Yesterday, having a day to myself, I visited Annapolis. I
was greatly interested in visiting the old State House on account of the historic
memories that cluster around it. I was shown up in the hall where Washington,
in December, 1783, resigned his commission in the army to the Continental
congress, then in session at this place. His resignation was a very solemn and
formal affair, and as I stood in this venerable hall, my thoughts went back to
those grand old days when our fathers struggled for independence. At the close of
the revolution, Maryland offered to cede Annapolis as the Federal capital, but
it was thought best to select a site on the Potomac river. Annapolis was
originally designed as a great place, being the capital of the state, and
possessing a fine harbor with a great depth of water, and long before Baltimore
was at all noted, was the seat of wealth, refinement and extensive trade; but
it is now chiefly distinguished as the seat of the United States Naval academy.
The state house and Episcopal church are located in the centre of the city, and
from these radiate all the streets.
To the eye of the stranger, the antique, moss-covered and
vine-clad houses, with their deep embrasured windows and peculiar architecture,
present a singular appearance. The Naval academy and Episcopal college present
a striking contrast to the rest of the town. The buildings are large and of modern
style, the grounds around them spacious and tastefully laid out. The Naval
academy, located on the west side of the town, comprises an area of several
acres, enclosed by a high brick wall. The buildings, of which there are several,
are located partly on the water side, the balance on the east side next to the wall.
The wharfage and boat houses are extensive and commodious. On the north side,
and commanding the harbor, is an old brick building with a few port holes, and
mounting a few old iron guns. This they call the fort, and I should suppose a
few shots from one of our gunboats would level it to the ground. The park is beautifully
laid out with drives and walks, and adorned with a great variety of forest and
ornamental trees. The grounds and trees, however, are being sadly damaged by the
soldiers and by driving army wagons across.
Here are also several handsome monuments erected in memory of
departed naval heroes, among which I may mention one erected in honor of the gallant
Capt. Herndon. It is a plain granite shaft, about twenty feet high, and on each
of the four sides is engraved simply the name, Herndon. I noticed this more
particularly, as I remembered the circumstances of his death. He ranked as
lieutenant in the navy, but at the time of his death, in September, 1857, was
in command of the steamer Central America, of the New York and California line.
The Central America was on her passage from Aspinwall for New York, when she
foundered during a terrible storm off Cape Hatteras, and out of 600 persons on
board, only 200 were saved. Capt. Herndon superintended the getting off of as
many of his passengers as he could, and the last words he was heard to utter
were, "1 will never leave the ship until my passengers are all off,"
and standing on the wheel house, went down with his vessel. Brave, gallant
Herndon!
SOURCE: David L. Day, My Diary of Rambles with the
25th Mass. Volunteer Infantry, p. 12-13
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