Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: April 8, 1862

Sergeant of the guard. Benjamin Jones of Company H, and Charles F. Cleveland of Company B, died and were buried in the ocean. Next day spoke ship Black Prince, of Boston, from Ship Island, who reported that a large fleet of gunboats left that island a day or two before she sailed. It was generally supposed they were bound for Forts Jackson and St. Philip.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 7-8

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: April 6, 1862

In the morning at daylight a tremendous racket was heard, the tramping of feet, the rattling of. the chains, and the skipper brawling through his speaking trumpet indicating that something was wrong. Of course I must know what the racket was about; so I crawled up on deck and found the ship at anchor near some shore and among dangerous rocks. I am not much of a sailor, but it looked to me to be not a very desirable condition of affairs, but fortunately the ship was not on the rocks and the wind was still, but how the ship came there and how it was to be got away I was willing to leave to those whose concern it was. The island we were near was called the Indian Key, among the Florida reefs. Next morning a breeze sprang up, the anchor was hoisted, the sails spread, and the vessel was on its way to Ship Island again. Meanwhile some of the officers went ashore while we were at anchor and brought aboard some cocoanuts and shells, with some branches of tropical trees. The sight of them after seeing so much water was refreshing indeed. At sundown we were off Key West. A pilot boat came out to us and all hands sent letters ashore Edward Murphy of Company B died today and was buried in the ocean off Key West.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 6-7

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: April 2, 1862

Seven sail in sight. Spoke brig Free Lanning from Philadelphia bound for Key West. Passed Hole in the Wall and Abaco Island. In regard to the former I saw no wall or hole either, only just two or three rocks standing out in the ocean; but in regard to the latter it was all that is claimed for it. The shore is precipitous, either clay or white cliffs. The ship sailed so close to it I could toss a biscuit on shore, no trees or shrubs growing on it, nothing but grass, thick and short as though goats had browsed it. All was so silent, no living thing was to be seen except I saw a grasshopper fly and snap his wings, and that was all the sound to be heard. The lighthouse is on the extreme southern point of the island, but the keeper had gone and all the lights had been removed along the southern coasts and islands. The Abaco Island for solitude and loneliness can discount Selkirk's Island two to one and have points left. From this time until the 6th we were becalmed most of the time. George Goldsmith of Company K died and was buried in the ocean. The natives from some of the islands came out in boats with fruit and shells to barter with the soldiers.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 5-6

Diary of Sergeant George G. Smith: March 27, 1862

At 2 a. m. went on deck, fearful sight, thunder, lightning and rain, wind blowing almost a hurricane, sea roaring and waves running nearly mountain high. At 3 a. m. Michael Dobson died, it was said, of delirium tremens. His berth being near mine, of course I tried to compose his limbs and features for burial, but while doing so the ship gave a tremendous lurch almost sending her on to her beam ends. The dead body of poor Dobson was flung out of his berth, and I found myself lodged against a row of berths in the center of the deck. I got the body back with the assistance of another soldier, and at daylight the wind ceased. Dobson's funeral was at 9 o'clock. The body was sewed up in sail cloth with bags of sand at the feet, placed on a plank shrouded in the U. S. flag and balanced across the rail. The chaplain read the beautiful burial service of the Episcopal church, the inner end of the plank was raised, and the body slid off into the deep. I remembered the words in Revelations, “And the sea gave up the dead that were in it.” From this time on nothing of importance occurred worth relating for several days. We were south of the latitude of Charleston going round the peninsula of Florida, and much of the time we were becalmed, the sea being smooth as a mill pond. One evening there was an alarm of a privateer. Somebody said they saw a dim light in the distance. I did not see any and did not believe anybody else did. To meet an armed vessel of the enemy it is plain would be no joke. All we had was two small smooth bore four-inch guns, worth about as much as toy pistols against modern rifled cannon, so that to meet such a craft everybody knew that our destination would be Andersonville or the bottom of the ocean instead of Ship Island. Off Bermuda, John Haywood died and was buried in the deep.

SOURCE: George G. Smith, Leaves from a Soldier's Diary, p. 3-5

Diary of Sarah Morgan: Monday, November 30, 1863

Our distress about Gibbes has been somewhat relieved by good news from Jimmy. The jolliest sailor letter from him came this morning, dated only the 4th instant from Cherbourg, detailing his cruise on the Georgia from leaving England, to Bahia, Trinidad, Cape of Good Hope, to France again. Such a bright, dashing letter! We laughed extravagantly over it when he told how they readily evaded the Vanderbilt, knowing she would knock them into “pie”; how he and the French Captain quarreled when he ordered him to show his papers, and how he did not know French abuse enough to enter into competition with him, so went back a first and second time to Maury when the man would not let him come aboard, whereupon Maury brought the ship to with two or three shots and Jimmy made a third attempt, and forced the Frenchman to show his papers. He tells it in such a matter-of-fact way! No extravagance, no idea of having been in a dangerous situation, he a boy of eighteen, on a French ship in spite of the Captain's rage. What a jolly life it must be! Now dashing in storms and danger, now floating in sunshine and fun! Wish I was a midshipman! Then how he changes, in describing the prize with an assorted cargo that they took, which contained all things from a needle to pianos, from the reckless spurt in which he speaks of the plundering, to where he tells of how the Captain, having died several days before, was brought on the Georgia while Maury read the service over the body and consigned it to the deep by the flames of the dead man's own vessel. What noble, tender, manly hearts it shows, those rough seamen stopping in their work of destruction to perform the last rites over their dead enemy. One can fancy their bare heads and sunburned faces standing in solemn silence around the poor dead man when he dropped into his immense grave. God bless the “pirates”!

SOURCE: Sarah Morgan Dawson, A Confederate Girl's Diary, p. 422-3