‘Misfortune necessitates me to make a communication,” wrote Captain William Bainbridge from Tripoli on 1 November 1803, “the most distressing of my life, & it is with the deepest regret that I inform you of the loss of the United States Frigate Philadelphia under my command by being wrecked on Rocks between 4 & 5 Miles to the Eastward of the Town of Tripoli.”
Bainbridge’s letter to Secretary of the Navy Robert Smith—a copy of which he sent to Commodore Edward Preble, his immediate superior—described the circumstances. To his wife, Susan, Bainbridge revealed a heavy heart that same day: “With feelings I cannot describe, I have to inform you that I have lost the beautiful frigate which was placed under my command.”
The handsome man-of-war that her depressed former captain mourned that November day had been a gift to the U.S. government from the merchants of Philadelphia, who engaged noted naval architect Josiah Fox to design her. Laid down by the workmen of Samuel Humphreys, Daniel Hutton, and John Delavue, on 14 November 1798 at the city for which she was named, the frigate took shape under the supervision of Captain Stephen Decatur Sr., who had been given command of her on 20 June 1799.
The Philadelphia slid down the ways on 28 November 1799, “accompanied by the acclamations of thousands of spectators who lined the shore,” Claypoole’s American Daily Advertiser reported after the launching of what it called “one of the finest ships ever built in this country.” The man-of-war—initially called the City of Philadelphia—featured ornamental carvings by William Rush. A week before Christmas 1799, her designer wrote to the committee of businessmen in Philadelphia, “I hope that the Ship may answer every expectation entertained from her construction.”
With a ship’s company that included at least 120 able seamen (paid $17 a month) and 72 ordinary seamen and boys (recruited at $5 to $14, according to merit), the new frigate lay ready for sea during the first week of April 1800. “I am very confident,” Captain Decatur asserted on 25 April after a three-hour passage, “under easy sail & against a strong tide [that] . . . the Philadelphia will prove a very fast sailer.” Under Decatur, who commanded the squadron on the Guadeloupe Station in the Quasi-War, the frigate captured five French ships and provided a prize crew for a sixth.
Ordered home in March 1801 so her crew could be paid then discharged, the Philadelphia underwent preparations for a yearlong voyage to the Mediterranean. Because Decatur had been discharged from the service, Captain Samuel Barron, who, like his predecessor, had served in the Quasi-War, was given command. Assigned to the first U.S. Mediterranean Squadron commanded by Commodore Richard Dale, the Philadelphia arrived at Gibraltar on 1 July 1801 to protect American shipping and blockade Tripoli, which had declared war on the United States.
Late in December—with 390 souls on board—she departed Leghorn (Livorno), Italy, for Malta, but soon encountered strong winds toward the southwest. Abandoning his plan to sail between Elba and Corsica, Barron instead set course to pass the western coast of the latter. The man-of-war had not sailed more than half the length of Corsica on 21 December 1801, however, when a “tremendous gale” from the west-southwest sprang up, almost causing her to founder.
In due course, the Philadelphia stood in to Malta on Christmas Day, while a Tripoli-bound vessel stood out, so, as Barron observed, “[the Tripolines] are possess’d of the knowledge of our being here.” Even though his ship may have been observed by unfriendly eyes, the frigate’s captain learned that on the same day his ship was weathering heavy seas a gale had battered Malta as well, almost destroying several ships. “Such a winter has never been known here before,” he wrote, “and I suppose [that] has kept in our Tripoline friends.”
“Worn out with fatigue and anxiety of mind” upon his arrival at Malta, Barron reported “several officers and fifty men . . . ill with pleurisies and Scurvy.” In keeping with the naval medical practices of the time, about 20 men were transferred ashore to a hospital for more complete care than they could receive on board ship. When the ship was once more at full strength, Barron intended to return to the waters off Tripoli. All things considered, he thought the Philadelphia to be “now in better order than she ever has been.”
The Philadelphia blockaded Tripoli and protected American commerce in the region, in the end bringing her cruise to a close at Gibraltar on 5 May 1802. Six days later she sailed for the United States, reaching her birthplace on 28 June. On 13 July, the secretary of the Navy ordered that Captain Barron “make every possible exertion to put the Frigate . . . in ordinary,” discharging all officers and men except those allowed by the naval cost-cutting Peace Establishment Act of 1801, and laying her up “in a place as little exposed as possible.” He was to have the boats and supplies “of every description” inventoried and turned over to George Harrison, the Navy agent at Philadelphia.
In the spring of 1803, the Philadelphia again stirred with life, as she was recommissioned—Bainbridge in command—on 21 May to return to the Mediterranean. In due course, she ran aground on an uncharted shoal off Tripoli while chasing a potential prize. All efforts to free the ship, which had come under fire from gunboats, proved unavailing, and Bainbridge ordered the Philadelphia’s colors hauled down. He and his crew were taken prisoner, and after the frigate floated free, she was towed into Tripoli Harbor.
A little over three weeks later, Commodore Preble received “the melancholy and distressing Intelligence of the loss of the U.S. Ship Philadelphia” from a passing British warship. He reflected in his diary on 24 November 1803 that “The loss of that ship and capture of the Crew with all its consequences are of the most serious and alarming nature to the United States.” Nevertheless, he wrote to the secretary of the Navy on 10 December that “I do not believe the Philadelphia will ever be of service to Tripoly. . . . I shall hazard much to destroy her.” Although acknowledging the risk, Preble concluded, “it must be done.”
In the end, on 16 February 1804, volunteers under Lieutenant Commandant Stephen Decatur Jr. set fire to the frigate whose construction his father had overseen. Surgeon’s Mate Jonathan Cowdery, imprisoned ashore, later wrote of being alarmed by “a most hideous yelling and screaming from one end of the town to the other, and a firing of cannon. . . . On getting up and opening the window which faced the harbor, we saw the frigate Philadelphia in flames.” Another American observer called it “a most satisfying sight, and very gratifying to us.”
Historian Howard I. Chappelle, in The History of the American Sailing Navy, wrote that the Philadelphia “was considered a fast and beautiful frigate.” He went on to observe, however, that “neither her model nor her size and rate” influenced later designs, with the U.S. Navy “fully committed to ships of great size for her rate.”
That being said, the Philadelphia had performed what duty had been expected of her, and in the events of 31 October 1803 resisted the ineffectual gunfire of her foes and the dogged efforts of her crew to scuttle her. She had justified her designer’s hope that she would indeed answer “every expectation entertained from her construction.” While the Philadelphia may not have exerted a lasting influence on frigate design, the stirring events that surrounded her fiery demise tangibly influenced the traditions the United States Navy observes to this day.