by Peter Snow
Cockburn was up early on the 23rd and soon riding with Evans and his own aide-de-camp James Scott to see Robert Ross. They hadn’t far to go. It was only five miles to Upper Marlborough and, once there, he soon persuaded Ross to banish his doubts to the back of his mind and order his men to be ready to march on towards Washington. According to Samuel Davies, a midshipman who was in close attendance on Cockburn, Ross began by saying that he – like Cochrane – believed it was impossible to take Washington with such a small army. Cockburn replied that nothing was impossible with the kind of soldiers he had led through France and Spain. When Cockburn went on to say that he himself would happily go to Washington and ‘either conquer or die’, reported Davies, ‘we gave three cheers’. Once again Ross allowed himself to be persuaded. ‘It is perfectly fair to conclude’, Evans writes in his official memorandum with deliberate understatement, ‘that the presence of the Rear-Admiral may not have been, as in fact it was not, without a favourable bias.’ Cockburn himself wrote later that he went to ‘confer with Major General Ross as to our further operations against the enemy, and we were not long in agreeing on the propriety of making an attempt on the city of Washington’. Ross also agreed – to Cockburn’s delight – that the admiral would accompany the army to Washington together with a contingent of seamen and marines. Cockburn would now be at Ross’s side to keep him on course if he looked like deviating again. Evans recorded: ‘Admiral Cockburn yields unqualified assent to the propriety of the operation contemplated and volunteers his services with the marines and seamen.’ James Scott was sent off to report to Alexander Cochrane: ‘I was despatched to the Commander in Chief with the news of the flotilla’s destruction and the intended descent upon the capital.’
George Evans expressed his satisfaction at the way things were going in his daily ‘memorandum of operations’. The army was clearly getting into its stride after its enervating time at sea and was much more effective than when it had first disembarked. There were, he wrote, plenty of supplies of cattle and horses, which local people were ready to provide ‘on receiving the established prices’. What was more the army was receiving intelligence from slaves who were ‘zealous, intelligent and highly useful’ and from ‘some of the white inhabitants [who were] by no means incorruptible … in fact a sort of espionage exists on which there is already some reason to depend…’. He went on to remark that although the enemy had twice the numbers the British had and were ‘accumulating’, the Americans had ‘leaders devoid of talent and experience’, and ‘the troops are without confidence and discipline…’.
Most of the British troops were too busy enjoying a restful morning in the relaxing surroundings of Upper Marlborough with its plentiful sources of food to care about their army commander’s dithering earlier that morning. But junior officers like George Gleig could sense something was wrong. The day before at Nottingham he had noticed that ‘there seemed, indeed, to be something like hesitation as to the course to be pursued – whether to follow the gunboats, or to return to the shipping…’ ‘We remained [at Upper Marlborough] not only during the night, but till past noon on the following day. The hesitation which had caused the loss of a few hours at Nottingham again interfered, and produced delay which might have been attended with serious consequences…’ Towards noon Ross made his appearance after his meeting with Cockburn and the troops were ordered to prepare to move off after lunch. ‘The scruples which had, for a time, affected him were now overcome, and a push, it was understood, was about to be made against the city of Washington.’ Gleig reports that the buzz went around that the general and the admiral were determined on ‘insulting’ the American capital. The word was put about that this would be retaliation for excesses committed by the Americans in burning towns like Newark and York (the modern Toronto) in Upper Canada. The men weren’t too concerned about the reasons for the action, Gleig writes: ‘it was sufficient for us to know that an enterprise was before us … we cared not from what motive it sprung – our only thought was to effect it’. By 2 p.m. the British army was on the move towards Washington – fifteen miles away.
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That day, Tuesday 23 August, was the day on which the chaos on the American side induced by the bewildered leadership of William Winder reached its climax. By the evening his flurry of contradictory orders had driven his subordinate commanders close to despair. His misery was compounded by the fact that throughout the day the British still managed to keep him guessing about where they were headed. The American troops in their camp at Long Old Fields had had a disturbed night with one false alarm at 2 a.m., and the day that now dawned promised to be as sultry and sweaty as any that August. Winder himself had only managed, as he put it, to ‘snatch a moment of rest … having waded through infinite applications, consultations and calls…’. At 6 a.m. he ordered his bleary-eyed troops to make ready to move and rode over to the nearby farm where he briefed the President. He was able to tell Madison he now had around 6,000 troops immediately available – over 2,000 at Long Old Fields and another 4,000 assembling around the village of Bladensburg which commanded a river crossing north-east of Washington. His cavalry were keeping an eye on the British, who were in Upper Marlborough eight miles east of them. They showed no sign of moving from there and he was inclined to move forward to intercept them. He did not know what the British intended. They could be headed for Annapolis, which Winder thought the most likely, or by one of two roads to Washington. Armstrong, who up to that moment had discounted any British move on Washington, then intervened to say that if Ross did move on Washington ‘it will necessarily be a mere Cossack Hurrah, a rapid march and hasty retreat’. The best plan of action, said Armstrong, was to retreat to the Capitol in Washington and defend it with 5,000 troops and a battery of guns. On the success of this plan, said the War Secretary, ‘I would pledge my life and reputation.’
Far from taking the advice of a man whose judgement he had every reason to distrust, Winder did almost precisely the opposite. He decided – initially – on a forward strategy. He had already ordered the force (which now amounted to more than 2,000 men) under General Tobias Stansbury around Bladensburg to move forward towards Upper Marlborough. He now ordered his force at Long Old Fields including Joshua Barney’s flotillamen to move an advance party forward towards Upper Marlborough and to prepare to intercept any British move towards Washington. The word went around the American units that at last they were going to have a go at the British invaders of their country. At 9 a.m. James Madison reviewed the troops at Long Old Fields and wrote an upbeat letter to his wife. He said the troops he’d been with that morning were ‘in high spirits and make a good appearance’. The latest and probably truest information about the enemy, he wrote, ‘is that they are not very strong, and are without cavalry or artillery; and of course that they are not in a condition to strike at Washington’. He said they didn’t look like moving from Upper Marlborough ‘unless it be from an apprehension of our gathering force, and on a return to their ships … it is possible however they may have a greater force or expect one, than has been represented or that their temerity may be greater than their strength’. Madison told Dolley he might have to return to the camp; ‘otherwise I hope I shall be with you … though perhaps later in the evening. Your devoted husband M.’
For a brief hour or two the President and his field commander allowed themselves to hope that the worst might not happen and that their hopelessly inadequate preparations might not be tested. Moreover another 700 militiamen from Virginia were expected to arrive in Washington at any moment under Colonel George Minor. They should have nearly 7,000 men ready to fight by the morning of the 24th. Madison turned his horse back towards the city, and Winder went off to try and meet up with Stansbury. He and his Baltimore men should now be well on the road from Bladensburg to Upper Marlborough.
But they weren’t. Winder could find no sign of Stansbury. He was nowhere to be seen on the road from Bladensburg to Upper Marlborough. Stansbury had been waiting for a force of 800
men including a rifle battalion under Major Pinkney to join him. Stansbury didn’t hurry forward and it wasn’t till late on the Tuesday evening that his whole force was together. He decided not to exhaust his men by marching through the night. He would wait till dawn. At around teatime Winder, who’d been riding about looking for Stansbury, was tracked down by a staff officer from the force left at Long Old Fields. The British had moved off early that afternoon from Upper Marlborough and had advanced to within three miles of Long Old Fields. The American advance guard had loosed off a few musket shots at the British without hitting anyone, and then retired. Joshua Barney’s flotillamen and a brigade of District of Columbia militia commanded by General Walter Smith prepared to hold the line at Long Old Fields. Barney, for one, relished the prospect of avenging the destruction of his fleet. He’d met Madison earlier in the day and the President had ‘exhorted the men to be firm and faithful in their duty’. Smith reported later that he had proposed to Barney ‘making a stand in our then position, with which, with his characteristic gallantry, he promptly acquiesced’. Smith was confident that they could throw the British back. His artillery in which ‘it was ascertained we were greatly their superior, and for which the ground was admirably adapted, [was] so posted as to have the best effect; indeed, so strong did we deem our position in front, that we were apprehensive that the enemy, upon viewing us, would forbear to assail us by daylight’.
Twenty-four hours earlier Winder might have applauded this. He had ‘entertained the hope of giving the enemy a serious check’. But the news that the British were on the move set Winder’s mind spinning. Now he reversed his strategy and decided to pull his men right back to Washington. Winder said he was afraid the enemy might try and stage a night attack on the camp and cause havoc among the inexperienced militia. Smith and Barney were told to withdraw across the half-mile-long road bridge spanning the Eastern Branch River (today called the Anacostia). The men were now utterly exhausted. Smith wrote that they’d been ‘under arms without intermission … night and day … for four days … with only two rations … during their different marches in advance and retreat … exposed to the burning heat of a sultry sun by day and … the cold dews of the night, uncovered’. All this, said Smith, ‘could not but be severely distressing to men, the greater part of whom possessed and enjoyed at home the means of comfortable living’. Few militiamen were gritty outdoorsmen used to the hardships of soldiers and nights bivouacking under the stars.
It was no less distressing for Stansbury’s men. They’d made it to Bladensburg, but they were now to face a night of marching and counter-marching as their commanders openly questioned the orders they had received from General Winder. When Winder learned that the various units had arrived too late at Bladensburg to move forward towards Upper Marlborough as he had hoped, he sent orders to them to take up a strong defensive position at Bladensburg on the high ground in and around the village on the east bank of the river, and defend it as long as possible. His message arrived at two in the morning of the 24th. He told Stansbury that he had retreated with his whole force from Long Old Fields to the city of Washington. Stansbury immediately sent for his senior officers and wrote later that ‘they were unanimous in their opinion that our situation on that hill [at Bladensburg] could not be defended with the force then under my command, worn down with hunger and fatigue as they were, and that it was indispensably necessary for the security of the army that we should immediately retire … and take a position on the road between Bladensburg and the city’. With his officers agreed that they should ignore Winder’s orders, the order to march was given at 3.30 a.m. It was a notable piece of disobedience by one of Winder’s key commanders and exposed the flaws of America’s loose military system. It meant that Stansbury abandoned his strong position on the east bank of the river, which would have been a formidable obstacle to the British advance when it came.
John Pendleton Kennedy was one of the luckier of Stansbury’s militiamen. He’d arrived at Bladensburg with an early contingent and had had time to enjoy a relaxed supper of some stolen chickens, ham and coffee. ‘Finding ourselves with an extra supply of candles, we indulged the luxury of lighting some three or four, which, being fitted into the band of the bayonet with the point stuck in the ground, gave an unusual splendour to the interior of our tent.’ At 1 a.m. there was a false alarm and they all frantically sought their belongings in the pitch dark. ‘Some got the wrong boots, others a coat that didn’t fit, some could not find their cross-belts. I luckily was all right except that I sallied out in my [dancing] pumps.’ He’d brought the pumps along hoping to be invited to the ball the President would give at the White House ‘after we’d beaten the British and saved Washington’. Later in the night Kennedy was woken again for the march back across the river and down towards Washington. He couldn’t find his boots: they’d been thrown on to the regimental wagon. He was still in his dancing pumps.
The entire American army had now abandoned the east side of the river. The road to Washington was suddenly wide open to General Ross’s invading forces. And Ross hadn’t – yet – lost a single man in action.
James Madison, who had only a few hours earlier expressed such optimism to his wife, was now in no doubt that he faced a fight for his capital. He had stopped on the way home to write another quick pencilled note to Dolley telling her that she should make ready to leave the White House. The British, he wrote, seemed stronger than they had been before and were ‘marching on the city, with intention to destroy it’. She should make her arrangements to pack what papers she could and escape in a carriage ‘at a moment’s warning’. Dolley wrote a hasty letter to her sister dated Tuesday 23 August: ‘I am accordingly ready. I have pressed as many cabinet papers into trunks as to fill one carriage; our private property must be sacrificed.’ It was, she said, impossible to procure wagons for its transportation. ‘I am determined not to go myself until I see Mr Madison safe, and he can accompany me, as I hear of much hostility towards him … disaffection stalks around us.’ Apart from those who had always opposed the war with Britain, there was now an increasing number of people who felt that Madison and his military commanders were mishandling the crisis, and that he was to blame for the imminent prospect of death and destruction in the streets of the American capital.
There was now a mood little short of pandemonium throughout Washington. Dolley Madison’s close friend Margaret Bayard Smith wrote that very few women or children remained in the city on that Tuesday evening. Earlier in the day she had been cheered by accounts ‘that the enemy were retreating’. American troops, she recalled, were – at that stage – displaying ‘a cheerful alacrity’, and among the citizens of Washington there was a ‘universal confidence … few doubted our conquering’. Now all those hopes were dashed. She said that she and her family had intended to remain at home but:
we were roused Tuesday night by a loud knocking. On the opening of the door Willie Bradley called to us ‘The enemy are advancing, our own troops are giving way on all sides and are retreating to the city. Go, for God’ s sake, Go.’ He spoke in a voice of agony and then flew to his horse and was out of sight in a moment. We immediately rose, the carriage and horses were soon ready, we loaded a wagon with what goods remained and about 3 o’clock left our house with all our servants.
She still felt it unlikely that the British would win possession of the city: the army would defend it and it wouldn’t be defeated. ‘I felt no alarm or agitation, as I knew the danger was not near. I even felt no distress at the idea of forsaking our home.’ They travelled very slowly as it was dark: Margaret Bayard-Smith herself had to walk part of the way. Her three daughters, aged three, ten and thirteen, were ‘quite delighted with our flight, novelty has such charms at their age … Even for myself I felt animated, invigorated, willing to encounter any hardship.’ The family finally reached the house of a friend in the country, Mrs Bently, where ‘all seemed security and peace’.
The family of William Jones, the Navy Secretary, were plan
ning to escape too. He and his wife had been invited to dine that evening with the Madisons at the White House. But in the afternoon Mrs Jones wrote to Dolley saying ‘in the present state of alarm and bustle of preparation for the worst that may happen, I imagine it will be more convenient to dispense with your hospitality today…’. Her husband, wrote Mrs Jones, was ‘deeply engaged in despatching the marines … Lucy and I are packing, with the possibility of having to leave.’ She said they had no ideas where to go, or how to transport their belongings. ‘Our carriage horse is sick, and our coachmen absent…’
* * *
Fortunately for those in Washington the British army didn’t march much further that day. After the odd skirmish with the advance guard of General Smith’s men from Long Old Fields, General Ross called a halt in the grounds of a large house at Melwood. Cockburn was with him; Washington was now only a short march away. They could either approach it by the Eastern Branch Bridge across the wide Eastern Branch of the Potomac, or they could bear north and cross the river, where it was much narrower, by the bridge at Bladensburg. There was a third, rickety wooden bridge, halfway between them, called Stoddert’s Bridge, but it could be easily destroyed, so was an unlikely choice. George Gleig was posted with his men as a picket in an elegant house – Gleig called it a ‘chateau’ – some miles from the British camp. They were treated to a sumptuous supper by the owner, a ‘gentleman of extensive fortune’, who appeared very friendly. But Gleig was suspicious that their host might be about to spring a trap and there was indeed late that night what looked like an attempt to attack them. ‘Our situation was most ticklish … Burrell [on sentry watch] came and told us the enemy were surrounding us … I commanded the men to fire. The enemy halted and then, without so much as returning our salute, melted away.’
