Major Peter, to Barney’s left, kept at his guns as well.
Riding hard through the smoke came General Winder as he ordered General Scott’s and Major Peter’s Regulars to fall back. They couldn’t hold back the British, and they didn’t know their left was totally exposed. Winder was trying to save what men he could to fight another day.
Scott’s Regulars cursed the general to his face, but Winder would not be swayed. Without firing a shot, they fell back. The District of Columbia Militia too, far tougher than anyone supposed, argued violently with Winder but ultimately obeyed his orders. Two thousand men withdrew without firing a shot.
Winder never got to Barney, or maybe he didn’t try because Barney was a Navy man and Winder felt no jurisdiction over the Navy. Barney, undismayed as his support evaporated, fought on like a maniac. His sailors threw everything they had at the British, even after a bullet gouged a hunk of meat from Barney’s leg and lodged inside it. He didn’t go down but kept shouting orders.
The entire British Army now concentrated on one fifty-five-year-old commodore and his five hundred men.
“Come on! Come on, you sons-of-bitches,” Barney screamed at the enemy. “I’ll kill every one of you!”
One of the gunners whistled as he swabbed the cannon.
Barney’s sailing master bellowed at him, “The wagons!” before he collapsed, shot through the head.
Joshua turned to see the ammunition wagons, driven by civilians, heading for Washington. He had only a few rounds of ammunition left.
“Finish off! Finish off and then spike the guns!”
Sharpshooters, crawling through the field, came closer and closer, picking off the sailors.
Blood gushed from Barney’s thigh. “I want you men out of here, out of here now!”
Charles Ball ran over to his staggering commander. “Come on. Commodore, come on.”
“Hell, Charlie, I’m too heavy to carry. Get out of here.”
“No, sir.” Ball spied Barney’s aide on the commodore’s horse. “Wilson, come over here.”
Wilson galloped off. Barney yelled at him too, but Wilson had had enough.
“I’ll bust up Wilson later.” The pain throbbed now. “As for you, Ball, go.”
“No.”
“You can make it.”
“No, sir.” Grime-streaked sweat poured over his smooth brown features.
“Ball, you’re not a freeman, and I’ll tell some goddamned Virginia planter.”
“How do you know that?” Ball was incredulous.
“I’m no idiot, Charlie. You never showed me your papers. Now get, get, or so help me God I’ll shoot you myself.”
Ball carefully lowered Barney to the ground. Tears came to his eyes but Barney waved him off.
Joshua Barney rolled over on his stomach and pressed hard against the ground, hoping to stem the loss of blood.
A corporal of the British 85th found him.
“I’m not surrendering to a goddamned corporal,” Barney hissed. “Now get me an officer of rank.”
“Yes, sir.” The Redcoat saluted. He returned with Captain Wainwright, who immediately left and, to Barney’s surprise, returned with both Rear Admiral Cockburn and General Ross, who knew that this was the man who had held up their advance.
Captain Wainwright introduced Cockburn, pronouncing the name “Co-burn.”
Barney staggered up but sank to his knees, a fresh jet of blood pouring out of his thigh. “All this time I’ve been calling you Cockburn. Well, Admiral, you’ve got hold of me at last.”
In chasing Barney, George Cockburn had grown to admire the American’s skill. Today he admired his incredible bravery. A handsome man, Cockburn removed his hat. “Let us not speak of that subject, Commodore. I regret to see you in this state.”
Ross and Cockburn withdrew a discreet distance, spoke for a moment, and then returned to Barney.
“Sir,” Ross spoke, “we wish to parole you if, upon receiving medical attention yourself, you will care for our wounded. We can’t take them with us.”
“You have my word, General.” Barney extended his hand and Ross shook it.
“Wainwright, see that every attention is paid to the commodore. Get stretcher-bearers. Get a surgeon. Now.” Wainwright dashed back for a surgeon; he could see one yards off. “Commodore,” Cockburn continued, “I hope that if we meet again, it will be under more pleasant circumstances.” Cockburn saluted, as did Ross.
As the surgeon rushed up to Barney, the American had time to reflect how bizarre it was that he had more respect for Ross and Cockburn than he had for Winder, Armstrong, or Madison.
The windows of the presidential mansion were closed to keep out the dust and, in vain, to make the place cooler. Outside, the heat punished man and beast. The exodus from Washington continued with people growing more frantic by the minute.
To keep herself from unraveling, Dolley was writing a letter, in installments, to her sister Lucy. She started it after her husband left and she would interrupt the narrative in order to grab something else to pack or to give the servants directions.
As it was, the four trunks were bursting. She managed to squeeze in some silver, her favorite clock, and a few books.
Sukey sat by the window in a daze. She had trouble holding her head up. Dolley couldn’t understand how she could laze about at a time like this unless it was nerves. Sometimes they took people that way.
French John, arms folded, sat by the front door.
Noon passed. Dolley ordered Paul, who was also calm, to set the table. He reminded her that it had been set for yesterday’s Cabinet dinner and he hadn’t had the time to clear it. She’d forgotten all about that. She told him to dust the plates then and prepare for dinner at three.
Paul heard a boom, then another distant boom.
Uncle Willy, shifting from side to side on his perch, let out a bloodcurdling yell. Sukey jumped to her feet. Dolley rushed to the window and opened it. A blast of sticky heat was her first sensation.
The second was a distant roar, most definitely a cannon. Uncle Willy flapped his wings and hollered for all he was worth.
Dolley lifted him off his perch and smoothed his feathers. “Uncle Willy, this is worse than King George, isn’t it?”
“That bird could wake the dead,” Sukey growled.
“He feels the strain.” Dolley defended him. “In his own way I guess he’s as worried about Jemmy as I am.”
“He’s worried about his own self. That’s the most selfish bird in creation,” Sukey pouted.
Dolley walked into the hall. “French John.”
“Yes, madam.”
“How far away do you reckon that cannon to be?”
“Five miles. No more than ten.”
“Could this insufferable heat distort the sound?”
“I don’t think so.”
A loud knock on the front door was followed by Mrs. George Campbell, wife of the Secretary of the Treasury, nearly falling through the door when French John opened it.
“Mrs. Madison”—she gasped for breath—“a great battle is being fought and we must flee. Please come with me. My carriage is outside. The British can’t be but two hours from the city.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Campbell.” Dolley smiled at the distraught woman. “I cannot leave until I am certain as to my husband’s safety. I am expecting him to return.”
“I’m afraid none of them will return.” Mrs. Campbell recognized that Dolley wasn’t going to budge.
“I thank you for your concern for me, and I shall never forget it. Now go and save yourself.”
Impulsively, Mrs. Campbell hugged her and ran back down the steps.
As French John closed the door, Dolley called to Paul, “Get the silver off the table.”
“Where am I going to put it?”
“We’ll find room in these trunks somehow.”
A bewildered Paul hurried back into the dining room.
Another pounding on the door revealed a shockingly exhausted
James Blake. On seeing Dolley, he removed his hat. “Mrs. Madison, you are in great peril. As mayor of Washington, I have an obligation to see to your safety. Please leave now.”
“Mr. Blake, won’t you come in for a refreshment?”
“Thank you, ma’am, I can’t. Please do as I say.”
“I can’t.” Dolley felt sympathy for him. “I can’t go until I have word of my husband.”
“Oh God, Mrs. Madison, that word may not come in time to save you. You must save yourself.”
A shout from outside caught Blake’s attention. “Mrs. Madison, I must go. Please save yourself.” He turned and slowly walked back outside. He hadn’t the energy left to run.
“Sukey, take down the crimson velvet curtains from my sitting room.”
“Why?” Sukey was amazed.
“Because I said so!” Dolley snapped at her.
French John and Dolley watched Sukey move with some speed for the first time that day.
“I still have time to lay the powder.” He cocked an eyebrow.
“And I still have time to say no.” She smiled at him.
A man’s screaming voice and hoofbeats pulled Dolley and French John to the window. James Smith was yelling for all he was worth. “Clear out! Clear out! Armstrong’s ordered a retreat!”
“Armstrong?” Dolley puzzled. “Why not General Winder? Well, I guess it doesn’t matter who gave the command.”
Those people remaining in the city now appeared on the streets. No one seemed to have a clear direction. People ran this way and that. A man in a tall hat fainted from the heat. No one stopped to look after him.
“Are you ready to go, Mrs. Madison?” French John inquired, his voice low.
“No, I am not. Not until I hear from my husband.”
“What if the British should come into the city?”
“Then they can just come into the house and get me.
Sukey moaned from the sitting room, “I can’t get these down. They’re too heavy.”
“Paul.” Dolley called for the young man. He appeared. “Did you finish with the silver?”
“Yes, ma’am, I did.”
“Sukey needs your assistance.” Dolley pointed toward the sitting room.
More hoofbeats and another pounding knock on the door sent French John hurrying to open it, but Charles Carroll pushed it open first. The two men nearly collided. There wasn’t time to apologize.
“Mrs. Madison!” Carroll called.
She hurried into the hall. “Colonel Carroll, have you news?”
“I left the President’s side at Bladensburg, ma’am, and we are getting the worst of it. He instructed me to tell you to go to Bellevue, to meet the Joneses there. He will meet you there if he can, and you will all cross at Little Falls Bridge to go to Wiley’s Tavern.”
“Wiley’s Tavern?” Dolley repeated.
“On Difficult Run, Mrs. Madison.”
“Aptly named.” She smiled ruefully. “How was Mr. Madison when you last saw him?”
“He was well.”
“He did not expose himself to fire, did he?”
Carroll thought fast. “He was in more danger from a borrowed horse than from the British.” Not exactly the truth but not exactly a lie. “Now, please hurry, Mrs. Madison.”
Dolley looked around. “Sukey!”
“I’m finished.”
Paul dragged the curtains out.
“If they won’t fit in the trunks, perhaps you can wrap them around the trunks or around papers. They’ll offer some protection.” Dolley turned to Colonel Carroll. “Do you need anything, Colonel?”
“Water.” His face was caked with dust.
“Yes, of course.”
On her way to the kitchen she noticed the Gilbert Stuart painting of George Washington. “Sukey, please fetch the colonel some water.” She remained in front of the painting. “French John.”
The faithful Frenchman appeared. He looked at Dolley and then up at the painting. “I’ll get a ladder.”
Two more messengers arrived, urging her to leave, and Mayor Blake reappeared. “You’ve got to go! I can’t have your life on my conscience,” he wailed.
“I will, I will. You’ve done all you can do.” Dolley praised him. Satisfied, the mayor left.
Colonel Carroll drank the water and wondered where Dolley was. He called to her, “Mrs. Madison.”
“I’m in here.”
He walked into the room to behold French John on the ladder. Paul was handing him tools. Colonel Carroll had marched, countermarched, and witnessed a crushing defeat; now he was watching a crazy woman give orders to save a painting. It was too much. “Mrs. Madison, what are you doing?”
“The British can’t have it!” was her defiant answer.
“They’ll have you! You’ve got to get out of here.”
“I will, but not until this painting is safe!”
“My God, do you want to be killed?” Carroll exploded.
“I am not going to be killed,” came a reply so calm and icy that French John worked faster.
Carroll, furious, backed out of the room. “I’m going to find the President.”
“Good,” was Dolley’s terse reply.
“I can’t unscrew this thing.” Rivers of sweat ran over French John’s face.
“The carriage is here!” Sukey shouted from the hall.
“Load the trunks, Paul, quick time.” Dolley barked.
Sukey, wringing her hands, swayed from side to side. The first stragglers from the battle, those who could run the fastest, stumbled down the street. “We all gonna die.”
“You’ve got more to fear from me than from the British! You go help load that wagon and put your back into it.” Dolley bore down on her and swatted her behind.
Sukey scurried to grab the end of a trunk.
“This isn’t going to work, Mrs. Madison.” French John climbed down from the ladder, found an ax, climbed back up, and smashed the frame, which clattered to the floor. He handed down the painting, still on its stretcher. “What would you have done if I couldn’t get it out?”
“I would have destroyed it.” Dolley’s eyes blazed. “The British couldn’t defeat him in life. They’ll not defeat him in death!”
Jacob Barker and Robert Depeyster, both bankers, came into the house, hoping to encourage the President to safety, should he be in the city. They were appalled to find Dolley still there.
“Mrs. Madison.” The men bowed. “Can we be of service to you?”
“Take this painting.” She pointed to the canvas. “Please get it out of the city. If you are in danger of being stopped by the British, then destroy it. Don’t let them have it. It’s no stain on Washington’s honor if they have defeated us today. There is always tomorrow.”
The two men bowed again as if in the presence of a warrior queen.
Paul dashed in. “The carriage is ready.”
“Paul, grab the eagle ornaments from the East Room. Mr. Depeyster, would you take those, too, and a few boxes of papers?”
“I would be happy to do so.”
Paul returned with the eagles, and the two gentlemen began organizing their own departure.
She ran back to her room and got Uncle Willy, now hysterical. “French John, take him to Lisel—he’ll be safe there. And then go to your family.”
French John started to protest.
“Please, you have young children. Keep Paul at your side.”
She walked to the front door, then stopped. “I want to stay right here. I defy them to come into this house!”
“Mr. Madison would be sick with fear if he thought you had stayed behind. Come on.” French John half escorted, half dragged her to the carriage. He glanced up at the coachman, a trusted friend of his, Joe Bolin. “Bellevue.”
Paul rushed up to Dolley. “I want to stay with you.”
“No. You go with French John.”
“What if something happens to you?” He choked back the tears.
“If the President and I s
hould die, then run to freedom, Paul. Go North.” She put her hand on his cheek. “You stay with French John for now. You will be safe with him.” What she didn’t say was that she was an obvious target. Paul would be better off without her.
French John gently drew Paul away from Dolley. “We’ll have everything ready for your return,” he told her.
“Thank you,” Dolley replied.
Sukey hopped in with her mistress.
Uncle Willy, utterly distraught, carried on wildly. Dolley leaned out the window and kissed the bird. “God bless you,” she called to French John.
Bolin pulled onto Pennsylvania Avenue as French John returned to the house. He set out buckets of water, and wine in coolers, in case the President should return and for the use of American soldiers seeking their President. He hid a few valuables and then walked the three blocks to Louis Serurier’s temporary residence, the Octagon House, to hand over Uncle Willy, who was not suffering in silence.
Sukey clutched Dolley’s arm as the carriage swayed through the dirt and the last lurch of citizens attempting to escape the city. The beaten American soldiers were arriving in fives and sixes where earlier they had come in twos and threes. Fatigue, fear, and depression were etched on their faces.
Dolley reached Bellevue at four-thirty in the afternoon. Eleanor Jones and her children were already there. No one knew what exactly had happened other than that the Americans had been beaten and the British were on the march. William Jones arrived within a half hour of Dolley. He told them as much as he knew and that they had best move on. There was no telling what this night would bring. One wit had already dubbed the battle “the Bladensburg Races.”
An older man in civilian clothes rode up to the front door of the Carroll house. He dismounted and knocked. Secretary Jones answered the door.
“William Jones, sir?”
“Yes.”
“Is Mrs. Madison with you?”
“Yes.”
“The President requests that you bring Mrs. Madison and your family to Foxhall’s Cannon Foundry by the river.”
As the man left, Jones rallied his family. Dolley and Sukey hastened to the carriage, and by five o’clock the little procession had vacated Bellevue. Once more they crawled along in traffic and chaos. When they finally reached the foundry, a mounted gentleman, Tench Ringgold, met them with yet another change of plans. In the distance they could hear the bridges over the East Branch of the Potomac being blown.
Dolley Page 31