Boston, Massachusetts

August 1814

CHAPTER XXIII

* * *

The distant rumble of thunder rolled over Boston, sweltering in the still, muggy, late-afternoon heat of mid-August, and citizens in the cobblestoned streets paused to peer west at the low line of deep purple clouds steadily moving across the neck that connected the peninsula to the mainland. They made their calculations of when the storm would engulf the town and hurried on to be certain it would not catch them unsheltered.

On the waterfront, Jeremiah Skullings walked steadily from his small insurance office on the east end of the waterfront, moving west, past Long’s Wharf, toward Fruit Street, eyes squinted against the western sun. Short, corpulent, Skullings carried his suit coat and a large brown envelope in one hand while he wiped at his round, sweated face with a handkerchief held in the other. To his left were the docks, and beyond them the harbor, where he was accustomed to seeing the masts and riggings of hundreds of ships of every flag in the civilized world—coming, unloading and loading thousands of tons of freight, and going—the lifeblood of Boston town and much of the state of Massachusetts and the northeastern region of the United States. He studied the long, empty piers where only a few ships were tied, most of them with their decks deserted, their hatches sealed, their holds empty, riding high on the incoming sea swells. On the entire waterfront he saw fewer than ten ships with dockhands, stripped to the waist, sweating while they operated the arms and nets, loading or unloading the crates and barrels. The clamor and jostle and loud, raucous sounds of hundreds of dockhands of every description and language were gone. Skullings hurried on, unsettled at the quiet and the uncharacteristic inactivity of the Boston waterfront.

He angled toward the long row of buildings to his right, where offices of shipping companies and warehouse owners faced the docks, and walked through the open door with the sign above, DUNSON & WEEMS. He tossed his suit coat onto the counter, wiped at his face again, and watched the five men inside rise from their desks and walk to the counter, faces blank, waiting.

Skullings’s attitude was a mix of anger and frustration as he pushed a large envelope to Billy Weems.

“There they are. Just arrived from Philadelphia.” He shook his head. “Bad.”

Billy opened the envelope, laid the twelve-page document on the counter, and silently read the bold print at the top.

“MONTBANK INSURANCE, LTD. PHILADELPHIA, PENNA U.S.A.”

Beneath, in smaller letters: “Revised Insurance Premiums. Effective midnight 31 August 1814.”

Billy glanced at Skullings for a moment, and Skullings shook his head, apologetic, frustrated, hating it.

“I’m sorry, Billy. Nothing I could do. The board of directors in Philadelphia decides all these things. I only follow them.”

Silence held for thirty seconds while Billy scanned the heavy print at the headings of each section and the first few lines. Matthew stood behind him. On Billy’s left was Adam; on his right were John and Caleb, all standing still, silent, waiting.

Billy drew a deep breath and said quietly, “We’re in trouble.”

Matthew asked, “Up?”

“Every one of them.”

“How much?”

Billy turned pages and followed lines on the schedules with his finger as he answered.

“They won’t insure anything to do with weapons. Cannon, muskets, bayonets, gunpowder, sulphur, flints—any of it.”     

Matthew shifted his feet but remained silent. Billy went on.

“Tripled the rates on just about everything made of steel or iron. Stoves, plows, nails, chains, saws, tools, needles, screws, bolts—everything.”

He moved his finger to the next page.

“Doubled the rates on flour, rice, dried fish, salt beef, sowbelly—most food items—tobacco, cotton, spices, salt. Raised rates on cloth, buttons, just about everything made of wood.”

He raised his eyes to Skullings. “Any discounts for regular customers? We’ve been with you for nine years.”

Skullings shook his head. “I asked. I told them if anyone’s earned a discount, it’s you. But their answer was no. No discounts to anyone.”

Matthew interrupted. “If those rates hold very long, we’ll have to close our doors.”

Skullings’s answer came instant, hot. “If those rates hold for ninety days, we’ll have to close the Boston office of Montbank Insurance Limited! I’ll be dismissed. Nobody can afford those rates. The Buford Insurance Company across the back bay in Charlestown? Their rates got so high they closed their office four days ago. Their central office in New York is declaring bankruptcy. There was even some talk of bankruptcy in our Philadelphia office.”

Adam broke in. “How much commercial shipping is there right now here on the east coast?”

Scullings turned to him. “Our company figures show a sixty-eight percent drop since May of this year, and it’s getting worse.” He threw up a hand. “It was Napoleon! When he surrendered to the English last April, the British had hundreds of ships and thousands of troops they’d been using in Europe to fight him. They sent most of them to put a quick end to the war here! Have you seen Chesapeake Bay? Delaware Bay? New York Harbor? Filled with British ships and soldiers.”

Adam continued. “Does your company have any estimate of how long this will go on?”

Skullings shook his head. “None. No one does.”

“Why haven’t the British shut down Boston Harbor?”

“They don’t need to. The biggest harbors are New York and Philadelphia and Baltimore, and when they closed them down, business stopped at just about every other harbor from Maine to the West Indies. They’ll get around to Boston if they think it’s necessary.”

Billy pointed out the open door. “Nine of those empty ships out there are ours. Crews are gone. Our customers can’t pay the insurance rates, and they won’t risk shipping without insurance for fear of losing it all to the British.” He tapped the twelve-page insurance schedule on the countertop. “I think this just about finishes it.”

Caleb was leaning on his elbows on the counter as he spoke to Skullings. “You sure they’re after the big shipping ports? Washington, D.C., is just south of Baltimore.”

“Yes, but there’s no commerce in Washington, D.C. Government, but no commercial value worth going after. It’s Baltimore they want. Baltimore and maybe Annapolis.”

Caleb answered, “Don’t be too sure. If they take Washington, the federal government stops. That might end the war in a hurry.”

Skullings shrugged. “Could be. I’m no expert on war. My only interest in all this is insurance, and as of right now, that’s almost gone.” He drew a great breath, and his cheeks ballooned as he exhaled. “I need to get back to my office. I’m going to have some upset shippers coming in.” He pointed at the document. “I brought this to you to give you notice as quick as I could so you’d know what to do with your customers.” He shook his head, jaw set in disgust, and picked up his coat. “I hope you understand.”

Billy said, “Thanks. Not your fault. We’ll be in touch.”

The five men stood silent in the stifling heat of the Dunson & Weems office, watching Skullings disappear east on the nearly deserted waterfront, coat in hand, wiping sweat.

Matthew broke the silence. “I can’t see a way out.”

Billy heaved a sigh. “I don’t think there is one.”

There was fear and defiance in John’s face and his voice. “We just sit here in this office and go bankrupt?”

Caleb cut in. “Who’s in command of the British down there on the Chesapeake and Delaware Bay?”

Adam answered. “An admiral named Alexander Cochrane. A second admiral named George Cockburn, and a general named Robert Ross. All competent. A little arrogant, and they all dislike Americans. Why?”

“Who’s in command of our forces?”

Again Adam answered. “Commodore Oliver Perry is near the top of the naval command. He’s outstanding. Our ground forces? Right now it’s General William Winder. I doubt he’s qualified for what he has to do. He answers to John Armstrong. Secretary of war. John Armstrong is likely the most incompetent man in Washington. He’s caught up in politics—compromised—beyond all hope. He has his yes-men in critical positions, and when you put them all together, they don’t stand a chance of defending this country. Why are you asking?”

Caleb straightened. “It looks like Dunson & Weems is going to close its doors if our military doesn’t clear the British off our coast.”

Adam replied, “I doubt John Armstrong is even aware of what’s going on. The man seems to think inspecting troops and making padded reports is the key to winning the war.”

Matthew spoke from behind Caleb. “What are you suggesting?”

Caleb shrugged. “Nothing. I was thinking about Adam up on Lake Erie. He helped Perry beat Barclay. Maybe there’s something we could do to help him on the Chesapeake.”

Matthew shook his head. “Send Adam and the Margaret? One ship? I doubt the British would let the Margaret get past Cape Charles into the bay, and if they did, it would only be to trap her. The British have more than two hundred gunboats down there. If we armed every one of our ships and sent them in to help Perry, they wouldn’t last two days.”

Caleb turned and started back to his desk. “Just a thought.”

Matthew picked up the new schedule of insurance rates and said, “Get your chairs around my desk. There are some things that need to be said.”

Chairs scraped on the worn floor, and Matthew took his seat facing the four other men.

He pointed at the schedule of insurance premiums. “These are the insurance rates we’ll have to start quoting tomorrow. I doubt we’re going to find one customer who can pay them. I think our business will be at a standstill by this time tomorrow afternoon.” He turned to Billy. “If that’s true, how long can we keep our doors open? How much cash do we have in reserve?”

Billy pondered for several moments. “If we anchor all our ships, lay off all the crews, pay the debts we now owe, and collect our accounts receivable, we’ll have enough cash in reserve to keep the five of us and our families alive for about six months. Next February. If the British are still here, we’ll have to start selling the ships to feed our families. There will be no market for the ships in the United States. We’ll have to sell them to some foreign company. French. Dutch. Spanish. Anywhere we can, for whatever we can get.”

Matthew leaned back in his chair, eyes narrowed as he worked with Billy’s opinion. He turned to Adam and went on.

“Caleb raised a question. Is there any way we can use our ships to help win this war? Arm them? Provide crews? Tell Perry they’re available?”

Adam studied the floor for a time, then raised his head. “I don’t think so. If this were out on the open sea, or even on a lake the size of Erie, there might be a chance we could help. But this is going to be decided within the confines of the Chesapeake and the Delaware. Two narrow bodies of water. There’s no place to run, and I can promise you, we aren’t going to take on two hundred British gunboats without space to run. I can’t think of a way to help Perry. Matter of fact, we’d be a hindrance. He’d be worried the whole time about getting us killed.”

John suddenly leaned forward. “What’s Madison doing? He’s our commander. He should know what all this is doing to commerce. He should have a plan.”

A look of frustration crossed Matthew’s face. “President Madison is caught in a web of politics. He saw what was coming as far back as last June and called a cabinet meeting. He told them they needed more ground troops and a plan for defending Washington, D.C. The cabinet told Congress, and Congress ignored it. Madison tried to appoint competent men to head up the military, but Congress disagreed. He got John Armstrong. The others are split by political loyalties and shot through with incompetence.”

He stopped long enough to set his thoughts in order.

“Right now most of the British troops are still on their ships out on the Chesapeake and the Delaware. We don’t know where they intend coming ashore or where they plan to make their attack, and we won’t know until they do it. That means we’re going to have to have armed troops—a lot of them—waiting at every major city and seaport, and they have to be ready to move fast in any direction. With the inexperienced militia and the mediocre military leadership we now have, I think we’re set up for a disaster.”

Matthew stopped and for a time the five men sat staring at nothing while their minds searched for anything they could do to save Dunson & Weems, and there was nothing. So long as the British dominated the shipping lanes of the east coast, commercial shipping was doomed. The only sounds in the sweltering room were drifting in from the gulls and seabirds outside who were frantic in their search for the refuse that had disappeared when the ships ceased to sail, and the oncoming rumble of distant thunder as the storm steadily rolled in from the west.

Then, in less than thirty seconds the bright sunlight was gone and all shadows disappeared as the thick purple clouds rolled in. Suddenly there was a stir of breeze, and within seconds the wind came to set the ships rocking. Thunder boomed on the west edge of the town, and then the winds were howling and a bolt of lightning turned Boston town white, and in the same instant a thunderclap shook every building on the peninsula.

The five men in the Dunson & Weems office all ducked involuntarily, then peered out the door as the rain hit like a torrent.

John stood and walked toward the front door to close it, and Caleb called to him, “Leave it open. It’s only water. Can’t hurt anything in here.”

John returned to his chair, and the five men sat watching in silence, humbled once again at the realization that the struggles of mankind fade into insignificance in the face of the supreme power of Nature and the Almighty.

Within minutes the wind quieted and the cloudburst passed as quickly as it had come. Shafts of sunlight came through to set the wet town sparkling. Matthew spoke as he stood.

“I think we’re finished for the day. It’s past closing time. We all better go home and see how bad our roofs are damaged and which of our trees have branches down.”

He was the last to leave, and as he locked the front door he was struck by the quiet on the nearly vacant docks and the lack of carriages and people in the streets. He walked west, picking his way around the puddled rain and the leaves and small branches that had been stripped from the trees that lined the streets and scattered against fences and bushes and on the cobblestones. He walked with a growing fear in his heart that the shipping company he and Billy had built with grit and daring and hard work over nearly thirty years was in mortal trouble, doomed by the British ships and troops that had paralyzed the major American seaports. He slowed to peer southwest, as though he could see past the green, rolling hills and valleys to the Delaware and Chesapeake, with his thoughts running.

What’s happening down there? Does Madison understand the danger? Can he rise to it? Lift Congress and the military to it? Can they find a way?

* * * * *

Four hundred miles distant, with the setting sun casting long shadows eastward, President James Madison, a small, sweated, dusty man on a large bay mare, surrounded by an escort of uniformed cavalry and some members of his cabinet, reined in his mount at the aging residence of the mayor of Old Field, eight miles north of Washington, D.C., near Bladensburg, in the state of Maryland. Beside him secretary of the navy William Jones and secretary of war John Armstrong gathered the reins of their horses, and as Madison made the long reach to the ground, they dismounted with him. Minutes later they were seated about a square table in the simple, plain library of the old home.

While two of Madison’s aides were ordering subordinates to arrange an evening meal appropriate for the president of the United States and half his cabinet, others were out at the well drawing fresh, cold water for the thirsty party.

Madison turned to his assistant.

“I was expecting General Winder and Secretary of State Monroe. Do we have word of their arrival?”

“I’ll find out, sir,” the aide said and quickly left the room.

The cold well water arrived, and Madison poured from a porcelain pitcher and passed it around while the weary men gratefully drank their fill and wiped at their brows with handkerchiefs. They finished drinking and were setting their empty glasses on the table when the door opened and the aide reported.

“Both General Winder and Secretary Monroe will arrive here early in the morning, sir.”

“Thank you,” Monroe responded. “Would you give notice we will expect their presence here for a cabinet meeting?”

“Immediately, sir.”

The aide turned and was gone, and within minutes a portly woman with her hair drawn behind her head in a bun and a huge apron covering most of her front side knocked and timidly entered.

“Mister President, sir, supper is prepared in the dining room. I do hope you gentlemen like roast mutton and sweet potatoes. Let me show you your rooms so you can wash.”

The rooms were comfortable, the meal was rewarding, and the talk was relaxed. The men thanked their hostess and went to their rooms to hang their coats, remove their black ties, open their shirt collars, and sit at their small desks with papers before them, preparing for the impromptu cabinet meeting to be held the following morning.

They were up with the sun, washed, shaved, and dressed for their breakfast of bacon, eggs, home-baked bread, jellies, and buttermilk. They were wiping their mouths with napkins and pushing away from the table when an aide entered the dining room.

“Mister President, General Winder and Secretary Monroe have arrived.”

Madison rose and walked through the archway and across the large parlor to the front door, where the two men stood with their hats in their hands. They nodded their greeting to their president, he gestured, and they followed him to the library where the others had gathered around the table, papers before them, waiting.

“Gentlemen,” Madison began in his soft voice, “I appreciate your presence here this morning. Events led me to believe I should receive first-hand reports from each of you.” He turned to Winder.

“I understand you have redeployed your troops from Wood Yard to here—Old Field. I am not clear on the reason. Would you enlighten me?”

Winder cleared his throat and began his defense. “Two days ago my patrols reported the British landed forty-five hundred troops at Benedict. Yesterday they reached Upper Marlboro, and there were massive British troop movements in the general direction of Wood Yard and Bladensburg—far too many for my command to resist. I withdrew to consolidate my troops here at Old Field because it is closer to Washington, D.C., and has access to all roads. I have just ordered General Tobias Stansbury to return to Bladensburg with his command and prepare a defense there. I believe the decisions are sound.”

Madison reflected for a moment. “Do you have information that the British intend attacking Washington, D.C.?”

“None directly, sir.”

Madison’s blue eyes were boring into him. “What is your opinion regarding their intentions?”

“Annapolis, sir. Everything I have seen indicates they intend taking Annapolis.”

Madison turned to James Monroe, secretary of state. “Mister Secretary, am I to understand you have been reconnoitering? On scout? Horseback?” A smile flitted across Madison’s face at the thought of his fifty-six-year-old secretary of state, a long-time friend, out on scout, on horseback, alone.

Monroe’s answer was immediate. “Yes, sir. I needed to see the British lines myself. They are gathered in force north and east of the capital, and I doubt our militia can stop them. On General Winder’s orders, most of the bridges up there have been destroyed in an attempt to slow the British, but there are enough left for them to reach the city almost at will.”

“Do you believe, then, that their objective is Washington, D.C.?”

Monroe pondered for a moment. “I don’t know, sir. There is no strategic value to Washington. From a military standpoint, Baltimore and Arlington are more valuable. But taking Washington would be a powerful symbolic defeat for the United States.”

Madison reflected for a moment, then turned to Winder and Monroe. “If they do intend moving on Washington, we must be certain all heads of governmental departments have read the evacuation plan and know what their responsibilities are. They must get the vital government documents out of the city to the selected destinations in Virginia and Maryland, and they must protect all government secrets.”

He paused, then turned to John Armstrong. “I trust the printed plan has been distributed to those who had need to see.”

“I circulated it among the military commanders with orders to study it. I presume it was done, sir.”

Madison turned back to Winder and Monroe. “You recall that should the British attack Washington, the entire cabinet is to meet at Bellevue. That’s the residence of Secretary of Navy Jones in Georgetown.”

Both men nodded.

“When we arrive this afternoon, would you be certain the department heads have reviewed it? Know what to do?”

“Yes, sir.”

Madison turned to William Jones, secretary of the navy. “What success have we had with our naval forces?”

Jones shook his head. “Limited. I assigned Joshua Barney and a squadron of our gunboats to prevent British raids on targets in the Chesapeake. He had some success—limited as it was—until the British sent a sizeable flotilla of heavy war ships to eliminate him. Barney escaped by hiding in the headwaters of the Patuxent River. That’s where he is now. We simply do not have sufficient naval forces to resist the British.”

Madison paused for a moment. “Do you have an opinion of where the British intend to strike in the Chesapeake?”

“No, sir, I do not. Taking Baltimore or Annapolis would make military sense. Taking Washington would make political sense. It all depends on which the British believe to be the most important at the moment.”

Madison spoke to Armstrong, the secretary of war. “Do you have any information concerning where the British intend to strike?”

“No, sir. In my opinion it has to be Baltimore. Or Annapolis.”

Madison fell silent for a time while he mentally constructed the current position of the British and American forces and evaluated the differing, sometimes conflicting opinions of the men before him of where the British intended to strike. Washington? Annapolis? Baltimore? Until he knew, he could not set up defenses, and it was clear that none of them would know until the British made their move.

Talk broadened to include some of the detail of supplies and morale of the American forces, and it was late in the morning before Madison shuffled his papers together.

“I believe we have done all we can. It’s obvious that for now we can only remain prepared to move rapidly when the British commit themselves. Until then, be certain that the major roads to Washington are well defended. Be prepared to burn the bridges behind you. Keep patrols out constantly. If there is nothing more, thank you for your efforts. Return to your commands. I and the cabinet members present are departing for Washington immediately.”

With his armed escort both leading and following, Madison and his cabinet members made the eight-mile ride back to Washington, D.C., in temperatures above one hundred degrees, on horses showing sweat on their hides and white lather at the saddle girths. They entered the city and had reached the Executive Mansion when a sweating rider on a winded horse came pounding up behind them.

“Sir,” the man panted, “General Winder sent me ahead to request a meeting with yourself and the cabinet immediately. He’ll be at the navy yard within the next half hour.”

A startled Madison exclaimed, “What’s happened?”

“The British, sir. They’re marching on Bladensburg. General Winder needs a conference with yourself and your cabinet.”

Madison and his confused cabinet members and escort remounted their horses and made their way across town to the headquarters of Dr. Andrew Hunter in the navy yards on the Anacostia River, which had grown to be the largest naval station in the United States. Ten minutes after their arrival, General Winder knocked on the front door, and with his escort, entered, breathing heavily, wide-eyed. He was invited into the library, where Madison and some of his cabinet members stood to face him.

Madison wasted no words. “You asked for a conference?”

“Sir,” Winder blurted, “the British are marching. Just minutes after you left this morning the shooting started near Bladensburg. I believe the plan we discussed is no longer feasible. We must redeploy our troops to cover the roads into Washington. To do that, I will need your permission. If you could, sir, it would be most advisable for you to come back and see what’s happening for yourself.”

Beside Madison, secretary of state James Monroe, a veteran of many of the critical battles of the war for independence, who had been a shining hero in the miracle of the fight at Trenton that stormy morning of December 26, 1775, turned his head to hide the disgust in his face. If Winder’s in command of the troops at Bladensburg, what’s he doing back here, begging the President to come hold his hand when the shooting starts?

Madison stared back at Winder for a moment, then remounted his horse, and with his escort and cabinet members around him, rode back through the city, to the road headed north. They held their horses to a lope for a time, then slowed to a walk in the heat and humidity and kept moving. They crossed the bridges spanning the Anacostia River and held to the main road cut through the thick forests, and were yet three miles from the town of Bladensburg when the first boom of distant cannon and then the rattle of muskets, were heard. Every man in Madison’s party came to full alert, watching for the first flash of red tunics on the road ahead or in the forests on both sides of the road. As they came into Bladensburg, they were met by retreating Americans, abandoning the town, moving south, back toward the capital city.

Madison led his party to the crest of a knoll east of the road, above the river, where they could see more than one mile to the north. Within seconds they saw the orderly lines of the British infantry in their crimson tunics, marching across the green fields, almost unopposed, and they saw the white smoke of the cannon and the muskets. The red-coated regulars marched onto the bridge spanning the river north of the town and slowed at the hail of musket and rifle fire from the Americans lining the riverbanks, but did not stop. It was the American lines that broke and retreated, crossing to the safety of the west bank, with the British following undeterred, six abreast as they passed the bridge and spread out into Bladensburg.

Madison’s enclave sat their horses on the knoll, spellbound by the sight of the British descending on Bladensburg from three sides, while the Americans steadily gave ground, falling back. The British artillery was moving forward, while the American cannon answered, firing, moving back, firing again. The entire scene was laced with the glitter and the howl and the smoking trails of the British Congreve rockets, arcing high to fall onto and behind the American lines, crippling men, setting fires.

Madison’s horse tossed its head and stuttered its feet, nervous, fearful, wanting to be away from the growing noise of explosions and the rockets, and within seconds the other horses in his party were straining at their bits, backing away from the crest of the knoll.

Without a word Madison reined his mount around, and with his uniformed escort and party following, raised her to a run, down the slope to the main road curving south toward the city, across Tournecliffe’s bridge, past the Washington, D.C., militia on the west side of the road and the Annapolis militia on the east. They held the pace until the sounds of the guns were well behind before they pulled their lathered, heavy-breathing horses to a walk. Every man in the party turned in the saddle to look back, fearful of what they would see, but there were no red-coated cavalry or infantry in sight.

They rode on, southwest, toward the nation’s capital, passing Maryland and Virginia militia trotting north, gripping their muskets, sweating, heedless of the president and his party. They rounded the long, slow curve of the road that brought them in view of the city, and Madison slowed, shocked at what lay before him.

The bulk of Washington consisted of about nine hundred buildings, some government, many residences, most of them clustered between the proud Capitol building under construction on the hill that dominated, and the huge Executive Mansion on Pennsylvania Avenue. The entire city was in a state of confused, panic-driven chaos! The streets were jammed with civilians and government workers and militia running from office buildings and homes with armloads of government papers and family heirlooms and treasure to throw them into anything on wheels—wagons, carriages, carts—all hitched to jumpy, frightened, snorting horses. The broad arterial streets—Pennsylvania Avenue, New York Avenue, Massachusetts Avenue, South Capitol Street, Constitution Avenue—were clogged with fleeing vehicles and pedestrians. The traffic on the bridges crossing the Potomac into Virginia was at a near standstill. The Capitol building was swarming with politicians and civilians milling about, confused, indecisive, torn between fear of what the British would do to them if they remained at their duty offices and fear of what the United States would do to them if they did not. Boxes of papers by the ton were moving out of the great building into waiting wagons.

Madison and his group reached the fringes of the city before the president halted and gave orders.

“Mister Winder, take the armed escort and give support wherever you feel needed.” He turned to his cabinet members and pointed west, toward the road to Georgetown. “We were to meet at Mister Jones’s residence in Georgetown and move on to Frederick in Maryland. There is no chance of our getting there. I’m changing the plan. We will meet instead at Wiley’s Tavern near Difficult Run on the Virginia side of Great Falls. As soon as possible. Each of you get to your offices the best way you can and announce the change. Are there any questions?”

There were none.

Winder wheeled his horse around and started back north toward Bladensburg with the armed escort following. Madison and two aides continued on into the city, working their way through the jumble of horses and wagons and carriages and pedestrians, moving constantly toward the Executive Mansion with fear rising in the president’s breast for Dolley’s safety. His cabinet members followed, each dropping off as he came to his own office building. Madison and his two aides dismounted at the rear entrance to the Executive Mansion where frantic staff members were closing the doors, ready to abandon the building.

Madison confronted them. “Where is Missus Madison?” he demanded.

The head of staff stepped forward. “She left, sir. More than an hour ago. She ordered us to remove most of her valuables—and yours—into a wagon, and she went with it.”

“Where did she go?” Madison was hardly breathing.

“We don’t know, sir. She didn’t know herself. All she said was that she intended saving the things she took, and she would find you later. She mentioned Virginia, but did not say where.”

“What things? What did she take?”

“Valuable government papers. Cabinet meeting records. She removed the great painting of General George Washington from its frame and rolled it up and took it. Dishes. Silverware. Family portraits.”

“Did she have an escort? An armed escort?”

“Oh, yes, sir!”

Cannon boomed loud from the north, and the staff all flinched and for a moment involuntarily looked that direction, then back at Madison with pleading in their eyes.

Madison exclaimed, “Leave here. Now. Protect yourselves any way you can. Do not return until you know it is safe.”

The entire staff scattered, each in his or her own direction, and within minutes Madison and his two aides stood alone staring at the building, then the grounds with the green grass and the manicured flower beds and trimmed trees, filled with fear of what would remain if the British took the city. With heavy hearts they remounted their horses and left the large, white landmark behind, moving south on Seventeenth Street to Constitution Avenue, toward the bridge that spanned the Potomac River, connecting Washington to the state of Virginia.

The roads and side trails were a quagmire of people and vehicles and livestock moving in every direction, pushing, crowding, women with crying children clinging to their skirts, some with howling infants in their arms, shouting men desperately trying to push through the melee to any place that might offer safety for their families. Uniformed militia, escorting tall, heavy wagons filled with government papers thrown into unsealed crates at random and drawn by wild-eyed horses, shouted and muscled their way through.

It was clear to Madison that the citizens of the nation’s capital had disintegrated into a shattered, terrorized, mindless mob. Gathering his cabinet, or even finding them, or Dolley, was impossible. The evacuation plan was ridiculous, abandoned, lost, gone.

With the sun setting, Madison left the main road and picked his way southwest to Salona, the country estate of a longtime friend, John Moffat. Dirty, sweated, exhausted, mind numbed with recognition of the catastrophe he had left behind, Madison and his aides dismounted as Moffat came to the door.

Stunned, Moffatt grasped the bridle of Madison’s jaded horse.

“Mister President,” he exclaimed. “By the Almighty, what has happened?”

Madison squared his shoulders and declared, “The British are taking Washington.”

Moffat pointed. “We heard the guns, and we feared for the city! But we never thought they would succeed.”

“They will.”

Moffat pulled himself up short. “Missus Madison? Where is Dolley?”

Madison shook his head. “I don’t know.”

Instantly Moffat’s hand shot up to cover his mouth while he held his breath, terrified he was going to hear the worst.

Madison went on. “I came back from Bladensburg and she was gone. Took some valuables from the Executive Mansion and left. Said she was going to somewhere in Virginia. I’ll send some officers to find her.”

Moffat dropped his hand and shook himself back to his senses. “Here! I’ll have my staff take care of your horses. You need to come inside out of this heat. I’ll prepare baths for the three of you. Supper. Come in. Come in. You’ll stay here for as long as you have need.”

The two aides interrupted. “Sir, with your permission, we would both like to go search for Missus Madison. It’s important that she is safe. When this is all over, the country will need to know.”

Madison looked at the two young men, and they saw the deep gratitude in his eyes. “I would appreciate that. Report back here as soon as you know.”

“We will, sir.”

Stable boys came running to lead Madison’s horse to the shade of a lean-to where they unsaddled it and listened to the suck and the muffled sound of water passing the gullet rings while the mare drank. They rubbed down the sweaty hide and hooked a bag of feed over its head then watched and listened to the grateful mare grinding the rolled oats in her teeth.

Inside the Salona mansion, with the continuous boom of cannon sounding from the east, Madison settled into the comfort of a bath, where he sat for a time, forcing his mind to accept what had happened and beginning the process of creating a plan for the survival of the United States. His host laid out fresh clothes on the bed in one of the bedrooms and waited in the library until Madison came down the long, curved flight of stairs. They walked the long, broad hall to the sumptuous dining room, where John Moffat and his wife shared respectful conversation with their president over roast prime rib of beef with sweet potatoes, fresh corn, condiments, and cider, pausing from time to time to listen to the crescendo of cannon and musket fire in the distant city.

The sun had set and fireflies were darting in the gathering dusk when the headmaster of the house staff appeared in the doorway.                  

“Sir, it appears there are fires east of us.”

Moffat’s head swiveled up. “Where? How far?”

“I believe it is Washington, sir. The city.”

Both men stood and Moffat exclaimed, “Come with me.”

They strode from the room to climb the stairs two at a time to the second floor, down a long hallway, and out onto a huge, sheltered balcony with a white banister. They stopped in their tracks, staring northeast in disbelief.

Stretching for more than two miles, the horizon glowed golden in the gathering twilight, with low yellow flames visible reflecting off the blanket of smoke that hovered over the city and off the bellies of purple clouds that were forming in the heavens, above the smoke. Time was lost while the men peered in disbelief at the sight of their nation’s capital in flames, each seeing images in his mind of the British setting the torch to the new, proud buildings—the Capitol, the Executive Mansion, the Treasury Building, the navy yard, the Library of Congress—while they asked themselves the fearful question: Did our people get the papers out of those buildings, or have we lost it all?

The two men sat in chairs and remained on the balcony until full darkness, watching the burning of the nation’s capital. They were scarcely aware of the quiet gathering of clouds overhead, and both were startled at the rain that came drumming on the balcony roof shortly before midnight to blur the distant fire. They remained on the balcony watching while the steady rain diminished the flames and the bright yellow line dwindled, and then a weary, exhausted, tormented James Madison turned to his host.

“I wonder what history will say about the burning of our nation’s capital.”

Moffat shrugged. “I expect it will say many things.”

“You are probably right. I can only hope I am not condemned by it.” Madison stood and started for the large French doors leading into the house.

“It has been a long day. I believe I will retire.”

Moffat walked with him to his bedroom and bade him goodnight, and Madison sought his bed.

The rain stopped in the night, and dawn came bright in a cloudless sky. As soon as he awoke, Madison went to the balcony to peer toward Washington, but the rain had quenched the fires and washed the black cover of smoke from the sky. He descended to the dining room to share a breakfast of fried eggs and bacon with a somber John Moffat and was rising from the dining table when a rap came at the front door. Both men rose and quickly passed down the hall where a housekeeper was opening the door. Words were exchanged, and the woman stepped aside to allow Madison’s two young aides to enter, unshaven, uniforms damp, hats in their hands, exhausted.

Madison’s heart was racing as he reached them and asked, “Missus Madison?”

“She’s at Wiley’s Tavern, waiting there for you. Missus Madison spent last night less than a mile from here, at the Rokeby estate, owned by Richard and Elizabeth Love. Early this morning she learned James Monroe was at the tavern, where he expected you to be, and she went there hoping to find you.”

The wind went out of Madison, and for a moment he stood with slumped shoulders, daring to breathe again.       

“James Monroe is there? At the tavern?”

“He is, sir.”

“Does he have any word of what happened in Washington last night?”

“No, sir.” The young man’s eyes dropped for a moment. “Both Missus Madison and Mister Monroe watched from a distance while the city burned. We all did.”

Only then did Madison look closely at his two aides. “Have you been up all night?”

“Yes, sir. We had to find Missus Madison.”

Madison stepped aside. “Come in.” He turned to Moffat. “Could you find it in your heart to give these young men a bedroom? A bath? A hot meal? Some time to sleep? Fresh clothing? Tend to their horses?”

“Absolutely!”

With Moffat leading up the stairs, Madison followed the two young men to their bedrooms, and before they separated Madison spoke.

“I am going to the tavern to find Missus Madison. I will either be there, or I will leave word there of where you can find me. When you’ve eaten and rested, come find me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Within ten minutes Madison was in the saddle of his horse, waving goodbye to Moffat as he reined his mount around and tapped spur to raise it to a lope, headed north to Wiley’s Tavern, near Difficult Run, not far from Great Falls, Virginia. He rode alone by his own choice, on roads and byways still clogged with vehicles of every description and people showing the strain and exhaustion and the anguish of abandoning the nation’s capital and watching it burn through the night.

He reined in at the tavern, swung to the ground, tied the horse to the hitch rack, and pushed through the doors. The clerk at the desk recognized him and pointed up the stairs as he stammered out, “She’s up there—Missus Madison is—Lady Madison is up there, room twenty-six. Sir. Mister President. Sir.”

Madison raced up the stairs to knock on the door, and in a moment came her voice from within.

“Who is calling?”

“The president of the United States.”

The door opened wide and Madison stepped inside to clasp Dolley to his breast, and she wrapped her arms about him. For a moment they stood in their embrace, and then Madison backed up one step.

“Are you all right?”

“Of course,” she replied, and then a look of defiance came into her eyes. “But I certainly intend giving those British a piece of my mind!”

Madison closed the door and faced her. “James Monroe?”

“Just down the hall.”

“Anyone else? From the cabinet?”

“No, but they’re coming. Mister Monroe sent word.”

“What did you save from the Executive Mansion?”

“Most of the papers of the cabinet meetings. The painting of President Washington. A few other portraits. Some of our valuables, but not all. You recall the dueling pistols secretary of the treasury George Campbell gave you? I didn’t get them. No time. We left with the British right behind.”

“But you got the papers?”

“Yes. Safe.”

Madison sat down on the bed. “You saw the fires last night?”

Dolley’s face fell. “Yes. It broke my heart. Our beautiful new city, burned.”

Madison paused for a moment. “We can build a new city. The larger question is can we build a new government?”

Dolley reached to grasp his arm. “Yes. You can. You can!”

Madison stood. “I think I should go visit James Monroe. Will you wait here?”

“Of course.”

Within five minutes Madison returned, James Monroe following, and they sat at the small table with Dolley.

“Have you heard anything from any of the rest of the cabinet?” Madison asked.

Monroe shook his head. “Not yet. I have eight officers and aides out scouring the countryside for them. We’ll find them.”

From downstairs in the tavern, they heard the shout, “They’re back! They’re burning the city again!”

Both men rose instantly from the table and in two steps were at the window with the curtains drawn back, staring northeast. For a long time they stood transfixed, watching flames leap into the sky while a great cloud of black smoke rose to hover over the city like a pall. Dolley came to look, her hand clasped over her mouth, making tiny sounds as she watched. From the location of the flames and the rising smoke, the three tried to visualize which buildings were burning, but they could not. The only location they could identify with certainty was the navy yards, off to the southeast of the city, on the Anacostia River. The flames were massive, and the black smoke rose over one thousand feet into the clear blue of the sky.

Madison had their midday meal delivered to their room, and they watched the fires and the smoke spread as they ate.

It was midafternoon when they saw flame and black smoke and debris leap three hundred feet into the air, and then felt a tremor in the building, and then heard the heavy thud of a tremendous explosion in the distant city.

Monroe quietly said, “That must have been the powder magazine at the navy yards.”

They took their evening meal in the large dining room of the tavern, somber, subdued, each caught up in the images that came and went in their minds of the destruction of the nation’s capital. As they finished, they were conscious of the sound of heavy winds outside. They were walking up the stairs when suddenly the sound became a howling, sucking at the fireplace chimney in the dining room, rattling shutters. Madison glanced at Monroe and went to the front door of the tavern to lift the latch. The heavy door was driven inward, wrenched from Madison’s hand, while the wind blew window curtains and scattered papers from the tavern desk. Madison seized the door and put his shoulder to it to close and latch it, while Monroe strode to the large front window to stare out.

The trees were doubled over, bent northeast, with limbs and leaves ripped and flying. Debris and shingles and choking dust filled the air. Horses tied to the hitching racks were rearing, fighting the tie ropes, turning their rumps into the wind, while the tops of buggies were ripped free to go flying. The few people in the street were clutching at their hats, heads bent low, seeking shelter wherever they could find it.

Behind the wind came a roaring, and one minute later the rain came in a horizontal sheet that instantly blurred the world and hammered at the windows and the roof. Within seconds everything outside was drenched. The dirt streets were a sea of black mud and water. Those inside the tavern stood at the windows, transfixed at the havoc outside.

Hours passed before the power of the storm slackened and stopped, and an odd silence came stealing. It was one hour short of midnight when Madison rapped on Monroe’s door.

“I think we should gather an escort and go looking for the cabinet and heads of departments. We must give the nation every evidence that the government has survived, at earliest opportunity. We should go now. Tonight.”

Monroe reflected for a moment. “Missus Madison? Your two aides? The ones you sent to find your cabinet?”

“Missus Madison agrees. She’ll meet us later. I’ll leave instructions at the desk for the aides.”

Monroe bobbed his head and turned to pull on his boots and shrug into his coat.

It was after midnight before they had assembled an escort of mounted dragoons and ridden into the night. They moved northeast, stopping only to rest their horses, and at sunrise to take a hasty breakfast at a tavern. They continued through the day to Conn’s Ferry, above Great Falls on the Potomac River, where they paused to loosen the girths on their saddles and feed their tired mounts, then took the ferry to the Maryland side of the river. It was late afternoon when they dismounted before the Montgomery County Courthouse, where Madison hoped to find General Winder.

“No, Mister President,” the court clerk said. “General Winder and what little cavalry he had left early yesterday for Bladensburg.”

Tired men remounted tired horses and once again the weary presidential entourage rode on. With the setting sun at their backs, Madison guided them to the home of an old friend, and they dismounted, stiff-legged, stiff-backed, at the residence of Caleb Bentley, in Brookville, Maryland.

Their host held back nothing. Beds and bedrooms were made available. Hot water was poured into the white porcelain basins for washing. As if by magic, a huge supper appeared on the dining room table, complete with buttermilk and tarts, and while the hungry men sat at the table, the house staff was in their bedrooms, brushing the road dust from their tunics. Caleb Bentley and his wife and household showed the courtesy of asking few questions.

They were finishing the blueberry tarts when a knock came at the front door. Bentley excused himself and hurried from the room, fearful that the British had somehow learned the president of the United States was inside and had come to complete what would be the master stroke of the entire British campaign—taking the American president captive!

He opened the door and facing him were two young men in the uniform of army officers.

“May I help you, gentlemen?” Caleb asked.

“Sir, we are two personal aides to President Madison. We’ve been tracking him most of the day. Has he stopped here?”

Bentley said, “Remain here for a moment,” and walked quickly back to the dining room.

“Mister President, are you expecting two young aides? In uniform?”

Madison stood, wiping his mouth with his napkin. “Are they here?”

“At the front door.”

Madison followed Bentley, who threw the door wide, and Madison faced his two aides, with relief flooding through his system.

“Are you all right?”

“Fine, sir.”

Madison turned to Bentley. “These young men have been of tremendous help. Would it be possible for them to—”

He got no further.

Bentley boomed, “Come in, come in! You look like you could use a meal yourselves. And a bath and bed. Follow me.”

It was deep into the evening when President Madison gathered his group around the great dining table, tired, weary, needing rest, but determined.

He was brief.

“Gentlemen, I have determined that we are going to return to the city tomorrow.” He waited for the shocked murmuring to quiet, then turned to his aides. “Have you been there in the past two days? Seen it?”

“Yes, sir.”

“What condition is it in?”

The young men glanced at each other before one answered. “Destroyed. Unbelieveable.”

“Did any government buildings survive?”

“Only one that we saw. The patent office.”

“The Executive Mansion?”

“Gone.”

Madison drew a great breath and slowly exhaled it. “We will return tomorrow. In the morning, as early as you and your horses are fit to travel, would you take half of my escort party into the city and find all the cabinet and government department heads possible? Ask them to assemble at the patent office at one o’clock tomorrow afternoon.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Thank you. Now I believe we should all get some rest.”

A somber, pensive Madison sat for a long time in the yellow lamplight of his bedroom, pondering, reflecting, searching for a plan to reunite his country, to restore the faith and confidence of the people in their leaders, and he went to his bed and to his sleep with gaps and holes in his thoughts and no conclusions.

He was washed and dressed for breakfast by half past eight o’clock and was greeted at the foot of the stairway by Bentley.

“Good morning, Mister President. I trust you slept well?”

“Good, thank you. Much refreshed.”

“Your aides left shortly after four o’clock. They had a good breakfast.”

“Excellent.”

“Come into the dining room. Breakfast is prepared, and the others are waiting.”

It was midmorning when Madison and his escort and the few cabinet and government heads that had arrived at the Bentley estate mounted their horses and turned them southwest, toward the burned-out city. They rode apprehensively, with little talk, as they crossed the Anacostia and came into the streets of the capital. They sat stiff in their saddles, staring at the charred hulks of the government buildings, some still smoldering, with black holes like dead eyes where windows had been, and they felt the eeriness of vacant, silent streets where the clamor and bustle of people and carriages intent on running the United States government had ceased to be.

The party tied their horses before the patent office and followed President Madison inside to the conference room, where they sat at a very long table amidst shelves of the huge ledgers in which the creative genius of a multitude of Americans was recorded. Including his escort and James Monroe, there were more than ten people gathered. Madison drew out his pocket watch—fifteen minutes before one o’clock on the afternoon of August 27, 1814—and sat down at the head of the table.

“We will wait until one o’clock,” he announced.

At ten minutes before one o’clock the two aides walked into the room, leather heels clicking in cadence on the hardwood floor.

Madison looked up. “Were you able to find any more cabinet members? Department heads?”

“Yes, sir. Perhaps ten. They should be here shortly.”

They came in singly and in small clusters. By five minutes past one o’clock, more than thirty men had gathered around the table or in the room.

Madison took a deep breath and rose and addressed them.

“Thank you for coming. Our purpose today is to make an assessment of two things. First, the condition of the city and the governmental functions, and second, how has this disaster affected the general populace of the country?”

He started around the table, inquiring of each man what he had seen personally, and one by one their dark reports poured out.

The British hit the city at about eight o’clock in the evening on August 24. An infuriated British Admiral George Cockburn demanded burning the entire city—government buildings, residences, memorials—everything—avenge the burning of York, the small capital of Canada on Lake Erie, by the Americans in July of 1813.

British Major General Robert Ross limited the order: burn the government buildings, but spare the residences.

Two lieutenants, George De Lacy Evans of the army, and James Pratt of the navy, were assigned the burning of the Capitol building. With miners and sappers and a company of infantry, they smashed through the front doors and marched into both chambers of Congress, the House and the Senate, searching for records, but found very few; the vital documents had been saved by frantic clerks who had thrown them into wagons and carriages and any wheeled vehicle they could find and whipped terrified horses at stampede gait across the river into Virginia to save them wherever they could find space. The British threw lamp oil onto the draperies and the floors and systematically set each room ablaze, then the great rotunda, and finally the broken doors. The flames leaped high into the night sky while some Americans stood in the streets with tears flowing as the roofs finally gave way and caved in, to throw a mountain of sparks into the sky.

At about ten-thirty pm, Ross and Cockburn led one hundred fifty red-coated regulars from the Capitol building down Pennsylvania Avenue to the Executive Mansion. They battered down the front door and with drawn swords searched every room. On the table in the great dining hall they discovered a sumptuous dinner, still warm, untouched, waiting for the president and his guests. Cockburn and Ross gleefully invited all the officers in their group to take their places at the table where they took devilish pleasure in devouring everything, including that which was in the ovens and on the stoves in the kitchen. Then they set the torches to the Executive Mansion, from the second floor down to the first, and stood surrounding it while it burned. They did not leave until the blazing roof collapsed and sparks leaped upward two hundred feet. The roofless building smoldered until all that remained were the smoke-blackened outside walls, with gaping holes where the windows had been.

It was shortly before midnight when Ross and his men broke their way into the Treasury Building, certain they would find locked vaults holding gold and silver bars. They found the vault doors standing open and all the treasure gone, saved by clerks who had loaded it into army wagons and moved it across the river. Ross gave the orders, and his men emptied lamp oil onto the hardwood floors, backed out of the building, and tossed torches through the open door. The building burned to the ground, a pile of charred timbers and blackened stone.

Cockburn then led his men to the huge navy yards on the Anacostia River, anxious to destroy the single largest naval facility in the United States. Mordecai Booth, a common clerk, had tirelessly worked to load most of the vital records and government properties into wagons bound for Virginia. American Captain Tingey anticipated the arrival of the British and quickly shouted his orders to destroy the stripped-down naval yards altogether. Within minutes the entire place was ablaze, and with it the nearby rope works where hawsers were made. Tied to the docks was a frigate, the Essex, and a sloop, the Argus, both nearly completed, waiting only for detailing. Cat-footed seamen climbed the ropes into the riggings to set the furled sails ablaze, then retreated into the holds to fire the bowels of the ships. The flames could be seen as far north and east as Charles County, Maryland.

At midnight Cockburn, caught up in his role of conquering hero, discovered the office of the newspaper, The National Intelligencer, with its owner, Joseph Gale, standing defiantly on its steps with more than twenty neighbors. Cockburn ordered them to stand down while he burned the building, and Gale, with his neighbors beside him, stood solid, defying Cockburn with their shouts that it would be a travesty to put the entire neighborhood at risk of being burned if fire were set to the newspaper office. Cockburn was caught in a dilemma he could not resolve: how many civilians would he have to shoot before he could burn the newspaper office, and what would become of him if he did it? He relented. Keep your newspaper office but go home. Get off the streets. He posted pickets, and the citizens left.

In the dead of night, with rain steadily falling, both Cockburn and Ross marched their troops back to their camps, only to return the following morning.

Cockburn led his troops to the navy yards and finished the destruction of every building, including the critical rope works.

Ross and his troops sought out the big, square building that housed the State Department, hoping to seize the original drafts of both the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution of the United States. After all, what greater insult could be heaped on these ridiculous rebels than to seize the documents on which their folly was founded? Ross was angered and frustrated to discover that Chief Clerk John Graham had seized most of the State Department documents, including the Declaration of Independence and the Constitution, loaded them all into linen sacks, and gotten them out of town to Fredericksburg, Maryland. Ross set the building on fire and moved on to the building that housed the War Department, stormed the halls, and set the fires that burned it to the ground.

They came to the patent office and shot the lock off the front door to enter the building. They were met there by Dr. William Thornton, the United States director of patents. White-faced with fury, Thornton shook his finger in their faces and condemned them for even thinking of destroying the patent office. After all, he shouted, it contained only private items belonging to private citizens and records of inventions that would benefit the entire civilized world! How dare they think to destroy it!

Ross backed out of the building and left it intact.

He sent the Twenty-First Infantry to find the fort at Greenleaf’s Point and see to it the entire spread of buildings was burned and the huge powder magazine destroyed. The redcoats found the fort partially burned, but the powder magazine intact. They thought they were following their orders when they dropped the hundreds of barrels of gunpowder into a huge well on the grounds, unaware that the water level inside the well was far too low to cover them. The last barrel had just been thrown into the hole when a spark from somewhere—perhaps a cigar—followed it down. Every keg of powder exploded with flame and dirt and wreckage being hurled three hundred feet into the air. The ground tremor reached twenty-five miles, and the resulting crater was monstrous. The explosion was heard twelve miles north of Bladensburg. Forty-two British regulars were knocked rolling, twelve dead, thirty wounded.

Within minutes of the detonation, the heaviest storm in the memory of most descended, sweeping in from the southwest. Winds uprooted trees and tore great limbs from oaks that had been there for one hundred years. Shingles and shutters were ripped away, and some roofs were torn off houses. The streets were filled with flying branches and debris and dirt. A British officer and his horse were knocked off their feet to go rolling over and over in the fury of the howling wind. Close to forty British regulars were thrown down and injured. Then the rains came so thick men had to crouch and cover their faces to breathe. Lightning bolts turned the entire city brighter than noonday while thunder shook the ground.

As the storm raged, Cockburn and Ross shouted orders, and their men retreated from the charred, smoldering wreckage of the United States capital, back north toward Bladensburg.

The destruction of Washington, D.C., was complete.

For a brief time Madison sat in the silence that surrounded the table before he again spoke.

“Does any man present have any evidence of where the British intend striking next? Baltimore? Annapolis?”

There was silence, and Madison moved onto the stand-or-fall question.

“What has all this done to the citizenry? How do they now stand?”

There was a pause, and one man asked, “Are you asking whether the country will continue to support the administration in prosecuting the war?”

“Essentially, yes.”

The man took a deep breath, and every eye was on him, waiting.

“May I speak candidly, sir?”

“I expect it.”

“Someone has written a message on the burned walls of the Capitol building, sir. It reads ‘George Washington founded this city after a seven years’ war with England—James Madison lost it after a two years’ war.’ I apologize, sir. I thought you would prefer to know the truth.”

Madison’s voice was steady. “No need for apology. I wanted the truth.”

The man quickly said, “But, sir, I must add, most people in this city do not blame yourself. They hold Secretary of War John Armstrong responsible. Most feel he is totally incompetent, and there is a rising sentiment among the citizens that if he does return to this city, they’ll hang him. The commanders of the local militia have already declared they will not take his orders again.”

Madison looked into the man’s eyes, and then into the eyes of some of the others, and he saw resolve, and he felt a determination to move past a catastrophic disaster—a feeling that the rank and file of the government and the citizenry were coming together behind his leadership.

The little man rose and squared his shoulders and faced them.

“Gentlemen, it is on our shoulders to step forward and restore the government of our country. Now. Starting today. We will recall the vital records from wherever our workers have taken them, and we will open our government offices in hotels or private residences or wherever necessary, and we will continue with our governmental duties as the United States any way we can. Tell all governors, all generals, to do whatever in their judgment is necessary to start the rebuilding. Tell them to use local resources, and if needed, they have my authority to pledge government credit to pay for necessaries. And at every opportunity, tell the people who took it upon themselves to save our vital papers and our treasure that they have behaved heroically.”

He paused, and then concluded. “I will expect a cabinet meeting to be arranged for two o’clock in the afternoon of August twenty-ninth. Two days from now. We will meet in this building. I ask those here to find the absent cabinet members and give them notice.”

He stopped for a moment. “If there is nothing else, gentlemen, thank you for your support. This meeting is adjourned.”

Notes

On April 11, 1814, Napoleon surrendered to England. By late May, King George III had sent most of the ships and military that had been occupied with fighting the French to America, to end the war it was fighting with the United States. Almost overnight the British fighting forces in America were more than doubled, with the result that British naval forces came into almost instant control of Chesapeake Bay, Delaware Bay, and New York Harbor, essentially shutting down American commercial shipping and overpowering American military naval and ground forces.

Facing what had every appearance of being the beginning of defeat for the United States, President Madison attempted to rally his politically divided cabinet and generals to determine what course the British would take and where they intended making their heavy attack: Washington, D.C., Annapolis, or Baltimore. Opinions were divided.  With secretary of war John Armstrong generally viewed as incompetent, no plan of where to position the American military forces could be made. The result was a disorganized, shifting hodgepodge, with generals ignoring Armstrong and each other and doing what each felt was needed.

The entire episode became a convoluted mess, both for the British and the Americans. Following all the events and all the personalities responsible would require an entire volume. For that reason, this chapter attempts to track only the central core of it. Thus, the names of all persons in this chapter are accurate, as are the events in which they participated. The battle at Bladensburg, reaching outward to at least ten small villages, is as set forth. The subsequent march on Washington, D.C., on the evening of August 24, 1814, is as represented, with the British arriving about eight o’clock pm The destruction of the city and the navy yards were as set forth, with the persons who conducted it accurately identified. British Admiral Cockburn and General Ross took one hundred fifty men to destroy the Executive Mansion, and found a sumptuous meal (as described) still warm and waiting in the great dining room. They promptly sat down and ate the meal, then systematically burned the building. Madison’s plan of where to meet in the event of evacuation quickly became impossible, with the result that President Madison fled the city, as did his wife, Dolley, each at different times, to different locations. The estates named Rokeby and Salona, and their owners, are historically accurate, where Dolley and James Madison stayed that night, to be united the next day, August 25, 1814, at Wiley’s Tavern.

The systematic continuation of the burning of Washington, D.C., and the navy yards with the two ships and the fort at Greenleaf’s Point, with the horrendous blast when the kegs of gunpowder dropped into the well exploded, are accurate. The heroic efforts of clerks in most of the government buildings to save the basic documents necessary to conduct the business of the government, together with the names of those civilians, are accurate. The Declaration of Independence and original draft of the Constitution were in fact saved by Chief Clerk John Graham. Doctor William Thornton did save the patent office by persuading the British there was nothing of military value there and that the building contained inventions that would benefit all mankind.

On the afternoon of August 25, with the destruction of Washington nearly completed, a furious storm struck the city with winds that actually blew a British officer and his horse off their feet and knocked more than forty British regulars to the ground. Lightning and torrential rain engulfed the city to quell most of the fires. The British concluded that their work was done and marched their troops out of Washington, back toward Bladensburg in Maryland.

On August 27, Madison rallied what he could find of his government leadership to get reports on the damage done, both to the city and to the national mindset. The message written on the wall of the capitol as recited herein, “George Washington founded this city after a seven years’ war with England—James Madison lost it after a two years’ war” is a verbatim quotation. However, most of the citizenry did not hold Madison accountable; rather, they blamed the bumbling, incompetent secretary of war, John Armstrong. Some did in fact threaten to hang him. Military leaders told Madison outright they refused to follow Armstrong’s orders. Almost immediately, James Madison asked for and received John Armstrong’s resignation and replaced him with James Monroe.

At the informal August 27 conference, Madison set a cabinet meeting to be held August 29, and the meeting was held.

James Madison and Dolley Madison never again resided in what we now call the White House; Madison’s term as president ended before the reconstruction was completed.

See Whitehorne, The Battle for Baltimore 1814, pp. 119–43; Hickey, The War of 1812, pp. 197–202; Barbuto, Niagara 1814, pp. 261–62; Sheads, Fort McHenry, pp. 27–31; Stagg, Mr. Madison’s War, pp. 416–18.

For a discussion of the impact of the war on the economy and the insurance rates, see Hickey, The War of 1812, pp. 214–19.

The Dunson family and Billy Weems and Jeremiah Skullings are all fictional characters.