The Burning of the White House

by Jane Hampton Cook

  In the middle of the redcoats’ line were two men who carried lanterns to light their way, though by this point with the Capitol on fire, the need for light was hardly great.

  The men marched quickly, and mostly quietly, except for a handful of ruffians who began to talk.

  “Silence! If any man speaks in the ranks I’ll put him to death!” their leader called out.

  While his men were forced to walk in silence, Cockburn was anything but quiet. When the admiral saw an American man peering out of the window of a house on Pennsylvania Avenue, he decided to have some fun. He and Ross rode up to the house, which provoked a question from the nervous resident.

  “Gentlemen, I presume you are officers with the British army?” the American called out. “I hope, Sir, that individuals and private property will be respected.”

  Cockburn’s response bore the tone expected of an admiral. He even pulled off his hat and wished him a good evening in a polite and sociable manner.

  “Yes, Sir, we pledge our sacred honor, that the citizens and private property shall be respected,” the admiral promised, overlooking the fact that they had burned private houses on Capitol Hill.

  Perhaps he detected a doubtful look on the man’s face because he added: “Be under no apprehension. Our advice to you is to remain at home. Do not quit your houses.”

  Pleased at the agreement in the man’s eyes, Admiral Cockburn revealed the question most plaguing him as he prepared to capture the White House. “Where is your President, Mr. Madison?”

  The man said he didn’t know and couldn’t tell. But he supposed the president was a considerable distance away by now.

  Pity. Tasty cakes would have to wait. Cockburn’s hopes of capturing the Madisons now faded with each step of his horse down Pennsylvania Avenue. Though having the pleasure of Mrs. Madison’s company now eluded him, what awaited him at the White House was something more dazzling than he ever expected to find.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR

  White House Inferno

  When Cockburn and Ross arrived at the elbow of Pennsylvania and 15th Street, they decided to engage in more mischief. Why not? With all they’d accomplished, they were hungry. Besides, who would dare deny them food when they carried weapons of war? Cockburn was pleased because Ross had followed his lead and taken on a teasing but terrorizing tone. They stopped by Mrs. Suter’s tavern.

  Finding her alone with only servants for company, Ross announced that they had “come, Madam, to sup with you.”

  They could tell by her relaxed demeanor that she mistook them for American officers. Her tone quickly switched as she realized who they were. Replying that she didn’t have any vittles to eat, she suggested they try a tavern on another street.

  Explaining that he “preferred her house, because he had some acquaintance with her,” Ross referred to the incident of the U.S. postmaster who had recently discouraged her from feeding a British deserter, “a poor British soldier in distress.” A more accurate term would be spy.

  Then they insisted that she prepare a meal for them and several of their officers. Ross said they “should return after visiting the treasury.”

  Seeing fear in her eyes, they were confident that she would comply. Indeed, after they left, she killed some chickens from her yard and warmed some bread to await the return of the men who were burning her neighbor’s house and her nation’s seat of government.

  Wonder what little Jemmy thinks of his war now? Such was the contemptuous attitude of George Cockburn as he beheld his pearly white treasure the night of August 24. Though disappointed to find the Madisons weren’t at home, he was still as happy as he could possibly be. Here was his opportunity to bring glory to England.

  Cockburn and Ross gave orders. Some of their men invaded the President’s House, while others stayed outside and prepared to launch their rockets or fiery poles.

  Many, especially the officers, strode the steps and boldly placed their boots onto the floor of the entry hall. They quickly scattered throughout the rooms. Cockburn couldn’t have been more delighted to tour this mansion and see the beautiful rooms decorated by Mrs. Madison.

  Soon his nose overtook his bulging eyes. While many valuables surrounded him, including small engraved drawings of Dolley and Madison, his fine dress sword, her gowns, and others, what attracted the most attention that night was the dining room. That’s because it was full of something that Cockburn and his men hadn’t seen much of all day long—food and wine. Though abandoned, the White House was set and ready to entertain the admiral as if he had received an invitation.

  Lieutenant Scott described the feast that awaited them: “A large store of super excellent Madeira and other costly wines stood cooling in ice in one corner of the spacious dining-room.”

  While Dolley was physically absent, her hospitable presence was very much felt. The optimistic effort she had made to prepare a victory celebration for her husband and his officers took the form of a table set for a party of forty, complete with silver bowls covering the plates. To Cockburn’s and Scott’s delight, the $500 china set along with silver knives, forks, and spoons glistened while fully cooked food rested on the hearth.

  “We found the cloth laid for the expected victorious generals, and all the appliances and meals to form a feast worthy the resolute champions of republican freedom,” Scott recorded.

  Cockburn did what any leader would do. He put the primal needs of his officers ahead of their mission. They could wait to finish the job. Hence he ordered them to partake of the providential feast. After all, they’d had a very long day, from marching from camp at daybreak and marching again at sunset. Setting fire to buildings was hard work.

  Scott was very pleased by his boss’s decision to enjoy the moment. “Never was nectar more grateful to the palates of the gods, than the crystal goblet of Madeira and water I quaffed off at Mr. Madison’s expense.”

  A feast like this wouldn’t be complete without one key thing: a toast. And Cockburn knew exactly who should join him: an American who owed his paycheck to the happenings of Capitol Hill.

  While in Washington, Cockburn had acquired a traveling companion of sorts. He had picked up, or, more accurately, temporarily kidnapped, a young man. Roger Weightman was a bookseller who owed his livelihood to the happenings of Congress. A U.S. government contractor, he frequently printed reports for the House of Representatives. Somehow Cockburn got ahold of him. He wanted an American witness, someone who could relay the story of how the pirate-like admiral achieved his finest conquest.

  On entering the dining room, Cockburn insisted that young Weightman sit down and join them. Not only that, but he also required Weightman to make a toast and drink to Jemmy’s health. As a victim of kidnapping, Weightman felt the force of the cutlass in his back and the coercion to do just that. Hence, he gave a toast.

  Under Cockburn’s leadership, the toasting took on a life of its own. One officer toasted to the health of the prince regent of Great Britain. Another lifted his glass to His Majesty’s success on land and sea. Still another exhorted: “To peace with America and down with Madison.”

  Such toasts wouldn’t be complete without taking a souvenir, something to remember the moment. Cockburn looked around and told Weightman to take an item. The young American spotted a valuable ornament. Cockburn protested. No, no, that was too costly and he “must give [it] to the flames.” Then he handed Weightman a trinket from the mantle piece to serve as his souvenir.

  Now it was Cockburn’s turn to take a memento. He grabbed a cushion from what he concluded was Mrs. Madison’s chair. He hoped Jemmy wouldn’t mind, because “this will remind me of Mrs. Madison’s seat.”

  Someone else found one of Madison’s hats, an old chapeau de bras, and gave it to the admiral. Using the tip of his bayonet, he declared that if they couldn’t capture “the little president” they would parade his hat in England.

  Scott also joined in the looting fun. He and others swiftly passed through the mansion’s second floor, which s
erved as the Madisons’ private quarters. The mahogany furniture flanked walls that may have been decorated with pink, green, and yellow floral wallpaper. Dolley had given a scrap of the wallpaper to her friend Mary Latrobe by lining it in a box as a memento of Mr. Latrobe’s design work on the interior. Where exactly the wallpaper was placed is a mystery.

  When Scott entered the president’s private quarters, many of the drawers were already opened, creating a mess of disarray. Scott thought that this was the result of the Madisons’ quick departure. Very likely, some of the sloppiness was left by looters who had visited the White House in between Mrs. Madison’s escape and the British arrival, as Paul Jennings later recorded.

  Though the dresses Dolley Madison left behind were as lovely as they were valuable, Mr. Madison’s wardrobe had an immediate, practical application, particularly for Scott, whose own clothes were highly spoiled. Madison’s “snowy clean linen tempted me to take the liberty of making a very fair exchange. . . . I accordingly doffed my inner garment, and thrust my unworthy person into a shirt belonging to no less a personage than the chief magistrate of the United States.”

  Scott had also noticed something else of value. “On the walls hung a small portrait of the President’s lady.” He was not alone. One of the British marines or soldiers took this miniature of Dolley and another one or two of Madison, as Dolley later claimed.

  Still another officer stole Madison’s fine dress sword while another took a small walnut medicine chest. The most innovative theft was the British lad who hung around after dinner. This pirate captured a whole bounty of booty by taking a tablecloth from the dining room and tying plates, knives, and forks into it.

  With the looting complete, Cockburn knew it was time for the real fun to begin. This was better than any other raid he had ever conducted. Here he was, fulfilling his dream. What would they say back in England? He wouldn’t be just an admiral. He would be the hero who burned the White House of the rebellious Englishmen who called themselves Americans. Fame would come with such a glorious victory.

  Hence, it was time to prepare the kindling for the long-awaited moment. British sailors and marines piled up the furniture, such as the dozen Grecian cane chairs in the red oval room and the beds in the bedrooms. Using whatever they could find, they created stacks and piles throughout the house.

  The president’s mahogany bed with its elegant linens was particularly attractive. The Brits took lamp oil and poured it on bed linens and curtains topping the furniture piles. One captain claimed: “Our sailors were artists at the work.”

  Once they had piled the furniture, poured the lamp oil, and smashed the windows, they were ready for the final act. So was Cockburn.

  Making sure everyone had left the house, the admiral likely smiled with a buccaneer’s glee. He watched triumphantly as fifty sailors and marines surrounded the house. Each man carried a long pole that held a ball of oily rags about the size of a plate at the end of it and stood in front of a broken window or door. After each of the men had lit the end of his pole, the pyrotechnic commander gave the order: Fire!

  In unison, they thrust their fire poles and hurled them like javelins through the windows and doors. Flames instantly engulfed the White House, destroying in one moment the house that George Washington had chosen for his successors.

  The sky was reddened by the double blazes of the White House inferno and the Capitol conflagration. They were President Madison’s greatest humiliation and Cockburn’s finest triumph. The admiral would now be the man forever linked with destroying the symbols and monuments of American power and strength.

  While James crossed the river, Dolley returned to Georgetown and led a party of ladies to find shelter in Virginia.

  What slowed their progress? Nothing less than nineteenth-century traffic. The road was filled with so many wagons carrying passengers and precious belongings that progress was incredibly slow. At times the women left the coach and walked just to keep their sanity. They made it only two and half miles beyond Georgetown when they decided to stop for the evening.

  Finding their friend Matilda Love at home in her house, they took shelter on the Virginia side of the Potomac River for the night. Dolley, the woman known for her hospitality, suddenly found herself playing the role of an imposing guest with Mrs. Love as her host.

  The women had no way to know for sure what was happening in Washington. But as the British began to burn the city, they could see flames lighting up the sky.

  In front of a window, Dolley gazed at the flickering light on the horizon. All she could do was pray, cry, and hope that a better day would come for her country and her husband. A war that once seemed distant in faraway Canada had arrived on their doorstep. Where it would lead and how it would end was anyone’s guess.

  “Washington was, by such conduct, as completely at our mercy, as any city taken by storm,” Scott later recalled.

  Meanwhile, Ross and Cockburn had not forgotten Mrs. Suter. They, along with a party of ten officers, returned to the frightened woman’s table.

  As they ate, Cockburn blew out the candles. He teased and tortured Mrs. Suter by saying that he “preferred the light of the burning palace and treasury” to the pale moonlight.

  Though he doubted the Madisons were close by, he didn’t give up trying to discover their hiding place. He also announced to Mrs. Suter that he wanted to show President Madison the streets of London. Did she know the whereabouts of the Madisons?

  Ever the patriot and showing more wisdom than she had before, she replied simply. No, she did not.

  “It was near midnight, when, in passing a handsome row of houses, we observed one standing a little aback and apart from the rest,” Scott relayed.

  After dining at Mrs. Suter’s, they advanced down Pennsylvania Avenue toward the burning Capitol when “some good friend of the editor of the National Intelligencer pointed it out to the admiral, as the office of the American government paper.”

  Had the man truly been a friend to the Irish American editor, Joseph Gales, he wouldn’t have revealed the brick building’s location. Nor would he have suggested that Mr. Gales’s paper was a government entity. Very possibly, the person responsible for revealing the location was a Federalist who opposed the Republican-leaning editor. Scott, who knew that Admiral Cockburn devoured American newspapers as often as he took afternoon tea, understood the National Intelligencer’s significance.

  “It had ever taken the lead, and given the keynote to the republican press, in vilifying England and the English. The editor was reported to be an Irish renegade.”

  America had no such literal thing. Yes, the tone and content of newspapers often leaned one political direction or the other. Such had long been the case. But Gales didn’t operate a newspaper funded by the U.S. government. He was friendly and favorable to Madison; nonetheless, freedom of the press was taken seriously. Gales operated a private business in a public town.

  Cockburn decided to set fire to Gales’s newspaper building. If he couldn’t capture Madison, he could at least destroy his best press.

  “Its fate was decreed, and a few minutes would have seen it a prey to the devouring element—when a party of ladies, inhabitants of the adjoining houses, came forward to meet the admiral,” Scott said.

  The ladies didn’t know who Cockburn was, only that he was an officer. They asked him to spare the building from fire because it was in such close proximity to their homes, which would burn right along with it.

  “Well, good people I do not wish to injure you, but I am really afraid my friend Josey will be affronted with me, if after burning Jemmy’s palace, I do not pay him the same compliment.”

  Josey was Cockburn’s nickname for Joseph Gales. As he had done in Havre de Grace after hearing the pleas of women, Cockburn recalled his order to torch the place. Then he left a guard there overnight. “Never fear. You shall be much safer under my administration than Madison’s,” he promised.

  Scott recalled the ladies’ reaction: “The success of t
he fair petitioners emboldened others to advance, and in a few minutes the admiral was surrounded by a host of lovely women, who certainly outshone their countrymen in generalship on the capture of their metropolis.”

  The admiral easily charmed the ladies with his courtesy and manners. Then when one of the ladies invited him into her house to partake of refreshments, he accepted. Just as Scott was about to enter the house, one woman asked the name of the gallant officer.

  “Why, that is the vile monster, Cock-burn,” Scott replied, emphasizing the American pronunciation. “A half-uttered shriek of terror escaped from the lips of some of them, as the dreaded name tingled on their ears. The announcement was electrifying.”

  The ladies were shocked and disgusted. This amused Scott, who remembered Mr. Boyle’s advertisement from the summer of 1813. “My plighted word at last convinced them of the astounding fact that they had absolutely stood in the presence of, and amicably conversed with, that most venomous of all ‘British serpents,’ and for whose head a reward of one thousand dollars had been publicly offered.”

  When it came to Cockburn’s last name, Scott noted that “the Americans always pronounced the name as two long distinct syllables.”

  They enjoyed some refreshments and returned to headquarters on Capitol Hill. Congressman Charles Ingersoll later accused Cockburn of spending the night at a brothel. He called him the “harlequin of havoc.”

  “I make no war on letters or ladies,” Ross confessed that night.

  Unlike his counterpart, Ross’s conscience bothered him. On Capitol Hill, General Ross had taken the house of Dr. James Ewell for his headquarters. When he discovered that the building housed a private family and the bedroom he was to use was the wife’s chamber, he resisted Dr. Ewell’s hospitality.

  “I cannot think of trespassing on the repose of a private family, and will order my baggage out of the house immediately.”