manner of destroying a vessel depended on her cargo, wrote Waddell; if it were heavily freighted like Alina, it would be better to scuttle. She would sink rapidly and disappear as a whole, leaving a few pieces of deck and bulkheads floating over the great abyss. More frequently it would be necessary to burn the ship, which was better than abandoning it disabled and a danger to navigation. But fire leaves a small portion of the keel and floor timbers afloat as a hazard; red glare in the sky could alarm Yankees within thirty miles; and a warship might be attracted or prospective prizes frightened off.
Under more favorable circumstances, captured ships could be sailed to a home or neutral port for adjudication by admiralty court. Each vessel would be formally condemned and sold with proceeds distributed to captain, officers, and crew. A ship could even be repurchased by original owners. However, Union blockaders restricted access to Southern harbors and neutral ones were closed to them. This was another of the Confederacy’s grievances with the British, who, concerned about appearing neutral, had prohibited both belligerents from bringing prizes to any port under their jurisdiction—a policy that in practice favored the North. When other nations followed suit, Confederates had no recourse but to sink or burn, concluding that Yankee howls about brutal rebel cruiser captains causing such maritime destruction should have been directed at the British government.
Chew evaluated the bill of lading and valued the ship and cargo at $95,000. The estimate was recorded in the ship’s log for the navy department to use in distributing prize money at the end of the war. “A long look ahead I must confess, yet we all hope to receive someday a reward for our present work.” For his part, Whittle considered it a good day’s effort notwithstanding the demoralizing nature of the work: “God grant that we may have many just such prizes.” He gave the order to splice the main brace, serving out an extra ration of grog.
Whittle did not care for Captain Staples either: “Oh how I do hate the whole [Yankee] race—and still, I can’t help from treating him kindly.” Without conscious irony and true to their heritage, these Southerners expected of their captives the same gentlemanly respect, courtesy, and calm resignation to the fortunes of war that they would expect of themselves. A few prisoners would earn respect for genteel behavior, but the Southerners’ scorn for most of them was hidden under a veil of hospitality, which probably helped them feel better about visiting destruction on helpless merchant vessels.12
Alina’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
