As word spread across the country of the burning of Washington, Americans forgot their differences and rallied around the flag as Americans always do in a crisis. The mood of the nation quickly changed from despair and anger at the Madison administration to indignation and anger at the British. The anti-administration Albany Register wrote, “This is no moment for recrimination... Let one voice and one spirit animate us all, the voice of our bleeding country and the spirit of our immortal ancestors.” Even Alexander Hanson's Federal Republican, which had suffered so severely in the Baltimore riots of 1812 declared, “The fight will now be for our country, not for a party.”  

The next target for the British expedition under Admiral Alexander Cochrane was Baltimore with its tremendous ship-building facilities. The man selected to lead the city’s defense was Samuel Smith, who commanded the Maryland militia in the area. General Smith was a 65-year-old no-nonsense man with sound judgment and shrewd instincts who had represented Maryland in the United States House and Senate since 1792. Although a Republican, he often fought with Presidents Jefferson and Madison over policy matters but never suffered a long-term political defeat. When offered the command over the city defenses, Smith wrote to Maryland Governor Levin Winder, the uncle of General William Winder, who oversaw the 10th Federal Military District that included Baltimore. Smith informed the Governor that he would be happy to help but only if he was overall commander. And, in a rare case in which blood was not thicker than water, the Governor agreed to Smith’s demands, much to the chagrin of his nephew. Smith proved to be a good choice, and, although heavy-handed and dictatorial, he got results. Soon thousands of citizens were throwing up entrenchments around the city, and banks were issuing loans for all necessary supplies. Perhaps the biggest change was a steady flow of volunteers into the city: militiamen from Virginia, Pennsylvania, and Maryland and regulars from the US Army; by September 10, Smith had over 16,000 men covering the approaches to Baltimore.

Unlike Washington, Baltimore was ready when the British fleet arrived on September 11, and troops rushed to their positions as alarm guns on the courthouse green were fired. Scouts informed General Smith that the British had landed east of the city at North Point, just as he had anticipated, and, determined to avoid the mistake of Bladensburg of allowing the British to march unmolested toward the city, immediately sent a brigade of 3,200 men under General John Stricker to check the British advance. 

On September 12, General Robert Ross and his 4,700-man army approached the American lines in a section of woods that offered excellent cover. Desiring to have all units on hand when he attacked, General Ross hurried back to move the trailing units along. But while en route, he was shot from his horse by a sharpshooter and soon died from his wounds, an irreparable loss to the British. The command devolved to Colonel Arthur Brooke, and around 2:30 pm, the British commenced their assault with artillery and Congreve rockets, but the American militiamen did not run as they had at Bladensburg. Putting up a stout defense for nearly two hours, the Americans gave as good as they got before the American left collapsed and the rest of the line followed suit. Ultimately, the British veterans were too much for the American militiamen, but this was no rout, and General Stricker led the men in an orderly retreat to the main lines around Baltimore. Casualties were high for both sides, with the Americans suffering over two hundred casualties while the British lost some three hundred men.  

The next morning, Colonel Brooke got the army in motion and by 11 a.m., they were less than three miles from Baltimore. As the Brits came over the crest of a hill, Cockburn and Brooke observed the American lines on Hampstead Hill, the main defensive line southeast of the city, bristling with a multitude of Americans and over one hundred cannons. After a reconnaissance of the American position, Brooke recognized the army could not take the position without the assistance of the British fleet. Brooke sent a note to Admiral Cochrane stating he planned to launch a bayonet attack at 2 a.m. and requested Cochrane make a diversionary movement at the same time to draw off American troops. Cochrane responded that because the Americans had sunk vessels in the main channel, he could not bring the fleet any closer to the city and, therefore, could not comply with Brooke’s request. Feeling he had little choice, Colonel Brooke reluctantly retired from the city and returned to the fleet, and with that the land assault on Baltimore ended. 

Meanwhile, that same morning, September 13, British bomb vessels anchored two miles from Fort McHenry, which guarded Baltimore’s inner harbor. The fort, commanded by Major George Armistead, was a pentagonal bastion built in 1798 and named for James McHenry, a signer of the U.S. Constitution and former Secretary of War. Around 9 a.m., the British commenced their bombardment, lobbing two-hundred-pound shells from 13-inch mortars, and because the American 18- and 24-pounders could not match the British range, the gunners at Fort McHenry were not able to reply. But the British shells had little effect on the fort, and Cochrane paused the bombardment that evening. However, Admiral Cochrane, unaware Colonel Brooke was retreating from Baltimore and wanting to do what he could to support the army, staged a small diversion shortly after midnight and recommenced the bombardment just in case the army was moving forward.  

For the next three hours, as citizens crowded the city's rooftops, the glare of Congreve rockets and two-hundred-pound shells bursting over Fort McHenry gave the spectators an incredible sight. But at 4 a.m., recognizing that Baltimore could not be taken and any further fighting would be pointless, Cochrane ended the bombardment after firing some 2,000 rounds. At dawn’s early light on September 14, the huge American flag over Fort McHenry became visible and declared to one and all that the Americans had held on.  

And one of the many who saw the flag was a young lawyer from Baltimore who would be inspired to pen a poem for the ages. 

Next week, we will discuss the story of the Star-Spangled Banner. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

When war was declared on Great Britain in 1812, the vote in Congress clearly demonstrated that it was a partisan affair and not universally approved. While Republicans voted in favor of the measure, all Federalists opposed it, and each party had their own newspapers, which broadcast their deeply partisan views. But this was largely a Republican-controlled country at the time, and their papers were more numerous and more passionate in the tone and tenor of their articles. Many implied that violence was the approved solution for all those opposing the war, with the National Intelligencer declaring, "He that is not for us must be considered as against us and treated accordingly.”  

Perhaps the most pro-Republican city in America was Baltimore, a boomtown founded in 1729 on the Patapsco River near the head of the Chesapeake Bay, which, by 1812, had become the country’s third largest city. But despite its strong Republican sentiment, there were still many Federalists in the city, including Alexander Hanson, who published the Federal Republican, a spirited Federalist newspaper that the Richmond Enquirer called “the most audacious, shameless, lying chronicle in the United States.” On June 20, two days after the declaration of war, Hanson posted an editorial stating the war was “unnecessary” and declaring that they (the editors) would use “every constitutional argument and every legal means” to oppose it. But standing up for one’s constitutional rights carried little weight with the angry laborers from Fells Point who congregated in local taverns, and as they drank more beer, their anger rose to a fever pitch. Two days later, a mob of 700 men tore down the building in which the Federal Republican was housed and destroyed all its printing presses and equipment. Federalists sought help from city officials, but Mayor Edward Johnson was cowed by the mob and refused to intervene, and for the next few weeks, violence against Federalists continued unabated.

But Hanson was not easily intimidated and arranged to have the Federal Republican printed in Georgetown and shipped to Baltimore, where he leased a building on Charles Street. On July 25, Hanson returned to Baltimore, where he was welcomed back by his Federalist friends who encouraged Hanson to continue his work, including General Henry “Light Horse Harry” Lee, a hero of the American Revolution and staunch Federalist who happened to be in town to discuss the publication of his memoirs. Two days later, Hanson issued an edition of the Federal Republican in which he roundly criticized the mob for its violent behavior and city and state officials for failing to take any action to stem the violence. Perhaps more importantly, the editorial proclaimed that the paper would not submit to this “daring and desperate attempt to intimidate and overawe the minority” and “to destroy the freedom of speech and of press” and would continue to be published in the city.

Hanson's defiance infuriated the Baltimore mob, who resolved to silence Hanson and his paper once and for all. Later that evening, several hundred men gathered at the Charles Street house and smashed most of the windows, shutters, and sashes. A group of Federalists were inside the house, including Lee and James Lingan, another former general in the Continental Army. Around 10 p.m., a warning shot was fired by the Federalists, which temporarily dispersed the crowd, but they soon returned in greater numbers and armed with their own weapons. The mob broke down the front door, but the Federalists opened fire, killing one of the assailants, and for the rest of the night, the mob kept the house under siege. A detachment of cavalry militia was ordered to protect the men inside the house, and, around 6 a.m., with the crowd swelling to 2,000 people, Mayor Johnson and General John Stricker of the Maryland militia finally arrived on the scene and attempted to persuade the Federalists to surrender, insisting they would be protected by armed guards. Having few options, the Federalists accepted this offer, and the Maryland militiamen formed a hollow square around their prisoners and escorted them to the local jail. 

While part of the mob stayed behind and destroyed the house, others milled around the jail taunting those inside. That evening, several hundred men rushed the front door of the jail, which had been left unguarded, and the Federalists were hauled from their prison cells in a scene reminiscent of the French Revolution. Nine Federalists, including Hanson and Lee, were severely beaten and left in a heap in front of the jail where they were continually stuck with pen knives; some had hot wax dropped into their eyes, while others were tarred and feathered. James Lingan, who had survived the battlefield and a British prison ship during the American Revolution, was repeatedly stabbed in the chest and died from the wounds that night, while Lee, one of General Washington’s favorite generals, never recovered his health.  

Although the violence that occurred in Baltimore was the worst the young country had ever witnessed, it was not the only place where freedom of the press and speech was denied by the Jeffersonian Republicans. They also shut down the Savannah American Patriot and the Norristown Herald and warned other Federalist editors to stop criticizing the war and the Madison administration or face similar consequences. Naturally, the Republicans tried to blame the violence on the Federalists, saying they had incited the riots by making incendiary remarks critical of the country when the country was at war, conveniently forgetting that freedom of speech was a foundational principle of the Constitution. But most Americans recognized that the Republicans were simply using criticism of the war effort as an excuse to suppress their political enemies and were disgusted at their violence. Not surprisingly, in elections later that year, Federalists gained victories in Maryland, New York, and throughout New England. As for Hanson, despite his injuries, he began publishing his newspaper again in early August, and hundreds of sympathetic subscribers signed up from across the country; by the following year, the Federal Republican was one of the most widely read newspapers in America.  

Thus, in a turn of events that can only be termed poetic justice, the violence of the Republicans increased the anti-war sentiment they had hoped to stifle and the influence of the political party had hoped to crush. 

Next week, we will discuss the fight for Fort McHenry. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

Perhaps the most inexplicable mistake in the defense of Washington was to allow the British army for five days to march toward our nation's capital unopposed and risk the entire affair on a single battle, one which rested on the backs of untried militiamen against battle-hardened veterans, with the disastrous results that ensued. And now that the battle was over, another glaring omission became apparent; General William Winder had made no contingency plan if the battle went awry. Now left with few options, General Winder and Secretary of State James Monroe decided to abandon the city and set up a defensive line in Georgetown with whatever troops they could assemble. 

Shortly before 4 p.m., a messenger brought a note from the President to First Lady Dolley Madison at the President's House informing her that the battle was lost and to flee at once. But Dolley was not easily flustered and was well aware of the deteriorating situation, as she had spent most of the afternoon observing soldiers “wandering in all directions as if there was a lack of arms or of spirit to fight for their own fireside.” Fortunately, Mrs. Madison had the presence of mind to salvage what she could, perhaps most importantly, the full-length portrait of George Washington painted by Gilbert Stuart, a national treasure and the showpiece of the mansion, before finally climbing into her carriage and crossing the Potomac to the hills of Virginia. Meanwhile, the President was caught up in the bedlam of a panicked, retreating army, with militiamen, cannon caissons, and terrified civilians all looking to escape the oncoming British. The President and several aides finally made their way to the President's House about 4:30 p.m., half an hour after Dolley had left and, after securing a few belongings, climbed into his carriage and followed his wife into Virginia.

As twilight descended on Washington, the victorious British column arrived on the outskirts of the city. General Robert Ross looked for a delegation with whom he could negotiate the surrender of the capital, as it was initially the intention of Ross and Admiral George Cockburn to demand a contribution from the city as the price for sparing it. But while waiting for city officials, someone fired at Ross's party from an adjacent house, killing two men and shooting Ross's horse out from under him. The British reaction was swift, and the house was put to the torch. More importantly, any spark of kindness that the British had considered for sparing the city was extinguished, and the British immediately commenced destroying all public buildings. Just as the British were beginning their incendiary work, several large explosions were heard south of the city; it was the Washington Navy Yard, the finest naval facility for shipbuilding in the country, going up in smoke. Captain Thomas Tingley, commander of the Washington Navy Yard since its founding in 1800, had received orders to destroy the Navy Yard and all its buildings, as well as the new frigate Columbia and sloop of war Argus, rather than let them fall into British hands. 

The British first turned their attention to Capitol Hill, where British soldiers broke down the doors and rampaged through the empty halls and chambers, starting with the House wing (the House and the Senate buildings were not yet connected; that would happen in 1826). The British arsonists made their way to the Hall of Representatives, where they stacked chairs, desks, and tables in the center of the room and fired rockets into the pile, which soon erupted into a raging fire; similar measures were taken with the Senate wing. The British soldiers grabbed anything that would burn: journals of the House, the law library of the Supreme Court, and several hundred books purchased in Europe in 1802 as the start of the Library of Congress. By now, evening had set in, and the inferno provided a spectacular but somber display as the flames leaped from every window and by morning, although the stout limestone walls remained, everything else was in ruin. 

Shortly before midnight, General Ross and Admiral Cockburn assembled a small contingent and started up Pennsylvania Avenue to the President's House. The British entered the dining room and were surprised to see the table set perfectly for forty people, including wine and ice in the nearby coolers. After raising their glasses to several toasts to the health of King George, the British set about the business at hand. After rampaging through the President's House looking for souvenirs and taking most of the silver from the dining room table, the business of burning the President’s House began. The beautiful dining room table and sideboard were broken up for kindling, and onto the pile were thrown brilliant red velvet cushions from the Oval Room, a pianoforte, and all the furniture they could find before getting torches to ignite the bonfire. With both the Capitol and President's House ablaze, Ross and Cockburn retired with their 2,300 soldiers to bivouac on Capitol Hill. The fire burned so brightly that the glow was visible in Baltimore, forty miles away, and in the various spots to which Madison administration officials had scattered: the President and First Lady searching for each other in Virginia, Secretary of War Armstrong and Treasury Secretary Campbell in Frederick, Maryland, General Winder and Secretary Monroe near Georgetown, all in disbelief that this calamity could have happened and humiliated that it did so on their watch. Fortunately for all concerned, later that night a tremendous thunderstorm broke over the city, and torrents of water fell from heaven which helped extinguish the fires as if Divine Providence sought to protect the young capital from total destruction.

But there is no rest for the wicked and by 5:30 a.m., Admiral Cockburn was riding up Pennsylvania Avenue looking for his next target, while Captain John Wainwright of the HMS Tonnant took a party of sailors and marines to finish the destruction of the Washington Navy Yard, and another British column was putting to the torch the building that housed the State, War, and Navy departments just west of the President's House. From there, the British moved on and destroyed the offices of the National Intelligencer, which was especially enjoyable to Cockburn as the newspaper that had published countless derogatory articles on the Admiral. By late afternoon, General Ross, troubled by the wanton destruction of Washington, had had enough and ordered a return to the fleet on the Patuxent River. Three days later, they reached the safety of their ships, where Ross and Cockburn began to plan their next adventure, an attack on Baltimore. 

Next week, we will discuss the Baltimore riots of 1812. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

As the sun rose on August 24, 1814, the few residents remaining in Washington must have felt assured that the city was safe if they had read the morning papers. The National Intelligencer stated, “We feel assured that the number and bravery of our men will afford complete protection to the city.” And that sentiment was echoed by the Georgetown Federal Republican, which wrote, “It is highly improbable that...the enemy would advance nearer to the capital.” Despite being aware that the British were on the advance and seeing wagon load after wagon load of government officials and records fleeing the city, the local press continued to maintain a cheerful outlook; that bubble would burst later that afternoon. 

General William Winder, who had caught just a couple hours of sleep, ate a quick breakfast while he listened to conflicting reports from a bevy of amateur scouts. At his wits’ end, Winder penciled a note dripping with desperation to Secretary of War John Armstrong, “I should be glad of the assistance of counsel from yourself and the government. If more convenient, I should make an exertion to go to you the first opportunity.” Somehow this note was delivered to President James Madison by mistake, who recognized the distress in Winder’s note and quickly rode to the army encampment, where he was soon joined by Secretary of State James Monroe and the rest of the cabinet. Around 11 a.m., a messenger arrived and announced that the British had broken camp and were already on the way to Bladensburg. For some reason, that note seemed to settle matters, and soon everyone and everything was put in motion towards Bladensburg, with the diminutive President mounting up and strapping on a pair of dueling pistols for good measure.  

The American commander on the scene was General Tobias Stansbury, who led a brigade of Maryland militiamen that he deployed just west of Bladensburg and directly across from a small bridge over the Potomac’s Eastern Branch. Stansbury set up a six-gun battery to cover the bridge and two mutually supporting lines of militia, including one led by Major William Pinckney, Madison’s former Attorney General. By high noon, the remainder of the American army was pouring onto the field: the District militia, several militia units from Virginia, Commodore Joshua Barney's flotillamen, and Captain Samuel Miller’s company of Marines with their five heavy cannons. Combined, the American army numbered nearly 7,000 men, including Colonel Jacint Laval’s Regiment of Light Dragoons and twenty artillery pieces, giving the Americans a significant numerical advantage in men and cannons over the approaching British.  

But shortly after General Stansbury had organized his lines, Secretary of State James Monroe arrived on the field and decided to make some changes to the lines without consulting Stansbury. Monroe shifted two lines of infantrymen from an orchard in which the soldiers had significant cover and could support the forward artillery unit to an exposed position a quarter mile further back, which placed them too far in the rear to support the battery. Monroe also directed the regiment of light dragoons to take a position in a ravine to the rear and far to the left of Stansbury’s line. This spot turned out to be a deep gully and, throughout the fight, none of the horsemen were able to witness, much less join in, the fight.

The British had started their march that day at 5 a.m., and by the time lead elements of the 85th Light Infantry brigade, commanded by Colonel William Thornton, approached Bladensburg, the men were tired and hungry and sweltering in the hot summer sun. British General Robert Ross had his men approach the town buildings cautiously, expecting American sharpshooters within the stout walls to contest his advance, and was surprised that the Americans had neglected to do so. Ross was also shocked to see that the Americans had neglected to burn the bridge over the Eastern Branch directly in front of their lines. Worried that the American position would only get stronger with time, General Ross, without waiting for the rest of the army and artillery to arrive, ordered Colonel Thornton and his 1,100 men to attack.  

As the Redcoats made it to the American side of the stream, one militia unit after another took to its heels. Standing on a hill behind the lines, Winder saw the militiamen fleeing and recognized his front was collapsing. He sent two more regiments forward to cover the right flank, but as these men moved up, several Congreve rockets exploded over their heads, unnerving the militiamen who joined the race to the rear. Winder and General Stansbury tried to stem the tide, but it was hopeless, and Winder ordered the 5th Regiment from Baltimore to fall back. Almost immediately, they lost all sense of discipline, and their retreat turned into a rout, and within thirty minutes, the entire American first line, well over 3,000 men, had dissolved. 

The British now approached the second line centered on Commodore Barney's flotillamen and Miller’s Marines, who opened with their five heavy cannons and halted the British advance. The British attempted a flank attack, but the Americans repulsed it and launched a counterattack of their own. But the British second brigade under Colonel Arthur Brooke finally arrived, and Ross sent them against the exposed American left while he led a renewed assault on the American right. Recognizing the futility of continuing the contest and hoping to salvage what he could of the army, Winder ordered all remaining units to fall back but neglected to inform Barney. There were now just 500 sailors and Marines standing against 3,000 British regulars, and it was too much for the Americans. With ammunition running low and badly wounded in the thigh, Barney ordered his men to retreat, and with that the battle of Bladensburg was over. 

It was a great triumph for the British, with their 2,600 men routing an American army of 7,000 and capturing ten cannons and inflicting 150 casualties. But the victory had come at a high price as Ross lost over 250 killed and wounded, including eighteen of his best junior officers. For the Americans, it had been an embarrassing defeat, as one of Barney’s sailors put it, “The militia ran like sheep, chased by dogs.” But more significantly, the road to Washington was now open. 

Next week, we will discuss the burning of Washington. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

On August 17, the British flotilla ordered to Chesapeake Bay arrived off the mouth of the Patuxent River, fifty miles from Washington. With Congress adjourned and most of the well-to-do citizens away from the city to escape the smothering heat wave, there was little activity in the capital. Unfortunately, that lack of activity also extended to those responsible for defending Washington. But all that changed the next day when a messenger arrived with the long-dreaded news that the British invasion force was at hand. 

As more and more scouting reports filtered in, many of them conflicting, chaos seemed to reign supreme in the capital, especially with those in charge. President James Madison ordered the militia and regulars near Washington to assemble and sent fresh requisitions for additional militia to Governors from the neighboring states of Maryland, Pennsylvania and Virginia, but the response was disappointing to say the least. Secretary of War John Armstrong continued to insist that Baltimore was the target, not Washington, and offered little assistance to the district commander, General William Winder, despite Winder’s many pleas for advice. After being in his post for about six weeks, Winder realized all too painfully he was not up to the task and that the 15,000-man army he had been promised was no more than a dream, with no staff officers, no artillery, and no quartermaster. For the next week, Winder would do his best but prove to be a one-man flurry of activity who accomplished very little. And Secretary of State James Monroe, a man of action who had crossed the Delaware with Washington and helped defeat the Hessians at Trenton in 1776, offered to go to the front and scout out the British invaders, and President Madison was only too happy to have the help.  

On August 19, the British fleet sailed twenty miles up the Patuxent and disembarked at the small town of Benedict, and by midafternoon, 4,500 Redcoats were on Maryland soil without a spark of opposition. At their approach, the American gunboats, led by Commodore Joshua Barney, fled further up the river with orders from Secretary of the Navy William Jones to burn the ships rather than have them fall into British hands. Late the next day, the British advanced north, the fleet under Admiral George Cockburn on the river in search of the American gunboats, while the army under General Robert Ross marched on a road parallel to the river. Three days later, Cockburn caught up with Barney's flotilla near Pig Point, where the Patuxent River narrows and turns into little more than a creek. Unable to move his ships any further upstream, the Commodore burned all his boats before the British arrived, but, importantly, escaped with his sailors, who would perform masterfully in the upcoming fight.  

Despite the entire area being on the alert at the approach of the British, there was still no consensus regarding the size of the British army. Many, including General Winder, believed that the British host consisted of 10,000 men, a number more than twice its actual strength. There was also no consensus as to where the British were headed now that Barney’s boats were destroyed. Some administration officials felt Annapolis was the likely goal, while others were convinced Baltimore was their main objective; interestingly, very few thought Washington was their destination. One exception was Secretary of State Monroe, turned cavalry scout extraordinaire, who had been following British movements for the last two days and was convinced the Brits were headed to the capital. He sent word to the President, adding the somber note, “You had better remove the records.” Soon, State Department officials were packing up some of those most cherished possessions of the country: George Washington’s commission, secret journals of Congress, papers of the Revolutionary government, and the Declaration of Independence.  

Late that night, unable to bear the suspense any longer, President Madison, accompanied by Secretary of the Navy William Jones and Attorney General Richard Rush, headed for Long Old Fields, a crossroads eight miles east of Washington, where Winder had assembled the army. The next morning, August 23, General Winder briefed President Madison and informed him that, in his opinion, the British would probably fall back to the fleet now that Barney’s gunboats had been destroyed, for without cavalry or artillery the British army was too weak to attack Washington. And President Madison, satisfied that the capital was safe, headed back to the President's House. But later that evening, still uncertain as to where the British were headed and fearful of a surprise night attack, Winder hastily pulled the troops at Long Old Fields back to Washington, and by 8 p.m., the army had retreated, or rather raced, across the Eastern Branch bridge and the exhausted militiamen simply laid down for the night wherever they could find some open ground. 

Meanwhile, the British, after salvaging what they could from the American gunboats, advanced from Upper Marlboro to the hamlet of Melwood and bedded down for the night. Both Cockburn and Ross were shocked that there had not been the slightest opposition to the British despite being less than 50 miles from the nation's capital; not one musket shot, not one cannon fired in anger, no harassment by sharp shooters, almost as if the British were marching in their home country. Around 2 a.m., a letter was delivered to Cockburn from Admiral Alexander Cochrane, commander of the British expedition, ordering him to return to the fleet at once and not to attack Washington. Cockburn consulted with Ross, who thought that they had no choice but to turn back given the orders, but Cockburn would have none of it. The Admiral argued that to turn back now without even making an attempt would be worse than a defeat, it would be dishonorable and “a stain upon our arms.” Swayed by Cockburn’s argument, and assured by the Admiral that they would succeed, General Ross, who had the final say over the disposition of the soldiers, said, “Well, be it so, we will proceed.” And, at 5 a.m. on August 24, 1814, the Redcoats got on the road to Washington. 

Next week, we will discuss the Battle of Bladensburg. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

The grand strategic plan of the British in 1814 was to attack up the Lake Champlain corridor and drive deep into New York State, splitting New England off from the rest of the country, a plan similar to the one they had envisioned during the American Revolution. Accordingly, 15,000 men were dispatched to the Canadian front, and, to distract the Americans and force them to divide their meager resources, the British also decided to make a diversionary movement in the Chesapeake Bay, and it was to that part of the country that a British fleet proceeded in early August. 

The overall commander of the British expedition was Vice Admiral Sir Alexander Cochrane, who bore a deep hatred for the Americans, perhaps in part because his older brother had been killed during the American Revolution at the Battle of Yorktown. He was assisted in his efforts by Admiral George Cockburn, the aggressive commander who had been so successful the previous year in his amphibious operations in the bay, and, to command the ground forces, Major General Robert Ross, a talented Irishman who had performed superbly under Wellington in the Peninsular War. The British arrived in the Chesapeake in early August with vengeance on their minds, hoping to retaliate in kind for the burning by American forces of several Canadian towns, including Newark, Saint David's, and York, the capital of Upper Canada. In all cases, American officials punished the officers who ordered the burnings, but that did little to satisfy the lust for revenge on the part of the British. Consequently, it is not surprising that Cochrane’s instructions to the ships under his command were to “destroy and lay waste such towns and districts upon the coast as you may find assailable.” And to drive home the point, he sent a private note to Cockburn to “act with the utmost hostility against the shores of the United States... Their seaport towns in ashes and the country invaded will be some sort of retaliation for the savage conduct in Canada where they have destroyed our towns.”  

Despite previous depredations of the British in the Chesapeake and the Royal Navy sailing to within fifty miles of Washington in 1813, Secretary of War John Armstrong had taken no measures to fortify Washington since the start of the war, nor had he assigned even one regular army unit to defend the capital. When questioned by President James Madison and Secretary of State James Monroe about the weak defenses around the city, Armstrong was adamant that Washington would never be the target of the British because of its lack of military importance, insisting that “Baltimore is the place.” Madison was skeptical of Armstrong’s outlook, but the President was more scholar than commander and did not initially insist that Secretary Armstrong act upon his suggestions. However, in May, as word reached the United States that several regiments of British reinforcements were on the way, the President began to press Armstrong to fortify the city but again received little cooperation.

Finally, feeling desperate for the capital and forced to take matters into his own hands, Madison called a cabinet meeting on July 1 to address the problem. It was decided to create a new military district, the 10th Military District, and assign standby militia from the neighboring states of Pennsylvania, Maryland, and Virginia, upwards of 15,000 men, to defend the city if the British were to attack. Unfortunately, this manpower was dependent on the cooperation of the state Governors, and they had their own worries about the British. Consequently, when the British appeared before Washington and the call went out to send the militia, only a trickle of men responded, and what had appeared to be a formidable host proved to be little more than a paper army. Despite strong objections from his Secretary of War, President Madison gave command of this new military district to thirty-nine-year-old General William Winder, a distinguished attorney from Maryland who at the start of the war had given up his private practice and volunteered to serve his country. Winder’s appointment was largely based on political considerations as he was selected primarily because the state of Maryland had a large Federalist contingent and the Federalist governor of the state was Levin Winder, the General's uncle. Madison reasoned that if his nephew was commanding the troops around Washington, the Governor might be more prone to help with its defense; time would prove Madison’s hopes illusional. More importantly, General Winder was not a professional soldier, and, in the end, the task would prove to be too much for the Baltimore lawyer. 

On August 15, upon arriving at the mouth of the Potomac, Cochrane, Cockburn, and Ross held a council of war to decide upon their course of action in the coming campaign and agreed that there were three objects within reach. The first and most immediate aim was to destroy a flotilla of gunboats commanded by Revolutionary War and privateering veteran Captain Joshua Barney, which had taken refuge in the Patuxent River and was blockaded by the Royal Navy. This small fleet was the only remaining potential source of annoyance for the British in the upper Chesapeake, and the navy men wanted it removed. The second objective was the city of Baltimore, strategically important due to its numerous shipyards, and the base of the American privateering fleet that was proving to be so costly to British merchants. The third and final objective was Washington and Alexandria, primarily due to the Navy Yard at the capital and numerous merchant vessels anchored in the Potomac. Although Baltimore seemed to be the natural point of attack after destroying Barney's flotilla, Cockburn urged that Washington should be the next target instead, insisting to Cochrane and Ross that the city was practically defenseless. Cockburn argued that they could chase Barney's flotilla of gunboats up the Patuxent and, after destroying them, quickly pivot and attack Washington before the Americans could react. Besides, what better way to chastise the Americans and teach them a lesson about pulling the tail of the British Lion. And that was just the plan they adopted and set sail for the Patuxent. 

Next week, we will discuss the British advance on Washington. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

In the spring of 1813, the British Admiralty initiated a push to wreak havoc in the Chesapeake Bay and gave command of an expedition to Admiral John Warren. Cautious by nature, Warren would prove to be a poor choice, but his second-in-command was a tough sailor named George Cockburn, a Royal Navy Captain who first entered the service at the age of nine and would eventually rise to be the First Sea Lord, the highest-ranking officer in the Royal Navy. More importantly, Cockburn was a man who relished the chance to chastise the Americans. The British fleet arrived off Cape Henry in early February, and its initial target was the USS Constellation, anchored in the Elizabeth River at the Gosport Navy Yard near Norfolk. But, after briefly probing its defenses, Warren determined that Norfolk was too well defended for his small force to capture, and the fleet, after plundering the countryside around Lynnhaven Bay, moved on to easier targets.  

Cockburn took a small flotilla along with a naval brigade of 400 marines north to Frenchtown on the Elk River, which had developed into a thriving commercial center due to its proximity to Philadelphia and other northern markets. On April 29, Cockburn landed a contingent of troops and burned several warehouses filled with flour and military supplies and destroyed five schooners before moving on to Havre de Grace, which received much of the same treatment. The British then headed north up the Susquehanna River and captured the Principio Ironworks, described by Cockburn as “one of the most valuable works of its kind in America,” destroying sixty-eight cannons. From there, the British crossed to Maryland’s Eastern Shore and destroyed the twin towns of Fredericktown and Georgetown along the Sassafras River before rejoining the fleet at Hampton Roads. Shockingly, the British had moved for nearly two weeks about the American countryside without meeting any serious opposition. 

In early June, Admiral Warren received reinforcements, which gave him the largest fleet ever assembled in North American waters and, perhaps more importantly, 5,000 of Wellington’s veterans, and revisited his plan to destroy the Constellation. Warren sailed the fleet to the Elizabeth River, which empties into the James River from the south near Hampton Roads, one of the world's largest natural harbors, or roadsteads. The entrance to the river was guarded by a strong contingent on Craney Island, but of more concern to the Royal Navy were the shoals that extended northward towards Hampton Roads for two miles, which meant that the more powerful British ships could not engage the American defenses on the island. Consequently, any British assault could only be carried out by troop transports and boats armed with light cannons that would be useless against the American entrenchments. Additionally, for nearly a half mile around the island, the depth of the water was less than four feet at high tide, and the sand was bare during low tide. 

The American commander was General Robert Taylor, a lawyer from the town, whose contingent consisted of roughly 760 men. His chief engineer was Colonel Walker Keith Armistead, a superb army engineer and graduate of West Point, who established a battery of seven cannons led by Major James Faulkner in the northwest quadrant of the island and a second fort on the opposite end. Captain John Cassin, commander of Gosport Navy Yard, also ranged a line of gunboats across the channel between the southeast tip of the island and Lamberts Point.

The British planned a two-pronged attack, a frontal assault of fifty boats carrying 1,500 soldiers led by Captain Samuel Peschel and a flank attack across a small channel fordable at low tide led by Colonel Thomas Beckwith, a veteran of the Peninsular War. The problem with the British battle plan was that the assault by sea needed to take place at high tide so the boats could get close to Craney Island, but the land assault could only be made at low tide. Ultimately, it was decided to attack at low tide, and, on June 22, Captain Peschel’s boats arrived off the island directly in front of the American artillery battery. The forward vessels grounded on the shoal three hundred feet from the American position and came under a galling fire.  Three barges were immediately sunk, including the Admiral’s barge (Warren was not present), and the men swam for the safety of the other boats. Finding that the ground beneath the boats was four feet of mud and impossible to wade through, the attack was called off, and the boats returned to the fleet. 

Meanwhile, the flanking army, consisting of seven hundred Royal Marines and soldiers, landed west of Craney Island near Hoffler’s Creek. But, by the time the British approached the channel, the water was too high to ford, and, after receiving some punishing fire from the American battery, Colonel Beckwith called off the assault and returned to the fleet as well. Although casualties were light (the British suffered nineteen casualties while the Americans reported none), the Battle of Craney Island was an embarrassing defeat for the British.  

Stung by this unexpected setback, Warren set his sights on the town of Hampton just across the James River from Norfolk. This time, Warren wisely gave the command of the assault to the more aggressive Cockburn, who landed 2,500 soldiers west of Hampton on June 25. The town was defended by 400 Virginia militiamen under Major Stapleton Crutchfield, who put up a brief but spirited defense before fleeing from the field; once again, casualties were relatively low, with both sides suffering less than forty killed and wounded. But the aftermath of the battle was the more significant affair as the Chasseurs Britanniques, a light infantry unit made up of French emigres, committed terrible atrocities on the local population, especially the gentler sex. Although the Frenchmen were dismissed from the service, this did little to atone for the violence, which was widely condemned by both American and British officials and made Cockburn’s name even more detested throughout the Chesapeake. 

After cruising the bay for another month, most of the British fleet departed for Bermuda while a small force adequate to maintain the blockade remained in the Chesapeake. It had been a lackluster performance by the Royal Navy, but the following year would prove to be much different. 

Next week, we will discuss British operations in the Chesapeake in 1814. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

In 1812, President James Madison asked Congress to declare war on Great Britain over two maritime offenses that the American people found unacceptable: greatly restricted American commercial traffic and the impressment of our sailors. And around these transgressions was created a slogan that aptly summed up American demands, “Free Trade and Sailors Rights.” While the odious Orders in Council that restricted our trade were repealed a few days before war was declared by the United States, Great Britain steadfastly maintained its ancient right to impress any sailor who was a British citizen into its national navy.  

This practice reached its zenith in the years leading up to the War of 1812 when Great Britain was fighting for its very survival against Napoleon, and because thousands of sailors serving in the vast American merchant fleet had British ties, impressment fell hardest on American sailors. Consequently, when war broke out, there were thousands of Americans serving on Royal Navy warships, and many protested against being forced to fight their own countrymen. The more humane British captains allowed these sailors to be locked up and wait out the fight, but others ordered the Americans to man their guns and gave orders to shoot any that left their post.  

Despite several victories in single-ship combats such as the capture of HMS Macedonian by Stephen Decatur and USS United States and the pain inflicted on British commerce by privateers like Thomas Boyle, above all else, incurring the wrath of the Royal Navy was a desperate and dangerous business. During the war, 148 privateer ships were captured, or 28% of the total, while 12 out of 22 national ships were either captured or destroyed. Additionally, less than one-third of all vessels taken by privateers ever reached port safely while the majority were recaptured by the Royal Navy. Besides the cost of losing a ship came the cost of losing the men, and by the end of the war, roughly 20,000 Americans, mostly privateersmen, were prisoners of war. Many were held onboard prison ships, rotting hulks that the British Admiralty had deemed unfit for use at sea but clearly satisfactory to house prisoners, that were first used in North America during the American Revolution. The practice continued during the War of 1812, but the ships were anchored off the British coast near port cities such as Chatham, Portsmouth, and Plymouth. The living conditions were deplorable, most men were clothed in rags, and the food, what little there was, was wretched. At night, the hatches were battened down, creating an airless, stench-filled environment and, as a result, epidemics such as cholera and diphtheria frequently ravaged the ships, with a mortality rate estimated at nearly ten percent. 

As the number of American prisoners swelled, the Admiralty became concerned about mass breakouts from the ships, and it was decided to transfer the most dangerous Americans to Dartmoor Prison, located on high, barren mountains in southwest England. When the Americans arrived, they found the prison already filled with 8,000 French captives from the continental wars with Napoleon and conditions even more deplorable than those on the prison ships. The men were densely packed into solid stone buildings with nothing but straw thrown on the floors for their comfort and water constantly dripping from the stone walls, which kept the floor wet and cold as ice. By the end of 1814, the total number of American prisoners at Dartmoor had reached over 6,000 men, the largest war prison for American captives until World War II. The United States government tried to do what they could to alleviate the suffering of the prisoners, but this was a time before formal articles of war or international conventions had been adopted. President Madison appointed Reuben Beasley as its agent in England to address the concerns of the prisoners and get them basic necessities, but Beasley proved to be a poor choice and never even visited the prison. 

On December 24, 1814, British and American diplomats signed the Treaty of Ghent ending the war, but the British decided to wait on releasing the prisoners until it was ratified by the United States Senate. Word reached England in March 1815 that the Senate had confirmed the peace, but, unfortunately, that was just when Napoleon escaped from his captivity on the island of Elba and returned to Paris in triumph. The British government immediately commandeered every available commercial vessel to transport soldiers to the continent to crush Napoleon, which they did at Waterloo on June 18. As a result, American agents struggled to find commercial ships to transport Dartmoor prisoners back home to America.

As the prisoners’ patience wore thin and more confrontations occurred with the guards, rumors surfaced about a looming prison break, and the warden, Captain Thomas Shorthand of the Royal Navy, brought in 200 soldiers to augment the 500 militiamen already stationed at Dartmoor. On April 6, a hole was discovered in the wall that separated two prison yards, and Shorthand got fearful that the prison outbreak was at hand. A little past 6:00 PM, he assembled the soldiers in the main yard, and the Americans gathered to see what was going on. Shorthand took this as the start of the prison break and ordered the guards to fix bayonets and the Americans to disperse. Instead, the Americans began to throw rocks at the guards, and then one soldier after another opened fire and continued to fire even as Americans fled to their barracks. When the shooting stopped, seven Americans were dead and another 60 wounded, many of whom subsequently perished from their injuries. Mercifully, a few weeks later, the Americans were finally released, and the last of them arrived home in July. 

That this outrage happened several months after peace had been signed was beyond tragic, but even more shameful was the whitewash of the incident by both governments, as neither Lord Liverpool, who headed the British Ministry, nor President Madison wished to jeopardize relations or the recently concluded peace. Although the report of the joint Anglo-American investigating committee was balanced and placed blame on both American sailors and British soldiers, no one, including Captain Shorthand, was ever punished for the Dartmoor massacre. 

Next week, we will discuss the Royal Navy terrorizing the Chesapeake. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

The British blockade of the United States during the War of 1812 was both suffocating and irresistible, and the great preponderance of Royal Navy ships relative to American fighting vessels left America with few offensive options with which to strike back at the British. Although our frigates and other warships had been victorious in several single-ship combats in 1812, by the summer of 1814 nearly all had been captured or were blockaded within ports along the Atlantic Coast. But there was one offensive operation that the Americans pursued masterfully, and that was their broad attack on British commerce. 

Recognizing Great Britain was above all else a mercantile nation, the United States decided to wage war against that very thing the British held most dear and attacked British merchant ships from the West Indies to the English Channel. This war was carried out by both national ships of war and privately owned ships known as privateers that were equipped by private citizens but authorized by the government to pursue offensive measures against the enemy. This authorization came in the form of a “letter of marque and reprisal,” which essentially gave the bearer permission to plunder privately owned vessels from enemy nations. If this seems a bit like piracy, that's because it was, but there were some differences. While privateers only operated in wartime against a defined enemy and acted under the authority of a government, pirates acted outside the bounds of international law and respected no flag and attacked any ship regardless of nationality. Moreover, ships and cargo captured by privateers were judged by an admiralty court to determine whether the capture was legal and the value of the prize, while pirates recognized no legal authority and regarded all property as their rightful plunder. 

Above all else, privateering was a business in which investors pooled their resources to purchase and outfit a vessel, typically, at a cost of about $25,000. They then obtained a letter of marque from the government, found a suitable captain, manned the ship, and went to sea. If the ship was captured or lost at sea, the investors lost their entire investment, and if the privateer returned empty-handed, the basic rule was “no prizes, no pay.” For those captured vessels that were brought safely into port, an admiralty court determined the value of the prizes, and, after paying admiralty fees and other expenses, the profits were split between sailors, the captain, and investors; but even successful voyages did not generate huge returns. In one particularly successful ninety-day voyage, Joshua Barney aboard the Rossie captured twenty vessels valued at $1,500,000; of the total, Barney received $18,000 and the investors $63,000. Perhaps the most successful American privateer was Thomas Boyle, who largely preyed on British merchant ships in the English Channel. So successful was Boyle that in August 1814 he had the audacity to declare a “blockade” of the entire British Isles with his one ship, Chasseur. Although issued a bit “tongue-in-cheek,” Boyle’s declaration led to increased insurance rates and more Royal Navy ships seeking him out. Amazingly, Boyle was never caught and, after peace was declared, sailed into Baltimore Harbor as a returning hero.

Because the primary goal of privateers was profit and not national interests, fighting by privateers was avoided whenever possible, quite the opposite of American fighting vessels, whose very purpose is to protect national interests, especially national shipping, and who could shun no encounter if it led to the destruction of a hostile cruiser. Not surprisingly, given American ingenuity, the optimal sailing vessel for the privateering trade was developed by American shipbuilders, and the center of the industry was Baltimore's Fells Point. By 1812, there were nine shipyards in this deep-water area of Baltimore’s inner harbor, and forty percent of the city’s population worked in the maritime trades. The ships they developed came to be known as Baltimore Clippers or Baltimore Flyers, two-masted schooners built for speed and agility but armed heavily enough to be formidable fighters; they could catch and capture practically any ship they wanted but were fast enough to escape from any ship they could not overpower. 

Due to the commercial character of American society, the possibility of financial gain drew many seafaring men to become privateers, and, during the war, the federal government issued letters of marque to 526 ships, which captured 1,344 British merchant vessels. However, while privateers captured more vessels, the national warships proved to be much more effective. The twenty-two U.S. Navy vessels captured 165 ships for an average of 7.5 vessels each, and this despite many of the national warships being bottled up in harbors during a significant portion of the fighting. On the other hand, the 526 privateers captured an average of only 2.7 merchant ships each, and 60% of privateers either returned to port empty-handed or were themselves captured. Moreover, as the blockade tightened, it became more difficult for privateers to pierce the blockade and reach the safety of American or neutral ports with their prizes. For instance, of the 556 prizes taken by privateers from Baltimore, only 138 arrived safely in port. 

As more ships were lost to American privateers and maritime insurance rates rose dramatically, British ship owners and merchants screamed the loudest that their government must do something to stop the American depredations. Ironically, these were the very same men who several years before had encouraged the British Cabinet to suppress American maritime rights with their Orders in Council, which led to the war itself. To remedy the issue and stifle the complaints, the Royal Navy issued a decree requiring all merchant ships to travel in convoys guarded by British warships. But the ship captains often proved to be their own worst enemy as many left the safety of the convoy as they approached their destination and were picked up by opportunist American privateers in British home waters. 

At the end of the day, a few American privateers did fabulously well while the vast majority did not, and, while the losses they inflicted were certainly painful, their captures hurt but did not destroy the British economy. And, unfortunately, many American sailors discovered that waging war against the world’s most powerful navy was not without its risks. 

Next week, we will discuss American prisoners of war in the War of 1812. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

With Napoleon's abdication on April 6, 1814, not only was the British Army freed up to go to North America, but so too was the Royal Navy, which had been blockading much of the European coast for nearly a decade. But now that their main adversary had been vanquished, British warships were on their way to enforce a strict blockade of the American coastline and finally teach the upstart “Yankees” a lesson. 

The United States Navy had enjoyed some remarkable successes at the start of the war, including winning all three single-ship engagements with Royal Navy frigates. But to infer that Great Britain was not holding its own on the high seas would be inaccurate. The fact was that as the war moved into the summer of 1813, the preponderance of Royal Navy vessels led to its increasing dominance over both ocean-going and coastal commerce. As famed naval historian Captain A. T. Mahan wrote, “Control of the highways of the ocean by great fleets destroys an enemy’s commerce, root and branch. The depredations of scattered cruisers may inflict immense vexation, and even embarrassment; but they neither kill nor mortally wound, they merely harass.” 

In February, the Admiralty issued orders to blockade Delaware and Chesapeake bays, and, in May, Admiral Sir John Warren, the commander of the North American squadron, extended the blockade to the ports of New York, Charleston, Port Royal, Savannah, and the Mississippi River, leaving only New England ports open to neutrals. From that time, nothing entered or left the blockaded coast except swift privateers and blockade runners. Not only was ocean-going commerce shut down by the British blockade, but so too was the coasting trade, that water-borne commerce that traded from port to port and inlet to inlet all along the Atlantic and Gulf coasts. And the gunboats that were so strongly promoted by the Jefferson and Madison administrations were largely ineffective in alleviating the effects of the blockade. The pressure of the blockade was immediately felt, and the price of all commodities was greatly impacted. As goods and crops piled up on wharves, local prices fell dramatically and merchants and farmers suffered financial hardships. And for those goods that managed to get through the blockade or were freighted overland, the prices charged for these goods were triple pre-war prices. 

In New York, exports fell from $12 million in 1811 to $200,000 in 1814, and, during that same period, Virginia’s exports fell from $5 million to $17,000. Essentially, after 1813, exports ceased except from Georgia, which had an outlet through Florida, and New England, which was not blockaded. This was a time before income taxes, and the main revenue for the government came from tariffs and import duties, and these receipts fell dramatically. In major ports such as New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, receipts fell tenfold, in the case of New York from $500,000 to $50,000, and the total revenue collected across all United States ports outside of New England was less than $150,000 a month. Not surprisingly, this lack of revenue had a profound effect on every aspect of the war.

One major exception to the airtight British blockade was New England, where the Royal Navy allowed a clandestine export trade with the locals. They did so primarily because the merchants in New England were one of the main supply agents for British armies fighting in Europe, Canada, and the West Indies, with sixty percent of all U.S. exports in 1813 going direct to Spain and Portugal to feed Wellington’s army. Odd as it may seem, an entire section of the United States was supplying the nation with whom the country was at war. And, to add insult to injury, many coasting vessels took on board cattle, fresh vegetables, and other stores and sold them to the very British ships who were imposing the blockade on their country. This supplying of the enemy was disgraceful, but it was indicative of the fact that almost four decades after our Declaration of Independence, the country had not yet shed its strong regional ties nor adopted that feeling of “Union” that was to come later in the century. Great Britain also exercised some restraint in New England in the hopes that that portion of the country, which was known to be discontented with its national government, would break away from the United States.  

The British also allowed some commercial traffic to pass through the Chesapeake Bay blockade because, like New England, the Chesapeake region contained supplies greatly desired by the British. Specifically, the Chesapeake was the heart of wheat and flour production for the United States, and much of the flour that came from the mid-Atlantic states went to supply British armies. Consequently, several merchant ships were allowed to reach the open sea, after which they were promptly captured and taken to Halifax, where the “captured” flour was transferred to British ships destined for either Europe or the Caribbean. At that point, the ship captains were compensated for their losses and released; clearly an illicit trade, but one the United States government was helpless to stop. 

Not only did the American merchant fleet feel the might of the Royal Navy, but national warships also suffered as well, and, by the end of 1814, the U.S. Navy had been greatly diminished. USS Chesapeake was captured by HMS Shannon in an epic duel, while USS Essex was captured in the Pacific Ocean, USS Argus in the Atlantic, and USS Frolic in the Caribbean. USS United States and USS Macedonian were blockaded at New London, USS Constellation at Norfolk, and USS Constitution in Boston Harbor. USS Adams was trapped in the Penobscot River, where her crew, rather than surrender, burned her to the waterline, while USS Wasp was lost at sea. And even USS President, our finest frigate commanded by our finest commander, Captain Stephen Decatur, met an unfortunate end. In January 1815, after peace had been concluded but word had not yet reached America, President ran aground while trying to escape Royal Navy ships blockading New York Harbor and was captured by a British squadron following a stiff fight. 

But Americans were not a people to suffer this sort of punishment lightly, and British commerce on the high seas soon felt the wrath of the Americans. 

Next week, we will discuss American privateers during the War of 1812. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

Following a summer during which Captain David Porter and USS Essex captured a dozen British whaling ships in the eastern Pacific, Porter sailed west to continue his work destroying British commerce. Additionally, Essex had been at sea for nearly a year and needed caulking, and her copper bottom was wearing off and required repairs. Perhaps more importantly, the ship's hold was infested with rats, who destroyed the provisions, and Essex could not remain at sea much longer unless the rats were smoked out.  

Consequently, on August 30, 1813, Porter ordered Lieutenant John Downes to take the captured whalers to Valparaiso and sell them and then rendezvous with Porter at the Washington Islands (today’s Marquesas Islands), an archipelago 3,000 miles southwest of the Galapagos. The tedious voyage took two long months, but finally, on October 24, Essex reached her destination and sailed into the splendid harbor at the island of Nukahiva, dubbing the harbor Massachusetts Bay, and, the next day, Essex Junior arrived as well. The island was inhabited by three tribes (Taaehs, Happahs, and Typees) with a combined population estimated at over 50,000 natives who were constantly at war with one another. 

To secure their assistance, Porter allied himself with the Taaehs and requested permission to bring his ships ashore for the needed repairs and to exterminate the rats. He also asked if the Americans could construct several buildings on the beach, including a dry dock, blacksmith shop, and housing for his men, and a palisaded fort on a nearby hill overlooking Massachusetts Bay. Permission was granted by Chief Gattanewa but only if the Americans helped him in his war against the Happahs. The last thing Porter needed or wanted was to get involved in a Polynesian tribal war, but he had little choice and agreed to Gattanewa’s demands. A few days later, Porter sent Lieutenant Downes and forty men with a six-pounder to attack the Happahs. Downes was successful and returned to camp with several Happah prisoners, which the Taaehs immediately tortured to death and then cooked and ate; Porter was appalled but wisely said nothing.  

On November 19, the fort was completed and the American flag raised over it, with Porter dubbing the bastion Fort Madison and the nearby buildings Madisonville. He also claimed the island for the United States, thus establishing the country’s first naval base and colony in the Pacific (Congress later chose not to ratify the claim). Pleased with destroying the Happahs, Gattanewa next demanded that the Americans attack and destroy the Typees. Following an unsuccessful assault led by Lieutenant Downes, Porter led an attack on the main Typee villages and broke their resistance.

With Essex overhauled and nerves on the island getting frayed, Porter knew it was time to leave and sailed from Nukahiva on December 9, leaving behind three captured whaling ships (Seringapatam, Greenwich, and Sir Andrew Hammond) and Marine Corps Lieutenant James Gamble and 21 sailors to garrison Fort Madison until Porter returned. But fate had a different plan for Captain Porter, and he never did make it back to Nukahiva. In May 1814, part of the garrison, which included several British nationals, mutinied and took Seringapatam and sailed for New South Wales. Two days later, the Taaehs revolted and attacked the Americans, and, in desperate straits, Lieutenant Gamble decided to abandon the island. After burning Greenwich, Gamble and the remaining eight sailors left for home aboard Sir Andrew Hammond, marking the only instance in our nation’s history when a Marine captained a U.S. Navy ship. Amazingly, they made it 2,500 miles before being captured in June by HMS Cherub near the Sandwich Islands (today's Hawaiian Islands). 

Essex and Essex Junior arrived at Valparaiso on February 3, 1814, and, five days later, the frigate HMS Phoebe, 53 guns, and sloop-of-war HMS Cherub, 28 guns, appeared at the harbor mouth and anchored close by the American ships. Captain James Hillyer, commander of Phoebe, knew Porter from the Barbary War and tried to persuade him to surrender, but Porter would have none of it, replying, “You shall never take my ship without fighting for her.” The British ships then left the neutral harbor and cruised the entrance for six weeks as Porter tried repeatedly to sneak out of the harbor at night but failed in each attempt. Because Essex Junior was a poor sailor and lightly armed, Porter knew Essex would have to fight the two Brits alone and tried to separate Phoebe from Cherub, but Hillyer was a capable sailor who did let that happen. 

Finally, on March 28, Porter took his chance during a strong gale and made for the harbor mouth, but, as luck would have it, a strong gust snapped her main topmast, leaving Essex unmanageable. Unable to return to the harbor, Porter anchored within a cove one hundred yards from shore, believing this was neutral water and, consequently, Essex would be safe from attack. But in times of war most Captains ignore such legal niceties if given an opportunity to capture an enemy vessel, and such was the case in this instance. Around 4pm, Phoebe and Cherub approached Essex and opened fire with their long guns, keeping a safe distance from the 32-pound short-range carronades on Essex. Despite Porter’s best efforts to close the distance and board Phoebe or at least get within range of his guns, Captain Hillyer repeatedly outmaneuvered Essex and kept her at bay. After two hours of this unequal combat, only 75 men of the original 251 men on Essex remained able to fight, and most of her guns had been disabled. Finally, at 6:20 p.m., with his ship taking on water, fires raging in the hold, and the deck strewn with dead and wounded, Porter was left with no choice and struck his colors.  

Upon an agreement between Hillier and Porter, Essex Junior was stripped down and American prisoners put aboard and sent as a cartel ship (a ship granted safe passage generally to exchange prisoners) to New York, arriving off Sandy Hook in July 1814. Although Porter had lost his ship, he had largely destroyed the British Pacific whaling fleet with an estimated loss of $3,000,000. It would prove to be the highlight of David Porter's naval career and a memorable exploit in the annals of U.S. Navy history.  

Next week, we will discuss the British blockade during the War of 1812. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

The longest cruise of a United States Navy ship during the War of 1812 and the one most financially damaging to the British occurred in the Pacific Ocean. It was the result of a bold captain who saw the opportunity to strike at the heart of the British whaling industry and, by doing so, harm the British economy and help drive Great Britain to the bargaining table.

The ship was the 32-gun frigate USS Essex, built in Salem, Massachusetts, by Enos Briggs near the beginning of the Quasi-War. At the time, a wave of patriotic fervor was sweeping the country as the administration of President John Adams was building out the Navy to defend our maritime rights. Guided by a sentiment that seems foreign today, one in which Americans asked how they could help their country rather than how their country could help them, several towns wished to participate in this effort. These feelings were especially strong in New England coastal communities where merchant shipping dominated the economy, such as Salem in Essex County, Massachusetts. Citizens there decided to donate a frigate to the new Navy and, in less than a year, raised almost $140,000, which in those days was a princely sum. Launched in September 1799 to the cheers of thousands, Essex was commissioned in the U.S. Navy on December 17 and began cruising the high seas. The following spring, Essex became the first United States man-of-war to round the Cape of Good Hope at the bottom of Africa and then served admirably in the Mediterranean during the Barbary Wars.

In May 1811, command of Essex passed to Master Commandant David Porter (he was promoted to Captain the following year), who first sailed at the age of sixteen as an ordinary seaman “before the mast,” so-called because the quarters for common sailors were at the front part of the ship ahead of the mainmast. Porter was from the most illustrious family in American naval history and was one of those men who “were born with the sea in their blood,” following in the footsteps of his father, who served in the American Revolution as a privateer, and grandfather. Moreover, Porter’s adopted twelve-year-old son, David Glasgow Farragut, who sailed with him on Essex, and his natural son, David Dixon Porter, would become the first two men to attain the rank of Admiral in the U.S. Navy. Porter had gained valuable experience during the Quasi-War under Captain Thomas Truxtun aboard USS Constellation and the Barbary Wars on USS Enterprise and the ill-fated USS Philadelphia, and, on the eve of the War of 1812, was one of the more highly regarded Captains in the Navy, a bright, aggressive man with a courageous spirit.

On June 19, 1812, Essex cleared New York harbor, and by early September, Essex had seized ten prizes, including the sloop-of-war HMS Alert, the first Royal Navy ship to be taken in the conflict. The following month, Secretary of the Navy Paul Hamilton instructed Porter to take his ship south and rendezvous at Fernando de Noronha, a group of islands east of Brazil, with a squadron commanded by Commodore William Bainbridge. On October 20, 1812, Essex began her memorable cruise with a mission initially “to harass enemy shipping in the South Atlantic, to take prizes and to seek out and destroy hostile men-of-war,” but fate would lead her into more distant seas.

Essex reached Fernando de Noronha in mid-December but found no sign of Bainbridge’s fleet and so proceeded 1,500 miles south to a secondary meeting spot, Cape Frio on the Brazilian coast. But Porter had no more luck there finding the American squadron, and, after waiting until mid-January for Bainbridge to appear, Porter decided upon a bold venture. Recognizing he must strike the British where they were most vulnerable, Porter sailed for the Pacific Ocean, where dozens of British whaling vessels were plying their lucrative trade. And, because no American warship had yet sailed its waters, there were no Royal Navy ships in the Pacific, leaving the British whalers somewhat unprotected, even though most of the whalers carried their own cannons. Porter recognized he did not have enough provisions for a sustained cruise in the Pacific, but he knew that whaling ships were always well provisioned and planned to live off the stores of captured British ships. Porter knew that at some point the British would hear about his work and send a squadron to destroy his ship, but he felt that the economic harm he would do to the British would be worth the price. With that in mind, Porter headed for Cape Horn and the dangerous passage through the Drake Passage around the tip of South America, and, in late February 1813, Essex became the first American warship to enter the Pacific Ocean.

The ship had been badly battered by the unrelenting pounding of the surf and gale-like winds of the Drake Passage, and the ship sailed to Valparaiso, Chile, the best port on the Pacific coast of South America, for refitting. After a brief rest, Porter headed west to the Galapagos Islands (in Spanish, Galapagos means tortoises), 600 miles west of Ecuador, where whalers often went to take on wood, water, and a supply of tortoises, which they kept alive in the hold of their ship, thus assuring the mariners a ready supply of fresh meat (one of the ships Porter captured held 800 tortoises). In late April, Essex began to capture numerous prizes, the first three of which held whale oil, ivory, and ambergris (whale fecal waste used in musk-like perfumes since ancient Egypt) with an estimated value of $500,000. These prizes also provided Porter with an abundance of spare canvas and cordage so that he was able to outfit Essex with new sails, running gear, and rigging. More prizes quickly followed, including Atlantic, a 20-gun sloop and the fastest of the captured ships. Wanting a companion vessel, Porter renamed it Essex Junior and placed it under the capable command of Lieutenant John Downes with a crew of sixty men.

Eventually, word got around that an American raider was in the Pacific, and British whalers began to avoid the Galapagos area. To find more prizes, Porter recognized he would have to venture further afield and set his eyes on the South Pacific.

Next week, we will discuss the closing scenes of the cruise of the Essex. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

There were many memorable battles during the War of 1812 that have become part of the American legend; Perry's great naval victory on Lake Erie and Jackson's coup de grace at the Battle of New Orleans immediately come to mind. But one of the more compelling stories of the war was an engagement between USS Chesapeake and HMS Shannon, a single-ship duel fought roughly twenty miles northeast of Boston near Cape Ann in the late spring of 1813. Known as the Battle of Boston Harbor, it was fought by two courageous Captains with a spirit of chivalry for the glory of their country. 

The British fleet blockading Boston Harbor was commanded by Captain Phillip Broke, perhaps the most capable Captain in the Royal Navy. Broke had been commanding Shannon since 1806 and, in those seven years, had drilled his crew relentlessly, especially in gunnery. Broke was the antithesis of the staid, conservative Royal Navy career officer, initiating such changes as sight adjustments and leveling devices for his guns and requiring daily gunnery practice with a pound of tobacco for all crews who hit the target. In 1813, Shannon was arguably the most dangerous frigate in the British fleet, and Broke greatly desired to showcase its talents by engaging an American frigate in a single-ship duel to disprove the growing feeling that the Royal Navy had fallen behind the upstart Americans.  

Broke had been cruising outside Boston Harbor since early April and had sent several messages into the town stating his desire for any one of the three American frigates then in the harbor to come out and fight. Broke even sent away his companion warship, HMS Tenedos, in a further effort to entice the Americans to accept his challenge. But Captain John Rodgers, commanding USS President, declined the offer and slipped through the British blockade, and USS Constitution was not seaworthy. That left USS Chesapeake and Captain James Lawrence, who had recently assumed command and was working feverously to gather a crew. The crew that Lawrence finally assembled was a far cry from that of Shannon, as most of the men knew neither their fellow sailors nor their officers and most importantly, many were recent additions to the navy and had not been drilled or trained by Lawrence. Regardless, Bostonians wondered aloud when Lawrence would accept Broke’s challenge and destroy Shannon as he had HMS Peacock when commanding USS Hornet.  

But after fifty-six days of cruising and low on supplies, Broke despaired of ever fighting an American ship and finally sent a written challenge to Lawrence, even informing him of Shannon’s exact armament and the size of its crew. Lawrence never saw the message but knew Broke was waiting for him and wanted the fight as desperately as Broke. Consequently, Chesapeake sailed from Boston Harbor on the afternoon of June 1, with thousands of people crowding the harbor heights and dozens of smaller sailing craft filled with spectators following in Chesapeake’s wake, anxious to see “Captain Jim” punish the Brits. As Chesapeake approached Shannon, Lawrence noticed that Broke had left his ship dead in the water and in a terribly vulnerable position. Lawrence recognized at once that Broke was issuing the ultimate challenge to Lawrence, daring the American to come alongside and slug it out toe to toe in a brutal test of gunnery and nerve rather than a battle of maneuver. Lawrence, a man imbued with a spirit of chivalry and honor, made the fateful decision to accept Broke’s bold challenge and moved his vessel to within pistol shot of the Shannon.

The duel began just before 6 p.m. when Shannon opened fire and Chesapeake responded in kind. The broadsides from both vessels were fired with great effect, but Shannon’s were more rapid and more accurate than those of Chesapeake, and soon the American vessel was in trouble. Broke’s plan was unconventional in that he did not aim to dismast the ship but rather targeted the crew, telling his men, “Kill the sailors and the ship is yours.” Between his well-trained sharpshooters aloft and grapeshot from his cannons, the main deck of Chesapeake was quickly strewn with dead and wounded, including Lawrence, who continued to direct the fight. A shot from Shannon then destroyed the steering mechanism of Chesapeake, and the American vessel drifted helplessly backward toward Shannon. For ten minutes, Shannon pelted Chesapeake with shot after shot before the two ships came together and their rigging fouled. Recognizing his ship was in peril and taking over Shannon was his only path to victory, Lawrence then called for boarders, but most American sailors by then had sought refuge in the lower decks, and few were there to answer his call.  

Meanwhile, Captain Broke, observing the confusion on the American ship, personally led a twenty-man boarding party onto Chesapeake, shouting, “Follow me who can.” The few Americans left on deck put up a stiff fight, and Broke’s skull was sliced open by a pike (he would survive the wound), but resistance was quickly overcome as more Brits raced to help. Captain Lawrence, who was now down below after receiving a musket ball to his abdomen, noticed that the gunfire had greatly slackened and exhorted the men loudly and repeatedly, “Don't give up the ship,” an order that has become the inspirational motto of the United States Navy. But it was an order that could not be obeyed, and just thirteen minutes after the duel began, the American flag was taken down. 

As word spread of Lawrence’s defeat, Americans felt the deepest sense of gloom and dismay that one of their prize frigates had been beaten by the British. To the degree that Americans were depressed, the British were elated, a subtle indication of the newfound respect the British had for our navy. The unfortunate Lawrence died while en route to Halifax, but such was the regard for this courageous Captain that he received full military honors from the British. Six weeks later, Lawrence’s body was brought home to New York and laid to rest in Trinity Cemetery beneath a monument with the following inscription:  

Neither the fury of battle, the anguish of a mortal wound, nor the horrors of approaching death could subdue this gallant spirit. His dying words were “Don't Give up the Ship.”

Next week, we will discuss the cruise of the USS Essex. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

Besides the much-heralded frigates, of which the United States Navy was justifiably proud, there were eight smaller vessels that also contributed to the growing respect for our country’s Navy. These were sloops-of-war and roughly half the size of frigates, carrying eighteen to twenty guns and about one hundred thirty sailors. Like their larger brothers, they too went to sea as soon as war was declared on Great Britain and, in the first six months of the year, recorded two notable victories. 

The first of these engagements was fought between USS Wasp, commanded by Captain Jacob Jones, a veteran of both the Quasi-War and Barbary Wars, and HMS Frolic about three hundred miles north of Bermuda off Cape Hatteras. On October 18, 1812, Wasp spied Frolic, commanded by Captain Thomas Whinyates, escorting six merchantmen in a raging Hatteras gale. The seas were so rough and the winds so strong that neither ship could maneuver, and soon the two vessels closed within sixty yards and commenced the engagement. The British ship fired three broadsides to every two by the Americans, and, although scarcely a projectile struck the hull of Wasp, within twenty minutes every brace and most of the rigging were shot away on the American ship making it unmanageable, but Frolic was also shot to pieces and suffered terrible casualties. Soon the two ships slammed together, and Wasp fired a full broadside point blank into Frolic’s main deck, devastating the ship and most of the remaining crewmen.  

Then, without waiting for orders, American sailors with cutlasses drawn leaped aboard Frolic to seize her, only to find the deck strewn with dead and dying British sailors and no one to oppose them, save the wounded Captain Whinyates and two other officers. Frolic had suffered an astonishing 90 casualties out of a crew of 110 sailors, while Wasp suffered only 10 casualties out of a crew of 135 men. That these two ships, which were so similar in size, should have such disparate casualty counts was astonishing, perhaps even more so than any of the frigate victories. But Wasp’s euphoria was short-lived as later that day, as both ships were being repaired, HMS Poitiers, a 74-gun ship of the line, came upon the scene and captured Wasp. 

The other great single-ship combat in the early part of the war took place off the South American coast between USS Hornet and HMS Peacock. Hornet was commanded by James Lawrence, who first went to sea at the age of eighteen as a midshipman aboard USS Ganges during the Quasi-War with France and later served in the Barbary Wars, most notably alongside Stephen Decatur during the mission to destroy the captured American frigate Philadelphia in Tripoli Harbor. Lawrence was handsome and charming and admired by his sailors who referred to him affectionately as “Captain Jim.” He had served with distinction at every post and quickly rose through the ranks, being promoted to Master Commandant in November 1810 and given command of Hornet, a 20-gun sloop-of-war. 

In December, Lawrence and Hornet headed south as part of a squadron commanded by Captain William Bainbridge in the USS Constitution. The American fleet reached southern waters later that month and found the British corvette Bonne Citoyenne in a bay on the Brazilian coast. Lawrence issued a challenge to the British commander for a single-ship combat, but the British commander declined the invitation. A few days later, HMS Montagu, a 74-gun ship-of-the-line, appeared and Lawrence was forced to move north.  

On February 24, 1813, Hornet arrived at the mouth of the Demerara River off present-day Guyana and found the sloop-of-war HMS Peacock, 18 guns, under the command of Captain William Peake. Seeing Peacock was a fair match for Hornet, Lawrence immediately cleared the decks for action and closed with the British ship. A little before 6 p.m., Lawrence opened the engagement with a broadside from his larboard guns, and Peacock maneuvered to deliver a broadside to the Hornet. But before Peacock could complete this movement, Lawrence came about and delivered another broadside from his starboard battery, severely damaging the British ship. As fast as the guns could be reloaded and aimed, the Americans poured shot after shot into Peacock. In an astonishingly short time, roughly 15 minutes, the British vessel was a shambles and she struck her colors. Out of a crew of 130 men, Peacock had suffered 95 casualties, including Captain Peake, who was killed, while, amazingly, Hornet had only one sailor killed and two wounded. Peacock was quickly taking on water, and Lawrence sent a crew on board to rescue the wounded, but before they could be taken from the boat, the ship sank and nine British and three Americans went down with the ship. One British officer later wryly noted, “If the Peacock had been used as a target for a fleet to fire at, she could not have gone down quicker.” 

Lawrence returned home and was feted throughout the country, including a grand banquet in New York in his honor; even President James Madison mentioned Captain Lawrence in an address to Congress. Lawrence next received orders from Secretary of the Navy William Jones, sending him to Boston to take command of USS Chesapeake, an assignment Lawrence did not desire, hoping instead for USS Constitution, a much larger vessel. Moreover, Chesapeake had met with several misfortunes over the years, most notably the tragic affair with HMS Leopard in 1807, and many in the Navy felt that Chesapeake was simply an “unlucky” ship. But the supremely confident Lawrence was not deterred and looked forward to gaining more glory with his new ship. The ease of his victory over Peacock had given Lawrence a great sense of faith in the ability of American sailors and a scorn for the quality of British seamanship. Given the recent string of American victories on the high seas, it is easy to see how these feelings were manifested, but arrogance is never good, and that damaging trait would soon cost Lawrence his life. 

Next week, we will discuss the duel between the USS Chesapeake and HMS Shannon. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

At the start of the War of 1812, there was little confidence outside American naval circles that the United States Navy could hold its own against Great Britain’s vaunted fleet. Politicians both within and without the Madison administration fully recognized that woeful defense funding practices for the previous twelve years had left the navy in a disreputable state. But the next six months would demonstrate that ship for ship and man for man, American sailors were more than a match for the Brits. 

Captain Issac Hull, following his harrowing escape from a British fleet in July 1812, sailed the USS Constitution from Boston Harbor in August in search of an opportunity to disprove those who doubted the quality of the American navy. His hopes were rewarded on August 19 when lookouts on the Constitution spotted HMS Guerriere under Captain James Richard Dacres sailing alone five hundred miles southeast of Halifax. The British had spied the American vessel as well, and both Captains sailed toward one another, anxious to square off in this first-ever frigate versus frigate engagement between the United States Navy and the Royal Navy.  

After two hours of sailing to gain the weather advantage, the ships came together, and the Constitution poured broadside after broadside into Guerriere, devastating the smaller British ship whose cannons threw only seventy percent of the weight of Constitution’s. As Hull later wrote, “in less than 30 minutes from the time we got alongside of the enemy she was left without a spar standing and the hull cut the pieces in such a manner as to make it difficult to keep her above water.” Because all three masts on Guerriere had been shot away by accurate American gunnery, Captain Dacres did not even have a flag to lower to signal surrender. Hull recognized this and sent Third Lieutenant George Read on board to inquire from Dacres if he had had enough. Dacres replied, “I have hardly men enough left to work a single gun, and my ship is in a sinking condition… If I could fight longer I would, with pleasure; but I must surrender.” The rest of the evening was spent removing the wounded and other prisoners from Guerriere, and the next afternoon, the wounded hulk, unable to be sailed into an American port, was blown up. Amazingly, out of a crew of 272 sailors on Guerriere, 93 had been killed or wounded, while Constitution suffered only 14 casualties out of a compliment of 456 sailors, and her hull had scarcely been touched by British cannon fire. Hull returned to Boston on August 30 to a hero’s welcome for demonstrating to the world that the United States Navy could stand up to the British on their preferred element. Coming on the heels of the surrender of Detroit by Hull’s uncle General William Hull, the timing of this salutary event could not have been better to restore the morale of the nation. 

Later that fall, Captain Stephen Decatur sailed USS United States to the Azores in search of similar glory and, on October 25, came upon the 38-gun HMS Macedonian commanded by Captain John Carden. Although the United States carried forty percent more men (428 versus 301) and threw fifty percent more weight in each broadside, Captain Carden accepted the challenge presented by Decatur and bore down on the American vessel. But in a battle that lasted less than an hour, Macedonian was crippled and Carden was forced to surrender. Once again, the discrepancy in casualties was significant, as the British suffered 114 killed and wounded while the Americans only 12. Although greatly damaged, Decatur managed to keep Macedonian afloat and sailed her back to the American coast, arriving in New London on December 4, the only British frigate ever brought into an American port as a prize of war.

And finally, to close out the year, Constitution sailed once again, this time under the command of Captain William Bainbridge. On December 13, upon reaching the Brazilian coast, Bainbridge sighted HMS Java, 38 guns, commanded by Captain Henry Lambert, and the two ships squared off later that afternoon. As in the case of the two previous ship-on-ship duels between American and British warships, Constitution destroyed Java in quick fashion, killing or wounding 150 British sailors while suffering only 34 casualties. Java was so shot up that Captain Bainbridge could not sail it into port as a prize and had no choice but to send it to the bottom of the ocean. 

When the details of these engagements reached Great Britain, especially the amount of damage to the British warships, the brevity of the battles, and the great disparity in casualties, the British were shocked and made excuses for their surprising defeats. They pointed out that American frigates were larger and more heavily armed than British frigates, calling them “super frigates” and declaring that they were ships-of-the-line in disguise. While the average American frigate carried upwards of sixty guns that threw over 850 pounds of solid shot with each broadside and a crew of 450 sailors, British frigates carried forty guns that threw 550 pounds of solid shot and a crew of fewer than 300 sailors. But the great differential in the size of the vessels and crew did not fully explain the great disparity in damage to the respective ships and the number of casualties. That explanation must be found in the superior quality of the sailors and officers comprising the American fleet, especially in terms of their gunnery. While the Royal Navy possessed many talented officers and sailors, the manpower required to man their 1,000 warships led to dilution of talent throughout the service. Moreover, between desertions, sickness, and casualties, there was significant turnover in the Royal Navy, which often led to a relatively untrained and inexperienced crew, in many cases never firing a cannon until their first battle. 

But at the end of the day facts are stubborn things, and the facts were that in the first six months of the war the United States Navy had captured or destroyed three British frigates in single-ship combats and had lost none, and Americans were justly proud of the accomplishments of their navy. 

Next week, we will discuss other early naval operations in the War of 1812. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

When the United States declared war on Great Britain on June 18, 1812, the nation's army was woefully unprepared for the conflict, and its navy was not much better off. This deficiency would have been a problem against any European nation, but especially when the adversary was the greatest naval force in the world. And to compound matters, the United States was dependent on overseas trade for its economic prosperity and many of its manufactured goods, and those sea lanes were controlled by our newly declared adversary. In hindsight, declaring war on the world’s preeminent naval power given these circumstances seems incredibly rash, and critics of the government, especially New England Federalists such as Harrison Otis and Timothy Pickering, were quick to point this out. 

In 1812, the United States Navy consisted of only sixteen warships: eight frigates rated between twenty-eight and forty-four guns and eight other smaller vessels. Few of these ships were seaworthy, as the Jefferson and Madison administrations had neglected their maintenance, reflective of a grave dislike for a standing navy held by Republicans who distrusted all federal military organizations and felt the expense to maintain a navy was a poor investment for the country. Perhaps more importantly, frigates required a sizable crew of four hundred men, and most American sailors preferred the better conditions and pay found on merchant ships. Rather than incur this extraordinary expense, President Jefferson chose to rely on small, coast-cruising gunboats and, during his administration, had over two hundred of these smaller craft outfitted. This low-cost navy was all well and good during peacetime, but when war came, the unpleasant realities of the gunboat program were exposed, and they were quickly pushed aside to prepare our frigates for action. 

At the outset of the war, the only ships ready for sea were the President, 44 guns, commanded by Commodore John Rodgers; the United States, 44 guns, commanded by Captain Stephen Decatur; the Congress, 38 guns; and the Argus, 16 guns. The rest were either not seaworthy or struggling to find an adequate crew, as in the case of the 44-gun frigate Constitution, commanded by Captain Isaac Hull. Secretary of the Navy Paul Hamilton planned to concentrate all ships in New York and have them sail in one large squadron to provide mutual defense. Hamilton and others in the Madison administration had little confidence in the navy and worried that if they sailed solo, the Royal Navy would easily pick them off one by one, but Captain Decatur pushed back on this idea. He was a sailor, not a politician, and he knew his fellow Captains and the crews they commanded; he had seen most of them in action in both the Quasi and Barbary Wars and had profound faith in their abilities. Decatur advised Hamilton to send out the warships “…singly or not more than two frigates in company without giving them any specific instructions as to the policy of cruising but to rely on the enterprise of the officers,” and, fortunately for the country, Hamilton followed this sound advice. 

In early July 1812, British Captain Philip Broke sailed with a squadron from Halifax to search out and destroy any American warships they encountered. The Constitution had finally left Annapolis with a new crew in early July and sailed north, arriving off the New Jersey coast on Friday, July 17. That afternoon, lookouts sighted four sails to the northwest and a lone sail to the northeast making straight for the Constitution. Hull assumed these were American ships, possibly Rodgers’ squadron, and maintained a slow, steady course. This flotilla was in fact Broke’s warships, and, later that night, when Hull realized his mistake, he turned his ship around and wisely took flight heading southeast, resulting in one of the great chases in the age of sail.  

As night turned to dawn on the 18th, the winds calmed, and Hull was forced to put out rowboats to tow the Constitution. Broke, in his flagship HMS Shannon, imitated Hull’s action and, pulling extra sailors and towboats from other ships, began to gain on the Constitution and opened fire with his bow guns, but the shots fell short. Around 7 a.m., Hull returned the favor with two long twenty-four-pounders at his stern, which slowed down those rowing the Shannon. Hull next sent another rowboat a half mile ahead of the Constitution to drop an anchor and had the men on board pull the ship forward, a naval tactic called kedging. By now, HMS Guerriere was closing in from the other side and opened fire on the American ship. To lighten the load and speed their retreat, Hull tossed ten tons of fresh water overboard, and the weary sailors began kedging away from this latest danger. But that brought the Constitution closer to HMS Belvidere, whose commander, Captain Byron, had observed Hull’s kedging tactics and imitated them and by midafternoon was close enough to commence firing. Although the shots fell short, it seemed only a matter of time before the Constitution would be surrounded and captured. 

All that night the chase continued, and as daylight broke on July 19, Hull, realizing he was in danger of being trapped, took a chance and raced between two British frigates, somehow emerging unscathed and now clear of the trap. Throughout the breezeless afternoon, the adversaries towed and kedged their ships, barely keeping out of gunshot range. Hull’s men were exhausted, having enjoyed little rest for over seventy-two hours, while the British ships, which had more men and hence more relief crews, drew to within three miles of the Constitution, and the end seemed near. But then a providential squall approached from the southeast, and the Constitution raced ahead to safety on the heavy winds.  

As daylight broke on Monday, July 20, the Constitution was well ahead of its pursuers, and the British warships gave up the chase. Hull’s superb seamanship drew accolades even from the British and justified Lord Nelson’s comment after observing the Yankee ships during the Barbary War that “there is in the handling of those transatlantic ships a nucleus of trouble for the navy of Great Britain.”  

Next week, we will discuss the thrilling fight between USS Constitution and HMS Guerriere. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

One generation after John Paul Jones and the Continental Navy first went to sea, several great American naval Captains who would fight so capably in the War of 1812 came of age in two important but little-known conflicts, the Quasi-War and the Barbary War. The real-world training our seafaring men received in these wars was instrumental in honing their skills and allowed them to compete favorably with the Royal Navy on an element that the British had come to dominate. 

The foundation for the later successes of the Navy was laid with the Naval Act of 1794, legislation passed by Congress at the urging of President George Washington, which authorized the construction of six frigates. After reviewing numerous options and consulting with several ship captains, Secretary of War Henry Knox settled on a design by Joshua Humphreys that called for a larger model frigate, capable of defeating any standard frigate but fast enough to escape from a larger ship-of-the-line. Importantly, Humphrey’s design allowed for American frigates to carry more and heavier guns than their European adversaries (up to fifty guns, mostly long-range twenty-four pounders, versus up to forty guns, mostly long-range eighteens), firepower that would prove decisive in the years ahead. However, due to a lack of enthusiasm because of the cost and with no immediate need for the navy, work proceeded at a snail’s pace.  

But that changed in 1796 when France started seizing American merchant ships, angered that the United States had ratified the Jay Treaty with England, which France felt violated the Franco-American 1778 Treaty of Alliance. After months of fruitless diplomacy and additional French insults, especially the XYZ Affair, Congress created the Department of the Navy in April 1798, and, on June 18, President John Adams appointed Benjamin Stoddert as its first Secretary. Congress also appropriated the necessary funds to finish, equip, and man the original six frigates and three of these (USS Constellation, USS Constitution, and USS United States) were manned and put to sea in 1798, while the remaining frigates (USS Congress, USS Chesapeake, and USS President) were in action within two years. Finally, on July 7, Congress authorized this new United States Navy to retaliate by seizing French ships, marking the official start date of the Quasi-War. 

American frigates outclassed their French adversaries in virtually every encounter and demonstrated to the world for the first time that the United States Navy could hold its own on the high seas. In the two most significant battles, Captain Thomas Truxton aboard Constellation, with future Captains John Rodgers and David Porter serving as junior officers, defeated two French frigates, L’Insurgente in 1799 off Nevis, and La Vengeance in 1800 off St. Kitts. Besides Rodgers and Porter, several other officers who would figure prominently in the War of 1812 got their start in the Quasi-War including Stephen Decatur, commanding USS Philadelphia; Isaac Hull, Lieutenant of USS Constitution; and three Midshipmen, Oliver Hazard Perry, Thomas Macdonough, and James Lawrence.

The Quasi-War ended in September 1800 with the Treaty of Mortefontaine, but less than a year later, the United States Navy was again called on to defend American maritime rights. This time the adversaries were the Barbary states of North Africa, all controlled by the Ottoman Empire, who had been raiding European commerce ships for centuries and demanding tribute payments from all nations that traded in the Mediterranean. These puppet states included Morocco, which bordered the Atlantic and, along with British-held Gibraltar, guarded the entrance to the Mediterranean Sea, Algiers, Tunis, and Tripoli, which bordered Egypt in the east. Amazingly, paying this extortion money had gone on so long as to become the accepted way of doing business in the Mediterranean, and European nations large and small paid tribute to these petty thieves rather than taking concerted action and removing the scourge. The actions, or lack thereof, of these European nations were both cowardly and dishonorable, and, quite naturally, the pashas felt contempt for them. This same disrespect was shown to American merchantmen as well once they began to ply the waters of the Mediterranean under the Stars and Stripes. Although the United States initially paid tribute to the pashas, President Thomas Jefferson was determined to put an end to that humiliating practice and, in June 1801, sent a small squadron commanded by Commodore Richard Dale into the Mediterranean to blockade Tripoli and defend our rights and merchant ships.  

By the following summer, the growing American fleet included most of the country’s frigates, and the blockade tightened the noose around the necks of the Barbary states. Many junior officers who would figure prominently in the War of 1812 gained invaluable training and honed their leadership skills during the war, including Captain John Rodgers, who commanded the USS John Adams; Stephen Decatur and James Lawrence as Lieutenants on the USS New York and the USS Enterprise, respectively; and Oliver Hazard Perry and Isaac Hull as junior officers on the USS Adams. And when the USS Philadelphia met with misfortune and was captured by Tripolitan corsairs, it was Decatur and Lawrence who led the raid to destroy the ship before it could be used by the enemy, an action that Lord Horatio Nelson called “the most bold and daring act of the age.” 

Beginning in late summer 1804, the American fleet commenced its final push to crush the Barbary states, and on June 3, 1805, Yusuf Karamanli, Pasha of Tripoli, agreed to the demands of the United States, including the release of all American prisoners. But most importantly, Karamanli agreed to no longer seize American merchantmen and renounced his demands for future tribute payments, the first such agreement ever forced out of any of the Barbary states. Thus, the United States, led by its outstanding Navy, had shown a boldness and resolve unmatched by any European nation and broke the will of the Barbary states. 

In both the Quasi-War and the Barbary War, the Navy had performed well, and its officers had gained valuable experience regarding how to train their sailors in gunnery and seamanship and how to lead men in battle. And a decade later, when men like Decatur, Hull, and Perry went to sea in the War of 1812, they were more than a match for the Captains of the Royal Navy. 

Next week, we will discuss the great sea chase of 1812. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

The United States Navy that performed so well in the War of 1812 can trace its roots to October 13, 1775, for on that memorable day the Continental Congress passed a resolution that created the Continental Navy. This law authorized the purchase of two merchant vessels to be converted into warships, the first of which was USS Alfred, commissioned on December 3, and named after the 9th-century English monarch Alfred the Great. Then, on December 22, Commodore Esek Hopkins stood on the deck of Alfred as Lieutenant John Paul Jones ran up the Grand Union flag, and the U.S. Navy went to sea. 

The primary duty of our early Navy, in the words of the Congressional resolution, was “for intercepting such transports as may be laden with warlike stores and other supplies for our enemies”; in other words, disrupt British commerce and seize war materials, and our sailors proved to be especially adept at this task. In 1776 alone, Americans captured 342 British merchant ships and the precious cargoes they held, including military stores that supplied the Continental Army. Many of these captures were made by privateers, private citizens with letters of marque authorizing them to seize British vessels for profit. During the war, over 2,000 privateers were commissioned by Congress and various states, and it is estimated that these private warships captured over 2,200 British merchantmen valued at $60 million.  

While our “official” Navy never entertained hopes of fully competing on the high seas against the British fleet, the strongest in the world, Congress took what measures they could. By the end of 1775, Congress authorized the construction of an additional thirteen frigates designed specifically for warfighting rather than continuing to refit merchantmen. Unfortunately, only eight frigates ever made it to the open ocean, as five were either scuttled to prevent their capture or unable to evade the British blockade. While the eight frigates that went to sea had some degree of success, all were eventually either captured or destroyed by the Royal Navy, which consisted of over 250 warships. Perhaps more importantly, compared with their British counterparts, American crews were relatively untrained and inexperienced in naval warfare, and their commanders were no exception. Not surprisingly, there were several setbacks during the war, the most significant of which was the failed Penobscot Expedition in 1779, the worst naval disaster in U.S. history until Pearl Harbor. However, although outnumbered and underequipped, there were numerous instances of American warships and fighting men performing well during the war, including a raid on Nassau in the Bahamas on March 3, 1776, by Continental Marines led by Captain Samuel Nichols, the Corps’ first commissioned officer. This first-ever amphibious landing in Marine Corps history captured two forts and a large quantity of military stores, including gunpowder and cannons, and gave a taste of the spirit shown by U.S. Marines for over two centuries.  

Interestingly, the most significant naval battle in the war did not occur on the high seas but rather on Lake Champlain in upstate New York. In a prelude to the great lake battles of the War of 1812, the Battle of Valcour Island, the navy’s equivalent of Bunker Hill, took place in the fall of 1776. The American fleet, which consisted of fifteen vessels, mostly small gunboats, was created and commanded by Benedict Arnold, one of the greatest American battlefield leaders in the war. Arnold commanded the rearguard of the American army retreating from Canada and his primary mission was to delay the British advance long enough for the main American army to strengthen Fort Ticonderoga and Crown Point, two forts at the southern end of Lake Champlain.  

To counter Arnold’s fleet, General Guy Carleton, Governor of the Province of Quebec, had spent the previous three months at Fort St. John building a squadron capable of transporting his 10,000-man army across Lake Champlain en route to the upper Hudson River Valley. When the fleets finally engaged on the afternoon of October 11, 1776, Arnold’s little navy fought bravely and performed well but was largely destroyed by Carleton’s much larger flotilla. However, although the Battle of Valcour Island was a tactical defeat, it was a strategic victory as the Americans succeeded in delaying the British long enough to force their retreat to Canada before the onset of the harsh New York winter. 

But the most illustrious naval Captain to emerge from the war was undoubtedly John Paul Jones, considered by many the Father of the American Navy. Born John Paul in 1747, he went to sea at the age of 13 but fled to America in 1772 to avoid a trial for killing a mutinous sailor (he had also recently flogged a sailor so severely that the sailor died from his wounds) and changed his name to John Paul Jones. When war broke out, Jones volunteered to serve in the Continental Navy and was appointed Lieutenant of the USS Alfred in 1775. He was soon given command of his own ship, USS Providence, and led numerous raids, including one in September 1776 on Canso, Nova Scotia, where he destroyed fifteen British merchant ships and pillaged several local communities. 

The following year, Jones was given command of USS Ranger and took the war to British home waters in the spring of 1778, terrifying British shipping in the English Channel and the Irish Sea and even trying to kidnap and ransom the Earl of Selkirk (he missed the Earl but took his silver). The highlight of Jones’s cruise occurred on April 24, 1778, when Ranger captured HMS Drake following an hour-long single-ship combat off Carrickfergus in northeast Ireland, the first American victory in British waters over a Royal Navy ship.  

But the fight for which Jones is most remembered took place after he was given command of a 42-gun French warship, which Jones renamed USS Bonhomme Richard in a nod to Ben Franklin’s Poor Richard’s Almanack. On September 23, 1779, Jones and Bonhomme Richard captured the British frigate HMS Serapis after a four-hour slugfest off Flamborough Head. It was during this combat, when all hope for the American ship was seemingly lost and Jones was asked to surrender, that he uttered those immortal words, “I have not yet begun to fight,” establishing the standard for American naval gallantry and courage under fire. 

Next week, we will discuss the U.S. Navy coming of age. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

Besides the pending land battle at Plattsburgh, there was a naval battle to be fought for the control of Lake Champlain, the two-hundred-mile waterway that had served as the main invasion route for American, British, and French troops since the 1750s. In many ways, the naval contest was more critical than the land battle, for without control of the lake, invading armies could not be resupplied given the dearth of roads in that part of the country. The British fleet was commanded by Captain George Downie, temporarily detached from the Lake Ontario fleet, and consisted of his flagship Confiance, 16 guns, Linnet, 16 guns, Chubb, 11 guns, Finch, 10 guns, and twelve gunboats carrying a total of 17 guns. But Downie was unfamiliar with the officers, and the sailors were generally of poor quality, inexperienced, and poorly trained. Downie requested additional time to prepare his ships and train his men before proceeding into the battle, but General George Prevost, the overall commander, was impatient to get started and denied Downie’s request. 

The American fleet on Lake Champlain was entrusted to 31-year-old Captain Thomas Macdonough, who had been in command of the Lake Champlain fleet since the outbreak of the war and chafed at the chance for glory that thus far had passed him by. Macdonough's fleet consisted of his flagship, the small frigate Saratoga (26 guns), Eagle (20 guns), Ticonderoga (17 guns), and Preble (7 guns). Macdonough also had ten gunboats in his fleet, carrying a total of 16 guns. But perhaps the greatest advantage the Americans possessed was in its commander, as Macdonough was a bright, resourceful officer who had been hardened in combat alongside Stephen Decatur in the Barbary Wars. Aware of the British advantage in long-range guns, Macdonough arrayed his four warships across the mouth of Plattsburgh Bay with his right flank covered by Crab Island and positioned his gunboats between the larger vessels. This alignment forced Downie’s fleet to face a raking fire as it entered the bay to confront the American vessels and brought him so close to the American line that his advantage in long-range guns was completely negated. Macdonough took the further precaution of prepositioning kedge anchors off the bow of Saratoga so that if the need arose, he could spin the ship 180 degrees to bring fresh, undamaged guns into the fight, essentially doubling the firepower of the ship. 

Around 9 a.m. on September 11, American lookouts saw the British fleet rounding Cumberland Head, and the fleets soon engaged with the two flagships squaring off. The first broadside of double-shotted 24-pounders from Confiance was devastating to Saratoga, and over forty sailors were killed or wounded in this initial salvo, but Macdonough quickly reorganized the men and began a murderous fire on the Confiance. Fifteen minutes later, a shot from Saratoga hit a 24-pounder on Confiance, which sent the gun hurtling across the deck and crushed Captain Downie, a loss that was one of the deciding factors in the battle.  

For the next hour, the two fleets traded broadsides as the British ships Chubb and Finch were knocked out of action, while the American sloop Preble also withdrew from the fight. By now, Saratoga was badly damaged with all starboard guns disabled, and the outcome of the battle hung in the balance. At this moment, Macdonough's precaution of placing kedge anchors paid dividends, and he spun Saratoga 180 degrees and opened fire with his fresh larboard guns. Confiance attempted the same maneuver but failed and soon was at the mercy of Saratoga; minutes later Confiance surrendered. The other British ships followed suit, and except for a few gunboats that escaped, the entire British fleet on Lake Champlain was in American hands. During the two-hour battle, the Americans had lost 110 sailors, while the British lost twice that amount, including Captain Downie. Macdonough dispatched a message to Secretary of the Navy William Jones, “Sir-The Almighty has been pleased to grant us a signal victory on Lake Champlain in the capture of one frigate, one brig, and two sloops of war of the enemy.”

Meanwhile, General Prevost, whose plan was to coordinate his assault with the naval battle, opened with an artillery bombardment and then ordered his infantry forward. A British brigade under General Frederick Robinson gained a foothold at a ford across the Saranac River, pushing back the New York militiamen before the Vermont volunteers shored up the line. The Americans prepared to receive the next British assault, but that assault never came as Prevost had received word of Downie’s defeat. Cautious by nature and recognizing that without naval control of Lake Champlain his line of communication would not be secure and, consequently, his invasion could not succeed, Prevost called off the attack and ordered a general retreat, departing in haste that night. The Generals under his command, especially those who had served under the Duke of Wellington in the Peninsular War, were appalled at Prevost’s decision, and many in England shared that feeling of disgrace. Prevost was recalled to England and requested a court-martial to clear his name, but he died before that enquiry was held. Interestingly, the Duke of Wellington offered some support of Prevost’s actions, saying that after the fleet was beaten, Prevost made the correct decision, as naval superiority on the lakes was essential to a successful war on the frontier of Canada. But Wellington also recognized a lost opportunity and further stated that the soldiers simply “wanted this iron fist to command them.”  

Perhaps the victor of Waterloo was right, but that's all in hindsight. The reality was that thanks to the courage and ability of Captain Thomas Macdonough, the great British invasion of 1814 was turned back. One could argue that Macdonough’s signal victory on Lake Champlain was strategically more significant than Perry’s on Lake Erie in 1813. Had Downie’s fleet won the day, Prevost almost certainly would have continued his assault and taken Plattsburgh, thus placing the British army in full control of the northern tier of the country. Undoubtedly, British negotiators would then have demanded, with some justification, territorial concessions including part of Maine from the United States at the ongoing peace negotiations in Ghent. 

Next week, we will discuss the war at sea. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.

With the collapse of Napoleon’s empire in the spring of 1814, Great Britain was able to finally focus its attention on the American army. From April to December 1814, the British sent thirty-three infantry battalions, ten artillery companies, and one cavalry regiment, roughly 28,000 veteran troops, to North America. Of these, roughly one quarter were sent to Lower Canada to augment the sizable forces already in that area with the intention of invading up the Lake Champlain corridor and punishing the United States for initiating a war Great Britain never wanted to fight. The proposed route of march was basically the same one used by Burgoyne in 1777, and this campaign too would end in failure. 

The British army entrusted with this task was one of the finest ever put into the field in North America and was commanded by Sir George Prevost, Governor General of the Canadas; the Ministry of Lord Liverpool, as well as the British people, expected Prevost to quickly put it to good use. Of the three theaters of war in Canada, Detroit in the west, Lake Ontario and the Niagara frontier in the center, and the Lake Champlain corridor in the east, only the Lake Champlain option could be logistically supported at this time. And although Prevost preferred an attack on Sackett’s Harbor on Lake Ontario, it was simply not feasible. Interestingly, one critical reason for selecting the eastern theater was that two-thirds of all fresh beef feeding the British soldiers in Canada came from American farmers in northern New York and Vermont. As General George Izard, commanding General in the region, reported to Secretary of War John Armstrong in July 1814, “The road to Saint Regis is covered with droves of cattle, and the river with the rafts, destined for the enemy. The revenue officers see these things, but acknowledge their inability to put a stop to such outrageous proceedings…Were it not for these supplies, the British forces in Canada would soon be suffering from famine.” The need to maintain this valuable but illicit supply line gave added impetus to Prevost to secure the entire Champlain Valley.  

The other strategic reason for the British choosing this front was to secure their recent territorial gains in the District of Maine, then part of Massachusetts. Since the American Revolution, Great Britain and the United States had vied for control of the northern and eastern parts of Maine, including the ill-fated 1779 Penobscot Expedition, one of the worst naval disasters in the history of the United States. Strategically for Great Britain, it was critical to secure a direct overland route from Montreal to an ice-free port on the Bay of Fundy and its naval base in Halifax, Nova Scotia. To gain this route, they needed the northeastern portion of the District of Maine. Aware of a weakened United States military presence in Maine with less than 600 men stationed throughout the district, the British sent an expedition under Colonel Andrew Pilkington and Sir Thomas Hardy to Eastport, where, on July 11, 1814, they took possession of Moose Island and captured Fort Sullivan with its small garrison of eighty men.  

From there, Lieutenant General John Sherbrooke, Governor of Nova Scotia, took a fleet carrying nearly 2,000 soldiers to the Penobscot River, arriving at Castine on September 1, where the small American garrison blew up their fort and dispersed. Over the next week, British forces moved upriver and destroyed the USS Adams, a heavy corvette carrying 28 guns, and temporarily occupied Bangor, destroying vessels and cargoes, before returning to Castine. Interestingly, there were at the time roughly 12,000 men in the counties adjacent to the Penobscot River capable of bearing arms, but none mobilized to oppose the invaders. This muted response could hardly be attributed to a lack of courage, for these were hardy Maine men. Rather, it was an indication of the apathy in that part of the country regarding who governed the land, as two-thirds of the residents soon took an oath of allegiance to King George. Regardless of the reason, the British occupied Maine from the Penobscot River to New Brunswick, roughly one hundred miles of American coastline, without a fight. 

Meanwhile, on September 1, General Prevost led his army across the international border and moved up the Champlain Valley towards Plattsburgh, a small town located on bluffs overlooking the western shore of Lake Champlain at the mouth of the Saranac River. The exact size of Prevost’s army is a matter of dispute, as some historians estimate it as high as 15,000 men, but British returns from early September show an army of roughly 10,000 soldiers. Allowing for those on the sick list, typically 10% to 15%, Prevost's force was probably more in the range of 9,000 men. Regardless of the specific number, it's certain the British greatly outnumbered the American contingent under General Alexander Macomb, who now had less than 2,000 troops fit and available for duty. Macomb had recently assumed command after Secretary Armstrong ordered General Izard to proceed with 4,000 men from Plattsburgh to Sackett’s Harbor to participate in a planned attack on the British naval base at Kingston (an attack that never happened). The timing of Armstrong's order could not have been worse, and Izard vehemently protested it, but Armstrong could not be dissuaded. However, before departing, General Izard worked with Major Joseph Totten, his chief engineer, to construct three redoubts and several blockhouses armed with heavy ordinance to defend the town. Even with a smaller force, Izard, who had been in the Engineer Corps since 1794, felt confident that the Americans could resist the larger British Army for at least three weeks.  

Macomb next withdrew all the smaller garrisons in the area to Plattsburgh and sent an appeal to the Governor of Vermont requesting the help of his militia. The Vermonters responded by sending 2,500 men led by Major General Samuel Strong, and the American army was further reinforced by the addition of several hundred New York militiamen commanded by General Benjamin Mooers, a veteran of the Revolution. Macomb’s army now stood at roughly 4,700 men as they prepared for the coming British assault. 

Next week, we will discuss the Battle of Lake Champlain. Until then, may your motto be “Ducit Amor Patriae,” love of country leads me.

Hello America!

Subscribe to receive weekly complimentary articles and videos delivered straight to your inbox.