At Fort McHenry, the outer guns – the “water battery” – were actually forty-two-pounders salvaged from the French ship L’Eole, on loan from the French government. Some of the same guns were also sited at Forts Covington and Babcock. They were manned by sailors from Joshua Barney’s gunboat flotilla and from the United States frigate Guerierre. (Built by the United States and launched in June 1814, but not yet ready for sea, the vessel was named for USS Constitution’s first – and perhaps most notable – adversary of the war.) Additionally, the neighboring forts of Covington and Babcock were also manned by flotillamen.
HMS Surprise, the frigate to which Adm. Cochrane shifted his flag prior to the bombardment, was a real vessel in the Royal Navy and was commanded by the admiral’s son. Together with the mortar and rocket ships, the frigates of the bombardment fleet fired nearly eighteen hundred round shot and mortars at Fort McHenry. The mortars were mainly ineffective in causing any physical damage as most were fused incorrectly and did indeed burst in the air. However, many of the men killed or wounded within the walls of the fort were the result of airbursts from these shells.
One shell actually landed, but mercifully did not explode, in McHenry’s magazine.
John S. Skinner served at Annapolis during the War as agent for British packets, flags of truce and dispatches, and as agent for prisoners. His frequent contact with the British fleet provided the Untied States with an important source of intelligence.
When he and Francis Scott Key needed transportation to the British fleet to negotiate the release of Dr. William Beanes, they hired a sloop from a Mr. Ferguson which became a “private truce vessel.” Barney’s flotillamen were not involved with Skinner and Key. The two men, with Mr. Ferguson, sailed from Baltimore on September fifth, locating the British fleet on September seventh at the mouth of the Potomac River, not off Eastern Bay as indicated in the story. Based on documents from those involved, historians now agree that Colonel Skinner did the lion’s share of the negotiating for Dr. Beanes’ release.
Key’s poem, The Defence of M’henry, (sic) was completed in his boarding house when he returned to Baltimore. He then showed it to his brother-in-law, Joseph Nicholson, who had been in command of the Baltimore Fencibles stationed at McHenry during the bombardment and, at his insistence, the poem was published on a broadsheet shortly thereafter. Within a few days, it was published in the newspapers with a notation that it was to be sung to the tune of a most popular old English drinking song, To Anacreon in Heaven. And in October, an actor, calling it “The Star Spangled Banner,” sang it on the stage in its first public performance. One hundred sixteen years later, it became our National Anthem. Writing poetic tributes to the young nation and its heroes was not a new undertaking for Key; some nine years earlier he had written a poem celebrating the heroism of our sailors, particularly Steven Decatur, in the action against the Barbary pirates of Tripoli (now Libya). Coincidentally, that song was also set to the tune of To Anacreon in Heaven.
After the British left the Patapsco River, there was minor raiding and skirmishing as they headed south on the Bay and beginning on October 11, 1814, coast watchers noticed an increasing number of ships anchoring in Lynnhaven Bay (Virginia). The fleet left, headed for New Orleans, on October fifteenth. A small cadre of ships remained active in the Bay through yearend, keeping the Eastern Shore Militia in a state of readiness.
Even though the purview of this volume and its predecessors did not include the action of the fresh-water navy, it was none-the-less most important to the ultimate outcome of the war and must be mentioned here.
Most particularly, the Battle of Plattsburgh, fought on Lake Champlain, was a major triumph for the Americans. More or less as described by Sam Hay in the story, MacDonough’s victory caused General Prevost to recall General Sir Frederick Robinson who was about to attack Plattsburgh by land; a retreat was ordered due to the fear that the British supply lines would be cut by the American fleet which now controlled the Lake. Had the British been successful in their attempt, it is likely that they would have been easily able to control the entire Hudson River Valley, and the outcome of the war might have been substantially different.
Combined with the failure of their attack on Baltimore, MacDonough’s victory brought the British back to the peace talks with a more focused outlook and ultimately, on Christmas Eve 1814, the peace, called the Treaty of Ghent, was signed. And yes, the Battle of New Orleans, one of the most famous of the war – and well known of the American victories – was fought after the signing of the treaty. In fact, ships at sea – of both sides – were unaware of the treaty and continued the hostilities unabated until June of 1815.
For the reader interested in learning more of this oft-neglected period of our history, I have appended at the end of this volume a short list of non-fiction works (not to be construed as a bibliography) that might shed further light on the War of 1812. Some are quite specific while others deal with the entire effort in a more general context. Additionally, for the many who are not aware that our National Anthem, The Star Spangled Banner, has four verses, I have shown it in its entirety. It is quite stirring.
William H. White
Rumson, NJ
2001
The Defence of M’Henry [sic]
(The Star Spangled Banner)
tune: To Anacreon in Heaven
by: Francis Scott Key, September 14, 1814
O! say can you see by the dawn’s early light,
What so proudly we hailed at the twilight’s last gleaming,
Whose broad stripes and bright stars through the perilous fight,
O’er the ramparts we watch’d, were so gallantly streaming?
And the Rocket’ red glare, the Bombs bursting in air,
Gave proof through the night, that our Flag was still there.
O! say does that star-spangled banner yet wave,
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave?
On the shore dimly seen through the mists of the deep,
Where the foe’s haughty host in dread silence reposes,
What is that which the breeze, o’er the towering steep,
As it fitfully blows, half conceals, half discloses?
Now it catches the gleam of the morning’s first beam,
In full glory reflected new shines in the stream,
‘Tis the star-spangled banner, O! long may it wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
And where is that band who so vauntingly swore
That the havoc of war and the battle’s confusion,
A home and a country, shall leave us no more?
Their blood has washed out their foul footsteps’ pollution.
No refuge could save the hireling and slave
From the terror of flight or the gloom of the grave,
And the star-spangled banner in triumph doth wave
O’er the land of the free and the home of the brave.
O! thus be it ever when freemen shall stand,
Between their lov’d home, and the war’s desolation,
Blest with vict’ry and peace, may the Heav’n rescued land,
Praise the Power that hath made and preserv’d us a nation
Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just,
And this be our motto – “In God is our Trust;”
And the star-spangled banner in triumph shall wave,
O’er the land of the Free and the Home of the Brave.
Suggested Additional Reading
The Battle for Baltimore, 1814. Joseph A. Whitehorne Nautical & Aviation Publishing Co. Baltimore, MD
The Burning of Washington: The British Invasion of 1814. Anthony S. Pitch Naval Institute Press, Annapolis, MD
Guns off Cape Ann. Kenneth Poolman. Rand McNally & Co., New York
Millions for Defense, The Subscription Warships of 1798.
Frederick C. Leiner. Naval Institute Press, Annapolis MD
Fort McHenry. Scott Sheads. Nautica
l & Aviation Publishing Co., Baltimore MD
War of 1812, A Short History. Donald R.Hickey. University of Chicago Press, Chicago
Hangman’s Beach. Thomas H. Raddall. Nimbus Publishing, Halifax
The Prize Game, Lawful Looting on the High Seas. Donald Petrie. Naval Institute Press, Annapolis, MD
America and the Sea. Labaree, Fowler, Hattendorf, Safford, Sloan & German. Mystic Seaport, Mystic, CT
History of the Navy Volume I. Edgar S. Maclay. D. Appleton & Co. New York, NY (out of print)
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
William H. White is a maritime historian, sailor, and former Naval officer with combat service. He lives and sails in New Jersey.
The War of 1812 Trilogy was born out of his love for history and the sea.
Visit seafiction.net to view additional information on the author and his books. Follow Mr. White on twitter @1812war.
Photo by Tina/Visual Xpressions
A Press of Canvas
SECOND EDITION
Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy
by William H. White
© William H. White 2000
William H. White’s action-packed tale introduces a new character in American sea fiction: Isaac Biggs of Marblehead, Massachusetts. Sailing from Boston as captain of the foretop in the bark Anne, his ship is outward bound with a cargo for the Swedish colony of St. Barts in the West Indies in the fall of 1810. When the Anne is stopped by a British Royal Navy frigate, Isaac and several of his shipmates are forcibly pressed into service in the Orpheus, actively engaged in England’s long-running war with France.
The young Isaac faces the harsh life of a Royal Navy seaman and a harrowing war at sea. His new life is hard, with strange rules, floggings, and new dangers. Then the United States declares war on England and Isaac finds himself in an untenable position, facing the possibility of fighting his own countrymen.
Written from the aspect of the fo’c’sle rather than an officer’s view and through the eyes of an American, A Press of Canvas provides new perspectives and an exciting story of this often neglected period in American history.
Critical Acclaim for A Press of Canvas
“Sailors everywhere will rejoice in the salt spray, slanting decks and high adventure of this lively yam of the young American republic battling for its rights at sea.”
Peter Stanford. President, National Maritime Historical Society
“A great read…a very engaging story with believable, honest characters…taught me a lot about this period of history…just fabulous!”
John Wooldridge. Managing Editor. Motorboating and Sailing
“The Age of Fighting Sail has been well portrayed by C.S. Forester, Patrick O’Brien and their followers. But all of these writers saw the world from the quarterdeck. Now comes William H. White with A Press of Canvas to present the same conflicts on the same ships from the viewpoint of a fo’c’sle hand. It is a worthy effort, well executed. and thoroughly engaging, and all of us who love the subject matter are in his debt.”
Donald Petrie, author of The Prize Game, Lawful Looting on the High Seas in the Days of Fighting Sail. Naval Institute Press, 1999
Readers’ Comments:
“A real page turner…couldn’t put it down.”
“The book disappears – you find yourself right there watching the action unfold.”
“The characters became my friends. I hated to finish the book because now I have to wait until next year to see what they’re up to.”
“I found myself wondering about my friends on those ships while I was gardening or doing chores. They became part of my life for a while.”
“Professionally done – and accurate. I especially enjoyed the ship action.”
On the War of 1812 Trilogy…
“Read the trials and tribulations of Isaac Biggs and enjoyed them immensely. Haven’t read anything like this since Forester. You write better sea stories than I do.”
Clive Cussler, Author of the Dirk Pitt Series
An excerpt from A Press of Canvas follows…
A Press of Canvas
SECOND EDITION
Volume One in the War of 1812 Trilogy
by William H. White
© William H. White 2000
“Biggs, find Mr. Clark, if you please, and ask him to step aft.” Captain Jed Smalley continued his pacing of the quarterdeck of the bark Anne, casting the occasional glance at the sails hanging limply aloft, reflected almost perfectly with the image of the ship in the brilliant, but dead calm sea. Isaac Biggs, Captain of the Foretop, had been taking his ease with some of his fellow topmen in the scant shade offered by the vessel’s deck house when Smalley sent him to find the First Mate.
“Aye, sir.” He said aloud, and to himself, Something must be gonna happen. Maybe the cap’n figgers we gonna get a breeze o’ wind. ‘Bout time, I’d reckon. He stood and walked forward, squinting as he left the shade, and the full force of the Caribbean sun, low in the sky and bouncing off the quiet sea, hit his eyes. He noticed with pleasure, and some relief that the deck no longer burned his bare feet as he made his way forward, and the tar caulking the seams no longer oozed from between the long leaf pine boards.
As he gained the fo’c’sle, he could smell that Cook was getting close to having the evening meal prepared; Isaac could only imagine how hot the galley must be, and the air around the Charlie Noble stack shimmered as the cooking heat rose from it. First Mate Sam Clark was sitting with some of the foredeck hands on the butt of the bowsprit, and Biggs watched for a moment as the jib boom on its outboard end described lazy circles in the air from the gentle rolling of the ship.
“Mr. Clark. Cap’n wants you on the quarterdeck, if you please. Sent me to get you.” The mate looked up at the young topman. He stared for a moment at the curly dark hair, the earnest penetrating eyes, and the easy smile that always seemed ready to expand into a full grin. The mate smiled in spite of himself and stood.
“He say what he wanted?” There hadn’t been anything requiring the mate’s attention for the two days they had been becalmed, and even though he knew it would be unlikely for Captain Smalley to have shared his thoughts with a foremast hand, his curiosity got the better of him. He could see the tall, whip-thin form of the captain some one hundred thirty feet away, still pacing his domain, and he wondered how he stood wearing the black frock coat he habitually wore at sea, regardless of the weather.
“Not to me, sir. But then I guess he figgered it wasn’t none o’ my business. He ain’t been off’n the quarterdeck since the breeze quit, though, ‘at I’ve noticed. Probably concerned ‘bout gettin’ into St. Bart’s afore someone else gets our cargo for the return.” Isaac watched the sails overhead as he spoke; they still showed no signs of life, not even the t’gallants some one hundred forty feet above the deck. Not a breath of air was stirring.
The two stopped as they passed two of the bark’s longboats, lashed down tightly, and covered with taut canvas, bleached white by the tropical sun. Isaac, seeing his friends still taking their ease, rejoined them in the shade as Sam Clark continued to the quarterdeck.
“Think we’re gonna get us some breeze, Cap’n? The men been scratching the backstays and whistling until they’s lips hurt. You’d think we’d have more wind ‘en we could handle from all o’ that. I cain’t recall them nor’east trades droppin’ fer this long down here. Might be gonna change. Mebbe get some weather.”
Smalley had stopped his pacing, and stood at the starboard rail staring at the horizon to the east. He continued watching the horizon, while his first mate stood patiently behind him, waiting. Clark could see the sweat running down the captain’s neck and the queue in which he habitually wore his gray hair was damp from it, the black ribbon drooping. Hatless, the tall, almost gaunt skipper suddenly turned, squinting at his mate with deep-set pale eyes that most took as blue, but were in fact gray, in a weathered face that had seen the sea in all her moods over the nearly forty years he had been at sea. His jaw line showed a stu
bble of white bristles – not from slovenly habits, but from an inability to see close at hand without his spectacles. And he did not feel that wearing spectacles while he shaved was appropriate. He had been captaining vessels for twenty-five of his forty-eight years – everything from small coastal vessels to a few brigs, schooners, and this bark, Anne, his favorite, and also the largest.
“Yes, Mr. Clark, I think we might get a breeze this night. And from the look o’ them clouds startin’ on the eastern horizon, mebbe even some rain inta the bargain. You can let the men enjoy a song after supper if they’s a mind, as I figger we’ll be workin’ with no time for gaiety and cavortin’ soon enough.” Smalley’s baritone voice was quiet, as always.
Underscoring his words in an ironical counterpoint, the silence of the day was broken only by the slatting of sails and the slap of unstrained sheets and halyards as Anne rolled in the gentle swells. Sam Clark knew better than to doubt this man’s sea-sense; he had sailed with him for five years now and had yet to see him err when it came to anticipating the weather.
The Evening Gun: Volume three in War of 1812 Trilogy Page 32