Читать книгу A Confederate Biography - Dwight Hughes - Страница 15
ОглавлениеAlina’s Captain Staples and two mates, paroled and promising not to interfere with operations, remained free of restraint. Lieutenant Chew penned a portrait of Staples as “a splendid specimen of the ‘down easter.’”; he was “cute and unprincipled.” When speaking, he would look at you, grin, squint one of his eyes, and then everything he says, he “calculates” or “guesses.” The vessel was built, Staples told Chew, after his own “idey.” But he was a good seaman, and Alina was a splendid specimen of naval architecture. Nine crewmembers, “all strong, fine looking fellows” according to Chew, were confined in irons. One volunteered to enlist and was directed to encourage the rest to do likewise. After a few days’ confinement, all joined except one Yankee; they did not want him anyway. Midshipman Mason noted with contempt that the rejected Northerner was a protégé of Alina’s captain and had made his first trip to sea only to avoid conscription. New men included Germans, French, Dutch, and one Swede—all of whom could speak little English—and a native of Madras who had taken the name William Bruce and settled in New York as a naturalized citizen. Ship’s complement increased to twenty-nine sailors.1
Captain Waddell sensed a marked difference in morale following the capture. Work pressed heavily on the men but there were more of them, “and the cry of ‘Sail ho’ was always greeted with manifestations of pleasure.” The sailors collected in the gangways after working hours and gave themselves up to dancing, jumping, singing, or spinning yarns. “Jack is easily entertained and simple in his credulity,” Waddell noted. “The course was still southward through the bright rays of a hot sun, popping out from behind a cloud which had just wept itself away, to dry our jackets.”
Sunday, 30 October, was a well-earned day of rest. “We have done nothing all day, and unless it is absolutely necessary we will always observe the Sabbath,” wrote First Lieutenant Whittle. But Monday was back to work; it would take three months to get the ship in order—what Alabama had accomplished in two weeks. “An Executive Officer under such trying circumstances has an immense deal to do. I thank god that I have the health, strength and will to accomplish all.” As the ship approached equatorial calms, conditions worsened with warming temperatures and heavy rain. A squall hit without warning in predawn darkness, heeling her over dangerously, but Shenandoah reacted more easily than Whittle had thought a vessel her size would. He took a close reef in the topsails and a single reef in the foresail, which rendered the ship more comfortable.
Rain offered welcome opportunity to fill casks and to wash clothes in freshwater. Crewmen were allowed one fresh gallon per day for drinking and personal use. They usually bathed and did their washing in salt water, which tended to leave garments stiff, crusty, and abrasive; but, noted Waddell, seamen believed rainwater to be much wetter than salt water and that one never takes cold from exposure in salt water. With the shortage of stewards, the gentlemen were required to do their own washing, and Whittle had a good laugh at the efforts of Lieutenant Grimball and Dr. Lining. The doctor was not feeling well—the ship was damp and disagreeable—and he did not enjoy scrubbing in the rain “like a washer woman.” He could not get it right and had to turn the task over to one of the sailors. Later captures would provide additional personnel, relieving officers of these undignified duties.
Greeted one morning by a nice little breeze, the captain ordered the propeller raised and all plain sail set. “She spreads a great deal of canvas,” wrote Whittle. “The ship is very much more comfortable under sail than steam, and I am always glad to see her going steadily with her wings spread. I have been very busy all day. My hands are full, and every one comes to me for everything.” He rigged new forebraces, new main topsail halyards, and a main brace using all the captured rope from Alina. Additional such work would await another prize.
On 5 November, one week after the first prize and 7° north of the equator, Shenandoah took her second, overhauling the 168-ton schooner Charter Oak with the usual routine, first showing the English flag and when the victim responded with the Stars and Stripes, firing a blank charge, raising the Confederate banner, sending an armed boat, and retrieving the captain, mates, and ship’s papers for a hearing. Charter Oak was bound from Boston to San Francisco with a hundred tons of coal, lumber, furniture, and preserved fruits, meats, and vegetables—“in fact almost everything that we wanted,” recalled Grimball. Master’s Mate Hunt thought that rounding the stormy Cape Horn at the foot of South America in this tiny ship was “a noteworthy instance of Yankee perseverance and daring.”2
“Now came the trouble,” wrote Whittle: women were on board. Grimball wondered, “What in the world could we do with them? Where could they sleep?” The captain was unsure whether to destroy Charter Oak and thus burden Shenandoah with two females and a child or to bond the captured vessel and let her go, so he left the decision to the first lieutenant. Another example of tentative leadership, thought Whittle. “I concluded that whatever be the difficulties we should burn her—and it was decided upon.”
Charter Oak captain Samuel J. Gillman whined that his earnings of four years were invested and he would be made a pauper, and then—to the considerable amusement of his captors—he said, “Well sir, if you are going to destroy my schooner, for God’s sake save the preserved meats and vegetables.” They assured him the stores would receive due attention, asking only where they were stowed. Gillman was rowed back to his doomed ship and fetched his wife, widowed sister-in-law, Mrs. Gage, and her four-year-old son, Frank, along with personal effects.
Despite the inconvenience, the presence of females brought forth the captors’ Southern gentility, perhaps enhanced by the knowledge they were about to destroy the family’s property and means of livelihood. So every courtesy was extended, with Waddell providing the first example. When Gillman was asked, under oath, if he possessed private or public funds, he admitted having about $200. Whittle advised his captain not to take the money, reminding him that it might be all Gillman had. Nevertheless, Waddell ordered the prisoner to give over his cash and then turned and ostentatiously presented it to Mrs. Gillman on behalf of the Confederacy with the stipulation that she not give any of it to her husband, to which she readily agreed.
It was mere pretense, recalled Waddell, driven by compassion for ladies who would be landed he knew not where. “The thought of inflicting unnecessary severity on a female made my heart shrink within.” The captain symbolically discommoded the (male) enemy without making war on a woman; his honor was intact on both counts. The Gillmans were thunderstruck and grateful. Whittle relegated one of his lieutenants to the steerage and assigned the ladies to the starboard aft wardroom cabin, where, he believed, they would be much more comfortable than they had been in the tiny schooner. According to Waddell, Gillman later acknowledged the kindness in a New York newspaper; if so, it would have been a singular instance in the North of positive press for rebel raiders.
Chew had not expected to capture ladies—a novel experience—but he was pleased at the development, hoping their presence would lend charm to a roving life. He was, however, disappointed; the women were not at all attractive, although the boy was bright eyed and interesting and he seemed delighted at the change from a dirty little schooner to a large, fine ship. Chew wrote, “Innocent child, he knew but the kisses and caresses of a mother!” Mason was not impressed either: “These women certainly were the most stupid I ever saw.” They could not converse and came to meals in the most remarkable gowns. Lining noted that Mrs. Gilman was a plain woman of about thirty, while her sister was a buxom widow with perfectly auburn hair, a rare thing in his mind. And the women made themselves quite at home.
Shenandoah lay near the prize while everything possible was removed. To Lining’s regret, they never found the preserved fruits but did retrieve vegetables, including two thousand pounds of canned tomatoes, and six hundred pounds of canned lobster. Mason thought the lobster was excellent and the furniture, though difficult to transfer, was welcome—chairs, tables, bureaus, and sofas. He would like to have fitted out his Confederate friends with some nice pieces that were ultimately thrown overboard or burned along with farm implements such as ploughs and harrows. The edibles were divided among the messes fore and aft. The tomatoes lasted six months.
Charter Oak would not sink as Alina had with her cargo of iron, so the new victim was prepared for burning. Combustibles such as tar, pitch, and turpentine were scattered throughout. Bulkheads were torn down and piled up in cabins and forecastle, hatches opened, yards counterbraced and halyards let go so sails hung loosely. Fire taken from galley and cooking stove was deposited in the hold and about the deck. The captors waited nearby in the boat and watched as flames spread quickly, enveloping the vessel. It took a long time to burn. By the end of the war, thought Whittle, they would all know how to make good fires, but how horrible it would be if anyone were still on board. “It is to me a pitiful sight to see a fine vessel wantonly destroyed but I hope to witness an immense number of painful sights of the same kind, and I trust that Shenandoah may be able to continue her present work until our foolish and inhuman foes sue for peace.”
The ladies settled into their quarters and were accepted into the wardroom mess along with Captain Gillman. Mrs. Gage was the widow of a federal army sergeant killed at Harpers Ferry; Whittle was surprised that she did not seem to hate her captors. The captain and two mates were paroled while Charter Oak crewmen were confined in single irons in the forecastle. The first lieutenant asserted his gallantry further by personally assisting the master-at-arms making and arranging beds in the starboard cabin. The prisoners seemed pleased, especially the ladies. “I am astonished at myself,” wrote Whittle, “when I consider how stud[i]edly cruel [the Yankees] are to our dear women.” After hoisting boats and propeller, they made all plain sail as the burning wreck fell astern. Whittle saw both masts topple and watched the glow hanging in the sky long past midnight.
On Sunday morning according to timeless routine, the crew mustered and the captain read the Articles of War. “Today at dinner,” Whittle wrote, “I did a thing which has rendered me very unhappy in as much as it is very dangerous.” While eating a slice of rhubarb pie he swallowed a piece of the glass bottle in which the fruit had been preserved. The cook had broken the neck off the bottle instead of drawing the cork. Dr. Lining worried that the glass could cause internal bleeding and be life threatening, so he prescribed three strong emetics to induce vomiting. Although anxious, Whittle put his life in God’s hands.
The four mates of Alina and Charter Oak refused to clean out the forecastle where they slept and so were clapped in irons with paroles withdrawn. The first lieutenant had his first disciplinary cases among the crew and was determined to make an example of him: Fireman George Sylvester had been insubordinate, refusing to take a turn at cooking for his mess. He was put in irons, and triced up (suspended from the rigging by the wrists with his toes barely touching the deck). When Sylvester complained, he was gagged and after an hour, begged to be let down. Whittle told him he should be ashamed of himself.
Discipline was absolutely necessary to the happiness of the men and to survival of all on board, recorded the first lieutenant; this was not tyranny but a “thorough governing.” Whittle would examine closely all reports and give the accused the advantage of doubt, but judging him guilty would respond promptly and decisively. “I hate to punish men but it must be done. You must either rule them or they will rule you. . . . When the men once see you determined and firm they will be better, happier and better conducted.”
An English seaman named Thomas Hall gave particular grief. When a quarrel with a French sailor came to blows, the first lieutenant put them both in irons embracing each other around an iron stanchion, hands secured to a beam over their heads. Their first impulse was to laugh, but they quickly concluded the joke was on them and politely asked to be let down. Whittle considered Hall to be smart and energetic with the makings of a good sailor, but the seaman continued to get into fights and was punished several times. “I was determined to conquer him, and I kept him up eight hours more and I found him as subdued as a lamb. He gave me his word that I would never have any more trouble with him.” Seaman Hall did not keep his word.
Methods of disciplinary punishment were more a matter of tradition and captain’s prerogative than formal regulation. Whittle thought that tricing had “a most wonderful effect,” although a Melbourne newspaper would later characterize it as “cruel and barbarous” and “a species of crucifixion.” If problems stemmed from abuse of alcohol, as they often did, Whittle would stop the grog ration. Imprisonment in irons was not helpful since it just gave the crewman a break from work and burdened the other men. One option Whittle did not have was flogging; the ancient practice had been abolished in the U.S. Navy in 1850 after much resistance from officers and veteran sailors and was never adopted in the Confederate navy.3
The first lieutenant also had to manage prisoners. Security in a confined environment required restraint and isolation with occasional punishments for bad behavior. Prisoners could not be housed on the berth deck with the crew, many of whom were former captives themselves. So the forecastle was the only space available—a cramped environment and particularly uncomfortable in high seas, which also housed sheep, chickens, and pigs. But Shenandoah would be chronically undermanned; the first priority was to recruit them. “When they first came off,” wrote Lieutenant Grimball, “they generally refused to ship, but we kept them in irons so long that, as is the case with all sailors, it makes little difference to them what side of the fence they are on, in preference to being in ‘limbo’ they joined Shenandoah. We have a splendid crew the majority being young men of all nations.” Whittle counted on crewmen employing “rough persuasion in the dark” to convince newcomers to join.
Shenandoah next captured the bark D. Godfrey, captained by Samuel Halleck, thirty days from Boston to Valparaiso. She was an old vessel with a valuable assorted cargo including tobacco and prime beef; however, most of it was underneath forty thousand feet of pine lumber and would have taken too long to move. A few hundred feet of rope and good plank, well suited for building a magazine in the hold, were confiscated.
Cabin and pantry bulkheads were knocked down by a few blows of the carpenter’s hatchet and thrown in a pile on the deck. A match was applied and in fifteen minutes flames burst through the skylights. “Darkness had settled around us when the rigging and sails took fire,” recalled Hunt, “but every rope could be seen as distinctly as upon a painted canvas, as the flames made their way from the deck, and writhed upward like fiery serpents. Soon the yards came thundering down by the run as the lifts and halyards yielded to the devouring element, the standing rigging parted like blazing flax, and the spars simultaneously went by the board and left the hulk wrapped from stem to stern in one fierce blaze, like a floating, fiery furnace.”4
Whittle was amused at the female prisoners who appeared to be quite in love with Shenandoah, enjoying a capture as much as he and his fellow Confederates; the little boy gave three cheers for Jeff Davis every day. The men of D. Godfrey did not seem sorry to see the old ship go—apparently Halleck had planned to sell her in Valparaiso anyway—and to the first lieutenant’s joy, five of the six sailors (three English, one Yankee, one from St. Johns, New Brunswick) along with a black steward signed the shipping papers. “They are all good, young men and the darkey is the very man I want for ship’s cook.” Whittle was proud of the crew; they had behaved well in this demoralizing work: “When in the world’s history was a parallel ever known[?]” A board of officers appointed to assess the prizes fixed the value of Charter Oak at $15,000 and D. Godfrey at $36,000.
The new black crewmember was John Williams, a freedman of Boston. He would desert in Melbourne and, in an affidavit for the U.S. consul, swear that Captain Waddell had urged him to join, saying that “colored people” were the cause of the war, and it would go better for him if he signed on or be hard on him if he did not. Waddell (according to Williams) said he wanted all colored persons he could get and offered a berth as a coal trimmer for six months with a month’s advance pay. Williams agreed to work but initially refused to join because he was a loyal citizen who had served the U.S. Navy. He claimed to have discharge papers from the USS Minnesota and also to have been on board the USS Congress when she was sunk by the CSS Virginia in Hampton Roads on the day before her battle with Monitor. Shenandoah’s shipping articles show that Williams signed on as a landsman at a salary of $15.58 per month, the position and pay offered to those with no seamanship experience. Along with his shipmates, Williams made his mark on the day D. Godfrey was captured, so whatever the degree of his resistance, it did not last long. The others signed on as seamen at $29.10 per month.5
The naval service was accustomed throughout its history to men of all shades, at sea in its own world—its authoritarian structures customized through centuries to the unique needs of that shipboard life and hardly less strict than slavery. The Union Navy, also desperate for men, had been far ahead of the U.S. Army in quietly enlisting hundreds of freedmen and “contrabands.” In both navies, to place one group into a separate category based on race would have disrupted efficiency and discipline. In general, and far more so than on land, men were accepted for their skills and performance regardless of color. It was a matter of teamwork and often of survival. Waddell would have enlisted blacks as seamen or even petty officers and paid them accordingly had they possessed the experience; he could not afford to do otherwise and would have seen no inconsistency in the notion. At least three of them would be enlisted from prizes as landsmen or ordinary seamen.
On 8 November, Lining noted the one-month anniversary of their boarding Laurel at Liverpool and that “a good many things have taken place since that!” He was delighted with the “Hindostanee” steward from Alina, William Bruce, who was quite dark but spoke English perfectly. The officers’ messes finally were set up as custom dictated with commissioned officers in the wardroom, midshipmen and warrants in the steerage, and petty officers in a designated portion of the berth deck. The warrant officers—not of the gentleman class and “some very disagreeable people” according to the doctor—had been dining in the wardroom until other spaces were cleared away.
The first lieutenant had a portion of the large deckhouse knocked away, providing additional space for working the two 8-inch guns forward, although he hoped he would never have occasion to use them, considering Shenandoah’s mixed crew of merchant sailors untrained in such work. With his armament finally in position and most running rigging renewed, Whittle was anxious for action: “Nothing gives me more pleasure than to do as much harm as I can in a legitimate way to our inhuman foes. . . . But how often do I think of my dear home and country. Oh how they are all suffering. . . . Will we ever meet again? God grant that we may, and in the meantime I invoke the protection of god on [them].”
The next day, they encountered the Danish brig Anna Jane bound from New York to Rio de Janeiro. Waddell wished to relieve the crowding and so convinced the vessel’s captain to receive some of his prisoners. Captains, mates, and one seaman each from the late barks Alina and D. Godfrey were sent as passengers, along with a barrel of beef and a barrel of bread for their use and a captured chronometer for the captain’s trouble. The ladies of Charter Oak did not seem displeased that they were not included. Whittle opined that they were better treated and more content on Shenandoah than at any time in their lives. “It is a perfect farce to call them prisoners.” As Captain Staples and his mates departed, they demonstrated regular Yankee character, thought the first lieutenant, by not expressing gratitude for kindness received or even saying goodbye. “What a miserable set of villains our enemies are. I hate them more than ever the more I see of them.” Whittle had opposed the decision to release prisoners because it would spread word of Shenandoah’s location and activity. Lining also thought it important to keep her movements unknown so the enemy could not surmise their destination.
It was “another glorious day in our legitimate calling,” wrote Whittle on 10 November. He awakened early to the news that there was a brigantine close on the weather bow. She hoisted the “detestable Yankee rag” and after the second gun threw her head yards aback and hove to. Chew rowed across with an armed boat. She was Susan of New York, Captain Hansen, with coal from Cardiff, Wales, to Rio Grande de Sul, Brazil. Lining thought her the funniest looking craft he had ever seen: she leaked badly and sat low in the water with a paddle wheel something like a steamboat’s on the lee side, which connected to a pump and discharged water as she moved along.
Once again, despite alleged English ownership of the cargo, the vessel was condemned because the bill of lading had not been notarized. Lieutenant Chew brought her under the lee of Shenandoah for transfer of provisions, a set of cabin drawers, and a mess table for the steerage. They also brought across some dogs, one of which was made a pet for the men. With holes cut in the side below the waterline and others bored through the bottom, she went down by the head in about half an hour. The Yankee captain seemed rather glad to be rid of the old thing. Values were estimated at $5,000 for the vessel and $436 for the cargo. “Quite a small amount yet small favors are thankfully received,” concluded Chew. Whittle wished she had been a fine clipper.
Captain Hansen of Susan, a German, desired to sign on Shenandoah but felt honor-bound to return to New York and report the capture of his ship; the insurance company might refuse to recognize the owners’ claim on presumption that he had turned traitor and given up the vessel voluntarily. Three English crewmen signed on immediately, and Whittle expected that another would soon. That day, he tacked the ship three times and each time she went round beautifully. “I never saw a vessel work better.” The crew could complete the complex and critical evolution of tacking with efficiency and they could man the guns, but the first lieutenant still wanted sixty more men. He had them holystone the decks and reeve new topsail braces and topgallant gear. The remaining prisoners preferred standing duty to being in irons, so Whittle divided them into two watches. “I am always very tired at night but manage to sleep very well.”
Shenandoah cruised the Atlantic narrows between the bulges of Africa and Brazil—previous hunting grounds of Sumter, Florida, and Alabama—where prevailing winds funnel trade into busy shipping lanes to and from Cape Horn and the Cape of Good Hope. They passed through the belt of calms and variable winds north of the equator—the Doldrums—and through a “gate” between 28° and 32° west longitude, which to most mariners provided the best of the light airs.
On a gray afternoon, they were buffeting about in heavy southerly winds and squalls when a large ship was spotted to windward. Whittle clewed up sails and steamed to intercept as they chased her into a dreary dusk. By midnight nearly all hands were on lookout, even the two female prisoners who hoped to see a big catch. Suddenly a towering shadow emerged from the gloom passing close aboard. Whittle barked an order and a blast of noise and flame erupted from the signal gun. “What ship?” hailed the first lieutenant. The response was shredded by the wind, but she hove to while an armed boat with Lieutenant Lee in charge wallowed across. She was Kate Prince, Captain Henry Libby of Portsmouth, New Hampshire, and another Yankee carrying coal to Bahia, Brazil; but this time the papers were in order with a properly notarized oath naming Liverpool cargo owners.
Once again Whittle disagreed with his captain: the Cardiff coal was of little value compared to the vessel, he thought, whose loss would be felt dearly by the enemy—they should destroy ship and cargo and afterward compensate the owners for the coal. Nevertheless, Whittle was ordered to bond the prize, transfer all prisoners, and send them on their way. “[The captives] were all exceedingly grateful for our kindness particularly the women who I am quite certain, would have preferred to have stayed.” The little boy said he liked rebels and did not want to go. As soon as the ladies were informed, recorded Chew, “there was a great hurrying to & fro, looking after band boxes, bundling up hooped skirts, in a word collecting those thousand things which always accompany women.”
The first lieutenant was glad to be rid of the females and fervently desired never again to be thus burdened (a hope to be dashed in the Indian Ocean). He superintended the passenger transfer in torrential rain and by 5 a.m. was heartily tired. Captain Libby sent over two barrels of Irish potatoes for their use. Lining, like Whittle, believed that Waddell was making a mistake in releasing the vessel: “However, the deed is done, & there is no use of talking about it.” Kate Prince was bonded for $40,000.
That afternoon, they overhauled another vessel and fired a gun. She hoisted the flag of Buenos Aires but so closely resembled a Yankee that Waddell decided to investigate. The Baltimore-built clipper bark Adelaide, formerly Adelaide Pendergrast, was bound from New York to Rio with a cargo of flour. The papers were ambiguous, so Captain James P. Williams of Matthews County, Virginia, and his mate were brought over to testify. “And now took place the most curious concatenation of circumstances, making the greatest ‘mess’ I have ever known,” wrote Lining.
Who owned the cargo? Who owned the ship? And where was she legally registered? At first, Captain Williams swore Adelaide had been sold to parties in Buenos Aires and was therefore neutral, but he could produce no bill of sale. The first mate testified that the sale was a pretense to fool federal authorities; the vessel was still owned by Mr. Pendergrast of Baltimore, an earnest Southerner with two sons in the rebel army. Then Williams admitted the lie and begged Waddell not to burn the ship—he was a young man just married with all of his meager savings invested in her, and the owner would be heart-broken at the loss. Adelaide, named for Mrs. Pendergrast, was not insured for a single cent.
On paper, the cargo was shipped by Mr. Pendergrast but owned by a New York firm. “The case was very much mixed up and there was evidently foul play somewhere,” concluded Whittle. Waddell decided that any vessel shipping Yankee flour from New York warranted destruction even if the owner was a Southerner. Several hours were occupied transferring stores and removing crew and passengers with their baggage to Shenandoah. The doctor found good larder for the mess—hams and preserved fruits. Lieutenant Chew and his men broke out the skylights on Adelaide to provide draft, capsized cans of kerosene, and piled combustibles in the foreword hold; they upset a barrel of tar amid the flour.
Meanwhile personal letters discovered in the captain’s cabin revealed that the paperwork showing cargo ownership by the New York firm was fake, intended to avoid interference by Yankee authorities; the flour, like the ship, belonged to Mr. Pendergrast of Baltimore. Waddell concluded that he could not burn the vessel and sent orders across to Chew, catching him just before he lit the match. Whittle was truly sorry for the incident but put the blame on the prevarication or ignorance of Captain Williams. Everything possible was done to return what had been taken and to restore the damage, although much had been lost or destroyed. Adelaide was perfectly seaworthy, however. Williams took the ship back joyfully. He was provided a barrel of sugar and some lamp oil to replace what they had poured all over his decks.
To further allay federal suspicions, Waddell bonded the “enemy” cargo while recognizing the bogus sale of the vessel, acknowledging it to be under a neutral flag. It was nearly dark as they parted ways. Whittle vowed to explain the situation to Mr. Pendergrast if ever given the chance and sent along a letter to his dear Pattie. “There is no telling how long it will be before she gets it, but I am pretty certain that it will be received some day or other. Oh! How much would I not give just to know that my darlings are well. My thoughts are constantly of them. I console myself very often by reading over and over again the letters to me. Letters full of affection and love.”
That same day in London—12 November 1864—correspondence arrived on the West Africa mail packet Calabar from Tenerife along with Captain Corbett, formerly of Sea King, and twenty-some of his crewmen. The British consul at Tenerife wrote the secretary of state for foreign affairs reporting the arrival and subsequent departure of Laurel, leaving Corbett and his sailors behind. Sea King, they stated, had been wrecked off the Desertas. But Corbett aroused suspicion by his prevarication and suspicious behavior, so the consul obtained affidavits from four sailors who, among other details, confirmed that they had been instructed to say their ship had foundered. Corbett was placed in custody under suspicion of violating the Foreign Enlistment Act by recruiting British sailors for a foreign navy. Corbett also fully briefed Commander Bulloch in Liverpool.6
Calabar also delivered a letter from the U.S. consul at Tenerife to U.S. minister Adams with a full report from the same sources. Adams’ secretary thought the British consul had covered up; he must have known that Sea King had been sold to rebels and was about to cruise under Semmes. Word was passed to Secretary of State Seward in Washington and to the Navy. The U.S. consul in Liverpool recalled Sea King as an excellent sailer and “altogether a fine vessel for the business of privateering,” which he assumed was now burning and destroying American vessels.7
