Prelude to Glory, Vol. 9

by Ron Carter

  Cochrane turned back to Ross. “Have you ever heard of anything like this before?”

  Ross slowly shook his head. “No, I have not. If this is true, we had better consider it. This comes down to a matter of honor.”

  Cochrane faced Key. “Leave the letters here. We’ll assign you quarters on the ship with an armed guard while we satisfy ourselves one way or the other, and call you back here, likely within the hour.”

  With Key and Skinner in the first mate’s quarters and the four armed seamen standing guard, Ross and Cochrane emptied the satchel containing letters from British wounded onto the tabletop, startled at the number as they spread out, and a few dropped to the floor. For forty minutes they sat at the table in silence, opening the sealed documents, reading them, stacking them. They had finished most of them when Ross leaned forward.

  “We can’t hold Doctor Beanes. The man has done more for our wounded than most of our own doctors. I’ve read more than thirty from our wounded enlisted and over twenty from our wounded officers. Nine of those officers swear they would have died without the man’s assistance. Day and night. Over sixty years old, and he was there day and night for them. If he had been a British military doctor he’d have received every commendation and medal available.”

  Cochrane finished the letter he was reading and tossed it onto the table. “I can understand why everyone who knows him—including our own soldiers—swears he must be released.” He leaned forward on his forearms. “I’m going to do it. Any question?”

  Ross shook his head emphatically. “None.”

  Cochrane straightened. “Only one problem. When Mister Key was in this room he got a fairly good look at the map and some of the other papers. A clever man could put what he saw together and have a reasonably accurate idea of our plans for taking Baltimore.”

  He stood. “I’ll release Doctor Beanes, but I think we better keep those two Americans in our custody until we have completed our attack on Baltimore. I can’t take a chance on their telling the American military what they may have seen on this table.”

  Ross nodded. “Agreed. Shall I bring them back?”

  “Yes.”

  Minutes later, Key and Skinner were standing in the small room facing Cochrane, with Ross to one side and the armed guards just outside the door. Cochrane gestured to the letters on the table as he spoke.

  “We’ve read most of the letters. We believe they are authentic. I will release Doctor Beanes as you requested. I presume you brought the proper papers.”

  Skinner stepped forward and drew papers from his inside coat pocket. “Here, sir. The standard acknowledgements and release form. It includes a place for my signature as an authorized agent for the United States to complete the transfer of Doctor Beanes.”

  Cochrane accepted the papers. “Our agent will inspect them, and I will sign them under his direction.” He paused, then went on. “There is one more thing. I must hold you in our custody for the next few days. It is possible you have seen or heard things on this ship that would be helpful to the American military. I cannot risk that. I give you my word that as soon as matters will allow, you will be released.”

  Key exclaimed, “That is unexpected. Would it be enough if both of us swore to you we would not speak of anything we saw or heard on this ship?”

  Cochrane shook his head. “I cannot do that. I believe you are both honorable men, but if I release you now and something goes wrong with our military campaign in this area, I could face an inquiry into my judgment in letting you go. I have no choice. You will have to remain for a few days.”

  Key took a deep breath. “Then, sir, may I write a brief letter to my wife and children explaining this to them? They will presume the worst if I do not return shortly.”

  Again Cochrane shook his head. “I cannot allow it for the same reason I cannot let you go. Such a letter could be viewed as a message or even a secret code. That’s the end of the question. You will be transferred from this ship to the Surprise and then to a sloop where you will remain until we withdraw from the Chesapeake.” He gestured to the letters scattered on the desk. “We will return these letters to you at the time of your release.”

  Standing in the cramped captain’s quarters of the Tonnant, facing Vice Admiral Cochrane and Major General Ross, with four armed guards within a few steps, it was clear to both Key and Skinner, that Dr. Beanes would be delivered to them, but in the meantime, they would be detained until British operations in Chesapeake Bay were completed.

  Cochrane pointed to the door and spoke to Ross. “Would you summon the guards and my first mate?”

  In less than one minute the guards were crowded into the small room, followed by the first mate, and Cochrane gave his orders.

  “Take these two men on deck and arrange for a longboat to carry them to the Surprise. They are not prisoners. For present purposes, they are guests, entitled to every consideration. Then locate a prisoner named Doctor William Beanes. Take him to the Surprise to join them. In the event of our moving up the Patapsco River, transfer the three of them to a small sloop that will remain behind. Am I clear?”

  He was clear.

  Cochrane and Ross waited while the seven men walked out the door and up to the main deck before they gathered the letters and packed them back into the two satchels. Cochrane folded the release papers received from Skinner and tucked them into the inside pocket of his tunic.

  “I’ll have our agent check these.” He paused to look at Ross. “In the meantime, get your men ready to board those ships for the landing at North Point. We’re putting them ashore in the early morning of September 12.”

  Ross nodded. “They’ll be ready.” He gestured to the two satchels of letters. “Where do you plan to store those?”

  Cochrane shrugged. “Likely in my war chest, if there’s room. If not, in a chest under lock and key.”

  Ross started for the door, then paused. “Reports say Sam Smith has had thousands of citizens in Baltimore building defenses.”

  Cochrane’s eyes narrowed. “Slaves and masters, bankers and scoundrels, high and low—all working shoulder to shoulder digging, moving dirt, dragging tree trunks, running wheelbarrows filled with rocks—all as equals. I don’t know how he did it. You heard he had a reckoning with Winder? General William Winder?”

  “I heard something about it. What exactly happened?”

  “Winder was appointed by Madison’s administration to command the affairs at Baltimore—a federal appointment. When he got there, he was told very bluntly that the Committee of Safety Vigilance of the state of Maryland had already appointed General Sam Smith to take command of the Baltimore defenses. Winder wrote to secretary of war John Armstrong requesting he—Winder—be commissioned a major general in the Continental Army, to outrank Smith, who was a general in the state militia. Armstrong didn’t answer. Winder had to step back and let Smith take command.”

  Ross chuckled. “I’ve heard reports that the Madison administration is filled with incompetents. Someone offered to hang Armstrong.” Ross sobered, then continued. “Sam Smith is not incompetent. If he’s been in command of Baltimore through the summer, we had better be prepared for some strong resistance.” He opened the door and turned back for a few moments with a distant look in his eyes. “I wonder where Smith is right now. How much does he know of our preparations to attack his city? How committed are those under his command? Will they stand and fight, or will they scatter and run, like they did at Bladensburg?”

  Cochrane did not answer. Ross walked out and closed the door.

  * * * * *

  To the north, where the Patapsco River touched Baltimore, Maryland militia general Sam Smith stood at the head of a long table in the second floor of the courthouse. Seated on both sides were the military officers and the civilian leaders who had answered his call months earlier to prepare their city for the attack that he had predicted was coming. Sooner or later, he had exclaimed, the British were going to come with enough ships and cannon and infantry and musk
ets to overrun Baltimore and burn it to the ground. It would be partly in revenge for the fierce, stubborn rebelliousness of the city against Mother England for more than thirty-five years, he declared, and partly because Baltimore was one of the wealthiest, most key seaports in the United States.

  It was a grim Sam Smith who had called the leaders of his city together and sworn to them that the British might take Baltimore, but by the Almighty, they would know they had been in a fight! He had laid out a detailed plan of the defenses that would give them the best chance of survival and then made assignments to every organization in town under Maryland State control—military or civil, federal or state, including churches—for each to do its share.

  And Baltimore bowed its back and went to work through the summer months of 1814.

  Then, as Sam had predicted, on the nights of August twenty-fourth and twenty-fifth, every man at the table had stood in silent shock as they watched the glow in the black night sky far to the south, knowing it was Washington—their national capital—burning in the rain. They had heard the faint rumble of the cannon, and seen the flames leaping into the sky, and felt the ground tremble when the powder magazine at Greenleaf’s Point exploded. They had suffered the shameful humiliation of knowing that their President Madison and those in command of the United States government had fled the city—abandoned it—while the United States military had crumbled into a disorganized, panic-driven, useless mob that ran away from the fight at Bladensburg.

  With the British armada gathered in the bay, on August 27, Brigadier General John Stricker, Major George A. Armistead, Commodore Oliver Hazard Perry, and Captain Robert T. Spence had persuaded colonels John Eager Howard, Richard Frisby, and Robert Stewart to plead with the governor of Maryland to appoint militia major general Samuel Smith commander of all military forces, state and federal, in defense of Baltimore. The governor did it without hesitating. Overnight, Sam Smith had divided Baltimore into four districts, based on groupings of voting wards, and given the orders necessary to each group for the defense of the city.

  Now, in the heat of the second floor of the Baltimore Courthouse, all eyes on both sides of the table were on Sam Smith, waiting to make their reports on how well the city was prepared to defend itself.

  “Gentlemen,” Smith began, “the assumptions we made months ago have proven correct. With the defenses we planned now near completion, we have forced the British to abandon any hope of a successful assault on Baltimore with infantry coming from the southwest. If they want this city, they are going to have to make an amphibious assault from the east side, on the Patapsco River. The question now before us is simple: Are we prepared to withstand such an assault? I convened this meeting to find the answer.”

  He paused for a moment while the room became silent, and then started down the table, asking the men one at a time for a succinct answer to a single question: “Did you complete your assignment?”

  “Major George Armistead?”

  “Yes, sir. I was given command of defenses at Fort McHenry. I have one thousand armed troops that include flotillamen, militia, Captain Joseph H. Nicholson’s mercantile volunteers, and six hundred United States infantry. We have thirty-six heavy guns in place in the fort. The entire tip of Whetstone Point is fortified with batteries totaling another thirty-six heavy guns to defend against an amphibious landing. Just over one mile west of the fort, near Winan’s Wharf, is another earthwork with six smaller guns and a hotshot furnace. We have sixty men making musket cartridges and casting cannonballs. We are ready, sir.”

  “Commodore Rodgers?”

  “Sir, I have four hundred fifty seamen and fifty United States marines from the Guerriere, one hundred seventy marines from Washington under Captain Alfred Grayson, and five hundred flotillamen from Captain Barney. Further, sir, our defenses east of the city include ten thousand troops in trenches, with a total of sixty-two cannon. In addition, we have cannon batteries north and west of the main lines, along with breastworks and trenches. These batteries begin at Harris’s Creek with Midshipman William D. Salter in command of one gun with twelve men, and continue northwest, very close to Sparrow’s Point Road with five guns and eighty men commanded by Sailing Master James Ramage, and two guns and twenty men fronting Sparrow Point Road. West of the junction of the Sparrow Point and Philadelphia roads, we have one hundred men and seven guns under Lieutenant Thomas Gamble. They can provide a heavy cross fire on the main roads. Lieutenant Joseph Kuhn is in command of marines in trenches extending west from Gamble’s battery. The lines now extend west from Philadelphia Road to Belair Road, with seven companies of the Maryland First Artillery Regiment. Each regiment has four guns, and in addition we have stationed sixteen heavier guns in support. There are three cannon in front of the courthouse to warn the city when the attack begins. All told, sir, we have more than ten thousand men in battle position and more than one hundred cannon. I believe we are prepared.”

  “Brigadier General John Stricker?”

  “Sir, I have three thousand one hundred eighty-five men, trained throughout the summer, armed and ready to march out of the city in any direction, to meet any enemy.”

  “Quartermaster Paul Bentalou?”

  “Yes, sir. Citizens from all over Baltimore and even from outside the city were asked to come and bring their own picks and shovels and wheelbarrows to dig the trenches and build the breastworks in and close to the city, according to the plan. They came, sir. Morning and night. We ran out of money at the end of August, but banks made loans and citizens gave contributions, and altogether we got the six hundred sixty thousand dollars we had to have.”

  Bentalou paused for a moment to pick up a paper. “There’s more, sir. We fell short of food and contracted with a bakery to bake bread day and night. They have done well. Farmers began bringing in wheat and potatoes and corn and handing it out free! We have hospitals prepared for wounded, should they be needed. Sir, I can’t . . . it’s unbelievable! Women all over town are rolling bandages, construction companies are donating lumber and bolts and nails, merchants are bringing shoes and boots. Blacks and whites are out there digging trenches and building breastworks, sweating side by side like brothers. I never saw such a thing in my life! The trenches and breastworks in the city will be finished within forty-eight hours.”

  “Lieutenant Solomon Rutter?”

  “Sir, the boom you ordered constructed south of Fort McHenry is completed. It reaches from shore to shore, four hundred fifty feet in the river south of the fort. It consists of ship masts chained together and timbers laid end to end and secured on piles. I believe the boom will stand against invading ships. If it does not, we have ships in place that can be sunk to seal off the channels.”

  “Captain Samuel Babcock?”

  “Sir, I was ordered to convert the cathedral in the city to a fort and to prepare barricades in the streets around it, in the event the British get that far. I can report that our great cathedral is now fortified, sir. And the street barricades are in place.”

  “Major William Barney?”

  “I was given responsibility to create a system that would keep us informed of British movements by the hour. We now have observation stations on the Chesapeake, from the Patuxent River, eighty miles south of us, to here. We have semaphore signal flags constantly conveying every move the British are making and mounted couriers at the ready to carry written messages should that be necessary. We have been question- ing British prisoners and deserters for every detail we can get. The communication system is in place, sir.”

  Smith straightened in his chair. “I think we’re as prepared as we can get. There will have to be adjustments made once the shooting starts. Stay alert. I will be watching the entire conflict from my base on Hampstead Hill at the edge of the city.” He paused to collect his thoughts. “There’s one more thing that needs to be said.”

  He paused and stood. “Most of you know that right now, there are negotiations for a peace treaty with England going on in the city of Ghent, in Belgiu
m. President Madison has sent John Quincy Adams and Henry Clay and three others to represent the United States. The British sent James Lord Gambier and two others to represent England. The strength of our position was damaged—badly—when news arrived over there of the fall of Washington, D.C. If we now lose Baltimore . . . ”

  He did not finish the sentence.

  He looked briefly into the face of each man, and he saw the realization of the pivotal role Baltimore was to play in the future of America. “If the British were to succeed in plundering and burning Baltimore as they did the nation’s capital, our delegation in Ghent would suffer a fatal blow. The negotiations for a peace treaty could turn into a total surrender. Everything America had fought for since April 19, 1775, would be gone in the stroke of a pen.”

  Smith concluded. “Thank you. All of you. Return to your duty posts and stand in a state of readiness, day and night.”

  The men were gathering their papers when Smith interrupted. “I forgot one thing.” He turned to Armistead. “General, would you send someone to fetch the flag I commissioned last month? The one to be made by Mary Young Pickersgill. It’s finished. We may need it.”

  The room silenced as Armistead answered. “Are you talking about the flag I requested?”

  Smith’s eyes were intense points of light. “Yes. I ordered one big enough to be seen for ten miles. Thirty-two feet by forty-three feet. So big she had to lay it out on the floor of the local malt house brewery. Her daughter Caroline helped her sew it. I got her bill a few days ago. It cost four hundred five dollars and ninety cents.”

  Surprised murmuring arose around the table, and Smith paused until it stopped before he went on. “To get to Baltimore, the British have to get past Fort McHenry, where you command. When they try, I want that flag mounted and flying where the British can see it for ten miles. They’re going to know we’re there, and that we intend staying there!”