Did the American nation declare war at once? It did not. It could not. There was not a warship afloat bearing the American flag.
Having no ships of war, Congress was forced to buy the freedom of these enslaved Americans. The men captured in 1785 were ransomed for $59,496 (coin). For the 112 captured at the instigation of the British agent, a far greater ransom was paid. The Congress had refused to build a navy for the protection of Americans when abroad, but now they were compelled to buy the release of enslaved Americans by building the Crescent, “one of the finest specimens of elegant naval architecture which was ever borne on the Piscataqua’s waters.” They had to arm and fit her for sea. They had to freight her with “twenty-six barrels of silver dollars and many valuable presents for the Dey,” and then send her to Algiers, where ship and cargo were given in exchange for the enslaved Americans.
“It is worthy of remark, that, as appears by documents published at the time, the peace obtained from the Dey of Algiers cost the Government of the United States near a million of dollars ($992,463.25), a sum quite sufficient to have kept the barbarian’s port hermetically sealed until he should have humbly sued” for peace, had it been expended in building suitable warships. And so would have been saved the noble lives and the property afterwards lost on the African coast.
But out of the national humiliation sprang a new navy. The people who had called every legislator that spoke for the honor of the flag a blatant demagogue; the people who had feared naval tyrants, who had feared taxation, and who had argued that a small navy was worse than none—the peace-at-any-price men had been in a great majority. Now the publication of these facts opened the eyes of enough to make a majority the other way. Nevertheless, so little regard had the members of Congress for the honor of the nation that “the resolution of the House of Representatives, that a naval force adequate to the protection of the commerce of the United States ought to be provided, passed by a majority of two votes only.”
However, pass it did, and was approved on March 27, 1794.
At that time the ablest shipbuilder in the United States was Joshua Humphreys, a Quaker, who for thirty years had been laying down keels at Philadelphia. Going to General Knox, the Secretary of War, he made a notable statement. The number of ships which the United States could support, he said, would always be less than the number in any of the large European navies. It was therefore necessary that such ships as we did have should be fast-sailing enough to either fight or run at will, and when they chose to fight they must be equal, ship for ship, to anything afloat. To accomplish this they must be longer and broader than the existing type and yet not so high out of water. On this model they would carry, he said, as many guns on one deck as the others carried on two; could fight them there to better advantage; and, what was more, the improved model would give much more stability—would allow so much more canvas to be spread aloft that, blow high or blow low, the Yankee could show her teeth or her heels, as occasion demanded.
Not only were Humphreys’ theories accepted then; they have prevailed in the American navy to this day. However, this is not to say that the theories of Mr. Humphreys have always been realized in practice.
Six frigates were ordered laid down on this model: the Constitution, of forty-four guns; the President, of forty-four; the United States, of forty-four—all sister ships—and the Chesapeake, the Congress, and the Constellation, all of thirty-six guns each.
The United States was built by Humphreys, at Philadelphia, and he sent her afloat on July 10, 1797. The Constitution, the famous “Old Ironsides,” was built by Cloghorne & Hartly, of Boston, and she floated on October 21, 1797—just 100 years ago. And she is still afloat to bear the flag. Capt. Samuel Nicholson had charge of her (Congress had provided for officers and men), and on the day she was to be launched he proposed to hoist the flag with his own hands. But instead of doing so at once on reaching the yard that morning, he gave orders that no one else should do it, and then went away to breakfast. That was an error fatal to his ambition. When he was out of sight one Samuel Bentley, a shipwright, bent the flag to the halliards, and, with the help of another man, hoisted her to the mizzen-truck. Captain Nicholson swore like a pirate, it is said, but the flag was up and he would not haul it down again.
