On 31 October 1803, the USS Philadelphia came under fire by Tripolitan gunboats. She had been on a blockading mission in the far-off waters of the Mediterranean when she ran aground. A significant list rendered the frigate’s guns useless and, as her crew worked desperately to lighten the ship in a vain attempt to get her off of the reef that had seized her, she was subjected to hostile fire by the enemy gunboats. As additional Tripolitan craft approached, the Philadelphia’s captain determined that further resistance would subject his crew to a heavy loss of life, and so he surrendered.
The Tripolitans were subsequently able to tow the Philadelphia into Tripoli Harbor, and her crew was taken into captivity where they would ultimately suffer at the hands of captors who did not share the Americans’ standards of appropriate conduct.
The barbarity of the Tripolitans seemed to be limited only by the realization that, alive, their prisoners were valuable as hostages. Beaten repeatedly, undernourished, and treated to severe deprivation and humiliations, the Americans longed for the relative comfort of the Spartan life they had heretofore endured at sea.
The Philadelphia’s crew would remain in captivity for 20 months until the war ended in June 1805. The fate of the ship was quite different, however. On 16 February 1804, Lieutenant Stephen Decatur led an all-volunteer contingent of sailors on a daring raid into the Tripolitan harbor where they boarded the Philadelphia and set her ablaze. In a great pyre that brilliantly lit the night sky and burned away the dishonor of her ignominious capture, the Philadelphia literally ended her days in a blaze of glory. Departing under heavy enemy fire, the courageous group escaped, having suffered one injury and no deaths.
The great British naval hero Lord Horatio Nelson was quoted as having described this daring exploit as “the most bold and daring act of the age.” On 23 January 1968, the USS Pueblo (AGER-2) came under fire from North Korean gunboats. She had been on a reconnaissance mission in the far-off waters of the Pacific when they attacked. Having been only lightly armed with several machine guns so as not to appear provocative, she was quickly disabled and, as her crew worked desperately to destroy the large quantities of classified material she carried, was subjected to hostile fire by the enemy gunboats. As North Korean aircraft joined the fray, the Pueblo’s captain determined that further resistance would subject his crew to heavy loss of life, and so he surrendered.
The North Koreans escorted the surrendered ship into Wonsan Harbor, and her crew was taken into captivity where they would ultimately suffer at the hands of captors who did not share their enemy’s standards of appropriate conduct.
The barbarity of the North Koreans seemed to be limited only by the realization that, alive, their prisoners were valuable as hostages. Beaten repeatedly, under-nourished, and treated to severe deprivation and humiliations, the Americans longed for the relative comfort of the Spartan life they had heretofore endured at sea.
Soon after the seizure, a high-level working group was convened to consider options for an appropriate response; among these were air strikes on selected North Korean targets, a naval blockade of Wonsan, retaliatory seizure of a North Korean vessel, mining of Wonsan Harbor, a raid across the Demilitarized Zone, resumption of missions similar to the Pueblo’s, and the imposition of a total embargo on trade. In the end the U.S. government chose to negotiate the return of the crew, which was accomplished on 23 December 1968, exactly 11 months after they had been seized.
Although still listed as a commissioned U.S. Navy ship, the Pueblo remains in North Korea to this day. Kim Jong-un recently unveiled a new propaganda-infused museum in Pyongyang with the USS Pueblo as its centerpiece.