April 21st. In the morning a new gunboat, the Penobscot, joined the squadron. Chased two vessels this morning. Of course, one was the brig Perry!
Captured a schooner last night. The Mount Vernon ran in within a quarter of a mile of the fort, and put a prize crew on board, in three fathoms of water. Rather good work! We had very little to do with it. This afternoon we had been lying by the State of Georgia and had hardly returned to our station when the Daylight began signalling; while we were answering her, we were in the middle, with signals at the peak main and fore, all at once. Rather confusing. I think though that we got them all straight. In the midst of it all came a gun from the Perry. A few more signals and then the whole fleet got under way—a sort of impromptu regatta. Soon all but the Florida turned back. We stood on for about lo miles and are now lying within about a mile of the shore. The Perry has fired three more guns. Signals are seen in every direction. It looks as if there would be some sort of a scrap before morning.
April 23d. For once I was right. At about 3.30 a.m. I was called by Thomas, who said: "Wake up Mr. Post, for the love of Heaven! Shure, ain't the crew all at quarters and you not there. Haven't they fired off the little brass cannon right over your head and you sleeping shwately, all the time. Shure the captain's on deck, and there's a prize in sight." I sprang out of bed just as a rocket went off, as a signal to the rest of the fleet. When I arrived on deck, I found a pretty busy place. A vessel had come upon us as we lay at anchor. We had fired at her with the quarterdeck howitzer, right over my head. Thomas was right, I am a good sleeper. She had disappeared in the darkness, which was black as Erebus. You could not see six fathoms on either side. There was a drizzling rain, almost a fog. We slipped our anchor and ran in shore to cut her off, as close as possible, without taking ground. We now had nothing to do, but to lie to, look and listen and wait for morning. We were pretty sure that the chase could not be far off, for if she had been moving we should have heard her. We fired one or two guns as a warning to our fleet, and in hopes of clearing away the drift. Whether they had this effect or not I do not know, but as the dawn began to break, the scud rolled off to leeward in large masses. In the gray light, we saw flashes and heard guns to the southward, and discovered the Daylight engaging two shore batteries, between which lay the steamer which we were chasing, evidently aground. She had run in too far, in trying to get out of our way, during the darkness. We at once stood in, using our 50 pound Dahlgren and 100 pound Parrott. The steamer evidently knew of the batteries and had run in for protection. The only trouble was that she had tried to get too close to her friends. The State of Georgia now made her appearance, using her long-range guns and signalling the Daylight and Florida to engage the enemy. It was a very pretty scrap for a few minutes. The Daylight, whose engine was disabled, headed to the southward using her starboard guns, their quick and sharp report, 32-pounders, sounding very funny amid the boom of the heavier metal on the larger vessels. A rapid but rather ineffectual fire on both sides was now maintained for about 20 minutes. The shore batteries fired a quantity of shells, but most of them exploded in the air, leaving little puff's of smoke to mark the spot. We twice splashed water all over the prize (?) and thought we had hit her. We were just warming up to our work when the signal was hoisted for commanding officers to repair on board of the flagship. The captain came back to the ship at about 8 a.m. The first thing which he said to me was, "Mr. Post, you had better get your breakfast; I have had a cup of coffee." All this time the ship was not really at quarters. Colors were now made, and the ship regularly called to quarters. T had a good breakfast, and got on deck at about 8.30, just in time to see the ball handsomely opened. The plan was for the Georgia and Florida to engage the batteries and for the Penobscot, a regular built gunboat, to run in and smash up the steamer. We advanced in echelon, the flagship leading, the Florida next, and the Penobscot following. Not having the proper fuses for the shells, for the 9-inch, we used two pivots. The Georgia delivered her broadsides handsomely and the little Daylight got in her 32's as she could. To our disgust the steamer also now slowly forged ahead. They had jettisoned most of her cargo, got her afloat, and soon were driving her full speed for the mouth of the river. The poor little Penobscot was entirely distanced and out of the race from the start. A running fight, in which the Georgia and Florida were the only participants, ensued, until we fairly got under the guns of Fort Fisher, when we reluctantly drew off. Captain Armstrong was right to withdraw, but it was pretty mortifying. His vessel and the Florida are both side-wheelers, with very much exposed steam drums. They are the only craft serviceable as chasers in the squadron. Under point-blank range of the heavy guns of Fort Fisher, certainly one, possibly both, would have been disabled. It was considered that the blockade would be better served by allowing a small steamer to run in, than if we sacrificed one, or perhaps both, of the only two fast cruisers in the squadron, which is now far too small for the duty assigned to it. All of which is very good logic, but I am going to bed with a heavy heart. Two more guns have just been reported. I suppose it will be the same thing all over again to-morrow. I wonder if we shall ever be really on top!
April 24th. Everything has gone back to our old routine. Helped the captain make out a report of our action to-day.
April 25th. Finished the sennit for my hat, made a long splice and wall crown. "Wash" is quite complimentary. Spent the evening with a lot of the officers on the port guard, with our pipes. There are few things either in heaven or hell which we did not talk over, from Bishop Berkely's ideal existence, to the last spree on shore. Sailors are queer cattle
April 26th. Sunday. Was made rather homesick to-day by the bay snipe, which have been whistling around us all day. One little fellow nearly came aboard.
April 27th. Sent a mail on board of the Daylight, who is going north for repairs. What luck some people do have! If one of the shells had only hit us the other day we should be going home to glory, cool drinks and our best girls. The Daylight has about a hundred contrabands, on board, who rowed off to her from Masonborough Inlet. They are bound for the land of freedom. I hope they will not be disappointed. They are full of enthusiasm. Poor devils, they may find that freedom is not all ripe watermelons.
We had quite an affecting scene this afternoon. An old seaman holding the rating of carpenter's mate had been for some time unable to perform his duties, on account of age and increasing infirmities. He was a good man and had grown gray in the service—I believe he was an old Vandalia man. I don't know why, but that seems to be a sort of patent of nobility among them. The captain had applied for his transfer to a receiving ship, or a home, where the old man-of-war's man might find an asylum for the rest of his life. When the boat came alongside, which was to take him to the Daylight, the captain called him upon the quarterdeck and told him that he was not sending him away because he was displeased with him, or because he had not tried to do his duty, but merely for his own good. He then took him kindly by the hand, wishing him good luck. Tears started in the eyes of the old tar. Turning around he touched his hat to the group of officers who were standing near, interested spectators of the scene, and then mounted the ladder which leads over the side. When he arrived at the top of the rail, he stood with one hand on the stanchion and the other raised to a salute, and in a tremulous voice with a good deal of dignity said, "I should have liked to have stayed with you, Captain Bankhead, if I had been able to do my duty." "You have done it. and now you have a right to rest." And so ended the career of an old supporter of the flag, who had gone gray in the service. God bless the old sailor! I wish there were more just like him.
April 28th. Supply ship Massachusetts arrived with mail, fresh provisions and ice. Had iced champagne for dinner! Took the Perry's provisions on board and ran up to her with them, off Masonborough Inlet. There are people in this world even worse off than we are. Think of being separated entirely from the rest of the squadron, never even having the excuse of going for coal, and even being provisioned by the other vessels. We got the papers to-day, but ours is an unsatisfactory sort of news. We get the papers of about the date when the supply ship leaves, but the gaps in between the mails are largely left to rumor. The news from the Mississippi seems to be good. Porter seems to have got his fleet past Vicksburg from above and Farragut his past Port Hudson below. If so I should think that Vicksburg must fall.
April 29th. Nothing much to do, but fresh meat and ice make one take a more hopeful view of everything.
April 30th. Caught a lot of fish to-day and am now in hopes that we shall get as many as we want. This morning being very calm had target practice and made some very good shooting, hitting three barrels lashed together at 1500 to 2000 yards. This afternoon the Penobscot stood out after a steamer supposed to have run the blockade. We followed, soon overhauling them both and, in anxiety, nearly getting on Frying Pan Shoals. The steamer proved to be the Violet, a New York ocean tug, stationed upon the shoals to prevent vessels of light draft from passing over them. She looked very funny, yapping around among the war-ships like a terrier dog. I don't see why they do not send us more of these boats. They get along pretty well, in any reasonable weather, and would be very useful.
May 1st. Received mail to-day. Got a lot of letters.
Note by Editor.—An extract from a letter from my father received at about this date gives an idea of the general feeling of discouragement, and is a good lesson for the present-day croakers:
(April 13th.) "We have received to-day accounts of the attack on Charleston which seems to me pretty much of a fizzle. We seem to be unsuccessful everywhere, both on land and sea."
At 12 to-day started in chase of a vessel reported from the masthead. We made her out to be a barque and were nearing her fast when a steamer hove in sight. We dropped the barque and made for the steamer. She proved to be another ocean tug, the Governor, returning from Port Royal. She reports the monitors to be all in good condition, waiting at Edisto Inlet ready to try it again with Fort Sumter.
Note by the Editor.—Although I find no mention of it in the diary, I have a very distinct recollection, that at about this time a rumor reached the fleet that the Rebels at Charleston had devised some sort of an underwater craft that held two men, and that an abortive attempt had been made to torpedo the new Ironsides with it, which resulted in the loss of the boat and her crew. I never heard much more about it, but if this is so, it was probably the first submarine used in actual war.
Spoke a vessel bound south, laden with horses.
May 2d. Ran down to the Perry with her mail, then started for Beaufort to take aboard coal. Got there at about 2 p.m. It is a queer old place and reminds me of Long Island. There is the same sea beach and sand-hills, the same narrow strip of water between the beach and the mainland and the same scrub forest in the background. I have not been ashore yet, but expect to go to-morrow. The meadows look very snipey and enticing. If I had a fowling-piece I should be tempted to try my luck. They say I might turn up in Libby Prison, Init I don't think there is much danger.
May 3d. Went on shore to the town of Beaufort and stayed there from 3 p. m. until sunset. Glad to get on terra firma once more, but Beaufort is neither London, Vienna, St. Petersburg nor New York. Got a very good dinner at a place they call the Ocean House. Silver forks, napkins, etc. The elegance knocked me all in a heap. Beaufort consists of a string of houses, a number of churches and lots of sand.
May 4th. Clear day. Not very well. Stayed aboard ship all day.
May 5th. Went on board store-ship and bought some things I wanted and a lot that I did not want. I met an officer who had a sail-boat, who invited me to sail over to Morehead City with him. Bought a big green turtle for the cabin table for $1.25. I wonder what he would have cost in N.Y.? I hear that there are lots of snipe on the bars, and I have made arrangements to go after them to-morrow. Mr. Grafts, one of the ensigns, has lent me a gun. The captain is not enthusiastic about the expedition.
May 6th. I have just returned from my sporting expedition. I saw a lot of birds, but only got three or four big ones; the tide was wrong, the time was short, the country strange and my nigger pilot not over bright. I however got a lot of meadow lien's eggs, which will form an agreeable addition to our table. The captain said he told me so, and informed me that 1 had run the risk of getting in a bad scrape for a few birds' eggs, and that I had better not try it again.
May 7th. Bad squall yesterday afternoon and we dragged our anchor and took ground, on the sand. Hard and fast all right. We got a line to a schooner and another to our best bower, led off quite a distance, and with the help of a steam-tug got off without much difficulty.
Had rather a joke on H.R.H. Bankhead to-day at lunch. I had ordered the steward to hard-boil my meadow hen's eggs and was eating them with considerable relish. The captain sat, with an amused expression, watching me. Finally he said, "Those things are not good to eat, are they?" I offered him the dish. He ate four, and remarked: These are not boy's food. Thomas, you will keep these for the captain, and Mr. Post, the next time we go to Beaufort, see that you get some more." How about the the danger of these silly sporting expeditions?
May 8th. Went aboard the store-ship and got the cabin stationery. At 1 p.m. started with Mr. Williams for Beaufort in a lighter that was putting off from the fort dock. From Beaufort went to Morehead City to look up a box which I expected from home. Received the gratifying intelligence that it was probably at Newbern, where it would stay unless I went after it myself. Got aground going back, in a squall, and got a good ducking. Put in to Beaufort, but as it showed no signs of clearing, started for the ship. We were moist when we arrived. We have everything on board, and shall probably start for Wilmington to-morrow.
May 9th. Crossed the bar off' Beaufort at 10.30 a.m. and reached the squadron this p. m. Found that they had papers of a later date. Hooker has gained a great victory! I have not heard the particulars. We are all very happy. A new gunboat named the Niphon has joined the fleet, during our absence. She was, I believe, built for the opium trade in China. We call her "the pirate."
May 11th. Chased a schooner for about 15 or 20 miles to the southward and eastward. Had quite an exciting race with the Niphon, who got rather the best of it. We, however, are all loaded down with coal. She also had canvas out, which we had not. We shall have to try her again before we yield our place as the fastest steamer on the station.
May 12th. I lave been at anchor all day. One of the men caught a fish to-day which I have never seen before. The sailors call it a sucker. It has a flat, cartilaginous disc on the top of the head, by which it can attach itself to a flat surface, like a boy's leather sucker to a flat stone. They are said to attach themselves to sharks and cause them much annoyance.
May 13th. A sail was discovered from the masthead to-day. Got up all steam to give chase, and blew a hole in our boiler. It was not a very serious business, and Zeigler put it all right during the day. Bless his heart! A good engineer is not an unmixed joy. Some men would have gone north to refit. A little rest and glory would have been very nice.
May 14th. Started after breakfast for the fishing ground the Niphon people told us of. Could not find it. No fishing of any consequence until we got back to our own anchorage, where we caught enough for dinner.
How time rolls monotonously along. Each hour seems interminable, and yet the days and weeks slip by before you know it, leaving nothing to mark their passage. It seems as if you were in a trance and might "come to" at any moment. I wish that we could hear what Hooker has done.
May 15th. At mid-day the Penobscot turned up bringing the mail, and the news of Hooker's defeat. A victory for the North seems to be an impossibility. This looks like the last battle of the struggle. I would not confess it to anyone, but this silent page. While a sane man can hope, hope I will. Perhaps all will come out right yet, but the peace party and copperheads will have their inning now. The flame of patriotism is flickering and nearly extinguished. One more disastrous blast will put it out forever. May God avert the calamity! Three steamers have run in during the past week and a schooner on the 13th. I see no reason why they should not go, in and out, as often as they please, under the present system of blockading. We have six vessels to guard some 10 miles of coast, the distance from Masonborough Inlet to the Shoals. One, or more, of the six has to be at Beaufort all of the time coaling. At present, two are away. We are compelled by orders to lie at anchor all night. Even provided we see the runner, which is extremely improbable, when you consider the necessary intervals between our vessels, we are sure to lose her in the darkness before the cable can be slipped and we begin to chase. The only possible way to do anything, with our present force, would be to keep one or more fast cruisers constantly on the course by which way they come from Nassau. Then we should stand a chance of falling- in with them, in the daytime. We should at least prevent them from lying just out of sight of our squadron, and choosing their own time to slip through our lines, on a bad night, with their engines shut off, trusting that their "way" will carry them through. As matters stand now the blockade off New Inlet is a solemn farce. I am told that if we tried to capture them on the high seas we should have another Trent mortification, or a war with England within a week. It seems to me that we ought to either fish, cut bait or go ashore.
Extract from Letter of J.B. Post, May 7th, 1863
I have no spirits to write or do anything else, as we have just heard of Hooker's retreat, another sad disappointment of perhaps foolish hopes. The newspapers as usual, ever since the movement took place, have been blustering and bragging, but their talk produced but little effect on me, though I felt strong hopes of success from all that I could hear and learn. Alas, alas, my hopes "blossomed but to fade." We have heard no particulars and perhaps it may not be so bad after all.
May 16th. The mail received yesterday makes the Hooker fiasco appear rather less terrible. He seems to have got his army back safely, and to have inflicted about as much damage as he received. Still it is a bad business. They say that the New York troops are again in the field. It makes me sad to think of the old 22d going without me, but as the Irishman, says, "you can't be in two places at the same time, unless you are a bird."
May 17th. Note. An unimportant growl. We were all pretty blue in those days.
May 18th. Chased a sloop which proved to be a prize taken off Charleston with 24 bales of cotton on board. The prize crew consisted of two sailors, a nigger and a drunken master's mate. It seemed madness to allow such a craft to attempt to weather Hatteras with a drunken officer. So the captain took her in tow, returned to our day station, where we made her anchor for the night, while we ran in shore. No one saw us, as we ran in. If we had been a blockade runner, we should be now under the batteries laughing at those d—d Yankees.
May 19th. Captain Armstrong allowed our prize to go on her way rejoicing this morning. The captain received a letter to-day in reference to a new command. I hope that he will get it, for I am thoroughly tired of this work.
May 20th. To-day we spoke a schooner, who reports having seen a lead-colored steamer off the coast. She may try to run in to-night. May the fates prove propitious!
May 21st. Niphon arrived to-day with mail, and I amused myself running a fish-hook in my hand, which had to be cut out. The doctor is pretty clumsy and was nearly half an hour at the job and hurt me a great deal more than was necessary. I should not care for him, if the work were serious. Why can't they send us competent men?
May 22d. This morning a vessel ran in and we had a little scrap with the batteries, in which the surgeon of the Penobscot was killed and his steward wounded. He was in the cockpit (Anglice operating room) below the waterline. The shot struck a deck stanchion, was deflected, and he and his steward were the only ones hurt. I believe that he was a very good fellow, but the fleet seems to take it as a sort of joke.
May 23d. Nothing of importance.
May 24th. Nothing of importance.
May 25th. Nothing of importance.
May 26th. Our friend "the pirate" of the Niphon is charming. He is a man of education and good manners, and I believe comes of a good family. I think his name is Breck. He has had some interesting experiences in China, and is great fun to talk to. He is waking us up, down here. His favorite sport is to apply for permission to go ''peerooting at night" as he calls it. He takes the range of certain places on shore during the day and his vessel being of light draft, he runs in after dark and blazes away, at them. They very nearly got him this morning. They got one shot which, I have an idea, set them thinking. He (Captain Breck) came on board to-day and had just accepted an invitation to dinner when the flagship signalled to chase a strange sail, and the strange sail, of course, turned out to be the brig Perry. This brig Perry is getting on my nerves. When we returned to our station, he again came on board and we passed a very pleasant evening. He did most of the talking.
May 27th and 28th. No entry.
May 29th. The captain of the Niphon came on board to-day. Last night he was on one of his "peerooting" expeditions. The "Rebs" saw him and signalled. He did not reply, and in return got a shot right over his spanker-boom, against which he was leaning. He returned the fire with five or six shots. He says he silenced the battery. He will get in trouble yet, but he keeps us all awake, otherwise this treadmill would drive us mad. I suppose we have got to stick to it until the "Rebs" are threshed out, and the harvest gathered in.
May 30th. Nothing worth recording.
May 31st. The war between the doctor and the wardroom has redoubled in its fury. I have been sitting on the guard all of the evening trying to pour oil on the troubled waters. The man has never been away from home and has grown up among a lot of women. He is a sort of clever ass. He has been making notes of his grievances and went to the captain with them. They are a rough lot in the wardroom and they run and chaff him pretty cruelly. I hear he consulted the captain about court-martialing his comrades and got rather a facer. The captain asked him if he came to him as a friend or as his commanding officer. He replied, "as both." "Then, as your commanding officer, I advise you that it is perfectly competent for you to prefer charges. As a friend, I should advise you not to do it. A young officer should not require a court-martial if he is insulted. When we arrive at Beaufort any officers whose duty does not keep them on board may have shore leave." This did not suit Aesculapius a bit.
June 1st. Heavy firing has been going on all day from the forts. Do not know what it means. We were quite alarmed to-day to see the flagship, the Iroquois, get under way. She is not generally so energetic, we feared that she might over-fatigue herself, and it was with a feeling of relief we saw her drop anchor again. There was an eclipse of the moon to-night and Crafts officiated as master of ceremonies and was quite interesting.
June 2d. Chased a steamer to northward. We supposed that she was the Mount Vernon bringing mail papers, and were surprised when she turned out to be a river steamboat, the old North America that used to run up and down the Hudson. She looks funny enough out here on the broad Atlantic. She is sponsoned up under her guards, which makes her rather more seaworthy than she otherwise would be, but she still falls very short of my idea of the craft in which I would like to make a sea voyage of 2000 miles. She is on her way to New Orleans. The captain has just come into the cabin, and seeing me writing sends his remembrances to father and bids me tell him that "we are all dying of the blues here and that nothing but the news of a victory on land can cheer us up." The North America brings us some rumors which are, I fear, too good to be true. She says there have been great successes at Vicksburg and that the place must fall.
Perhaps!
June 3d. Chased the brig Perry by way of variety.
June 4th. Chased the brig Perry again. I think it is a put up job.
June 5th. Captain of the Niphon came on aboard to-day and spent the morning. A steamer showed herself just clear of the fort to-day. She was of river build. We fired a few shots. She probably had a party on board who wanted to see the squadron. A few shells calmed their curiosity and she went back into her hole.
June 6th. The Iroquois and the Florida cruised some 30 miles off the coast to-day. This is the new system of blockading, which seems to me sensible. There is to be a steamer cruising off shore all of the time now. A great improvement on the old method. We fell in with the Shokhokeen, a regular New York ferry-boat sponsoned up and armed for the blockade. I should not think that she would be a very valuable addition. What she will do in a storm may easily be anticipated. Then there is another little side-wheeled river abortion which they have sent us, called the Pilot Boy. I expect that we shall pass most of our time from this on as life-savers.
Extract From a Letter to My Father on This Date
The extract from the Times which you sent me, pitching into the blockade service, is, in the main, true. Vessels do run in and out pretty freely, but the latter part, which asserts that we would rather let a vessel escape than sink her, fearing to lose our prize money, is an infamous falsehood, as of course you all know. The story must have originated in the fact that the Columbia, in trying to run out by the Cape Fear entrance (south side), was seen by the little tug boat Violet, which carries two or three little brass howitzers. She fired two shots, neither of which took effect, and the Columbia disappeared in the darkness, and soon obtained a position of safety.
I began to think that another disappointment is brewing at Vicksburg. We are ordered to the south side of the Shoals and shall leave on Monday for our new station.
June 7th. Sunday. Captain Breck of the Niphon and his executive officer, Crowningshield, were on board to-day. I am very sorry that to-morrow is to separate us from our pleasant little chum.
June 8th. At about 10 a. m. we bade adieu to Captain Case and New Inlet and after a pleasant sail arrived on the south, Cape Fear, side.
It appears to me, from the configuration of the land, that the blockade here must be a comparatively easy matter. There are no forts which I can see—perhaps I shall find them later—to prevent us from going around the mouth of the river, and thus closing the passage. Two contrabands came off to the Shokhokeen last night. They report two iron-clads to be nearly completed. One of them carries six guns. They also say that there are six blockade runners in Wilmington harbor, ready to run out and only waiting for their chance. I am therefore glad that we are in on this side. I believe their rule is to run out here, and in on the New Inlet side. Perhaps now there may be something doing. The Shokhokeen or "Shocking," as the sailors call her, sprang a leak last night, as was inevitable, and has gone to Beaufort.
June 9th. The Dacotah has gone home to-day for repairs.
June 10th. Captains Boggs and Braine dined with us to-day, a very pleasant dinner. Captain Boggs, who is a dear, and very nice to me, asked me how I liked being under fire. I told him that "I could get along pretty well with the enemy's guns if our own would only keep quiet, that they scared me blue." He smiled and said that the enemy's guns were sometimes disagreeable. Captains Boggs commanded the Varuna, at New Orleans, and is now our flag officer. Captain Braine has the Monticello. He is a charming fellow, and a very energetic and gallant officer. I believe the "Rebs" called his boat the "Shooting Star'' on the Potomac.
June 11th. This has been an eventful day. In the morning we signalled for permission to run off shore fishing, which being granted by the flagship, fishing-lines were brought out and great preparations were made for a day's sport by the whole ship's company. We ran off about five miles and settled down to catch fish for the squadron. We had caught a good many and by 3 p.m. commenced cleaning up the decks to return to our station when "Sail ho!" was hailed from the masthead. "Where away,'' sung out the officer of the deck. "Two points off the port bow." This we hear so often that we rarely pay much attention to it, but when she was reported to be a steamer burning black smoke it began to become interesting.
Note.—We all burned hard coal in 1863, and the Englishmen soft, the latter making a very black smoke. The American ships made hardly any smoke at all.
Just then old "Wash'' called out from the bridge, "That's an Englishman, sir, sure as there's snakes in Virginny." We signalled for permission to chase, and started without waiting for the answer. The inshore fleet all got under way too. I was standing by the captain when he asked Mr. Zeigler, the chief engineer, how much steam she had on. I did not hear what he said, but the captain smiled and said, "Well, give her all you can." It was a very pretty yacht race, and the setting was worthy of the contest. Ahead about five miles distant was the unknown steamer, straining every nerve, then came the Florida, black smoke pouring from her funnel and suspicious little spots of red beginning to show in the black iron, where it was heated red hot by the solid flames from the oil and slush with which Zeigler was feeding the fires. The ship was trembling from stem to stern, and the stokers below were working like demons. About five miles astern was our squadron, like hounds which had missed the scent and were eager to overtake the leader of the pack. A more beautiful summer afternoon it would be hard to imagine. A light breeze from the eastward had kicked up a sparkling surface chop, over just enough of a long swell to remind you that you were on the North Atlantic. The sky was clear and blue, except a few cumulous thunder bunches, that later might mean a summer squall. To say that there was a man on the ship who was not excited would be simply to record a lie, and yet the quiet was almost oppressive. The men were employed with their squeegees and swabs, clearing up the last evidence of the licensed disorder during the fishing, and the officers seemed to have no other thought than to find and wash off the last particle of bait or gurry. The excitement was there all the same. The welcome relief from a monotony of months, that had nearly driven men crazy, had come at last. There was a chance now to refute the calumnies with which the press, at home, branded the inefficiency of the Wilmington blockade. I have known a great many men in both the regular and acting navy; they have had the faults, common to all men, in all positions, but I have never known one who was not jealous of the fair name of the United States Navy. Here was our chance at last to show what we were worth, and we meant to make the most of it. We meant to sink that ship or capture her. If our boilers burst, well, that was our bad luck—that was all there was about it. Added to this, every one from the captain to the humblest side boy had a bet, in prize money, which loomed before us like a fortune. We watched the steamer ahead with eager eyes and the fleet behind with hardly less interest. If they were within signalling distance, they shared not only our credit, but the prize money. We wished our comrades no ill luck, but we saw the John Bull first. She was our prize and we would like to take her all by ourselves. It really looked at if we were going to do it. The Florida was only rated at 12 knots and all of the blockade runners claimed 15, and yet we were certainly gaining on her, and we were leaving the fleet hull down. The old Florida was making the gamest race of her life. She had not been out of water for three months; lying at anchor in southern waters, there must be a hay crop on her bottom which it would pay to harvest, and yet she was gaining. What was Zeigler doing to her? Was he sitting on the safety-valves? Should we soon hear a bang, a rush of steam and the race be over? Or had the dear old ship waked up to a supreme effort, taken the bit in her teeth and run away with us? We neither knew nor cared, but we were gaining. The steamer ahead tacitly admitted the fact and changed her course to put us in the trough of the sea, and roll our paddle wheels out of water. We set our trysails and gained more than before. At last it was our day! The squadron behind turned back and we went on alone. We youngsters were already counting our chickens, but the old hands shook their heads. It was then 4 p.m.; that would leave us at most four hours before dark. We had gained about one-half a mile during the hour's race. 1 : 4:: ½ : x x = 2. There is no beating the rule of three, we would be two miles off at dark, and then, what?
To add to our uncertainties, a thunder-squall now struck us, completely obscuring the prize. We sent for our oilers, and waited impatiently for it to light up. When the weather cleared the steamer was still ahead and the distance sensibly shortened, but it was getting late, 5 p.m., and these squalls meant a short twilight. At a little past 5 another squall hit us, this time abaft the beam. Everything was now set that would draw, the lee guns were run in, those on the weather side run out, and the big Parrott. in the waist, trained over to windward, as far as it was safe to put it, to keep both of our wheels in the water, and more oil poured on the fires. When this squall cleared, the position remained unchanged. If anything, the steamer had increased her distance. Our sails no longer drew, and had to come in. We were cross, wet and disgusted. Then, to our surprise, we began to raise her again, and to shorten the distance. She had changed her course again. Something had gone wrong, she was now standing across our bow. We opened our 50-pounder on the topgallant fo'castle, but the range was too great and she paid no attention. In fact, in yawing to fire, we had lost distance. After chasing for about 15 minutes more, we fired another shot, which crossed her bow. Then another which fell pretty close, and a flag was run up. "Can you make out that flag?" "No, sir," was the reply. Again the 50-pounder enquired if she would stop,—this time close to her bow. The flag now blew out fairly. A plain field of white. She had surrendered. The misery of three months was wiped out by that one moment.
We were fast approaching hailing distance, when to our surprise boats were seen leaving the vessel, which was apparently settling in the water. The thought struck every one at once. They had tricked us. The miserable affair of the De Sota and the Cuba was to be re-enacted. We could now see them throwing parts of the cargo and papers overboard and all preparing to leave the vessel. "They have cut the injection pipes, sir," said the chief engineer, "and are trying to scuttle her." "Train the two pivots on her," said the captain. He then ran out on the guard and hailing them said: "Throw one more thing, of any kind, overboard and I'll send a broadside into you, and let you go to the bottom. If you attempt to scuttle the ship, or blow her up, you can take care of yourselves. I shan't pick up a single man." One boat was now sent after the papers, floating to leeward, while the first cutter went to take possession. Springing upon the deck Mr. Greene took charge of the vessel. Zeigler, the chief engineer, found that the injection pipes were cut, and the safety-valve strapped down, and over 30 pounds of steam on the boilers. He ordered the engineer to cut them clear. He refused, but the sight of a six-shooter caused him to revise his determination, and he succeeded in accomplishing the feat before an explosion took place. She was half full of water, but our men soon got that under control. During the excitement a lady passenger and three daughters were brought on board of our vessel, and handed over to me. They were very wet, and badly frightened. I took them in the cabin, gave them hot tea, my own dry underclothes, and tried to reassure them. While I was in the midst of this, I was sent for, on deck, to receive a pillow-case of plate and valuables, which had been hastily collected and brought on board by a returning boat. For a moment, forgetting my guests, I dragged this clanking down the cabin companionway and threw it on the deck. I was received with a wild shriek; looked up, and there were the poor things huddled in the furthest corner of the cabin. There was no use trying to explain. I was Captain Kidd and they were to be dangling from the yardarm as soon as the ruthans had time to complete the sacrifice. I retreated to the deck. The return to the fleet, with our prize, the Calypso, in tow, was very pleasant. Everyone was jubilant and complimentary. A new sensation for a member of the North Atlantic Blockading Squadron.
June 12th. The Calypso is a vessel of about 800 tons. She has a deck of iron armor plates for the new vessels which they are building and carries also a very valuable assorted cargo. How much it has been ruined by water, when they tried to sink her. I cannot say. There is a lot of loose liquor in her cabin stores and we have had some trouble in keeping the men from sampling it. The name of our fair captive is Mrs. Grey and she has three daughters. They have at last made up their minds that they are not going to be tried by a drumhead court-martial and shot on the spot, and have settled down very comfortably in my stateroom and the one adjoining, and I am bunking on the captain's sofa. Four women are making rapid inroads upon my stock of underclothes, night-gowns, and handkerchiefs. I have been on board the prize to-day, to try and look up some of their effects; not altogether a disinterested proceeding. Such confusion I never saw. The hold is still pretty full of water which the scoundrels let in when they tried to sink her, and the things are floating about in merry confusion. Our lunch in the cabin to-day seemed very strange, with ladies and children at the table. Mrs. Grey says that she has a dying sister in Charleston. She tried, at Washington, to get a pass through the lines and failed, and was advised to run the blockade. The captain, at lunch was "tire a quatre epingles" and ushered her to her place on his right, expressing his regret for the discomforts to which she was subjected, and apologizing for the rough sailors' fare, which was all he had to offer. It was rather a let down when our captive princess answered, "Oh, we're doing fine. Eat hearty, girls, and give the ship a good name." She is not a bad sort, but the above places her better than pages of description. The eldest daughter is about my age and rather pretty. We get on very well, and I am wearing an English sixpence on my watch chain which she gave me as a souvenir. The hole in the sixpence cost endless patience and the two small blades of my best pocket knife. This is all very well, but when I think that it might have been any one of half a dozen "fair Rebel friends of mine, who are now eating cornpone somewhere in the Confederacy, the situation becomes unsatisfactory. How they would have flashed their dear little eyes and tossed their dear little rebellious heads at being forced to renew their acquaintance with a Northern mud-sill. I am inclined to think, however, that they would not have been entirely wretched, and after this cruel war is over, how we should have enjoyed talking over the incident. When Captain Bankhead commanded the Pembina, a nigger rowed off to him one night with four silver coffin handles, as a present from Mrs. X, his cousin, and carrying the message that she trusted that "he would soon find them useful." Suppose that we had captured that lady! To any one who has ever met Mrs. X and my gallant and courtly commander, the mere suggestion of the situation is delightful. The sparks which would have flown from the polished rapiers of their wit would have illuminated this diary, and made it a classic.
June 13th. They have decided to send Mrs. Grey and her daughters ashore under a flag of truce. The rest of the prisoners will go north on the Massachusetts, to the ''Bastille," as they call it. The private mail bag of the Calypso was given to me to-day with instructions to go over the letters and pass any which were evidently of a private nature. These will be sent ashore with the flag. It was rather a tedious job and a disagreeable one, this prying into other people's most private affairs. Of course, the most innocent looking letters might have been elaborate ciphers, but it would hardly have been worth while. There are so many other ways of accomplishing the same object. Some of them were obscene, and some very funny. I was sorely tempted to make extracts for the diary, but after all, that would have been a dirty trick. I fear that I was a pretty liberal censor. Last night we had the skipper of the Calypso in the cabin to dine, and after dinner wasted a bottle of our best port on him, hoping to get him talking and making admissions which would be valuable before the prize court. We were not very successful with the old fox. 1 le took his grog like an old stager. Anything as wishy-washy as old tawny port seemed a mere incidental. It is my private opinion that he could have drunk the whole North American Blockade Squadron under the table, and come up smiling. I shall always regret that port.
Note.—Decidedly the American Navy was deficient in "Kultur" in 1863.
June 14th. I have been busy writing despatches in triplicate all day and feel as if I had writer's palsy. The worst of doing anything in the navy is that you have to do such a lot of writing about it. It is now 10 p.m., and with the exception of meals I have been writing all day. They have been unable to patch up the machinery of the Calypso. She will consequently be towed up, by the Massachusetts, to-morrow or next day.
June 15th. Busy with clerical work.
June 16th. I have finished all of the clerical work. We sent our distressed damsels on shore to-day, under a flag of truce. I persuaded the captain that his dignity demanded that he should be accompanied by his "brilliant staff" (Mr. Charles A. Post) and like a brick, he sent me in his gig, with the ladies, on board of the Victoria, which has been selected as the boat to take them in. He himself followed shortly after. The white flag was hoisted at the fore, and we steamed in towards Fort Caswell. The confounded flag trailed straight aft, and I was somewhat afraid that they would not make it out and give us a shot, but they let us get within about a mile of the fort. It was here that the "brilliant staff" fell down. The captain himself did not go ashore and the gig was so full of women and luggage that its room was considered better than "the staff's" company. I am sorry, for it would have been quite a sensation. The prisoners were safely landed and, once more, we have the cabin to ourselves. I have been appointed one of the prize crew, in a sort of unofficial position, and shall go North in her. We chased a schooner this afternoon on her way north from Port Royal. Her news from Vicksburg is very encouraging. Banks now appears to be all right, and in the east Hooker has succeeded in getting back over the Rappahannock. The Germans, as usual, seem to have behaved very badly at Chancellorsville and to have made most of the trouble.
I fights mit Sigel!
I steals mit Blenker!
I runs mit Schurz!
We found that the schooner had picked up the Calypso's boat, which was lost upon the night of the capture. We took it away from them, to their intense disgust.
June 17th. The Massachusetts arrived during the night. Early this morning the Calypso's crew were transferred to her, for a free passage north. Exactly what their status is I do not know. After breakfast. I bade the Florida good-bye for a season, and went on board the prize. We are now being towed by the Massachusetts and are well on our way. Have just passed the brig Perry! Our prize crew consists of Ensign Crafts, captain; Mr. Lane, one of the junior engineers; and Mr. Post. In the crew, we have one good able seaman, Tom, and three or four men, who are already hunting for liquor, and who, I think, have found it. The rest of our crew is a swarm of bed-bugs. Weather is splendid and we are having a very pretty sail, or what shall I call it, "tow."
June 18th. Clear day in the morning. Passed Hatteras at 11 a.m.
June 19th. Rain all last night, by fits and starts. The men managed to get hold of liquor, and we are having some trouble controlling them. To add to our anxieties Crafts has caught a very bad cold, and we have persuaded him to turn in to his berth, promising to call him if we should really need him. Lane and I are standing dog watches on deck. The water in the hold is very slowly rising, in spite of efforts to keep it down. By 4 p.m. it began to blow a gale from the northeast and we are rolling as I never saw a vessel roll before, and hope never to see again. The deck load of iron does not improve matters. As the vessel goes down, on the roll, first you hear all the water rush across the hold and then follow those parts of the cargo which have got adrift. We carry two quarter boats on either side of a sort of poop-deck aft. These have been repeatedly in the water, so that we feared we should lose them. I relieved Lane at 6 p.m. Tom was at the wheel. When I suggested that his watch was over, he gave a sort of grim smile and said, "If you don't mind, sir, I think I will stick it out, one of those greenhorns might not meet her right, as she yaws." I gladly consented and said, "How are your parcellings?"
Note.—Parcelling is a canvas cover over the towing hawsers where they leave the ship to keep them from fraying, and we had a man lashed on the topgallant forecastle watching them all of the time.
He replied: "I have hailed four or five times and got no answer. Could you take the wheel, while I go and see if the slob is still there?" I said, "I think you are better at the wheel than I am, Tom," and started forward. It was a hectic sort of a promenade. I got along well enough, as far as the deck-house went, but there was a space of about 20 feet between the house and the forecastle, where the bulwarks had been removed, I suppose for convenience in loading the iron. The seas were breaking across this, at every roll, but there was one moment when the beast would hang on an even keel before she tried to turn turtle the other way. Watching my chance, I got across all right, and found the man at his post. He seemed to be glad of company. He had not heard the hails. I sat with him for a few minutes, watching the hawsers strain and jerk and trying to cheer him up. If they parted—well we should have a bath. I got back, and Tom seemed rather glad to see me, and relieved to hear about the hawsers. I asked him if he did not think the seas were breaking rather queerly. He replied, "I have been thinking, sir, that the water was shoaling for some time." I took the wheel, and he cast the lead. As near as we could make it out, we were in 3 ½ fathoms. The Calypso was nearly as big as the Massachusetts. There was water enough yet, but we were evidently being set in shore. Just before dark we made buoy No. 3, which I took for the Hen and Chickens to the southward of Henlopen, and watched anxiously to see the Massachusetts keep off up the harbor, which she did not do. I called Crafts and a consultation was held. We make up our minds that buoy No 3 was the Winter Quarter Shoals, and that we had still 50 miles to go. The weather got worse all of the time. Decidedly it was not a pleasure party. Everything has an end finally, and by midnight we made a light and the sea moderated, and the next morning found ourselves comfortably inside of the breakwater. The Massachusetts dropped alongside, and the first thing I saw was my old friend, the skipper of the Calypso. He took off his hat and said: "Mr. Post, this is an unexpected pleasure. Last night there was a time when I thought we should not ever see you again." I replied, "Thank you for your kind interest, captain, trust that you are not disappointed."
Here the continuity of the journal really ends. What follows is derived party from memory, and partly from old letters and memoranda.
We arrived at the navy yard. Philadelphia, at about 4 p.m. on the 20th, and that night I bade good-bye to my shipmates of the prize crew, gave Crafts my address for return orders, and started for New York. The surprise and delight of the family was very amusing. I was rather pleased myself. I was disappointed however to find how blue and discouraged all were about the war. Lee had commenced his invasion of Pennsylvania, and Hooker, with an army much depleted by its losses at Chancellorsville and the expiration of the term of service of many of his best troops, was hanging upon his flank to protect Washington and Philadelphia. My old regiment, the 22d, in company with other New York troops, had been rushed to Harrisburg. Of course, my brother, George, was with his company. Most of my old friends, in some capacity, were at the front. The "draft," the first compulsory military service which America had ever known, was to take place in the early part of July. The "Copperheads" were rampant and armed resistance to the conscription was openly threatened, at a time when New York was entirely denuded of its troops. Lee had received large reinforcements, his army now exceeding in numbers that of the Union forces, which, discouraged by a recent defeat, were doggedly trying, by forced marches, to come to the rescue. Added to this, an unseemly wrangle, which had existed for some time between Halleck and Hooker, had just reached the ears of the public. The rumor was that Halleck was refusing the Army of the Potomac reinforcements from troops at Harper's Ferry. It was also rumored that Washington was contemplating the dangerous experiment of changing its generals in the field, on the eve of what appeared to be the decisive battle of the war. Hooker was not actually relieved until the 28th of June, but coming events were already casting their portentous shadows.
New York was despondent, as I have never seen it before or since. The toll of Chancellorsville had brought sorrow to many homes, and now, if the National Guard regiments were to be decimated the city would truly be a house of mourning. I could not bear to think that my old regiment was at the front without me, and, finding that I had time to pay them a visit, on Friday, the 26th of June, I started for Harrisburg; on the 27th I arrived. I wish that the Honorable William Jennings Bryan could have been there with me on that day. I think that even that blatant demagogue would have modified his ideas as to the facility with which "a million freemen would rush to arms, between sunrise and sunset," and I should have asked him to remember that this was the second year of a great war. America was then, to a certain extent, a military nation. The government was then used to the handling of and caring for large bodies of troops. Every man of that day was more or less of a soldier, or thought he was. It was not the America of 1914, emasculated and softened by 50 years of practical peace and prosperity. I wish that he could have seen the open poltroonery of the farmers who, on a sauve qui pent, were rushing madly to the rear. I should have liked to call his attention to the avarice and cupidity with which the troops were treated by the inhabitants, and the exorbitant prices which were charged, on all sides, by these panic-stricken patriots; the inhabitants of Harrisburg even selling water to their defenders at five cents a glass. Governor Curtain Had issued a proclamation calling for 50,000 "emergency men." Most of these about Harrisburg were an ununiformed mob, destitute of competent officers and utterly untrained. Many were threatening "to go home" and others talking a treason which would have had a short shrift in most armies. Some of the New York and Philadelphia regiments had seen service the year before and were fairly good troops, but this time they brought their own generals, and were smothered by gold lace and incompetency. There were no quartermaster's or commissary's departments worthy of the name. Men wandered about begging, buying or stealing the only food which they got. There was no field artillery, except one Philadelphia battery, which had never fired their guns, and which did not even know how to harness their horses. To meet this emergency that great organizer and accomplished soldier General Wm. Farar Smith ("Baldy") had been hurried to the spot, and given supreme command of the irregulars. He at once cut the Gordian knot, by ignoring the gold lace, and issuing commands directly to those regimental commanders who seemed capable of understanding them.
I found, on arrival at the regiment, that my brother had the very responsible command of a picket, at a place called the Yellow Bridges about five miles distant. Borrowing a horse and saddle from a friendly sutler, I rode out to see him, and passed the night with my old company, where I was very cordially received by all. The next day there was a reconnaissance in force to capture some of Jenkins' cavalry, which, of course, we did not do, coming very near being captured ourselves. If the enemy had only known our condition, they could have marched over us, taken Harrisburg, and why not Philadelphia? Your grandfather must have presented a very funny appearance on that sutler's horse, in navy uniform, gold band around his hat, and his baggy trousers tied with string about his legs, to keep them from riding up. Added to this the sutler had loaned me a general's sword, with a gold scabbard, which he had either bought or stolen from some panic-stricken farmer.
The 22d Regiment had been seven or eight hours standing upon the side of a road with little or nothing to eat or drink, and pretty vague ideas of what to do next, when Colonel Aspinwall asked me to go to General Smith's headquarters and ask him for orders. The General was seated at a table in the waiting room of a little railway station when I, in blissful unconsciousness of my somewhat extraordinary appearance, walked in and saluted. He stared at me, without speaking, for a moment, and then remarked, "Pray, sir, what in the h—ll might you be?" With the cheery freshness of 19 years I replied that I was the United States Navy co-operating with the army for the moment, and that Colonel Aspinwall would like to know if there were any orders for the 22d New York.
His answer was "Well, Mr. Navy, tell Colonel Aspinwall that when I get ready to send him orders he will receive them." The "Navy" retired somewhat crestfallen. In after years General Smith and I were next-door neighbors, in Washington Square, N.Y., and our families grew up in the closest intimacy, which exists to this day. We have often, after dinner, laughed over this, our first introduction.
General Farar Smith, or "Baldy," as he was always called, was one of the ablest generals of the war and a very skilful tactician. I am satisfied that the big bluff which he put up at Harrisburg and Carlysle made possible the decisive victory of Gettysburg.
On June 29th I again reached New York, expecting to find orders for my return to the squadron. Not receiving them I went to Philadelphia to make enquiries, and to my disgust found that our party had just sailed on their return voyage. (See extract from letter of Crafts, post.) I was a good deal annoyed. My orders had evidently miscarried, and, not having written orders myself there was trouble about transportation on the next supply ship. This was at length straightened out and, while waiting, I went to Newport, which, after all, was quite as pleasant as the N.A.B. The date for my return south being nearly at hand, on July 13th I took the day train to New York and arrived at Mott Haven at about 6 p.m. The train was stopped at the north side of the railway bridge and the conductor came into the car with the cheerful intelligence that the city of New York was in the hands of a mob, that the train would not attempt to enter the city, but would be run back, with its passengers, to New Haven to await developments. The colored orphan asylum was at that moment being burned and its flames lit up the western sky. There were numerous rumors of the attack upon the Tribune Building. Negroes were being murdered all over the city and hanged to lamp-posts, together with citizens who strove to protect them. It was a very pleasant situation. I knew that my mother and father were in our house, at 18 Waverly Place, and that they were just the sort of people to attempt to offer an asylum to their negro servants and further that they would be worried about me, so I made up my mind that I would foot it home, walking over the ties of the railroad bridge to reach the city. I put the glaze on my cap, and a light civilian's overcoat over my uniform and started. I don't think that I fairly appreciated what a job I had tackled until I got in the middle of it, and then I had to go on. The east side of the city, where the trouble had started, was in a perfect ferment. Gangs paraded the streets, and those of them who had been wounded by the police were being helped home by their angry sympathizers. I kept my eyes open, was very civil, and if I saw one of these parties, in the distance, can honestly say that I was not gregariously inclined. To make a long story short, things got better as I reached the lower part of the city, and after about four hours I rang the bell at 18 Waverly Place. My father himself opened the door, on the chain. I found them all pretty nervous, but well and delighted to see me.
As I supposed, the poor negroes all over the city were in a perfect state of panic and there was hardly a decent person that you knew, who had not one or two of them secreted in their cellars. The next morning I went around to the Armory of the 22d, where a lot of "stay-at-homes" and citizens had hastily assembled, and offered my services. I stayed there most of the day and at night we started for Webb's shipyard, at the foot of East 10th Street, where the Dunderberg was being built and where an attack from the rioters was expected. As an ex-officer I had by this time drifted into the position of being one of the ringleaders of this motley gathering. So putting a six-shooter in my pocket and shouldering my cane, off we started, marching as nearly by company front as we could get the men to do it. At about 2d or 1st Avenue the order "double quick" came down the column. We started on a jog trot and our men began to drop out. They were utterly soft and untrained and it was a very warm evening. I was furious, and cursed militia generals from the bottom of my heart. Just then Clinton Foster, who was on General Sanford's staff, galloped back, a perfect blaze of gold lace and glory. He was an intimate friend and I hailed him, and politely enquired when his "Boss" was going to stop this play soldiering and tomfoolery, adding with a fine attempt at sarcasm that I supposed that they would like to have a man or two in the ranks when they reached the shipyard. He drew himself up with dignity and replied: "Sir, you have just been in a very successful charge!! The rioters formed ahead of us, and we have driven them for four blocks!" I wilted.
"Some men are born heroes, others have heroism thrust upon them."
My spree was over. It was time to return to my vessel. I went to Philadelphia and reported on board of the supply steamer Newburn, but in better spirits. During those few weeks at the North, great changes had taken place. Meade had fought Lee's invading army, driven it back in disorder across the Potomac, and won the victory of Gettysburg.
Almost upon the same day Vicksburg had fallen, and the name of Grant was upon every tongue. The star of the "Silent Man" was rising. It was soon to culminate over the Army of the Potomac and consolidate the brilliant units of that heroic debating society into the most compact and formidable army that the continent had ever known. The names of Grant and Farragut, Sherman and Sheridan were fast becoming household words. Their names were being written in enduring letters in the history of the country. Of course, we did not then see clearly all that was to come, in the brilliant future. There was still a long war before us; but we all felt that the turning point had arrived. It was in the air. Men no longer hung their heads and avoided your gaze. They looked each other squarely in the eye, and talked hopefully of the future.
Here I have a solemn confession to make. On the way down the coast, for the first and only time in my life, I was sea-sick. I had left New York, with a carbuncle on my left elbow. There was no bedding in my berth, so I slept on the board slats. Every time the boat rolled I would bring up standing on the carbuncle. The soft side of a pine slat is not a soothing treatment for a carbuncle. In the morning I was tired and feverish. We had beef steak and onions for breakfast. I loathe beef steak and onions to this day.
When we arrived at Morehead City I received the alarming intelligence that Captain Bankhead was at the hospital, very ill indeed, and that his life was despaired of. I at once packed my bag, procured a lot of ice and was looking around for a boat, when I ran into my old friend Captain Carr of the store-ship Badger. He placed his gig at my disposal and told me that he should be only too happy if I found the dear old man alive. I was much relieved when I arrived. I found him quite comfortably quartered in a little house next to that of the doctor. He was overjoyed to see me, and had improved during the night, and from that moment slowly gained, every day, until we were able to take him North.
I append a letter from Crafts, my old prize master, which I received at Beaufort.
U.S.S. Florida,
August 13th, 1863.
Friend Post:
I should have telegraphed you to meet me, on my return from New-Haven, but I had left your address at Philadelphia and could not remember your number. We are all sorry not to have seen you and think you are right to remain with Captain Bankhead, who I sincerely hope will be well enough to go North in this steamer. Take him up in the Adirondacks or White Mountains where he can get some fresh air. I am thankful that our medical abortion didn't quite kill him, as I was afraid he would, and as I am sure he would have done in course of time. I cannot believe a person so destitute of common sense can be a good physician and I am sure I shall be glad to be quite relieved of the presence of a thing so destitute of shame or principle as he is. There is nothing so contemptible as a feeble-minded scoundrel.
Decidedly the doctor was not popular on the Florida, but in this case I think we all did him injustice. In the light of what I know now, Captain Bankhead undoubtedly had an attack of appendicitis and subsequently died from the same disease. The poor doctor acted according to the accepted practice at the time. Modern surgery would undoubtedly have saved the life of a gallant officer, an accomplished seaman, and a finished gentleman.