Through the Perilous Fight Page 30

  WASHINGTON, SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 11

  In the capital, President Madison and James Monroe—the one-man secretary of war, secretary of state, and military district commander—were doing their best to show the government back in control. On Saturday, Madison and Monroe toured the ruins of Fort Washington, stepping over the mounds of sandstone block, bricks, and timber turned to rubble when the 3,300 pounds of gunpowder in the magazine had exploded.

  Monroe ordered Major Pierre L’Enfant, the French engineer, to oversee the immediate construction of a new, stronger fort on the site. The Intelligencer lauded the decision. “The early and vigilant attention of the government to this object is a pledge of their determination that hostile tread shall never again pollute the soil of this district,” the paper declared, too loyal to point out that it would have been wiser to strengthen the fort before the British arrived, as L’Enfant had recommended the previous year.

  On Sunday afternoon, the quiet in the capital was interrupted by alarming reports arriving from the north via express messenger and stagecoach: An attack on Baltimore appeared imminent. The British fleet was working its way into the Patapsco. Madison and Monroe could only wait with everyone else for more news. The fate of Baltimore was out of their hands.

  PATAPSCO RIVER, EVENING, SUNDAY, SEPTEMBER 11

  Cockburn and Ross were not long in deciding North Point was the best place to launch their attack on Baltimore. From his earlier probes, Cockburn knew the Patapsco was not deep enough to allow the line-of-battle ships and the heavy frigates to approach the harbor. This was confirmed Sunday afternoon when Captain Gordon, probing the channel, sank Seahorse’s keel in several feet of mud. The water at North Point, however, was deep enough to allow troop transports close to shore.

  The commanders planned a dual land and sea assault as simple as it was brutal. Ross and his army, accompanied by Cockburn and a brigade of seamen and Royal Marines, would land at North Point before dawn Monday. They would march up the Patapsco Neck, destroy any militia in the way, and move on the city. There would be no flotilla to chase or elaborate feints to fool the enemy. Compared to the sixty-mile route the British had taken from Benedict to Washington, the fifteen-mile march to the outskirts of Baltimore would be easy, probably taking no more than a day.

  Meanwhile, Admiral Cochrane would take the lighter frigates, sloops, bomb vessels, and rocket ship up the Patapsco closer to Baltimore to bombard Fort McHenry, the linchpin of the harbor’s defense. “With an uncommonly favorable coincidence of fair wind with a high tide, which then existed, … the Admiral expected to silence the fort … and then, turning his guns upon the entrenchments, drive away its defenses …, and so let the army in, or up to a position from which the town might be laid under contribution or burnt,” John Skinner later wrote.

  All day, British ships arrived in the mouth of the Patapsco, gathering “like birds to a rookery.” The ships-of-the-line—Tonnant, Albion, and Royal Oak—anchored in deep water at the mouth of Patapsco about twelve miles from Baltimore, while the landing vessels under Cockburn’s command moved to deep anchorage in Old Roads Bay off North Point. At 7 p.m., Cockburn and Ross transferred from Albion to the brig Fairy off North Point, where they finalized plans. Each of the troops stuffed three days’ provisions, a spare shirt, and a blanket in his haversack. Every man was to be packed by sunset and ready to land anytime during the night.

  Francis Scott Key watched the preparations for invasion with growing dread. Since boarding Surprize more than three days earlier, Key had listened in disquietude as officers openly discussed plans for the “plunder and desolation” of Baltimore. Admiral Cochrane was determined that Baltimore see nothing of the kid gloves Ross had shown Washington, and the attitude permeated down the ranks. The city would either be destroyed or pay a healthy ransom to be spared.

  For Key, who had expected that British officers would conduct themselves as gentlemen, it was a disillusioning experience. “Never was man more disappointed in his expectations than I have been as to the character of British officers,” Key wrote soon afterward to John Randolph. “With some exceptions they appeared to be illiberal, ignorant & vulgar, seemed filled with a malignity against everything American.” Ever charitable, Key hastened to add, “Perhaps however, I saw them in unfavorable circumstances.”

  Now that they were in sight of the city, Skinner pressed for the release of the American delegation. Cochrane turned him down with a chilling smile. “Ah, Mr. Skinner, after discussing so freely as we have done in your presence our purposes and plans, you could hardly expect us to let you go on shore now in advance of us,” the admiral said. As soon as the business at hand was ended, the Americans would be freed, Cochrane promised.

  But the Americans would at least be returned to their own vessel, as Skinner demanded, and not be forced to witness the attack from a British ship. It was more convenient for the British as well; Admiral Cochrane was planning to move with his retinue to Surprize the following morning in order to supervise the attack by water.

  Key, Skinner, and Beanes, along with the American crew, were transferred back to their sloop on Sunday, accompanied by guards to prevent their escape. They anchored with Cockburn’s ships in Old Roads Bay, below Sparrow Point.

  The return to an American ship was small consolation to Key. Cochrane’s plans for Baltimore were perfectly clear, Key wrote Randolph: “To make my feelings still more acute the Admiral had intimated his fears that the town must be burned; and I was sure that if taken, it would have been given up to plunder. I have reason to believe that such a promise was given to their soldiers. It was filled with women & children!”

  Stricker wanted a fight, and now he had one.

  The 5th Maryland at the Battle of North Point

  CHAPTER 14

  The Battle for Baltimore

  An unworldly calm settled over the waters of Old Roads Bay during the overnight hours. The heat of the day had passed, and the night felt delightfully balmy. No moon shone, giving the stars an unrivaled brilliance. The decks of the British troopships and brigs were covered with soldiers who had escaped the suffocating berths below to sleep in the refreshing air. Every man in the invasion force was fully dressed and ready for immediate action.

  Few sounds disturbed the night, but those that did carried far over the water: the splash of an oar as a solitary boat picked up orders from the admiral, the small waves lapping on the side of a ship, or the sentinels’ voices calling “all’s well” every half hour. Lieutenant Gleig, unable to sleep after the solemn preparations for battle, was mesmerized by the tranquillity as he restlessly paced the deck of the troopship Golden Fleece. “I do not recollect to have seen a more heavenly night than the present,” he wrote.

  But around 3 a.m., the stillness of the night passed. Boats were lowered from every ship, and the men were roused by thumping and splashing as the landing craft came alongside the frigates and transports. In the darkness, the gun brigs moved to within 250 yards of the shore and anchored broadside to cover the landing, ready to shred any defenses with grape and shot. “Though no enemy appeared the Madagascar sent a shot into the wood which must have given a terrible shock to some innocent tree,” wrote Major Peter Bowlby of the 4th Foot, aboard the British frigate.

  Waves of boats rowed toward the dark shore. As soon as the keels struck sand, the soldiers ran up a low ridge, spread out, and set up a perimeter. Within thirty minutes, a thousand men had landed. Scouts fanned out but found no resistance.

  Ross and Cockburn landed before daylight. The admiral, at Ross’s request, would stay at the general’s side to oversee the naval piece of the attack and “render him every assistance within my power.” With a minimum of confusion despite the darkness, Ross and Cockburn expertly assembled an invasion force from scores of ships.

  All told, some 4,700 British troops would land, about two hundred more than at Benedict. Despite the loss of hundreds of men to battle, illness, and desertion, the British had more than made up for the deficiency by scrap
ing together a 600-man naval brigade including every seaman and Royal Marine who could be spared from the ships. The Colonial Marines, the escaped slaves who had impressed commanders with their discipline at Washington, were again part of the invasion force. Even Royal Marine Major Mortimer Timpson, nearly killed by the arsenal explosion in Washington, took himself off the sick list to join the landing, “finding myself rather better.”

  With the beach secure, the landing troops assembled into assault units. Three companies of light infantry would lead the way, followed by the Light Brigade. The naval brigade would be next, followed by horses pulling six field pieces and two howitzers, and then the remainder of the infantry.

  Ross did not wait for all the troops to land before beginning the march. He left Colonel Brooke, his second in command, to supervise the rest of the landing, with orders to advance once the 21st Fusiliers and artillery were ashore. Ross and Cockburn, the confident and cheerful conquerors of Washington, moved toward Baltimore.

  As the army advanced on land, Cochrane, aboard Surprize, pushed up the Patapsco with the remainder of the frigates, brigs, and bomb ships. Three frigates grounded on the mud shoals off Sparrow Point, but the ships’ crews competed to free them, and all were soon afloat, defiantly continuing upriver. Again and again they grounded, but each time sailors pulled the ships through the shoals with kedge anchors, chanting in unison as they heaved. Midshipman Barrett, accompanying Hebrus, was covered head to toe with mud, but was nonetheless cheered at the progress. “As we proceeded up the river, doubtless the Americans were struck with panic and amazement,” he wrote.

  Aboard Tonnant, anchored at the mouth of the Patapsco, Codrington scribbled a note to his wife. “The work of destruction is now about to begin, and there will probably be many broken heads tonight,” he wrote. Despite his misgivings about the attack, Codrington managed to drum up some enthusiasm: “I do not like to contemplate scenes of blood and destruction; but my heart is deeply interested in the coercion of these Baltimore heroes, who are perhaps the most inveterate against us of all the Yankees.”

  METHODIST MEETING HOUSE, 7 A.M., MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12

  Cavalry scouts raced to bring word to Brigadier General Stricker at his headquarters at Cook’s Tavern: The enemy was landing in full force at North Point. The City Brigade hurriedly broke camp. Stricker formed a battle line stretching across the narrow neck along woods facing the open fields of the Boulden farm.

  The 5th Maryland anchored the right flank at the head of a branch of Bear Creek. In the center, the Union Artillery set up six field guns across North Point Road. The 27th Regiment was positioned on the left, with its flank on the marsh around Bread and Cheese Creek. Stricker established a second line three hundred yards back, with the 51st Regiment on the right and the 39th Regiment on the left. One mile back, the 6th Maryland waited in reserve.

  The Baltimore Rifle Battalion, under Captain William Dyer’s command since William Pinkney’s wounding at Bladensburg, was two miles ahead, where it had camped the previous night. Stricker ordered Dyer to take cover in a nearby patch of pine trees and surprise the lead elements of the British when they appeared. Stricker settled back to await the British advance, annoyed only that some of the regiments had been “thoughtless enough” to march out without pans for making bread. He sent a dispatch to Sam Smith alerting him of the landing, and a message asking for cooking ware.

  At a cavalry outpost at the Todd plantation house, about three miles from the landing point, scouts hoisted a signal flag from the cupola. Ten miles away, atop Federal Hill overlooking Baltimore Harbor, a sailing master who spotted the signal fired three shots in quick succession from his one-gun battery, alerting the town that the British had landed.

  To download a PDF of this map, click here.

  Sailing Master George La Roche, watching from the deck of the sloop-of-war Erie, anchored off Fort McHenry, was shocked to see that three British frigates had passed the Sparrow Point shoals and “were coming up with a fine breeze, contrary to our expectations,” he wrote in his diary. The Royal Navy had once more confounded the Americans with its sea skills and determination, dashing hopes that warships of that size would be unable to sail inside the Patapsco shoals. By prearranged plan, La Roche began to sink two dozen merchant ships in the Northwest Branch channel, obstructing the British fleet’s path to the harbor.

  At noon, John Hewes, a Baltimore printer and a onetime newspaperman, wrote to his father, cautioning him not to believe all the “hideous” rumors in circulation. “The truth is, however, bad enough,” Hewes continued. “The British fleet, say about 40 sail of all sizes, are in full view of this city.… They are actually landing men at and about North Point.… 3 frigates are now at Sparrow’s Point.… [T]hus vanishes the hope that frigates of 40 guns could not pass our bar! … I have some doubts of being in town tomorrow.”

  GORSUCH FARM, 8 A.M., MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12

  Moving swiftly from North Point, the British encountered no sign of the Americans until reaching an unfinished entrenchment about three miles up the road, at a narrow neck between Humphrey Creek and Back River. The freshly overturned dirt was a sign that the Americans might not be far off. It “became evident that the enemy were in a state of activity, and alarm,” according to Cockburn.

  One mile farther along the road, the column halted around 8 a.m. at the Gorsuch farmhouse, where Ross and Cockburn enjoyed a country breakfast while waiting for the rest of the army to catch up. Ross’s men kept good order, but the blue-jacketed sailors, not used to discipline ashore, chased pigs and chickens in every direction, ignoring orders from officers to stop. Even Ross laughed at the ridiculous sight.

  Ross assumed a stern visage when a British patrol brought in three American cavalry scouts captured nearby. The “young gentlemen” volunteers, from the 1st Baltimore Hussars, had blundered too close to the enemy. Ross interrogated them. The three dragoons painted a vivid, if exaggerated, portrait of the defenses waiting in Baltimore. Every man in the city capable of bearing arms was waiting in the trenches, they reported, some 20,000 troops in all, along with one hundred cannon. Ross listened, expressionless. “But they are mainly militia I presume,” Ross noted, and the prisoners confirmed this. Ross responded that he would take Baltimore “if it rained militia,” according to a newspaper account published twelve days later.

  The wait at the Gorsuch farm dragged on. At the landing beach, officers struggled to move the entire army ashore. All the guns had landed by 8 a.m., but the 21st Fusiliers troops were still aboard the ships. Meanwhile, the heat was building fast—“one of the hottest days I ever remember,” Royal Marine Captain John Robyns recorded in his journal.

  Colonel Brooke, in command of the landing beach, did not want to leave the troops waiting on the open ground at North Point, “as the men were falling in twentys, from the heat of the sun,” he wrote in his diary. Brooke advanced with the second column toward the cover of woods, leaving behind those still landing. The colonel rode forward to report the delay to the general, and he found Ross and Cockburn sitting on the steps of the farmhouse. The commanders agreed Brooke should wait for the remainder of the force while Ross and Cockburn resumed the advance; Ross was anxious to keep moving.

  As Ross prepared to leave, Robert Gorsuch asked if he should expect them for supper—perhaps a sarcastic jibe, implying that the British would soon be retreating. “No,” Ross is said to have replied. “I shall sup in Baltimore tonight, or in hell.”

  The infamous comment, together with the remark about raining militia, has been cited ever since as evidence of the general’s hubris. Yet the comments are out of character for Ross, who in any event was not planning on attacking Baltimore until the following morning. If Ross spoke those words, they are better understood not as boasting, but as an ironic Irish fatalism, joshing retorts to the American prisoners and farmer. Given his cautious nature, Ross would have harbored doubts about whether his small force could capture Baltimore.

  AMERICAN CAMP, METHODIST MEETING
HOUSE, 11 A.M., MONDAY, SEPTEMBER 12

  Stricker, learning that the British were rapidly advancing, expected any minute to hear the crackling of rifle fire announcing that the Baltimore Rifle Battalion had found the enemy. Instead, around 11 a.m., the riflemen trickled back to the American line. Captain Dyer had retreated, spooked by a rumor that the British had landed behind them on Back River. Stricker was apoplectic. The needless retreat had, it seemed, ruined his plan to strike the first blow.

  Stricker settled back once more to await the British, but there was still no sign of them. Instead, around noon, cavalry scouts reported that the enemy “was enjoying himself at Gorsuch’s farm.” Stricker was again furious, this time at the British; he proclaimed himself “insulted at the idea of a small marauding party thus daringly provoking chastisement.” He also worried that the British were waiting for nightfall to launch a bayonet charge, which could terrify and scatter his men. Stricker decided to again try to provoke an immediate fight.

  Officers vied for the assignment. In short order, Stricker assembled a task force of about 250 men under Major Richard Heath, an officer well regarded for his bravery. The force included two of the 5th Maryland’s best companies: the Mechanical Volunteers, commanded by Captain Benjamin Chew Howard, and the Independent Blues, under the command of Captain Aaron Levering.

  About 70 riflemen were also chosen, most of them from Captain Edward Aisquith’s rifle company. In contrast to the vivid uniforms of the 5th Maryland, the sharpshooters wore drab green jackets and trousers, which blended well with the leaves and tall grass, and they had no ornaments to catch the eye save a silver bugle embroidered on the cap band. The riflemen were drawn from the city’s merchant class, and among the youngest were two apprentice saddlers: Henry McComas, a polite and sociable eighteen-year-old described by a fellow soldier as “tall, slender of emaciated form,” and his friend Daniel Wells, a nineteen-year-old from an old Annapolis family.