The end of a war almost always brings a reduction of the size of the armed forces. While there is an obvious logic to this, those reductions frequently involve not just numbers but attitudes. This is particularly true in democracies, where war weariness and newfound priorities among the people and their government representatives sap the armed forces of much of their influence and their ability to keep up with the evolving nature of warfare. The period immediately following the Civil War was a prime example. In the next quarter-century, the U.S. Navy not only was drastically reduced in numbers, but it also suffered in technological development during an era when great changes were underway, and it endured a period of stagnation that deflated morale and discouraged innovation. But in the last decade of the 19th century, the Navy transitioned out of these doldrums and into a great renaissance that played a key role in America’s emergence as a world power.
Doldrums
The U.S. Navy (and its Confederate counterpart) ushered in a new era of naval warfare when the steam-driven ironclads Monitor and Virginia fought one another in the Virginia Capes. But in the years immediately following the end of the Civil War, the Navy quickly fell behind modernizing European powers. While the more powerful nations of Europe forged ahead in the building of steam-powered, steel-hulled warships, the U.S. Navy—after a great post-war purge of many of the ships it had acquired during the conflict—looked much as it had before the war, with wooden hulls and the traditional array of sail-bearing masts dominating the remaining fleet.
In some ways this was beneficial. While the Europeans were chaotically spending great sums of money on experimental ships and systems, the Americans—largely insulated by the Atlantic Ocean from any significant European naval threat—could afford to observe from afar and bide their time. While today it seems obvious that steam would replace sail as the primary means of propulsion, such hyperopic vision was not available at the time. Early steam plants were enormously expensive, considerably inefficient, and disconcertingly unreliable. In addition, advances in armament were quickly offset by developments in armor, and the added weight of that protective cocoon was compounding problems in propulsion. As a further complication, coal was not nearly as ubiquitous as wind, which meant that a Navy dependent upon steam propulsion also needed strategically placed coaling stations, something the imperialistic nations of Europe could more readily develop than could the United States, whose only expansion thus far had been continental.
Considering all the problems that needed to be worked out, the U.S. Navy’s slow push to modernize made more sense than is sometimes supposed. But the conservative approach was not universal. There were forward-looking individuals who began as voices in the proverbial wilderness and, over time, gained resonance in the Navy, the government, and public opinion as the commercial and political winds began to shift toward a more worldly view. These progressive thinkers were augmented by growing numbers of officers who—understandably unhappy with the stagnation in professional development and promotions that characterized a dormant navy—were motivated to take action on behalf of their services, and themselves.
An Open Forum - U.S. Naval Institute
One of the earliest signs that times were changing came in 1873, when a small group of naval professionals met at the U.S. Naval Academy to form what became the U.S. Naval Institute, an organization that was—and still is—unique among the armed services. Providing an open forum where existing policies, procedures, philosophies, technologies, strategies, and tactics could be constructively scrutinized, it brought new ideas into view to be embraced, modified, or rejected.
The thought-provoking papers that emerged from this group’s meetings were soon influencing military and governmental thinking. As membership grew, the effects were significant.
Art Before Science - U.S. Naval War College
Stephen Bleecker Luce was no stranger to technology. Like any competent naval officer, he understood the value of applied science and engineering. Indeed, his book on seamanship was highly regarded and widely used.
As Luce’s career approached its zenith in the latter part of the 19th century, technology was rapidly offering new and usually better ways of doing things. Steam propulsion offered an alternative to the caprices of the winds, rifling was improving the marksmanship of naval guns, and armor was transforming ships into fortifications as well as mobile artillery platforms. This technological growth captured the imagination of many of the less conservative elements of the naval profession.
But Luce saw something many others did not. While some naval officers immersed themselves in these new developments and looked for ways to immediately implement them, Luce felt this was the wrong approach. He was against chasing after rapidly changing technologies and believed that naval officers should instead focus their education on the best uses of navies in a strategic sense, tailoring technology to those uses. He felt that naval professionals should first learn the art of war and then apply the science of war to support and enhance that art, thereby bridging the worlds of military science and liberal arts, where the views from the ivory tower and the conning tower found compatibility and pragmatism.
Luce’s experiences during the Civil War had convinced him that while naval officers were generally very good at conducting naval operations, they were often limited by parochial thinking—they rarely thought or acted strategically. He had participated in the frustrating siege of Charleston, South Carolina, and saw that despite the commitment of a great deal of naval force, it was not until the Union Army approached from the landward side late in the war that the Confederates at last evacuated the city. In the aftermath, Luce concluded that what the Navy lacked at Charleston was not courage, nor technology, nor logistical support. What was missing was the kind of strategic thinking that would have combined the direct pressure provided by naval forces with indirect pressure by land forces on the lines of communication to bring about victory much sooner.
As his influence in the Navy rose in the years after the war, Luce was eventually able to put those simple but profound conclusions to tangible effect when, in 1884, he persuaded Secretary of the Navy William Chandler to create the Naval War College.
Established at Newport, Rhode Island, with Luce as its first president, the college nurtured strategic thought and provided an antidote to the temptation of focusing on technology for its own sake. The college promoted Luce’s more sensible approach of applying relevant technologies only after strategic and tactical needs have been identified. On the shores of the Narragansett Bay, naval officers were given the opportunity to engage in cerebral rather than purely martial exercises. They pondered questions of national policy and considered the appropriate application of naval power to these matters.
While Luce’s wisdom is sometimes forgotten, and the struggle for dominance between art and science often re-emerges—as manifested by periodic curriculum shifts at the Naval Academy and elsewhere in the Navy’s education system—Luce had established a vital beachhead by creating the Naval War College, ensuring that strategic thinking had a permanent home in a Navy that was becoming ever more immersed in the extremely important but always seductive growth of technology.
Alfred Thayer Mahan
It was at the Naval War College that Alfred Thayer Mahan blossomed into the world's most famous naval theorist and the person most often associated with the revolutionary changes that soon would occur in the U.S. Navy. Derived from lectures he gave at the college, Mahan’s most famous work, The Influence of Sea Power Upon History, 1660–1783, was published in 1890, was widely read, and became a classic that still has relevance today.
Official U.S. Navy Photograph, Painting by Alexander Robertson James (1945)
Credited by many with leading a revolution in naval thought, Mahan likelier gave visibility to a revolution already underway. This Navy captain, whose career at sea had been unremarkable, had a significant impact on events to come. A prolific writer, his books—despite being rather turgidly written by today’s standards—were embraced by those whose ideas of national power were increasingly global in viewpoint. Up-and-comers like Theodore Roosevelt, who believed that the United States’ role in the world extended beyond its shores, saw Mahan’s writings as a chart for the Navy’s future, and such progressive thinkers were soon joined by naval professionals in other maritime nations.
Overseas Adventures
Although the nation’s vision was largely focused on westward continental expansion in the years following the Civil War, there were indications the United States was also emerging onto the world stage. The Navy figured prominently in this new trend, extending U.S. reach across the globe in a variety of activities. One of the earliest examples occurred when, in August of 1867, Captain William Reynolds, commanding the sloop Lackawanna, raised the U.S. flag over Midway in the central Pacific. That December the United States annexed the island, making it the nation’s first overseas territory.
Hawaii
In that same part of the world, U.S. interests in Hawaii were also emerging. Known to early westerners as the Sandwich Islands, this tropical paradise had become a favorite stopping place for American whalers and traders plying Pacific waters even before the American Revolution.
In 1820, an “Agent of the United States for Commerce and Seaman” set up shop in the main port of Honolulu. Six years later, the Navy schooner Dolphin became the first U.S. Navy ship to visit Hawaii, but the occasion was marred by a controversial incident that occurred when sailors came into conflict with some of the missionaries who were by then numerous on the islands and had recently succeeded in passing an ordinance that prohibited the consumption of alcohol and the visits of women aboard ships. The Dolphin was commanded by Lieutenant John Percival, a hero of the War of 1812, who was known for his audacity as well as his courage—but not for his diplomacy. Percival’s heavy-handed actions led to violence and were later renounced by the U.S. government.
The Navy subsequently sent Captain Thomas Ap Catesby Jones, in command of the sloop-of-war Peacock, to make amends and to conclude a treaty with the Hawaiian king. Subsequent events (and a growing imperialistic mood in the United States) eventually led to the American annexation of the Hawaiian Islands in 1898.
Korea
In May 1871, Rear Admiral John Rodgers, commanding a squadron of five ships, attempted to negotiate a treaty with the so-called “Hermit Kingdom” of Korea. Anchoring near what is today the port city of Inchon, the screw tug Palos was fired on by one of the five forts in the area, setting off a battle that resulted in the Americans suffering three killed and seven wounded while capturing several of the forts. More than 200 Koreans were killed, and the “diplomatic” expedition sailed away with hundreds of captured weapons, but no treaty.
Eleven years later, Commodore Robert W. Shufeldt headed a delegation to Korea that resulted in the signing of the Treaty of Chemulpo on the main deck of the screw sloop Ticonderoga. The 14-article agreement formed the basis for increased trade, immigration, and missionary activities between the two nations. After departing Korea, the Ticonderoga returned to the United States having become the first steam-powered Navy ship to circumnavigate the globe.
Arctic Expeditions
Reviving its antebellum role of exploration, the Navy on 7 August 1879 sent an expedition tasked with reaching the North Pole via the Bering Strait. The all-volunteer crew, commanded by Lieutenant George Washington DeLong, departed San Francisco in the steam bark Jeanette, which had been given to the Navy by New York Herald publisher James Gordon Bennett. A month later the ship was trapped in the ice, and it remained so for the next 21 months. Despite their circumstances, the crew continued gathering a great deal of useful scientific data until their ship was crushed by the encroaching ice on 13 June 1881. Hauling three boats over the ice in a grueling journey that lasted several months, the crew reached the edge of the pack ice and ventured out onto the frigid waters in hopes of reaching the Siberian mainland. The three boats became separated, and one disappeared with all hands. One of the remaining two reached safety, but all but two of the men in the remaining boat eventually succumbed, including DeLong. Of the 33 men who left San Francisco more than two years before, only 13 survived. Nonetheless, much of the collected data survived and added to the growing scientific knowledge of polar regions.
Another expedition, led by an Army officer, First Lieutenant Adolphus W. Greely, ventured into the Arctic around the same time. It also ran into trouble in the inhospitable region. Six survivors were eventually rescued from Ellesmere Island off the northwest coast of Greenland by three Navy ships commanded by Commander Winfield Scott Schley, who would become famous in the war to come with Spain.
The Western Hemisphere
As the Navy carried the flag to faraway places, it also became involved in affairs closer to home. In June 1870, Lieutenant Willard Brownson of the steam sloop of war USS Mohican led a landing party ashore on the west coast of Mexico to attack a band of pirates who had taken shelter along the Teacapan River, scattering the brigands and burning their ship. In the spring of 1885, during a local insurrection on the Isthmus of Panama, landing parties from several Navy ships helped restore order and reopened a railway that was key to maintaining American transit rights there.
It was still closer to home that events became most momentous. In the fall of 1873, the Spanish cruiser Tornado captured the Virginius, a Cuban-owned vessel that was illegally flying the U.S. flag while carrying guns and other supplies to Cuban rebels fighting to overthrow the Spanish government then in control of the island. To discourage these rebellious activities—which had been going on for quite some time—Spanish authorities conducted a court martial in Havana and sentenced a large number of the Virginius’ crew, and the rebels they were transporting, to death. Fifty men were shot by firing squads before British and American pressure convinced the Spanish to cease the executions. A number of Americans were among the executed, including the Virginius’ captain, Joseph Fry, a Naval Academy graduate who had served in both the U.S. and Confederate navies. Reactions to the incident among members of Congress and the American public were such that war with Spain seemed inevitable for a time. The fury eventually subsided without a commencement of hostilities, but this incident was a harbinger of trouble ahead.
A Gathering Storm
These continuing adventures into various parts of the world—stimulated primarily by economic and religious interests but often led or supported by the U.S. Navy—fed a growing appetite for a more powerful naval capability. The work of able pens, wielded by Mahan and others at the Naval War College and the U.S. Naval Institute, gradually led to the sharpening of naval swords as the number and quality of U.S. Navy ships increased.
In 1883, Congress authorized the building of four steam-powered, steel-hulled ships, popularly called the “ABCD” ships because of their names: the USS Atlanta, Boston, Chicago, and Dolphin. Several years later, the battleships USS Maine and Texas were authorized, and in the same year that Mahan’s most famous book appeared, Congress approved the building of the battleships USS Indiana, Massachusetts, and Oregon.
Conversely, the once-great Spanish empire was in decline. It had dominated much of North, Central, and South America, as well as other parts of the world, but had been reduced to a shadow of its former power. Among Spain’s few remaining possessions were the Philippines in the Pacific, and Cuba in the Caribbean, and trouble was brewing in both these areas as rebellious natives sought independence from Spanish rule. Because of Cuba’s proximity to the United States, and pressures from American entrepreneurs who had invested a great deal of money in the island’s sugar industry, politicians were calling for a U.S. intervention on the island.
Coupled with the growing trend of “yellow journalism,” which favored drama (and increased newspaper sales) over the publication of scrupulous truth, this expansionist jingoism unleashed powerful forces that would take the nation into war.
“Remember the Maine”
Apprentice First Class Ambrose Ham was signal boy of the watch when the Maine made landfall in Cuba on 25 January 1898. Tensions were high as the ship slowly steamed into Havana Harbor, and though Ham remembered that “everything looked peaceful,” he heard another sailor tell two friends, “We’ll never get out of here alive.”
The battleship, commanded by Captain Charles Sigsbee, had been sent as a symbol of reassurance to the many Americans who were in Cuba, and to make it clear to the Spanish government, and the Cuban rebels who wanted to overthrow it, that the United States was concerned about the deteriorating situation there.
(U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command)
Although the Maine’s mission was touted as friendly, the situation was complicated and became more volatile when, just six days before the battleship’s arrival in Havana, the New York Journal published an intercepted private letter from the Spanish foreign minister that was critical of President William McKinley.
Because of the high state of tension, the Maine’s crew was not allowed to go ashore, and Ham noted that “time was beginning to drag.” For more than two weeks, the 358-man crew went about their routines, aware of their part in a tense international situation, yet unable to do anything other than show their flag.
On the evening of 15 February, the boredom was about to end, but not in a way that Ham would have wanted. Just a little after 2130, he engaged another sailor in conversation as a way of getting his mind off the creeping pace of time. When the talk dwindled, Ham was about to turn in, but suddenly a great flame shot up, engulfing the forward part of the ship. A piece of flying debris struck Ham in the face, knocking him senseless.
Many of Ham’s shipmates perished in that instant, as a huge explosion on the port side ripped open the ship and curled her main deck back upon itself. Debris rained down into the harbor for hundreds of yards around the stricken vessel.
Once he recovered his senses, Ham began helping others lower the captain’s gig and noted with dismay how quickly the boat had reached the water, a clear indication that the Maine was sinking. Positioning himself in the boat’s bow, Ham joined others in pulling men from the water.
As the gig pulled up alongside the ship’s stern, Ham saw Captain Sigsbee standing on the poop deck, loudly declaring, “I won’t leave until I’m sure everybody is off.” The poop deck was the Maine’s highest remaining deck, and it was now at the same level as the gig’s gunwale. When Ham overheard the ship’s executive officer whisper to Captain Sigsbee that the raging fire was very close to the forward magazine, which might blow at any moment, the young sailor felt a great urge to shout, “Let’s get out of here!” But he sat quietly in the bow, holding tightly to the bow line that tethered the small boat to the sinking, burning ship.
At last, Sigsbee was convinced that no one else remained on board, so he stepped into the gig and ordered the crew to shove off. Ham gratefully took in the bow line, aware that his hands ached from the tight grip he had used to hold it during those tense moments. Oars struck the water, and the gig moved across the harbor toward a nearby American merchant vessel as the Maine, burning furiously, slowly disappeared into Havana Harbor.
Ambrose Ham was one of the fortunate ones; 266 of his shipmates were lost in the great disaster. Although the Spanish were blamed, the cause of the explosion has never been definitively determined. Different and conflicting theories have arisen over the years. One conclusion is that Cuban revolutionaries caused the explosion as a means of inciting American feelings against the Spanish government. An investigation conducted by Admiral Hyman Rickover in the 1970s concluded that spontaneous combustion in a coal bunker was the cause. This is accepted by many (but not all) as the most likely to be correct.
Whatever the cause of the Maine’s demise, the effect is indisputable. With the words “Remember the Maine” resounding in the halls of Congress, the United States declared war on Spain on 25 April 1898. To clarify its war aims, Congress appended the so-called Teller Amendment to the resolution for war. This ruled out U.S. annexation of the island, making it clear that Cuban independence from Spain was the main objective.
The war that followed was brief and decisive. It was also transformative, moving the nation from isolation to participation in the arena of world affairs.
