Through the Perilous Fight Read online

  Cockburn simply ignored the note. After all, Cochrane’s message was not a direct order. He was not about to turn back now, notwithstanding “the halter which this note placed about his neck.” Cockburn immediately issued orders for a force of 350 men, including sailors, the Colonial Marines, and a Royal Marine rocket brigade, to march from Mount Calvert and join the army.

  Cockburn sent a note back to Cochrane informing him of the decision to push on to the capital, painting it as Ross’s idea all along. “I find he is determined … to push on towards Washington, which I have confident hopes he will give a good account of,” Cockburn wrote. “I shall accompany him & of course afford him every assistance in my power.” He made no mention at all of Cochrane’s message.

  Cockburn helped steer the ship, but the decision, ultimately, was Ross’s. The failure of the Americans to mount any challenge as he marched to within sixteen miles of the capital persuaded the general to continue.

  To reach the capital from Upper Marlboro, the British would have to cross the Eastern Branch of the Potomac—today known as the Anacostia River—at one of three points. The southernmost route led to the main crossing, the Eastern Branch Bridge. A fork in the road led to the lesser-used upper bridge, about two miles north. But the British could expect both bridges would be destroyed if they approached the city, leaving them unable to cross the wide river.

  Ross chose to cross at the third and northernmost bridge, at the village of Bladensburg, located at a critical road juncture on the northeast side of Washington. There the Eastern Branch narrowed considerably and split into two smaller, easily fordable branches. The British would be slowed if the bridge was blown, but they might not be stopped.

  One road from Upper Marlboro led directly to Bladensburg, about fifteen miles away. But Ross chose a more southerly, circuitous route. It would take the British through the American camp at Old Fields, providing the British an opportunity to attack before they reached Bladensburg. More important, the southern route disguised whether the British intended to assault Fort Washington on the Potomac, or attack Washington.

  At 2 p.m., bugles and drums sounded and officers ordered the troops to form up. The men gave three cheers and began marching with the light infantry in the lead. Wrote Gleig, “The capture of Washington was now the avowed object of our invasion.”

  OLD FIELDS, MORNING, TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

  General Winder believed the pieces were falling into place to deliver a crushing defeat to the British army. Prisoners had confirmed that the enemy would not move anytime soon from Upper Marlboro, giving him time to prepare an attack. The Maryland militia had arrived in Bladensburg, with about 1,350 troops under the command of Brigadier General Tobias E. Stansbury. The crack 5th Maryland Regiment, Private Kennedy’s unit, was expected anytime with 800 more men. Another 800 men with 80 horses under Colonel William Beall were marching from Annapolis. Altogether, Winder would have more than 6,000 men.

  Winder wanted to unite his force near Upper Marlboro and assail the enemy the following morning from the heights around town. Winder described his intentions to Madison and his cabinet, who appeared satisfied, and he put the plan in motion. Winder sent out an advance force of 300 troops under Major Peter with instructions to move toward Upper Marlboro to reconnoiter the enemy. The American commander also sent orders to Brigadier General Stansbury in Bladensburg to move his Maryland militia troops toward Upper Marlboro and take a position outside the town. At noon, Winder left his army with General Walter Smith, the District militia commander, and rode toward Bladensburg with several troops of cavalry, intending to intercept Stansbury on the road to Upper Marlboro and hurry on the forces.

  After a quick meal at the Williams farm, the president, accompanied by Armstrong and Jones, departed Old Fields at 2 p.m. to ride back to Washington.

  GEORGETOWN, TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

  Arriving at his home on Bridge Street, Francis Scott Key prepared to volunteer his services to the District militia. He oversaw the loading of his valuables into wagons to be sent out of town, and arranged for a friend to care for his and Randolph’s papers, as well as Randolph’s gun. Catching up on the latest reports from the field, Key was relieved to hear that the British were holding at Upper Marlboro. He dashed off a quick note to Randolph, reporting that the crisis might be over.

  “There has been a great alarm here but I believe we are safe now,” Key wrote. “If the enemy had come it might have been otherwise. The last certain [reports] state them to be at Upper Marlboro & I presume they will not come this way now.”

  ROAD TO UPPER MARLBORO, EARLY AFTERNOON, TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

  But the British were not holding at Upper Marlboro. Major Peter had scarcely approached the outskirts of the village with the American advance force of 300 men when his scouts reported that the enemy was advancing toward the Americans.

  A group of British officers suddenly appeared on the summit of a nearby hill, within range of Stull’s rifle company. Peter ordered Stull to “give those red-coat gentlemen a shot.” The entire company leveled its weapons and fired, but missed. The British party, which included General Ross, quickly retreated down the hill. Peter blamed the poor shooting on inaccurate muskets issued to Stull’s rifle company. “Had this company been armed with rifles, those officers must have fallen, and with it the defeat of their project,” he later said.

  But there was no time for regrets. The British moved forward in large numbers, firing on the smaller American force. Peter narrowly escaped capture and organized a fighting retreat.

  At the American camp, Brigadier General Smith was alerted of the enemy’s approach. He and Commodore Barney swiftly formed the troops in a line extending a quarter mile on each side of the road. Barney set up on the right with his heavy artillery, along with the marines and regulars, while the District militia set up on the left. It was a strong position, with the big guns well situated.

  Winder was still en route to Bladensburg to orchestrate his planned attack when he was overtaken by Major McKenney. The news of the enemy advance shattered Winder’s grand plan to destroy the British at Upper Marlboro. “[P]utting spurs to his horse, we galloped back to camp together,” McKenney wrote.

  At Old Fields, the troops awaited the British in surprisingly good spirits and ready to fight. By late afternoon, the British were reported to be only three miles away.

  But Winder arrived before the British. As daylight faded, he inspected the troop lines. He complimented Smith on the arrangement and then ordered the men to stand down. The British, he feared, would attack that night, when the American artillery superiority would be lost, and the inexperienced militia might disintegrate. Winder was skittish about fighting in the dark after his own experience being taken prisoner in a night fight on the Niagara frontier. To the dismay of many of his men, Winder ordered a retreat—his second in two days.

  The decision was defensible; indeed, a night attack was exactly what Ross contemplated at that moment. What was inexplicable was Winder’s decision on where to retreat. One road from Old Fields led up to Bladensburg and from there back down to Washington, while a second road led directly to Washington across the lower bridges. Assuming the two lower bridges were destroyed, the British would have to go through Bladensburg to get to Washington. But Winder fretted about blowing the bridges unnecessarily. If he retreated to Bladensburg, he worried, the British might attack Fort Washington or Annapolis.

  The frazzled Winder was not thinking clearly. Five days and nights of crisis had left him in a “wearied and exhausted state,” he acknowledged. Winder’s decision reflected this. He would march his army back into Washington to defend a bridge that could be blown up by a handful of men, and leave the road to Bladensburg wide open.

  A half hour before sunset, the troops marched for Washington, abandoning their strong position at Old Fields, and leaving behind nothing but hastily destroyed casks of flour and whisky.

  PRESIDENT’S HOUSE, LATE AFTERNOON, TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

  At the P
resident’s House, Dolley Madison was packing. A new note had arrived from the president, much more “alarming” than the one he had sent earlier in the day. Learning of the British advance, Madison reported that the enemy seemed stronger than first thought and might attack Washington “with the intention of destroying it.” He warned Dolley to be “ready at a moment’s warning” to flee the city.

  A flood of residents was already leaving. Eleanor Jones, wife of the secretary of the navy, sent Dolley a polite note canceling plans to attend a social engagement at the President’s House Tuesday evening with her husband and niece. “In the present state of alarm and bustle of preparation for the worst that may happen, I imagine it will be more convenient to dispense with the enjoyment of your hospitality today,” wrote Jones, who was herself packing.

  Canceling a party was a rare concession to the war, but unavoidable this time. Social events were the trademark of Dolley Madison’s President’s House, and she had insisted they continue after war had been declared. Her weekly open house, known as the “Wednesday drawing room,” had given a democratic tone to the Madison presidency, attracting guests of all political persuasions and livelihoods: congressmen, businessmen, federal officials, diplomats, or anyone with a reputable connection. Madison usually sat unobtrusively in a corner, waiting “like a spider in his web,” quietly discussing the topics of the day with a small circle of men, while Dolley was the center of attention. Some found her beautiful; others not so. Before the war, British diplomat Francis James Jackson labeled her “fat and forty but not fair.” All were in agreement that her Paris-accented fashion—including an ermine-trimmed robe of pink satin and a white velvet turban with nodding ostrich plumes—was unique to Washington.

  Dolley, from an old Virginia family of Quakers, was a young widow living in Philadelphia with her two-year-old son in 1794 when Madison, then serving in Congress, spotted her. Dolley was bemused by the interests of the “great little Madison,” as she called him, a man seventeen years older and several inches shorter than her. But they wed after a quick courtship, and their marriage developed into a great love and partnership.

  Dolley proved to be a perfect political wife. Warm-hearted and genial, she could remember anyone’s name and story, and was always able to make a visitor feel special. Much as she had redecorated the President’s House, she had remade the role of the first lady from being the wife of the president into a semi-official office. She was dubbed “the Presidentress” by the Intelligencer, and more regally, “our Queen Dolla lolla” by Rosalie Stier Calvert, a Federalist. Dolley served as Madison’s ambassador of goodwill, making calls around the city in her carriage and making friends of every stripe.

  That goodwill seemed to have vanished as the British approached, Dolley would write. “Disaffection stalks around us.”

  WASHINGTON, EVENING, TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

  James Madison arrived in Washington from Old Fields early Tuesday evening, surprised and chagrined to learn that Winder’s army was not far behind him. At the President’s House, there was little time—and even less good news—to reassure Dolley about Washington’s safety.

  A stream of visitors stopped by the mansion. Colonel George Minor, who had just arrived with a regiment of 700 militia from Northern Virginia, told the president that his men lacked arms and ammunition. Madison told him to report to Secretary of War Armstrong, who “would have everything promptly arranged to my satisfaction.” The colonel went straight to Armstrong’s quarters a few blocks from the President’s House on Pennsylvania Avenue, but when he requested weapons, the secretary cut him short. “He said that was out of the question; that it would be time enough in the morning,” Minor wrote.

  As far as Armstrong was concerned, the presidential rebuke he had received ten days earlier had relieved him of any responsibility for the crisis. The war secretary told Treasury Secretary George Campbell, who lived in the same boardinghouse, that Madison had chosen General Winder as his commander, and Armstrong had no intention of offering advice unless the president specifically asked for it.

  Winder, riding ahead of his troops, crossed the Eastern Branch Bridge and went straight to the President’s House, where he met with Madison around 9 p.m. and “informed him of the then state of things.” The president’s response is unrecorded, but Winder did not stay long.

  News of the retreat shattered what little confidence remained in town. “I cannot find language to express the situation of the women and children, who are running the streets in a state bordering on distraction; their husbands, fathers and brothers all under arms, scarce a man to be seen in the city,” a witness wrote at 1 a.m.

  Margaret Bayard Smith was awoken by a friend pounding on her door. “The enemy are advancing, our own troops are giving way on all sides and are retreating to the city,” he yelled. “Go, for Gods sake go.” The family immediately rose, loaded a wagon, and fled north into Maryland.

  That night, James and Dolley Madison slept in the President’s House for the last time.

  BLADENSBURG, NIGHT, TUESDAY, AUGUST 23

  Six miles northeast of the capital, the scene was no less chaotic. The men of the 5th Maryland Regiment stumbled into Bladensburg at sunset Tuesday, covered in dust and sweat. Their glorious parade from Baltimore on Sunday seemed a distant memory. After several stops and starts owing to Winder’s indecisiveness, they had rushed to Bladensburg through scorching heat and clouds of dust.

  They joined Stansbury’s brigade on Lowndes Hill, which commanded the roads leading into town on the likely British avenue of approach. Stansbury had stopped his move to Upper Marlboro that afternoon and rushed back to Bladensburg after getting word of the British advance. The 5th Maryland was a welcome addition to Stansbury’s brigade, bringing his strength to around 2,100 men, but even so, the Maryland militia now in Bladensburg was by no means a formidable fighting force. Stansbury’s two regiments were largely untrained, inexperienced militia from Baltimore County. The 5th Maryland, for all its élan, was dead tired and rather green itself.

  Private John Pendleton Kennedy and his well-to-do companions from the 5th Maryland set up camp and sent a hired black servant to forage. He returned with two chickens and some candles stolen from Stansbury’s camp. Kennedy’s feet were swollen from the march, so he took off his boots and put on his dancing pumps. After smoking cigars around the campfire, the men turned in.

  Around midnight, Colonel Monroe, the peripatetic secretary of state, showed up in camp with alarming news. Once again, much of it was exaggerated or just flat wrong. Monroe passed along an unconfirmed rumor that Winder was missing and that “it was feared he was taken” prisoner.

  The secretary advised Stansbury “to fall forthwith” on the enemy rear guard at Upper Marlboro. It may have been Monroe’s best advice of the campaign—an attack on the British rear might have prompted Ross to break off his advance for fear of being cut off from his ships. But Stansbury, believing his ill-trained and exhausted men were in no condition to launch a night attack, turned down the colonel’s suggestion.

  Monroe dashed off again, this time back to Washington. He had barely disappeared when nervous pickets stationed on the road to Upper Marlboro fired several muskets in quick succession. In Private Kennedy’s tent, the men heard the rapid beating and long roll from the drums summoning the whole camp to arms. Someone absconded with their light, and the men struggled to dress in the dark. Kennedy sallied out of the tent in his dancing pumps. Cavalry patrols found no sign of the enemy, and at 2 a.m. Stansbury ordered the men to return to their tents.

  A half hour later, Stansbury was shocked to receive a message from Winder informing him that he had retreated from Old Fields into Washington, and instructing him to “resist the enemy as long as possible” should they move toward Bladensburg. Winder had abandoned the Maryland militia, leaving its right flank and rear uncovered.

  Stansbury, a prominent Baltimore politician and longtime militia commander with no combat experience, called an immediate emergency council of war in
his tent with his senior commanders. Among them were William Pinkney, Madison’s former attorney general and the man who had drafted the declaration of war against Britain. Pinkney, one of the finest attorneys in the land, had raised a volunteer rifle battalion from Baltimore. But he had not signed up for a suicide mission. Along with the other commanders he was incredulous that Winder expected their raw and tired militia, deprived of any support, to fight a veteran British force they estimated at three times their size.

  The officers unanimously agreed that Stansbury should ignore Winder’s order and instead withdraw from Bladensburg and retreat closer to Washington. It meant abandoning the good defensive position on Lowndes Hill, where volunteers from Washington and Bladensburg had dug extensive earthworks in recent days. But Stansbury and his commanders did not want to be caught by the British on the east side of the river.

  Stansbury issued orders to strike tents. The men, who had barely settled back into their tents after the false alarm, marched into the night again. At 3:30 a.m., they crossed the bridge and moved out of Bladensburg.

  The soldiers deemed too fatigued to fight were deprived again of rest. Every time the column stopped for a moment, whole platoons lay down in the dusty road and dozed till the officers gave word to move on. “Nothing could keep us awake,” recalled Kennedy, still in his pumps. “I slept as I walked.”

  WASHINGTON, EARLY MORNING, WEDNESDAY, AUGUST 24

  The march of General Winder’s army back to Washington had dissolved into a panicked run. Crossing the Eastern Branch Bridge late in the night, the troops set up camp in the city on heights overlooking the crossing. The air was raw, and men huddled around fires, seeking what rest they could. They had been marched back and forth for four days in burning, sultry heat, sleeping at night without cover. Many had not eaten in forty-eight hours.