As the British bombarded Fort McHenry in 1814, Francis Scott Key watched from a flag-of-truce vessel behind the action.
Now, in the summer of 1814, the British, after having ravaged the American capital, set their sights on the city of Baltimore. The soldiers at Fort McHenry were prepared and even had two new flags with which to greet their invaders. Anticipating the British invasion, the fort’s commander petitioned superiors for a large banner—he said he wanted a flag so large the British would have no difficulty seeing it from a distance—and a local resident, Mary Pickersgill, was commissioned in the summer of 1813 to make two: a forty-two-by-thirty-foot flag (a normal garrison flag was forty by twenty feet) and a smaller, twenty-five-by-seventeen-foot flag.
On August 16, 1814, the British fleet arrived in Chesapeake Bay. On September 12 five thousand troops disembarked ten miles downriver from Baltimore to commence a land assault on the city. At the same time, other ships prepared to attack Fort McHenry from the Patapsco River.
When the naval bombardment was launched the next morning, September 13, the British had some foreign company among them. A few days earlier, Francis Scott Key, a thirty-five-year-old Georgetown lawyer, and John S. Skinner, the U.S. commissioner of prisoners, sailed from Baltimore to seek the release of Key’s friend, Dr. William Beanes, a Maryland physician who was being held prisoner aboard a British warship on a misconduct charge. They were successful in obtaining Beanes’s release, but now that they were aware of the planned assault on Baltimore and could therefore inform the city residents about it, they were held behind the bombardment squadron with the rest of the fleet until the British completed their attack. The three Americans were anchored on the Patapsco near North Point, about eight miles south of the fort.
The British naval bombardment continued throughout the day and into the next. When sunlight finally penetrated the early morning darkness of September 14, visibility was still poor in the Baltimore harbor because it was raining. Some hours later, when the mist cleared, Francis Scott Key peered out from his vessel toward land. Throughout the night, ships of the British navy assaulted Fort McHenry with rockets and bombs—about fifteen hundred of them—and Key and his compatriots wondered if the fort had surrendered. So Key was surprised and elated when he beheld the shore through a telescope. Standing tall over the ramparts of the fort was the U.S. flag, its prominent stripes and glimmering white stars streaming ever so gallantly. Key set down several stanzas of verse expressing his exaltation and patriotic pride.
This is the earliest existing copy of "The Star-Spangled Banner" in Francis Scott Key's hand. It is believed that the paper on which Key originally wrote the lyrics was either lost or destroyed, and that he rewrote them on this sheet of paper after reaching Baltimore so his printer would have a legible copy.
Key may have thought the flag he saw flew defiantly through the perilous fight, but documents indicate that the forty-two-by-thirty-foot ensign was not hoisted until 9:00 A.M. on September 14 when the British, unable to penetrate the fort, broke off their attack. As they began to sail away, the defenders of Fort McHenry raised the flag to show their resoluteness, strength, and unbridled spirit. During the bombardment the smaller of the two flags was flying over the fort but probably would not have been readily seen by Key from his distant position.
The Americans on the truce ship were restrained from leaving the vessel for two days until British forces sailed down the Chesapeake Bay. On the evening of September 16, 1814, Francis Scott Key returned to Baltimore. He stopped at the Indian Queen Hotel and revised the draft notes of the poem he had written on the morning of September 14. (He probably discarded the paper on which he set down his inspired words while on the vessel, but the paper onto which he copied his lyrics survives and is at the Maryland Historical Society, Baltimore, Maryland.) The next day, September 17, Key took the poem to Judge Joseph H. Nicholson, his brother-in-law and a captain of artillery in the fort during the battle, who liked it and urged that it be published. That day, “Defense of Fort M’Henry” was printed on a handbill and distributed. The first newspaper publication of the poem was on September 20 in the Baltimore Patriot.
The first public singing of Key’s poem, given a new title in a theater advertisement, took place at the Baltimore Theatre on the evening of October 19, 1814. The advertisement, published earlier that day, proclaimed, “After the play, Mr. Hardinge will sing a much admired NEW SONG, written by a gentleman of Maryland, in commemoration of the GALLANT DEFENCE OF FORT M’HENRY called THE STAR-SPANGLED BANNER.” Indeed, Mr. Hardinge did sing the song after the play.
The melody to which Key fit his spirited verses was the British tavern tune “To Anacreon in Heaven.” This wasn’t the first time the melody had been borrowed. It had been used in 1798 for “Adams and Liberty” by Robert Treat Paine,* a Massachusetts poet, and again in 1813 for the song “When Death’s Gloomy Angel Was Bending His Bow” by the Washington Benevolent Society. Even Key had used the tune in an earlier poem.
When the commander of Fort McHenry, Major George Armistead, died in 1818, the larger garrison flag was presented to his widow, Louisa, as a keepsake. The flag was to stay in the Armistead family for the next nine decades. As it turned out, the flag had a better chance of surviving the British mortar bombs than of remaining unscathed in the hands of the Armisteads.
The family’s biggest weakness in preserving the flag was its willing compliance with requests for pieces of it. The pruning began shortly after the war when, it is believed, a soldier who had been among the defenders of Fort McHenry died, and his widow asked for a swatch of the flag to bury with him. Initially, requests came from Fort McHenry veterans, but eventually others also desired a memento of the celebrated American victory.
Louisa Armistead’s largesse with the flag was continued by her daughter Georgianna, who was born at Fort McHenry in 1817; eight feet of stripes in the fly (or unattached) end of the garrison flag were ultimately trimmed off.
Perhaps the Armisteads felt no compunction in paring the Star-Spangled Banner because they could not appreciate the national treasure it would become. Nineteenth-century Americans prior to the Mexican War were not sentimentalists and did not take to deifying ordinary objects. Furthermore, whereas the song that emanated from the battle achieved immediate local popularity, it would be decades before its significance as a patriotic gem was realized. So it is logical to assume that the Armisteads, or anyone of the day for that matter, could not help but regard the flag as nothing more than a glorified souvenir.
When dawn broke on September 14, 1814, Francis Scott Key beheld this flag flying at Fort McHenry after a British bombardment of the fort through the night, and was duly inspired to write the words to "The Star-Spangled Banner."
Prior to the twentieth century, the Armisteads permitted the flag to be displayed for public view on only two occasions. The first was in 1824 when the marquis de Lafayette, who had served as a major general in the Continental Army during the Revolutionary War, came to the United States for the last time. Lafayette had asked to see the flag, and it was returned to Fort McHenry, where full honors were given to the venerable French statesman. When he alighted his barge at Fort McHenry, he found the roadway to the fort lined on both sides with veteran defenders of the 1814 assault on Baltimore. To Lafayette’s delight, the flag was displayed inside George Washington’s Revolutionary War marquee (field tent) and was flanked by French and American cannons used at Yorktown during the siege of 1781. Half a century later, the flag was exhibited in Boston.
By the time of the Civil War, Georgianna Armistead had married William Appleton, a Boston ship-owner and entrepreneur, and took the flag north with her. In 1874 the Boston navy yard was loaned the flag subsequent to a request by George Preble, the captain and commander of the naval rendezvous (recruiting office) in Boston and one of the earliest historians of the flag. It was at the Boston navy yard, probably, that the very first known photos of the Star-Spangled Banner were taken.
Toward the end of the n
ineteenth century, interest in the flag was surpassing the ability to keep it safe in a private home. The Armistead-Appletons deposited the Star-Spangled Banner in a bank vault in New York, where the family had relocated.
In 1912 the family donated the flag to the Smithsonian Institution. To maintain and maximize the condition of the tattered and faded flag, the Smithsonian commissioned a team of expert needlewomen in Boston to remove the worn-out canvas backing and replace it with Irish linen. First given as a loan, in 1907, and then as a gift, in 1912, from the Armisteads, the flag came to the Smithsonian with the stipulation that it never be removed. During World War II, however, the flag was removed from display, and it was stored in the Luray Caverns, an underground cave system in Virginia.
One bona fide mystery of the Star-Spangled Banner that remains is the presence of a piece of red cloth in the shape of a V on a white stripe in the center of the flag. The emblem is seen in the Boston navy yard photographs of 1874 but is not believed to have been on the flag originally, since there is no reference to it in the historical literature. One possible explanation is that it is a returned souvenir that was sewn back on to help preserve the flag.
Nearly one-fifth of the flag has been cut away. It is remarkable that it did not disintegrate altogether, considering its early treatment and the perishability of its materials. Almost two centuries after the flag was hoisted following the relentless bombardment of invaders, it continues to be a symbolic reminder that freedom is a fundamental and inalienable right, to be safeguarded and defended at all costs, as it continues gallantly to stand
O’er the land of the free
and the home of the brave!
LOCATION: National Museum of American History, Washington, D.C.
Footnote
*The Massachusetts poet Robert Treat Paine (1773-1811) is not to be confused with the Massachusetts judge (1731-1814) of the same name who signed the Declaration of Independence.
NAPOLEON’S PENIS
DATE: 1821.
WHAT IT IS: Allegedly, the penis of the infamous French emperor, excised on the day after he died.
WHAT IT LOOKS LIKE: A shriveled finger.
It was late afternoon, May 5, 1821. After nearly six wretched years in banishment on Saint Helena, a remote south Atlantic island, Napoleon, once the dreaded despot whose empire dominated central and western Europe, lay like a waxen doll, a pathetic semblance of his former vigorous self. A stomach ulcer and disease—what doctors at the time thought was cancer—had drained his vitality. Although his ailments occasionally sent him into delirium, his mind had for the most part been sharp, and he had prepared for death by dictating communications, reminiscences, and a last will and testament. In his will he disbursed his property and estate in an apparently fair and equitable manner, providing for his companions in exile, his valet, former and present servants and secretaries, soldiers who had served in campaigns with him, widows and children of soldiers who had died in battle under him, villages that had suffered his attacks, aides, old acquaintances from Corsica, his mother, brothers and sisters, nieces and nephews, his wife, and, most of all, his son. Napoleon estimated his personal inventory to be substantial, and his specific bequests included everything from cash, silver, gold, diamonds, homes, and land, down to his shirts, waistcoat, breeches, handkerchiefs, saddles, traveling boxes, books, chalice cloths, pillowcases, gold chains, a saber, a cloak, and a bandanna.
In his last days, as the pain became severe—like a knife plunged into his gut that kept turning slowly and forcefully, as Napoleon described it—he anticipated death, even dictating the official announcement (with the date to be filled in) of his passing and requesting the transport of his body to France. He was also quite concerned about guiding his son, the duke of Reichstadt, to a judicious career of power based on the wisdom of his experience. On April 13 and 14, 1821, he had summoned a friend, General Charles-Tristande Montholon, so that he could dictate a testament for the boy. And dictate he did, eloquently filling a dozen pages, imploring his son not to avenge his death but to learn by it, not to imitate his conquests without necessity but to rule in peace, to continue his work diplomatically, to be a progressive thinker, and to reward fine service. He closed by telling his son he hoped the youth was worthy of his destiny.
That his beloved boy might know what illness beset his father, Napoleon had requested an autopsy of his corpse. It was a totally selfless and loving gesture: whatever information could be gained from this, he felt, might help doctors treat his son if he developed this cursed Bonaparte legacy or even prevent its onset. Napoleon had continually blamed the English for exacerbating his pitiful condition by condemning him to an unhealthy climate and through the despicable treatment accorded him by the austere governor of the island, Sir Hudson Lowe.
Soldiers and doctors went in and out of Napoleon’s dwelling, called Longwood, all day, waiting for him to succumb. Last rites had already been administered by Father Ange Paul Vignali, an abbé who had been sent to the island by Napoleon’s uncle, Joseph Cardinal Fesch. Now Napoleon was completely debilitated, unable even to drink water. After 5:30 P.M. Napoleon was hanging on to life by the barest thread. Minutes later, the former French emperor, age fifty-one, expired.
Some say that Napoleon was poisoned at Saint Helena. Others attribute his death to cancer or a liver abscess. Perhaps future testing will solve the mystery–or fuel the debate.
The next day Napoleon’s corpse was stretched out before more than fifteen people, and an autopsy was performed. The once most powerful and feared man in the world now lay humbly exposed in death. Francesco Antommarchi, a physician-pathologist from Corsica, opened him up, with Napoleon’s close associates and several English doctors observing. A gastric ulcer had perforated the wall of Napoleon’s stomach and was adhered to the left lobe of the liver. The internal surface of the stomach, as the autopsy report was to state, was a mass of cancerous disease or portions advancing to cancer, and the perforation was large enough to admit a finger. A debate ensued over whether liver disease or the island’s climate had catalyzed Napoleon’s demise. (Later diagnoses and tests of specimens from Napoleon’s body indicate that Napoleon did not have cancer but another disease; credence is given to the diagnosis that Napoleon suffered from a liver abscess.)
During his exile, Napoleon sometimes displayed great bitterness. Such resentment would be understandable, of course, from a man who had tasted such power and glory and was now banished to a remote tropical rock where he was, at least in his mind, acutely maltreated. But some people who had attended Napoleon on Saint Helena also harbored a great resentment against him. Antommarchi and the Abbé Vignali, like others there, had endured the difficult and miserable isolation of the island and the abuse showered upon them by Napoleon himself because of the promise of riches at the end of his life. They were impatient by the time of his drawn-out death and in the end doubted whether they would be bequeathed an equitable portion of Napoleon’s estate for their time of service on Saint Helena.
During the autopsy Antommarchi cut out Napoleon’s heart and stomach, and these organs were sealed in separate silver vases that would be placed in the coffin with Napoleon’s corpse. It has been alleged by some that at the end of the autopsy, Antommarchi also excised Napoleon’s penis. While there is no definite confirmation of this, causing some historians to express doubt, there is also no written refutation. Only the circumstances surrounding such a claim can be examined.
An artist's depiction of blessings on the remains of the former French emperor. Later, British soldiers exhumed Napoleon's remains from their cement vault. The emperor had been buried in four coffins: tin, mahogany, lead, and mahogany, one within the other.
Many British physicians were present during the postmortem. It is improbable that Antommarchi would have been allowed by the British to cut off Napoleon’s noble organ, or if he was given consent, to keep it. Still, Napoleon’s second valet, Louis Etienne Saint-Denis, claimed in his posthumously published memoirs, “Before sewing up
the body, Antommarchi, taking advantage of a moment when the eyes of the English were not fixed on the body, had taken two little pieces from a rib which he had given to M. Vignaly and Coursot.” With so many Englishmen present, some people doubt that Antommarchi could even have made such extractions. On the other hand, the stench from a corpse with peritonitis, after twenty-four hours with no refrigeration, perhaps would have been enough to drive away the sentinels, as they saw Antommarchi completing the sewing up of the lower end of his long midline incision.
The governor of Saint Helena, Sir Hudson Lowe, was concerned that companions of Napoleon might try to acquire a piece of his remains after the autopsy. Lowe ordered Dr. Archibald Arnott to guard the corpse and make sure no one would try to extract any portion of it while it lay in state.
The provenance of Napoleon’s excised personal member begins with the Abbé Vignali. When he returned to Corsica after Napoleon died, he claimed to have with him the penis and a share of Napoleon’s effects that had been divided among the emperor’s aides at Saint Helena.
In 1828 the Abbé Vignali was killed as a result of a personal feud. His sister, Roxanne Vignali Gianettini, inherited as part of his estate, in addition to the Abbé Vignali’s green silk vestments and diary and University of Rome diploma (citing him as a doctor of medicine), the collection of Napoleon pieces, which included the alleged penis; the emperor’s silver cup from his traveling dressing case; a pair of his white breeches; hair from the emperor’s body, face, and head; a bandanna Napoleon frequently wore during his exile; a copy of Napoleon’s will in the hand of the priest (one of only three known copies); and Napoleon’s waistcoat.
Lucy's Bones, Sacred Stones, & Einstein's Brain Page 20