In late October 1861, the largest fleet the United States had yet assembled steamed south past North Carolina’s Outer Banks, bound for Port Royal Sound, South Carolina. On November 1, nearly 80 ships ran headlong into a hurricane. Heavy seas and roaring winds scattered the fleet. Thousands of soldiers crammed aboard suffered through brutal seasickness, and soon they faced far worse, as ships began taking on water and foundering.

Among the ships in peril was the steamer Winfield Scott, carrying 500 men of the 50th Pennsylvania Volunteer Infantry. Through two nights and a day, the regiment fought to keep her afloat.

Their commander, Colonel Benjamin C. Christ, had been a hotel owner and coal operator in Schuylkill County before the war. He served with the 5th Pennsylvania in the war’s opening months, and when the 50th Pennsylvania was organized, he was chosen to command it. Three of its companies, A, C, and I, came from the Coal Region. The rest came from communities scattered across the Keystone State.

The 50th was part of the “Great Expedition,” which aimed to seize Port Royal and nearby Beaufort as a base for the Army and a coaling station for the Navy’s blockade of the Southern coast.

On November 4, 1861, anchored at last off Port Royal, Christ wrote to his wife, Mary, in Minersville. “A fearful ride we had of it,” he told her. “God preserve me from ever having another like it.”

Christ described his crippling seasickness, the water pouring into the ship, the desperate work to keep it afloat, and the moment the crew abandoned the Winfield Scott, leaving the soldiers aboard to save the vessel themselves, before the ship finally steamed out of the hurricane and reached calmer water.

From the Miners’ Journal, November 16, 1861

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ON BOARD U. S. STEAMER WINFIELD SCOTT,

Port Royal, S. C., Nov. 4, 1861.

DEAR MARY:—

My last letter was dated at Fortress Monroe. Since then we have passed through some trying scenes. 

We have seen old ocean in one of his most terrific moods, and escaped a watery grave only because a merciful Providence preserved us, I trust, for some future usefulness. 

On Friday morning, while leisurely steaming through the Gulf Stream, a smart breeze sprung up, which, before night, gathered strength, and from sunset, and during the whole night and the next day, (Saturday,) and Saturday night, and until Sunday morning, I saw one of the most terrific, and at the same time, most awfully grand sights I ever beheld. I will try and give you the particulars.

Before Friday evening I became very sick, and about 8 o’clock lay down in my bunk, while our boat was heaving and rolling tremendously in the sea. The port hole in my state room was open, and frequently the water would dash in my room. After several efforts I succeeded in getting up, (for I felt very sea sick,) and shut the port hole. I lay down again, and at 12½ o’clock, report was brought to me that there were 5 feet of water in the aft hold of the vessel.

I immediately arose, and soon realized that the report was too true. However, there was no time to be lost. All hands immediately set to work to clear the hold so as to get at the water, and then commenced bailing. Two whips or pulleys were fastened to the hurricane deck, and two hands attached to ropes, and the boys went to work with a will, and by daylight we gained a little on the water. 

We sent up some signals of distress (by rockets,) during the night, but the sea was rolling so heavily that no vessel could come near us. On Saturday morning about 7 o’clock, the United States gun boat Bienville came within speaking distance, and promised to remain with us until we got into a smoother sea. 

At 10½ o’clock the Captain told me that the carpenter reported the ship in a worse condition forward than aft, and that we must leave the ship. We hoisted signals of distress and the Bienville came up. We told her we wanted her to take us on board. The sea still increasing in violence, after some two or three hours we succeeded in attaching two hawsers, (ropes thicker than my arm,) and a surf boat was manned by 4 of the crew while hanging on the davits.—Mrs. Rush, the only woman on board; one of the ship’s quartermasters whose leg was broken the night before, and two other sick persons were put in, and they got safely on board; but the crew did not return. 

In the meantime the sea was tossing the vessel up and down, and the two large hawsers snapped like pipe stems. The Bienville then came twice alongside, at the imminent risk of staving both vessels, and some 50 got on board.—This was too great a risk, and had to be abandoned. Of those who jumped on board the Bienville, there were 13 of the crew including the chief engineer, his 3d assistant, and the carpenter. 

I noticed several more of the crew with life preservers and ropes around them, ready to do the same thing, and I got out my knife, and at the risk of doing them personal injury, cut the life preservers from off their bodies, and threatened to shoot any one of the crew who would leave his post—a threat I would most assuredly have put in execution, if I had seen another one of them attempt to leave the ship. 

Capt. Edey (ship Capt.) now beckoned to me, and I went up on the wheelhouse. He told me it was 4 o’clock; that we could not possibly get off more than about 40 more before night, and that our only chance was to make for the westward, and if possible, get out of the Gulf Stream into smooth water. He thought he could make it by midnight, at the same time saying he would be the last man to leave the ship. 

If I could get my men to keep down the water, he thought we could live through the night. By this time the water had gained on us rapidly. The chief engineer having left his post, together with some of his assistants, there had been no one to look after the fires, and when the Capt. wanted to make headway we had no steam, and the water had reached the fires. 

I told the boys the Captain’s determination; that I approved of it, and I wanted them to go to work with renewed energy. I tell you, that notwithstanding they all thought for 3 or 4 hours before that the Bienville would take us off; notwithstanding the chief engineer and half the crew had deserted them, and notwithstanding they had been working as hard as men could work for 15 hours, they went at it again with a determination and without a murmur. 

They told Capt. Edey and me that if the crew had left, if we would stand by them they would keep the water down and take care of the ship. In less than an hour we gained on the water sufficient to get up steam, and started westward. 

We had cut down our foremast in the morning. We now cut down our main mast, threw our guns, anchors, provisions, ammunition, knapsacks, blankets, nearly all our baggage, and everything that was of any weight, overboard, so as to lighten the ship. A fearful ride we had of it. God preserve me from ever having another like it.

Not that I am more anxious about my life than anybody else; but the dreadful anxiety, the anxious suspense, the responsibility of my position; the thought of so many noble spirits finding a watery grave, not only those on board the Scott, but in other ships in the fleet; the probable failure of the expedition; all things put together, it was a most anxious and fearful night. 

Every succeeding wave that struck I thought was the last. Still it was necessary to go round the ship and encourage the men. Finally, about 4 o’clock on Sunday morning, we reached the outer edge of the Gulf Stream, and got into smoother water. Receiving assurance from the Captain that we were now safe, I lay down, wet as I was, to the skin weary and worn out, and slept until 7 o’clock, when I woke up and found the wind had nearly subsided, and that we had quite a smooth sea.

Nov. 6. 

Still lying at Port Royal. Were to disembark this morning, but think the sea is running too heavy to attempt it. Port Royal is situated between Charleston and Savannah, near Beaufort. 

Have just learned that several vessels of the fleet had gone down, but fortunately, few lives were lost. 

Don’t think I can send this until after we land, as no despatch vessel will leave for Fortress Monroe before. I only hope and trust that the expedition will be successful. I don’t think I can send you a letter from shore with the first vessel, but will write as soon as possible after landing. 

You will learn the particulars of the landing from the papers before you can get them from me. Yesterday we had some little shelling between some of our gun boats and the enemy’s batteries on shore. I expect there will be some more as soon as the sea gets a little smoother.

Trusting that you are all as well as I am, I will close this long letter.

Ben. C. Christ

P. S.—Just making preparations to land. Expect a hard fight, but determined to conquer.

B. C.

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Read the previous letter from the Letters from War: 1861 series.

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This is part of an ongoing series called “Letters from War: 1861” that will share correspondence written on the front lines during the turbulent first year of the Civil War.

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