One of Laurel’s passengers recalled the scene: “The vessel’s quiet swing to a single anchor only increased our restlessness to follow the black steamer, whose symmetrical outlines the bright light played fairly upon and made her appear to be the very object for which we had left Liverpool.” The writer was James Iredell Waddell, a North Carolinian lawyer’s son who, despite civilian attire, was a lieutenant in the Confederate States navy. He carried orders to assume command of a new rebel raider and to continue depredations on Union commerce so effectively advanced by the CSS Alabama, a vessel now resting silently on the bottom of the English Channel after her fiery clash the previous June with the USS Kearsarge.
At ten o’clock Laurel steamed out to rendezvous. The day was fine, the atmosphere clear and bright; a stiff southwest wind rolled the little ship like a tub in heavy seas. As they approached, Lieutenant Waddell could see three words in large white letters across the stern of the vessel: Sea King—London. Other passengers scanned the newcomer with spyglasses, rendered opinions, and seemed delighted with her looks. Some faults were found, but for a merchant ship, most thought she was remarkably well fitted for their purposes. “For my own part,” recorded Midshipman John Mason in his personal journal, “being no judge of such matters, I was like the little boy the cart ran over, I had not a word to say. . . . One thing however pleased me very much. She was a full rigged ship & as I looked at her three tall masts & her yards & rigging, I thought what a fine opportunity I would have of learning seamanship & I made up my mind to make the most of it.”2
The two ships sought refuge in the lee of a nearby volcanic rock called Las Desertas, providing calm water, deep holding ground, and isolation from suspicious authorities. Sea King’s anchor plunged to the bottom as Laurel made fast alongside. Ship’s Surgeon Dr. Charles E. Lining, a South Carolinian, also kept a journal: “I immediately went on board to take a glance of what is to be my home for many, many months. I found her a splendid, roomy ship, with a fine wardroom, but nearly entirely void of furniture etc.”3
Sea King carried a large quantity of provisions and seven hundred tons of coal, much more than the bunkers could stow; bagged piles of the dirty fuel occupied parts of the cavernous hold and berth deck. Laurel’s holds were crammed with equipment, supplies, and bales of clothing to convert a peaceful merchant ship into a deadly commerce destroyer and to sustain her on a long cruise. There was no time to lose. Despite all efforts at secrecy, those in Madeira with memories of that renowned vessel understood that the stranger was “otro Alabama.” And as Laurel waited in Madeira harbor, U.S. consul Robert Bayman had been alerted to Laurel’s purpose and had been watching. He badgered authorities to detain her for purported violations of international law—claiming she was just another rebel pirate—and sent out reports and calls for assistance on every departing ship. An American man-of-war could appear any time.
Fires were kept in Sea King’s boilers with steam up, the anchor cable ready to slip at a moment’s notice. Laurel’s passengers—Confederate navy officers, warrant officers, and petty officers—shifted their personal gear to Sea King. Tackles were erected and purchases rigged to the main yardarm as crews of both ships began transferring cargo, a demanding task normally accomplished in port. “Being thus shorthanded & thinking it no time to stand on our dignity,” noted Midshipman Mason, “all of us, the officers, went to work with a will. . . .” They removed coats and vests, rolled up sleeves, and began breaking out cases from Laurel and hoisting them on board Sea King. Men and officers kept hard at it until midnight, taking time for only meals and a break for grog. Mason turned in that night “tired to death with sore hands & exhausted body.” If this sort of life lasted much longer, he thought, they would all become expert sailors; it would be good for their health.
In the fourth year of bloody, frustrating conflict, these warriors of the sea finally could do what they did best: take the fight to the enemy in a fine blue-water ship, a rare opportunity in the Confederate States navy. They were more cynical than when the struggle began but not disillusioned; morale and expectations were high.
A fishing boat with five Portuguese came alongside. Waddell bought some fish, invited the fishermen on board, plied them with liquor, employed them in the work, and detained them overnight so they could not spread word in Funchal of the cargo transfer. Work continued at daylight as the wind shifted and the vessels ground dangerously against each other. Captain John F. Ramsay of Laurel presented Dr. Lining with a table, camp stool, and mattress for his cabin, which were much appreciated. Crates with guns, gun carriages and fittings, powder, shot, and shell, along with stores of all kinds were swung across.
The transfer was completed by 2 p.m., but no guns were mounted, no breeching or tackle bolts driven, no gunports cut, no powder magazine or shell room provided; all had been hurriedly piled in a lumbering, confused mass. Lieutenant William Whittle, second in command to James Waddell, recalled, “Every particle of work, of bringing order out of chaos and providing for efficiently putting everything in a condition for service, and of converting this ship into an armed cruiser at sea, amidst wind and storm, if encountered, stared us in the face.”4
Sea King, commanded by Captain Peter Suther Corbett, was, like Laurel, a registered British merchantman. Corbett executed written authority from the owners to sell the vessel outside British jurisdiction for not less that £45,000. Lieutenant Waddell assumed ownership in the name of the Confederacy. “I felt I had a good and fast ship under my feet,” he recalled, “but there was a vast deal of work in as well as outside of her to be done, and to accomplish all that a crew was necessary.”
Sailors of both ships were called aft on the main deck where Captain Corbett informed them that Sea King had been sold and now would become a Confederate cruiser: “As you are all young men, I advise you to join her, as you will make a fine thing of it.” Waddell emerged from his cabin and mounted the ladder to the quarterdeck in gray uniform with sword and pistol, the gold stripes of a lieutenant on his sleeves. He was over six feet and two hundred pounds with broad shoulders and thick, dark hair. Corbett introduced Waddell as the new captain without mentioning his name. One of the Laurel passengers—another disguised Confederate—told the sailors on deck that Waddell was Captain Raphael Semmes, former commander of Alabama. This alarming bit of Confederate disinformation would echo halfway around the globe.5
Waddell was forty years old with over twenty years in the U.S. Navy, having mastered the skills of the mariner across many oceans. Upon resigning to join the Confederacy, he had declared that he owned no property in the seceded states and was not hostile to the Constitution. He venerated the U.S. flag and only desired “to hazard life and limb in its defense against some foreign foe.” He wished it to be understood that “no doctrine of the right of secession, no wish for disunion of the States impel me, but simply because my home is the home of my people in the South, and I cannot bear arms against it or them.”6
But this was his first command and Waddell remembered feeling completely alone. The challenges were greater than any he had faced; his abilities were untested, and the trials ahead unknown. He stood at the quarterdeck rail above the gathered sailors that sunny October afternoon with only sea, sky, and rocks as witness. He blandly informed them that the vessel was the property of the Confederate States with the name Shenandoah. Any who joined would receive kind treatment and good wages. He read his commission, turned, and walked into the cabin. “For all the effect it had, [Waddell] might have spoken to the winds,” recalled another of his officers, Lieutenant John Grimball. Over a hundred sailors were needed to sail the ship and man the guns, but just twenty-three signed on and most of those shipped for only six months.7
Two years earlier, August 1862, the new CSS Alabama rendezvoused with her stores ship near the island of Terceira in the Azores for the same purposes. Captain Semmes was equally concerned then: “I could not know how many of them would engage with me. . . . No creature can be more whimsical than a sailor, until you have bound
