[Illustration: "AH! SKETCHING, ARE YOU?"]

For a boy, this was a pretty sharp trick, if it were not very discreet.

Mr. Perry roughly said, as I put my hands in my pockets and looked at him defiantly:

"Take your hands out of your pockets when you talk to an officer, damn you!" "Go forward, sir!" "Don't you come aft again!"

Mr. Perry, as the executive officer, had the control and management of almost every detail aboard ship; and, of course, after his ridiculous failure to catch me mapping, or sketching, which had become known all over the ship, he entertained for me more positive and open dislike than ever, so that I was henceforth, practically, his prisoner. I had enjoyed full liberty to go about everywhere as I pleased, heretofore, and lounged or lay about in the warm sun most of the time up by the wheel-house; but now I understood that, by his arbitrary orders, I was not to be allowed to go aft; which I interpreted to mean confinement to the forecastle.

This was not so pleasant for me, as I could have no communication with the officers, and lost the opportunity of seeing the marine drill, which was a daily performance, that seemed to relieve the monotony of our every-day life, which was indeed becoming quite tiresome to me.

However, I consoled myself with the reflection that I should soon be able to get away to my home in the North. There had been a transport in the squadron unloading supplies, which I had been given to understand would take me off on her return to New York. I watched with eager interest the unloading of this transport, which had to be tediously and drudgingly performed by the use of lighters and pulleys over the ship's side;--the rebs objected, you know, to our forces using the Fort's piers, which was within range of their guns, though it will be recalled that our Admiral did not prevent their ships going into the harbor to unload their supplies.

I think it must have been some of Billy Wilson's Zouaves, or their supplies, that were being unloaded. You will remember that about this time that regiment of the roughs and toughs of New York City had been sent down there, where they were permitted to encamp on the Island, between the fires of the two forces; being natural enemies of both, communication with them was necessarily limited.

Early one morning, one of the petty officers shook me out of the hammock, saying:

"Bundle up quickly, to go aboard the transport."

If I didn't get out of the hammock that morning very gracefully, it was because it was done suddenly. The man who called me stood by, as he said, to help me get ready, as the ship was to sail at daylight. I had no bag for my luggage, which consisted only of the gifts of the fine sailor suit, mentioned heretofore, and what I wore on my person, so we were not long in getting ready.

Hurrying up on deck, I went to the gangway aft, where the little gig, as they call the little boat, was bobbing up and down on the swell, as the waves beat against the ship's side. The sailor standing in the bow, holding on to the steps, or rope balustrade, helped me to make the little jump into the boat, which I felt was dancing with delight because it was to take me off that old ship.

As I passed to the rear seat, each old tar had a kind word of good-by for me, and I believe that I promised every one of them to go and see their friends and sweethearts when I should get home. We waited awhile for an officer who was getting the captain's mail ready. Soon Lieutenant Queen came down the steps and scrambled to a seat beside me, saying, pleasantly:

"Well, my boy, I wish I were going with you this morning."

He gave the order to let go and soon we were bouncing over the water toward the transport, which was smoking and hissing away at a great rate some distance from our ship but nearer the shore. When we pulled alongside I braced myself for the climb up her side, when Lieutenant Queen should give the signal. He had gone aboard ahead and delayed sometime; presently he appeared at the ship's side and began to descend to our boat again; I thought his manner a little queer, as I watched him with astonishment; once in the boat, he was about to give the order to pull off, when the captain of the transport hailed him and said:

"I'm sorry, but don't you forget to tell Porter it's not my fault."

After a little further talk in an undertone, Mr. Queen told the coxswain to go ahead, and then turning to me said:

"There's some mistake, they say they can't take you, they have no room."

My feelings may be imagined--they can not be described. I was so disappointed that I was literally struck dumb, and could not speak a word on our return to the ship, and was led aboard by the good-hearted old sailors as if I had just been rescued from a watery grave.

Going to our ship's side, I looked over the water in the early grey of the morning and saw the transport, on which I had built my every hope of home, slowly but surely steaming away toward home, and I still on the ship _and a prisoner_. How long I stood there I do not know; probably until the fast-sailing transport had almost gotten out of my dimmed sight. I cried, of course I did, like a big baby, and on board a man-of-war, too; and being too proud to show it, I kept my face resolutely set toward the receding ship that was going home without me.

I didn't even have such a thing as a handkerchief to dry those tears, bitter tears, which _would_ run down my cheeks and drop into the sea below me.

Mr. Queen, who had reported his trip to Captain Porter, hunted me up to say that "the captain would see that I was taken care of and sent home all right."

Speaking in his kindly, sympathetic manner, seemed to renew my emotion, and turning my wet cheeks to him I said, I fear somewhat harshly, "I'll never again undertake anything that would get me aboard a naval officer's ship."

He laughed good-naturedly, while he told me of his many disappointments in not getting home from foreign countries, as he had planned, while in the naval service. He said also that Captain Porter was mad about it, because some one seemed determined to interfere with everything or anything he wanted to accomplish, but he would fix me all right next time, and, pointing to another transport, he said:

"You will go on that ship in a few days."

Some of the talks and hints which the old sailors had been firing at me for days about a Rebel Spy, sent aboard to fire their magazine, or to signal to the Rebels any attempt to run inside, and which I had taken at the time as sailors' yarns, were now vividly recalled to my mind. These things, coupled with the recent interview between Porter, Perry and myself, in which I had been entrapped into an agreement to return through their lines to spike some guns, all came upon me with a sickening sensation.

I had been led by the talk of Perry, against my own judgment, and doubting the feasibility of his plans, to agree that I should put ashore alone, in a dismal swamp in Florida, ten miles from everything living but alligators and snakes, in the dark of midnight, to find my way across to Mobile to spike some guns.

Because I was willing to _do anything_ for the benefit of the Union cause, not having a single thought of fear or danger to myself, this disposition had been twisted and tortured by Mr. Perry, a United States officer, into a virtual acknowledgment on my part that I was a Rebel and was anxious to return to their camps.

I do not believe that Captain Porter agreed with Perry in this conclusion.

If the object of these Rebels in their negotiation was to throw discredit on my reports of their operations and plans--which they knew I could correctly give--they succeeded only in the sense that I was personally discredited. The officers at the Fort were grateful and glad to receive my information. I know they were benefited by and acted upon it; but the poor spy who enabled them to save their Fort, or at least prevent disaster, was ignored. The officers, no doubt, took great credit to themselves in their official reports.

I may be allowed to say right here that the spy's work, though often most dangerous and important, is always thankless. That was my experience at the outset of my career, but (unfortunately for me perhaps) did not deter me from continuing in the same service.

I made up my mind to one thing, however; I stuck to it, and I was never caught on board a man-of-war again, but confined my operations to solid ground, where I could have more room and freedom, and be my own executive officer.

The next day on board the ship was Sunday, and an eventful one to me. As is customary aboard a man-of-war, it was inspection day. All soldiers and sailors know what a Sunday inspection is, so I need not describe it.

At a certain hour I was invited aft, with the drove of a crew--to "Meetin'," as the sailor said. All hands were congregated about the deck according to a drill, which all understood, at a certain moment the officer of the deck stepped to the captain's door and, after saluting in the proper manner, invited the parson to the pulpit.

Captain Porter in full regimentals marched out in grand style, taking up his position, and gravely opened a book from which he read some prayers as effectively as a clergyman, after which there were orders read, and a dismissal for a general holiday--relief from drill and routine work for the balance of the day.

This was the first time I had been permitted to look at the captain since my disappointment, and I most eagerly scanned his face for some indication of his feeling toward me; once or twice I caught his eye, but I found little comfort there. He was a fierce-looking fellow, and particularly so when fixed up in his Sunday toggery.

The other ships of the squadron, as well as the fort and the Rebels, seemed to be putting on their best attire and were feeling comfortable in their Sunday dress.

Inside the harbor, the Rebels seemed to be enjoying Sunday excursions with their little boats; the officers on the ships and the fort were exchanging friendly visits.

I had, as a special Sunday privilege, I suppose, been told to resume the freedom of the ship as at first, and was lounging in my haunt above, where I could see all about us.

Along some time in the afternoon I noticed a little steam-tug steam out past Fort Pickens, puffing and dancing along in the direction of the admiral's flag-ship. The striking peculiarity about the little boat was, that at her bow she floated a white flag, not larger than a bathing towel, while on the rear staff were flaunted the Rebel colors.

My curiosity having been greatly excited by the sailors' talks of flags-of-truce to the fort, in which I was in some unknown way connected by them, I watched with intense interest every movement this little craft made; she came on, dancing along between the shore and the squadron until the flag-ship was almost abreast of her, then suddenly turning, the fluttering white flag pointed directly to the admiral's ship, and was lost to my sight behind her great sides.

Others on board were watching this also, and I could see that the glances of the men would turn significantly from the little truce boat to me.

Mr. Queen had gone off visiting, but Mr. Perry was on hand, sullen and disagreeable.

They stopped so long aboard the Admiral's ship that one of the younger officers ventured to say to me in a side whisper, feeling perhaps that I needed some comfort: "Oh, they are just over for a Sunday visit to the Admiral," and then walked briskly away from me as if afraid of being seen by Perry talking to the Rebel Spy.

He had scarcely turned away from me when, on looking in the direction of the flag-ship, I saw the white flag come bobbing out from under the stern of the big ship. Were they going back to their Rebel camps? _No!_ they were bearing straight down on us, while they were waving adieus to the officers, who were looking over the bulwarks of the ship they had just quitted.

_Great God!_ my heart sank within me at the thought that they were after me again, and the old Admiral had sent them to Captain Porter, with orders to give me up.

I reckon I turned pale. I know that I felt that I would die in the water beneath me before I would return with them to the Rebel lines. I was a boy of strong impulse, and, if I must say it myself, I was not afraid of death; but I determined in the instant I stood there watching that boat come toward us so saucily that I would die rather than return with them.

The slightest provocation at that time would have made me leap overboard. Luckily for me, the young officer who had spoken to me but a few moments previously, ran rapidly up the few steps and called me quickly to him, saying:

"Captain wants you in his cabin, right away."

I nervously followed him, and as he opened the cabin door I stepped inside and saw Captain Porter in the act of buckling on his sword belt; his face was strangely flushed, and, as he adjusted his sword into its proper position at his side, and buttoned up his coat, turned sharply on me, saying, as he shook his head significantly:

"Young fellow, that boat is coming after you; do you know that?"