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It began with an interest in lighthouses, an affinity for the Chesapeake Bay area, and a passion for the connections that make history a worthwhile pursuit. The first two elements brought my attention to Fort Carroll Light — a short, wooden structure on the Doomsday List of endangered lights. The pictures revealed it to be anything but romantic or spectacular. It stands abandoned and decaying, overrun by nature, and dwarfed by the heavy industry surrounding it. As I began to research this strangely compelling lighthouse and fort, the connections to Baltimore’s history seemed endless. My subsequent research became a journey through time that revealed much about the city’s place in American history, as well as our willingness to let certain elements of that history fall, quite literally, into ruin.
Contrary to my early assumptions, the lighthouse stood on a man-made, hexagonal island near the mouth of the Patapsco River. Fort Carroll was conceived in 1818 as a reaction to the War of 1812. Due in large part to the efforts of Colonel Joseph G. Totten, Chief of Engineers, Baltimore citizens finally filed a petition to the Senate in 1841 to build a fort on Soller’s Point Flats. Construction originally began in 1847 as part of this “Permanent” or “Third” system of fortresses developed to better protect important port cities from sea-borne attacks. Fort Carroll was to serve as part of a first line of defense for the famed Fort McHenry, which had become overrun by the city it was meant to protect.
The project was supervised by a young Army Corps of Engineers brevet-colonel named Robert E. Lee, who spent three years on the endeavor while residing with his family in Baltimore. The fort was dedicated in the name of the city’s own Charles Carroll, who was at that time the only surviving signer of the Declaration of Independence.
By the coming of the War Between the States, Fort Carroll was only partially completed, and its walls were less than half the height they were designed to be. Work was suspended in 1851, and Lee left the project to become superintendent at West Point in 1852. Soon after, a light was added atop the keeper’s dwelling, and a sixth order Fresnel lens was installed in 1854. By that time, only the keeper and his family were permanent residents of the island. It is interesting to note that this lighthouse was one of the first built after the establishment of the Lighthouse Board, considered to be among the most important events in the history of America’s aids to navigation.
After the Civil War such structures were considered obsolete, but Fort Carroll was retooled and updated during the late 19th century. Three more shore-based forts were built nearby. Forts Carroll, Smallwood, Armistead, and Howard were seen as vital to Baltimore’s defense.
Fort Carroll became a unique hybrid representing various eras in coastal fort construction. After more than doubling its original cost of $1 million, the fort still sat incomplete in 1887. Modern guns were added at the turn of the century, but they came too late to make Fort Carroll viable during the Spanish-American War. The fort was an integral part of Baltimore’s submarine defense system during World War I, as it served as a staging area for the mining of the harbor’s entrance. The fort’s guns were removed between 1917 and 1920. Ultimately, the only shots fired at the fort were when it was later used as a practice range for sub-caliber weapons.
Not surprisingly, the lighthouse was moved several times. In 1875 the instability of the keeper’s dwelling roof required the removal of the light and construction of a small lighthouse on the southwest salient. The lens and fog bell machinery were moved to the new structure, which went into service on May 5 of that year. A new, cozy two-story keeper’s dwelling was built in 1888 at a cost of slightly over $2000.
When the newer guns were added, the lighthouse needed to be moved. It was torn down on October 17, 1898. A temporary light signal was erected until December 30 of that year, when a new lighthouse went into service 100 feet north of the old location, with a newer model fifth order lens replacing the original one. The lighthouse was again moved in 1900, about 100 feet to the south, due to further modifications to the fort. A year later, the casement on which the lighthouse was built was demolished. The now open lower story was repaired, leaving the structure that endures — albeit barely — to this day.
As Fort Carroll entered into its civilian phase, a variety of schemes to utilize the site came about. In 1909, the mayor of Baltimore wanted to erect a statue of Lord Calvert on the island that would rival the Statue of Liberty. Although the site was decommissioned and turned over to the Commerce Department’s Lighthouse Service in 1921, it again came into limited service during World War II. It was used as a holding area for foreign sailors whose ships were decontaminated before entering Baltimore Harbor. Later, there was an idea to place a giant electric “Welcome to Baltimore” sign on the island to welcome incoming ships.
Attempts in 1948 and 1955 to sell the property to the City of Baltimore failed. Eventually, it was sold at public auction to local attorney Benjamin Eisenberg in 1958 for $10,010. Eisenberg wanted to build a casino on the island, but political dealings placed the site within Baltimore County, where gambling is illegal. Since then, the property has been a bit of an albatross around the family’s neck. The fort has twice been leased to local developers, but no work was ever accomplished to restore it.
Years of neglect and outright abandonment have provided opportunities for local wildlife to flourish within this small refuge. Recently, environmental provisions and programs have been established to both preserve and develop the habitat created by this isolated site.
Fort Carroll is a significant part of a new oyster reef restoration project as well as a field site for water quality and habitat monitoring. The fort has also become a desirable nesting site. Hundreds of nests, including those of the black-crowned night heron, cover the island. A large colony of the birds, previously nesting near the Riverside power plant, have apparently moved to the more hospitable environment of Fort Carroll, making it home to the most diverse colony of bird species within 100 miles.
The problem lies in the trees that make up the rookery’s nesting cradles. These peach trees, planted after Eisenberg’s casino idea fell through, may be threatening Fort Carroll’s structural integrity. The quandary has been whether to save the fort or keep the birds.
In some respects, Fort Carroll represents a unique part of history, with connections to an array of other elements of our past. Conversely, it could be portrayed as the epitome of the “Great American Boondoggle.” It serves as a counterpart to Baltimore’s growth as an economic center. Some view it as a hazardous eyesore in the shipping lanes into Baltimore Harbor, while others see an oasis amid the smokestacks and steel dominating the riverbanks. It is a man-made entity that has become a unique and vital “micro-environment” within the Chesapeake Bay. Is Fort Carroll nothing more than a historical missed opportunity? Is it worth exploring the possibility of restoring it for the purpose of both history and environmental education, while simultaneously preserving its thriving natural habitat?
For me, the endangered little lighthouse casts rays of light on local history. But it can unfortunately shed no light on the fort’s future.
For more information you can visit www.SheddingLight.org
This story appeared in the
October 2003 edition of Lighthouse Digest Magazine. The print edition contains more stories than our internet edition, and each story generally contains more photographs - often many more - in the print edition. For subscription information about the print edition, click here.
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