Raphael Semmes

A GALE AT CAPE TOWN—ALABAMA GETS UNDER WAY FOR SIMON’S TOWN—CAPTURE OF THE MARTHA WENZELL—THE TUSCALOOSA; HER STATUS AS SHIP OF WAR CONSIDERED—THE TUSCALOOSA PROCEEDS TO SEA—THE ALABAMA FOLLOWS HER—THEY, WITH THE SEA-BRIDE, RENDEZVOUS AT ANGRA PEQUENA.

Having brushed away Mr. Seward’s gadfly, as described in the last chapter, we may turn our attention again to the Alabama. On the 7th of August, we took one of the gales so common at the Cape, in the winter season. Dense banks of black clouds hove up in the north-west, soon overspreading the whole heavens, and the wind came out whistling from that quarter. The reader must bear in mind, that when he crossed into the southern hemisphere he reversed the points of the compass, so far as wind and weather are concerned, and that the north-wester, at the Cape of Good Hope, answers to our south-easter, on the American coast—bringing with it thick, rainy weather. There was a number of ships in the harbor, and the gale drove in upon them without the least protection. These ships, forewarned by the usual signs, had all struck their upper masts, sent down their yards, and let go second anchors, and veered to long scopes. We did the same in the Alabama.

It was a sublime spectacle to look abroad upon the bay in the height of the gale. The elements seemed to be literally at war, a low scud rushing to the shore, and climbing, as if pursued by demons, up and over the Lion’s Rump and Table Mountain. Huge waves were rolling in upon the struggling shipping, trying its ground-tackle to its utmost tension; the jetties and landings were covered with spray; and Cape Town, though only a mile off, looked like a spectre town, as viewed through the spray and driving scud. And what added much to the interest of the scene, was the daring and skill of the watermen. These men, in substantial launches, under close-reefed sails, and with spare anchors and cables on board, for the use of any ships that might be in distress for want of sufficient ground-tackle, were darting hither and thither, like so many spirits of the storm. They seemed to be sporting with the dashing and blinding waves and the fury of the gale, in very wantonness, as though they would defy the elements. The ships at anchor were all fortunate enough to hold on; but a luckless Bremen brig, outside, which had ventured too near the land, was wrecked, during the night, on Green Point. Fortunately, no lives were lost.

The gale lasted about twenty-four hours; and when it had sufficiently abated, we communicated with the shore, and got off such supplies as we needed; it being my intention to run round to Simon’s Town, on the opposite side of the Cape, where there is shelter from these gales, for the purpose of completing my repairs. On the 9th, the weather had again become fine. The wind had gone round to south-east, the fair-weather quarter, and the Devil had spread his table-cloth on Table Mountain. Every one has heard of this famous table-cloth at the Cape of Good Hope. It is a fleecy, white cloud, which hangs perpetually over Table Mountain during fine weather. The south-east winds, as they climb the steep ascent, bring with them more or less moisture. This moisture is sufficiently cooled as it passes over the “table”—a level space on the top of the mountain—to become condensed into a white vapor, very similar to that which escapes from a steam-pipe. When the wind shifts, and the storm begins to gather, the table-cloth disappears.

At nine o’clock, on this morning, we got under way, and steamed out of the harbor, on our way to Simon’s Town. The day was charmingly fine. The atmosphere was soft and transparent, and the sun bright, bringing out all the beauties of the bold promontories and the deep-water bays that indent the coast. We were now really doubling the Cape of Good Hope. As we approached the famous headland, with its lighthouse perched several hundred feet above the bold and blackened rocks, our imaginations busy with the past, endeavoring to depict the frail Portuguese bark, which had first dared its stormy waters, the cry of “sail ho!” resounded most musically from the mast-head. Imagination took flight at once, at the sound of this practical cry. It recalled us from our dream of John of Portugal, to one Abraham Lincoln and his surroundings. Here was not the poetical bark, of four centuries ago, that had at last found its way to those “Indies,” which Columbus so long sought for in vain, but a Yankee ship laden with rice; for an hour’s steaming brought us alongside of the Martha Wenzell, of Boston, from Akyab for Falmouth in England. The Wenzell had better luck than the Sea-Bride, for she had clearly entered the mouth of False Bay, and though seven or eight miles yet from the land, was within a line drawn from point to point of the Bay. Being thus within British jurisdiction, I astonished the master by releasing, instead of burning his ship. He looked so dumfounded when I announced to him this decision, that if I had been a Yankee, he would, no doubt, have suspected me of some Yankee trick. He gathered his slow ideas together, by degrees, however, and was profuse in his thanks. I told him he had none to give me, for I was only too sorry not to be able to burn him.

We now hauled in for the coast, and taking a pilot, as we approached the harbor, anchored at two P. M. in Simon’s Bay. This is the naval station of the colony, and we found here the frigate Narcissus, wearing the flag of Rear Admiral Sir Baldwin Walker, the commander-in-chief of the British naval forces at the Cape. We were visited immediately upon anchoring by a lieutenant from the flag-ship. The Tuscaloosa had preceded me, as the reader has seen, a few days, and we found her still here, not having quite completed her preparations for sea. The gadfly, I found, had been buzzing around her, too, but her difficulties were all ended. As the correspondence is short, I will give it to the reader. The Federal Consul wrote to the Governor, as follows:—

“An armed vessel named the Tuscaloosa, claiming to act under the authority of the so-called Confederate States, entered Simon’s Bay, on Saturday, the 8th instant. That vessel was formerly owned by citizens of the United States, and while engaged in lawful commerce [as if lawful commerce was not a subject of capture, during war] was captured as a prize by the Alabama. She was subsequently fitted out with arms, by the Alabama, to prey upon the commerce of the United States, and now, without having been condemned as a prize, by any Admiralty Court of any recognized government, she is permitted to enter a neutral port, in violation of the Queen’s proclamation, with her original cargo on board. Against this proceeding, I, hereby, most emphatically protest, and I claim that the vessel ought to be given up to her lawful owners.”

It is quite true that the Tuscaloosa had not been condemned by a prize court of the Confederacy, but it was equally true that the Sovereign Power of the Confederacy, acting through its authorized agent, had commissioned her as a ship of war, which was the most solemn condemnation of the prize, that the Sovereign could give. It was equally true, that no nation has the right to inquire into the antecedents of the ships of war of another nation. But these were points beyond the comprehension of the gadfly. The following was the answer of the Governor. The Colonial Secretary writes:—

We remained five days at Simon’s Town. We did not need coal, but we had some caulking of the bends, and replacing of copper about the water-line to do, and some slight repairs to put upon our engine. Whilst these preparations for sea were going on, we had some very pleasant intercourse with the officers of the station and the citizens on shore. Besides the Narcissus, flag-ship, there were one or two other British ships of war at anchor. There were some officers stationed at the navy-yard, and there was a Chinese gunboat, the Kwan-Tung, with an English commander and crew, which had put into the harbor, on her way to the east. Simon’s Town was thus quite gay. The Governor, Sir Philip Wodehouse, also came over from Cape Town during our stay. Lunches on board the different ships, excursions on board the Kwan-Tung, and dinner-parties were the order of the day. As I have before remarked, the English naval officers discarded all the ridiculous nonsense about our not being “recognized,” and extended to us official, as well as private civilities.

The Admiral was kind enough to give me a dinner-party, at which the Governor, and his lady, and the principal officers of his squadron were present. I found the ladies of the Admiral’s family exceedingly agreeable. They were living in a picturesque cottage, near the sea-shore, and solaced themselves for their temporary banishment from “dear old England,” by making their home as English as possible. They had surrounded themselves by fine lawns and shrubbery and flowers, and Mrs. Walker, and one of the bewitching young ladies were kind enough to show me over their extensive and well-cultivated garden, in which they took much interest. Horseback riding, picnics to the country, and balls on board the ships were the principal amusements of the young people. Whilst my officers and myself were thus relaxing ourselves, my sailors were also making the most of their time. Kell had told them off, by quarter watches, and sent them on “liberty.” Each batch was mustered, and inspected as it was sent on shore, and pretty soon we had the old Jamaica scenes over again. Most of them went over to Cape Town, in the stage-coach that was running between the two places, and put that lively commercial town “in stays.” The sailor quarter was a continuous scene of revelry for several days. The townspeople humored and spoiled them. They all overstayed their time, and we only got them back by twos and threes. It was of no use to muster, and inspect them now. The tidy, new suits, in which they had gone on shore, were torn and draggled, and old-drunks were upon nearly all of them.

The Tuscaloosa went to sea at daylight on the 14th, and we followed her in the Alabama the next day. The former was to proceed to Saldanha Bay, and thence take the Sea-Bride with her to one of the uninhabited harbors, some distance to the northward, and the Alabama was to follow her thither, after a cruise of a few days off the Cape. The object of these movements will be explained in due time. I now threw myself into that perpetual stream of commerce, that comes setting around the Cape of Good Hope from the East Indies. From daylight until dark, ships are constantly in sight from the lighthouse on the Cape. The road is about twenty miles wide—no more. We kept our station in this road, day in and day out for ten days, during which we chased and overhauled a great number of ships, but there was not a Yankee among them! It was winter-time, we were off the “stormy Cape,” and we had the weather suited to the season and the locality. Storms and fogs and calms followed in succession—the storm being the normal meteorological condition. As we would be lying to, in this track, under reefed sails, in a dark and stormy night, our very hair would sometimes be made to stand on end, by the apparition of a huge ship rushing past us at lightning speed, before the howling gale, at no more than a few ships’ lengths from us. A collision would have crushed us as if we had been an egg-shell.

At length, when I supposed the Tuscaloosa and the Sea-Bride had reached their destination, I filled away and followed them. As we were making this passage, it was reported to me that our fresh-water condenser had given out. Here was a predicament! The water was condensed once a week, and we had no more than about one week’s supply on hand. The joints of the piping had worked loose, and the machine had become nearly useless. It was now still more necessary to make a harbor, where we might get access to water, and see what could be done in the way of repairs. We worked our way along the African coast somewhat tediously, frequently encountering head-winds and adverse currents. On the morning of the 28th of August, we sighted the land, after having been delayed by a dense fog for twenty-four hours, and in the course of the afternoon we ran into the Bay of Angra PequeÑa, and anchored. This was our point of rendezvous. I found the Tuscaloosa and the Sea-Bride both at anchor. I had at last found a port into which I could take a prize! I was now, in short, among the Hottentots; no civilized nation claiming jurisdiction over the waters in which I was anchored.

When at Cape Town, an English merchant had visited me, and made overtures for the purchase of the Sea-Bride and her cargo. He was willing to run the risk of non-condemnation by a prize-court, and I could put him in possession of the prize, he said, at some inlet on the coast of Africa, without the jurisdiction of any civilized power. I made the sale to him. He was to repair to the given rendezvous in his own vessel, and I found him here, according to his agreement, with the stipulated price—about one third the value of the ship and cargo—in good English sovereigns, which, upon being counted, were turned over to the paymaster, for the military chest. The purchaser was then put in possession of the prize. I had made an arrangement with other parties for the sale of the wool still remaining on board the Tuscaloosa. This wool was to be landed at Angra PequeÑa, also, the purchaser agreeing to ship it to Europe, and credit the Confederate States with two thirds of the proceeds. The reader will see how easy it would have been for me, to make available many of my prizes in this way, but the great objection to the scheme, was the loss of time which it involved, and the risks I ran of not getting back my prize crews. If I had undertaken, whenever I captured a prize, to follow her to some out-of-the-way port, and spend some days there, in negotiating for her sale, and getting back my prize crew, I should not have accomplished half the work I did. The great object now was to destroy, as speedily as possible, the enemy’s commerce, and to this I devoted all my energies. I did not, therefore, repeat the experiment of the Sea-Bride.

I could not have chosen a better spot for my present purpose. At Angra PequeÑa I was entirely out of the world. It was not visited at all, except by some straggling coaster in quest of shelter in bad weather. There was, indeed, no other inducement to visit it. It was in a desert part of Africa. The region was rainless, and there was not so much as a shrub, or even a blade of grass to be seen. The harbor was rock-bound, and for miles inland the country was a waste of burning sand. The harbor did not even afford fresh water, and we were obliged to supply ourselves from the vessel of my English friend, until our condenser could be repaired. The whole country was a waste, in which there was no life visible away from the coast. On the coast itself; there were the usual sea-birds—the gannet and the sea-gull—and fish in abundance. We hauled the seine, and caught a fine mess for the crews of all the ships. Three or four naked, emaciated Hottentots, having seen the ships from a distance, had made their way to the harbor, and came begging us for food. They remained during our stay, and had their emptiness filled. Some thirty or forty miles from the coast, they said, vegetation began to appear, and there were villages and cattle.

I ordered Lieutenant Low, the commander of the Tuscaloosa, as soon as he should land his cargo, to ballast his ship with the rock which abounded on every hand, and proceed on a cruise to the coast of Brazil. Sufficient time had now elapsed, I thought, for the ships of war of the enemy, which had been sent to that coast, in pursuit of me, to be coming in the direction of the Cape of Good Hope. Lieutenant Low would, therefore, in all probability, have a clear field before him. Having nothing further to detain me in the Alabama, I got under way, on my return to Simon’s Town, intending to fill up with coal, and proceed thence to the East Indies, in compliance with the suggestion of Mr. Secretary Mallory. The Tuscaloosa, after cruising the requisite time on the coast of Brazil, was to return to the Cape to meet me, on my own return from the East Indies.

When I reached the highway off the Cape again, I held myself there for several days, cruising off and on, and sighting the land occasionally, to see if perchance I could pick up an American ship. But we had no better success than before. The wary masters of these ships, if there were any passing, gave the Cape a wide berth, and sought their way home, by the most unfrequented paths, illustrating the old adage, that “the farthest way round is the shortest way home.” Impatient of further delay, without results, on Wednesday, the 16th of September, I got up steam, and ran into Simon’s Bay. I learned, upon anchoring, that the United States steamer Vanderbilt, late the flag-ship of Admiral Wilkes, and now under the command of Captain Baldwin, had left the anchorage, only the Friday before, and gone herself to cruise off the Cape, in the hope of falling in with the Alabama. She had taken her station, as it would appear, a little to the eastward of me, off Cape Agulhas and Point Danger. On the day the Vanderbilt went to sea, viz., Friday, the 11th of September, it happened that the Alabama was a little further off the land than usual, which accounts for the two ships missing each other. The following is the record on my journal, for that day: “Weather very fine, wind light from the south-west. At half-past six, showed the English colors to an English bark, after a short chase.” On the following Sunday, we were in plain sight of Table Mountain. The two ships were thus cruising almost in sight of each other’s smoke.

The Vanderbilt visited both Cape Town, and Simon’s Town, and lay several days at each. I did not object that she had been “painting ship,” and should have been sent to sea earlier. The more time Baldwin spent in port, the better I liked it. Indeed, it always puzzled me, that the gadflies should insist upon my being sent to sea so promptly, when nearly every day that the Alabama was at sea, cost them a ship.

I had scarcely come to anchor, before Captain Bickford, of the Narcissus, came on board of me, on the part of the Admiral, to have an “explanation.” The gadfly had continued its buzzing, I found, during my late absence from the Cape. A short distance to the northward of the Cape of Good Hope, in the direction of Angra PequeÑa, there is an island called Ichaboe, a dependency of the Cape colony. It had been represented to the Admiral, by the Consul, that the transactions which have been related as taking place at Angra PequeÑa, had taken place at this island, in violation of British neutrality. In what the evidence consisted I did not learn, but the Consul, in his distress and extremity, had probably had recourse to some more Yankee affidavits. It was this charge which Captain Bickford had come on board to ask an explanation of. The following letter from Sir Baldwin Walker, to the Secretary of the Admiralty in London, will show how easily I brushed off the gadfly, for the second time:—

The Vanderbilt, I found, had exhausted the supply of coal at Simon’s Town, having taken in as much as eight or nine hundred tons. Commodore Vanderbilt, as he is called, had certainly presented a mammoth coal-consumer to the Federal Government, if nothing else. I was obliged, in consequence, to order coal for the Alabama, around from Cape Town. And as the operation of coaling and making the necessary repairs would detain me several days, and as I was, besides, bound on a long voyage, I yielded to the petitions of my crew, and permitted them to go on liberty again. The officers of the station were as courteous to us as before, and I renewed my very pleasant intercourse with the Admiral’s family. The owner of the famous Constantia vineyard, lying between Simon’s Town and Cape Town, sent me a pressing invitation to come and spend a few days with him, but I was too busy to accept his hospitality. He afterward sent me a cask of his world-renowned wine. This cask of wine, after making the voyage to India, was offered as a libation to the god of war. It went down in the Alabama off Cherbourg. We had another very pleasant dinner at the Admiral’s—the guests being composed, this time, exclusively of naval officers. After our return to the drawing-room, the ladies made their appearance, and gave us some delightful music. These were some of the oases in the desert of my life upon the ocean.

In the course of five or six days, by the exercise of great diligence, we were again ready for sea. But unfortunately all my crew were not yet on board. My rascals had behaved worse than usual, on this last visit to Cape Town. Some of them had been jugged by the authorities for offences against the peace, and others had yielded to the seductions of the ever vigilant Federal Consul, and been quartered upon his bounty. The Consul had made a haul. They would be capital fellows for “affidavits” against the Alabama. I need not say that they were of the cosmopolitan sailor class, none of them being citizens of the Southern States. I offered large rewards for the apprehension and delivery to me of these fellows; but the police were afraid to act—probably forbidden by their superiors, in deference to their supposed duty under the neutrality laws. That was a very one-sided neutrality, however, which permitted the Federal Consul to convert his quarters into a hostile camp, for the seduction of my sailors, and denied me access to the police for redress. My agent at Cape Town, having made every exertion in his power to secure the return of as many of my men as possible, finally telegraphed me, on the evening of the 24th of September, that it was useless to wait any longer. As many as fourteen had deserted; enough to cripple my crew, and that, too, with an enemy’s ship of superior force on the coast.

What was to be done? Luckily there was a remedy at hand. A sailor-landlord, one of those Shylocks who coin Jack’s flesh and blood into gold, hearing of the distress of the Alabama, came off to tell me that all his boarders, eleven in number, had volunteered to supply the place of my deserters. This seemed like a fair exchange. It was but “swapping horses,” as the “sainted Abraham” would have said, if he had been in my place—only I was giving a little “boot”—fourteen well-fed, well-clothed fellows, for eleven ragged, whiskey-filled vagabonds. It was a “swap” in another sense, too, as, ten to one, all these eleven fellows were deserters from other ships that had touched at this “relay house” of the sea. There was only one little difficulty in the way of my shipping these men. There was my good friend, her Majesty, the Queen—I must not be ungallant to her, and violate her neutrality laws. What monstrous sophists we are, when interest prompts us? I reasoned out this case to my entire satisfaction. I said to myself, My sailors have gone on shore in her Majesty’s dominions, and refuse to come back to me. When I apply to her Majesty’s police, they tell me that so sacred is the soil of England, no man must be coerced to do what he doesn’t want to do. Good! I reply that a ship of war is a part of the territory to which she belongs, and that if some of the subjects of the Queen should think proper to come into my territory, and refuse to go back, I may surely apply the same principle, and refuse to compel them.

When I had come to this conclusion, I turned to the landlord, and said: “And so you have some gentlemen boarding at your house, who desire to take passage with me?” The landlord smiled, and nodded assent. I continued: “You know I cannot ship any seamen in her Majesty’s ports, but I see no reason why I should not take passengers to sea with me, if they desire to go.” “Certainly, your honor—they can work their passage, you know.” “I suppose you’ll charge something for bringing these gentlemen on board?” “Some’at, your honor.” Here the landlord pulled out a greasy memorandum, and began to read. “Bill Bunting, board and lodging, ten shillings—drinks, one pound ten. Tom Bowline, board and lodging, six shillings—Tom only landed yesterday from a Dutch ship—drinks, twelve shillings.” “Hold!” said I; “never mind the board and lodging and drinks—go to the paymaster,”—and turning to Kell, I told him to give the paymaster the necessary instructions,—“and he will pay you your fares for bringing the passengers on board.” The “passengers” were already alongside, and being sent down to the surgeon, were examined, and passed as sound and able-bodied men.It was now nine o’clock at night. It had been blowing a gale of wind, all day, from the south-east; but it was a fair-weather gale, if I may use the solecism; the sky being clear, and the barometer high. These are notable peculiarities of the south-east gales at the Cape of Good Hope. The sky is always clear, and the gale begins and ends with a high barometer. I was very anxious to get to sea. A report had come in, only a day or two before, that the Vanderbilt was still cruising off Cape Agulhas, and I was apprehensive that she might get news of me, and blockade me. This might detain me several days, or until I could get a dark night—and the moon was now near her full—in which to run the blockade. I need not remark that the Vanderbilt had greatly the speed of me, and threw twice my weight of metal. The wind having partially lulled, we got up steam, and at about half-past eleven, we moved out from our anchors. The lull had only been temporary, for we had scarcely cleared the little islands that give a partial protection to the harbor from these south-east winds, when the gale came whistling and howling as before. The wind and sea were both nearly ahead, and the Alabama was now put upon her metal, under steam, as she had been so often before, under sail. False Bay is an immense sheet of water, of a horse-shoe shape, and we had to steam some twenty miles before we could weather the Cape of Good Hope, under our lee. We drove her against this heavy gale at the rate of five knots per hour.

This struggle of the little ship with the elements was a thing to be remembered. The moon, as before remarked, was near her full, shedding a flood of light upon the scene. The Bay was whitened with foam, as the waters were lashed into fury by the storm. Around the curve of the “horse-shoe” arose broken, bald, rocky mountains, on the crests of which were piled fleecy, white clouds, blinking in the moonlight, like banks of snow. These clouds were perfectly motionless. It appeared as if the D—l had spread a great many “table-cloths” around False Bay, that night; or, rather, a more appropriate figure would be, that he had touched the mountains with the stillness of death, and wreathed them with winding-sheets. The scene was wild and weird beyond description. It was a picture for the eye of a poet or painter to dwell upon. Nor was the imagination less touched, when, from time to time, the revolving light upon the grim old Cape—that Cape which had so long divided the Eastern from the Western world—threw its full blaze upon the deck of the struggling ship. Overhead, the sky was perfectly clear, there being not so much as a speck of a cloud to be seen—and this in the midst of a howling gale of wind! At three A. M. we cleared the Cape, and keeping the ship off a few points, gave her the trysails, with the bonnets off. She bounded over the seas like a stag-hound unleashed. I had been up all night, and now went below to snatch some brief repose before the toils of another day should begin.