Through the Perilous Fight Read online

  Settling down for the wait, some troops from the Light Brigade established an outpost at Surrey Farm, a fine mansion on the Philadelphia Road, a mile and a half from the American lines. The home, which had been left in the care of the butler and the cook, seemed disappointingly bare, with scarcely any provisions. Then a suspicious soldier, using the butt end of his musket to force aside some odd-looking bricks, let out a cry of joy, discovering a hastily disguised wine cellar filled with a magnificent array of bottles of every size and description.

  Within five minutes the cellar was packed with men quaffing wine, filling haversacks, and handing out flasks of cognac and magnums of Bordeaux. Upstairs, the men helped themselves to bedding, candles, and whatever valuables they could find. To their great delight, they learned that the mansion belonged to the 5th Maryland commander, Lieutenant Colonel Joseph Sterett. Before departing, several officers left a cheeky thank-you note on the sideboard:

  “Captains Brown Wilcocks and McNamara of the Light Brigade [and] Royal Marines met with everything they could wish for at this house. They return their thanks—notwithstanding this was received from the hands of the butler and in the absence of the colonel.”

  FORT MCHENRY, 2 P.M., TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

  By early afternoon, a nor’easter was bringing heavy showers and wind. At the southwest bastion, the men in Private Isaac Munroe’s gun crew were soaked but at least relatively protected from British fire by the sunken rampart wall. The crew, from Captain Nicholson’s company, was under the command of Lieutenant Levi Claggett, a prosperous flour merchant and investor in Baltimore’s privateer trade. Thus far, the gentlemen volunteers had held up with the same composure as the regulars.

  In the pouring rain, none of the men saw the bomb that slammed directly into the southwest bastion at 2 p.m. Claggett was killed instantly, four other men were severely wounded, and a twenty-four-pounder gun was knocked off its carriage. Before the stunned men could respond, a second bomb burst over the bastion, directly over Munroe’s head. A piece of shrapnel the size of a silver dollar tore through Sergeant John Clemm, who was next to Munroe, and plowed two feet deep in the ground. Clemm, a flour merchant like Claggett and “a young man of most amiable character, gentlemanly manners and real courage,” in Munroe’s estimation, died on the spot. The survivors rushed to remove the wounded and remount the gun. The bustle of activity “probably induced the enemy to suspect that we were in a state of confusion,” Armistead later surmised.

  Cochrane sent pennants up the halyards of Surprize around 3 p.m., signaling the bomb ships and rocket ship to move closer. Erebus moved especially close, within a mile. Armistead, recognizing that several ships were now within striking distance, ordered his crews to resume firing. “We immediately opened all the batterys on them,” Teakle wrote.

  For thirty minutes, a furious cannonade erupted back and forth. “The balls now flew like hailstones,” Niles’ reported. Volcano was hit five times, suffering one casualty, and Devastation took on water when an American shot crashed into her port bow. Cochrane signaled his ships to withdraw beyond reach of the American guns. The bomb ships promptly retreated, but Erebus’s Captain David Bartholomew was slow to respond, apparently eager to keep up the fight. Cochrane impatiently sent boats to tow the rocket ship out of range.

  “We gave three cheers and again ceased firing,” Armistead reported. The bomb ships retreated to a safe distance and then petulantly resumed their fire, “more furiously than before,” another officer reported.

  The bombardment had been thus far decidedly disappointing, in Cochrane’s view. The vice admiral had hoped for a repeat of Fort Washington, where the defenders immediately gave up. But it was clear that Fort McHenry would not capitulate easily.

  Despite the vaunted power of the bomb ships and the huge volume of fire, the long-range shelling seemed to have had little effect. The pitch of the swells on the water, churning from the force of the bombardment and whipped up by the wind, made it difficult to aim the shells. The rain was becoming heavier and dousing the fuses, and many bombs failed to explode. Few buildings had suffered direct hits, and the garrison, scattered behind the sunken walls, held firm.

  Mercurial as always and separated from the fleet’s firebrands, Cochrane was now in favor of aborting the operation. Cockburn was ashore, and the more experienced captains were on other ships. If Cochrane had been with Gordon on Seahorse or Nourse on Severn, their spirit might have instilled vigor. But aboard Surprize, captained by his pampered son Thomas, Cochrane was quick to revert to his usual pessimism and indecision. The commanders of several small frigates volunteered to lighten their ships, sail within close range of the fort, and pulverize it with cannon fire. But Cochrane refused, fearing the fort’s batteries would pound the frigates.

  Cochrane had closely inspected the American defenses after the bombardment started. “I had now an opportunity of observing the strength and the preparations of the enemy,” Cochrane later reported to his superiors. Even if the British could get past the heavy guns of Fort McHenry and Lazaretto guarding the mouth of the Northwest Branch, the entrance to the harbor was entirely obstructed by the merchant ships the Americans had sunk in the channel, as well as chains stretching from shore to shore, positioned along the water. As a final line of defense, eleven gun barges lurked behind the sunken hulks, manned by 340 sailors. Any attempt to push past the fort could be catastrophic for the squadron.

  Cochrane’s thoughts had already turned to the Gulf of Mexico. He had learned that another 7,000 troops were on their way to Jamaica to bolster his force in preparation for an attack on New Orleans, the key to the Mississippi. Keeping in mind the “ulterior operations of this force,” Cochrane did not want to squander the force in a hopeless assault on Hampstead Hill.

  At 9:30 a.m., just three hours after the bombardment started, Cochrane wrote a note to Cockburn warning that the fleet would be unable to directly support any attack by the army, and recommending that Brooke withdraw. But communication between the ships and the British army headquarters was dreadfully slow, involving miles of travel on the river, through woods and along back roads to the Kell House. By mid-afternoon, Cochrane’s note had not been delivered, and it would be hours more before it arrived.

  Likewise, it was not until 3:30 p.m. that an army officer delivered the note that Brooke had written to Cochrane some fifteen hours earlier. Reading it, Cochrane learned that the army commander was eagerly expecting naval fire in support of an attack. Moreover, Lieutenant Scott, Cockburn’s aide, arrived in the afternoon with an update from the army headquarters. Scott, who delivered his message in good time thanks to a fortuitous boat ride, reported “the determination” of Cockburn and Brooke to attack the American lines at 2 a.m.

  Cochrane faced a dilemma. He could not simply order Brooke to retreat. His instructions from London explicitly left command of land operations to the army. Moreover, given the hours it would take for his note to reach Cockburn and Brooke, and the hours more for a reply, Cochrane had no way of knowing whether Brooke would continue the attack. Cockburn, after all, had persuaded Ross to continue the attack on Washington against Cochrane’s wishes. The same could happen at Baltimore. “[T]here was not sufficient time remaining for him to learn whether his advice would be followed, [so] he was obliged to proceed with his part of the plan,” Skinner later wrote.

  Cochrane was convinced a landing into the guns at Fort McHenry or Lazaretto was out of the question, meaning he was unable to reach the harbor for a direct assault on the American redoubts on Hampstead Hill.

  But as an alternative, Cochrane decided to create a diversion. An attack on the more vulnerable Ferry Branch, which offered a back door to both the city and the fort, would perhaps give the army the distraction needed to attack the American line.

  BRITISH ARMY HEADQUARTERS, TUESDAY EVENING, SEPTEMBER 13

  Early in the evening, Cockburn and Brooke returned to their headquarters at the Kell House, having reconnoitered the American lines and positioned the
British troops in preparation for their assault. The commanders’ spirits were buoyed by the discovery of a weak spot in the American defenses. Brooke planned to follow the Philadelphia Road toward the city and attack the American line at a bend where the Hampstead Hill ridge fell back sharply. The curve of the land would protect the British from the murderous crossfire they could expect if they attacked head-on.

  The rain fell in torrents, and what little visibility remained soon faded almost entirely. Using the dark as cover, the British troops massed into an assault column, waiting for the order to attack. The 85th Light Infantry and the seamen would launch a bayonet assault, backed by the 4th and 44th Foot. Once they penetrated, they would consolidate and hold their position at the summit for the night. At first light, with the hoped-for support of naval fire on the big American guns at the southern end of the line, the troops would wheel down the inside of the line, capturing the redoubts one by one. Cockburn was confident the operation could be done “with a loss not exceeding five hundred men.”

  Cockburn pointed to Hampstead Hill. Before dawn, he boasted, “all that you now see will be ours.” But around 8 p.m., a messenger arrived with the note Cochrane had written at 9:30 that morning. Cockburn’s face fell as he read.

  “My dear Admiral,” Cochrane began. “It is impossible for the ships to render you any assistance—the town is so far retired within the forts. It is for Colonel Brook [sic] to consider under such circumstances whether he has force sufficient to defeat so large a number as it [is] said the enemy has collected.… [I]t will be only throwing the men’s lives away and prevent us from going upon other services.”

  Cockburn handed Brooke the message. “This was a blow not easy to explain,” the stunned colonel wrote in his journal.

  The army commander summoned his officers for a council of war to consider whether to continue with the planned attack. The colonel agonized over the choice. “If I took the place, I should have been the greatest man in England,” he wrote in his journal. “If I lost, my military character was gone for ever.”

  Neither Brooke nor Cockburn knew that subsequent to writing the note, Cochrane had devised a diversion as a substitute for a direct attack, and that it would soon be under way.

  PATAPSCO RIVER, 10 P.M., TUESDAY, SEPTEMBER 13

  “Black Charlie” Napier came aboard Surprize at 10 p.m. to receive his orders from Cochrane. Napier was known as a fighter—“his fire-eating qualities were even then fully understood,” Chesterton later wrote. Napier’s exploits from the West Indies to the Mediterranean had established him as an energetic and brave mariner, and a man quick to speak his mind regardless of the offense it might cause.

  Black Charlie—the name came from his swarthy appearance and dark side-whiskers—had assembled a collection of twenty vessels, including barges, launches, gigs, a rocket boat, and a long schooner. A select force of several hundred seasoned seamen and Royal Marines were loaded on the boats.

  Cochrane ordered Napier to take the force up the Ferry Branch. “This is intended to take off the attention of the enemy opposite to where our army [is], as an attack is to be made upon their lines directly at two o’clock,” the admiral informed Napier. They were to row with muffled oars past Fort McHenry and continue a mile into the Ferry Branch, where they would anchor and “remain perfectly quiet.” At exactly 1 a.m., Cochrane told the captain, the bomb ships would open up the fort and skyrockets would be fired. That would be the signal for Napier to open fire with a mix of regular ammunition and blank cartridges, trying to draw as much attention as possible until the army launched its surprise attack at 2 a.m. Once the army was seriously engaged, Napier and his men were to rejoin the bombardment squadron.

  Their assignment was daunting. Napier’s force would have to get past a line of sunken hulls that stretched across the Ferry Branch, all the while exposed to fire from Fort McHenry and Lazaretto. Beyond that, the British knew, at least one battery awaited in the Ferry Branch. If they succeeded in making it through and launching the diversion, they might not make it out; every American gun in range would likely target them. Despite the steep odds, Napier was confident enough to bring scaling ladders, ready to exploit any breakthrough if they landed.

  The barges took off around midnight. The black sky and heavy rain might work in Napier’s favor. If the barges kept to the far side of the Ferry Branch, they might slip undetected past Fort McHenry and the batteries. But the night presented its own problems to the British. Napier soon discovered more than half his force had vanished in the inky darkness. A string of eleven boats became disoriented, rowing toward Lazaretto; by the time they realized their mistake it was too late, and they rowed back to the bombardment squadron.

  Napier waited a while to see if the boats would turn up, but then continued without them. The nine remaining boats, with just 128 men, found a gap in the line of sunken hulks and slipped undetected past Fort McHenry.

  BRITISH ARMY HEADQUARTERS, MIDNIGHT, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14

  At the Kell House, Colonel Brooke’s deliberations continued for hours. Every officer in his council of war agreed the assault would succeed, according to George De Lacy Evans, but three senior officers thought it improper to attack in the face of Cochrane’s opposition.

  Brooke’s confidence had been shattered by the withdrawal of Cochrane’s support, and he was now plagued with doubts about the wisdom of the operation. He wrote in his journal that he had perhaps been “presumptuous” to say he could capture the hill “without great loss,” given he only had 4,000 men. The humiliated Brooke viewed Cochrane’s message as a stinging vote of no confidence.

  Cockburn’s initial impulse was to attack. He strongly urged Brooke to continue and offered to take full responsibility. The admiral reminded Brooke that Cochrane had no authority over the land forces, and he assured the colonel that his seamen were eager to charge the lines. But even Cockburn had second thoughts as he digested the full implications of Cochrane’s message.

  Cochrane’s language made clear that Brooke—and by extension Cockburn—would be held responsible if the plan to attack New Orleans was harmed. “[T]he onus … was to be thrown upon” him and Brooke, Cockburn observed in his memoir of service. Given the state of defenses of Hampstead Hill, it was impossible to argue convincingly that the Americans were unprepared, as had been the case in Washington. Brooke and Cockburn had hoped for naval fire on the big American guns nearest the harbor. But Cochrane had made clear no such help was coming. The two commanders felt “obliged to abandon this attempt,” Cockburn noted.

  At midnight, Brooke addressed a curt note to Cochrane: “[T]hough I had made all my arrangements for attacking the enemy,” he and his staff agreed Cochrane’s decision had placed him in a “situation” where it was best he should retire. “I have therefore ordered the retreat to take place tomorrow morning.”

  FERRY BRANCH, EARLY MORNING, WEDNESDAY, SEPTEMBER 14

  Miserable in the cold, driving rain, the flotillamen manning the six guns at Fort Babcock drew their clothes closer around their chilled bodies. They were, at least, safely out of range of the shells. But around 1 a.m., Sailing Master John Adams Webster noticed that the British bombardment squadron was firing “with redoubled energy” at Fort McHenry. “[T]he lurid glare from the bursting bombs revealed momentary glimpses of the enemy’s fleet, standing in bold relief against the dark, somber background,” Webster recalled years later.

  Around that time, troops on both sides watched a bright blue flare ascend into the sky, briefly illuminating the dark river below. It was a Royal Navy signal rocket, meant to alert the army that a diversion was under way.

  Webster sensed something might be in the works. He ordered the guns double-shotted with eighteen-pound balls and grapeshot. Then he took a blanket and lay down atop the earth breastwork, trying to rest. Though only twenty-seven, Webster knew how to stay calm in such situations. The young, powerfully built Marylander had served aboard Rossie on Barney’s legendary privateering run in 1812, and had fought a
longside the commodore at Bladensburg, barely escaping after his hat was shot off.

  Webster was half asleep when he heard splashing. It sounded like oars. Peering out in the water, Webster could make out several gleaming lights, perhaps two hundred yards offshore. He felt sure it was the British barges. Webster rushed to the guns and examined the priming mechanisms, making sure the powder had stayed dry in the pouring rain. “All being well I trained the guns and then opened on them,” he said. The battery thundered with a torrent of well-directed fire at the barges. At nearby Fort Covington, Lieutenant Newcomb also spotted the lights on the water and opened fire at about the same time.

  Napier’s raiders ceased rowing and, with hearty cheers, opened fire with their bow guns, rockets, and eighteen-pounder cannon, aiming at the red glare of the American guns. A fierce firefight was soon under way. Cannon shots slammed into Fort Covington, but most of the British shells and rockets went high, thudding into the hill and doing little damage.

  Webster likewise guided his fire by the flashes of light from the British guns. Soon his men could hear the shrieks of wounded men in the barges.

  As the diversion continued, the bomb ships opened up on Fort McHenry with unmatched fury. “The hissing rockets and the fiery shells glittered in the air, threatening destruction as they fell,” wrote Midshipman Barrett, aboard Hebrus.

  From the roofs of houses and atop Federal Hill in Baltimore, residents watched “the whole awful spectacle of shot and shells and rockets, shooting and bursting through the air,” wrote a correspondent for the Salem Gazette. A man climbed to the roof of the Holliday Street Theater, one of the tallest buildings in town, and reported on the fight to anxious crowds below.