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Worden had entered the navy twenty-seven years before, and at the opening of the Civil War, had delivered the orders from the secretary of the navy which saved Fort Pickens, in the harbor of Pensacola, to the Union. Attempting to return North overland, he was arrested and held as a prisoner seven months, being exchanged just in time to enable him to procure command of the Monitor.
But, says Johnson, with equal truth and terseness, "that distrust of their own immediate commanders which militia are too apt to be affected with, never produced an emotion where Marion and Pickens commanded."* The history of American warfare shows conclusively that, under the right leaders, the American militia are as cool in moments of danger as the best drilled soldiery in the universe.
There seemed to be little left for Cornwallis to do; for the three Southern colonies were for the time ground under the iron heel of the enemy. Crushing blows, however, only nerved the leaders, Sumter, Pickens, Marion, Davie, and others, to greater efforts.
Pickens, as was afterwards learned, raided their camp near the Cottonwood river; killed the older boy, left the younger one for dead, and carried off their valuables. But under the care of friendly Indians, Charles Quantrell lived. Changing his name to Charley Hart, he sought the Jayhawkers, joined Pickens’ company, and confided in no one.
Next morning Slemmer and his fifty faithful men were landed on Santa Rosa Island, just one mile across the bay, where the dilapidated old Fort Pickens stood forlorn. Two days later the Commodore surrendered the Navy Yard, the Stars and Stripes were lowered, and everything ashore fell into the enemy's hands.
"We may be wanted on board, and I should not like to be absent from the Bellevite if she is to take part in an engagement of any kind." "And I am sure I should not," added Christy. "I should not be surprised if the enemy made an attempt to capture Pickens; but even if they storm it in the darkness, I do not see that the ships can do anything until they are able to see what they are to do."
The ranger bent forward to peer hard at this night visitor. His manner had been alert, and now it became tense. "Come here, one of you men, quick," he called, without turning in the least toward the camp-fire. "Hello! What's up, Pickens?" came the swift reply. It was followed by a rapid thud of boots on soft ground. A dark form crossed the gleams from the fire-light.
This could not be allowed. Starvation was not yet upon the garrison; and ere it would be reached, Fort Pickens might be reinforced. This last would be a clear indication of policy, and would better enable the country to accept the evacuation of Fort Sumter as a Military necessity."
"All ready, sir," reported Beeks, coming up to them at this moment. "How far is the entrance to the sound from Fort Pickens, Mr. Passford?" asked Flint. "About four miles." "Then why should they choose such a night as this for their work?"
We'll cut this colonel man out of the herd, and corral him in them little mountains, and stick up his heirs and assigns for ten thousand dollars." "Well, you seldom little red-headed territorial terror," I answers, "you can't bluff your uncle Tecumseh Pickens! I'll be your company in this graft.
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