There were quite a number of passengers aboard, among them Lieutenant Slemmer and one other artillery officer, whose name I have forgotten, who were going home for the benefit of their health; also a number of mechanics who had been employed about some repairs on the Fort.
As seen from the deck of the transport, as we weighed anchor and pointed her prow homeward-bound, I thought the sloop-of-war Powhattan, with her companion ship, the Brooklyn, with their port-holes and big guns and men aloft, to give us a parting salute, was one of the most beautiful sights imaginable. How much better pleased I was with the view from this standpoint than I had been with the sailing and saluting of the transport which had sailed a few days previous, under just such circumstances (except that I wasn't aboard of her on my way home).
Our captain had taken aboard some field-pieces of heavy artillery which had not yet been stowed below. While we were yet in that portion of the gulf where the water was comparatively so smooth, and the weather so fine, our civilian captain amused himself by calling on all hands to assist in mounting one of these guns on its field carriage, in the bow of his old transport, while he entertained himself and the ship's company with great stories of the danger from the newly-fledged privateers that Jeff Davis so promptly issued his letters of reprisal for.
We steamed along smoothly and slowly enough for a day or two without any adventure. I have often wondered since what would have been the effect on the old ship if that captain had taken a crazy notion to have fired one of those big field-pieces.
When we reached Tortugas, or Fort Jefferson—which I believe is the name of the immense affair which seems to rise straight out of the water—there was considerable saluting and signaling with the flags on the Fort as we approached the anchorage.
We stayed at Tortugas part of two days, storing away the guns, and I do think they were two of the most intolerably hot days that I have ever felt. As we lay at anchor, and when the sun was highest, it was necessary to spread over the ship's deck the large canvas awning, which the sailors said was to prevent the pitch calking from melting out and to avoid "warping the ship."
Here I went ashore, if going inside an immense Fort can be called shore—there certainly was no freedom about it—but it was a great relief to one's legs to be able to stand and walk about on the ground once more, even though it was inside of great walls, and the only persons to be seen were the men of the garrison, their officers and a few families.
During our voyage—after leaving Key West—our Fort Pickens officers, Lieutenant Slemmer and his companion, had kept close to their rooms—probably they were too sick to make an appearance—but when the ship got into the bay, and as we ran up the river to the anchorage, Mr. Slemmer's sick companion made his appearance dressed up in full regimentals. As he sat on top of the pilot-house with our captain, with his mantle thrown back over his shoulder, and showing the brilliant red lining of the artillery uniform, he looked to me then as if he were expecting to be received as a hero.
Lieutenant Slemmer, on the other hand, modest and retiring, did not show himself at all; and, as soon as he got ashore, he scurried off to Pennsylvania to meet his wife, who had previously been highly honored and entertained after her return North through the rebel lines.
Your humble servant was not long in getting on solid ground, and, in company with a Spanish exile from Cuba, we drove at once to the Astor House. Here was lying in state, in their heavily draped parlor, the body of Colonel Ellsworth, the funeral cortege being on the way from Washington City to the burial place, somewhere east of New York.