Feb 15

Navy and America Remember the Maine through Artifacts

Sunday, February 15, 2015 9:03 AM
USS Maine was built in 1895 as a battleship, but an explosion while in Havana Harbor destroyed the ship and killed 250 crewmembers on Feb. 15, 1898. The explosion created the rallying cry “Remember the Maine!” as newspaper articles urged the United States to go to war against Spain.

USS Maine was built in 1895 as a battleship, but an explosion while in Havana Harbor destroyed the ship and killed 250 crewmembers on Feb. 15, 1898. The explosion created the rallying cry “Remember the Maine!” as newspaper articles urged the United States to go to war against Spain.

By Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Tim Comerford,

Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

It was a call to arms not unlike “Remember the Alamo” 62 years earlier. While that Texas bravado has endured the decades, memory may falter on a similar outcry: “Remember the Maine!” Or at least why it should be remembered at all.

Unlike the Alamo, in Texas during its fight for independence in 1836, the Maine in this instance was not the state, but a battleship. USS Maine was in a foreign port, Havana, Cuba, in 1898 to protect American citizens when pro-Spanish forces caused riots to break out across the island.

There was good reason for such a show of strength. In the late 1800s Cuba was fighting a vicious battle to free itself from Spain. American sympathies were with the Cubans, a situation made worse when, during the first Cuban insurrection, the Spanish captured the ship Virginius. The Virginius, a freebooter supporting the Cuban revolutionaries, was hired to deliver men and arms to Cubans and was considered by the Spanish to be pirates. They executed 55 of the British and American crewmembers, some of them young boys.

When the second Cuban insurrection began in 1895, Spain sent in Gen. Valeriano “The Butcher” Weyler to serve as governor. Under his rule, thousands of Cubans perished in his reconcentration camps, mostly to disease and starvation, as he sought to separate the insurgents from civilians. As the situation worsened, the United States sent in Maine to protect its interests.

U.S. Navy diving crew at work on the ship's wreck, in 1898, seen from aft looking forward. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph.

U.S. Navy diving crew at work on the ship’s wreck, in 1898, seen from aft looking forward. U.S. Naval Historical Center Photograph.

The battleship set out from Florida on Jan. 24, 1898, to Havana, where it stayed moored to the pier. The ship’s commanding officer, Capt. Charles D. Sigsbee, mindful of the trouble on the island, did not allow enlisted Sailors to go ashore. For three weeks Maine was a peacekeeping influence. But Feb. 15, a quiet night in Havana Harbor, the peace was shattered as an explosion rocked Maine, sinking the ship and killing 266 Sailors.

A board of inquiry, after a month in Cuba, came back with their verdict – a mine detonated under the ship. Though no blame was fixed for the mine, it set loose a rallying call to “Remember the Maine!” by journalists seeking to influence America to get involved in a war with Spain.

On April 11, President William McKinley asked Congress to end the fighting between the Spanish and insurgents and establish a stable government. Congress passed a joint resolution April 20 acknowledging Cuba’s independence and began a blockade into Cuba’s harbors. Spain followed with a declaration of war on April 23. The Spanish-American War ended with a cease-fire on Aug. 12, 1898, giving Cuba its independence.

A glass plate slide of the wreck of the Maine, raised 1912, from the estate of Lt. C.J. Dutreaux. NHHC photo

A glass plate slide of the wreck of the Maine, raised 1912, from the estate of Lt. C.J. Dutreaux. NHHC photo

Years after the Spanish-American War, in 1912, the wreck of the ship was cleared to facilitate an additional investigation into the cause of her sinking. Her remains were subsequently scuttled in deep waters north of Havana, but parts of her can still be found across the country today. Dozens of artifacts from the ship proudly bear marks of their heritage.

A 6-inch, 30 caliber gun from the battleship USS Maine is on display in Willard Park at the Washington Navy Yard.

A 6-inch, 30 caliber gun from the battleship USS Maine is on display in Willard Park at the Washington Navy Yard.

Navy / Military kept items

  • Ship’s Mainmast and Anchor at Arlington National Cemetery, Arlington, Va.
  • 6-in. 30-caliber Deck Gun, Spare Propeller and Bronze Windlass at Naval History and Heritage Command, Washington D.C.
  • Foremast, a Life Preserver, two Port Hole Covers, Log Glass, Keys to the Magazines, an Electric Light Bulb and Shade, a Bugle, a 1888 Penny from Sigsbee’s desk, Sigsbee’s ink well, and Sigsbee’s Binoculars at the U.S. Naval Academy, Annapolis, Md.
  • Union Jack at Hampton Roads Naval Museum, Norfolk, Va.

Museum kept items

  • Stern Scrollwork Nameplate at the Museum of American History, Washington D.C.
  • A Deck Plate Key, Two Capstan Gears, A Capstan, Part of the Starboard Quarter Boat Davits, A Piece of Worm Drive, and a Metal Fragment at the Rutherford B. Hayes Presidential Center, Fremont, Ohio
  • Sigsbee’s Bathtub from the Ship at the Hancock Historical Museum, Findlay, Ohio
  • A Bolt at the Museum of History, Raleigh, N.C.
  • Iron Hooks at the Miami Valley Military History Museum, Dayton, Ohio

Government kept items

  • Anchor Chain Hooks in Newton, Mass.
  • A Shell in Easton, Penn.
  • A Bow Anchor in Reading, Penn.
  • A Torpedo Tube in Pittsburgh, Penn.
  • Two Portholes and a 10-inch Shell in Scranton, Penn.
  • A Bowscroll in Bangor, Maine
  • The Conning Tower Base in Canton, Ohio
  • A Capstan in Charleston, S.C.
  • A Capstan in Butte, Mont.
  • A Gun Port in Oakland, Calif.
  • A Ventilator Cowl in Los Angeles, Calif.
  • A Worm Gear in Sacramento, Calif.
  • A 6-inch Gun in Alpena, Mich.
  • A 6-inch Gun (Barrel Only) in Portland, Maine
  • A Six-pounder Gun in Columbia, S.C.
  • A One-pounder Gun in Milford, Maine
  • A 10-inch Turret Sighting Hood in Key West, Fla.
  • A Ventilator Cowl in Woburn, Mass.
  • A Ventilator Cowl in Rock Island, Ill.
  • The Ship’s Silver Service in Augusta, Maine
  • A Steam Whistle in Larchmont, N.Y.
  • A 10-inch Shell in Port Chesters, N.Y.
  • An Engine Room Funnel in Pompton Lakes, N.J.

Also 28 bronze plaques made from the metal of the battleship are spread out throughout the country.

A website that tries to track parts of the Maine, www.spanamwar.com, has a laundry list of the battleship’s parts and where they reside.

 
Feb 14

USS Constitution’s Affair to Remember with Lovely Ann

Saturday, February 14, 2015 9:00 AM
USS Constitution. Artwork by F. Muller. NHHC Photograph Collection, NH 61872.

USS Constitution. Artwork by F. Muller. NHHC Photograph Collection, NH 61872.

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

There were no boxes of chocolates or roses for the crew of USS Constitution as Valentine’s Day rolled around in 1814. But when the day was over, they were awash with lumber, fish, and flour – spoils from an engagement with a British merchantman named Lovely Ann.

On that Feb. 14, USS Constitution’s wooden hull was a figuratively green whippersnapper, a mere 17 years old. President George Washington named the 44-gun frigate that had been ordered through the Naval Act of 1794. The heavy frigate was launched in 1797 and remains the oldest commissioned ship in the world that can still sail under its own power. She is soon to go into dry dock in Boston for a scheduled maintenance and upkeep.

A veteran of both the Quasi War with the French and the First Barbary War, Constitution’s greatest glory came during the War of 1812. It was during the two-and-one-half year conflict she made five cruises and captured, burned or sent in as prizes nine merchantmen and five ships of war, most notably the British warship HMS Guerriere.

Under the command of Capt. Isaac Hull, it was that engagement where Constitution earned her the nickname “Old Ironsides,” because Guerriere’s cannon balls glanced off her hull during the Aug. 19, 1812 battle. Guerriere was scuttled the next day. The victory made Constitution the rock star of her day and thus began more than two centuries of public adoration for the three-masted frigate.

Capt. Charles Stewart, commanded USS Constitution during these captures in 1814. NHHC Photograph Collection, NH 44344.

Capt. Charles Stewart, commanded USS Constitution during these captures in 1814. NHHC Photograph Collection, NH 44344.

By the time Feb. 14, 1814 rolled around, Capt. Charles Stewart was Constitution’s 10th captain and they were sailing along the northern coast of South America. That morning, Constitution’s crew spotted the British schooner HMS Pictou off the coast of Barbados. The schooner was escorting the armed merchant ship Lovely Ann hauling a cargo of lumber, fish, and flour.

After an hour long chase, Constitution passed Pictou on her starboard side and fired. Her deck and main mast were destroyed within minutes. Stewart realized Pictou was sinking and ordered his men to rescue the British sailors. After the Pictou’s men were saved, they captured the Lovely Ann and hours later the crew of the Constitution celebrated with food and wine. The engagement between Constitution and Lovely Ann may have been brief, but well worth celebrating on that Valentine’s Day of 1814.

 
Feb 11

How the Yalta Conference Shaped the World

Wednesday, February 11, 2015 6:00 AM
Allied leaders pose in the courtyard of Livadia Palace, Yalta, during the conference. Those seated are (from left to right): Prime Minister Winston Churchill (UK); President Franklin D. Roosevelt (USA); and Premier Josef Stalin (USSR). Also present are USSR Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov (far left); Admiral of the Fleet Sir Andrew Cunningham, R.N., and Air Chief Marshall Sir Charles Portal, R.A.F. (both standing behind Churchill); and Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy, USN, (standing behind Roosevelt). Note ornate carpets under the chairs. Photograph from the Army Signal Corps Collection in the U.S. National Archives.

Allied leaders pose in the courtyard of Livadia Palace, Yalta, during the conference. Those seated are (from
left to right): Prime Minister Winston Churchill (UK); President Franklin D. Roosevelt (USA); and Premier
Josef Stalin (USSR). Also present are USSR Foreign Minister Vyacheslav Molotov (far left); Admiral of the
Fleet Sir Andrew Cunningham, R.N., and Air Chief Marshall Sir Charles Portal, R.A.F. (both standing behind
Churchill); and Fleet Admiral William D. Leahy, USN, (standing behind Roosevelt). Note ornate carpets
under the chairs. Photograph from the Army Signal Corps Collection in the U.S. National Archives.

By Joshua L. Wick, Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

For eight days in the beginning of February 1945, President Franklin D. Roosevelt, British Prime Minister Winston Churchill, and Soviet Premier Josef Stalin convened one of the most secretive meetings of modern times.

The decisions that came from this intense conference set in motion some of the major events of the next century that would shape the U.S Navy and the world. And even today questions remain, what was the real price of the decisions made at the conference? Did they cost our country and the world more than they gave in return?

The president relied heavily on the Navy for getting him safely and quietly to high-level meetings and conferences during World War II. Roosevelt and Churchill had met secretly in August 1941 aboard USS Augusta off the coast of Newfoundland. It was aboard the ship the two forged a strong alliance and developed the premise of a pact they hoped would be agreed upon by the League of Nations: to “respect the right of all peoples to choose the form of government under which they will live; and they wish to see sovereign rights and self-government restored to those who have been forcibly deprived of them.”

Franklin D. Roosevelt at Malta on the USS Quincy with his Chiefs of Staff. Left to right: Admiral Leahy, Admiral King, FDR, General Marshall, and L.S. Kuter (Admiral Arnold's representative).

Franklin D. Roosevelt at Malta on the USS Quincy with his Chiefs of Staff. Left to right: Admiral Leahy,
Admiral King, FDR, General Marshall, and L.S. Kuter (Gen. Arnold’s representative).

This was also the case with Yalta. USS Quincy (CA 71) was tasked with transporting the ailing president to the Russian resort city on the Crimean peninsula.

President Roosevelt and his party embarked aboard the Baltimore-class heavy cruiser at Newport News, Va., on Jan. 23, 1945, for passage to Malta in southern Europe, arriving Feb. 2. Roosevelt then departed Quincy and continued on to the Crimea by air.

Once all the leaders were gathered in Yalta, the discussion, bargaining and debating began for the second conference of World War II. The first had been the highly secret meeting in 1943 between the “Big Three” in Tehran where they agreed to a military operation that would eventually become the Invasion of Normandy or Operation Overlord.

The Yalta Conference was to take the blueprint of the Atlantic Conference and hammer in the details. As with most international conferences, the leaders and their entourages had their own agendas, goals, cultural and political differences. With Germany’s surrender expected, their focus was on post-war reorganization, reestablishment of a war-torn Europe and how best to enforce the reparation and demilitarization of Germany.

Article II of the conference stated: To foster the conditions in which the liberated people may exercise these rights, the three governments will jointly assist the people in any European liberated state or former Axis state in Europe where, in their judgment conditions require,

(a) to establish conditions of internal peace;

(b) to carry out emergency relief measures for the relief of distressed peoples;

(c) to form interim governmental authorities broadly representative of all democratic elements in the population and pledged to the earliest possible establishment through free elections of Governments responsive to the will of the people; and

(d) to facilitate where necessary the holding of such elections.

 

Franklin D. Roosevelt, Joseph Stalin and Winston Churchill in session at the Yalta Conference. Livadia Palace, Yalta, USSR. Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library & Museum

Franklin D. Roosevelt, Joseph Stalin and Winston Churchill in session at the Yalta Conference. Livadia
Palace, Yalta, USSR. Franklin D. Roosevelt Presidential Library & Museum

Though they each had their own issues, they all wanted the unconditional surrender of Germany. Roosevelt sought agreement and establishment for his “United Nations” and for the need of military support for the ongoing war in the Pacific theater. The fate of Eastern Europe, especially Germany’s division and Poland’s borders, were the main bargaining chips for “The Big Three.”

The level of corporation required from the conference was unprecedented. The Soviet Union agreed to join the Allies in the war against Japan with two caveats: the Mongolian People’s Republic would be preserved and territories in the southern part of Sakhalin that had been taken by Japan in 1904 would be returned to the Soviet Union, along with the Kurile Islands. The commercial port of Dairen would be internationalized, allowing Soviet interests and the ability to lease property for a base at Port Arthur.

Roosevelt got Stalin’s agreement in the Pacific, but Stalin appeared to be running the show.

Expectations were high but short-lived as history proved when the players on the field suddenly shifted. Only a few weeks after the Yalta Conference, President Roosevelt died at his “Little White House” at Warm Springs, Ga. He had served an unprecedented 12 years in office and had just started his fourth term that would have seen him through the reconstruction of Europe after World War II, and to some degree, keeping Stalin reined in.

While Stalin and Roosevelt were able to come to terms despite huge differences in philosophy, that was not the case with Roosevelt’s successor, President Harry S. Truman. As he agreed with the Yalta Conference, Stalin did throw his support against Japan, another factor that led to Japan’s surrender. An interesting historic side note is that USS Quincy, the cruiser that carried Roosevelt to the Yalta Conference, was among the flotilla of ships in Tokyo Bay on Sept. 2, 1945, for the Japanese surrender.

But the end of the war also signified the end of Stalin’s cooperation. Agreements made during the Yalta Conference, based on the premise of “the right of all peoples to choose the form of government under which they will live,” didn’t apply to the border countries within the Soviet Union’s Eastern bloc of nations.

Luckily for Roosevelt, he never witnessed the erasing of the lines they drew at Yalta so the Eastern European countries could retain their sovereignty. As the Soviet Union expanded borders further west and more nations were integrated into Stalin’s communist government, the Iron Curtain separated the East from the West.

In the end, what came from Yalta sparked the military, economic, scientific, political, and ideological start of the Cold War. Once again for nearly 45 years, America’s Navy was on the front lines of the cat and mouse games in the high-stakes Cold War conflict.

The comfort of 70 years of hindsight make it possible for us to look critically at the decisions made at Yalta and the policies that followed, but perhaps the most important question is what could have realistically been done differently?

 
Feb 6

Five-Power Pact: The Ebb and Flow of Post-War Fleet Force Structure

Friday, February 6, 2015 5:45 AM
PCU Washington (BB 47), a 32,600-ton Colorado class battleship, was under construction at Camden, N.J., when the Washington naval limitations treaty was signed Feb. 6, 1922. Launched in September 1921, the battleship was nearly 76 percent completed when construction ceased Feb. 8, 1922. Since the treaty prohibited her completion, Washington was subsequently used for tests of weapons effects and warship protection. Her hulk was sunk as a gunnery target in November 1924. Naval History and Heritage Command Photo

PCU Washington (BB 47), a 32,600-ton Colorado class battleship, was under construction at Camden, N.J., when the Washington naval limitations treaty was signed Feb. 6, 1922. Launched in September 1921, the battleship was nearly 76 percent completed when construction ceased Feb. 8, 1922. Since the treaty prohibited her completion, Washington was subsequently used for tests of weapons effects and warship protection. Her hulk was sunk as a gunnery target in November 1924. Naval History and Heritage Command Photo

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

If Theodore Roosevelt could spin in his grave, no doubt the former president was a whirling dervish in his crypt Feb. 6, 1922. It was that date 93 years ago when the Washington Naval Treaty was signed, limiting the frenetic Roosevelt’s beloved Navy to no more than 500,000 tons.

For the numbers folks, that breaks down into 15 Colorado-class battleships; 14 Saratoga-class aircraft carriers; 71 Omaha-class light cruisers; 411 Clemson-class destroyers – or any combination thereof.

Also known as the Five-Power Treaty, there was sound reason behind it. Following the aftermath of World War I, some nations were a bit reluctant to stop their war-time build-up of armament, and of particular concern was Japan.

With Congress pushing to end any escalating of warships and armaments – especially between the United States, Great Britain and Japan – Secretary of State Charles Evans Hughes invited nine nations to the table at what would be called the Washington Naval Conference that began Nov. 12, 1921. The countries involved were the U.S., Great Britain, Japan, France, Italy, Belgium, China, the Netherlands and Portugal.

By Feb. 6, 1922, when the conference ended, three major treaties were signed, all named for the level of participation: Four-Power, Five-Power and Nine-Power. Two of them reflected the wariness both the United States and Great Britain had concerning Japan’s continued military build-up and interest in expanding beyond its borders.

The Four-Power Treaty between the U.S., France, Britain and Japan replaced the Anglo-Japanese Treaty of 1902 between Japan and Great Britain. Should a conflict arise between the United States and Japan, the 1902 treaty would have obligated Great Britain to side with Japan.

The new 1922 pact dictated the four countries would consult each other should a conflict develop between any of them, obligating none to side with the other.

The Nine-Power Treaty invited seven other countries to partake in the party that was the U.S. Open Door Policy in China: equal opportunity for all nations wishing to do business there, with China promising not to discriminate against the other nations. But the treaty also ensured all those who signed the agreement would recognize China’s territorial boundaries, including Japan’s dominance in Manchuria.

Japan and China agreed to their own bilateral pact that returned the Shandong province and railroad to China that Japan had liberated from the Germans during World War I, and Japanese troops would withdraw from Siberia.

"Red Lead Row" at the San Diego Destroyer Base, Calif. photographed at the end of 1922, with at least 65 destroyers tied up there. The overwhelming majority of them were among the Clemson-class of destroyers which were removed from service due to the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922. Many of these destroyers were later used to beef up the Navy of the United Kingdom as part of the Destroyers for Bases program. NHHC photo

“Red Lead Row” at the San Diego Destroyer Base, Calif. photographed at the end of 1922, with at least 65 destroyers tied up there. The overwhelming majority of them were among the Clemson-class of destroyers which were removed from service due to the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922. Many of these destroyers were later used to beef up the Navy of the United Kingdom as part of the Destroyers for Bases program. NHHC photo

The Five-Power Treaty was highly successful as a compromise, since no one was entirely happy with the results. Japan and the United States each wanted a greater ratio of warships and all three nations sought the ability to expand their own Pacific fortifications.

Great Britain and the United States each were allowed 500,000 tons of warships because both countries had colonies flung across two oceans; Japan was held to 300,000 tons and France and Italy each had 175,000 tons, or a 5:5:3:1.75:1.75 ratio.

Japan had sought a greater percentage in the top three ratios at 10:10:7, while the United States, wary of Japan’s growing militarism, wanted a 10:10:5 ratio.

At the time of the treaty, the Navy had commissioned three of the four planned 32,600-ton displacing battleships: Colorado (BB 45), Maryland (BB 46) and West Virginia (BB 48). If you’ve never heard of the fourth, well, that’s because PCU Washington (BB 47), although 75 percent completed, was cancelled to keep the United States in compliance with the new limitations of the Five-Power Treaty. Six more battleships either in planning or building mode were also scrapped: South Dakota (BB 49), Indiana (BB 50), Montana (BB 51), North Carolina (BB 52), Iowa (BB 53) and Massachusetts (BB 54).

The United States tried to affect world disarmament by example, allowing the Navy’s fleet of warships to drop well below even the standards of the original 1922 treaty. It was a lofty idea that never caught on and resulted in “a rapid decline in the strength of our Navy between 1922 and 1930,” according to the 1944 legislative document Decline and Renaissance of the Navy 1922-1944 by Sen. David I. Walsh (D-Mass.), chairman of the Senate Naval Affairs Committee.

Since surface warfare ships under 1,800 pounds weren’t mentioned in the 1922 treaty, armament on destroyers would become the loophole. The United States, however, was awash in destroyers, with all 267 of the Wickes-Clemson-class destroyers built by 1922. To meet the standards of the treaty, many of those flush-deck, four-stack destroyers were either converted to minesweepers, mothballed or sold to other nations.

A revision during the London Naval Treaty of 1930 between the same countries closed that loophole, regulating “surface vessels of war” that weighed less than 1,850 tons with “guns not above 5.1-inch (130 mm), according to Ship’s Data for U.S. Naval Vessels. By the time of the third revision, the Second London Naval Treaty of 1936, was being held, Japan declared it would no longer abide by the terms of the treaty and Italy also was secretly disregarding it.

As the United States was willingly allowing its naval fleet to fall below readiness standards, another Roosevelt was making his mark. Just like his uncle before him, Franklin D. Roosevelt had a soft spot for the U.S. Navy, having served as Under Secretary to the Navy. After taking office in March 1933, FDR believed the sea service needed to increase its strength at least to the Washington Naval Treaty of 1922 limits.

In order to help the nation recover from the Great Depression and give the Navy a boost, Roosevelt pushed through Congress the National Industrial Recovery Act (NIRA) in 1933. Of the $3.3 billion appropriated, $237 million was set aside to construct Navy warships to help improve the economy with increased employment. The Navy responded by contracting to build 20 destroyers, four submarines, four light cruisers and two aircraft carriers.

As rumblings of aggression began again in Europe and Asia, and with both Japan and Italy openly violating the Washington Naval Treaty, President Roosevelt would embark on the long road to rebuild the U.S. Navy through the Naval Expansion Acts of 1934, 1938 and 1940, followed a few days later by the Two-Ocean Navy Act.

Broadside view of PCU Washington (BB 47) at the New York Shipyard April 5, 1922. Naval History and Heritage Command photo

Broadside view of PCU Washington (BB 47) at the New York Shipyard April 5, 1922. Naval History and Heritage Command photo

The Washington Naval Treaty, despite hampering the U.S. Navy in maintaining a ready fleet to operate forward across two oceans, did have its silver lining. Two years after the treaty was signed, the nearly-completed hulk of PCU Washington was hauled out to sea and sunk by USS Texas (BB 35) and New York (BB 34) as a test target.

The test would prove there wasn’t enough deck armor on the super-dreadnought and so future battleships – commissioned between 1941-44 — included triple armor plating on the hull: North Carolina (BB 59), Washington (BB 56), South Dakota (BB 57), Indiana (BB 58), Massachusetts (BB 59), Alabama (BB 60), Iowa (BB 61), New Jersey (BB 62), Missouri (BB 53) and Wisconsin (BB 64). All would survive World War II. Of the nine battleships hit during the attack on Pearl Harbor, only three could not be salvaged: Utah (AG-16 formerly BB 31), Oklahoma (BB 37) and Arizona (BB 39), all built before the triple-plating.

The Evergreen State would finally get another ship named for it when the up-armored USS Washington (BB 56), a North Carolina-class fast battleship, was commissioned May 1941, weighing in at 35,000 tons at the cost of around $60 million. After serving throughout World War II, she was decommissioned in 1947 and sold for scrap in 1961.

 
Feb 4

Navy Archaeologists Dive into the History of Bonhomme Richard

Wednesday, February 4, 2015 8:00 AM

 

A painting by William Gilkerson of the battle between the Continental Navy frigate Bonhomme Richard and HMS Serapis, Beverley R. Robinson Collection, US Naval Academy Museum.

A painting by William Gilkerson of the battle between the Continental Navy frigate Bonhomme Richard and HMS Serapis, Beverley R. Robinson Collection, US Naval Academy Museum.

By Mass Communication Specialist 1st Class Tim Comerford, Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

When Capt. John Paul Jones accepted command of the frigate that would become Bonhomme Richard on Feb. 4, 1779, he had no idea a future battle aboard would both illustrate his career and be a rallying call to arms centuries later. And just like the man who commanded her, the wooden frigate continues to pique the interest of scientists and Sailors alike 236 years after her sinking.

Pirate, privateer, patriot, courageous, glory-hound are just a few of the words used to describe Jones. Contentious though his life might have been, he was a bantamweight courageously entering the ring to take on the heavyweight that was the British Royal Navy during the Revolutionary War.

Jones’ ship, originally named Duc de Duras, was a gift from France. In keeping with the ship’s French heritage, Jones renamed the ship Bonhomme Richard, which translated to “Goodman Richard,” a nod to the nom de plume “Poor Richard” used by Benjamin Franklin, America’s commissioner at Paris. His famous almanacs had been published in France under the title Les Maximes du Bonhomme Richard.

On Sept. 23, 1779, a little less than eight months after Jones assumed command, Bonhomme Richard engaged the Royal Navy frigate HMS Seripis during the Battle of Flamborough Head, off the English coast. After an initial volley of fire, two of the American frigate’s guns were destroyed and many Sailors injured. Jones realized he was outgunned by a more powerful and faster opponent. When the captain of the British ship asked if Jones’ ship would strike her colors to surrender, Jones famously answered, “I have not yet begun to fight!”

As the chance of victory appeared to begin slipping through his fingers, Jones came up with a dangerous plan. He moved his ship closer to Serapis where he thought he could board her or have his sharpshooters pick off her men and officers. When Bonhomme Richard moved into position, Serapis’ anchor fouled in Bonhomme Richard‘s hull, holding the two ships together. Jones strengthened the bonds with grappling hooks. After a bloody and brutal four hour fight, Serapis surrendered at last.

Sadly, Bonhomme Richard was critically damaged, on fire and taking on water fast. Despite all efforts to save the ship, she sank into the North Sea two days later.

Capt. John Paul Jones bids goodbye to his victorious ship, Bonhomme Richard, from aboard his new prize, HMS Serapis. Painting by Percy Moran.

Capt. John Paul Jones bids goodbye to his victorious ship, Bonhomme Richard, from aboard his new prize, HMS Serapis. Painting by Percy Moran.

Before she went down, Jones transferred his crew to their newest prize, Serapis, and sailed to Texel Roads, Holland. Jones stayed busy for the remainder of the war and the 12 years of life he had left, so he may never have looked back to Bonhomme Richard.

More than 200 years later, the Naval History and Heritage Command’s Underwater Archeology Branch actively seeks to piece together a more thorough picture of Bonhomme Richard to see what clues it might reveal about her historic master.

“It’s one of the Navy’s most important ships because of its role in Navy history,” said Robert Neyland, Ph.D., UA director. “The victory helped to raise American morale when the war was not going too well and helped confirm to the French that the Americans were a cause worth supporting.”

A deep water dive launch from USNS Grasp to asses possible targets as part of the search for Bonhomme Richard in July 2011. U.S. Navy Photo by Alexis Catsambis.

A deep water dive launch from USNS Grasp to asses possible targets as part of the search for Bonhomme Richard in July 2011. U.S. Navy Photo by Alexis Catsambis.

In an effort to find Jones’ lost vessel, Neyland and the rest of his tea at NHHC have been investigating sites and putting together pieces of information for the last eight years.

“Since 2006 there have been various expeditions,” Neyland said, explaining there have been many partners in the search, from governments, to companies and private entities. “It’s been on a basis of ships of opportunity. When some French minesweepers have been in the area they have donated a few days of survey time.”

Oceanographer Kevin Dial of the Naval Oceanographic Office rinses an autonomous underwater vehicle after recovering it from the North Sea onto USNS Henson during a Sept. 2010 expedition attempting to locate Bonhomme Richard. U.S. Navy photo by Rebecca Burke.

Oceanographer Kevin Dial of the Naval Oceanographic Office rinses an autonomous underwater vehicle after recovering it from the North Sea onto USNS Henson during a Sept. 2010 expedition attempting to locate Bonhomme Richard. U.S. Navy photo by Rebecca Burke.

It’s not an easy task. The passage of centuries can cause a significant amount of damage to wood, even below the surface of the ocean, and the ship was badly damaged by the combat already.

“It’s a large area to survey, the water depth ranges from 160-200 feet, 15-20 miles off shore and 500 square nautical miles,” he said. “The weather and seas are volatile out there and the ship may be partially or completely buried by sediment. Shipwrecks tend to break apart and bury themselves in sediment. They may be exposed at times and at other time buried.”

And the Bonhomme Richard would hardly be alone under the waves.

“Recently the French Navy and the Ocean Technology Foundation found a wooden-hulled ship wreck that probably dates between the late 18th century and early 19th century,” Neyland said. “It hasn’t been ruled out totally that it is not Bonhomme Richard. But, it definitely shows that older wooden ships can still be preserved under the North Sea sediments.”

The top scientist at UA isn’t daunted by the monumental task of finding an artifact under miles of ocean and sand. He and his team continue to utilize scientific research to find Bonhomme Richard and others of interest.

“There’s not a shipwreck out there that can’t be found,” he said.

For more information on the Naval History and Heritage Command and the NHHC’s Underwater Archaeology Branch visit our website at http://www.history.navy.mil/research/underwater-archaeology.html

 
Jan 31

Enlisted Pilots Boosted Fledgling Flight Training Program

Saturday, January 31, 2015 9:00 AM

Enlisted Pilots 5400x3600

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

Just like a pair of pants, pilots strap on their planes the same, whether officer or enlisted. But for the most part, it wasn’t likely those with gold buttons on their uniforms might also be found digging latrines or working as messcooks.

Times have changed since enlisted Sailors could wear pilot insignia designating them Naval Aviator Pilot (NAP). The last one to do so was Air Controlman Master Chief (NAP) Robert K. “NAP” Jones when he retired 34 years ago today on Jan. 31, 1981.

The enlisted rating as a naval aviator has never been a smooth nor straight path, but that didn’t deter those in the ranks wishing to pin on their aviator wings. The advent of Naval Aviation Pilot (NAP), the enlisted designation, got its start 99 years ago Jan. 1, 1917 when a class of seven Navy petty officers and two Marine sergeants went through flight instruction. They were already either stationed at the Naval Aviation training center in Pensacola, Fla., or on the armored cruiser North Carolina (CA 12), where just over 13 months earlier an AB-2 Curtiss flying boat had been catapulted off her stern.

Following graduation as pilots, most were promoted to warrant officer and then offered commissioned officer status. A few, however, qualified as pilots, but were not designated as such, remaining among the enlisted.

After World War I, there was an effort by the Bureau of Navigation to encourage the enlisted Sailors younger than age 30 to become pilots of heavier-than-air planes and dirigibles. The first class had 40 enlisted students and its graduates were the first to use the naval aviator pilot designation, or NAP, on Jan. 22, 1920.

CQM (A) (NAP) Harold H. “Kiddy” Karr held certificate No. 1, but two of his classmates would receive Medals of Honor and a third the Legion of Merit.

  • Chief Machinist Mate Francis Edward Ormsbee received his Medal of Honor after repeatedly attempting to save the lives of a plane’s crew that crashed into the Gulf of Mexico near the training center at Pensacola. He saved the gunner, but was unable to pull the pilot to safety in time.
  • Chief Aviation Pilot (NAP) Floyd Bennett

    Chief Aviation Pilot (NAP) Floyd Bennett

    Chief Aviation Pilot (NAP) Floyd Bennett was the co-pilot who flew with Arctic explorer Adm. Richard Byrd over the North Pole May 9, 1926. Both Bennett and Byrd received Medals of Honor for their feat and a ticker tape parade in New York City. Bennett was to pilot Byrd on his trek to the South Pole, but he died from pneumonia in 1928 after flying while ill with a fever to rescue a group of fliers downed at Greenlay Island in Quebec.

  • Chief Boatswain’s Mate P.J. “Pappy” Byrne received the Legion of Merit in 1955 after amassing more than 22,600 hours in the air with more than 140 types of planes. He retired three years later to conclude a 40-year career.

 

“It is ironic that some men who had their wings pinned on uniforms while in the enlisted ranks ended their careers flying some of the navy’s highest ranking officers,” said Hill Goodspeed, the historian at the National Museum of the Naval Aviator in Pensacola, Fla. “One such was Lt. Cmdr. Harold W. Brown, who received his wings as a petty officer and retired after serving the final years of his career as the pilot for the Chief of Naval Operations, Admirals Arleigh Burke, David McDonald, and Tom Moorer.”

By 1921, NAP designations specified seaplane, ship-plane and airship. By the mid-1920s, both the Chief Aviation Pilot (CAP) and Aviation Pilot First Class (AP1c) rates were established.

The boot camp to pilot program for enlisted aviators was approved in January 1929 and Congress even legislated there be a 30 percent ratio between enlisted and officer pilots. But the rarity of enlisted pilots remained a conundrum for those trying to fill operational billets on ships.

Such was the case of Seaman 2nd Class (NAP) George Webber. Between 1930-32, Webber was assigned to VS-3 aboard USS Lexington (CV 2) while Capt. Ernest J. King, the future admiral and chief of naval operations, was commanding officer. Lack of berthing placed the second class seaman on deck in a cot, and when his squadron needed to supply messcooks to help the galley, well, the second class seaman drew the short-straw again. And to make matters worse, Webber’s shipmates were a bit skeptical about the audacity of their fellow messcook wearing aviator wings on his uniform.

Webber solved the problem with his messmates by inviting them to watch one of his flights, but when Capt. King, not well known for his sense of humor, got wind one of his carrier pilots was working in the galley, well, that ended Webber’s collateral duty as a messcook pretty quick. Webber eventually accepted the commission offered to him as a pilot and retired as a commander in 1959.

Despite the chance to become a commissioned officer, the enlisted pilot program faltered. With lack of numbers, Congress dropped the ratio to 20 percent enlisted to the officer pilot numbers in 1932.

That all changed during the build up to World War II. The percentage of enlisted earning their aviator wings increased and as many as 95 percent accepted commissions as officers. Some were temporary until the end of their military career, while others made it permanent after earning the required college education credits.

Up in the air, however, experience counted more than education. It wasn’t unusual to have a “whitehat” leading a squadron or be a plane commander while flying a mission. Until they landed. Then command went back to those wearing gold buttons.

“One squadron established during 1927 and in service through the Battle of the Coral Sea was Fighting Squadron (VF) 2B, known as the “Fighting Chiefs,” the majority of the pilots in the squadron being highly-experienced enlisted pilots,” said Hill Goodspeed, the historian for the National Museum of the Naval Aviator in Pensacola, Fla. “It was regularly regarded as one of the top fighter squadrons in the fleet during its existence.”

Goodspeed said the enlisted ranks tallied 11 fighter aces (those who achieve five or more kills in air-to-air combat) during World War II. Besides Bennett and Ormsbee, Marine 1st Lt. Ken Walsh received a Medal of Honor for heroism performed during the Battle of the Solomons in 1943, where at one point, while separated from his squadron, attacked 50 Japanese Zeroes and downed four before he was forced to “deadstick” land his crippled plane on Vella Lavella where he was later picked up.

There was also still that issue with collateral duty being assigned to those with NAP designations. During World War II, the Guadalcanal Marine Air Group 14 found two of their combat pilots were missing, only to discover Sgts. Ollie Michael and Rohe C. Jones were digging latrines on New Caledonia. In no time they were back flying Douglas SBDs during the Solomons campaign. Michael was credited with sinking three Japanese ships between Nov.-Dec. 1942. Sadly, Jones was killed during his third combat tour.

Following World War II, the Enlisted Flight Training School was cut and by 1948 Congress terminated a requirement for enlisted pilots.

During the reduction in forces, temporary commissions ended and enlisted pilots resumed their NAP status, dwindling down in numbers either by advancement into officer ranks or retirement.

In 1955, the Navy held the most enlisted pilots at around 300, followed by 255 for the Marines. Of the 216 enlisted Coast Guard pilots, all but 37 were trained during World War II.

A Sept. 1967 article in Naval Aviation News about the remaining 34 enlisted pilots mentions the struggle for enlisted pilots may have been the difficulty of achieving their educational requirements while juggling their enlisted duties. Career officers also could advance to top-level positions, but for enlisted pilots, those command opportunities were limited.

The last four Marine enlisted pilots simultaneously retired Feb. 1, 1973: Master Gunnery Sergeants Joseph A. Conroy, Leslie T. Ericson, Robert M. Lurie and Patrick J. O’Neil. In 1979, the last Coastie enlisted pilot retired, Aviation Machinist’s Mate Master Chief (AP) John P. Greathouse. And two years later, Jan. 31, 1981, the last Navy enlisted pilot, ACCM Jones, turned out the lights on the NAP insignia.

Information for this blog was provided by the Naval Aviation News, a product of the Naval History and Heritage Command, the National Museum of Naval Aviation in Pensacola, Fla., and bluejacket.com.

 

 
Jan 31

Tet Offensive Battle of Huế City Gives Cruiser its Name

Saturday, January 31, 2015 12:15 AM
The guided-missile cruiser USS Hue City (CG 66) returns to Naval Station Mayport in 2013 after two back-to-back deployments to the Arabian Gulf. The ship and crew returned with the Dwight D. Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communications Specialist Second Class Adam Henderson/Released).

The guided-missile cruiser USS Hue City (CG 66) returns to Naval Station Mayport in 2013 after two back-to-back deployments to the Arabian Gulf. The ship and crew returned with the Dwight D. Eisenhower Carrier Strike Group. (U.S. Navy photo by Mass Communications Specialist Second Class Adam Henderson/Released).

 

By Mass Communication Specialist 2nd Class Eric Lockwood, Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

It was 47 years ago today when the birth of the Vietnamese New Year started off with a bang: the Tết Offensive of the Vietnam War.

Those in the North referred to it as the General Offensive or General Uprising on Jan. 30, 1968. No matter the name, it was the largest military campaign conducted by either side of the war to that point.

Among the largest battles was Huế City. The Marines fought with considerable distinction and bravery. Because of this, the guided-missile cruiser USS Huế City (CG 66) is named in their honor, and is the only U.S. Navy ship named after a Vietnam battle.

 Capt. Wyatt N. Chidester, commanding officer of the armored cruiser Hue City (CG 66).

Capt. Wyatt N. Chidester, commanding officer of the armored cruiser Hue City (CG 66).

“It’s a great honor that I can hardly describe, serving at the helm of a warship named for the Battle of Huế City,” said the cruiser’s commanding officer Capt. Wyatt N. Chidester. “The history of the Vietnam conflict is often viewed through the emotional lens of the upheaval the war caused back home, overlooking the acts of true heroism and sacrifice of those who fought it. Whether pierside for training, or deployed, the crew and their families have been and continue to be inspired by, and are proud to honor those who served so bravely at Huế City.”

In fact, as it has done for the past 21 years, the ship will hold a special memorial observance at the ship’s homeport of Mayport, Fla. in March.

 

‘All Hell Broke Loose’

 To start off the Vietnamese New Year—Tết—the Viet Cong and North Vietnamese Army (NVA) took the South Vietnamese, U.S. and allies mostly by surprise when they attacked by night various command and control centers in the northern half of South Vietnam.

Rear Adm. Kenneth L. Veth, Commander, U.S. Naval Forces, Vietnam (COMNAVFORV), remembered during a 1977 interview, “The first thing we knew about it was when we were all waked up (sic) in the middle of the night, and all hell broke loose in the way of gunfire and explosions.”

By the morning, the Communists were attacking targets from Quang Tri close to the border in the north to Ca Mau near the southern tip of the country. Though the Viet Cong and NVA beat back Southern forces and captured several cities during the initial confusion, the South usually managed to regain their losses within a few days.

Except, however, for the city of Huế. A key city logistically, Navy supply boats were headquartered there on the banks of the Perfume River, and the Vietnamese army’s Highway One supply line ran through it.

The NVA planned to capture the Tây Lộc Airfield, Mang Ca Garrison, the Military Assistance Command Vietnam (MACV) compound, and the Imperial Palace. The three-pronged attack began shortly after midnight. By 8 a.m., the National Liberation Front for Southern Vietnam banner was flying from the Citadel.

Artillery, mortar shells, tank blasts, sniper fire, and tried-and-true foot soldier firefights in the streets besieged the city for nearly a month.

Twentieth Century "Angel of Mercy" -- D. R. Howe (Glencoe, MN) treats the wounds of Private First Class D. A. Crum (New Brighton, PA), "H" Company, 2nd Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, during Operation Hue City.

Twentieth Century “Angel of Mercy” — D. R. Howe (Glencoe, MN) treats the wounds of Private First Class D. A. Crum (New Brighton, PA), “H” Company, 2nd Battalion, Fifth Marine Regiment, during Operation Hue City.

“Almost every spot that was an open piece of ground was under fire,” said U.S. Marine then-Capt. Myron Harrington, in a 1981 interview with the WGBH Educational Foundation. “You were almost in the face-to-face, eyeball-to-eyeball confrontation with the NVA. […] As a result of their being so entrenched and utilizing the concrete type of buildings that we were running across, it required us to bring maximum fire power at our disposal to eliminate them.”

Soon after it started, the U.S. Marines came to lead the defense. However, these Marines and soldiers had never fought in a city.

“[They] had been accustomed to the rice paddies,” said Harrington. “Street fighting was an entirely new experience for everyone in that company. Our last Marine Corps experience in street fighting had been in 1950 in Seoul, Korea. There were very few Marines left on active duty and those who were would have been too senior to participate in the Battle of Hue.”

They had to learn anew the tactics—to spread out in a firefight, not to gather at spots that could come under fire, to take cover in a ditch and not in a building, or similar structures.

But firefight-by-firefight, meter-by-meter, block-by-block, they retook the city. By the end of the month the South Vietnamese flag was flying from the Citadel once again.

“For the American military that [Tết] offensive was a grand paradox,” said retired U.S. Army Col. Harry G. Summers Jr. “At the battlefield tactical level, the enemy was defeated and turned back at every turn without achieving any territorial gain. At the theater-of-war operational level, their campaign was an absolute failure. Not only did the South Vietnamese people fail to flock to their banners, the South Vietnamese military stood firm and their own Viet Cong guerrilla forces were so decimated that they ceased to be an effective fighting force for the remaining seven years of the war. But at the strategic level, the Tet Offensive was an unmitigated disaster for the United States.”

 
Jan 30

On the Road to an Ironclad Battle, USS Monitor is Launched

Friday, January 30, 2015 8:00 AM
Aquarelle facsimile print of a painting by J.O. Davidson depicting USS Monitor in action with CSS Virginia, March 9, 1862. From the Collection of President Franklin D. Roosevelt

Aquarelle facsimile print of a painting by J.O. Davidson depicting USS Monitor in action with CSS Virginia, March 9, 1862. From the Collection of President Franklin D. Roosevelt

From Naval History and Heritage Command, Communication and Outreach Division

Muhammad Ali had Joe Frazier. Affirmed had Alydar. Chris Everet and Martina Navratilova. Army vs. Navy. Rin Tin Tin and Lassie. Capt. James T. Kirk vs. Khan. History will forever remember these matchups for the status of top dog.

Another pair of names that belong on that list are Monitor and Merrimack. Monitor was the first ironclad to launch 153 years ago today on Jan. 30, 1862, just 18 days ahead of the repaired and up-armored Merrimack, rechristened by the Confederacy as CSS Virginia.

The race to launch Monitor began in the summer of 1861 at the beginning of the American Civil War, in which epic and tragic battles saw brothers fighting brothers and where even eventual victory was tainted by grief and loss.

Federal authorities learned the Confederates had raised the Merrimack, once a powerful frigate with steam power that had been burned by the U.S. Navy some months earlier as it retreated from Norfolk, Va.

When news of the Merrimack‘s resurrection reached the Union’s Secretary of the Navy, Gideon Welles, he knew the U.S. Navy had to commission its own armored vessel to challenge Merrimack.

Secretary Welles asked railroad executive and shipbuilder Cornelius Scranton Bushnell, of binocular fame and one of the most prominent and influential men in Connecticut, to use his position and influence to provide a bill to Congress to fund the project.

It wasn’t long before President Abraham Lincoln signed the bill creating the Naval Ironclad Board. Bushnell and his partners quickly developed plans for their own ironclad, a vessel known as the Galena.

Bushnell traveled to New York to meet with John Ericcson, a renowned inventor and naval architect, to get his analysis and opinion on the design and feasibility of the Galena and how it could be improved.

Ericcson wasn’t too keen on working with the Navy after being wrongly blamed for the accidental explosion of an experimental gun, the Peacemaker, on a ship he designed, USS Princeton. The explosion killed six people in 1844 and political pandering bounced the blame from the ship’s skipper, Capt. Robert Stockton, to Ericcson, even though he had nothing to do with the weapon.

Sailors relaxing on deck of U.S.S. Monitor in the James River, Virginia, in 1862. Library of Congress Photo #01061

Sailors relaxing on deck of U.S.S. Monitor in the James River, Virginia, in 1862. Library of Congress Photo #01061

Luckily for the Union, Ericcson was excited to share his designs for an ironclad with kindred spirit Bushnell. Ericcson’s design featured a ship with “a floating battery absolutely impregnable to the heaviest shot or shell.” The model Ericcson presented featured a nearly submerged hull and a single revolving turret fixed to its deck.

Bushnell, amazed at the model and its potential, asked Ericcson to meet with Secretary Welles and pitch his design to the ironclad board because it showed promise in dealing with the imminent Confederate threat. Ericcson’s design was one of three approved for construction. The foundries in New York and in Baltimore, Md. had easier access to iron than the Confederates, so the race was on.

Over the next four months, the parts of a new ship based on Ericcson’s design were forged in eight separate foundries, most in New York. Boilers, port stoppers, radiators, anchor wells, bulkheads, and the turret from all over New York were gathered and assembled at the Continental Iron Works in Brooklyn where the hull of Monitor was waiting.

On Jan. 30, 1862, in front of crowds of spectators, Monitor was launched into New York City’s East River. Eighteen days later, the former Merrimack, CSS Virginia, was launched.

USS Monitor was a technological marvel for its time. She was powered by steam alone and was the first American warship with no masts or sails. Barely one foot of her deck was visible, with all storage, machinery, berthing and working areas below the water line.

The ship’s most novel feature was its revolving turret in the middle of the ship. The turret boasted two 11-inch Dahlgren smoothbore cannons. Constructed almost exclusively of iron, the ship was heavy and thereby required it to avoid shallow water because it could become stuck and quickly become a target.

The Ironclads Painting by Raymond Bayless, depicting the battle between CSS Virginia (foreground) and USS Monitor (at right). USS Minnesota is also shown, in the left middle distance. Courtesy of the U.S. Navy Art Collection, Washington, D.C. Donation of Raymond Bayless, 1975 U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph.

The Ironclads Painting by Raymond Bayless, depicting the battle between CSS Virginia (foreground) and USS Monitor (at right). USS Minnesota is also shown, in the left middle distance. Courtesy of the U.S. Navy Art Collection, Washington, D.C. Donation of Raymond Bayless, 1975 U.S. Naval History and Heritage Command Photograph.

The two ironclads met for their date with fate March 9, 1862 at the Battle of Hampton Roads. CSS Virginia had already decimated the Union Blockading Squadron the day before. Once within range of each other, the two ships opened up on one another. After two days of pounding, battle was declared a tactical stalemate and the ships withdrew without either suffering much damage. It was the first time iron ships clashed in naval warfare and signaled the beginning of the end of the era of wooden warships.

Alas, Monitor’s end would come all too soon. Shortly after midnight on Dec. 31, 1862, while being towed by USS Rhode Island to Beaufort, N.C., Monitor sank in a gale off Cape Hatteras. Its final resting place was designated as the nation’s first national marine sanctuary in 1975.

In 2002, the remains of two Sailors were recovered from the gun turret when it was raised off the coast of North Carolina. After 10 years of attempting to determine their identities through DNA and even facial reconstruction, the remains were buried at Arlington National Cemetery in 2013. Fourteen other crewmembers remain missing. The turret and other artifacts from USS Monitor are showcased at the Mariners Museum in Newport News, Va.