The naval history of the United States during the period since the Civil War has been not a little like that of the period following the War of the Revolution. When the Civil War was ended and the acute complication with our over-sea neighbors during 1865 was past, we sold off our ships as a merchant disposes of his shelf-worn goods. It is true we did not sell every ship as we did in 1785, but in 1885 we were relatively in as helpless a condition as, and actually in a more shameful condition than, we were when we had not a ship that belonged to the nation; for the wooden hulks on the naval list in 1885 and their smooth-bore Dahlgren shell guns were, for the purpose of carrying the flag in the face of an enemy having ironclads and rifles, absolutely useless. And as to the shame of it, we know that in 1785 the nation was poor, and even the few dollars needed to keep a frigate or two in commission seemed a large sum, while the nation in the later years, when the navy was neglected, was spending enough money in dredging out commerceless channels to have built squadrons of several times the needed force. It is the usual thing for writers who refer to that period to say, because we slipped through it without a more serious foreign complication than the murder of a few American citizens by the Spanish government at Santiago de Cuba, in 1873, it was really to our advantage that we built no ships. The European governments were experimenting at great cost, and we were saved all of that. We got the benefit of their experience and saved the dollars. But the fact is we could not and did not benefit by their experience to any degree worth serious consideration. Neither the individual man nor the aggregation of men called a nation can take advantage of the apprenticeship which another man or nation has served. I do not hope to have this statement believed by people to whom the only fruition of labor and life is a dollar. But there are some who understand that national character, like individual character, is of more importance than dollars; that the very chuckling over the dollars we saved “while other nations were experimenting for us” is contemptible; that, to take another and more material point of view, what we lost in the development of the brains of our mechanics and inventors by letting the other nations do the “experimenting for us” was of infinitely greater value than the whole revenue of the nation. It is not the loss of a product of ships that is to be deplored, but the loss of a product of men.

The building of the new navy actually began, one may say, when Secretary of the Navy William H. Hunt appointed a board of naval officers, with Rear-admiral John Rodgers at its head, “to determine the requirements of a new navy.” These officers considered the matter jointly for a proper time, and then reported that the United States should have twenty-one battle-ships—ships fit to meet the best floating forts of the world; seventy unarmored cruisers of various sizes, twenty torpedo boats, five torpedo gunboats, and five rams.

It was not an extravagant estimate, and it was approved, in a way, by the nation. Did we build them, or any considerable part of them, straightway? Not at all. We could not build even one of the armored ships. We had saved the expense of experimenting; we had allowed other nations to do our experimenting for us. “Right smart” economists we were. When European experiments had fairly shown what European practice was likely to be, we started in to adopt the European ideas, and suddenly learned, what had never occurred to us as a nation, that the foundation of all sea power is a shipyard. We had been able in the old days to set afloat efficient wooden fighting machines in four months, but when we started in to build an ironclad navy of the modern style, we found that we could not roll even the thinnest of modern armor-plates, and that we could not make a gun that would pierce even the cheap armor carried by the old-fashioned monitors we had lying up in ordinary. The opportunity for showing how easy it was to take advantage of the experiments of other nations was at hand. We had a book knowledge of everything that had been done abroad, but instead of starting in with a ship that should excel, or even equal, say, the Téméraire of the British navy, not to mention the contemporary (in design) Edinburgh, we found we must do a little experimenting and gain a little experience for ourselves.

We had some shipyards that were supported by the coastwise trade, and to them we went. The Chicago, the Atlanta, the Boston, and the Dolphin were the result. Instead of building battle-ships, we built, for lack of experience, third-rate cruisers. We also concluded to complete an old monitor or two that for long years had been lying on the stocks. To do this Rome went to Carthage to buy shields for its legions—we bought our armor-plate in a foreign market. We had to do it or go without. The writer remembers the day when we even imported the bunting of which we made the “gridiron flag”!

It was humiliating to go abroad for what we could not make ourselves. But another statement of the kind must be made, and then the record of shame ends; for which let us all be sincerely and devoutly thankful. We went abroad for the plans of one of our largest cruisers—the Charleston.

Let the reader have no misunderstanding about this matter. If war had been impending it would have been right, and even an imperative duty, to buy warships fully equipped wherever they could be found. But we were building a navy in time of peace, and a ship that “could not get out of her own way,” from our own designers, was better than the best afloat bought from a foreign land. In the building of the new navy—in the building of the White Squadron, of which we make boast in our periodicals—the product was nothing; the building of men was everything.

It was not without labor and pain that we got the first modern ships afloat. It was not so much that short-sighted economists interfered, for a surplus of money was found in the treasury, but the politicians were numerous and the patriots few. The politician in power must needs use the new ships to perpetuate his power; he who was out of power must use them as ferries to get into power. They were extravagantly praised and extravagantly decried. Time has shown the extravagance in both directions; but it is the tendency of man to admire his own, and when the truth is told, these ships are not “the best of their class afloat,” unless we add the modifying and saving clause “considering the circumstances under which they were built.” As the product of apprentices in the art of building modern warships, they are marvels of excellence. But since they were designed we have learned something.

The Atlanta and Boston were good fourteen-knot cruisers, but there were faster boats, armed with guns as good as theirs, in Europe. American policy could not permit such a state of affairs to exist, and we designed larger and better ones than anything afloat. We laid down the New York. She cost “a whole lot of money,” it is true, but as we recall the thrill that stirred the nation when the story of her trial trip was told—when it was told that we had the swiftest and most powerful cruiser in the world, we are bound to say that twice the sum invested in any other way by the government could not have given the nation so great a benefit. It was not that any one was incited to a point where he wished the nation to go to war. On the contrary, the New York was an assurance that in our dealings with other peoples we would “not be influenced, or even be suspected of being influenced, by a consciousness of weakness on the sea.” Nations are like dogs in this, that the weaker must needs put his tail between his legs and sneak away when trouble brews. But, if any one doubts that nations are bullies, let him consider the names that are given to ships in Europe. With the New York afloat, the American patriot was so far assured that his country would not be bullied, and so we should have peace.

The swifter cruisers like the twenty-two-knot Columbia and the twenty-three-knot Minneapolis, and the little cruisers and gunboats for shoal water, followed the New York. In the meantime we were at work on battle-ships, beginning with the Maine and ending with the Iowa, the Indiana, the new Kearsarge, and the Illinois. The English author of “Ironclads in Action” compares the Iowa with the British Majestic. It is a most instructive comparison—the most instructive pages, for an American reader, in the whole of this valuable work are those devoted to this comparison. For, although the Majestic is set down with a tonnage of 15,000 and the Iowa with but 11,500, the Yankee ship throws at a broadside 4,532 pounds of metal (in guns above a twenty-pounder) to the other’s 4,000; she has an armor belt of fourteen inches to the other’s nine; the armor “upon the heavy gun positions” is “15-inch in the Iowa” to “14-inch in the Majestic”; and she could keep the sea five weeks to the Britisher’s four. On the other hand, the Majestic has more freeboard, and could fight in a rougher sea, and she has the hull beneath her quick-firing guns protected in better fashion. But when it is all summed up, it is conceded by this English writer that the Iowa is at least a good match for the bigger Majestic.

As was said before, let no mistake be made about this. It is a matter of the greatest moment when our ship of 11,500 tons is conceded to be a match for one of 15,000 tons in the best navy of the world—not because we have the ship, but because we have developed the men who can do that kind of work and the tools for their use.

As many of the readers are aware, the Iowa is by no means the best battle-ship in the American navy. For instance, in her main battery she carries four twelve-inch and eight eight-inch breech-loading rifles, and six four-inch rifles, known as rapid-fire guns, because they use cartridges on the plan of a revolver or rifle cartridge, and can therefore be fired in service five or six times a minute. The new Kearsarge will carry four thirteen-inch and four eight-inch breech-loading rifles and fourteen five-inch rapid-fire guns. The new Illinois class will carry four thirteen-inch rifles and fourteen six-inch rapid-fire guns. The difference in the striking power of the batteries of the Iowa and the newer ships must be manifest to every reader. Nevertheless, it is important to remember that the weight of metal landed, and not the weight of metal thrown, wins the battle.

While we were developing shipbuilders we were also developing gunmakers. For a long time after the war we were contented with making steel tubes which could be shoved into Dahlgren smooth-bores, and so convert them into rifles of eight-inch calibre. Such makeshift work, needless it is to say, served only to drag down the standard of the American gunmakers. But in 1886 the sum of $2,128,000 was appropriated for guns—that is, modern rifles. To go into the details of other modern shipbuilding or modern rifle-making in a history of this kind is obviously impossible; but we may recall the fact that the Monitor’s turret was composed of eight layers of one-inch iron plates, placed so as to break joints, and that the best rifle of that day, a seven-inch Brooke, firing a solid projectile weighing 150 pounds, was unable to do any material damage to the turret. The first contracts for gun-forgings and armor-plates of modern construction were signed in May, 1887—ten years ago. Since that time we have made the plant for the work, and have turned out armor-plates of steel eighteen inches thick that are hardened and toughened to a point where a drill cannot penetrate, and the best projectile, an armor-piercing projectile, weighing 1,100 pounds and “striking with a force sufficient to lift 1,000 tons twenty-five feet, crushed in the backing of oak, but only dented the plate.” The mere statement that our modern rifles throw projectiles weighing 1,100 pounds, which strike with sufficient force to lift 1,000 tons twenty-five feet high, tells the story of the development of the gun. Another exhibit of the progress made is found in the fact that an eight-inch smooth-bore in the old days threw a cast-iron projectile, weighing sixty-eight pounds, with a velocity of 1,579 feet per second at the muzzle of the gun. The energy of the projectile was estimated at 452 foot-tons. The modern eight-inch rifle throws a steel bolt weighing 250 pounds, at a muzzle velocity of 2,500 feet per second, with a striking power of 10,830 foot-tons. The old eight-inch iron shot could not penetrate four inches of iron plates, while the modern steel bolt penetrates twenty-six inches of wrought iron. The best thirteen-inch modern rifles have a striking power of about 35,000 foot-tons and penetrate thirty-four inches of wrought iron.

After an apprenticeship of ten years, the gunmakers and shipbuilders of the United States have done well enough to entirely satisfy the people whom they have served. And yet the American navy, in the matter of ships and guns, is at best the fifth in the world. It is not considered necessary to the interest of this history to enter into any argument to show that the American navy should have a higher standing in point of numbers. But, if the story of the American navy has been written here as the writer understood it, then it is apparent that the American’s hope of peace has always rested on the efficiency of a modest number of ships. We have had peace with the aggressive nations of the earth while we have had an efficient force afloat, and we have suffered humiliation when we have neglected our navy. To make the appeal that is likely to be effective, history shows that it does not pay to try to get on without a navy. It need not be either the first or even the third in point of numbers, but it must be first in point of efficiency. To keep our hands in practice and our tools from rusting and our inventors from stagnation, we must lay down at least one new ship of the first class every year. We must not forget that Europe has steadily built new ships to improve on those with which we have led the way.

While building ships that in general construction were like those of Europe, the United States has followed its ancient policy of encouraging inventors by trying what the conservatives call “newfangled notions.” The success that followed the adoption of “newfangled notions” like steam power, the screw propeller, and the Ericsson Monitor, has been fully appreciated by the world at large. The “newfangled Yankee notions,” in fact, kept up the quality of the old American navy. Since the navy began its rejuvenating career, ten years ago, three “newfangled” ideas have been tried. One was a steam ram, pure and simple. It was a ship designed to steam at seventeen knots per hour, with a ram for its sole weapon of offence, and it was built solely for harbor defence. Because, in its way, it is a revival of the porcupine policy, nothing more need be said about it.

Another novelty was what is called the dynamite cruiser Vesuvius. Here is a sea-going torpedo boat armed with three fifteen-inch air-guns that can throw 400 or 500 pounds of high explosive to a range of a mile or more with reasonable accuracy. It is not a popular style of warship with naval officers, and so far as its purpose is for harbor defence, these officers are entirely right. It is the business of the army, with its forts and submarine torpedoes, to defend the harbors. For forts and submarine torpedoes are entirely sufficient for the purpose, and much more economical than ships adapted only for harbor defence. Nevertheless, the idea of a dynamite cruiser has not had a fair trial. The Vesuvius is a very small ship. Her popguns are of a fixed elevation, the range being determined by varying the pressure of the air. It is reasonably sure that the defects that have been developed in trials of her guns and aerial torpedoes might be corrected were she in the hands of some one thoroughly in earnest in the matter, and that a cruiser, to fire high explosives accurately and efficiently and safely by means of compressed air, might be designed. It is also reasonably certain that, because of the dislike of naval officers generally for the present craft, no more of the kind will be designed until Uncle Sam is compelled to “hustle,” if one may be allowed the expression, by the pressure of actual war. Because coastwise steamers may be readily cut down, and adapted for the use of this kind of a torpedo in a very few months, no one is likely to worry about the present failure to build more dynamite cruisers.

The third of the “newfangled ideas” is really a very old idea, as the reader will observe. It is a submarine boat designed to travel in ordinary circumstances with its back out of water, and yet be able, when occasion requires, to go underneath altogether. It is the invention of Mr. John P. Holland, who for many years has been at work on the cigar-shaped diving-ship idea. The one now building (1897) is only eighty-five feet long by eleven in diameter—a mere model of what a ship ought to be, if the idea were to be thoroughly tested. It might, indeed, be of some use for raising a blockade of the port of New York, just as smaller vessels were used to damage Union ships off Charleston in the Civil War. But, as already said over and again, the navy that the American nation needs is one that will prevent any nation on earth contemplating a blockade of any American port. However, this is not to condemn the building of this submarine boat. It was well worth building, just as the tiny ship in which Ericsson proved his screw propeller was worth building. Considerable space was given in Volume I to the doings of the submarine boats in the Revolutionary War because the building of ships which might be entirely submerged has never been attempted on a scale that would warrant a fair trial of the idea. There are many difficulties to be overcome, the chief of which is due to the fact that the ordinary compass goes wrong altogether when placed in a diver. It is nevertheless reasonable to suppose that every defect may be overcome. It is certain that the defects will not be overcome until a fair trial of the ship is had. Because of certain manifest advantages in having a ship that can live entirely submerged as well as when awash, or floating high out of water, there are men who believe that such ships will eventually become veritable peace-makers. We who are conservatives call them visionaries, and they reply that men of our class called Capt. M. C. Perry a visionary in 1839 because he said he believed that steamships would eventually supersede the gloriously beautiful frigate of the olden day.

Of the doings of the navy since the Civil War little need be said. We have had no war with any people, although on two or three occasions American commanders have been obliged to strip their ships for action to enforce a decent respect for the American flag. The most notable instance of this kind was in 1894. The Brazilian navy was then in revolt against the Brazilian government, and the bay of Rio Janeiro was held by the rebel squadron. The purpose of the revolt, so far as it had a purpose outside of the personal feelings of the leaders, was to restore the monarchy. The insurgents would have been driven into making peace very quickly but for the fact that the British, in the interests of trade and politics, were very anxious to have the monarchy restored. British residents of Rio Janeiro contributed considerable sums of money to the support of the rebels and served actively as spies on the government. The senior officer of the British navy present, under the plea of neutrality, was able to see that the rebel leaders received all the rights of belligerents, although no nation had accorded these rights to them. For a time all the foreign warships in port, except the Germans, sided with the British in this matter. It is a curious fact that the senior American officer present refused to give protection to American merchantmen in port when they wished to go to the piers to discharge their cargoes. The rebel leader, Saldanha de Gama, said he should fire on any ship going to the piers, and American ships had to lie out in the bay and wait for the end of the war. Meantime yellow fever was raging there and many good men lost their lives.

Finally Admiral A. E. K. Benham came to the port. He at once told the American captains to go to the piers, and he would see that they were not fired upon—at least that trouble for the rebel fleet should follow any such move on their part.

Accordingly, on Sunday, January 29, 1894, Captain Blackford, of the American bark Amy, and two other captains, gave notice that they should haul into the piers with their ships on Monday morning. Admiral Saldanha de Gama, hearing of this, said officially that he should fire on the merchantmen if they did so. The rebel squadron was, as a whole, a worthless collection of old wooden hulks and new coasters armed with fairly good guns; but there was one good monitor, the Aquidaban, so there was no predicting what the desperate rebel would do. It was necessary to take de Gama at his word, and so, soon after daylight on the morning of the 30th, the Yankee squadron cleared for action, while the little cruiser Detroit, Capt. Willard H. Brownson, was sent in to take a station where she could command the two rebel warships, Guanabara and Trajano, that lay where they could, if so disposed, riddle the merchant ship Amy.

When Brownson arrived the Amy began to warp in toward the pier. A musket was fired from the Guanabara, presumably toward one of the American ships. The Detroit replied with a shot first across the bow of the offending Guanabara, and then with another that struck her. It was a mere matter of form so far; it was notifying the Brazilians that the Americans were thoroughly in earnest. But, seeing a couple of tugs controlled by the rebels getting into position where they might ram the Detroit, Brownson took her in between the big warships where he could have raked and sunk them, and sunk the tugs at the same time. That ended the matter.

Saldanha de Gama concluded not to fire on the American flag. Before night the British, as well as all other foreign merchantmen, were tumbling over each other, so to speak, in their haste to follow the Yankee ships to the piers.

Captain Brownson, when a lieutenant on the Mohican in 1870, was placed in command of a boat’s crew and sent to cut out the steamer Forward, a filibusters’ craft operating on the coast of Mexico. She was found in a lagoon near San Blas, and her crew made a fight. She was carried by boarding after a loss of two men killed (including Master J. M. Wainwright) and six wounded.

Of great contemporary interest were the polar expeditions since the Civil War, but with the exception of the discoveries on the north coast of Greenland made by Lieutenant Peary, nothing of historical interest was accomplished. And mention must also be made of the great gale at Samoa, when the Vandalia sank and the Trenton and the Nipsic were thrown ashore, for nothing has stirred the hearts of the American people in recent years as the story of the fortitude of the men who, with death staring them in the face, sang and played “The Star Spangled Banner.”

But when all has been told and written about the history of the American navy since the Civil War, the one significant fact of all is this: we have from our own resources, mental and material, sent afloat a White Squadron that, though small in number, is fit to keep the sea in spite of foul weather or any other foul force.