Years later, Bainbridge was typically blunt in depicting for the Secretary of the Navy what he saw as the Herculean task assigned him in 1812. The yard had been “in a state of perfect chaos. The public property in a state of ruin and decay ... a boat could not approach at certain periods of the tide within five hundred feet of the shore ... it was even exposed to the inroads of the cattle from [the] highway.” Even allowing for Bainbridge’s penchant for the dramatic, his description was accurate. The buildings were too few, too small, and in need of repair. The timber needed to complete the repair of the frigate _Chesapeake_ was decayed beyond use. But most pressing was the need for a large stone wharf and building slip. Here was a naval shipyard that could not service a sloop-of-war, let alone build a large frigate or ship-of-the-line. Small vessels could tie up at the modest wooden wharf, but the yard had to rent private wharves for repairing warships. _Chesapeake_ had been languishing since 1809 in a rented berth at $1500 a year. The commandant’s hilltop house surveyed 25 acres of scattered buildings and grassy tidal flats directly across the “stream” (the Charles River) from Boston. There was a marine barracks, a parade ground, carpenter and blacksmith shops, a timber shed, a small hospital, a saltwater timber dock, and piles of cannon, shot, iron, and ballast. The facility Bainbridge took over in 1812 was in truth more supply depot than shipyard. So why, after his exploits aboard _Constitution_, when another ship command and the chance for further glory were his for the asking, did Bainbridge return to Charlestown? Because he had also asked to command the powerful 74-gun ship-of-the-line the yard would build, and he wanted to oversee construction. On resuming command in March 1813 he lobbied again for a wharf and building slip. As a well-known ship’s captain he was used to getting the attention of the Navy Department. But his sphere of activity had shifted from quarterdeck to desktop, and he had to watch coveted funds go to ships bound for sea. He was not, however, one to hold his tongue. He bombarded the Secretary of the Navy with letters (the tone of which, in this and other matters, sometimes bordered on sarcasm) until the wharf and slip were finally begun in April 1813. After the laying of the 74’s keel in May, Bainbridge was relentless in his requests for more improvements—a navy store, capstans for hauling out ships, “shears” (a simple crane) for installing masts, a ropewalk. But his real passion was the great ship he could watch taking shape from his window. He even suggested the name: _Independence_. Bainbridge chafed to “give John Bull an opportunity of testing the strength of an American 74”—especially after _Chesapeake_ had finally left the yard in June only to be captured practically within sight of Boston by the British frigate _Shannon_.