Through the Perilous Fight Page 10

  THE ROAD TO NOTTINGHAM, SUNDAY, AUGUST 21

  At daylight, the British began their second day of march. Soldiers sang as the army’s drummers and fifers played the chorus from Handel’s Judas Maccabaeus:

  See the conquering hero comes

  Sound the trumpet, beat the drums

  The open fields and countryside of the first day’s march gave way to thick woods, sheltering the men from the rapidly warming sun. The Light Brigade again led the way, on the lookout for American militia that the turncoat guides warned were in the woods ahead. Spotting a glitter of arms, Gleig and his men crept up on two men sitting under a tree dressed in black coats and armed with muskets and bayonets. With great innocence the men insisted they were merely squirrel hunters. “When I desired to know whether they carried bayonets to charge the squirrels, … they were rather at a loss for a reply; but they grumbled exceedingly when they found themselves prisoners,” Gleig wrote.

  Cockburn’s naval force continued apace upriver, and at midday, he and Ross met at a ferry house opposite Lower Marlboro to confer on plans while the exhausted troops rested for several hours. The movement resumed at 2 p.m., and by late afternoon the two-pronged assault approached the town of Nottingham.

  NOTTINGHAM, EARLY EVENING, SUNDAY, AUGUST 21

  Colonel Monroe and his dragoons rode into Nottingham shortly before 5 p.m., just ahead of the British. The old Patuxent tobacco port was empty, save for a handful of militiamen who had stayed to defend the town. Monroe had abandoned his plans to scout the Potomac, upon learning that morning that the British were advancing up the Patuxent. He hoped to find Barney’s flotilla in Nottingham, but the commodore was long gone. Barney, one step ahead of the enemy, had moved the previous day seven miles to Pig Point, the farthest upriver he could possibly take his boats. The flotilla’s retreat prompted most residents who had not already left to abandon Nottingham, some departing so quickly they left their chairs pushed back from tables and bread in their ovens.

  Monroe was at first unsure if he had arrived ahead or behind the enemy, but the answer quickly came from around a river bend, where he saw three British barges approaching town. Encouraged by the apparent small size of the invading force, Monroe scribbled a dispatch for General Winder: “The enemy are now within four hundred yards of the shore. There are but three barges at hand, and the force in view is not considerable.” Monroe breezily suggested Winder rush up some militia to cut off the enemy rear.

  But before Monroe could send the dispatch, he was compelled to add a postscript, striking a less confident tone: “P.S. Ten or twelve more barges in view. There are but two muskets in town, and a few scattering militia.” At 5 p.m., Monroe resignedly added another note: “Thirty or forty barges are in view.”

  Monroe’s dragoons fired a few futile shots at the lead boats, sparking a barrage of return fire. General Ross, reconnoitering on horseback at the head of his column, rushed forward with several officers almost into the arms of Monroe’s cavalry. The secretary’s escape was just as narrow. The army’s advance guard moved up quickly on the heels of Ross, forcing the Americans to flee out the north end of town as the British—who had not the faintest notion that the secretary of state was one of the American horsemen—entered from the south.

  Ross and Cockburn were no less disappointed than Monroe to find Barney’s flotilla gone. With darkness approaching, the British halted for the night. Ross remained in Nottingham with his army camped in protective positions outside the town, while Cockburn’s boats anchored nearby in the Patuxent. Informants reported the flotilla had relocated to Pig Point. The hunt for Barney would resume in the morning.

  THE WOODYARD, SUNDAY NIGHT, AUGUST 21

  Colonel Monroe raced with his dragoons through the night to the Woodyard, the American mustering site. The District militia, after a hot and fatiguing march on Sunday, had arrived after dusk and was camped nearby, joined by a cavalry squadron and 300 regulars from the U.S. 36th and 38th regiments.

  Around 11 p.m., Monroe flew into camp and rushed to meet General Winder, who called his top commanders together to hear the secretary’s report. The enemy, Monroe said, was only twelve miles away at Nottingham “in considerable force, both by land and water.” He guessed they numbered 6,000.

  Winder ordered his troops ready to march to meet the enemy. At 2 a.m., the exhausted men were roused with reveille, tents were struck, and baggage wagons loaded. All 1,800 men were put under arms and awaited sunrise.

  WASHINGTON, PREDAWN, MONDAY, AUGUST 22

  At the President’s House, Madison was awoken at 4:40 a.m. to receive the latest report from Monroe. The secretary warned that the enemy’s goal “almost certainly” was the capital. Writing immediately in reply, Madison said it seemed “extraordinary” that such a small and ill-equipped British army would try to take Washington, particularly without cavalry. Reflecting further, the president added this thought: “He may however count on the effect of boldness & celerity on his side, and the want of precaution on ours. He may be bound also to do something, & therefore to risk everything.”

  NOTTINGHAM, DAWN, MONDAY, AUGUST 22

  Admiral Cockburn’s barges were in motion at first light Monday morning, resuming their course upriver in pursuit of Barney. Ross’s army was soon moving as well, toward Upper Marlboro, a village ten miles up the road. The road would take the troops inland away from the protection of the British main fleet, now twenty miles distant.

  The little army marched up a sunken road, with a luxuriant canopy of trees providing blissful relief from the heat. By 8:30 a.m. they approached St. Thomas’s Church, an old brick colonial chapel. Still without cavalry, Ross was utterly unaware that the vanguard of the American army lay just ahead.

  ODEN’S FARM, 8:30 A.M., MONDAY, AUGUST 22

  Peering out the second-floor bedroom window of Benjamin Oden’s brick farmhouse, General Winder and Colonel Monroe saw the lead elements of the British army approaching. The enemy had reached a key road junction. One road led north to Upper Marlboro, and another, the most direct route to Washington, led to the American positions at the Woodyard. The advancing British skirmished with Winder’s cavalry and followed the retreating dragoons along the Woodyard fork, toward the Oden farmhouse.

  Winder and Monroe watched with mounting excitement as the British cautiously probed down the road, coming to within a mile and a quarter. This could be Winder’s chance. He had positioned 300 of his best men—including Major Peter’s Georgetown Artillery, Captain John Davidson’s light infantry company, and Stull’s riflemen, now armed with muskets—about two miles down the road in a defensive position. The rest of the American army was marching from the Woodyard and would soon be in a position to support an attack. “I entertained a hope to [give] the enemy a serious check,” Winder said. He rushed back to make sure his forces were ready.

  PIG POINT, MARYLAND, 11 A.M., MONDAY, AUGUST 22

  Cockburn pushed upriver for Pig Point, confident Barney was trapped. But the hamlet, named for the high-quality pig iron shipped from the site, was proving difficult to reach. With the wind blowing downriver and the channel narrowing, Cockburn continued with the small boats, leaving the larger tenders to follow as they could. At 10 a.m., one mile below Pig Point, Cockburn landed the Royal Marines under Captain John Robyns on the river’s east bank, looking for any troops that might be protecting the flotilla.

  Approaching Pig Point, Cockburn spotted the broad pendant of Scorpion, Barney’s flagship, and behind it a long line of ensigns and pendants flying on the masts of the American fleet. The sight at long last of Barney’s flotilla exhilarated the sailors, and the admiral ordered his boats forward at full speed. “Here, then, was the boasted flotilla; we had brought them to bay, and in a few minutes we should see what they were made of,” recalled Lieutenant Scott, Cockburn’s aide. The admiral raced ahead in his gig, leading the attack.

  The first sign that something was amiss came as Cockburn closed on Scorpion and saw that it was on fire. Moments later, the sloop
exploded. Cockburn instantly realized the whole flotilla had been rigged for destruction. The boats were lined up bow to stern stretching more than a quarter mile up the narrow river, with a train of gunpowder running from vessel to vessel. They exploded in a succession of blasts until the last boat, holding the flotilla’s magazine, blew up with a tremendous concussion. “It was a grand sight; one vast column of flame appeared to ascend and lose itself in the clouds,” recalled Scott.

  “Here, then, was the boasted flotilla.”

  Joshua Barney’s sketch showing a barge for his Chesapeake flotilla.

  The British sailors, who had rushed the flotilla with visions of glory, were crestfallen. “[A] look of blank dismay pervaded the hardy tars … and all was disappointment and despair,” wrote Midshipman Robert Barrett. Beyond the lost glory, they had hoped to capture the boats to use in future attacks along American coast. Only one of Barney’s gunboats failed to explode, and the British sailors hurried to secure it, along with thirteen abandoned merchant vessels that had been hiding above the flotilla.

  Cockburn professed satisfaction. “[O]ut of the seventeen vessels which composed this formidable and so much vaunted flotilla, sixteen were in quick succession blown to atoms,” Cockburn wrote that evening to Cochrane.

  But Barney, accompanied by the bulk of his fighting force, had escaped.

  “The capture of Washington was now the avowed object of our invasion.”

  March of the British Army from Benedict to Washington.

  CHAPTER 5

  Be It So, We Will Proceed

  THE WOODYARD, MONDAY, AUGUST 22

  By noon Monday, Joshua Barney and his band of flotillamen had been on the move for much of the previous twenty-four hours, racing cross-country through thick woods and dense cedar thickets. After resting Sunday night near the village of Upper Marlboro, they took the road to the Woodyard Monday morning, hoping to join Winder’s army.

  To speed their escape, the men had abandoned almost everything on the boats, including the flotilla guns, personal belongings, and bedding. Some had even lost their shoes. The skeleton crew of 120 men left behind under Lieutenant Solomon Frazier had instructions to destroy the flotilla once the British attacked and then try to escape to rejoin Barney, but “by no means” to let the American boats fall into enemy hands.

  Barney had reached the Woodyard when a succession of explosions rocked the Patuxent valley at noon, and black smoke rose in the sky. Frazier had carried out his instructions well, but for Barney it was a bittersweet moment.

  At the American camp, the commodore was delighted to find that Navy Secretary Jones had sent him a contingent of 110 U.S. Marines and five large artillery pieces under the command of Captain Samuel Miller. With the arrival of Barney and the marines, the American force now numbered more than 2,500 men, including cavalry and twenty pieces of artillery.

  But Barney was astonished to discover that the army, which had been advancing toward the enemy, was preparing to retreat. General Winder had abandoned his plans to give the enemy a check, fearing his force was too small.

  Some of Winder’s senior commanders, including Major Peter, were aghast. “Our officers said it was a precipitate retreat, and I thought so too,” wrote a soldier with Davidson’s light infantry.

  The unnerving sound of Barney’s flotilla being blown to bits did nothing to change Winder’s mind. The flotillamen and marines fell in with the rest of the force, marching to the strategic road junction at Old Fields, five miles to the rear, where Winder would position the troops between the British and the capital and wait for reinforcements.

  UPPER MARLBORO, MARYLAND, 2 P.M., MONDAY, AUGUST 22

  Ross, too, had turned away from battle. His scouts could see the American column, which they underestimated at 1,500 men, retreating toward Washington. The British commander wanted to avoid piecemeal fights in favor of a decisive battle where he could destroy the entire American force.

  Ross used the opportunity to execute a perfect feint, turning west toward the Oden farmhouse and advancing on the road to Washington. But after pausing for an hour, he doubled back and took the north road toward Upper Marlboro. This route would keep him close to the Patuxent and the protection of Cockburn’s fleet, while still allowing an attack on Washington. It also kept open the possibility that the British were targeting Annapolis, or even Baltimore. That would keep the Americans guessing.

  Hearing tremendous explosions from the Patuxent valley, Ross dispatched a party on horseback carrying rockets toward the river to assist Cockburn if needed. But word of the flotilla’s destruction quickly arrived, and the British confidently continued their march, reaching Upper Marlboro around 2 p.m.

  The homesick soldiers found themselves transported back to Old England by the idyllic village of eighty elegant and neat houses nestled between green hills. Graceful swells of land were laid out with fields of corn, hay, and tobacco, broken up by patches of old forest. It all looked like home, down to the flocks of sheep grazing in the meadows.

  The favorable impression of Upper Marlboro was furthered by the hospitality of Dr. William Beanes, who was among a group of citizens who greeted the British under a flag of truce. The sixty-five-year-old physician, a major landowner and owner of a gristmill, was the leading citizen of Upper Marlboro. His home, Academy Hill, built with proceeds from his flourishing medical practice, was the nicest in town, and Ross selected it as his headquarters.

  Beanes was a staunch Federalist, heartily opposed to Madison and the war, and, according to the British, made little effort to conceal his feelings. His Scottish brogue gave his visitors the impression that he was an emigrant to the United States, though he was a third-generation American and patriot who as a young surgeon during the revolution had treated wounded Continental Army troops in Philadelphia.

  Beanes by nature was a generous host, and as such, bottles emerged from the doctor’s famous wine cellar. “There was nothing about his house or farm to which he made us not heartily welcome,” wrote Gleig, who received a bottle of milk from the doctor. Beanes was willing to sell the British goods, too, including horses and provisions.

  While the army camped comfortably in a large green field outside town, Ross settled in at Academy Hill to ruminate on what to do next.

  WASHINGTON, MONDAY AFTERNOON, AUGUST 22

  Ross’s feint toward Washington had fooled Colonel Monroe, among others. Leaving the Oden farm, the secretary of state dashed off a note to Madison at 9 a.m. and went to scout elsewhere, not realizing that the British would veer toward Upper Marlboro. “The enemy are in full march for Washington,” Monroe wrote. “Have the materials prepared to destroy the bridges.” He signed his name, and then added a postscript: “You had better remove the records.”

  Monroe’s message, which arrived in Washington Monday afternoon, tipped the nervous city into full-fledged alarm. “The tone of this dispatch was certainly well calculated to create a panic … as much so as if it had been briefly conveyed in the four words, ‘Run for your lives!’ ” Major John Williams later wrote.

  The horrors of Hampton and Havre de Grace a year earlier had not been forgotten. Women and children filled the streets of Washington, carrying bedding, clothes, and furniture from their homes. Most were on foot, as the military had seized nearly every wagon in town. A visiting New York businessman helped carry refugees. “I was compelled to purchase a horse and gig as stages, hacks, carts or wagons cannot be procured for love or money,” he wrote Monday evening. “I have just returned from taking a load of children eight miles out of town, and the whole distance the road was filled with women and children. Indeed I never saw so much distress in my life as today.”

  At the President’s House, Madison was fatalistic. “I fear not much can be done more than has been done to strengthen the hands of Genl. W[inder],” he replied to Monroe. The president gave orders to remove government papers, as Monroe suggested, though many public officials had already begun packing.

  Secretary of Navy Jones, antici
pating that wagons would be in short supply, lined up boats to carry off the navy’s valuables. Three clerks spent Sunday at the Navy Department headquarters packing trunks with records, books, charts, instruments, and paintings, which were loaded onto two riverboats to be taken up the Potomac. Mordecai Booth, the senior clerk at the Navy Yard, searched frantically all over town Monday for wagons to carry off barrels of gunpowder, with little luck. The clerk tried to seize three wagons that had been hired to carry off private property, but the men angrily refused to give up their paying job. “[T]hey made us of such language, as was degrading to gentlemen,” Booth complained. The men rode off, ignoring the clerk’s commands to stop. Booth finally returned to the Navy Yard at sunset with five wagons, which were loaded the next morning with 125 barrels of powder and taken to Virginia.

  At the Senate, Lewis Machen, a twenty-four-year-old clerk, anxiously awaited instruction on safeguarding the body’s papers. Congress was out of session, and the principal clerk was out of town, leaving only Machen and another young clerk manning the office. By noon Sunday, Machen could wait no longer and told his colleague he would “take the responsibility on myself.” He obtained a horse-drawn wagon only by threatening government seizure, and with the help of the driver, loaded it with the most valuable books and papers. They took off at sunset for Machen’s farm, eight miles away in Prince George’s County, Maryland. Under the groaning load, a wagon wheel broke before they made it out of town. Machen stole a wheel from an empty blacksmith’s shop and continued, but two miles short of the farm, the wagon overturned and the records spilled onto the road. It was several hours more before they were able to reload the wagon and reach Machen’s farm.