CHAPTER NINETEEN
Invasion
On August 17, 1814, Admiral Cockburn finally received what he had been longing for: regular British reinforcements. The gift, however, came with as much shock as disappointment. Instead of twenty or thirty thousand British soldiers and marines, only about 3,700 arrived in ships on the Patuxent River. Combined with the men Cockburn already had, the English forces on America’s mid-Atlantic coast totaled roughly 4,500.
What Cockburn didn’t anticipate was the conservatism of the admiralty. First Secretary of the Admiralty John Crocker had sent instructions, written weeks earlier, to the general leading the soldiers aboard the ships. The orders started ideally: “Their lordships entrust to your judgment the choice of the objects on which you may employ this force.”
Then came the hitch. No land invasion. Stay close to the ship, “as it will rarely if ever be necessary to advance so far into the country as to risk its power of retreating to its embarkation.”
In other words, the admiralty didn’t want the force to embark too far from their best means of escaping. “You will also consider yourself authorized to decline engaging in any operation which you have reason to apprehend will lead from the probability of its failure to the discredit of the troops under your command.”
The commanding officer receiving the order was forty-seven-year-old Major General Robert Ross, a veteran of the Napoleonic wars. Arriving in advance of his convoy of soldiers and marines, Ross came to the Patuxent River on August 14 to meet Cockburn. Cochrane was also present. Ross and Cochrane were not in complete agreement on the target that Cockburn had in mind.
The trio huddled aboard the flagship and discussed their options. Cockburn was intent on Washington. Cochrane still wanted to go north to Rhode Island. Ross was concerned that his men were physically unfit for an attack anywhere after being confined to ship travel for so many weeks.
Cockburn put forward his best arguments, logic, and evidence. In the past twenty-five days he had conducted nine successful raids and his captains had easily landed eighteen miles from Washington at Marlborough, where the locals had fled to the woods rather than defend their town.
Despite his experience and expertise in the region, Cockburn held the inferior position among the trio. Cochrane was his commanding admiral, while Ross had the full backing of the British government to make command decisions while the force was on land.
Cockburn knew the best evidence was to show Ross in particular the lackluster American spirit.
Early the next morning, on August 15, a small unit led by Cockburn landed on shore at St. Mary’s River. They easily attacked and destroyed a factory five miles from the river. No one fired a shot at them. A surprised Ross was much more open to Cockburn’s plan for invading Washington as a result. They agreed to take it one target at a time. What to strike first?
That was an easy decision. Barney’s flotilla was holed up at the top of the Patuxent. Success there was essential in this first act. Without it, the second act would be impossible, especially with the less-than-expected numbers of reinforcements.
On August 19 in the middle of the night, the British force disembarked at Benedict, Maryland. They included the 4th, 21st, 44th, and 85th Regiments. Each man carried sixty rounds of ball cartridge, a knapsack of clothing, a blanket, a drinking canteen, and a haversack for provisions lasting three days. Men, not beasts, hauled supplies and weapons from the ships.
Under such burdensome conditions, Cockburn gave James Scott, his aide de camp, an important job.
“Rear Admiral Cockburn had directed me to land on the left bank of the river, to obtain, if possible, a supply of horses for the officers and artillery,” Scott wrote. “I came upon a farm, which the proprietor had abandoned, better stocked than usual with these useful quadrupeds, but all young, and apparently never broken in.”
Knowing that acquiring horses was essential for his commander’s success, Scott pressed on with steely determination. “They were as wild as deer; but, having finally succeeded in driving them into the farmyard, and thence into a stable.”
Within an hour, he bragged that his marines, who had spent as much if not more time at sea as on land, had conquered the horses. “It is a singular fact, that not one of the riders was unshipped; though I firmly believe it was the first time they had ever bestrode a horse.”
The British now had enough horses to do the job. Cockburn couldn’t have been more pleased.
Major General Van Ness called on Armstrong again. With all that was known, the reinforced British fleet and its troops entering the Patuxent River, surely General Armstrong was ready to do more.
With great apprehension of the secretary’s answer, Van Ness pressed his case. He knew they weren’t prepared for an attack, and he had many questions. How will the enemy be repulsed? By land? By sea? What to do about Washington City? How should the locals prepare? What of the militia?
This banker argued with the vigor of the best of attorneys, yet it wasn’t enough. A steaming Van Ness couldn’t believe Armstrong’s indifferent attitude. Didn’t he think the enemy intended a serious blow to Washington City?
“Oh yes! by God, they would not come with such a fleet without meaning to strike somewhere,” Armstrong replied.
Van Ness felt slightly relieved. At least Armstrong was acknowledging a threat.
Then the war secretary added, “But they certainly will not come here; what the devil will they do here?”
The words were as shocking as they were devastating. How could Armstrong come to that conclusion? Not even their shared ties to New York were enough to find common ground. Clearly Armstrong’s preference for larger more established cities had blinded him to reality. Completely disagreeing, Van Ness made no effort to hide anger over the danger. His tone of voice, words, and body language conveyed the injustice he felt for both his neighbors and his nation.
What if the enemy intended to attack the seat of government? Capturing a capital city would place a crown in their caps.
“No, no! Baltimore is the place, sir; that is of so much more consequence!” Armstrong replied without hesitation.
Van Ness couldn’t believe it. What would happen if Armstrong was wrong? He knew the answer. Catastrophe. Conflagration. Capitulation.
Twenty minutes after receiving a letter from Secretary Monroe on August 21, 1814, Madison wasted no time and sent him a reply via an express messenger. He had no time to deliberate or defer to others’ assessments.
“If the force of the enemy be not greater than yet appears, and he be without cavalry, it seems extraordinary that he should venture on an enterprise this distance from his shipping,” he wrote Monroe.
The day after the British disembarked at Benedict, the secretary of state went scouting. Pointing his spyglass toward the river, he estimated that the size of the enemy’s force was around 6,000 men and nearly two dozen ships. Missing were enough reliable spies. He hadn’t discovered anything of consequence about the enemy’s intentions.
Madison weighed the balance. Would the brashness and boldness of the British emerge, or would caution guide them? More than anything, with Armstrong’s leadership, he was concerned about the lack or “want of precaution on ours.”
Many questions pulsed with the speed of a tropical summer downpour. What were the redcoats’ orders? Who was more conservative, the British admiralty or the officers in charge of the campaign? Who was more brazen? The answer would matter most. Having watched many a horse race, the president knew which way to bet. Madison wrote Monroe and mused about the British commander’s intentions. “He may be bound also to do something, and therefore to risk everything.”
At this point the president had little information about what was happening elsewhere, especially along the southern portion of the Potomac River. He had no news from the northern campaign along the Canadian border in New York or the peace negotiations in Europe. If word of a peace treaty arrived soon, then the British would back off. Such was the hope. What he needed w
ere Noah’s dove and Gabriel’s miracle.
Van Ness complied immediately with his orders on August 18. Armstrong had asked him to provide Secretary Monroe with two small troops of horse “to accompany him to the Patuxent.”
General Winder was also hesitating on the size of the force he wanted from the District of Columbia. Van Ness strongly advised him to call up the whole division. Winder ultimately agreed.
As Van Ness gave orders for the Washington militia to aid Winder, many questions lingered in his mind. Who was in charge? Was he still their commander or did General Winder now command the Washington militia? After all, Madison had appointed Winder to lead the tenth military district.
Perhaps Van Ness should approach Armstrong or maybe the president. Not wanting to distract attention from the rising emergency at hand, he would wait to ask.
On August 21, Barney found himself holding a position near Pig Point in the Patuxent River. He had long worried that this day would come. From the moment he had received Jones’s warning back in June, he’d felt anguished over the fatal command given to him should certain conditions arise.
“I acknowledge the justness of the reasoning, and the precaution in your orders, but I feel a depression of spirits on the occasion, indescribable,” Barney had replied to Jones.
The commodore had explained that if the conditions arose, he must be cautious in how he went about implementing Jones’s orders because his officers and men were in high spirits and motivated to meet the enemy.
Those conditions grew increasingly nearer. “Appearances indicate a design on this place, but it may be a feint, to mask a real design on Baltimore,” Navy Secretary Jones had written to Barney on August 1 from his post at the Navy Yard in Washington City. His words had reflected the reality of rational confusion. “If however their force is strong in troops, they may make a vigorous push for this place [Washington]. In that case they probably would not waste much time with the flotilla.”
On August 21, Barney knew that the British had advanced from Benedict to Nottingham, Maryland. They were coming in his direction. The enemy clearly held the advantage. Taking the bulk of his force, about 350 men, he left a unit of about one hundred others behind to prepare for implementing Jones’s fatal order. What was that order? If the British approached, fire!
Van Ness couldn’t get a straight answer. The process was maddening. Was he in charge of the Washington militia? Or was General Winder? He approached Winder, who hedged. Van Ness next asked Armstrong, who said that this embarrassing question was for the president to answer.
The major general took the issue to Madison, who responded as unclearly as the others. He didn’t know. The decision belonged to Armstrong.
What was Van Ness supposed to do? He sent a messenger to Armstrong. After two hours, the messenger returned. The command belonged to Winder.
What was he to do now? He’d spent months knocking on Armstrong’s door and begging for more resources. Where Armstrong was cool and indifferent, Winder was indecisive and disorganized. Though wide-eyed and aware that things weren’t going well, Van Ness knew that accepting Armstrong’s decision was the right thing to do. As he explained, “I determined not to attempt to create any discordance or schism at a moment of imminent peril and when the cordial co-operation of all was so important; and, at the same time, whilst I held my commission of major general, not being able to serve under General Winder, I instantly sent my resignation to the secretary.”
Cockburn did indeed intend to attack Barney’s fleet stuck at the top of the Patuxent, but in his mind, this was only a mask for his greatest desire of attacking the nation’s capital. With Lieutenant James Scott at his side, the admiral and his men boarded small boats and approached the American flotilla on August 22. “I plainly discovered Commodore Barney’s broad pendant in the headmost vessel (a large sloop) and the remainder of the flotilla extending in a long line astern of her,” Cockburn reported.
Barney’s flagship was the Scorpion, which headed the rest of the gunboats.
“Here, then, was the boasted flotilla; we had brought them to bay, and in a few minutes we should see what they were made of,” Scott boasted along with Cockburn. “The admiral, dashing on in his gig, led the attack.”
As Cockburn, Scott, and their men closed in on Barney’s fleet, they noticed smoke billowing from the Scorpion. Cockburn explained: “. . . we observed the sloop bearing broad pendant to be on fire, and she very soon afterwards blew up.”
Scott put it more colorfully. “And in a few minutes the Scorpion, like the venomous insect she was named after, unable to wound her enemies, turned the sting of death upon herself, and exploding, blew stars, stripes, broad pendant and herself, into a thousand atoms.”
Cockburn and Scott could hardly believe their eyes as sixteen of seventeen boats in rapid succession blew up. Scott reported that the sound “almost cracked the drums of our ears.”
Barney had bested them. In orders from Jones, he had arranged for the remnant of his men to blow up their fleet and prevent capture.
Did Cockburn mind that he’d lost the opportunity to capture the ships? Hardly. No matter that Barney did his work for him, he’d met his objective nonetheless. With the flotilla unable to harass them, surely now Ross would agree to attack Washington.
As his men escaped, Barney knew exactly where he wanted to go. They had provisions for only two days. Only one place made sense.
This navy commandant was ready to act like an army soldier if need be to defend his nation’s capitol. What he failed to do on water, perhaps he could accomplish on land. He would put aside Poseidon and become Zeus on earth to defeat the pirate Cockburn.
Though he’d wear his leather and silk belt, whose metal thread was embroidered with anchors, acorns, oak leaves, and the U.S. Navy insignia, he would battle like an Army man. Oak leaves were a Navy symbol because oak wood was used to build ships. Now he would stand among oak trees with cannon if need be. It was time to return to Washington City and defend it with his blood.
“The enemy are in full march for Washington,” Monroe wrote the president on August 22. A detachment of the British military was six miles from the Woodyard in Maryland. Because the closest American unit was too small to engage them, they retreated back to the Woodyard.
Replying to Monroe at ten o’clock a.m. on August 22, 1814, Madison expressed comfort over Monroe’s order to his State Department employees: “The papers of all the officers are under way to retired places.”
Purchasing coarse linen bags, State Department clerks were packing away critical documents, including the original Declaration of Independence, the Articles of Confederation, the U.S. Constitution, treaties, laws, and some papers of George Washington. They were hanging these packed bags around the room in the clerk’s office to be ready in case they needed to quickly load them into a wagon and evacuate to the countryside.
Knowing that the force of 10,000 he’d hoped for had not materialized, Madison also told Monroe: “I fear not much can be done more than has been done to strengthen the hands of General W[inder].”
He took comfort that the British wouldn’t want to venture too far from their escape plan—their ships. Madison added: “But the crisis I presume will be of such short duration, that but few even from the neighboring country will be on the ground before it is over.”
Now it was time for him to leave and join Winder to discover how many troops they had at Long Old Fields. But first, Madison needed to say good-bye to Dolley.
Though he lacked the passion to devise multiple plans and strategy options, as he’d done for Canada operations, Armstrong hadn’t completely ignored the president’s orders. On July 4, 1814, he had issued a requisition for 9,600 men. The notices were intended for the executives of each state: 2,000 from Virginia, 5,000 from Pennsylvania, 6,000 from Maryland, and 2,000 from District of Columbia, making the aggregate number 15,000. This excluded the regular troops, the 36th Regiment and 38th Battalion. Winder was tasked with implementing and in some
cases forwarding or sending these requests to the states.
But he delayed some of the president’s orders. Ten days after receiving instructions from Madison, Armstrong issued a circular on July 12 to the governor of Maryland, and another circular to the governors of Virginia and Pennsylvania on July 17. Because Winder was traveling around Virginia and Maryland in July, he often didn’t receive Armstrong’s correspondence in a timely manner. As a result, Winder didn’t follow up or write the governor of Pennsylvania until August 3.
The problem in Pennsylvania was that an 1807 law authorizing the governor to call up the militia had expired on August 1, 1814. The governor didn’t receive Winder’s letter until August 6. He would not be able to reauthorize the militia law until October, when lawmakers reconvened. The problem was different in Virginia, where the governor had already called up 15,000 militiamen on June 22 to defend the commonwealth’s shores. These men would not be available to comply with the July 4 requisition of the federal government. Armstrong responded to the Virginia governor that only 2,000 of the 15,000 should be put under Winder’s leadership.
Though the war secretary had technically complied with Madison’s instructions, he had sabotaged the ability of these militiamen to be trained and ready. Winder understood that Armstrong intended to draw up and designate these forces but “that no part of it should be called into the field until . . . it probable that a serious attack be contemplated.”
They’d failed to listen to Van Ness’s suggestion to have a continuous on-duty militia, watching and waiting twenty-four hours day. Such a precaution was just too costly in Armstrong’s view. What would the cost to the country be for his failure?
CHAPTER TWENTY
The British Are Coming
The Burning of the White House Page 19