The Extraordinary Hunt for the Confederacy’s Most Dreaded Ship

Beginning in the summer of 1862, the CSS Alabama, a Confederate ship captained by Raphael Semmes, roamed the Atlantic, Pacific, and Indian Oceans to find, capture, and burn Union Navy ships. In this endeavor, the Southern ship was wildly successful. Sailing 75,000 miles around the globe and back again, “that pirate Semmes,” as the newspapers called him, sent over 60 ships to the bottom of the ocean. Their precious cargos would never support the North’s military campaigns.

As a last resort, Lincoln’s Secretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles, commissioned the USS Kearsarge and its previously undistinguished captain, John Winslow, to “travel to the uttermost ends of the earth, if necessary, to find and destroy the Alabama.” After months of chasing the rebel raider, Winslow trapped Semmes and his crew in the harbor of Cherbourg, France. The Confederate captain refused to surrender. Instead, he would turn the tables: The “pirate” vowed that on the morning of June 19, 1864, he would destroy the Kearsarge and its captain who dared to corner him. What follows is an excerpt from a new 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.

Sunday, June 19, 1864: Off the coast of Cherbourg, France

At 8.30 on the Kearsarge, with the morning meal complete and the dishes washed and stowed, the crew worked on their final pre-battle tasks: cutlasses were sharpened, pistols made ready, and the Marines cleaned their rifles. A first round was carefully loaded in every chamber. No one knew if a boarding party would be called or if there might be a need to repel boarders, but the crew would be prepared for either scenario. Gunners sorted out their shots and shells and the powder monkeys carefully placed buckets of water near all the guns in case they were needed to douse any fires. Every cannon was loaded with a shell and primed.

Then, the waiting began. Would there even be a battle that day? Despite the bravado of Capt. Semmes, no one really knew if he was bluffing. Perhaps this whole exercise would turn into nothing more than another stand-off, like those the crew had experienced with the Sumter, Florida, and Rappahannock. Men with pipes were told they could not smoke them. There was too much powder and loose ammunition on deck.

The temperature began rising, and the heat beat down on the men and the freshly holy-stoned deck. There was little chatter. The predominant sound was the sea swishing down the sides of the Kearsarge as she prowled back and forth.

There was no reason for further delay. Finally, Semmes gave the order. Moments later the Alabama was under light steam power and gliding through the harbor. He could see not just the Kearsarge beyond the entrance to Cherbourg but the Couronne too, ready to escort the rebel raider beyond the three-mile limit. Also, on the move through the harbor was the Deerhound. Captain Jones would keep a safe distance while providing the Lancaster family with a good view of the action.

As the Alabama departed Cherbourg, its officers and crew could see the tops of buildings and nearby hills lined with those people who hoped to witness a unique event.

Whatever was to happen, the captain of the Southern ship aimed to be the best-dressed participant. Just before the trip away from the French city had begun, Semmes had gone below. He returned wearing his best and hardly ever worn Confederate States of America uniform, the gold epaulettes and brass buttons shining in the strong June sunlight. The captain had even allowed his steward, Bartelli, to wax his mustache. As the Alabama moved through the harbor in an almost stately way, those with sharp eyes on shore noted the proud captain’s outfit and posture.

When it passed the berth of the French warship Napoleon, the Alabama was treated to three cheers. The French frigate’s band followed this up by the closest it could get to playing “Dixie.” As Arthur Sinclair recorded, “We were surprised and gratified. It was much appreciated by us, and no doubt stirred our brave lads to the centre.”

At the same time, Capt. Winslow slowly paced the quarterdeck of the Kearsarge. His head was down, hands clasped behind his back, his brow deeply furrowed. What do we do if he does not come out today? Where is the damn St. Louis? What will Welles do with me if I let another raider elude my grasp?

Lt. Cdr. Thornton quietly approached his captain, trying not to overly disturb his private thoughts. As he drew close, he cleared his throat and whispered to his leader, “It's time, sir.”

“Very good, Mr. Thornton.”

Per Sunday tradition, all the crew not performing critical tasks would fall in on the main deck in their very best uniforms to hear the Bible read by the captain, maybe a homily, and hopefully a few words on the situation they were facing. Winslow took his customary position between the two long rows of his officers and sailors who were lined up port and starboard, stiffly at attention. Nearly all his crew were there. Two engineers were below deck, maintaining Kearsarge’s head of steam and a gang of coal shovelers were feeding the furnaces. The normal deck watch was posted and alert.

Winslow cleared his throat and began, “At ease, men. Today I want to read to you a few passages from...”

“Cap'n!” a bosun positioned high above the main deck cried out from his mizzen mast perch, “She's a-comin! She's comin' out!”

It was as if a bolt of St. Elmo's fire had been shot through the crew. Every man stiffened, waiting for the command to “Take stations!”

Winslow slapped his Bible shut and handed it to Thornton. “My glass!” he barked.

The captain's yeoman ran to the focs'le, grabbed his chief’s spyglass, and dashed back to his commander's side.

Winslow strode to the port rail and lifted the powerful brass and optical instrument to his one good eye and peered at a large vessel, belching gray smoke, steaming out of the mouth of the harbor. He could not resist declaring, “And so there you are, you bastard. At last!”

The crew, overhearing, broke into wild cheers, waved their hats, and jumped up and down in place. They were on a hair trigger, some on tiptoes even, waiting for the captain's next command.

He lowered his glass, turned to his exec, and said, simply, “Battle stations, Mr. Thornton.”

All Thornton had to do was turn to the crew and yell, “Go!”

Every sailor knew his place, and the mass of men dissolved into a wild scramble for their assigned posts. Some dashed to the engine room, others headed for the guns. Loaders began sweating in the ammunition lockers hauling out more shot and shell. The surgeon and his staff prepared a medical station in the wardroom, laying out battle dressings and bone saws. Hospital stewards began spreading sand around the guns to soak up the blood that was bound to be shed. The gunner's mates grabbed rammers, lanyards, spongers, and fire locks. Stokers shoved more coal into the fires and the engineers hefted rags and oilcans. Landsmen, seamen, and powder monkeys distributed powder bags, round shot, and shells. The Marines positioned their rifles, grappling hooks, pistols, and even cutlasses while also taking over the forward Parrot gun.

As every man settled in, the hard-charging shape of the Alabama grew larger. She had a bone in her teeth, and she was headed straight for the Kearsarge.

“Helmsman!” Winslow shouted, “Point her out to sea!”

Winslow would not fight this battle in French territorial waters. He would take a position six miles out, then turn and face the enemy. He was a cautious man, a careful man. Thirty-seven years in the Navy, many of them at sea, had taught him that preparation and practice beat daring and impetuosity. He would make sure his men were fully ready, then reverse course and head straight for his old friend and former shipmate, with every intention of blowing him and his cursed ship to Kingdom Come.

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 is available now.