The Internal Enemy: Slavery and War in Virginia, 1772-1832

by Taylor, Alan

  5

  INVASION

  No nation upon Earth, that nearly approached us in populousness, was so weak & incapable of Carrying [on a] war, as we are.

  —WALTER JONES, 18141

  IN JUNE 1812 in Richmond, Virginia’s leaders awaited news of war. They included John Campbell, a young and able politician who recently had joined the Council of State. On June 12, Campbell reported to his brother, “We wait here in hourly expectation for the declaration of war. The sound of military music is now ringing in my ear.” Nine days later, the local militiamen discharged their cannon to signal that the president and Congress had, at last, declared war on the British Empire. Campbell noted, “The Cannon is now roaring whilst I am writing. . . . We are all noise, bustle & talk here. War! War! War! The hour has arrived so long expected.”2

  On the Fourth of July, hundreds gathered in Richmond’s Capitol Square and the main street for a carefully staged political theater of resolve and unity. Thomas Ritchie, editor of the powerful Richmond Enquirer, exulted in hearing “the spirit stirring fife, the pealing drum, the hum of the delighted multitude that thronged the Square, and the steps and windows of the Capitol.” At noon, the state’s new governor, James Barbour, exhorted the crowd to remember “the glories of the revolution” and “to bury all inferior party distinctions in the love of the country.” The governor then led the militia commanders, state legislators, and leading citizens and ladies inside the Hall of Delegates to hear a spirited reading of the Declaration of Independence. In the afternoon, the militiamen and their bands entertained the crowd with military maneuvers and patriotic music. At dusk, the home and shop owners illuminated their windows with candles in a vivid display of pro-war solidarity. Campbell exulted that the city’s main street “appear’d bespangled with myriads of stars.” Ritchie insisted that the festivities lacked the raucous disorder of previous celebrations in Richmond: “No jarring, no riots, no mobs, not one pane of glass broken even by a boy.” Surely, that unity and self-discipline boded well for the war against the British. But appearances can be deceiving.3

  While Ritchie shrewdly managed power from behind the curtain, Governor Barbour barged into every spotlight to perform his boisterous eloquence, which earned him the nickname of “the Thunderer.” Tall, handsome, and bombastic, he gave pro-war speeches to anyone who would listen, exhorting the militiamen to fight to the death to defend Richmond: “I am sure you will say with me that it would be infinitely more desirable to be buried in its ruins than save a life rendered infamous by a pusillanimous retreat.” Delighting in attention, Barbour wore a specially designed general’s uniform of exquisite elegance, for he expected to command the militia in the field. Campbell reported that during the Fourth of July celebration, Barbour “was in his glory. He pranc’d here & there and every where.”4

  Thirty-six years old, Barbour became governor in early January 1812, replacing George William Smith, who had died in the Richmond Theater fire. Despite modest origins and a limited education, Barbour had thrived as a lawyer and politician, thanks to support from his Orange County neighbor, James Madison, and the Richmond power broker, Thomas Ritchie. Conventional on issues of race, he lamented slavery as an evil but did nothing to free his slaves or anyone else’s.5

  Governor James Barbour of Virginia. (Courtesy of the Library of Virginia)

  Leading Virginians did not know whether to mock Barbour’s vainglory or applaud his zeal. Campbell eventually warmed to Barbour as far more decisive than the dithering state legislators: “Barbour takes it rough, roll & tumble, some times right & some times wrong. He is quick as lightning . . . & is willing to do every thing in his power, I believe, for the country.” A leading lawyer, William Wirt, reported that “a party of mischievous boys” tweaked the governor for giving pompous speeches to every passing militia company. Making a bustle before the governor’s mansion, they drew out Barbour, who asked, “What do you want?” The boys replied, “A speech.” According to Wirt, Barbour “felt the ridicule & retired in dismay. But after all he is a good fellow.”6

  Barbour recognized Virginia’s vulnerability to a British invasion from the sea, for the Tidewater’s rivers and bay could bring enemy warships deep within the state at multiple points. Save for Norfolk, none of Virginia’s harbors had any significant fortification or garrison of U.S. troops. Barbour dismissed the ruinous Fort Powhatan, Richmond’s main defense on the James River, as “literally nothing but a scarecrow.” The Council of State supported Barbour, but the tax-averse legislators rebuffed his requests for more authority and funds to bolster the state’s defenses.7

  The jealous and penny-wise legislators served constituents who wanted to be left alone by their government, which did not bode well for the sacrifices required by war. United on the Fourth of July, the Virginians divided thereafter into rival regions: Tidewater, Piedmont, and the West. The Tidewater and Piedmont representatives agreed on little beyond defending slavery and marginalizing the West, which was weaker, poorer, and whiter. The Piedmont and western delegates coalesced only to minimize the funds and men committed to defend the Tidewater, which faced the greatest danger of British attack. In every region, the militiamen tried to minimize their active service rather than neglect their farms and shops. Common farmers, artisans, and shopkeepers, the militiamen preferred the patriotic bombast of the Fourth of July to the grim realities of war: periodic deadly combat and long stretches of exposure in filthy, disease-ridden camps.

  Militia

  Virginians expected the federal government to defend their state against invasion, while they guarded against the internal enemy. What good, they asked, was the Union if it would not defend every state? Alas, in 1812 the same sort of southern Republicans who governed Virginia also led the United States. As national leaders they had no greater stomach for taxes to fund a strong military than did their counterparts in Virginia. In 1812, the overmatched secretary of war, William Eustis, struggled to rebuild an army that had withered during the Jefferson administration. Throughout 1812, low bounties and poor pay discouraged enlistments, which lagged far behind expectations. Common men could make more on the farm or in their shop than by risking their lives to disease or bullets in the army. “I know our people,” a Virginia congressman privately observed, and “their selfish feelings far outweigh their public spirit & principles,” for “the enjoyment or acquisition of property are the ruling & universal passions.”8

  Putting a premium on invading Canada, the Madison administration lacked enough troops also to defend the long American coastline. In July 1812, Eustis enraged Virginians by ordering most of the state’s new recruits to march away to the northern front. Barbour protested, citing “the great dangers to be apprehended from our black population if not from their violence at least great loss might occur by their desertion.” But the federal order to march stood, leaving the defense of Virginia to a mere two companies of U.S. troops posted at Norfolk. To supplement them, Eustis did authorize Barbour to mobilize 500 militiamen for federal service at Norfolk. The rest of Virginia’s indented coast lay undefended.9

  If British raiders landed, the commanding colonel of a county could call into service all of the local militia. Composed of every able-bodied white man between the ages of sixteen and forty-five, the militiamen were better known for drinking whiskey than for obeying orders, for they lacked training beyond a festive annual muster at their county courthouse. Congressman Walter Jones described the Virginia militia as “very badly equipped, worse disciplined, & still worse commanded” in “a system that looks well dressed by the patriotic puffs of the newspapers & orators.” When called out, the men appeared “in driblets” with only “a few muskets without flints or moulds, bayonets without sheaths, cartridges to the amount [of] five or six per man, of which one third, upon examination, have proved unfit for use.”10

  Proud of their republican equality, the militiamen often defied their officers. One county commander reported that his major “was often compelled to appeal to weapons or Shel
ter to Escape the assault of his own men [at] the Battalion Muster Last Fall & again this Last Spring. What few of the men did meet produced an open war Between them and their Major and his friends, & Bloodshed and Battery has been the consequence.” The men had scant reason to respect their bumbling officers, who often were old and inept and owed their commissions to the cronyism of their county court. One frustrated junior officer declared, “Were all the County Courts in Virginia to lay aside the slavish respect . . . for seniority” in favor of merit “there would not be seen so many doll-babies at the head of Regiments and Battalions.” John Campbell lamented, “Nine-tenths of the Colonels are as ignorant as Asses and the Generals are, if possible, worse.”11

  The brief mobilization of 1807 had given way to renewed budget-cutting by the legislature, which left the militia woefully unprepared for the next crisis. Throughout 1812 and 1813, Barbour received panicky reports from local militia officers begging for weapons. Soldiers had sold, lost, or neglected the arms issued during the previous great alarm, just five years earlier. In York County, the commander reported that “not more than one man out of five or six has a musket.” Everywhere officers denounced the wretched quality and poor design of the arms made by the state arsenal in Richmond. A cavalry officer complained, “The Swords are so extremely long & heavy that men of ordinary strength cannot wield them.” Another declared, “Many of the pistols have bursted or been broken . . . by firing.” When men had working guns, they often discovered that the heat and humidity had ruined the gunpowder in their cartridges.12

  Dispersed among many careless hands, the weapons corroded or vanished by sale. Some reformers proposed to concentrate the arms in county arsenals for better storage and repair, but Barbour worried that the proposal was “subject to the objection which has been perpetually presented when the propriety of this mode of saving the arms has been discussed in the Legislature, viz. the peculiar species of population we have among us.” The legislators dreaded that any concentration of arms at the county level would tempt seizure by slave rebels. When in doubt, Virginians dispersed authority and weapons, to the detriment, however, of their ability to resist invasion.13

  The militia also suffered from class tensions because the prosperous could evade service by hiring substitutes. In June 1812, Joseph C. Cabell served in the State Senate when drafted in his home county for service at sickly Norfolk. A friend in the U.S. army, Isaac A. Coles, joked that he would join Cabell “on the swamps of the Chesapeake to fight the English & Moschetos together.” Cabell’s wife, Polly, did not find that funny, for she wailed through the night, begging Cabell “not to kill her by going into the army.” A sickly gentleman, Cabell also wanted no part of service, but he worried that hiring a substitute would embarrass his political prospects. The former governor William H. Cabell reassured his younger brother: “Hire a substitute without hesitation” to avoid “the certainty of destruction to yourself from the climate. . . . Put Polly’s mind at ease & let her be as silent as possible on all these topics.” Applying the logic of Virginia localism, William reasoned, “If you lived in Norfolk and the Town was besieged, or if the part of the Country in which you reside should be invaded . . . it might be necessary for you to turn out, but there is no such necessity as yet.” To avoid publicity in his home county, Joseph followed St. George Tucker’s advice to hire a substitute through a friend in another county: “Do this without naming me—or suffering the thing to leak out.” By promising $100 on top of the regular pay, the friend procured a substitute to serve for six months (in addition, he would receive monthly pay from the state).14

  Common men, however, could not afford to hire substitutes, so they had to leave their farms and shops. Because armies and navies moved more freely and aggressively in the warm months, military emergencies conflicted with the peak period for agricultural work. Common farmers faced ruin if they failed to plant or harvest in time. Artisans suffered nearly as much, for militia pay was always late and far less than they could make at their shops. And men who sickened and died in the service left behind impoverished widows and orphans. One set of officers lamented, “The cries of women and children are so afflicting as to melt the Hardest Heart.” Their men were tempted to desert “when they reflect on the exposure of their Families to the internal enemy, [and] when they see ruin staring them in the face by the total neglect of the agricultural preparations.”15

  Common men resented having to defend the plantations of the rich from the flight of their slaves. In Princess Anne County (near Norfolk), sixty-six militiamen considered it “entirely repugnant to Liberty, our Laws & Constitution that they should be compelled to perform the servile Duty of guarding the private Property of a few Citizens who are, at the same Time, sleeping in their Beds with nothing to interrupt their Repose, but an Apprehension that they may lose a few Slaves.” These men refused “to become Slaves to their Neighbors.” Living amid slaves, the Virginians became hypersensitive to any implied dependence or inequality, which they likened to slavery.16

  In the western mountains, poor whites prevailed, for slaves and plantations were few. Although most disliked black people, the westerners balked at having to leave home to defend the eastern planters from a slave revolt. The western men also detested the eastern domination of the state government and the exclusion of landless white men from the right to vote. For years, the Tidewater and Piedmont legislators had blocked democratic reforms and appropriations for economic development in the western counties. A western populist, Colonel John Stokely, warned Barbour that the militia resented “paying taxes & fighting the Battles of their Country” when they “have no voice in the choice of either Civil or Military Officers. Often have I heard the poor Fellows murmur at this Privation & justly too according to my opinion.” They felt reduced “to slavery or to a situation little superior to it.” Stokely exhorted the governor to pay “respect to the Poor & virtuous Plough Boys as well as to those whose wealth intitles them to Live in Idleness & Invites them many times to ruin & to wickedness.”17

  Another western legislator, Noah Zane, insisted that the easterners needed the hinterland militia to protect them, for “at this time they were afraid to lie down at night lest they would be burned up by their Negroes before morning.” Zane added that if the easterners “treated their Negroes properly there would be no danger from them.” Zane’s talk inspired a listening militia officer, John Richardson, to add that “if the Negroes was to rise in rebellion against their masters in the Eastern counties he would not turn out in support of the latter or any set of people that would deprive him of his Just rights.” Zane warned Richardson that “it would not do for him to express himself that way in old Virginia.” Indeed, Governor Barbour promptly sacked Richardson as a militia officer for his indiscreet words.18

  As a Piedmont slaveholder, Barbour opposed the political reforms sought by the western populists, and he feared their antislavery grumbling. For Barbour, localism took a back seat when the eastern counties needed western help: “We are one Family and when any member thereof is assaulted it is entitled to the resources of the whole . . . & if by untoward circumstances a portion of the Commonwealth has a species of population thrown upon them without their consent by which they are particularly exposed to danger it has the strongest claims to the aid of the other portions of the state which have been happily exempted from such Calamity.” Barbour regarded Virginia as one big family to defend slavery, although that imagined community had refused to extend political equality to the poorest westerners.19

  Barbour also rejected the widespread complaints that the rich man’s war had become the poor man’s fight: “The solace to murmurs of this kind is to be found in the reflection that the road to wealth is accessible to all. The wheel of fortune is in perpetual rotation & he who today occupies the lowest Station in the Wheel in a short time may exchange situations with the one who enjoys the highest.” If a common man did not like militia service, he should become rich and buy his own substitute. By deploying the American
promise of social mobility, Barbour sought to defuse the class tensions aroused by a militia service that bore down hardest on the common man.20

  Examples

  The patriotic enthusiasm of the Fourth of July faded during the late summer and fall of 1812, as Virginians began to count the military costs and to rue the political divisions of war. Undermanned, underfunded, and badly led, the American invasions of Canada culminated in embarrassing defeats. The worst humiliation came at Detroit in August, when General William Hull surrendered his garrison to a smaller enemy force without firing a shot. Virginians blamed Hull’s cowardice on his origins in New England: deemed a region devoted to money and Federalism rather than honor and Republicanism. But in December, Virginians felt ashamed of their own bombastic, cowardly, and inept general, Alexander Smyth, who botched an invasion of Canada from his base at Buffalo, New York. Longing for peace Colonel John Taylor denounced the wretched war effort characterized by an “appalling debt, a legion of officers without an army, a few detachments of raw soldiers without generals, a ruined commerce, [and] a people divided into two parties neither of which is very willing to take the field or to pay taxes.”21

  And then the British brought war to Virginia. On February 4, 1813, five British warships entered Chesapeake Bay and began to seize and burn merchant ships. By March 6 the British had seventeen warships in the bay: more than the entire American navy then at sea. Within the bay, the Americans had only a few small gunboats and a single frigate, the USS Constellation, which took shelter behind the forts that guarded the entrance to Norfolk’s harbor. Governor Barbour and the Council of State ordered another 2,000 militiamen into service, primarily at Norfolk.22