Iron Ships, Iron Men

by Christopher Nicole

  Proof of this lay in the fact that in two years of sailing the oceans of the world, without relief, only one man had failed to measure up to his captain’s requirements, and Clarence Yonge had been a misfortune beyond the powers of Semmes to redeem. Unlike the rest of the Alabama's crew, who had been handpicked, Yonge had been one of the delivery crew selected by Bulloch, and it had not been until theAlabama had actually dropped anchor off Terceira that he had revealed that he was actually a trusted aide of Bulloch, who had appointed him to make sure the voyage to the Azores went smoothly.

  Rod had early formed a low opinion of the man, for he knew little of the sea, and he had done nothing to encourage the delivery crew to work with a will. But there was no arguing with the documents he produced, to substantiate his claim — letters from Bulloch, and even an inventory of the guns and stores being despatched in theAgrippina, the tender which had brought theAlabama's military equipment to Terceira. He also claimed to have been instructed by Bulloch to see what recruiting he could do amongst the delivery crew, but there admitted he had met with little success.

  In these circumstances, Semmes had accepted him, and as he was no seaman, had appointed him Assistant Paymaster. But soon it had been discovered that Yonge’s faults included both incompetence, which might have been tolerated, and drunkenness, which could not. He had been put ashore. That he had, apparently, spent his time since in slandering his erstwhile shipmates had not endeared him to any member of the crew.

  Rod doubted that episode had had any effect on the Captain’s personality. Semmes’ problems had a far deeper and more serious root; as the voyage had proceeded, he had developed this strange, almost melancholic feeling of pity for the ships he was forced to sink. Rod could understand the emotion; itwas a melancholy business to send ship after ship, most of them fine, well-found vessels, and crewed by men speaking the same language and with the same heritage as themselves, to the bottom. Yet he was prepared to accept that as part of the necessary tragedies of war. A point of view he was sure Semmes had also held when the voyage had begun.

  Or had he? From the very beginning of their epic cruise the Captain had certainly been resentful of the fact that while he was commanding one of the finest, fastest, and most heavily armed ships afloat, he was barred from engaging any worthy opponent, but must always seek out those who could offer no resistance. That resentment had led to the strange but exhilarating encounter with the USSHatteras, eighteen months ago. Semmes had deliberately sought out the warship, engaged her, and sent her to the bottom, all in thirteen minutes; Rod’s big Blakeley RML had done the damage. But it had been as if Semmes had wanted to show the world what he and his shipcoulddo, if given the chance. He had been taking a risk — for a chance shot from theHatterascould have crippled theAlabama and ended the voyage before it had properly begun — and he had been disobeying orders. And, having proved his point, he had not deviated again. But with every merchantman taken and burned, his depression had grown — although his personal feelings had never been allowed to interfere with his ruthless determination to do his duty.

  Now he sighed, as he looked again at the clipper. ‘She will be there come morning,’ he remarked, almost sadly. ‘And so will we.’ He went below.

  He gave no orders, because they would use their usual tactics, as Rod knew; maintain sail until darkness, which would be upon them in seconds now, and then drop canvas and make all speed under steam to close with their target during the night. There was no need even for him to issue instructions to the crew; the seamen were so well drilled that they were already standing by to hand sail the moment the sun dipped below the horizon.

  ‘Number eighty-two,’ Rod remarked to Kell, who was waiting to take over the second dog watch. ‘I wish the old man could be happier about it.’

  ‘He looks on ships as living creatures,’ Kell said. ‘TheAlabamais more than just a home to him; she is a living, breathing personality, and so are all those we have taken. Thus he feels like a murderer, every time one is sent to the bottom. Do you know what I suspect? That if we were to come across a federal warship, he’d engage her without a moment’s hesitation, just as he did theHatteras, as some kind of atonement for his crimes.’ He grinned. ‘Let’s hope we don’t actually meet any cruisers until we make Cherbourg and have had a chance to bunker.’

  And what did the crew feel, after two years at sea, Rod wondered? On the one hand, the longer he stayed at sea, the more reluctant he was to make land. The sea was dangerous, often vicious and sometimes maniacal ... but it was constant, and provided one remembered that no human power could stand against the sea at its worst, and made one’s dispositions accordingly, it was possible to get on very well with it. He loved the sea, and fell more in love with it every day he spent tossing in its bosom. At sea, one’s problems, and therefore the decisions one had to face, were limited to basics — it was a simple matter of survival, and deciding how best to ensure it.

  Land, which involved the society of men and women who did not know the sea, was a different matter. On land it was necessary to temper one’s decisions with an acceptance that other points of view might be involved; every man on board a ship at sea necessarily held the same point of view. Land was a series of terminations, each cycle having to be brought to a successful conclusion, if possible; at sea there was no end in sight, just a succession of sunrises and moonrises, calms and gales, cloudless days and those which were overcast. Except, as now, when the end of a voyage was in sight. The land was already reaching out to embrace them.

  At least the land was France, and not America. And as this war appeared to be dragging on from one year to the next, he did not know when it would be America again. As the only people with whom they had effectively come into contact over the past two years where Federal sailors, they knew little of what was happening there. No one had mentioned Mobile. He had hardly dared think about it. Last Christmas, in a mood of savage, lonely depression, he had written Marguerite a letter, poured out his heart to her: he had no means of knowing if she had ever received it. To think of holding Marguerite in his arms, when there was no means of knowing when, or if ever, he would do so again, was to make life unbearable.

  And yet, was not Marguerite the sole reason he was here, fighting for a cause in which he could not believe and which he knew had to be doomed? Having done that, he could surely look forward to one day achieving his reward.

  He had the morning watch, and kept the clipper’s lights in his sights until the sun surged above the eastern horizon. The breeze remained light, as it usually did in these ultra-tropical latitudes, and under sail the clipper had made little progress during the hours of darkness; now she was less than two miles away, for the first time, like all her predecessors, realising that she was being approached by a steamship.

  Semmes was on deck. ‘See the wounded stag,’ he said. ‘Brought to bay by the hunter.’ He shook his head. ‘Put a shot across her bows, Mr Bascom.’

  ‘Aye-aye,’ Rod acknowledged, and went forward, where the rifled cannon was already loaded and waiting. It was a piece he had grown to love during the past two years, a superb example of British engineering, with an accuracy he had never seen surpassed, and her hundred pound shell, striking the right place, was enough to sink any ship. Now he chose his spot, having estimated the clipper’s speed in relation to their own, aimed her with the precision born of years of practice at actual targets, and gave the order. The gun exploded ... and to Rod’s consternation, the ball ploughed into the sea, not across the bows of the clipper, but well short of it.

  While he was still considering his failure, the clipper hove to. She had identified the raider, and such was the reputation now enjoyed by theAlabama, no master was willing to risk attempting to escape her. The drill was the same as always here too, as Kell took his marines across to board the vessel and transfer anything of value to theAlabama, while the crew and any passengers were also placed in the boats to be ferried to the raider, where they would be treated as honoured guests until
they could be put ashore.

  Rod made his way aft.

  ‘Careless shooting, Mr Bascom,’ Semmes remarked.

  ‘I will swear the gun was truly aimed, sir,’ Rod said. ‘That the shot fell short must have been due to some defect. With your permission I would like to inspect the powder store.’

  ‘Oh, come now, Rod,’ Semmes said, smiling and slapping him on the shoulder. ‘Every man is allowed a poor shot now and then. I would never have expected to hearyou blaming defective powder.’

  ‘I am certainly not trying to excuse myself, sir,’ Rod told him. ‘I am concerned that our powder may have deteriorated. Should we have to engage an enemy ...’

  Semmes nodded. ‘Inspect it, then, Mr Bascom. But powder should not deteriorate in two years. And the store was specially designed.’

  As it had been, by Bulloch, Rod knew. And yet ... there was certainly evidence of dampness down there. He peered at the insulation, and frowned as he saw tiny cracks in the asbestos sheeting; the powder store was just aft of the engine room, and even as he carried out his inspection he heard the noise of Chief Engineer Miles Freeman blowing off steam, now that the clipper had been set on fire and the engines could be closed down. The hiss through the funnel, only a bulkhead away, was deafening, while little beads of moisture gathered along the cracks, and the store room suddenly became hot.

  Let us indeed hope, Rod thought, that we do not have to shoot for our lives until we reach Cherbourg.

  *

  Where, to their consternation, they were refused permission to enter the port. They dropped anchor in the roads, and soon afterwards saw, to their great relief, a boat pulling towards them, on board which was James Bulloch. But this was a sombre-faced, depressed Bulloch. He said all the right things, as he came on board, shook Semmes’ hand heartily as he congratulated him on the outstanding success of his cruise, did not reveal the true situation until he was in the master’s cabin with Semmes, and Kell, and Rod. ‘The position is disastrous,’ he told them. ‘And daily becoming more so. Have you heard the news from America?’

  ‘Some from our prisoners,’ Semmes said. ‘I don’t know how much credence to give it.’

  ‘If it was bad news, then you may believe all of it. Since Gettysburg and Vicksburg last year, things have gone from bad to worse. Grant has now been appointed commander-in-chief of the Federal armies, and is mounting a frontal assault upon Richmond, and Sherman is invading the Confederacy through Georgia. We may stop one or the other, perhaps, but both at the same time ... that is what the loss of the Mississippi, and the West, has cost us. Then theFlorida has been taken ...

  ‘TheFlorida? How?’ Semmes snapped. Commissioned earlier than theAlabama, theFlorida, commanded by Lieutenant Mafitt, was the only other Confederate commerce raider which had enjoyed any real success.

  ‘By a blatant breach of neutrality,’ Bulloch declared. ‘She took refuge in the harbour of Bahia, in Brazil, as she was fully entitled to do, and there was seized by the USSWachusett, who just steamed in, ignoring Brazilian protests, and went alongside. And they accuseus of breaking the neutrality laws. The trouble is, the Federals imagine they have already won the war.’ He glanced at Rod. ‘And they could be right.’

  ‘But what of your ironclads?’ Rod asked. He still believed that their appearance in American waters could turn the tide of defeat.

  ‘We can forget about them,’ Bulloch said despondently. ‘The British Government impounded the Laird rams over a year ago. So I tried to have some built here in France, and for a while had every expectation of success. But now the atmosphere has changed here as well. The Emperor was happy to defy the North while we were doing well; now he has in mind that a Northern victory could well put in peril his Mexican adventure, so they have been impounded too. What is more ... he hesitated.

  ‘We must enter the harbour,’ Semmes said, understanding what was on his mind. ‘We are right out of coal. We have prisoners to put ashore. And Mr Bascom feels we need fresh powder.’

  Bulloch sighed. ‘I have obtained an assurance from the Admiral of the Port that you may enter if it is absolutely necessary, although he would prefer you to use Le Havre. The point is that Cherbourg is a naval port, and Le Havre is not. You see, theFlorida, before she fled back across the Atlantic to South America, sought and was given shelter in Brest. Now Brest is also a naval port, and the Federals are up in arms about it. We feel that there is less chance of a Federal protest succeeding with the French Government if you use a purely commercial port. If you do come into Cherbourg, they will offer you no more than the strict three days to provision your ship.’

  ‘Three days will be sufficient,’ Semmes said. ‘Providing we can obtain powder. That is why we are in a naval port, Commander Bulloch: we must have fresh powder.’

  ‘And that is the one thing the French cannot let you have, without breaching the neutrality laws.’

  ‘God damn the neutrality laws, Commander. Have you asked the Port Admiral?’

  ‘I have, sir, and he says he cannot, without express permission from Paris.’

  ‘Then, Commander,’ Semmes said, ‘we will enter the port, put ashore our prisoners, restock our water and provisions, and then bunker — while you will make haste to Paris and obtain us that permission to buy powder. Understood?’

  Bulloch nodded, unhappily. ‘I pray that I may be able to do so, Captain Semmes.’

  *

  The seaport of Vlissingen, or Flushing, as it was known to the British, lies at the mouth of the West Scheldt, and is Holland’s most southerly port, save for the small fishing haven of Breskens on the south bank of the river. It was a place Jerry McGann had come to know well on his previous term of duty in Europe, and with which he had renewed his acquaintance, time and again, over the past twelve months, as the USSKearsagehad used it as a coaling base in between her interminable patrols, up and down the North Sea, waiting for news of theAlabama, or indeed, any other southern raider which might wish to return to Europe. Twelve months, he thought, carrying out the most wearying duty in the world, for even in the summer the North Sea was an unattractive spot, with more gales per month than most other places, and wide areas of shallows and sandbanks which required careful navigation and constant caution.

  In that year, at least, the crew of the new steam sloop had settled down well, and he had come to appreciate both the ship and her captain. He had been at once doubtful and resentful in the beginning. To walk away from the nearness of Marguerite and Joey had seemed criminal; to return home, for the first time in three years, to the house and land and people he loved so well, but not to the wife he had taken there in triumph, had been heartrending. The family had been desolated, even so long after Marguerite had fled. They had blamed themselves for allowing her to slip through their fingers. ‘She gave no indication of what she was planning to do,’ Grandmother Felicity complained. ‘It was all smiles, and then suddenly, she was gone.’

  ‘We thought she must have taken Joey for a walk, and had an accident,’ Ambrose explained. ‘It was dead of winter ... we broke the ice on all the ponds and dragged them, scoured the sea shore ... we didn’t think to hunt for her in New York until several days had passed, and then she had already taken a British ship, to where no one knew. As Grandma says, she gave no indication of it.’

  ‘She was more quiet than usual, just before she left,’ Meg McGann said, thoughtfully. ‘I thought nothing of it, then.’

  Caroline McGann was even more quiet than that, because Captain Stephen had not managed to return home at all since the war had started, being engaged in the continual blockade of Charleston, South Carolina.

  Jerry had been glad to go on to Boston; there were too many bitter memories on Long Island. And in Boston he had at once been taken with his new ship. The USSKearsagewas in fact a sister of theWachusett, which later that same year had earned fame by seizing the CSSFloridain Bahia Bay. Just under two hundred feet long, with a thirty-three foot beam and a fifteen foot draft, she displaced some fifteen hundred tons
, and was an altogether larger vessel than theAlabama, her appointed target, but as her increased size was in beam and draft and weight, not length — she was actually twenty-two feet shorter — she lacked the raider’s speed; her two Martin boilers would deliver only eight hundred horsepower, which could produce eleven knots, twelve at a pinch, to theAlabama's thirteen. Nor did she have the range under power.

  Nor was she as heavily armed, for although she carried six thirty-two pounders in her broadside, and two more eleven-inch smooth bores, her one rifled cannon, a Parrott, was only four-point-two inches in bore, a considerably smaller weapon than the big gun mounted by the raider.

  But Jerry quickly decided that she would give a good account of herself if she could ever manage to bring her chosen adversary to battle. She had a larger crew, some two hundred men at full complement, to the Alabama's hundred and forty-five, and she had a most determined skipper. John Winslow, Jerry rapidly discovered, while he was certainly a fierce disciplinarian who would tolerate no slacking from any member of his company, was also an efficient and considerate commander, and that he was itching for a fight could not be argued. His problem was that the fight did not seem to come any closer, and his eagerness soon embroiled them with the French authorities, who, having decided to adopt a strict neutrality, were now determined to make it effective for both sides. When theFloridawas in Brest undergoing engine room repairs — which was legitimate under the neutrality laws, which barred only repairs or improvements to the fighting capacity of the ship — Winslow made up his mind to have her. But he made the mistake of entering Brest several times, ostensibly to coal, really to keep an eye on how the repairs were proceeding, so that he could be waiting for the raider as she left port. To his chagrin, he was soon informed by the French that he was abusing their neutrality, and could use no French port again for two months. Thus he had had to take himself to Holland, while theFloridaescaped — to no great avail as it turned out, thanks to the decision of theWachusetfs captain to ignore Brazilian neutrality. But when it came to offending foreign governments, Brazil was hardly so powerful a potential adversary as France.