and heartiness the Rebel officers were being received aboard our ship, my mind was puzzled, and I recall now a feeling of uncertainty or misgiving.

In a day or so after Captain Porter's reception and emphatic rejection of whatever propositions the Rebel officers accompanying the truce boat had made to him, in regard to giving into their hands for trial the Yankee Spy, I bid Captain Porter and his ship a hearty and thankful farewell, and the curtain was rung down on my Pinafore experiences.

The side-wheel transport steamer Philadelphia being ready to return to the North, a day preceding her sailing I was placed aboard of her as a dead-head passenger for New York.