“Exhuming the Constellation”
(See D. Wegner, pp. 24-30, June 2003; M. Tyson, p. 10, October 2003 Naval History)
“Constellation: Oldest Warship”
(See G. Footner, pp. 39-41, October 2002; E. Aho, pp. 8, 18, February 2003; B. Hubinger, pp. 8, 16, N. Plummer, p. 16, April 2003; G. Footner, pp. 6-7, F. Young, pp. 7, 10, August 2003 Naval History)
Dr. William S. Dudley, Director, Naval Historical Center
The argument over the identity of the ex-USS Constellation, presently on display in Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, has been exhaustive and of late has descended into invective. I was present during the debate between Geoffrey Footner and Dana Wegner held on board the ship earlier this year, and I have read both authors’ arguments in books and articles, most recently in Naval History and the Maryland Historical Magazine. I believe Footner’s argument is essentially a revised version of what Leon D. Polland and others used over the years to try to undermine the late Howard I. Chapelle, a curator of transportation at the Smithsonian. Chapelle maintained from the 1950s that Baltimore’s sloop-of-war Constellation was a successor ship to the frigate, and he was pilloried for his insistence on that point by the frigate Constellation boosters of those days.
Footner maintains that the ship launched in Baltimore in 1797, although completely rebuilt at Gosport in 1854, really is the same ship that is on display in Baltimore today with minor alterations. Despite his best efforts, arguing that the Navy intended the ship to be as much the former ship as possible and that the Navy’s constructors used portions of the frigate to build the sloop-of-war, the bottom line for the Navy is whether this ship is the Constellation I (rebuilt) or the Constellation II. Based on the arguments I have read and heard over the past decade, I think it is more logical and accurate to declare the ship to be the Constellation II because of her thorough rebuild and modifications to a sloop-of-war in 1854. The marvelous rescue work accomplished under the direction of Lou Linden by constructor Peter Boudreau during 1994-98 did honor to the sloop-of-war. This does nothing to detract from the proud history of the frigate Constellation during her long and useful life.
Wegner’s cogent scientific analysis in Fouled Anchors (Bethesda, MD: David Taylor Research Center, 1991) and later articles on the origins and rebuilding of the ship is more convincing than Footner’s arduous argumentation as found in his recent USS Constellation; From Frigate to Sloop of War (Annapolis, MD: Naval Institute Press, 2002). The multivolume Dictionary of American Fighting Ships contains a biography of the frigate Constellation written more than 30 years ago at a time when the editors of the series believed the current ship in Baltimore to be the one and only frigate Constellation. With the benefit of the past decade of research, publication, and controversy, I think it is now clear the tall ship in the Inner Harbor is the second Constellation, and not a slightly modified frigate. Future editions of the Dictionary of American Fighting Ships will include a rewritten history of the Constellation reflecting this change in interpretation and will make a distinction between Constellations I and II.
“Among the Last to Run”
(See K. McKenzie, pp. 24-29, October 2003 Naval History)
David M. Sullivan
Having spent two decades researching the history of the Civil War Marine Corps and having it published in a four-volume history, I was appalled by what I read in this article. To begin, the artwork on page 25 is in error. The flag carried by the Marine battalion at Bull Run did not have a canton of stars. Moreover, the shape of the flag is wrong; the actual flag was four feet by four feet. The artist also would have readers believe the Marines went into the fight in their full dress uniforms. They did not. They wore their undress uniforms with white linen pants, not heavy woolen trousers. The caption states they carried the Ml855 rifle musket at Bull Run, but they actually carried the M1842.
Colonel McKenzie writes, “Secretary of the Navy Gideon Welles saw an opportunity to involve the Marine Corps.” Not so. Welles was reacting to orders from the War Department dated 12 July 1861. The author also says “there is evidence the commandant opposed the use of a Marine battalion in support of the Army.” There is not a shred of direct evidence that Commandant Harris opposed having a battalion of Marines attached to the Army. To the contrary, Harris, writing to Marine Second Lieutenant Alan Ramsey on 13 July 1861, stated that if a Marine battalion were to take the field, he would command it. Following the battle, Harris did ask that his Marines be released from duty with the Army, “as they are wanted to their more legitimate duties in the corps.” The legitimacy of their being assigned to duty with the Army, however, is beyond question. The President, by law, had the right to assign Marines to duty when the situation warranted it.
Colonel McKenzie writes that the choice of Major John G. Reynolds to the command of the Marine battalion “may be indicative of the disagreement between Welles and Harris: Reynolds and the commandant were not on good terms, and Reynolds was actively involved in campaigning for Harris’s job.” The author has taken incidents that took place in early 1862—when Reynolds vehemently opposed the machinations of Major William W. Russell, a staff officer, to be appointed colonel of the line and become the heir apparent to Harris—and placed them completely out of the chronology of events.
Reynolds was promoted to lieutenant colonel in 1862 and, along with Lieutenant Colonel Ward Marston, was placed on the retired list to make way for Welles’s choice to succeed Harris, Major Jacob Zeilen. Although certainly bitter, Reynolds remained on active duty (and did not leave the service, as the author states), commanding Marine Barracks New York until his death in November 1865. Several paragraphs later, the author states that Reynolds sent his chief of artillery, “young” Major William F. Barry, forward. I am sure he means Brigadier General Irvin McDowell, commander of the Federal forces, instead of Reynolds. And Major Barry, born in 1818, was a bit on the other side of young.
There is no evidence that, as the author states, the Marine battalion was a “ragged mass of men” when it took position behind the guns on Henry Hill. The 14th Brooklyn, said by the author to have been broken up with the 1st Minnesota by the attack of 33d Virginia, had yet to reach Henry Hill. Colonel McKenzie gives a graphic account of the fighting, which led to the first reverse of the Marines. In the absence of any detailed recording of what transpired during those confused moments, I have come to the conclusion that the Zouaves broke and likely swept the Marines up in their desperate flight from Henry Hill.
The author states that “the Marines never rallied.” Nonsense. The Marines went back up Henry Hill in support of the 14th Brooklyn and with that regiment drove the Confederates from the plateau. Colonel Andrew Porter’s after-action report stated that the Marines supported the 14th in fine style. The commanding officer of the 14th Brooklyn said the Marines took the full force of a volley fired by the Confederates on the far side of Henry Hill. Daniel Conrad, the surgeon of the 2d Virginia, stated that the Marines attacked but were driven back, their bodies—lying some 20 and 30 yards in the pine woods—marking the deepest penetration into the Confederate lines on that day. One Marine stated that the battalion went into the fight again, this time in support of the 69th New York. He said that after being driven back, the Marines rallied again and were ready to go into the fight once more when Confederate troops rolled up the Federal right. The battalion then formed the rear guard as the Federal troops bolted from the battlefield. The Marines left the field under arms and discipline; they remained so until they reached the chaos of Cub Run Bridge.
The author states that Marine Major General Ben Fuller was wrong when he wrote that the Marines at Bull Run “surely . . . were among the last to run.” Colonel McKenzie then adds, “the truth is something different.” He is correct— the truth is something different. He cites the relatively few casualties suffered by the battalion as a measure of its ineffectiveness when compared to the performance of the regulars of Sykes’s battalion. The Marine battalion lost 44 killed, wounded, and missing—or more than 10% of its strength. The entire brigade to which the Marines were attached lost 464 men. It appears these casualties were proportional to those suffered by the Marine battalion. The author lauds the performance of Sykes’s regulars, and he should. As Colonel McKenzie points out, however, the majority of the officers and men of the Marine battalion had less than two months’ service when they took to the field that July. That no regiment on the Federal side of the battle line went into the fighting at Bull Run more times than the Marine battalion is a testament to the courage of the Marines.
“By the Slop Chute on the Ol’ Whangpoo”
(See J. Morton, pp. 20-23, August 2003 Naval History)
Dewey Lambdin
It is twice now that Naval History has featured articles that resonate with my father’s career and me. The first was about those “posh” transports, the General William Mitchell (AP-114) and General George M. Randall (AP-115), which took us to Guam and back when I was three and five, respectively, in 1948 and 1950 (see G. Levey, “Steaming on the Gray Line,” December 1999, pp. 46- 49). My father, Dewey W. Lambdin, was a yeoman second class on board the Augusta (CA-31) after having spent a couple of years on board the battleship Idaho (BB-42). We still have copies of the ship’s newspaper, the Augusta Cracker, and proudly displayed in my mom’s house is his crossing-the-line certificate signed by Captain Chester Nimitz. According to the complaints to King Neptune, one of my dad’s “sins” was that he played Ping-Pong far too well, and boasted that he could beat any other sailor on board with one eye shut. What I did not know until now, though, was that he traveled in such august company, with Marine Lieutenant “Chesty” Puller, at the same time. Thanks to Mr. Morton for the excerpt from his book, and thanks to the magazine for bringing back memories for this Navy brat.
Phil Schreiber
Lloyd Mustin was living my impossible dream when I was a schoolboy in New Jersey in the 1930s: he was in the U.S. Navy in China. I knew I never could pass the physical exam for entering the Navy, because I was nearsighted and had two punctured eardrums that would not heal because antibiotics had not been introduced for medical care at that time. I discovered, however, a way to live vicariously the Navy life cruising the China coast, the Whangpoo, and the Yangtze, or serving with the Marines in Beijing or Shanghai. While other kids were collecting baseball cards with pictures of Joe DiMaggio and Lou Gehrig, I collected the postmarks used by ships’ post offices in these faraway places. I wrote to the Navy mail clerks on each ship and requested that they send me a clear impression of their postmark on the penny postal card I sent along with the request. Most of the ships’ postmarks permitted the insertion of their current port of call, which added to my fascination of owning a genuine souvenir originating on board the ship and corresponding with the Navy mail clerk. Eventually, I did make it into the Navy (with the assistance of several helpful examining physicians who overlooked my various physical “anomalies”) and to China as well—on board the LST-991 when she was sent to Hong Kong after V-J Day in 1945.
“Mickey and the Night Fighters”
(See W. Allen, pp. 48-51, October 2003 Naval History)
Karl Parrish
It seems that, concurrently with “Mickey,” the Navy also conducted night- fighter training at Naval Air Station Vero Beach, Florida. The staff and trainees there also consisted of aviators from our ally Great Britain. The Navy and the people of Vero Beach erected a monument to the night fighter school several years ago. It honors the 100 or more deaths that occurred during the training there. If my history is correct, the last class to graduate was Radar Operator Class 18. I had the honor of serving in Class 16. Our first losses in training occurred in Hawaii in 1946, when two F7F Tigercats (the twin- engined successor of the F6F-5N night fighter used during the war) failed to return. Perhaps someone could be persuaded to write a similar story about the training at Vero Beach.
Colonel H. Lany Elman, U.S. Air Force (Retired)
The Evan “Pete” Aurand mentioned in the article went on to become Vice Admiral Aurand. I had the good fortune to know this fine naval officer and worked with him when I was involved in restoring an FJ-1 Fury (straight-winged variant) for what is now the New England Air Museum. As a commander, Admiral Aurand flew our aircraft to a speed record and also flew it in the Bendix Trophy Race. Subsequently, he was instrumental in improving our naval aviation collection. Despite my being in another service, we got on well. The admiral had a strong distaste, usually displayed in eccentric practical jokes, for the Air Force. I came to have a deep and abiding respect for this superb pilot and outstanding officer with a good sense of humor. His executive officer, for example, told me of one time when Pete so ticked off the Air Force that the Secretary of the Air Force sent a written request for court-martial to the Secretary of the Navy—who replied that he would be glad to do so if his Air Force counterpart would provide the incident as an affidavit, since the airmanship displayed in the practical joke deserved the award of a Distinguished Flying Cross. The Secretary of the Navy wanted to award the Flying Cross first, and then court-martial him after that. The Secretary of the Air Force dropped the charges.