The United States Exploration Expedition, Part 1

by Nicolas Wieman

In June of 1842, America’s first grand naval expedition of scientific discovery returned to America’s shores laden with literal tons of samples and specimens from the South Pacific, the Pacific Northwest, and the fabled shores of the Antarctic continent. The findings of the expedition energized the American scientific community and would eventually form the basis of the Smithsonian Institution. However, the scientific achievements of the expedition were overshadowed by the scandal that surrounded it, centered around the conduct of the expedition’s commanding officer, Charles Wilkes. 

Charles Wilkes (U.S. Naval Academy Museum)

While the 1804 Lewis and Clark expedition had fulfilled a young America’s desire for exploration of the continent, it would not be until 1838 that America would dispatch a journey of discovery by sea. While approval for such a venture had been given by President John Quincy Adams in 1828, delays in funding and shifts in presidential priorities during the Jackson Administration ensured that it would take nearly a decade for the expedition to begin preparations in 1837. Thomas ap Catesby Jones, the officer initially chosen to command the Expedition, resigned from the appointment after the stresses of political infighting, logistical challenges, and naval intrigue gave him a severe medical emergency. 

Satirical cartoon of the U.S. Ex.Ex. from August 1838 (Library of Congress)

For the young Lieutenant Charles Wilkes, however, the Exploration Expedition (or “Ex.Ex.”) was the voyage of a lifetime. A gifted cartographer and nautical surveyor, his extensive survey of Narragansett Bay had earned him the respect of his peers and command of the U.S Navy’s Department of Charts and Instruments, while his membership in the Columbian Institute for the Promotion of Arts and Sciences ensured that he was well-acquainted with the leading scientific minds of the time. Even though he was only a Lieutenant, and over the outcries of more experienced officers, Secretary of War Joel Poinsett appointed him commander of the Expedition.

On the morning of August 18, 1838, the expedition left Norfolk. Lieutenant Wilkes commanded the flagship USS Vincennes, herself no stranger to long voyages of exploration, as the first US warship to circumnavigate the globe. Accompanying Vincennes was the sloop of war USS Peacock, commanded by one of Wilkes’ closest friends in the Navy, Lieutenant William Hudson. Accompanying them was USS Porpoise, supply ship USS Relief, and the two schooners USS Flying Fish and USS Sea Gull. Each ship was structurally reinforced and made to be “floating laboratories,” with the latest in scientific equipment for the full crew of scientists, and with space to spare for the specimens they’d be collecting. 

Their route, known only by Wilkes and select officers, called for a “three-year dash around the globe,” with three main destinations: Antarctica, the Fiji Islands, and the mouth of the Columbia River. They would begin by sailing to Madeira, off the coast of Portugal, then sail to Rio De Janeiro while investigating possible locations of shoals in the mid-Atlantic. From there, they would sail to Orange Bay at Cape Horn, at the tip of Chile’s Tierra Del Fuego archipelago. While leaving Peacock and Relief at Cape Horn to allow the scientists to conduct their work, Wilkes would lead a reconnaissance expedition south of the Antarctic circle, going as far as they could before the southern hemisphere winter froze them out. They would then meet up with the rest of the squadron at Valparaiso, Chile, then sail to Sydney, Australia to prepare for their main thrust to Antarctica. 

Valparaiso Bay in 1830 (Museo Histórico Nacional de Chile)

It was on this leg of the journey that the greatest obstacle to the Expedition’s success revealed itself: Charles Wilkes himself. After a nervous breakdown during their stopover in Rio, Wilkes underwent what looked like a radical shift in personality. While Charles Wilkes’ skill as a surveyor suited him well to the voyages’ scientific aims, and his infectious charisma ensured at least a grudging respect from much of the crew, his lack of experience in commanding a ship at sea compared to his nominal subordinates weighed heavily on his psyche. Under the immense pressure of commanding the Expedition, he consciously adopted the persona of a martinet, a strict disciplinarian, to cover for his lack of seagoing experience. 

He became convinced that there were a “cabal” of officers, mostly holdovers from Jones’ appointments, that were conspiring to undermine the expedition. Those officers who had served with him before knew him only as a perfectly genial and easy-going gentleman and were surprised to see him lash out at others. In the years to come, Wilkes would regularly suspend or dismiss officers from the squadron, sending them back to the United States on whatever ship he found that he could put them on. This would prove to be his undoing, as when these officers returned to Washington, they’d come bearing news of Wilkes’ shocking behavior, laying the grounds for his eventual court martial. 

This insecurity expressed itself most obviously in his preoccupation with his rank. While commanding a squadron of this size would ordinarily have merited promotion to Captain, he remained a Lieutenant, ostensibly due to the Secretary’s illness delaying the publication of the promotion list. He demanded to be addressed as Captain, modified his and Hudson’s uniforms to resemble those of a Captain, and even flew the pennant of a Commodore (a Captain commanding a squadron) from Vincennes. He spurned the company of most other officers, limiting his social circle to Lieutenant Hudson and a selection of officers he’d served alongside on the Narragansett Bay survey.

The first southern expedition, which set off February 25, 1839, made it as far south as latitude 70 degrees South, 101 degrees West, just a hundred miles north of what is now called the Palmer Peninsula. This reconnaissance mission, while valuable in terms of coming closest to Antarctica than any other voyage in history, would come at a price. On the return trip north, Sea Gull was separated from Porpoise in a gale and did not make their rendezvous point at Valparaiso by the time the rest of the Squadron arrived. It was presumed lost at sea. Wilkes took this opportunity to “reassign” a Lieutenant to await the lost Sea Gull at Valparaiso and return to the United States when she did not return. Relief had lost her anchors in a storm on the way to Valparaiso; as the ship was the slowest in the squadron anyway, she was ordered to return to the United States carrying not only scientific specimens collected thus far, but many of the other officers who had lost Wilkes’ favor. 

On the voyage west from Valparaiso to Sydney, Wilkes’ inexperience at sea became painfully apparent. In early October, Vincennes spent around a week at anchor in Pago-Pago, a deep natural harbor in Tutuila, what is now American Samoa. While it was easy for a sailing ship to enter the harbor, due to the prevailing trade winds it was extremely difficult to leave. Charles Wilkes’ attempt to guide Vincennes out of the harbor proved disastrous, and he publicly exclaimed that “this was the last” as Vincennes seemed likely to dash on the rocks. Only the quick thinking of their pilot saved the ship from certain doom. Wilkes recovered from this embarrassment by taking out his frustrations on junior officers and sending home one of the expeditions scientists who objected to his behavior.

USS Vincennes in the ice off Antarctica (Peabody Essex Museum)

Their second southern expedition had far greater success. They departed from Sydney on December 26 (Wilkes with a gifted Newfoundland puppy named Sydney at his side), bound for the great Southern Sea. The next two months would see the four ships navigate treacherous waters, clogged with icebergs of all shapes and sizes, and ferocious winter gales. Land was first spotted on January 19, 1849 (according to the logs), Vincennes, Peacock, and Porpoise began a survey of the Antarctic coastline, confirming Antarctica to be a continent, and not just a massive ice sheet as had been assumed thus far. Flying Fish was forced to turn back after the little schooner found herself unable to handle the Antarctic winds. 

Unfortunately, Peacock’s rudder was disabled after her stern collided with an iceberg, disabling her. It was only due to a well-timed gale blowing Peacock away that prevented the poor ship from being crushed by a giant ice sheet that had been shaken loose by the collision. By January 26, after emergency repairs to the rudder, Peacock set sail back to Sydney for repairs.  

USS Peacock in the ice (Drawing by M. Osbourne. Oregon Historical Society Research Library)

On February 14, Vincennes landed a research party on a particularly large iceberg, allowing the crew to disembark and gather samples of rocks and bags of fresh water from the iceberg. On February 21, Wilkes determined that they had explored as far as they could, and they set off back north. The expedition had mapped nearly 1500 miles of Antarctic coastline; this stretch of coastline was later named Wilkes Land in honor of the expedition and its leader. Despite the obstacles thrown in his way by nature, his men, and his own personality, Charles Wilkes had made his name in history as the man who had, for all intents and purposes, discovered the Antarctic continent.

Vincennes crew and dog Sydney on an iceberg (NHHC)

The next leg of the journey would see them trade the frigid Antarctic waters for the balmy tropics of Fiji and Hawaii, and the roaring waters of the Columbia River. Wilkes would continue to broaden America’s knowledge of the natural world, while sowing the seeds of his own destruction. 

Pillow From The Original USS Iowa (BB 4)

By Zach Smyers


When working in the field of history, often times unique and interesting things are discovered while in the process of working on something else. That was the case regarding the pillow from the original battleship USS Iowa (BB 4) when a random drawer was opened at the museum’s collection facility.

USS Iowa (BB4) Pillow, Front. (Photo: Zach Smyers)

The pillow is from 1918 and is from the USS Iowa (BB 4), the first battleship to be named after the 29th state. The pillow is 14 inches in height, 14.5 inches long, and has a depth of 5 inches. It is constructed of felt and leather. The color pattern is black lettering spelling out Iowa on the front with a gold background. On the back of the pillow is a golden eagle over a black background. Decorative pillows like this were popular, but they were not a standard issue item. The pillow was most likely owned by a Sailor who was serving on the battleship Iowa.

Back of the pillow. (Photo: Zach Smyers)

The first battleship Iowa was built in Philadelphia by William Cramp & Sons, with the keel being laid on August 5, 1893. The ship was completed in 1897 and commissioned on the 16th of June in 1897. Weighing in at 11,410 tons, the Iowa was armed with a main battery of four 12-inch guns and a secondary battery of eight 8-inch guns. The ship’s crew consisted of 540 enlisted Sailors, a Marine detachment, and 36 officers. At the time, it was one of the most powerful and advanced warships in the U.S. Navy’s arsenal.

The Iowa slides into the water during the launching ceremony in 1896. (National Archives)

The Iowa first saw combat in the Spanish American War during the bombardment of San Juan, Puerto Rico in May of 1898. On July 3, 1898, the Iowa participated in the Battle of Santiago and assisted with the destruction of three Spanish cruisers. After the war ended in August, the Iowa served with the Navy’s Pacific Squadron which was tasked with protecting U.S. commercial ships operating in Pacific waters. In 1902, the Iowa then transferred to the South Atlantic Squadron, carrying out a similar role in waters off of South America and Africa.

The Battle of Santiago as seen from the USS Iowa (BB 4). (NHHC)

In 1910, the Iowa received a modernization upgrade and went on to serve as a training ship for midshipmen from the U.S. Naval Academy. When the United States officially entered World War I in 1917, the Iowa was tasked with guarding the Chesapeake Bay. After World War I ended in 1918, the Iowa was decommissioned in 1919. Now obsolete compared to the current battleships that were serving in the fleet, the Iowa was converted one final time into a radio-controlled target ship in 1920. In March 1923, Iowa was sunk by the USS Mississippi (BB 41) during a naval gunnery exercise.

USS Iowa (BB 4) underway in 1918. (National Archives)

The discovery of something as simple as a pillow can be the inspiration for a story. Every artifact has a history, and the pillow from the original battleship Iowa is no exception. Often, there isn’t a beginning, middle, and an end regarding the information for a particular artifact. We may not know who owned it, when exactly it was made, or whose collection it belonged to, but that lack of knowledge does not make the artifact unimportant. What we do know is the pillow’s connection to the U.S. Navy and the protection of Hampton Roads during a time of war.

Dedicated to all of the Sailors who served on the USS Iowa (BB 4).

The Battle of the Virginia Capes

 

by Meghan Schill, HRNM Historian

“Should a French fleet now come into Hampton Roads, the British army would, I think, be ours.” - Marquis de Lafayette

"Battle of the Chesapeake" (Naval History and Heritage Command)

This year marks the 250th anniversary of the signing of the Declaration of Independence, and therefore the 250th anniversary of our nation and its armed forces. Throughout the year, we’ll be featuring stories from not only 1776, but all of the American Revolution. Today’s post brings the Revolution right to Hampton Roads’ doorstep. 

By 1781, the Revolution had raged across our new nation from New England to South Carolina. The French had joined the American cause in 1778 with the signing of the Treaty of Alliance. While France sent thousands of infantry troops to help bolster the struggling Continental Army, their largest contribution came in the form of its navy. After spending the years following their defeat in the Seven Years War revitalizing its fleet, the French were suddenly in a position to rival British naval supremacy. In July of 1781, Admiral François Joseph Paul, Comte de Grasse of the French fleet received directives from General Rochambeau to move his vessels from the West Indies to Virginia.

Admiral Comte de Grasse. (Palace of Versailles)

De Grasse immediately headed north with his entire fleet, comprised of twenty-eight ships of the line and four frigates. They arrived on August 30, 1781, and laid anchor between Cape Henry and Cape Charles at the mouth of the Chesapeake Bay. They began at once to unload troops and supplies. By September 4, de Grasse was short four ships of the line, three frigates, and over a thousand officers and sailors as they set out to deliver their goods farther up the James River. Their overall goal? Trap General Cornwallis in Yorktown. Brigadier General Louis le Bègue Duportail stated that "we must take Lord Cornwallis or be all dishonored."

Rear Admiral Thomas Graves (Portrait by Thomas Gainsborough)

The British arrived on the horizon on September 5. Commanded by Rear Admiral Thomas Graves, the British fleet totaled nineteen ships of the line and eight frigates. Graves had been convinced that the French would have no more than twelve ships, and was shocked to find himself suddenly outnumbered. In consequence, the British were slow to maneuver. De Grasse, forced to wait until the tide changed around noon, ordered a lign de vitesse (line of speed) to form a line of battle as quickly as possible, sailing out of the mouth of the Bay to confront the British in open water. At 4:00 pm, Graves gave his ships the order to attack. Two hours of fighting commenced.

Map of the Battle of the Capes (Library of Congress)

The majority of the fighting was done by the vanguards of the two navies. Over the course of the battle, the wind shifted more than 30 degrees, forcing the vanguards closer and closer together, until they were almost within pistol range. Chevalier de Thy, watching the fighting from the rearguard, later wrote that “all that could be seen was fire and smoke on either side.” Eventually, the two navies, exhausted, fought to a stalemate. One French officer aboard the Saint Esprit at the front of the line wrote, “for our part, we were so tired that though within gunshot, the vans no longer fired.”

As night began to fall, both navies separated. The French had sustained major damage to only one ship - the Diademe - while the rest suffered only minimally and were all able to continue fighting if necessary. In contrast, the British had four ships - the Shrewsburg, Intrepid, Montague, and Princessa - damaged badly enough they were unable to stay in a line, and others were in rough shape. As the French fleet resumed its position in the mouth of the Chesapeake, the British remained nearby for a few more days. Eventually, Admiral Graves decided his ships were too badly damaged to mount another attack, and made the fateful decision to return to New York for repairs.

Graves’ retreat was a pivotal moment in the Revolution. With the British fleet gone, General Cornwallis, waiting in Yorktown, was suddenly left abandoned, stranded and isolated from any hope of reinforcements. And as George Washington and Rochambeau marched from New York to Yorktown, Cornwallis found himself surrounded by land and by sea. His surrender, 44 days later on October 19, was inevitable. 

Surrender of Lord Cornwallis at Yorktown (Yale University Art Gallery)

Want to learn more about the Battle of the Capes? The Hampton Roads Naval Museum will be hosting a new exhibit starting September 1 of this year. The project is a celebration of the 250th anniversary of the US Navy, the 400th anniversary of the French Navy, and will feature more information about the battle, the partnership between France and the US during the war, and the two navies’ long history. We hope to see you there!

Book Review, Codename Nemo: The Hunt for a Nazi U-Boat and the Elusive Enigma Machine

by Charles Lachman
Reviewed by Lee Duckworth, HRNM docent

Author Charles Lachman’s book, Codename Nemo: The Hunt for a Nazi U-Boat and the Elusive Enigma Machine, provides a unique perspective of life on board WWII German U-Boats, US Navy ships, and merchantmen. The book reads like a historical novel and relies heavily on personal US and German sailor diaries as the author weaves the story from both Allied and Axis viewpoints.

Lachman gives a thorough history of Germany’s U-505 from pre-commissioning through its current resting place (Museum of Science and Industry, Chicago, IL). He discusses the operational history of the submarine and spends a significant amount of time on each of her three German commanding officers.

The author also details the lives of US Navy sailors who were involved in the search for and ultimate capture of U-505. He devotes several pages to each member of the nine-person boarding party and his action-packed chapters highlight the drama from both sides: the hunter and the hunted.

His characterization of US Navy Captain Dan Gallery (Commanding Officer of USS Guadalcanal (CVE 60), and officer in tactical command of a five-ship task group (TG 22.3), depicts him as a “maverick” and makes one wonder how higher authority allowed him to formulate plans for capture of a U-Boat. This daring and dangerous scheme includes actions that would never be tolerated in today’s Navy: ordering pilots to self-qualify for night carrier landings; allowing his ships’ fuel to get so low that he nearly needs to be towed to port; and seemingly carrying out his own personal quest for capture of a U-Boat. All of this was accomplished without making higher authority completely aware of his actions until they were either already under way or completed.

U-505 sinking (NHHC)

The most riveting chapters of Codename Nemo contain detailed descriptions of the unmatched bravery of the nine-man US Navy boarding party. They unhesitatingly boarded the sinking U-505, not knowing if there were still armed German sailors or booby traps on board, whether they could stop the flooding in the scuttled submarine, or if they could even right her for towing. The extraordinary, risky, and time-critical actions (sometimes just having to guess which valves to turn) in their attempt to stop the progressive flooding make you feel like you are right there alongside them.

Crewmembers of USS Pillsbury, some of the first Sailors to board U-505 (NHHC)

Lachman uses scant official US Navy or German documents in his research and relies almost entirely on diaries or books written by the main participants. Deeper dives into ship’s logs and other official US Navy records might have enhanced his book. He writes little about the actual significance of the capture of the Enigma machine at this stage of the war (mid-1944). Although he alludes to its importance throughout the book, he fails to present any detail about the importance of the capture other than one paragraph where he states it may have shortened the war. This lack of the specific importance of capture of the U-505 enigma machine and code books seemingly lessens the heroics of the US Navy boarding party who risked their lives to recover these items.

Perhaps one of the most remarkable achievements of the US Navy task group is that there wasn’t a single leak from any Sailor about the capture of U-505. The fact that virtually nothing was divulged and Germany and most of the US Navy knew nothing about the U-505 capture is a real testimony to those Sailors.

I recommend Codename Nemo to readers who want a fast-paced account of the audacious plan to hunt, capture, and keep secret one of the most daring actions of WWII.

Book Review: From Yeomanettes to Fighter Jets: A Century of Women in the U.S. Navy

by Randy Carol Goguen
Reviewed by Lee Duckworth, HRNM docent

From Yeomanettes to Fighter Jets covers a century of the role of women in the U.S. Navy as author Randy Carol Goguen paints a vivid canvas of their storied advancement. Her book is divided into four phases: 1917-1947 militarization; 1948-1966 marginalization; 1967-1993 transition; and 1994 to present. Goguen’s book goes into great detail surrounding the economic and political conditions, and cultural and technological changes that both plagued and advanced their cause.

The path to progress for Navy women is highlighted by examples of some unlikely leaders with unique personalities and views that bolstered women’s rights over the course of the century. She opens the book in 1917 with Josephus Daniels, the secretary of the navy who acted independently of the secretary of war and others, including senior navy officers. Daniels took advantage of a gap in law (others later do the same) with the Naval Reserve Act of 1916 which didn’t specify sex as defining eligibility to bring women into the navy. Eventually, 11,880 women served as yeoman (F) during WWI and the author details how the exigency of war prevented others from overriding this new policy.

Four Yeoman (F) in the late 1910s (NHHC)

Though openings were advertised for numerous positions, WWI Navy women were assigned mostly administrative duties. The author’s premise is that new technology, such as the typewriter and telephone, opened opportunities for women and, as there were many unknowns as to how this technology would be used, little prejudice against women had developed. Despite the overall satisfaction of the performance of the yeomen (F), they were rapidly discharged at the end of the war.

Goguen’s research reveals that during the inter-war period, only two offices (Bureau of Aeronautics and Office of the Chief of Naval Operations) were “positive” about allowing women in the Navy. As aviation was a “new” industry, there were no preexisting barriers or traditions in that field to break down. A wide variety of billets were opened to women but they (other than nurses) were not allowed to serve outside the continental United States or aboard vessels or combat aircraft. Additional detail and discussion of the WWII era would have provided a more even balance to the book.

Members of the first class of WAVES to graduate from the Aviation Metalsmith School, at the Naval Air Technical Training Center, Norman, Oklahoma, 1943. (NHHC)

The concept of separate spheres for men and women enjoyed a resurgence in the post-WWII era, marginalizing military women for the ensuing three decades. In June 1948 the first peacetime draft was initiated, with a two percent ceiling established for women in the total force. Several factions wanted to retain women in a “reserve status” while others felt a need for regular commissions. Most of the service leaders supported a regular commission for women, though Congress did not. President Harry Truman signed the 1948 Women’s Armed Service Integration Act, which set permanent status for women in regular components in the armed forces, though they were prohibited from going to sea in ships other than transports and hospital ships. Yet, two years later when the Korean War broke out, an active-duty recall was established which included women.

By the mid-1960s, despite much controversy over the Equal Rights Amendment (ERA), cultural attitudes toward women in the Navy had changed little since 1917. The author goes into great depth as to how Chief of Naval Operations Adm. Elmo Zumwalt Jr. charted a new course for Navy women by expanding opportunities. As the advent of the telephone in the WWI era provided a viable career path for Navy women, development of the Integrated Undersea Surveillance System (IUSS) specialty did the same in the 1970s.

The final section of her book goes into significant detail of the turmoil of the late 1980s and the initiatives and changes to allow women on combat ships and aircraft. During those strained times, Congress, SecNav, CNO, and presidential influence wavered greatly, depending on who was in office. The Tailhook scandal of 1991 demonstrated a catastrophic failure of leadership, yet finally opened the door for Navy women to go to combat.

Airman Ora Howard, Plane Captain, (left), and Airman Grisselle Martinez, perform a routine maintenance on an A-7 Corsair II aircraft, November 1988. (US Navy)

The author delineates the rapid progress in the 1990s and recognition that successful integration could be achieved in units that possessed an excellent command climate and strong leadership. By the early 2000s, successful integration in aircraft and ships was commonplace and warfare specialties became available to women in nearly every area of the U.S. Navy. The integration of women into the Navy succeeded despite the cultural challenges. Set in motion by the exigency of war, progress in the first half of the twentieth century and scandals in the second half led to eventual qualification for sea-going and combat assignments.

CNO Admiral Lisa Francetti (US Navy)

This well researched and written book is a must-read and belongs in the library of every Navy person—man and woman.

The International Naval Review of 1893

By Brenda Hale
HRNM Volunteer

The first International Naval Review (INR) took place in Norfolk, VA, from April 17 to 24, 1893. The April 25, 1893, Norfolk Virginian newspaper reported that the vessels gathered from around the world was “the greatest assembling of warships witnessed in modern times.” The 1893 INR was part of the World’s Fair in Chicago, and the final INR event took place in New York Harbor.

The INR event was part of a World's Fair bill, passed by Congress in 1890, “provided that a naval review of the ships of this and other nations shall be held in the harbor of New York in April, 1893, and that for this purpose they shall rendezvous at Hampton Roads [Norfolk], before proceeding to New York.” The bill went on to say, “That there should be exhibited . . . the functions and administrative faculty of the Government in time of peace, and its resources as a war power.”

A few ships of the 1893 INR

President Grover Cleveland had been handed INR 1893 from President Benjamin Harrison’s previous administration. In Harrison’s fourth Annual Message, December 1892, he praised the Navy, saying, “Our naval officers . . . have responded magnificently to the confidence of Congress and have demonstrated to the world an unexcelled capacity in construction . . . of Great War ships. . . . The ships from our Navy, which will appear in the great naval parade next April, will be a convincing demonstration to the world that the United States is again a naval power.” The 1890 Norfolk Chamber of Commerce said, “The future . . . will see a great ship building boom, and Norfolk will certainly take a lead as a ship building port.”

The 1893 Chicago World’s Fair, titled “World’s Columbian Exposition,” commemorated the 400th anniversary of Christopher Columbus’ explorations in America. Spain sailed models of Columbus’ three ships, Nina, Pinta, and Santa Maria, which accompanied the first INR group of ships from Hampton Roads to New York harbor.

The parades and gaiety of the INR may have been one of the few highlights of President Cleveland's second term. The Norfolk Virginian related, “Thousands went down to Old Point, while large crowds witnessed the great Naval parade from Sewell’s Point and Ocean View.”

The First International Naval Review, painting by Louis Kurt and Alexander Allison (fordlibrarymuseum.org)

The painting above shows a gun salute for Cleveland in the 1893 INR at New York Harbor. Cleveland had embarked on USS Dolphin (PG 24), a U.S. Navy cruiser, commanded by CDR Willard Herbert Brownson. Dolphin was the first U.S. Navy ship to fly the flag of the United States President. Dolphin was a stepping stone in the construction of the three larger steel-hulled, steam-powered protected cruisers (Atlanta, Boston, and Chicago).

USS Dolphin (PG 24) (Navsource.org)

USS Philadelphia, flagship of the 1893 INR (Navsource.org)

USS Philadelphia (C 4), flagship for the INR, had Rear Admiral Bancroft Gherardi at the helm. The Italian American Veterans Museum stated Gherardi was “a versatile officer and distinguished leader in the modern American Navy.” Gherardi commanded INR’s thirteen U.S. ships and oversaw the armada of foreign visitors’ ships as they arrived in Hampton Roads in April 1893. The INR had 30 warships, with the United States’ thirteen ships, and foreign nations brought 17 ships from England, France, Italy, Germany, Russia, Spain, Brazil, and Holland. Argentina went straight to the New York harbor with one ship. There were battleships, gunboats, torpedo boats, and cruisers of various kinds. Historians from the Tesla Society described the naval review, saying, “Never before had the squadrons of England, France, Russia and Germany, of Italy and Spain, in line with those of other empires and monarchies, passed parade before a president of the United States.”

Rear Admiral Bancroft Gherardi (iavmuseum.org)

This first INR was so successful that it continued on various significant U.S. occasions:
Second INR, 1907: Hampton Roads was again the site, in observance of the 300th anniversary of Jamestown, Virginia’s founding. President Theodore Roosevelt reviewed the Jamestown Exposition INR, which laid the groundwork for Naval Station Norfolk.
Third INR, 1957: Hampton Roads hosted, for the 350th anniversary of Jamestown’s founding. President Dwight Eisenhower extended invitations to nations of the North Atlantic Treaty Organization (NATO).
Fourth INR, 1976: New York Harbor hosted “Salute to Maritime Heritage,” reviewed by President Gerald R. Ford as a “most fitting bicentennial salute to our nation's maritime heritage . . . reflected the great hope of all men for world peace and for continued cooperation between the people of all lands to ensure that peace.”
Fifth INR, 1986: Rededication of Statue of Liberty and reviewed by President Ronald Reagan, which brought together naval ships from the U.S. and 13 countries.
Sixth INR, 2000: New York City, reviewed by President Bill Clinton, which coincided with Op Sail 2000.
Seventh INR, July 4, 2026: to be held in New York City on the 250th birthday of the United States of America.