The Burning of the White House

by Jane Hampton Cook

  As she often did, in her sugary way, Dolley steered Phoebe to hope for an alternative appointment for Anthony in her letter on May 6, 1813. “I trust in Heaven that all or both has happened for the best and that you will be consoled by a voyage somewhere else,” she added. “My husband was never more provoked, and was never more anxious to promote the good, and gratify the wishes of a friend than he is now to serve your dear father.”

  Though Dolley didn’t know it at the time, Anthony had traveled through Havre de Grace shortly after Cockburn’s attack. No one yet knew that the fallout was just beginning.

  Cockburn also wrote a letter on May 6. Addressed to Admiral Warren, it highlighted his latest conquests: George Town and Fredericstown. Not to be confused with Georgetown outside of Washington City along the Potomac River, these hamlets “situated up the Sassafras River were places of some trade and importance.” From Cockburn’s viewpoint, they were the “only river or place of shelter for vessels at this upper extremity of the Chesapeake which I had not examined and cleared.” Before invading them, he ordered his launch and rocket boats to monitor the water two miles below. They intercepted a small boat navigated by local residents.

  Then he “sent forward the two Americans in their boat to warn their countrymen against acting in the same rash manner the people of Havre de Grace had done.”

  With a goal to weaken their spirit as well as capture muskets and ammunition, Cockburn set about “assuring them if they did, that their towns would inevitably meet with a similar fate, but on the contrary, if they did not attempt resistance, no injuries should be done to them or their towns.”

  He justified his actions by promising “that vessels and public property only would be seized, that the strictest discipline would be maintained, and that whatever provisions or other property of individuals I might require for the use of the squadron should be instantly paid for in its fullest value.”

  Thus, Cockburn invoked his signature strategy. Though he would loot the houses of those who didn’t fight back or shoot at his marines, he wouldn’t burn those houses. Americans who defended themselves, in contrast, would find themselves homeless. Cockburn waited for an answer from his latest target. When none came, he made his choice. His boats advanced.

  “I am sorry to say I soon found that the more unwise alternative was adopted, for on our reaching within about a mile of the town between two projected elevated points of the river, a most heavy fire musketry was opened on us from about 400 men divided and entrenched on the two opposite banks.”

  Similar to Havre de Grace, many residents fled to the woods after firing from their houses. “The towns, which [excepting the houses of those who continued peaceably in them and had taken no part in the attack made on us] were forthwith destroyed, as were for vessels laying in the river, and some stores of sugar, of lumber, of leather, and other merchandise.”

  After defeating George Town and Fredericstown of the Sassafras, Cockburn directed his force to another town located off a branch down the river. This place gave him what he most wanted to see: no will to fight.

  “Here I had the satisfaction to find that what had passed at Havre, George Town, [and] Fredericstown had its effects, and led these people to understand that they have more to hope for from our generosity than from erecting batteries and opposing us by the means within their power.”

  He was “well pleased with the wisdom of their determination on their mode of receiving us.” Then he received a messenger from another nearby town, Charlestown, on the Northeast River. Like a criminal pleading for his life to a judge, the messenger explained to him that his townspeople were at the admiral’s mercy.

  “I am assured that all the places in the upper part of the Chesapeake have adopted similar resolutions.” Indeed. Many townspeople along the Chesapeake were now so frightened of pirate Cockburn that they would willingly dismantle their batteries and other defenses in exchange for a promise that he wouldn’t burn their buildings. Such was the demise of the American spirit nearly forty years after the start of the American Revolution.

  Confident that he would rid the region of vessels and other warlike stores by force and fear, this pillaging British admiral left the upper Chesapeake and traveled two hundred miles to Lynnhaven Bay, the Chesapeake’s southern mouth. No matter that he had concluded that Baltimore and Annapolis were too well fortified to attack with just a few hundred men; he still couldn’t help but smile. To this uniformed buccaneer, hadn’t his mission of terror been a success so far? Yes, it had. Overwhelmingly so.

  Yet it wasn’t enough. Cockburn had bigger plans. Up next? A target of national consequence.

  “I have little doubt of this city faring exactly as did Havre de Grace,” architect and engineer Benjamin Latrobe wrote from Washington City to his father-in-law in Philadelphia on May 8, 1813.

  That same day, Latrobe also conveyed alarming news to his new business partner, Robert Fulton, the steamboat builder and inventor, in New York.

  “An express arrived this morning stating that the British were preparing to burn Annapolis. . . . The post boy who is since come in, says that no bombardment however has taken place,” Latrobe wrote, noting that Madison had said that Washington City was not in danger.

  Born in England in 1764, Latrobe was the son of a French Huguenot father and an American mother originally from Pennsylvania. With an obvious talent, he trained as an architect and engineer in Europe. The death of his first wife motivated Latrobe to move to the United States in 1796 to seek a new life in his mother’s native country. He then married Mary Hazlehurst, a Philadelphia friend of Dolley’s, and built the impressive Bank of Pennsylvania, the first Greek Revival style building in the United States. President Jefferson, an architectural enthusiast, was impressed with Latrobe’s professional expertise and training and named him as surveyor of public buildings in Washington in 1803. Charged with completing the Capitol started by Dr. William Thornton, Latrobe finished the south wing housing the U.S. House of Representatives in 1811 and fulfilled requests from President Madison for the President’s House.

  After learning about Havre de Grace in May 1813, Latrobe was also worried about another Washington, the steamboat he had ordered from Fulton for the Potomac Steamboat Company. Though the vessel was complete, the British occupation of the Chesapeake and the blockade of the East Coast had prevented it from being delivered to Washington City. The attack on Havre de Grace solidified in Latrobe’s mind that the danger “which surrounds us will assuredly prevent the steamboat being brought around,” as he wrote to Fulton. He was correct.

  Rejection was also on Latrobe’s mind that day. The War of 1812 had negatively affected him in several ways. Because it needed to fund the war, Congress had suspended all construction on the U.S. Capitol, the primary focus of Latrobe’s job as surveyor of public buildings. Congress also still owed him $600 for furnishings he had bought for the President’s House and the marine hospital.

  More than the lack of work, the war had emphasized a painful reality, one he had known for years but had hoped his architectural accomplishments would override. Worried about the lack of defenses for Washington City, Latrobe had offered his engineering services to a general. The officer had told him that engineers weren’t needed in the army, because anyone could dig a trench.

  Latrobe had also offered to sell a ship to the navy secretary, who told him the law wouldn’t allow it. He had made suggestions on fortifying Alexandria and Fort Washington, but no one listened. He’d also offered his engineering services to the military directly to President Madison, who revealed the truth behind these multiple rejections.

  “Our honest, patriotic, firm—but influenced president tells me plainly that he dare not employ me because I am unpopular,” he’d written to a friend.

  How had Latrobe become so unpopular? Hadn’t he received critical acclaim for working hand in hand with the Madisons to renovate the interior of the President’s House as a splendid backdrop for their republican ideals? Hadn’t he improved
the shoddy construction of the U.S. Capitol and elevated the interior to a state of magnificence? Hadn’t he created the Navy Yard and its attractive arch? Yes, he had.

  Though a brilliant architect, Latrobe had failed to charm members of Congress by showing them his plans and flattering them by letting them make suggestions. More than that, the original Capitol architect, Dr. William Thornton, had been a thorn in Latrobe’s side from the start.

  On the first day Latrobe visited the Capitol in 1803, a brick had fallen from a scaffold and hit him in the head. The blow was so hard that it took a week for Latrobe to recover. Though seemingly accidental, the brick incident raised speculation about Thornton’s involvement in hurting Latrobe. Thornton’s venom against Latrobe soon came out so strongly in letters to Congress that Latrobe eventually sued him for libel. Latrobe had raised legitimate concerns. The wood Thornton had used in the then-three-year-old U.S. Capitol was already rotting, the ceiling leaked, and the Senate chamber needed better heating. Though he’d won his case, Latrobe lost his popularity nonetheless.

  Now that President Madison had plainly told him he was too unpopular to assist the war as an engineer, Latrobe decided to move to Pittsburgh and become a blacksmith.

  “This war has among many other changes, totally changed my plan. It is my intention to resign my public situation and go and live at Pittsburg in Pennsylvania,” Latrobe explained in a letter to his brother in London. He planned to move his family in the summer of 1813 and build steamboats for Fulton in Pennsylvania.

  To his brother, Latrobe also confided his biggest fears. “But this unfortunate war accounts for everything that is abominable. I expect it will end either in a few months or last for many years, in which case your Congreve rockets may be tried on our towns and our torpedoes under the bottoms of your ships.”

  As he prepared to move to Pittsburgh, Latrobe had one more hope for doing something to save Washington City. As soon as he could, he would provide Fulton with an update on his role as a secret agent.

  By mid-May, Dolley received a reply from Phoebe, who had swiftly answered her May 6 correspondence. “Before you receive this letter my dear Mrs. Madison, you will no doubt have seen Papa,” Phoebe began. Indeed. Anthony had recently arrived in Washington City after traveling on the stagecoach between Philadelphia and Baltimore: “But tell him if you please that we were rejoiced to learn that he was safe at Havre de Grace.”

  Phoebe also expressed what many average Americans were feeling about the terrorizing British military. Though she didn’t call for Cockburn’s head on a plate, as others did, she fumed over the injustice of the redcoats’ tactics.

  “Every person condemns the pitiful conduct of the enemy in destroying our unfortified towns and pilfering their poor inhabitants.” Phoebe had another reason to write Dolley. A friend had asked her to write an introduction for him to Mrs. Madison.

  “I have shown him your picture, that he might have some idea of Mrs. Madison; besides those descriptions of her which he must often hear; but I have told him that hers is that face which neither pen nor pencil can faithfully portray.” Phoebe thought the picture was the “dignified representative of our sex in every female virtue adorned with all her sex’s beauty, grace and loveliness.”

  The drawing was a gift that Dolley had given Phoebe four years earlier as a “resemblance of your ‘parent’s friend.’” She likely gave it to her because she sensed that in her new role as wife of the president, she would no longer have the ability to be as close to her old friends as she once was. Mrs. Madison couldn’t have been more correct.

  As the summer of 1813 progressed, Dolley would soon realize that she wouldn’t have time for anyone but her husband. Pressure greater than anything he had yet experienced would weigh on him. The war would threaten their doorstep. He would soon need her sole, undivided attention. His presidency—his life, in fact—would depend on it.

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Dueling Strategies

  “And now, if I could, I would describe to you the fears and alarms, that circulate around me,” Dolley wrote on May 13, 1813, to her cousin and husband’s secretary, Edward Coles.

  Ten days after the British burned Havre de Grace, the people of Washington and adjacent Georgetown panicked over rumors that the redcoats were on their way to destroy the nation’s capital city. An American general had acquired intelligence of a British plan to invade Washington under darkness.

  “It is to land as many chosen rogues as they can about fourteen miles below Alexandria in the night, who may arrive before day and set fire to the offices and President’s House when, if opposed, they are to surrender themselves as prisoners,” Dolley explained.

  A frigate had recently stopped at the mouth of the Potomac River. The ship’s commander had sent a rowboat to another ship that anchored nearby. Too scared of being captured to wait around to discover the frigate’s intent, the American who watched this exchange shared the news, stirring fears of a British invasion.

  “For the last week all the [Washington] City and Georgetown [except the Cabinet] have expected a visit from the enemy, and were not lacking in their expressions of terror and reproach,” Dolley wrote about the contrast between the panic of the people and the call for calm coming from her husband’s cabinet. Chief among them was the secretary of war, General John Armstrong, who was a little too cool for comfort.

  “Madison and General Armstrong [the war secretary] declare that there is not any danger. A town meeting, however, . . . has appointed a committee of vigilance, and will, I hope, rouse the sleeping administration a little,” Latrobe explained to Fulton about the cabinet’s attempt to keep calm in the capital city.

  Two days before Cockburn attacked Havre de Grace, Armstrong had proudly issued a new manual for the regular military, not to be confused with the ragtag militia, which he disdained. Called the “Rules and Regulations of the Army of the United States,” the document outlined strict guidelines for promotions, ranks, and war staff responsibilities.

  Though Cockburn’s eye was clearly on causing trouble on the Chesapeake Bay, Armstrong looked much farther away: to Canada, particularly to Kingston. His strategy was so focused on the northern campaign that he seemed oblivious to the movements of the British along the Chesapeake.

  Earlier in April 1813 a rider from Baltimore had rushed to Washington City with a stunning report. He had notified both Armstrong and the navy secretary, William Jones, that Baltimore was in imminent danger of attack.

  How did each respond? While Jones darted to Baltimore, Armstrong was cool and dismissive. Indeed, Armstrong continually dismissed concerns about the Chesapeake as if swatting pesky flies. In his view the true plague facing America wasn’t the nearby coast, but the cost of failing to capture key cities in Canada. If U.S. forces could conquer Canadian border towns, then the British would have no choice but to end the war and raise the northern boundary by ceding Canadian cities to America in a final peace treaty. So he, and many others, reasoned.

  How did Dolley, a former Quaker, react to the rumors of an attack on Washington in mid-May 1813? Did pacifism reign in her heart or did self-defense kick in? Her tenacity dictated her response.

  “We are making considerable efforts for defense. The fort is repairing, and 500 militia, with perhaps as many regulars are; and to be, stationed on the green near the windmill, or rather, near Major Tayloe’s. The 20 tents, already look well,” she wrote Edward, assuring him that the military was responding swiftly.

  Major Tayloe, a known Federalist, owned a red-bricked mansion called the Octagon House. He had earlier rejected a design by Latrobe and instead employed Federalist Dr. Thornton to build this eight-sided mansion a few blocks west of the President’s House. The Octagon was the finest privately owned mansion in town.

  Unlike Dolley, some ladies were so frightened by the rumor that they packed their wardrobes and prepared for flight.

  “I do not tremble at this, but feel affronted that the admiral [of Havre de Grace memory] should send me no
tice that he would make his bow at my drawing room soon.”

  To her surprise, Dolley’s drawing rooms—a Republican term for levees or open house parties that she held at the President’s House—had attracted the notice of America’s top enemy.

  Though Dolley and the president’s cabinet sought to appear strong in the wake of rumors that Cockburn would attack Washington in May 1813, some people—including Latrobe—had concluded that Madison was a weak leader.

  Though his wife Mary had privately painted an unflattering image of Mr. Madison, she still held fondness for Dolley. Like Anthony Morris, Mary was a longtime Quaker friend of Dolley’s from Pennsylvania. Knowing her friend’s personal taste, Mary had occasionally shopped for Dolley in Philadelphia. “Tomorrow you will receive your box containing the hat and turban,” Mary had informed her in April 1809.

  At the time, Benjamin Latrobe was working with the Madisons to renovate the President’s House. Congress had authorized $5,000 for the project.

  Focusing primarily on the state or main floor, James and Dolley had split the state floor into two parts: one for entertaining and one for conducting official business. The East Room served as the Cabinet Room. With Latrobe’s help they converted the room next to it, the Green Room, into Madison’s office. They chose the next three rooms overlooking the South Lawn as a suite for entertaining: the oval room in the center, the adjacent west parlor, and the large corner room on the west. These rooms featured interior doors that connected each other as a suite while each also opened to a hallway. Visitors could enter the state floor from the north door.

  Latrobe had scoured the shops of Philadelphia and Baltimore for curtains, china, and cutlery. When he couldn’t find enough lightweight damask fabric for the formal center oval room, he’d settled on Dolley’s preference for the boldest possible color in the heaviest fabric: red velvet.