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
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