At a late hour in the night, the moon shining quite brightly, we ran in past some islands, and anchored off the little town of Malacca—formerly a Portuguese settlement, but now, like Singapore, in the possession of the English. My object was to land my prisoners, and at early dawn we dispatched them for the shore, with a note to the military commander asking the requisite permission. It was Christmas-day, and as the sun rose, we could see many signs of festive preparation on shore. The little town, with its white houses peeping out of a wilderness of green, was a pretty picture as it was lighted up by the rays of the rising sun. Back of the town, on an isolated hill, stood the lighthouse, whose friendly beacon had guided us into our anchorage over night, and near by was the barrack, from whose flag-staff floated, besides the proud old flag of our fatherland, a number of gay streamers. Our ship in the offing, and our boats in the harbor, created quite a stir in this quiet Malay-English town; and forthwith a couple of boats filled with officers and citizens—ladies included—came off to visit us. It was still very early, and the excitement of the morning’s row, and the novelty of the presence of the Alabama seemed greatly to excite our new friends. The males grasped our hands as though they had been our brothers, and the ladies smiled their sweetest smiles—and no one knows how sweet these can be, better than the sailor who has been a long time upon salt water, looking upon nothing but whiskers and mustachios. They were very pressing that we should remain a day, and partake of their Christmas dinner with them. But we excused ourselves, telling them that war knows no holidays. They left us after a short visit, and at half-past nine A. M., our boats having returned, we were again under steam. Bartelli was seen lugging a basketfull of fine Malacca oranges into the cabin, soon after the return of our boats—a gift from some of our lady friends who had visited us.
I have observed by Mr. Seward’s “little bill,” before referred to, that Pike, having been foiled in that game of flags which he had attempted to play with me, has put in his claim, along with other disconsolate Yankees, for the destruction of his ship. When will naughty England pay that little bill?
After a good day’s run—during which we overhauled an English bark, from Singapore, for Madras—we anchored at night-fall near Parceelar Hill, in twenty-five fathoms of water. The only Christmas kept by the Alabama was the usual “splicing of the main-brace” by the crew. We were under way again, the next morning at six o’clock; the weather was clear, with a few passing clouds, and the look-out had not been long at the mast-head before he cried “sail ho!” twice, in quick suggestion. Upon being questioned, he reported two large ships at anchor, that looked “sort o’ Yankee.” We soon began to raise these ships from the deck, and when we got a good view of them through our powerful glasses, we were of the same opinion with the look-out. They were evidently Yankee. As they were at anchor, and helpless—waiting for a fair wind with which to run out of the Strait—we had nothing to gain by a concealment of our character, and showed them at once the Confederate flag. That flag—beautiful though it was—must have been a terrible wet blanket upon the schemes of these two Yankee skippers. It struck them dumb, for they refused to show me any bunting in return. I captured them both, with the “flaunting lie” stowed away snugly in their cabins. They were monster ships, both of them, being eleven or twelve hundred tons burden. In their innocence—supposing the Alabama had gone up the China Sea—they had ventured, whilst lying at Singapore, to take charter-parties for cargoes of rice to be laden at Akyab, for Europe; and were now on their way to Akyab in ballast. They had left Singapore several days before our arrival there, and had been delayed by head-winds.
Both were Massachusetts ships—one the Sonora of Newburyport, and the other, the Highlander of Boston. The master of one of these ships, when he was brought on board, came up to me good-humoredly on the quarter-deck, and offering me his hand, which I accepted, said: “Well, Captain Semmes, I have been expecting every day for the last three years, to fall in with you, and here I am at last!” I told him I was glad he had found me after so long a search. “Search!” said he; “it is some such search as the Devil may be supposed to make after holy water. The fact is,” continued he, “I have had constant visions of the Alabama, by night and by day; she has been chasing me in my sleep, and riding me like a night-mare, and now that it is all over, I feel quite relieved.” I permitted the masters and crews of both these ships to hoist out, and provision their own boats, and depart in them for Singapore. The ships when overhauled were lying just inside of the light-ship, at the western entrance of the Strait of Malacca, and it was only pleasant lake or river sailing to Singapore. Having fired the ships, we steamed out past the light-ship, and were once more in the Indian Ocean. We found on board one of the prizes a copy of the Singapore “Times,” of the 9th of December, 1863, from which I give the following extract. At the date of the paper, we were at Pulo Condore, and the Yankee ships were still flocking into Singapore:—
“From our to-day’s shipping-list it will be seen that there are no fewer than seventeen American merchantmen at present in our harbor, and that they include some of the largest ships at present riding there. Their gross tonnage may be roughly set down at 12,000 tons. Some of these have been lying here now for upward of three months, and most of them for at least half that period. And all this, at a time when there is no dulness in the freight market; but, on the contrary, an active demand for tonnage to all parts of the world. It is, indeed, to us, a home picture—the only one we trust to have for many years to come—of the wide-spread evils of war in these modern days. But it is a picture quite unique in its nature; for the nation to which these seventeen fine ships belong has a Navy perhaps second only to that of Great Britain, and the enemy with which she has to cope, is but a schism from herself, possessed of no port that is not blockaded, and owning not more than five or six vessels on the high seas; and yet there is no apathy and nothing to blame on the part of the United States Navy. The tactics with which the Federals have to combat are without precedent, and the means to enable them successfully to do so have not yet been devised.”
CHAPTER LI.
ALABAMA CROSSES THE BAY OF BENGAL—THE PILGRIMS TO MECCA AND THE BLACK GIANTS—BURNING OF THE EMMA JANE—THE TOWN OF AUJENGA, AND THE HINDOOS—THE GREAT DESERTS OF CENTRAL ASIA, AND THE COTTON CROP OF HINDOSTAN—ALABAMA CROSSES THE ARABIAN SEA—THE ANIMALCULÆ OF THE SEA—THE COMORO ISLANDS—JOHANNA AND ITS ARAB POPULATION—THE YANKEE WHALERS AT JOHANNA—ALABAMA PASSES THROUGH THE MOZAMBIQUE CHANNEL, AND ARRIVES AT THE CAPE OF GOOD HOPE.
On the afternoon after leaving the Strait of Malacca, we overhauled another American ship under neutral colors—the Bremen ship Ottone. The transfer had been made at Bremen, in the previous May; the papers were genuine, and the master and crew all Dutchmen, there being no Yankee on board. The change of property, in this case, having every appearance of being bona fide, I permitted the ship to pass on her voyage, which was to Rangoon for rice. For the next few days we coasted the island of Sumatra—taking a final leave of the North end of that island on the last day of the year 1863. A court-martial had been in session several days, settling accounts with the runaways at Singapore, whom we had arrested and brought back. Having sentenced the prisoners, and gotten through with its labors, it was dissolved on this last day of the old year, that we might turn over a new leaf.