The Overlook
By Tom Clavin
“The Overlook” can be found at tomclavin.substack.com. An overlook is a place from which one can see in several if not all directions, including where one has been and where one is going. If you enjoy the column, please "like" it and let me know what you think by commenting (check out previous ones while you're at it). Likes, comments, and shares help with author “discoverability” on Substack.com, and all support is appreciated. Don't forget to hit the ‘Subscribe’ button – it’s free!
Anyone who has an interest in the Civil War, sailing, naval history, and/or adventure on the high seas will enjoy the book To the Uttermost Ends of the Earth: The Epic Hunt for the South’s Most Feared Ship and the Greatest Sea Battle of the Civil War. Yes, a long title, but this book covers a lot of ground . . . well, water, actually -- about 75,000 miles of it around the globe and back again.
Uttermost, by Phil Keith and yours truly, is to be published next Tuesday, the 12th, and readers can pre-order it at local bookstores and Amazon, etc. It is the true story of the CSS Alabama, captained by Raphael Semmes, and how it preyed upon Union shipping all over the world until the Lincoln administration ordered the USS Kearsarge, captained by John Winslow, to find the Confederate raider and sink it. In what was indeed the greatest sea battle of the Civil War, the two ships clashed off the coast of France.
Next week, I’ll discuss more about the overall story and the writing of it. For now, here is an excerpt about the action taking place during the fierce battle on June 19, 1864.
As the Alabama and Kearsarge circled one another, each ship tried to savage the other’s stern section. Taking out one of the pivot guns, smashing the rudder, or killing a captain could wound a ship mortally -- Semmes and Winslow were both in exposed positions to better direct their ship’s actions.
One of Alabama’s Blakeley’s fired a 100-pound shell that smashed into Kearsarge’s sternpost. The projectile embedded itself in the stout timbers surrounding the rudder but inexplicably failed to detonate. Had it gone off, it would have likely destroyed Kearsarge’s ability to maneuver—and that could have been a fatal blow. As it was, the damage done by the shell casing itself bound up the rudder, making it difficult to turn. From that moment forward it would require three sailors on the wheel instead of the usual single helmsman.
By 11:15, the Alabama was firing at a rate of about two-to-one compared to the Kearsarge guns. The Alabama gunners were working so fast and firing so quickly that many of their shots were errant—and sometimes the necessary steps in loading and firing the guns were either forgotten or ignored. For example, the Kearsarge crew was treated to a bizarre sight when they witnessed a round belching out of one Alabama’s guns preceded by a sponger that had been left in the barrel. The enemy gunners’ haste was also evident in that two ramrods were inadvertently fired off, resembling what one sailor later described as “black meteors” as they soared through the air.
Not all the shots were wild, of course. Alabama’s rear pivot gun fired a shell that blasted into and through the bulwarks near the aft pivot gun on the Kearsarge. Contact with the side of the ship caused the shell to spin end over end and as soon as it cleared the solid oak it exploded near the big gun.
Ordinary Seaman James McBeth, who had joined the crew in Cadiz in January, lay against the base of the gun with a compound fracture of the left shin. Quarter Gunner John Dempsey, an original Kearsarge crewman, struggled to his feet staring wide-eyed at what was left of his right arm. Shrapnel had ripped it to shreds from his tattooed bicep down. Most seriously injured was ship’s clown and entertainer, the Ordinary Seaman William Gowin. He lay sprawled on the deck covered in blood, mostly his own. Both his left femur and left tibia were poking through his trousers—horrible double compound fractures.
McBeth and Dempsey staggered away to find Dr. Browne. Gowin refused all help, telling his mates to stick to their guns. He painfully crawled away on his own to find the doctor.
One deck below, Acting Master David Sumner had command of the 32-pounders. His men were working furiously amidst the blinding smoke and throat-burning cordite residue. The crews on each gun had done good work, especially the Number-1 gun where Seaman Joaquin Pease, stripped to the waist and sweating liberally, was conducting a Herculean effort readying and loading his gun with superior efficiency. All the men were functioning well under trying conditions, but Pease caught Sumner’s eye.
Finally, one of Alabama’s better-aimed Blakeley shells slammed into the side of the Kearsarge amidships, right where the boilers were housed. A great cheer went up from the Alabama as Semmes, Lt. Kell, and everyone who could see the impact believed they had landed a killing blow. Imagine their amazement when the shell, which did not explode, bounced off and fell harmlessly into the sea.
The round did, however, tear off several batter boards hiding the chains protecting the Kearsarge’s vital innards. It was then that the crew of the Alabama knew they were not up against an ordinary wooden-hulled ship: They were fighting what amounted to an ironclad.
Another Blakely shell struck in the same area moments later. It, too, did not explode, but did burrow itself into the hull after its energy was partially absorbed by the chains.
By this time, the ships were within 500 yards of one another, but Capt. Winslow wanted to be even closer. He motioned for the helm to take a slightly tighter turn toward his enemy. Earlier in the battle Winslow had given thought to trying to ram the Alabama, if he could get in close. He was confident that his prow could stove in the side of his foe and still maintain the structural integrity of the Kearsarge. He also wondered about boarding the Alabama. He abandoned both thoughts, however, after witnessing the punishment his guns and his crews were dealing out. He was convinced the Alabama would soon be nothing more than mangled spars and wreckage.
That was certainly not the view of Capt. Semmes. However, he was watching his plan of charging then boarding the Kearsarge fade. Already, it was clear the Union ship was faster in the water and more accurate firing its broadsides than the Alabama. The Confederate ship would be turned into splinters before getting within boarding distance. He would have to depend on the aim and resiliency of the Alabama gunners and that extra firepower on the starboard side.
The Kearsarge was content to do the same. The adversaries continued circling each other, exchanging broadsides. As the minutes passed, the turns contracted until there was only 400 yards between the Alabama and the Kearsarge, which by then was firing with more telling effect.
According to the Alabama’s executive officer, John Kell, “The 11-inch shells of the Kearsarge did fearful work, and her guns were served beautifully, being aimed with precision, and deliberate in fire. She came into action magnificently.”
Semmes became puzzled by how little harm was being done to the Kearsarge. It did appear, as Kell had ruefully predicted, that some of the Alabama’s shells did not explode because of the ineffective fuses and apparently tainted gunpowder. The shells were failing in greater numbers than he had thought possible.
Both captains were making fearful demands on their ships’ steam boilers. Observers noted that the smoke billowing out of the Kearsarge’s funnel was black, leading a few at first to think the Union ship was on fire. Those more knowledgeable surmised correctly that the smoke spewing from the Kearsarge was darker and thus more visible because of the origin of the coal it burned – from Newcastle, whereas in Cherbourg the Alabama had taken on coal clawed out of mines in Wales, which burned with a much lighter, grayish hue.
As the ships fought each other, destruction and casualties mounted higher on the Alabama. And it became clear the Southern ship was not giving as good as she got. It was not just the dubious quality of the ammunition, but the ability of Alabama’s gunners compared to their adversaries.
One of the sailors on the Confederate cruiser was Henry Higgins, who had quite the pedigree as the son of Commander Thomas Higgins of the Royal Navy. In May 1860, at age 23, the younger Higgins joined Her Majesty’s Indian Navy in Bombay as an able-bodied seaman. He served for more than three years in the sloop-of-war Elphinstone before being discharged at Bombay in late 1863. It was in Singapore that Higgins signed aboard the Alabama. Once at sea, he soon soured on his choice and when the Alabama made a stopover at the island of Johanna off the southeast African coast, he and three other crew members deserted. Semmes offered local natives a reward and the men were soon captured and brought back to the ship. The four were demoted to landsmen, forfeited a month’s pay, and clapped in irons for two weeks.
As part of his account given a month after the battle, Higgins reported, “We had not a single competent gunner on board, excepting the captain of the forward pivot. He was an old English man-of-war man, trained in the British navy. The captains of the other guns were not competent gunners, though brave men.”
At the same time as the Alabama’s guns were causing minimal damage, the Dahlgrens on the Kearsarge fired true. As those shells struck wood, shards of wood sliced through the air, shredding the clothes and piercing the flesh of crew members. At times the Union shells hit more directly, as when one struck the Alabama’s aft pivot gun and several sailors manning it were killed immediately. Abruptly, the air around the gun was filled with gore, the bloody remnants and rags of what had moments before been men. One of the young officers, Michael Mars, keeping his head if not his breakfast, grabbed a shovel and tossed the gobs of quivering red remains overboard.
“The shell man belonging to our gun crew was cut right in two by one of the Kearsarge shots while he was bringing a shell to our gun,” recalled Higgins. “His name was James Hart. He was blown all to pieces, and nothing was found of him which could be recognized except the collar of his shirt. Several men were wounded and carried below.”
Undeterred by the carnage, the Alabama kept firing two shells for every one of the Kearsarge. But attrition would soon take its toll. Singly and then in twos, wounded men, some moaning in agony, were brought below to see if Dr. Galt or Assistant Surgeon Llewellyn could do anything for them. But given the conditions below and the state of battlefield medicine in 1864, most of the wounded would die or be permanently maimed.
Semmes now stood on the stern, atop a horse block (a raised step for securing sail sheets). While this made him even more exposed to enemy fire as well as flying shrapnel and splinters, it also provided a better view of the contest. That included the damage being done to his men and his ship. Suddenly, he too was hit – a piece of hot shrapnel struck his right hand. Straight away a quartermaster was at the captain’s side, binding the wound and putting his arm in a sling. Given the destruction all around him, Semmes was almost embarrassed by the trivial injury.
As the Confederate captain’s eyes swept over the scene before him, it was obvious that the battle was nearing its climax. Semmes unsheathed and raised his sword, willing his gallant ship forward like a charging horse.
Tom Clavin is the bestselling author/co-author of 18 books. The trade paperback edition of Blood and Treasure: Daniel Boone and the Fight for America’s First Frontier (with Bob Drury) has just been published and this Sunday moves from #15 to #11 on the New York Times bestseller list in the Paperback Nonfiction category. To pre-order To the Uttermost Ends of the Earth, please go to your local bookstore or to Bookshop.org, Amazon.com, or BN.com.
Thursday has become a highlight on my calendar now that I know The Overlook is coming.
Incredible description of a savage sea battle