The Burning of the White House

by Jane Hampton Cook

  Dr. Ewell insisted that he stay, and promised to cooperate if the British spared his house. Ross agreed.

  “I am a married man myself with several sweet children, and venerate the sanctities of the conjugal and domestic relations,” Ross explained.

  The general shared of his regrets with Ewell, claiming that he didn’t know that the Library of Congress was housed inside the Capitol until after the burning. He also didn’t know how revered Mrs. Madison was until it was too late.

  “I have heard so much praise of Mrs. Madison, that I would rather protect than burn a house which sheltered so excellent a lady,” he said.

  Say what he might, he did just that. Ross went along with Cockburn. He may have been a commanding general, but he played the role of foal to Cockburn’s leading mare.

  They had to wonder, too, what had happened to Dolley.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE

  Displaced or Conquered?

  The next morning, before the sun rose on August 25, Dolley took the lead. Committed to meeting the president at the inn sixteen miles from Washington, she departed with the ladies toward their countryside destination. The citizens they would meet along the way would reveal more about her husband’s reputation and fall from grace than she ever wanted to know.

  Panic-filled people became pedestrians on the paths of Virginia. No one felt safe anywhere. Rumors followed Dolley as she traveled to the inn. Without instant communication and reliable sources, all they had were nuggets of news. Yet falsehoods were so prevalent that the truth was elusive. One rumor rose to the surface: that Cockburn’s atrocities were worse than they had been at Hampton, where British soldiers had stolen women’s honor.

  Though this wasn’t true, they carried the fears of possibility with them. If the British had burned the White House and Capitol, what would they do next? Would they declare America conquered? Did they plan to advance up the coast and demand the capitulation of other major cities like Baltimore, Philadelphia, New York, and Boston? Or were people overreacting?

  Hence, Dolley and her group headed onward, not knowing if they would have a dwelling to return to or if they would be able to return.

  Also on the morning of August 25, while rain covered the sunrise, Cockburn returned to the National Intelligencer building. “Make sure all the C’s are destroyed, so the rascals can’t abuse my name anymore.”

  Instead of burning the building, Cockburn ordered some of the officers and marines to use ropes to pull the building down. They picked out the letter Cs from the printing press and stole them.

  “I’ll punish Madison’s man, Joe,” the admiral said, “as I have his master, Jim.”

  Scott reported: “The reams of paper, files of gazettes foreign and domestic, and all the inflammable materials, had been previously conveyed to some distance in the rear, and a bonfire made of them.”

  The admiral and Scott considered the destruction of the National Intelligencer as a just purification against “the instruments of corruption and falsehood emanating from a traitorous proprietor.”

  That same day, Ross and Cockburn received a group of residents from nearby Alexandria. They offered to surrender their city in exchange for sparing the buildings. Certainly. Cockburn and Ross agreed. The officers’ only disappointment was that the British ships assigned to invade Alexandria hadn’t yet arrived.

  What was the extent of Cockburn’s destruction? The U.S. Capitol. The White House. The Treasury. The War Office. The British burned every government building except the one housing the post office and patent office.

  The British force also burned two ropewalks, which were private businesses. They knocked over barrels of tar and spread out hemp and cords in a train. Because of this pyrotechnic arrangement, the ropewalk fire ran rapidly along the building’s six hundred yards.

  Cockburn described the destruction as complete in a letter to Cochrane: “In short, Sir, I do not believe a vestige of public property, or a store of any kind which could be converted to the use of the government, escaped destruction; the bridges across the Eastern Branch and the Potomac were likewise destroyed.”

  Meanwhile, Mrs. Madison and her entourage reached the tavern chosen by the president. A black sky hovered over the building’s roof and apple orchard. Forked lightning lit up the sky. Winds whipped through the orchard, tossing apples as if they were as light as snow flakes.

  The worst in nature manifested itself in the form of a storm, matching the whims of the British. Dolley was grateful that she had outrun and outpaced both—at least so far. She needed Providence’s promise to be with her wherever she went.

  The luck of the British behind its Irish commander vanished with the sun. Acts of nature and accidents of man changed the fortunes of the British arsonists in the afternoon of August 25.

  “About noon, one of the severest squalls, or more properly speaking tornadoes, which I ever witnessed, passed over Washington,” Scott recalled.

  The storm uprooted trees and tore off roofs. Debris flew threw the air. One British officer died when winds from the storm threw him from his horse.

  Around two o’clock, Ross sent a unit to Greenleaf’s Point, the place where the Potomac River meets its eastern branch. Though the Americans had burned the fort located there, the British had heard that stores of valuable gunpowder remained.

  However, someone had thrown a large quantity of gunpowder into a well that wasn’t full of water. Some of the powder remained dry above the water line. It soon exploded, killing at least twelve British soldiers and severely injuring thirty. Scott reported that “many of the latter were so dreadfully mutilated that instant death would have been a blessing to them.”

  Ross had had enough. It was time to evacuate and return to their ships. As night enveloped the destroyed city, he ordered his men to quietly slip away and retreat toward Bladensburg: “The object of the expedition being accomplished, I determined, before any greater force of the enemy could be assembled, to withdraw the troops and accordingly commenced retiring on the night of the 25th.”

  Filling the tavern were others seeking shelter. Many were ladies who had attended Dolley’s open-house levees and whose husbands and sons had been at the battle in Bladensburg. When they discovered that Dolley was among them, some of them became angry at her. Why should they be under the same roof as the woman whose husband had caused such a calamity to befall their city and country?

  Paul Jennings, one of Madison’s slaves who eventually bought his freedom, later recalled more details of the threat Dolley encountered at that inn. As Dolley’s African servant, Sukey, described it, “The lady of the house learning who she was, became furious, and went to the stairs and screamed out, ‘Miss Madison! If that’s you, come down and go out! Your husband has got mine out fighting, and d__n you, you shan’t stay in my house; so get out!’”

  Shocked but composed, Mrs. Madison complied. She traveled to Mrs. Minor’s house, a few miles further.

  The storm also delayed the president’s arrival. By this time, Colonel Monroe had left his party to join General Winder, who led what militia he could still keep together. General Armstrong and Treasury Secretary Campbell had gone to Fredericktown, Maryland. Madison and Mr. Rush along with their escorts slipped into the shelter that evening, where his party rested and ate.

  Giddy-up replaced gloating in Cockburn’s demeanor.

  Though sad that his fun had come to an end, even the admiral knew that they didn’t have enough men to occupy Washington. They could destroy but not take over without reinforcements. He agreed with Ross’s method for retreating. Their men created campfires and gave the appearance that they planned to spend the night. Then they departed after dark.

  Not every American was fooled by the maneuver, as one patriot reported.

  “Hearing the tramp of the retreating foe, one of the ladies of our household stepped to the door and there encountered a group of British officers asking a last drink from the old pump.”

  “Great God, Madam!” Cockburn said. “Is th
is the kind of storm to which you are accustomed in this infernal country?”

  “No, Sir. This is a special interposition of Providence to drive our enemies from our city,” she replied.

  Not even Cockburn could argue with that.

  At midnight the fortunes of the Madisons changed again. A rumor that the British were coming awoke them. Once again, the president had to make a quick decision. Worried for her safety if she stayed with him, James determined to depart immediately and travel farther into the woods to avoid capture.

  While James left under the cover of darkness, Dolley left at daylight. Deciding to leave her companions behind, Dolley disguised herself, used another carriage, and flew further into the countryside. A single escort, a Mr. Duvall, accompanied her. All she could do was wait for word from her husband on what to do next.

  After hovering in a hovel during that night, Madison also traveled further, going to the Montgomery Courthouse, where he had planned to meet up with a segment of Winder’s militia. When he arrived, he discovered that the army had already moved on. Madison then traveled to a Quaker settlement known as Brookville. The Quakers there took good care of him, giving him supper and lodging. They spread beds for guards throughout the house and placed guards around the house.

  “All the villagers, gentlemen and ladies, young and old, throng’d to see the President. He was tranquil as usual, and tho’ much distressed by the dreadful event, which had taken place not dispirited,” one of the Quakers later reflected. While many community members stopped by to see him, Madison had time to think and contemplate his next move. Here among the peacemakers, he knew more than ever he had to find a path to peace.

  He could not possibly emerge as the same leader that he had been. The British may have won this battle, but this scholarly president lacking extensive military service couldn’t let them win. He would return to Washington as soon as possible and lead like never before.

  “My Dearest,” he began in a letter to Dolley. He wrote from Brookville on August 27 at ten o’clock a.m. “I have just received a line from Colonel Monroe saying that the enemy were out of Washington and on the retreat to their ships, and advising our immediate return to Washington. You will all of course take the same resolution.”

  He added, “I know not where we are in the first instance, to hide our heads.” Though Mr. Rush had offered his house, Madison decided that he needed to consult with a former member of Congress, his brother-in-law, the husband of Dolley’s sister Anna. “I may fall in with Mr. Cutts and have the aid of his advice.”

  James returned to the city quickly, by five that evening, and stayed at the Cutts’s home on F Street, about a block from the destroyed Treasury Building.

  Now it was Dolley’s turn to find her way back to James.

  PART III

  Phoenix by the Dawn’s Early Light

  The smoldering fires of the Capitol were spices of the phoenix bed, from which arose offspring more vigorous, beautiful and long lived.

  —U.S. Congressman Charles Ingersoll, 1814

  President James Monroe (1817–1825) moved into the rebuilt White House. This drawing depicts a crowded event a few years later in 1829. Courtesy Library of Congress

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  Phoenix Spices

  When the news of the burning of the Capitol and President’s House reached London, adulation and hurrahs broke out. “War America would have, and war she has got. . . . Washington is no more,” the editors of the state-controlled newspaper London Courier published.

  England’s Evening Star continued the joy: “The reign of Madison, like of Bonaparte, may be considered as at an end.”

  The National Register of London printed that Madison had shot himself. A downright lie, that was.

  Back in America, Congressman Ingersoll later reflected: “It was an attack, not against the strength or the resources of a state, but against the national honor and public affections of a people.”

  He went on to note that though invading armies often captured capital cities, they didn’t burn them. The respect of nations for each other, except for accidents, usually led armies to spare monuments, records of history, halls of legislation, and art when capturing a capital.

  Ingersoll was particularly outraged that the British had violated this code, especially after battling Napoleon. “After twenty-five years, of the fiercest warfare, in which every great capital of Europe had been spared, almost respected by enemies, it was reserved for England to violate all that decent courtesy towards the seats of national dignity.”

  Ingersoll saw the issue as one of fairness, for, as he pointed out, “the object of the expedition, both General Ross and Admiral Cochrane officially reported to their government, was the complete destruction of the public buildings: barbarism which Vienna, Lisbon, Berlin, Amsterdam, Madrid, Munich, Moscow, and Paris, were not subjected to when captured in this century.”

  He wasn’t the only American who felt that way. In Ghent, John Quincy Adams had a similar reaction after he learned of the burning of the U.S. Capitol and President’s House. The news had set back the peace negotiations with the British.

  “There is scarcely a metropolis in Europe that has not been taken in the course of the last twenty years. There is not a single instance in all that time of public buildings like those being destroyed,” he wrote in a letter to his wife, Louisa, shortly after he learned of the burning.

  He deplored a recent instance of an invading military force setting fire to a major city. “The army of Napoleon did indeed blow up the Kremlin at Moscow, but that was a fortified castle, and even this act has ever been and ever will be stigmatized as one of the most infamous of his deeds.”

  As soon as she received her husband’s letter dated August 27, Dolley departed for Washington. By this time she was no longer the Quaker queen costumed in her best silks. She had camouflaged her appearance, wearing the shawl of a simple farmer’s wife. Her journey progressed well until she reached the Potomac River and its Long Bridge, which was burned at both ends.

  Posted there was Colonel Fenwick, whose assignment was to ferry war ammunition and the needs of the military across the river. When she arrived, he didn’t recognize her and refused to escort her across the river. Only military people were allowed on his ferryboat. Orders were orders.

  Disfigured at the battle of Queenstown, Fenwick’s body was riddled with the marks of musket fire. He had also lost an eye and his ability to use a hand. Ever the patriot, he was unbending and refused to let this farmer’s wife cross the river on his ferryboat.

  Dolley didn’t give up. She sent her escort to Fenwick again and asked him to come to her carriage in person. Please. No. Please, again. No and no. What should she do?

  With no other option, she revealed her identity. As soon as he realized he was facing Mrs. Madison, he agreed to whisk her along with her borrowed carriage across the river in his boat.

  Destruction greeted her path as she traveled the debris-filled roads to her sister’s house. Adding to the devastation was anger. Americans had scribbled on the Capitol’s charred walls “The capital and the union lost by cowardice.” Other graffiti proclaimed: “John Armstrong is a traitor” . . . “Fruits of war without preparation” . . . “This is the city of Madison” . . . “George Washington founded this city after a seven years’ war with England—James Madison lost it after a two-years’ war.”

  Dolley knew her husband’s heart was broken. Seeing that broke her heart, as did the sight of the White House as a blackened shell. They rode over and surveyed the ashes together. Tears no doubt unraveled her. Exterior walls showing the shape of a large rectangle were all that remained. The inside was gone. Their piano, clothes, chairs, curtains—all were blackened. The muddy pit was an ash heap of history. They’d lived in the capital city since it began. Now, after a mere fourteen years, Washington appeared at an end.

  Had the father of the U.S. Constitution been the one to lose the country? Would they now be severed into two countries, with t
he Federalists in New England leading a return to England? The weight of such responsibility was heavy on Madison’s heart, and on Dolley’s.

  What would they do? Where would they go? What would happen to their country and this capital city? Would it become ancient ruins, uncovered in future centuries by archeologists as the failed city? Or would it rise like a phoenix?

  Just as Madison had played a role in the birth of Washington City, so its destiny was tied to him, his wife, and the unsung average Americans who would rally for their capital city, their country, and the U.S. Constitution.

  Many Americans had to ask, were they ready for the American experiment to end this way? Were they willing to be conquered and subjected again to the king? Yes, they were angry and blamed Armstrong and Madison. Yes, they wondered how the general government could have let such an awful thing happen. But this land was their land. This was America’s turf and it was time to fight with all they had.

  “The immediate and enthusiastic effect of the fall of Washington, was electrical revival of national spirit and universal energy,” Congressman Ingersoll reflected.

  Mr. Madison’s war had been unpopular among many Americans. The embargoes had cut off the livelihoods of individuals, sinking people into poverty. The government was borrowing money to fund the war and would soon default. Though the regular military didn’t have enough men, Congress didn’t have the legal power to draft regular soldiers, and the militia proved ineffective at Bladensburg. America was often strong where it should have been the weakest: at sea. Conversely, generals and officers frequently mismanaged battles on land, weakening Madison’s hand in treating for peace.

  After the burning of the U.S. Capitol and White House, something changed. People awakened to the higher calling of patriotism, the call that many of their parents had heard a generation earlier during the American Revolution. Ingersoll had witnessed this resurrection first hand.