The commandant’s hilltop house surveyed 25 acres of scattered buildings and grassy tidal flats directly across the “stream” (the Charles River) from Boston. There was a marine barracks, a parade ground, carpenter and blacksmith shops, a timber shed, a small hospital, a saltwater timber dock, and piles of cannon, shot, iron, and ballast. The facility Bainbridge took over in 1812 was in truth more supply depot than shipyard.
So why, after his exploits aboard Constitution, when another ship command and the chance for further glory were his for the asking, did Bainbridge return to Charlestown? Because he had also asked to command the powerful 74-gun ship-of-the-line the yard would build, and he wanted to oversee construction.
On resuming command in March 1813 he lobbied again for a wharf and building slip. As a well-known ship’s captain he was used to getting the attention of the Navy Department. But his sphere of activity had shifted from quarterdeck to desktop, and he had to watch coveted funds go to ships bound for sea. He was not, however, one to hold his tongue. He bombarded the Secretary of the Navy with letters (the tone of which, in this and other matters, sometimes bordered on sarcasm) until the wharf and slip were finally begun in April 1813. After the laying of the 74’s keel in May, Bainbridge was relentless in his requests for more improvements—a navy store, capstans for hauling out ships, “shears” (a simple crane) for installing masts, a ropewalk.
But his real passion was the great ship he could watch taking shape from his window. He even suggested the name: Independence. Bainbridge chafed to “give John Bull an opportunity of testing the strength of an American 74”—especially after Chesapeake had finally left the yard in June only to be captured practically within sight of Boston by the British frigate Shannon.
The combative commandant was rarely put off by obstacles—or someone else’s reputation. Having clashed with workers over compensation they demanded for days lost to bad weather, he shut out the source of trouble by ordering a shiphouse 210 feet long and 50 feet high built over the 74’s building slip. To oversee ship construction Bainbridge hired Edmund Hartt and his son Edward—well-regarded Boston shipbuilders in whose yard was built the hugely successful Constitution. But in a dispute with Edward Hartt the angry Bainbridge grabbed him “by the shoulder and carried him out of my office.” Hartt’s father quit in protest, whereupon Bainbridge quickly engaged another shipbuilder to finish the job.
Bainbridge’s other main duty as commander of the yard was the defense of Boston Harbor—the importance of which was underscored by the Shannon-Chesapeake engagement. By spring of 1814 British warships were raiding the New England coast almost at will, and the Boston citizenry (many of whom vigorously opposed the war) was anxious over an anticipated attack on the city. The rising 74, Bainbridge knew, made a tempting target while it was unarmed and immobile on the ways. He asked for the New England Guards, a Boston militia company, to stand ready at the yard as Independence neared completion.
Guarding United States property at the Charlestown yard was normally the responsibility of the U.S. Marines, stationed there since 1802. But it was a small detachment, not enough to defend the yard and its ships against a serious attack. Bainbridge, who earlier protested the vulnerability of the yard, had other problems with the marines. Though they were under naval command while at sea, on shore the Navy had no authority over them. Bainbridge deplored this situation, complaining that his inability to mete out the same corporal punishment to marines as was used on sailors was “productive of insubordination.”
In any case Independence was ready for launching by June 1814. But the much-anticipated ceremony on the 18th was an embarrassing failure. Independence hung up halfway down the launching ways, much to the satisfaction of a Federalist quoted in the Boston Gazette: “It was no wonder she stuck ... the war itself sticks.” The next day, when workers attempted to move the vessel by winch with the New England Guards pitching in to haul on the lines, a block flew apart and killed master joiner William Champney.
U.S.S. Independence, built at Charlestown in 1815, was the nation’s first ship-of-the-line. On its maiden voyage the 74-gun vessel served as flagship of the Mediterranean squadron in the Barbary Wars. After the Charlestown yard removed one gun deck in 1835, turning the slow 74 into a fast, powerful frigate (above), Independence served as flagship of the Brazil and Pacific squadrons. The frigate spent the last 60 years of its career as receiving ship (temporary sailors’ quarters) at Mare Island Navy Yard near San Francisco Bay, where it ended a century of service in 1914.