The Burning of the White House

by Jane Hampton Cook

  The general held a quick conference with his officers. Detecting hesitation in Ross’s assessment, one asked: “What will be said of us in England if we stop now?”

  Cockburn could not have agreed more. Would the general waver? The admiral knew the truth. Except for defending Norfolk, this was the biggest display of boldness he had yet seen from the Americans.

  He and the other officers waited for Ross’s decision. Yes, many American troops lined the hill. Yes, they had artillery. But how strong was their will to fight? If Cockburn was right, the U.S. forces were most likely to flee in a panic rather than stand their ground. Ross agreed.

  “If it rain militia, then,” Ross allegedly replied of his decision, “we will go on.”

  A relieved Cockburn relished in the proposition as Ross ordered the vanguard of the 85th Regiment to advance. Led by Colonel Thornton, the guard left their covered position in the town of Bladensburg and marched onto the bridge.

  While standing by her post and planning a victory dinner for her husband’s officers, Dolley received this frantic but polite note from her friend Eleanor Jones, the wife of the navy secretary.

  “In the present state of alarm and bustle of preparation, for the worst that may happen, I imagine it will be mutually convenient, to dispense with the enjoyment of your hospitality today,” Eleanor wrote on August 24, 1814. She asked Dolley to excuse her absence along with that of her family members.

  “Mr. Jones is deeply engaged in dispatching the marines and attending to other public duties.”

  Eleanor’s situation was difficult. Their carriage horse was sick and their coachman had abandoned them. She explained that she was “busy packing up ready for flight, but in the event of necessity we know not where to go, nor have we any means yet prepared for the conveyance of our effects.”

  Despite receiving regrets, Dolley’s dinner preparations continued. Oh, how she hoped to see James sitting at the State Dining Room table under the watchful eye of the portrait of George Washington. How comforting and exciting it would be if his cabinet and the military’s officers enjoyed a meal that night to celebrate a victory! Hope and optimism were her best companions under the circumstances. What would happen if the battlefield turned out differently?

  CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO

  Bladensburg Races

  Leading a group of marines behind the British infantry, Cockburn and Scott waited for the battle to begin.

  The U.S. artillerists were ready. As soon as they saw the British front line fill the bridge, they fired their great guns. Soon Lieutenant Scott observed “roars of musketry; round, grape, and small shot came like a hail-storm” and swept out the redcoats in the advance.

  Forced to step over their dead and wounded comrades, the next wave of British soldiers marched onto the bridge. They successfully crossed. As the infantry advanced, their leader, Colonel Thornton, came within a few feet of the U.S. artillery. Suddenly his horse fell from under him. Thornton got up and led his men to the crest of the hill on foot. The American fire didn’t let up, wounding Thornton and others.

  Following the British advance were the 44th and 4th Regiments along with the admiral’s marines. Now it was their turn.

  Mounted on a charging horse, Cockburn couldn’t have appeared more brazen had he held a pirate’s flag. His uniform stood out the most, with his “conspicuous gold-laced hat and epaulettes fully exposed within 100 and 30 or 40 yards of his foes.”

  Together Cockburn and Scott directed their marines to prepare and launch their rockets into the American lines. Ready. Aim. Fire! Their rockets soared through the sky, leaving red glares and startling many. But they weren’t the only ones rattled.

  A round shot soon threw Scott from his horse. Realizing that the incoming fire was heavy and highly worried about the eye-catching appearance of his brazen commander, the lieutenant encouraged Cockburn to take cover.

  “I trust, Sir, you will not unnecessarily expose yourself, for, however much the enemy may suffer, they will regard your death as ample compensation.”

  How did Cockburn respond? Failing to heed Scott’s suggestion to take cover by a stone barrier, the admiral didn’t move.

  “Poh! Poh! Nonsense!” Cockburn replied, as he watched two marines prepare their rockets.

  The rockets soared into the sky and hit the American ranks, causing panic.

  “Capital! Excellent,” he replied. The precision of the rockets gave him great pleasure. At the same time, one of his marines standing next to him fell wounded.

  Then as the admiral spoke to another nearby marine, “a musket shot passed between the admiral’s leg and the flap of his saddle, cutting the stirrup leather in two, without doing any injury to him or the horse.”

  Dismounting his horse, Cockburn allowed Scott and another marine to hurriedly fix his broken stirrup with twine. Suddenly another shot soared over the saddle and hit the other marine aiding Scott. The shot “dismissed my assistant to the other world,” as Scott described.

  Despite these close calls, Cockburn felt the adrenaline that comes with being on the front lines. British soldiers and marines infiltrated the road to Washington like a pack of wolves chasing cats. While the marines fired their rockets, the infantry threw off their knapsacks and charged at the American front line with bayonets. They broke to the right and left to engage in hand-to-hand combat if necessary.

  Yet they soon had fewer and fewer hands to combat. American artillerymen abandoned their guns and retreated in a great panic. The effect was as contagious as yellow fever, but with no incubation. The retreat was instant.

  Military meteors from the redcoats streamed through the air. Because Congreve rocket technology was new to the Americans, few had seen the effect of the red glare. Saying they scared more than they harmed, General Winder tried to encourage his men to disregard them. But when a rocket soared over the president’s position, Winder knew he couldn’t ignore the weapons, either. Fearing for the president’s life and safety, he took action and advised Madison to fall back to the rear of the line. The president complied.

  Soon, the message of the battlefield’s reality spoke louder than any rocket. It was no use, as Madison reflected: “When it became manifest that the battle was lost; Mr. Rush accompanying me, I fell down into the road leading to the city and returned to it.”

  They took the road to Georgetown instead of the road to Washington. Not long after they left, a rush of men flew past them as if they were horses on a race track. The Americans were in full retreat and disarray.

  Concerned more than ever about his wife, he sent a messenger ahead to warn her. Oh, how he hoped she was safe. How he longed to embrace his beloved Dolley.

  While James and the army retreated, Dolley learned the news. Madison had sent James Smith with a message.

  “Three o’clock. Will you believe it, my Sister? We have had a battle or skirmish near Bladensburg, and I am still here within sound of the cannon!”

  Though he had sent her the news through messengers, she initially responded with shock and denial. “Mr. Madison comes not; may God protect him! Two messengers covered with dust, come to bid me fly; but I wait for him.”

  Focusing on the good, Dolley reflected on completing the job that James had given her earlier to pack his papers and other valuables, including the silver plate. “At this late hour a wagon has been procured, I have had it filled with the plate and most valuable portable articles belonging to the house; whether it will reach its destination; the Bank of Maryland, or fall into the hands of British soldiery, events must determine.”

  One treasure, however, required special attention. “Our kind friend, Mr. Carroll, has come to hasten my departure, and is in a very bad humor with me because I insist on waiting until the large picture of General Washington is secured, and it requires to be unscrewed from the wall.”

  Charles Carroll, who owned a house called Bellevue on the heights of Georgetown, was a friend. He was well intentioned, but he failed to see the significance of the portrait in
that moment.

  Perhaps she was walking through the state floor, going from window to window with her spyglass when she thought of it. Maybe she checked on the forty place settings dotting the table in the State Dining Room when she glanced up and saw the portrait. Maybe she had sat down at the piano in her music room and glanced through the doorway when the idea came to her. Regardless of how it came about, Dolley realized that she couldn’t leave the President’s House without making sure the portrait would be safe too.

  After all, this painting was larger than life. A gift to the White House from Congress in 1800, it was a national treasure. Sure, it was replaceable. Copies of the painting existed. But Dolley saw the symbolism behind it. If Cockburn captured the painting, he would have his men parade it through the streets of London and plop it in front of the prince regent’s feet as a symbol of their capture of Washington City. Such a dishonorable thing wasn’t going to happen on her watch.

  But removing it from the wall required more than a quick tug. French John and the Irish gardener Thomas McGraw tried to figure out how to detach it from the wall. According to Dolley, however, “This process was found too tedious for these perilous moments. I have ordered the frame to be broken, and the canvas taken out, it is done.”

  Though she ordered the frame to be broken, the painting shows no sign of being cut. Observing that the task required a ladder, fifteen-year-old Paul Jennings reflected that French John and McGraw came to the rescue. Very likely they were able to remove it from the wall without breaking the frame. They may have broken or removed the outer frame while keeping the canvas attached to its inner frame and preventing it from being cut.

  During this time, Mr. Jacob Barker and Mr. DePeyster of New York stopped by. They had come to check on their friend Dolley. As good fortune would have it, Barker had brought a wagon. “And the precious portrait placed in the hands of two gentlemen of New York, for safe keeping.”

  With this business concluded, it was time to say good-bye.

  “And now, dear sister, I must leave this house, or the retreating army will make me a prisoner in it, by filling up the road I am directed to take. When I shall again write you, or where I shall be tomorrow, I cannot tell!!”

  While Barker and DePeyster drove the wagon carrying the painting through Georgetown and found a house in Maryland to hide it, State Department clerks placed the nation’s archival documents in a wagon and took them to a mill three miles above Georgetown. Fearful that the enemy would seize a nearby cannon foundry, they drove the documents even further, to Leesburg, Virginia, three dozen miles away from Washington. There they found an abandoned house. And from this hiding place, the clerks protected the Declaration of Independence, the U.S. Constitution, and other irreplaceable historical treasures.

  Determined to do his part, Commodore Barney hurried to the Bladensburg dueling grounds on the road from Washington. “When I arrived at the line, which separates the district from Maryland, the battle began.”

  He wasted no time. He posted his men on the road to the east of General Smith’s men but not as far west as General Stansbury’s. “I sent an officer back to hurry on my men; they came up in a trot; we took our position on the rising ground.”

  Decisive and controlled, Barney arranged his cannon in a battery and posted his flotilla men to his right. “During this period the engagement continued, and the enemy advancing, our own army retreating before them, apparently in much disorder.”

  Then they waited for the enemy’s approach. “At length the enemy made his appearance on the main road, in force, and in front of my battery, and on seeing us, made a halt. I reserved our fire.”

  Barney’s hesitation proved to be wise. “In a few minutes the enemy again advanced, when I ordered an eighteen pounder to be fired, which completely cleared the road; shortly after, a second and third attempt was made by the enemy, to come forward, but all were destroyed.”

  Then the British crossed into an open field and tried to flank Barney’s right side. His men, including former slave Charles Ball, fired back, but they were on their own. “By this time, not a vestige of the American army remained, except a body of five or six hundred, posted on a height, upon my right, from whom I expected much support, from their fine situation.”

  The British fired muskets, “one of which shot my horse under me; who fell dead between two of my guns. The enemy, who had been kept in check by our fire, for nearly half an hour, now began to out-flank us on the right.”

  About 200 redcoats pushed up the hill toward the corps of Americans who were stationed there and “to my great mortification, made no resistance, giving a fire or two, and retired.”

  Likewise Barney’s ammunition drivers had fled in a panic. With two killed, his remaining men were now alone to fend off the enemy without ammunition.

  “At this time, I received a severe wound in my thigh . . . but to the honor of my officers and men, as fast as their companions and messmates fell at the guns, they were instantly replaced from the infantry.”

  Realizing that the British were now completely in their rear and he had nothing left to defend himself with, Barney ordered his men to retire, though he was too wounded to join them. “Three of my officers assisted me to get off a short distance, but the great loss of blood occasioned such a weakness that I was compelled to lie down. I requested my officers to leave me, which obstinately refused; but, upon, being ordered, they obeyed; one only remained.”

  Soon he saw a British soldier and called out to him. The soldier agreed to send Barney a British officer.

  Though he had resigned his position, Van Ness couldn’t sit around and do nothing. No matter that he was no longer major general of the Washington militia, he would fight as a volunteer.

  Astonishment greeted Van Ness as he arrived in Bladensburg after the battle began. He couldn’t see any distinct lines or detect any sort of battle plan. Worst of all, the retreat was chaotic.

  “In that part of the field on which I moved, and afterwards, during the retreat, I could discover or learn nothing like a system or an order of battle, of retreat, or of rallying, or reforming,” he later reflected.

  He also discovered that he wasn’t alone in his confusion. “Several of the officers of the militia of the city and Georgetown, (General W. Smith’s brigade) whom I met with in the course of the affair, (and who, with their men, were generally in good order, and deeply regretted the want of opportunity to act efficiently) appeared, in this respect, to be in the same predicament with myself.”

  And so they retreated to Georgetown into “inglorious circumstances.” He began to ask questions. Mingling among those who had retreated, he gathered important facts about the battle, its failures, and its many errors, especially cardinal ones. Like a catalogue, he documented them into his mind. When the time was right, he would put them on paper. Maybe someone could learn from their mistakes—that is, if America survived as an independent nation.

  A British officer helped the wounded Joshua Barney. Which one was it? The accounts differ. According to Barney, the officer who came to him was Captain Wainwright. Lieutenant Scott, however, also claimed credit for rescuing the dashing American hero.

  As Barney relayed: “In a few minutes an officer came, and, on learning who I was brought General Ross and Admiral Cockburn to me.”

  Regardless of which officer was his escort, Cockburn suddenly had the chance to meet the man his men had chased earlier in the summer. For all his policies of rewarding average Americans when they failed to fight back, he admired the fire in Barney’s belly. So did Ross.

  Barney, who was acquainted with Admiral Cochrane, reportedly looked up and said, “That is not Admiral Cochrane?”

  “It is Admiral Cockburn,” the admiral replied, using the British pronunciation of Co-burn.

  “Oh, Cock-burn is what you are called hereabouts,” Barney answered in the American pronunciation. “Well, Admiral, you have got hold of me at last.”

  “Do not let us speak on that subject, Commodor
e; I regret to see you in this state. I hope you are not seriously hurt.”

  “Quite enough to prevent my giving you any trouble for some time.”

  Humor relaxed the tensions. General Ross announced that he was giving Barney parole and offered him refuge in Washington or Bladensburg. Barney chose Bladensburg.

  “Those officers behaved to me with the most marked attention, respect, and politeness, had a surgeon brought, and my wound dressed immediately,” he reflected.

  “Barney was a brave officer,” Ross later said, noting that they wouldn’t have been successful if half of the American forces had shown his bravery.

  According to Scott, Cockburn later claimed: “If I had had five hundred such brave fellows as yours in this position, I could have defied 10,000 of the best troops in the world.”

  After the battle of Bladensburg, bravado and boasting dominated Cockburn’s official, but technically inaccurate, report to Admiral Cochrane: “That the enemy, 8,000 strong, on ground he had chosen as best adapted for him to defend, where he had had time to erect his batteries and concert all his measures, was dislodged as soon as reached.”

  While his numbers were off—many historians note that only 6,000 men had attempted to get to Bladensburg—the outcome was not. “And a victory gained over him by a division of the British Army not amounting to more than 1,500 men headed by our gallant general whose brilliant achievement of this day it is beyond my power to do justice to, and indeed no possible comment could enhance.”

  Though he knew that he had influenced Ross, he was careful not to take the credit. No matter his heart, bragging too much for one’s own personal gain wouldn’t give him a promotion. He had to let others do the boasting for him. That was the Royal Navy way.

  “The contest being completely ended and the enemy having retired from the field, the general gave the army about two hours rest.”