People: The Face of a Hero

I don't know many people who are involved in the business of history, if such it can be called, that are particularly interested in what the people whose era they are focusing on looked like. I have read many an unfortunately dry history book that treats the people it is allegedly informing us about like faceless automatons. It is an unfortunate problem that, I personally believe, contributes to the overt hatred of history that so many students suffer from.

For writers of historical fiction, artists and true lovers of particular historical figures, what our ancestors looked like is not only necessary to know, it can become an obsession. That's why this brief but wonderfully informative post over at Face 2 Face, the blog of the National Portrait Gallery at the Smithsonian, fascinates the heck out of me.

The tale of Commodore William Bainbridge, one of the first fighting captains in the U.S. Navy, is full of dizzying highs and claustrophobic lows. Bainbridge commanded the schooner Retaliation when she became the first ship lost to an enemy by the U.S. during the Quasi-War with France. He bore the ignominy of having to fly the Algerian flag at the masthead of the frigate George Washington while transporting the Dey of that country. Finally, back on Barbary shores once again, his ship Philadelphia grounded in Tripoli harbor and the Commodore and his men were taken prisoner and enslaved for a brief but no doubt brutal time.

After each incident, Bainbridge was exonerated by the navy board. It is a sure thing, however, that his own conscience was not so easily cleared. Finally, after a stint captaining merchant vessels, Bainbridge was given command of USS Constitution shortly after the start of the War of 1812. Taking her out of Boston, Bainbridge had the good fortune to encounter, engage and capture HMS Java off the coast of Brazil. Those who are familiar with Patrick O'Brian will remember his skillful description of the engagement - which Jack Aubrey witnesses as a passenger aboard Java - in The Fortunes of War.

This brilliant victory turned Bainbridge into a celebrity, something he honestly loved. As noted in the post, Bainbridge wrote to a friend the "the applause of my countrymen has for me greater charms than all the gold that glitters."

All that said, the most striking things about Matthew Brenckle's discussion of the Commodore are - at least for me - the startlingly immediate portrait above and this contemporary description of Bainbridge:

[He] was six feet in height, and had a finely molded and muscular frame, which enabled him to endure any amount of fatigue. His complexion was rather fair, his beard dark and strong, his eyes black, animated, and expressive. His deportment was commanding, his dress always neat; his temperament was ardent and somewhat impetuous, though he could quality it with the greatest courtesy and the most attractive amenity.

Those two put together describe a true American hero who succumbed to pneumonia at the age of 61 calling for his sword in readiness to board the enemy.

Update: for more on portraiture in the U.S. during this era, see this post over at Log Lines regarding the Nation Portrait Gallery's current exhibit "1812: A Nation Emerges."

Header: Commodore William Bainbridge by Rembrandt Peale

Ships: A Ship-of-the-Line

The first ship-of-the-line commissioned by the U.S. Navy launched at the Boston Navy Yard on June 22, 1814.  She was named for Jefferson's Declaration, and USS Independence was America's answer to the heavy ships of the contemporary Royal Navy.

Though she was built to take her place with the frigates of the U.S. in the War of 1812, she saw very little in the way of action there.  While Jackson and his band of miscreants and Kaintucks were showing the British the door in New Orleans, USS Independence, under Commodore William Bainbridge and captained by William M. Crane, sailed alongside USS Constitution in the important but dull duty of protecting Boston Harbor.  Once the war officially ended in February, 1815, Independence readied herself for her first authentic mission: confirming the end of the Barbary Wars.

As The Dictionary of Naval Fighting Ships online notes, Stephen Decatur had already negotiated a peace treaty with the piratical Barbary states when Independence arrived in the Mediterranean.  She, however, "led an impressive show of force before the Barbary ports, encouraging them to keep the peace."  In this, she began a long standing tradition of the U.S. Navy that continues to this day: a peaceful show of force is often more effective than aggression could ever be.

Her job done in Barbary, Independence returned to Boston.  In 1819, Bainbridge lowered his pennant and it was replaced by that of Commodore John Shaw.  Independence then cruised the Atlantic front until 1822 when she was placed in ordinary for repair.

By 1836, the U.S. Navy found itself in need of smaller, faster frigates rather than the lumbering style of ship-of-the-line that had been popular with European navies during the Napoleonic Wars.  Independence was, therefore, razeed: cut down to one deck rather than three.  Her gun load equaled 54 and, with her sail plan unaltered, she set out to serve as one of the fastest frigates in the American Navy.

As such she would sail to England, Copenhagen and finally to Kronstadt, Russia, where she delivered the new U.S. ambassador, George Dallas, and his family.  She then headed for South America where Commodore John B. Nicholson was charged with attempting to effect a peace in the war between Argentina and France "for the good of neutral commerce."  The mission failed, and Independence returned to the U.S.  She dropped anchor in New York Harbor on March 30, 1845.

In 1846, now under Commodore William Shubrick, Independence set out for the Pacific where she would see action in the Mexican-American War.  She used San Francisco as her home port and from there captured a number of Mexican ships and the town of Mazatlan in November, 1847.

After the war, Independence was again deployed to the Mediterranean, where she remained with Commodore Charles Morgan's squadron until 1852.  Her final deployment saw her returning to the Pacific where she sailed between Chile, Hawai'i and California as a deterant to predation upon clipper ships headed for and from the gold fields.

Independence ended her service at Mare Island north of San Francisco Bay in 1912.  Though plans were made to use her during the Panama-Pacific Exposition in 1915, these never came to fruition.  She was stripped of her usable timber and iron.  On September 20, 1915, the long lived Independence, the first of her kind in the U.S. Navy, was burned at Hunter's Point in California.

The sturdy veteran of the days of wooden ships and iron men survived more than a century, 98 years of which were spent serving the U.S. Navy.

Header: Sailmaker's plan of USS Independence via Wikipedia

Ships: A Bold and Daring Act

On October 31, 1803, the frigate Philadelphia, William Bainbridge commanding, was run aground on a sandbar at the mouth of Tripoli Harbor and captured by the Tripolitans. Her crew was a stellar cast of future naval heroes and some of the 300 who survived to live through nearly a year of torturous captivity will be more than familiar to the Brethren. Among them were Bainbridge himself, his Lieutenant David Porter and Midshipman Daniel Tod Patterson. These men and their fellows would be rescued in a daring raid by U.S. Marines led by William Eaton, the memory of which action remains in “shores of Tripoli” line from the Marine Corps anthem.


Before that was accomplished, however, the Barbary pirates’ possession of one of the United States’ most modern engines of war – a heavy frigate – had to be addressed with all speed. While President Jefferson was ordering Eaton’s top secret mission to Tripoli, Commodore Edward Preble, commanding the Mediterranean station, was planning the best way to either reclaim or destroy the Philadelphia.

It was quickly recognized that trying to recapture the frigate in Tripoli’s heavily fortified harbor would be a disaster of epic proportions. Preble had to realize, however, that destroying the ship would mean at the very least the loss of several men but he had no other options. Unbeknownst to Preble, the Tripolitans did not have the resources to repair and then operate the heavy frigate so this fact was not a consideration in his decision making. In January of 1804, the Commodore called for volunteers to sign up on what could become a suicide mission.

The almost immediate response of Lieutenant Stephen Decatur, then in command of the schooner Enterprise, no doubt encouraged others to join the mission. Decatur already had a reputation for intrepid action and fearlessness; by February, 64 volunteers and two ships – Enterprise and Intrepid – had committed to the endeavor. The crews set out with a local pilot familiar with Tripoli Harbor on February 3rd.

Arriving in Syracuse, Decatur transferred his volunteers to the ketch Intrepid, a captured Tripolitan, and headed for Tripoli. They encountered two weeks of dirty weather, a delay for which they were in no way prepared. The ketch, generally manned by a crew of no more than twenty, was overcrowded and leaky and conditions grew worse as the days dragged on. Things did not immediately improve when Intrepid reached her destination, either; Decatur ordered the majority of his crew below and dressed those above as local merchants. On February 16th, he cruised slowly into the harbor at dusk spying Philadelphia at anchor just under the walls of the main fortress.

With his usual panache, Decatur put Intrepid along side the frigate and called over the side to request permission to tie up next to her. This was granted, but moments later an alarm bell was sounded aboard Philadelphia. Intrepid had been identified as a foreign intruder.

Decatur responded by ordering his men to board the frigate. The reaction of the crew was immediate and swift; the Barbary corsairs had no time to respond, and most barely managed to arm themselves. The majority of the men aboard Philadelphia jumped into the harbor and swam for it. Decatur’s crew set the frigate ablaze almost immediately, while the remaining pirates who stayed to fight were quickly overcome. Within twenty minutes, Decatur and his volunteers were back aboard Intrepid, rowing away in the blazing, red light from the dying USS Philadelphia. Decatur did not lose a single American in the action, and only one man was wounded.

Word of the daring raid spread throughout the Mediterranean with the same speed that fire had consumed Philadelphia to the waterline. In one of history’s true moments of well-informed hyperbole, Admiral Horatio Lord Nelson – arguably the most brilliant naval strategist of the era – commented that Decatur’s raid was “the most bold and daring act of the age.”

For an in depth analysis of Commodore Preble’s career as commander in the Mediterranean, including his reasons for ordering Decatur’s action, see today’s post over at the Naval History Blog.

Header: An early 19th c print of Decatur boarding Philadelphia via Navy History

Seafaring Sunday: Money for Terror

November 28, 1795:  The United States paid its first tribute to the pirates of Algiers and Tunis.  This bribe amounted to $800,000 and a frigate and was supposed to insure that U.S. merchant ships were not raided by Barbary corsairs.  The U.S. soon learned that no amount of money would stop the pirates and the First and Second Barbary wars would finally put an end to their predations in the first quarter of the 19th century.

Header: William Bainbridge and the Dey of Algiers via US History Images

History: On Barbary Shores

We are certain that it is not in our best interest that all the Barbary corsairs be destroyed since then we would be on a par with all the Italians and the Peoples of the North Sea ~ anonymous correspondence from a French operative in Algiers to Louis XV's Foreign Minister

In 1784 the U.S. merchant vessel Betsey was captured off Morocco not far from the port of Sale. The prize was taken to Tangiers and her crew was imprisoned there. A ransom demand was issued and the U.S. paid 10,000 dollars for the sailors' release. It was the first instance of an American vessel being attacked by Barbary pirates and it sparked a long running hostility that would not be resolved until after the War of 1812.

With the independence of the American States from Britain, the rulers of the Barbary strongholds of Tunis, Tangiers and Algiers in particular saw a chance for new and potentially extensive revenue. Prior to 1784, the Deys and Sultans had considered American ships protected under their treaty with Britain. As with most other European countries, Britain paid tribute to the North African rulers in exchange for free passage along their coasts. Since the new U.S. had no such treaty, their merchants were fair game. In 1785, two more merchants were taken by the Algerines.

The problems for the U.S., in this as in so many other issues of nation building, were complicated at best. First there was the issue of depleted funds after the Revolution. Alexander Hamilton was, of course, firmly establishing his maniacal platform of National Debt at the time so borrowing from foreign banks was a drop in the bucket. The problem with that was Congress insisting that paying off the pirates now and then was a far better investment than building a blue water navy. Finally, and perhaps most maddeningly for the U.S., there were the intrigues going on between the European powers that used the Barbary treaties as a political football.

As noted by the memo quoted at the header, Mediterranean states in particular were not eager to discontinue the status quo with regard to the African tribute payments. By 1790, the Portuguese navy had blockades at the entrance of the Straits of Gibraltar and the corsairs who could not access the Atlantic virtually had to do business with Italy, France and Spain. It was a neat economic trick that turned a blind eye to the predations still going on outside the blockade. By 1793, over a dozen American ships had been captured by Moroccan pirates.

When the British consul in Algiers, Charles Logie, negotiated a one year treaty of non-hostility with the Algerine Dey the entire mess blew up in everyone's face. Algiers asserted that the treaty included all European nations, broke up the Portuguese blockade and redoubled their predations on the still treaty-less Americans.

Finally seeing the problem for what it was, the U.S. sued for a tentative peace with Algiers while building warships. In March of 1794, the U.S. Navy was officially established and, by the following year, her famous six frigates were afloat. This mollified the Barbary corsairs for awhile, even as the U.S. paid a then ruinous 6% on it's London back loans to fund tribute to the Dey.

When the ruler of Tripoli stepped in to complain that the U.S. wasn't paying him enough, the U.S. blockaded the Tripolitan harbor in 1801. This action, though tedious, managed to keep a restive peace with the North Africans for two years.

In October of 1803, this fell apart as well. William Bainbridge's Philadelphia, in trying to keep a large galley from leaving Tripoli's harbor, ran his ship hopelessly aground on the shoals off the harbor's coast. The pirates swarmed the frigate and a bloody hand-hand-combat ensued. Barbary was victorious and Philadelphia's surviving crew including Bainbridge, Lieutenant David Porter and Midshipman Daniel Patterson, were taken prisoner. The postscript to this unfortunate incident occurred four months later when Stephen Decatur, then a Lieutenant commanding the Barbary prize Intrepid, led a night raid to deny the Algerines the American vessel. He and his men set fire to Philadelphia and she burned to the water line.

And that, in a nutshell, is how the U.S. backed herself into her first foreign war. Not glamorous at all but by 1804 Americans wanted their sailors home and the trouble with Barbary over. What happened next, though, is grist for another post.

Happy Wednesday, Brethren, and Bon Fete Nationale a France!

Header painting: Burning of the USS Philadelphia by David Geister.

Ships: Old Ironsides

One of the original six frigates built by the new government of the independent country of the United States of America, USS Constitution is now the oldest working sailing frigate on the water. She's been everything from a warrior to a training ship, a cargo hauler to a hospital and, because of the many men who have served aboard her, she is my choice for a Memorial Day tribute here at Triple P.

Built in Boston, Massachusetts at Edmund Hartt's yard, Constitution was designed by Joshua Humphreys, William Doughty and Josiah Fox for launch in October of 1797. Originally bound for the Barbary coast to fight pirates, she ended up serving in the Quasi-War with France instead. Between 1798 and 1800 she took a number of French warships and privateers. By 1801 she was back in the U.S., at the Charleston Naval Yard for a refit.

In 1803 she returned to action and this time she made it to Barbary. She was one of Commodore Edward Preble's Mediterranean Squadron and she helped to liberate the sailors of USS Philadelphia from Tripoli. Preble's actions, along with those of William Eaton and the U.S. Marines, forced the Barbary states to relinquish the requirement of "tribute" payments from American ships.

Constitution was given to John Rodgers in 1809. Isaac Hull followed as her Captain in 1810. When the War of 1812 broke out she took up a post off New Jersey. She encountered a number of British ships on the Atlantic station and became famous when she took HMS Guerriere in a two hour firefight. Constitution's superior fire power - 30 24 pound cannon and 20 42 pound carronades - won the day. The British ship's inability to put a dent in Constitution earned her the nickname Old Ironsides. She returned to Boston with her prisoners. Guerriere, a total loss with 78 men dead, was blown up at sea.

William Bainbridge was given command of Constitution in late 1812. The ship set out to rendezvous with Captain David Porter's Essex off Brazil but encountered HMS Java and commenced firing. Java was reduced to a dismasted hulk and lost 128 men, including her captain, Henry Lambert. Java, like Guerriere, was blown up at sea. This time, though, Constitution suffered considerable damage as well and Bainbridge limped her home to Boston. This engagement was used by Patrick O'Brian in his Aubrey/Maturin novel The Fortunes of War.

Bainbridge, wounded in the Java fight, turned over command of Constitution to Charles Stewart. Stewart took two more British ships, Levant and Cyane, in February of 1815. He did not know that the war was over at that point. Constitution returned to port in May. The ship was laid up in ordinary until 1821. When the Navy planned to break her for scrap in 1828, the U.S. people rallied to her aid. Constitution was rebuilt. She circumnavigated the globe in 1846 - with Andrew Jackson as her figurehead - and saw action as a Union frigate in the Civil War. By 1897, she was at dock as a naval receiving ship in New Hampshire.

Moved to Boston before the turn of the century, she was again restored and sailed on a "goodwill tour" in the 1930s. She is now a museum ship, sailing with other tall ships on July 4th each year. She is the oldest commissioned warship in the world and you can visit her next time you're in Boston. Right this moment, you can visit her enthralling website.

Constitution is a three masted heavy frigate of 2,200 tons. She carried up to sixty guns and as many as 450 men. She is an icon of American seafaring. On this day of remembering all who serve, I salute you Old Ironsides.