I don't know just what I did reply, I was so stunned for a moment, but the gallant, glorious old loyal son of the navy put the answer into my head.

"You claim our protection, don't you."

"Yes, I do. I'll go overboard Captain, but I'll not return to the Rebel lines."

"You don't need to. You have claimed my protection; you are a boy away from home and among enemies; you are in my charge."

I tried to thank him, but he stopped me abruptly, saying:

"Never mind; you claim our protection, and, by God, you shall have it."

With this he glared out of his little window like a wild beast in a cage, and I backed out of his presence with a heart overflowing with thankfulness and gratitude, rejoiced that I had found one officer who would use his authority to protect American citizens; who sought the good of the country and the protection of our flag.

I went back to my perch just in time to see the white flag run under our bow, and, looking down over the ship's side, I could see the tug was filled with Rebel officers.

The officer of the deck received them courteously, and, after reporting to Mr. Perry, they were invited aboard. Mr. Perry was most affable and pleasant with them, as were, in fact, all the officers, and the Rebels themselves seemed to be as jolly as if they were out for a frolic. There was nothing in their manner or bearing toward each other that would lead anyone to infer there was any prospect of a war.

After the preliminary courtesies had been exchanged, a couple of them went into the captain's Cabin; what occurred there I never learned; the interview, however, was a mighty short one; the Rebel emissaries came out and without any further parley got aboard their flag-of-truce boat and steered for their sand-banks.

I have a recollection of reading in our school histories an account of one of our naval officers, while in an Austrian port, giving some such protection to a naturalized citizen of the United States, and great credit attached to this act; perhaps, I am prejudiced, but I doubt very much if that officer did as grand and heroic an act as that of Captain Porter in protecting a boy from the shabby, cowardly attempt of traitors in arms against his flag, aided by the more contemptible conduct of our own officers who were his superiors.

It required the nerve which subsequent events showed Captain Porter to possess, and his name and deeds are everywhere recognized while that of his superior, the Admiral, has been lost.

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.

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.

It is not for me, in this narrative, to attempt anything like a description of the exciting times I was permitted to witness in New York City that Sunday. Those who have followed me in this effort to picture my solitary and lonely adventures, away off in Florida, when my attempts, voluntarily, to do something for my country, and for the people who were then so terribly in earnest at home, will appreciate my feelings of joy and happiness, over being once more among friends--and such great, hearty, fighting friends, too, as everybody seemed to be at that time.

The first thing I did was to go to a telegraph office; and, climbing up four or five flights of stairs, I found Mr. Porter in charge of the operating room, as chief operator and manager; and although I had never met him personally, I was well acquainted by wire, having often worked with him at the other end of a 300 mile wire.

Introducing myself, and briefly explaining my arrival from Florida, and a desire to announce myself to friends at the other end of his wire, he astonished me by at once saying:

"Why, bless me, is this _you_? There's been lots of talking over this wire about you lately."

Then he related at length all he had seen and heard of my career through the newspapers during all the time I was a helpless prisoner aboard the Powhattan.

He had, as you may imagine, a great deal of news for me about myself, as reported by the Southern press and extensively copied in the North.

I was soon put in communication over the wire with a brother operator near my own home; and, strange as it may appear to those who are not familiar with the humors of the telegraph, an operator's "touch," even though a thousand miles distant, like the sound of a familiar voice, is recognized by some peculiarity that attaches to the operator's style.

My old friend at the other end of the wire, on hearing my "sending" at the New York end, told me afterward, that on that quiet Sunday morning, when all alone in his office, he had been reading at that very moment a newspaper account of my adventures, in which it was made to appear that our officers had, in reply to the demand of the rebels, informed them, that they--the Union officers--were going to hang this spy themselves; and while he was yet thinking that as between the two, there was no hope of my escape, his attention was called to the signal for his office to receive a message. Hastily answering to "G. A.," or the telegrapher's go ahead, he pulled out a pencil to note down the message. The first words the brass tongue of the instrument sounded to his startled ears were:

"I am O. K."--this was my telegraphic signal--"Who are you?"

He said he knew as quickly as the words "I am," were sounded, that it was me at the key; but, in his present state of mind, could not resist the feeling that he was about to communicate with a spirit, or the ghost of his friend, but, as the sounder became silent, or paused for a reply, he recovered himself, and answered nervously that he was my old friend Gilson.

Then we had a long, confidential talk in whispers, as it were, over the long wire, in which much that I have tried to relate in these pages was briefly gone over, while I was, in turn, informed of all that had been done and said during my absence.

Word was sent to my father and to my sweethearts and all my friends. As I rose to leave the office, and turned to thank my old fraternal companion for his kindness and courtesy, in giving me this opportunity to at once converse with my home, he suggested to me that, as I had been so grossly misrepresented, I ought to see the New York papers and have my story properly given to the world.

At his request, I agreed to meet him at the office in the evening, when he would take me to the different offices of newspapers with which he, as manager of the Associated Press, had friendly relations, and introduce me to the editors.

Leaving Mr. Porter, I found my way next to Rev. Henry Ward Beecher's Church, in Brooklyn, as being one of the necessary things to do in New York on a Sunday morning. Here I got a back seat, in a crowded gallery, and, as I had not yet gotten over the tumbling and rolling sensations experienced aboard our old tub of a ship, as I sat there and tried to ogle the pretty girls in the choir over Mr. Beecher's pulpit, the whole church persisted in rocking and rolling, precisely as the ship had been doing for a week.

The rest of the day I put in sending notes and messages to Washington, and to friends whom I had left at home, but many of whom, I now learned, were out in the army, at different points.

In the evening, I met my friend according to appointment, and together we called at the New York _Herald_ office, where I was pleasantly welcomed as a "fruitful subject," and the shrewd city editor pumped me thoroughly dry before he let me out of that chair by his desk.

From there we went to the New York _Tribune_, where the same procedure was gone through but at somewhat greater length. The next morning, which, if I remember rightly, was May 28th, 1861, these two New York papers printed with bold head-lines a full account of my recent adventure.