“Keep your head down,” Dolley commanded.
“You’re drowning me!” Anna sputtered as Dolley dumped another pitcher of water over her hair.
Anna had returned early that morning, and after the sisters had embraced and swapped adventures, she asked Dolley to wash her hair. She’d become so big that she couldn’t bend over, and kneeling was difficult also. So Dolley, ever practical, sat her in a chair and made James hold the washbasin while Thomas fetched pitchers of water.
“Only another minute and that hair will shine.”
“Mother, are you really drowning?” Thomas asked solemnly.
“No, Thomas. Now bring more water for Aunt Dolley.” Anna directed him as little Dickey sent up a whoop in the other room along with Walter and tiny Dolley Payne, who was into everything. Anna sighed. “I don’t want to know.”
“Neither do I.” Dolley doused her sister’s hair again. “Towel, Thomas.”
“Can I go now?” James asked.
“Throw the water out the back door first.” Anna hadn’t finished her sentence before he was out the back door. “You too, Thomas.”
He, too, was out like a shot.
Another moan and a scream from the adjacent room signaled child warfare. Anna, with the towel wrapped around her head, waddled to the doorway. “Enough!”
That scared them silent for a few minutes anyway. She sat back down and toweled her hair as Dolley cleaned the brushes and comb. “You don’t fool me.” Anna’s voice was muffled with the towel flopped over her mouth.
Dolley lifted the towel. “I’m not trying to fool you—just everyone else.”
“It’s a shock. I know I was shocked even though I knew much would be burned. I think the sight of the Capitol was the worst. I heard that Admiral Cockburn held a mock session of Congress and asked his troops if this ‘citadel of foolishness’ should be burned. It’s hard to believe he would have had the time for such playacting, and yet it does sound like the man.” Anna loathed Admiral Cockburn’s insolence, his cocky sense of humor. “And people are frightened that the British will come back.”
“This time I won’t leave, and I don’t care what Jemmy says. I want a rifle, and if I can’t find a rifle, then I want a sword. I’ll kill as many as I can before they kill me.”
Anna, stunned at her sister’s outburst, let the towel drop to the floor. “You don’t mean that. You’re upset.”
“I do mean it, Anna.” Dolley’s deep blue eyes caught the light.
“We weren’t raised that way, Dolley, and I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you.”
“Well, I don’t want to hear that kind of talk from you.” Dolley crossed her arms over her chest. “I am still your big sister.”
“And you’re still wrong.” Anna’s voice was now raised. “Our mother would turn over in her grave to hear you talk like that.”
“Let her spin like a top!” Dolley snapped.
“Don’t you dare talk like that about our mother.” Anna snapped right back. “She was a saint, a true Christian woman.”
“She was a bossy saint.” Dolley paced. “You got the sweet side of Mother. Those of us who were older got the fierce side.” She stopped pacing. “I feared her and loved her, but I don’t believe I ever felt close to her. I felt much closer to Mother Amy.”
“Because she doted on you. She was all the time petting and praising you and fussing over your glossy black curls. Mother didn’t indulge you. You like to be indulged, dear sister. You married men who indulged you.”
“This is a fine kettle of fish. The city’s smoldering outside this door. My husband is out there somewhere trying to keep our government alive. Your husband is out there doing what he can. And what are we doing? Fussing at one another.”
“I’m not fussing.” Anna’s mouth was set hard.
“Fine.” Dolley uncrossed her arms and put her hands on her hips as Anna began brushing her hair. The tangles proved a challenge, so Dolley picked up a comb to help.
“Oh no you don’t.” Anna pushed her hand away. “You’ll yank my hair out by the roots. You did that the other time you were mad at me.”
“When?” Dolley was incredulous.
“When I was six. You were horrible. I had a bald spot for weeks.”
Suddenly Dolley laughed. It was the first time she had truly laughed in weeks. The gay, infectious sound carried over to Anna, and their mutual laughter dissolved their quarrel.
“I don’t remember pulling your hair out, but I remember the bald spot.” Dolley wiped her eyes.
“You were horrible.”
“I guess I’m pretty horrible now. I feel so mean I’d break a stick just because it had two ends.”
Anna laughed again. “You might have your chance.”
“To break a stick or make you bald?”
“To let out some of that meanness. You know Mrs. Thornton will complain to you as soon as she thinks it decent to do so.”
“Oh that.” Dolley shook her head. “Before we discuss that, tell me, honestly, do you not feel any hatred at all for the British? Honestly, Anna.”
“Honestly, I do not,” Anna muttered. “Hate doesn’t solve anything, really. I do believe we must love our enemies. I don’t always know how but I believe we must try.”
Dolley hugged and kissed her sister. “Oh, I wish I were as good as you are. I’m just not, you know.”
“I think of the two of us, you’re … fiercer. I think you are good, Dolley, but you want more than I do, and you love politics. I don’t. Our minds are so different. You could run the government. You could,” she repeated because Dolley was shaking her head. “And you’d like that. You’ve always wanted to be out in the world. You played with Temple and Walter when we were small. You rarely played with Mary or me. You belong in the world of men.”
“Anna, I played with Walter and Temple because we were close in age. You’re eleven years younger than I am, and Mary was younger still.”
“Well, what about Lucy?”
“Lucy? I played with Lucy sometimes, but she had a different set of friends and then she ran off and married so young. Anna, I loved you when you were little. When you came to live with me, it was wonderful.”
“It was.” Anna nodded, and another vile sound was emitted from the adjoining room. “Dolley, will you?”
Dolley strode into the next room where Walter, playing a British soldier, was pretending to stick a fire poker into Richard’s stomach. “Walter! Put that down this instant!”
“But Aunt Dolley, I’m a Redcoat and I’m going to burn Dickey alive.”
“And I’m going to skin you alive. Put that poker down. No one in this family is ever going to be a Redcoat! Even in a game! Do you hear me?”
A surprised and chagrined Walter replaced the poker. “Yes, Aunt Dolley.”
“Why don’t you three go outside? Watch out for your sister.”
“We can’t go outside.”
“Why not?”
“Because James said he’d take us down to the Capitol and lock us up with the dead bodies inside.” Walter’s eyes grew very large.
Anna, wondering why this was taking so long, came into the room.
“There are no dead bodies in the Capitol—or what’s left of it,” said Dolley.
Little Dickey piped up, “Then he’s going to drag us down to Greenleaf and we’ll have to pick up the arms and legs lying on the ground. He said so, Aunt Dolley, and I don’t want to pick up no arms and legs.”
“They’ve got flies on them.” Walter’s mouth pursed in disgust. “And worms.”
“Where in the world do you boys hear these things?”
Walter and little Dickey retreated into the time-honored shrug of the child. Little Dolley toddled around, too young to know the trick. “Dead bodies!” she shrieked.
“There are no dead bodies. Dr. Thornton and Dr. Ewell buried the dead.” Anna’s voice rang with authority.
“What about the arms and legs?” Little Dickey was somewhat relieved
, and somewhat disappointed, at not having a chance to see dead bodies.
“Those, too, have been buried. Now I want you to go outside with your sister and give us some peace.”
Both Walter and little Dickey viewed their three-year-old sister with obvious distaste.
“Now!” Anna ordered, and they obeyed. She looked at Dolley. “Would you like something to drink?”
“Not after that discussion, no.” Dolley smiled.
The two women sat down in the front room. The heat seemed less severe there.
“Now, about Dr. Thornton. What are you going to do?” Anna questioned.
“The colonel who ferried me over told me what happened. Thornton appointed himself mayor and accused James Blake of abandoning the city, which he did not. It’s a more pressing topic in Washington than the enemy! I just believe Dr. Thornton did the best he could, and so did Mayor Blake, even if they did clash. Yesterday, when Dr. Thornton asked for a private meeting with Jemmy and said we really ought to surrender the city before the British march in again from the Alexandria side, that was a mistake. He doesn’t understand Jemmy. After that meeting and Jemmy’s telling him in plain words what he would do to any delegation that tried to reach the British and treat with them—well, Dr. Thornton went home and buckled on his sword, ready to fight if they come over the river. As far as I’m concerned, that’s the end of it.”
“You know it won’t be.”
“I know, but I’m not contributing to the fuss, and as soon as I can get to James Blake, I will do my utmost to calm him down.”
“Men are like fighting cocks. At this point I don’t think what happened to the city is what matters. They’re mad at one another and they don’t want to settle down. Each one wants to rule the roost.”
“I’d much rather talk to Dr. Thornton, Mrs. Thornton, and James Blake than to John Armstrong.”
“Oh.” Anna squinted.
“Oh is right.” Dolley folded her hands together. “You heard what General Samuel Smith said to Jemmy this afternoon. Every officer in his command would rather resign than serve under Armstrong. They believe him to be the willing cause of Washington’s disaster. Poor Jemmy. I suspect he’s riding around now trying to find Armstrong.”
“General Winder will come in for his share of the blame”—Anna leaned back in her chair—“but I think most people know he did as much as he could with what he had, and, well, he had so little experience. I don’t think his reputation will be ruined.”
“They’ll turn on Armstrong and he deserves it, but they’ll turn on Jemmy, too.” Dolley’s voice lowered. “The Federalists will use this military horror ruthlessly. Of course, if they’d raised the men they were supposed to supply for the state militias, perhaps things would have turned out differently.”
“Richard says the burning of Washington is the end of the militia. We have to have a standing Army, true professionals.”
“Jemmy, too. I fear that. Look at Europe. Some fiery general captures the public’s attention, and he pushes aside the civilian leaders because, of course, the Army is with him. Then what do we do, Anna?”
“It doesn’t happen that often, and France is … volatile.” She paused, then her voice rose. “The British honored the Seruriers as ministers of France. They are somewhat civilized, Dolley.”
“You know what the British are?” Dolley leaned forward. “They’re frightened of democracy. This war isn’t about seamen and shipping. That’s the excuse. They want to smash democracy. I believe that with all my heart and soul. We have to win this war even if it means that women and children must fight. We must win.”
“I will not kill another human being.” Anna said this quietly, with no fuss.
“Neither would our father.” Dolley stared at her sister, noting her lustrous eyes. “I admired Father’s convictions and I admired Mother’s courage, but it’s too hard, Anna, too hard being a Quaker. I don’t want to kill anyone, not really, not deep down, but if the wolf is at the door, I’ll kill, at least I think I will. What we are trying here is new; it’s better than kings and queens and—”
“I know that,” Anna snapped. “You understand politics in a way I do not. I know that, too, but Dolley, I do not believe we ever have the right to take another human life.”
“You’d let the British kill you?”
“If it came to that, I guess I would. I couldn’t live knowing that I’d violated what I most believe.”
They sat in silence for a long time.
Dolley broke the silence. “Do you remember in 1781 when Tarleton’s raiders rode on Scotchtown? You were very little then. Like Dolley Payne.”
“I remember Mother Amy fighting with Mama and then Mother Amy crying and taking us back to her cabin. I don’t know if I really remember or if I think I remember because everyone else told me about it.”
“The thing was, Anna—and I never told you this, or anyone—I believe Mother would have killed that Redcoat if he had tried to harm her or any of us. She was like a tiger protecting its cubs. You could feel her power.”
Anna pondered this. Mary Coles Payne was a staunch Quaker but yes, there was something about her, a touch of the warrior. But could their mother really kill?
“We will never know.” Anna spoke at last.
“The funny thing was that as soon as the colonel rode out of the house, Mother took her apron and tried to clean up the dirt and the marks the horse’s hooves had made on the pine floor. She just started working.”
“You’re a great deal like Mother, Dolley.”
Dolley half hoped that was so and half hoped it wasn’t.
29 August 1814, Monday
I have alternated between euphoria and anguish, between bursts of energy and troughs of such lassitude that I wonder if I am in full possession of my mind. The only thing that keeps me from thinking that I’m mentally undone is that I also observe this fluctuating state in those around me, except for Jemmy. Despair and rage grip him, too, but he won’t give in to it. He keeps working, and where I was formerly concerned that a British bullet would kill him, I am now concerned that he will quite simply work himself to death.
Anna returned, and we flew from rapture to fussing with each other and then to happiness again. I’d like to blame this on her pregnancy, but I’m as bad as Anna and with no pregnancy to answer for my behavior.
I wept like a baby when French John sailed through the door with Uncle Willy and Paul Jennings, carrying Uncle Willy on high. I kissed him and petted him and he would not leave me when I put him on his perch. He would hop off and walk over with his funny rocking gait. So I let him sit on my shoulder and in my lap for hours.
French John wants to go back to work immediately, and I do need him. Anna and Richard are more than generous, but we must find a place to live where Jemmy can carry on the business of government. As French John was relating his experiences during the brief but vile occupation, who should appear at the door but Louis and Lisel Serurier. Dr. Thornton had just left them. The Seruriers are still staying in the Tayloes’ Octagon House, which Dr. Thornton designed, and they at first thought he had visited them to see if there had been any damage. The British had respected the Seruriers’ status and all was well. But no, Dr. Thornton had come to ask the Seruriers if they would return to their ministry and allow Jemmy and me to live at Octagon House until the presidential mansion can be restored. He said that he had inspected their house and it was habitable and that he had spoken to John Tayloe, the Octagon’s owner, who would defer to our wishes.
Lisel blurted out that Dr. Thornton is doing everything to make up for asking Jemmy to surrender to the British, who at last report are merrily fleecing the inhabitants of Alexandria, who are turning somersaults to please them. Shame. I don’t want ever to set foot in Alexandria again.
Anyway, Louis shot his wife such a searing glance, I thought she would combust on the spot. She should not have interjected her opinion about Dr. Thornton. Well, Louis doesn’t know that Lisel and I discuss everything. She
lowered her head. Dear Lisel will have endured a sulfurous conversation on the carriage ride home.
When Jemmy came back later, after another dreadful day, I relayed both the Seruriers’ good wishes and their willingness to move, as well as Dr. Thornton’s part in this decision. He said if I thought I could live there, he would be happy to go over to Octagon House as soon as possible.
We’ll move over tomorrow. Anna will try to help and I won’t allow it, so I hope we don’t get cross with each other.
Jemmy asked John Armstrong to visit his family immediately. That’s the long and short of it. And since Armstrong’s family lives in Red Hook, New York, this solved a complicated problem with as much dignity as Armstrong can muster. I hope he has the sense to keep his mouth shut. However, I am sure that once he is surrounded by the warmth of his family, his passions will become excited and a flurry of letters or even a book will be forthcoming in which he will place the blame for this disaster on my husband. I guess General Winder will come in for a share of his hatred, too, and James Monroe, about whom Armstrong is nearly irrational.
Since Admiral Cockburn and General Ross’s soldiers have evacuated, where will they strike next? We hear they boarded their ships. Most of us believe that Baltimore is the next target. I pray that Baltimore has better fortifications and better generals than Washington did.
Jemmy blames himself. He believes he made a punishing mistake in trying to maintain peace with everyone in his Cabinet. He upbraids himself for this, but I told him, “What’s done is done. Let’s look to the future.” I also told him that he did the best he could and that we must keep in mind he is not a military man. He’ll kick himself over Armstrong, but the one good thing about his crushing array of tasks is that he won’t have much time to do so.
I do think trying to keep everyone happy with one another is a worthy goal, but there are times—many times, I suspect—when it isn’t possible. Then placating and pacifying become a fault, and it’s a fault I have in abundance. I can’t very well criticize my husband for it.
Or my son, who wants everyone to be happy and becomes deeply distressed when someone takes issue with him. Not a word from Payne but then the mails have been disrupted, so I may yet receive a letter. I have written him to assure him that Jemmy and I are safe.
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