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 amusement of his captors—he said, “Well sir, if you are going to destroy my schooner, for God’s sake save the preserved meats and vegetables.” They assured him the stores would receive due attention, asking only where they were stowed. Gillman was rowed back to his doomed ship and fetched his wife, widowed sister-in-law, Mrs. Gage, and her four-year-old son, Frank, along with personal effects.
Despite the inconvenience, the presence of females brought forth the captors’ Southern gentility, perhaps enhanced by the knowledge they were about to destroy the family’s property and means of livelihood. So every courtesy was extended, with Waddell providing the first example. When Gillman was asked, under oath, if he possessed private or public funds, he admitted having about $200. Whittle advised his captain not to take the money, reminding him that it might be all Gillman had. Nevertheless, Waddell ordered the prisoner to give over his cash and then turned and ostentatiously presented it to Mrs. Gillman on behalf of the Confederacy with the stipulation that she not give any of it to her husband, to which she readily agreed.
It was mere pretense, recalled Waddell, driven by compassion for ladies who would be landed he knew not where. “The thought of inflicting unnecessary severity on a female made my heart shrink within.” The captain symbolically discommoded the (male) enemy without making war on a woman; his honor was intact on both counts. The Gillmans were thunderstruck and grateful. Whittle relegated one of his lieutenants to the steerage and assigned the ladies to the starboard aft wardroom cabin, where, he believed, they would be much more comfortable than they had been in the tiny schooner. According to Waddell, Gillman later acknowledged the kindness in a New York newspaper; if so, it would have been a singular instance in the North of positive press for rebel raiders.
Chew had not expected to capture ladies—a novel experience—but he was pleased at the development, hoping their presence would lend charm to a roving life. He was, however, disappointed; the women were not at all attractive, although the boy was bright eyed and interesting and he seemed delighted at the change from a dirty little schooner to a large, fine ship. Chew wrote, “Innocent child, he knew but the kisses and caresses of a mother!” Mason was not impressed either: “These women certainly were the most stupid I ever saw.” They could not converse and came to meals in the most remarkable gowns. Lining noted that Mrs. Gilman was a plain woman of about thirty, while her sister was a buxom widow with perfectly auburn hair, a rare thing in his mind. And the women made themselves quite at home.
Shenandoah lay near the prize while everything possible was removed. To Lining’s regret, they never found the preserved fruits but did retrieve vegetables, including two thousand pounds of canned tomatoes, and six hundred pounds of canned lobster. Mason thought the lobster was excellent and the furniture, though difficult to transfer, was welcome—chairs, tables, bureaus, and sofas. He would like to have fitted out his Confederate friends with some nice pieces that were ultimately thrown overboard or burned along with farm implements such as ploughs and harrows. The edibles were divided among the messes fore and aft. The tomatoes lasted six months.
Charter Oak would not sink as Alina had with her cargo of iron, so the new victim was prepared for burning. Combustibles such as tar, pitch, and turpentine were scattered throughout. Bulkheads were torn down and piled up in cabins and forecastle, hatches opened, yards counterbraced and halyards let go so sails hung loosely. Fire taken from galley and cooking stove was deposited in the hold and about the deck. The captors waited nearby in the boat and watched as flames spread quickly, enveloping the vessel. It took a long time to burn. By the end of the war, thought Whittle, they would all know how to make good fires, but how horrible it would be if anyone were still on board. “It is to me a pitiful sight to see a fine vessel wantonly destroyed but I hope to witness an immense number of painful sights of the same kind, and I trust that Shenandoah may be able to continue her present work until our foolish and inhuman foes sue for peace.”
The ladies settled into their quarters and were accepted into the wardroom mess along with Captain Gillman. Mrs. Gage was the widow of a federal