Steeped in history and proud of it, Annapolis is a small town with a large legacy. Maryland's capital city boasts the oldest state house in continuous use in America. It has the largest display of 18th-century architecture of any U.S. city. And its picturebook-pretty downtown was the country's first officially declared National Historic Landmark District.
Annapolis served as the first capital of the newly born American republic from 1783 to 1784; it was here that the Continental Congress formally ratified the Treaty of Paris, officially ending the Revolutionary War. It was also here, in a State House chamber on 23 December 1783, that General George Washington stood before Congress and eloquently tendered his resignation as commander-in-chief of the Continental Army.
Ramble up and down any side street, and the past lives vibrantly, with 1,505 registered historic buildings in a downtown radius described as one collective "museum without walls." But what resonates most about Annapolis can be found in the mere mention of its name. "Annapolis" conjures the Navy, its lore, its heritage, and its future. To those who've sailed forth beneath Old Glory, and to much of the lubberly general public as well, "Annapolis" is shorthand for the United States Naval Academy.
Originally, when it opened in 1845, the Navy's answer to West Point was just called the Naval School. Fort Severn, which housed it, had been built in 1808. The fort was surrounded by a high wall, which, it was said, had made it a desirable location for the school—not so much for keeping anyone out, but for keeping high-spirited lads in. Navy Secretary George Bancroft appointed Commander Franklin Buchanan as first superintendent of the school. Buchanan, the Marylander destined later to become the highest-ranking officer in the Confederate States Navy, had much to do with shaping the school, which became known as the Naval Academy in 1850.
The Civil War Comes this Way
At the outbreak of the Civil War, as Maryland lay smack along the faultline of a nation being ripped in two, midshipmen at the Academy were learning the ropes on as famous a training vessel as a young American could ask for—"Old Ironsides" herself, the USS Constitution, the great symbol of American naval might. The problem was, Southern sentiments ran high in the surrounding area. The threat of Maryland secessionists to the Academy was imminent. If the state ended up casting its lot with Dixie—and in the spring of 1861, that was a strongly feared possibility—Confederate sympathizers would be bound to try to take the strategically situated campus and to capture the Constitution. To commandeer Old Ironsides would be both a tactical and a highly symbolic coup.
Thus, on 20 April 1861, one day after massive unrest in Baltimore resulted in the ripping-up of the rail lines linking Washington to the Northern states, Navy Secretary Gideon Welles wired the Naval Academy: "Defend the Constitution at all hazards. If this cannot be done, destroy her." (All hail the unintended double-entendre!) At just this perilous moment, the Constitution was aground at her moorings, needful of a towing into the wider Chesapeake Bay and away from the threat of riverside troublemakers. She had firepower, but no mobility.
Late that night, a steamer hove to off Annapolis. Academy officers braced for an attack from Baltimore rebels down to seize the naval grounds. General quarters sounded on the Constitution, and her four 32-pounders were run out at the stern. Gunnery crews manned battle stations.
But it was friend, not foe: the ferryboat Maryland, down from the head of the Chesapeake with Brigadier General Benjamin F. Butler and more than 700 tightly crowded men of the 8th Massachusetts Volunteers. Butler's force had made its way by train as far as Philadelphia before finding the route to Washington thwarted by rebel-destroyed rails. The troops had marched to the mouth of the Susquehanna River, squeezed aboard the steamer, and headed down the Chesapeake, reaching Annapolis by midnight.
According to an apocryphal account too good not to be true, a teary-eyed Academy Superintendent, Captain George S. Blake, supposedly hailed General Butler, "Thank God! Thank God! Won't you save the Constitution?"
The lawyer-turned-general, thinking Blake was referring to the document, not the ship, said, "Yes, that is just what I am here for."
Parting Ways
The venerable fighting frigate was towed free. Four days later, on 24 April 1861, the members of the Naval Academy Class of 1861, Northern boys and what Southerners still remained, gathered together to take an oath of undying friendship. Then the drum sounded final formation and the midshipmen all fell in. The band played "Hail, Columbia" and "The Star-Spangled Banner." Afterward, those who wanted to fall out were allowed to do so. The Southern lads and some of the border-state boys stepped out from the line. Northern and Southern friends shook hands, hugged, and wept. The next time they'd meet, they'd likely be firing on each other. The Southerners walked out the Academy gate and headed off to Dixie. The Northern boys were taken by tug to the Constitution and shipped out of the Chesapeake; the Academy was moving to Newport, Rhode Island, for the duration of the war.
Sailors left, and Soldiers took their place. In the Civil War's Eastern theater, Annapolis became a main center for receiving released Federal prisoners of war, exchanged or paroled from hellhole Southern POW camps and brought to the Naval Academy wharf in increasing numbers as the battles grew larger and the war dragged on. The Naval Academy grounds became covered with long rows of hospital buildings; this was USA General Hospital, Division Number 1. Adjacent to the Academy, the campus green of old St. John's College was transformed into a sea of tents and barracks—USA General Hospital, Division Number 2. When the war ended, Annapolis erupted into a jubilant street party from the State House to the City Dock. The brass bands of the Army hospitals belted forth in song. The Army soon evacuated, and the Naval Academy returned by October 1865.
Steeped in Naval History
The Academy has never been ordered to relocate again, and through the years it has imbued its host-city's name with an inseparable naval connotation. Academy lore and mystique have accrued to dynamic degrees over time—the arrival and enshrinement of John Paul Jones' remains here in 1906 solidified the campus as the nerve center of Navy tradition. As anyone who has made the pilgrimage to it can attest, beholding the crypt of Jones is an awe-inspiring experience. Words in marble on the floor before his sarcophagus say it all: "He gave our Navy its earliest traditions of heroism and victory."
The Jones crypt is in good company at the Academy, which in addition to its salient educational mission is a repository of naval relics and artifacts. A walk across the Yard is a tour of the U.S. Navy's illustrious story, one told by a cannon here, a statue there, a plaque here, a monument there. One monument is particularly significant—the Tripoli Monument. A tribute to the American heroes of the war against the Barbary pirates, it is the oldest military monument in the United States. Carved in Italy of Carrera Marble in 1806, it made its way to America as ballast in the Constitution. The sculpture once graced the west terrace of the Capitol building in Washington before it came to the Academy in 1860. Having recently undergone extensive restoration work, the imposing structure can be seen today on the walkway between Preble and Leahy halls.
Bancroft Hall, the world's largest dormitory, is home to Memorial Hall, with its roll call of Naval Academy war dead and Medal of Honor recipients. Here a replica of Oliver Hazard Perry's iconic "Don't Give Up the Ship" flag from the 1813 Battle of Lake Erie is on display while the priceless original is being restored. That most famous of Navy mottoes hangs above the Memorial Hall dedication plaque, which reads in part: "to the honor of those alumni who have been killed in action defending the ideals of their country. . . . They silently stand watch wherever Navy ships ply the waters of the globe."
Shipbuilding in Eastport
It is worth stressing, especially in this celebratory year, that the Navy-Annapolis connection extends well beyond the Academy gates. Annapolis always has been home to a rich shipbuilding tradition, and the Navy, of course, always has needed ships. Across Annapolis Harbor lies the neighborhood of Eastport (which, with tongue-in-cheek separatism, has been known to declare itself an "independent maritime republic"). In their 20th-century heyday, the brilliant artisans of Spa Creek prolifically plied their craft in fulfillment of Navy contracts in addition to building Chesapeake workboats and world-famous luxury yachts. The presidential yacht Sequoia was built here, as were U.S. Navy subchasers of World War I, Coast Guard rumrunner-chasers of the Prohibition era, Navy PT boats of World War II, Navy minesweepers of the Korean War, Navy Nasty-Class fast gunboats of the Vietnam War, and the classic Trumpy luxury yachts that are still coveted by well-heeled boat aficionados worldwide.
During World War II, while working for the U.S. Navy but also building Vosper PTs for the Royal and Russian navies, the boat builders of Eastport formed a collective operation that kept 500 workers busy; it was the largest private employer in Annapolis at the time. Attention to all PT-boat veterans: If you happen to be in Annapolis, be sure to make a point of visiting the Chart House Restaurant on the Eastport side of Annapolis Harbor. If you do so, you'll be right inside the building where the finishing work was done on the PT boats constructed here—perhaps even the boat in which you served.
For anyone who wishes to help Annapolis celebrate its 300th birthday, a complete year-long list of special events can be found at www.annapolisalive.org/calendar.