The Florida was the first of the Confederate cruisers built in England during our Civil War. The earliest name given to her was Manassas, but as there was already a small ram of that name in the Confederate service, it was changed to Oreto; and, under that name, by direction of Captain James D. Bulloch, C.S.N., formerly a lieutenant in the United States Navy, and an uncle of ex-President Roosevelt, she sailed from Liverpool in command of Captain Duguid, an English merchant captain, under the British flag, on March 23, 1862. Both American and British authorities suspected her real character, but as she carried neither guns nor ammunition, she was allowed to escape. She was a trim little yachty-looking, bark-rigged sloop-of-war, very fast under sail and also, for that day, under steam.
On April 28, 1862, the Oreto arrived at Nassau, N.P., and was immediately seized by the British man-of-war Bull Dog as a lawful prize under the Queen’s proclamation of neutrality; but she was subsequently released, as nothing contraband was found on board of her. She was again taken possession of by H.B.M.S. Greyhound, and, two days afterwards, set free once more. At the instigation of the American consul she was again seized – this time by order of the British authorities in the Bahama Islands, and the case went to trial before the civil courts, who ordered the ship to be set free.
Captain John N. Maffitt, C.S.N., formerly a lieutenant in the United States Navy, then in the port of Nassau in command of the blockade runner Nassau, took command of the Oreto on the 8th of August (1862), the day after her release, and on the same day announced that her name henceforth would be Florida, in compliment to the native state of the Confederate Secretary of the Navy, Mr. S.R. Mallory. He at once moved the ship to the outer anchorage of the harbor and took up a position near where H.B.M.’s ship Petrel was anchored; this for the double purpose of watching for an opportunity to dodge the United States men-of-war waiting for him outside and for the protection of the British ship’s gun while he remained inside. He could not anchor, as he did not have men enough on board to weigh, the crew being composed of only 11 men before the mast, stokers included. No sooner did he make his appearance at the outer anchorage than the USS Cuyler, one of the fastest vessels in the American navy at that time, came into harbor and steamed around the Florida. The commander of the Petrel then insisted that the Cuyler should either anchor (which, under international law, would give the Florida 24 hours’ start before the Cuyler Could follow) or go out beyond the marine league limit. The captain of the Cuyler elected to go outside and wait.
Shortly after night had fallen the sympathetic commander of the Petrel ordered a hawser to be passed to the Florida. To this she held on until after midnight, when she cast it off and, under the shadow of the land, stole away to the southward, unseen by the federal men-of-war waiting outside.
On August 9 the Florida, with a schooner named Prince Albert in tow, anchored one and three-quarters miles west-southwest of Green Cay in the Bahamas, and here she was joined by the steamer Bahama, belonging to Fraser, Trenholm & Co., of Charleston, SC and Liverpool, England, the financial agents of the Confederacy in Europe. The Bahama had on board the ammunition, guns and provisions for the Florida; in fact, everything needed to equip a cruiser except rammers and sponges, which by some oversight had been forgotten.
The Florida was as short of officers as she was of men before the mast. As has been said before, she was commanded by Lieutenant J.N. Maffitt, a gallant and most capable officer, whose daring adventures and hairbreadth escapes while commanding blockade runners before and after his cruiser in the Florida would read like a chapter out of a yellow-back novel. He possessed a most remarkable knowledge of the channels leading into the Southern ports, and the late Rear Admiral Benham, USN, who had served him when Maffitt commanded the USS Crusader on the coast survey, once told the writer that Maffitt had always impressed him with the idea that he had harbor charts photographed upon his brain.
Lieutenant Stribling, formerly of the United States Navy, and a very capable young officer, was the Florida’s executive. Acting Master Bradford, a civilian appointee of no nautical experience whatever, was next in rank, and Midshipmen Floyd, Bryan and Sinclair, who had never made a cruise before, completed the list of line officers. There were also on board an acting officer of marines (Maffitt’s stepson, Read), four engineers, and Vogel, the captain’s clerk. Under the burning rays of a blistering tropical August sun these officers, stripped of clothing, labored with the 11 men of the crew, and finally succeeded in getting the guns and stores aboard. While engaged in this arduous work an enemy more dreaded than the federal cruisers made its appearance in the shape of yellow fever. The first victim was the wardroom steward, who quickly succumbed and was buried on the lonely cay.
On the 16th of August, the transfer of their armament and stores having been completed, it was discovered that several new cases of the fever had developed among the crew. The Florida was therefore commissioned on the 17th, the Confederate flag being hoisted and feebly cheered by the half dozen men who still had strength enough to raise their voices, and then hurried to sea.
A United States man-of-war, supposedly the fast carrier Sonoma, was passed on the 18th, but the Florida kept so close to the reef that the federal warship did not see her, and the Florida was headed for Cardenas, Cuba, which harbor she entered on the 19th in search of medical assistance for her stricken crew. The yellow fever spread with fearful rapidity among both officers and men. Captain Maffitt, finding that he could get no assistance in Cardenas, sent Lieutenant Stribling to Havana in hopes of getting help from that port. Maffitt himself was nearly exhausted. His quarterdeck was a hospital. He was the only man on board who knew anything about medicine and, to add to the horrors of the situation, he already felt the dreaded disease creeping over him.
In 1867 Captain Maffitt told the writer that his “acting master” had been of no earthly use on board the ship, either in sickness or health, as he did not know the difference between a square knot and a granny, or between a swab and a squilgee, and had had no experience in nursing sick people. So in this crisis he sent for Midshipman Floyd, a youth of 17 who had resigned from the United States Naval Academy as a third classman, and gave him instructions about the ship and what to do for the sick. Then he took a hot mustard bath, lay down on a cot, and lapsed into unconsciousness, in which condition he remained for seven days.
The only other line officers left on board the vessel were two young midshipmen, Bryan, a youth of 15 whose nautical experience had been obtained during a few months’ stay on board of the historic frigate Constitution while lying at anchor off the United States Naval Academy as a schoolship, and Sinclair, 16 years old, who had never had any nautical training whatever.
When Captain Maffitt regained consciousness he was at once informed of the death of his stepson, young Read, to whom he was devotedly attached, and the shock of the news caused a relapse. To add to his troubles, Floyd, his right-hand man, and Midshipman Sinclair had contracted the fever, leaving only the acting master and Midshipman Bryan fit for duty.
Several shore doctors held a consultation over Maffitt and, with the exception of the surgeon of the Spanish gunboat Guadalquiver, all expressed unfavorable opinions as to his chances of recovery. However, Maffitt told the Spanish navy doctor that “his prognostics were correct, as he, Maffitt, did not have time to die.”
On August 30 Lieutenant Stribling returned from Havana, where he had found the yellow fever raging, and as all the sailors who could possibly get away from the port had left, he was only able to induce 12 men, including four stokers, to accompany him back to the Florida, where most of these men were stricken by the fever immediately upon their arrival on board. A report that several United States men-of-war were outside the harbor waiting for the Florida caused the Governor-General of Cuba to telegraph Captain Maffitt “to proceed to Havana, as there were no forts at Cardenas, and a rumor had reached him that it was the intention of the federal ships to cut him out of the neutral harbor.”
On August 31 (1862), after burying the dead on shore, the Florida, by a luck fluke, escaped from Cardenas. At 8 p.m. that Spanish mail steamer left the port, was mistaken for the Florida, and chased by the federal squadron, who fired shot and shell at her until she entered the harbor of Matanzas. The Florida, taking advantage of the mistake, sailed at 9.30 p.m. and, proceeding along the coast unmolested, entered the harbor of Havana the next morning at 11.30 o’clock, while a great concourse of people who had gathered on the quay cheered. The federal men-of-war, having discovered their mistake in chasing the Spanish steamer, and the fact that their quarry had escaped Cardenas, quickly assembled off the “Morro” a few hours after the Florida had entered the port.
Captain Maffitt, having satisfied himself that it would be impossible for him to obtain either men or other assistance at Havana, and still so ill that he had to be carried on deck when his presence there was necessary, determined that there was nothing left for him to do but force on entrance into a Confederate port. So at 9 p.m. on the day of his arrival at Havana he sailed for Mobile, avoiding the federal fleet by steaming for some distance very close to the shore, the shadow of the land and the night befriending him.
Arriving off Mobile on the afternoon of September 4, only three blockaders were sighted. Ill as he was, Captain Maffitt had himself carried on deck so that he could care for his ship and his sick and convalescent crew. The story of the Florida’s thrilling dash through the blockade is best told by Maffitt in his testimony before the court of inquiry which Commander Preble of the United States ten-gun sloop-of-war Oneida obtained seven years after the close of the war (1872). Commander Preble had been summarily dismissed from the navy when the Florida succeeded in getting into Mobile Bay; he had been reinstated, but craved vindication, and after seven years of incessant effort he got it.
When the court was convened Captain J.N. Maffitt was called as a witness, and, after being duly sworn, deposed as follows:
“I think it was about 3 o’clock in the afternoon when Fort Morgan was reported in sight, and also two steamers, evidently blockade steamers. Having determined, if possible, to enter the harbor, I did not change my course, but continued to advance. Both of them came out to meet me. When quite near the Oneida I was hailed and ordered to ‘heave ho’ immediately. I should say that a shot was fired across my bow previously to the hail. I declined, in response to obey the order, and immediately received a broadside, the effect of which was to carry away all my hammock nettings and much of my standing and running rigging. The superior speed of the Florida enabled me to pass the Oneida. She continued her bombardment. One 11-inch shell passed through the coal bunkers on the port side, struck the port forward boiler, took off one man’s head as it passed on the berth deck, wounding nine men. If it had exploded, which it failed to do, I no doubt would have lost every man in the vessel except two men at the helm, as I had ordered all the crew below. Immediately after this a shot from the Winona entered the cabin and passed through the pantry; an 11-inch shell from the Oneida exploded close to the port gangway and seriously wounded the vessel. The fire from this vessel, the Oneida, increased in warmth and destruction, carrying away all the standing and most of the running rigging of my vessel. I endeavored to make sail, and succeeded so far only as letting fall the topsails. Several men were wounded in the rigging, the sheets and tyes shot away, so that I was not enabled to set the sails properly. At this moment I hauled down the English flag, under which I was sailing as a ruse de guerre, and gave the order to one of the helmsmen to hoist the Confederate flag. At that moment he was endeavoring to haul up the foot-brail of the spanker, and lost his forefinger with a shrapnel shot, so that my order in regard to the flag could not be complied with. During all this time shell and shrapnel were bursting over us and around us, the shrapnel striking the hull and spars at almost every discharge. We made no effort at resistance, for, though armed, we were not at all equipped, having neither rammers nor sponges, sights, quoins, nor elevating screws, and many of men and some of the officers were sick with yellow fever, from which disease the first lieutenant (Mr. Stribling) died 24 hours after we got into port. When we anchored under the guns of Fort Morgan, shortly after sundown, the Florida was a perfect wreck, and only succeeded in escaping by the smoothness of the sea and her superior speed. The 11-inch shell which came in and passed along the berth deck entered three inches above the water line, and if there had been any sea on, our bilge pumps would not have saved the vessel from sinking. An idea of the damage done to the Florida may be comprehended by the fact that it took three months and a half to repair her – of course with the limited facilities at our command in Mobile Bay.”
Admiral Farragut found fault with the marksmanship of the Oneida (see Naval War Records). The great admiral must have been hard to please. If the Oneida’s target practice had been any better, what would have happened to the Florida?
In this limited space it is impossible to give a detailed account of the exciting cruise of the Florida; suffice it to say that, owing to the delays in her departure from Mobile, caused by the lack of facilities in that port for fitting her for sea, Mr. Malloary, Secretary of the Confederate Navy, became impatient and relieved Maffitt of the command. Mr. Davis, the President, happened to be passing through Mobile at the time and, at the instigation of Admiral Franklin Buchanan, C.S.N., who commanded the station, and explained that the delay was in no way the fault of the captain, ordered Maffitt to resume command of the ship.
In the early morning hours, between midnight and dawn, on the 16th of January, 1863, the Florida made her escape from Mobile Bay. There were 12 war vessels in the blockading fleet, but she was not discovered until she was in the midst of them, and then commenced a most exciting chase. The Florida, under a heavy press of sail and steam, easily outfooted them with the exception of the Cuyler and Oneida, the former vessel keeping in sight of the Florida for 18 hours, though the Florida was making 14 ½ knots, a great speed for those days.
While cruising, the Florida burned and bonded many merchant ships, the most valuable one being splendid ship Jacob Bell, from Foo-Chow, China, bound to New York, with a cargo of tea, etc., which Maffitt, in a report to Secretary Mallory, stated to be valued at over $2,000,000.
On the 6th of May, 1863, Captain Maffitt placed a prize crew of 20 men and a howitzer on board of the prize brig Clarence, and made a tender of her, giving the command to Lieutenant C.W. Read (the celebrated “Savez”), who volunteered to take her into Hampton Roads and cut out a federal gunboat. The Clarence was, however, so slow that when he captured the fast sailing bark Tacony (by a ruse) he transferred his crew to her and started on his extraordinary cruise along the New England coast.
On July 8 the Florida was 50 miles from New York when she sighted the four-funnel United States gunboat Ericsson, and made chase after her, firing several shots, but a dense fog rolled up the Ericsson escaped. The Ericsson was propelled by hot-air engines and was invented by, and named for, the famous constructor of the original Monitor.
The Florida put into the port of Brest, France, for repairs on August 6, 1863. There Captain Maffitt, at his own request, on account of ill health, was relieved from the command, and Lieutenant Charles Manigault Morris succeeded him. This officer was unfortunate in that, after leaving Brest, he took the Florida into the Brazilian port of Bahia, where she was rammed, boarded and captured at 3 o’clock on the morning of October 7, 1863, by the United States sloop-of-war Wachusetts, under the command of Captain Napoleon Collins, while half of the crew and the captain of the Confederate cruiser were on shore liberty in a neutral port. The Wachusetts towed the Florida to sea and sent her to Hampton Roads as a prize. The Brazilian government made a vigorous protest and demanded of the United States government the return of the ship and apology. The United States government acquiesced, but on November 19, 1864, the Florida, while lying at anchor in the roads, was accidentally (?) rammed by the government tug Alliance and sunk in nine fathoms of water, thus closing the career of the Florida and, automatically, the international incident.