By Paul Carrier
One of the greatest catastrophes in American history shattered confidence in the government 202 years ago. But the public's faith began to rebound mere weeks later with the news of a victory so stirring that it gave birth to our national anthem.
That’s the tale former Washington Post military reporter Steve Vogel tells in Through the Perilous Fight, which chronicles Britain’s devastating attack on Washington during the War of 1812, as well as the successful defense of a Baltimore fort that inspired Francis Scott Key to write what became known as the Star-Spangled Banner.
With a flair for lively storytelling, Vogel recounts what the subtitle of his book describes as “six weeks that saved the nation,” a period in 1814 during which British forces burned the President’s House, the U.S. Capitol and other federal buildings in Washington, only to be rebuffed days later when Fort McHenry withstood a punishing British bombardment and “gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.”
Vogel combines a day-by-day account of events with telling anecdotes to propel his narrative, which captures the reader’s attention from the opening pages and never lets go. His cinematic account races along with gusto and verve, alternating between the American and British perspectives as events unfold. Concise character sketches put a human face on the high drama of this important chapter in the War of 1812.
We learn that Francis Scott Key, a young lawyer who dabbled in poetry, was “slender and of medium height,” with a wiry frame, a slight stoop and a face that “often bore a pensive expression.” Dolley Madison, the president’s vivacious and fashionable wife, was “warm-hearted and genial,” a hostess who could remember anyone’s name and story, "and was always able to make a visitor feel special.” The diminutive James Madison’s “tiny frame, wan looks, and mild-mannered personality made him easy to underestimate,” yet Thomas Jefferson viewed the fourth president as a genius.
The American defenders are a sad lot in the early going. Madison was a brilliant political philosopher, but he comes across here as apprehensive and muddled during a time of crisis. John Armstrong, the secretary of war, is misguided and uncooperative to the point of insubordination. Secretary of State James Monroe pointlessly meddles in front-line military decision making as he tries to bolster his image in advance of a future presidential bid. And Gen. William Henry Winder, chosen by Madison to defend the capital, proves to be grossly incompetent, indecisive and overwhelmed.
The invaders, on the other hand, are a tough, seasoned bunch. Major General Robert Ross, a blue-eyed Irishman known as “a brave and daring officer,” was strict but fair-minded. Rear Admiral George Cockburn was “the most hated man in the United States, and the most feared,” because the imperious Scot waged “a campaign of terror along the Chesapeake Bay” before the attack on Washington. Yet Cockburn could be chivalrous to a worthy adversary. When he stumbles upon wounded U.S. Navy Commodore Joshua Barney following a battle outside Washington. Barney says: “Well, admiral, you have got hold of me at last.” “Do not let us speak on that subject, commodore,” Cockburn replies. “I regret to see you in this state. I hope you are not seriously hurt.”
The British rampage stalled when the invaders carried the war to Baltimore, where Major General Samuel Smith, a militia officer, staged a state-sanctioned coup by usurping command of the American forces, over Winder’s objections. The city, which may well have been the country’s biggest supporter of the controversial war, bolstered its defenses, amassed a large military force and placed itself in the hands of officers who knew their stuff.
Still, it was touch and go. Thanks to the incompetent Armstrong, Fort McHenry lacked long-range mortars. If the Royal Navy had aggressively supported British troops after they landed; if British soldiers had charged the fort instead of withdrawing; if Ross, beloved by his men, had survived an earlier battle in which he was killed, the outcome might have been different.
The depth of Vogel’s research is staggering. Seemingly, no detail is too small to escape his notice, yet his account never lags. Here's an example. The larger of two American flags that Baltimore flag maker Mary Pickersgill delivered to Fort McHenry on Aug. 19, 1813 — the one we now cherish as the Star-Spangled Banner; the other has been lost — measured 30 feet by 42 feet, with 15 stars and 15 stripes. It required 400 yards of bunting and featured white cotton stars that measured two feet from point to point. The flag was so large Pickersgill moved the pieces from her home to a nearby brewery floor for assembly. Six weeks and 350,000 hand-sewn stitches later, it was ready.
At dawn on Sept. 14, 1814, Baltimore finally provided a counterpoint to the earlier torching of Washington, following a brutal naval bombardment of Fort McHenry. As Key watched from a truce ship in the midst of the British fleet, where he and another American were trying to negotiate the release of an American doctor, they finally spotted a flag “towering over the grassy knoll of the ramparts.” But it hung limply, making it impossible to determine if it was American or British.
The morning lightened. The breeze picked up. A beam of light illuminated the unknown flag, and Key finally saw the banner for what it was. In that instant, he knew that the fort, and Baltimore, remained in American hands. As he recalled later, inspiration came “in the fervor of the moment.” As he gazed at the fort in relief, Key pulled a letter from his pocket, and began to write.
That’s the tale former Washington Post military reporter Steve Vogel tells in Through the Perilous Fight, which chronicles Britain’s devastating attack on Washington during the War of 1812, as well as the successful defense of a Baltimore fort that inspired Francis Scott Key to write what became known as the Star-Spangled Banner.
With a flair for lively storytelling, Vogel recounts what the subtitle of his book describes as “six weeks that saved the nation,” a period in 1814 during which British forces burned the President’s House, the U.S. Capitol and other federal buildings in Washington, only to be rebuffed days later when Fort McHenry withstood a punishing British bombardment and “gave proof through the night that our flag was still there.”
Vogel combines a day-by-day account of events with telling anecdotes to propel his narrative, which captures the reader’s attention from the opening pages and never lets go. His cinematic account races along with gusto and verve, alternating between the American and British perspectives as events unfold. Concise character sketches put a human face on the high drama of this important chapter in the War of 1812.
We learn that Francis Scott Key, a young lawyer who dabbled in poetry, was “slender and of medium height,” with a wiry frame, a slight stoop and a face that “often bore a pensive expression.” Dolley Madison, the president’s vivacious and fashionable wife, was “warm-hearted and genial,” a hostess who could remember anyone’s name and story, "and was always able to make a visitor feel special.” The diminutive James Madison’s “tiny frame, wan looks, and mild-mannered personality made him easy to underestimate,” yet Thomas Jefferson viewed the fourth president as a genius.
The American defenders are a sad lot in the early going. Madison was a brilliant political philosopher, but he comes across here as apprehensive and muddled during a time of crisis. John Armstrong, the secretary of war, is misguided and uncooperative to the point of insubordination. Secretary of State James Monroe pointlessly meddles in front-line military decision making as he tries to bolster his image in advance of a future presidential bid. And Gen. William Henry Winder, chosen by Madison to defend the capital, proves to be grossly incompetent, indecisive and overwhelmed.
The invaders, on the other hand, are a tough, seasoned bunch. Major General Robert Ross, a blue-eyed Irishman known as “a brave and daring officer,” was strict but fair-minded. Rear Admiral George Cockburn was “the most hated man in the United States, and the most feared,” because the imperious Scot waged “a campaign of terror along the Chesapeake Bay” before the attack on Washington. Yet Cockburn could be chivalrous to a worthy adversary. When he stumbles upon wounded U.S. Navy Commodore Joshua Barney following a battle outside Washington. Barney says: “Well, admiral, you have got hold of me at last.” “Do not let us speak on that subject, commodore,” Cockburn replies. “I regret to see you in this state. I hope you are not seriously hurt.”
The British rampage stalled when the invaders carried the war to Baltimore, where Major General Samuel Smith, a militia officer, staged a state-sanctioned coup by usurping command of the American forces, over Winder’s objections. The city, which may well have been the country’s biggest supporter of the controversial war, bolstered its defenses, amassed a large military force and placed itself in the hands of officers who knew their stuff.
Still, it was touch and go. Thanks to the incompetent Armstrong, Fort McHenry lacked long-range mortars. If the Royal Navy had aggressively supported British troops after they landed; if British soldiers had charged the fort instead of withdrawing; if Ross, beloved by his men, had survived an earlier battle in which he was killed, the outcome might have been different.
The depth of Vogel’s research is staggering. Seemingly, no detail is too small to escape his notice, yet his account never lags. Here's an example. The larger of two American flags that Baltimore flag maker Mary Pickersgill delivered to Fort McHenry on Aug. 19, 1813 — the one we now cherish as the Star-Spangled Banner; the other has been lost — measured 30 feet by 42 feet, with 15 stars and 15 stripes. It required 400 yards of bunting and featured white cotton stars that measured two feet from point to point. The flag was so large Pickersgill moved the pieces from her home to a nearby brewery floor for assembly. Six weeks and 350,000 hand-sewn stitches later, it was ready.
At dawn on Sept. 14, 1814, Baltimore finally provided a counterpoint to the earlier torching of Washington, following a brutal naval bombardment of Fort McHenry. As Key watched from a truce ship in the midst of the British fleet, where he and another American were trying to negotiate the release of an American doctor, they finally spotted a flag “towering over the grassy knoll of the ramparts.” But it hung limply, making it impossible to determine if it was American or British.
The morning lightened. The breeze picked up. A beam of light illuminated the unknown flag, and Key finally saw the banner for what it was. In that instant, he knew that the fort, and Baltimore, remained in American hands. As he recalled later, inspiration came “in the fervor of the moment.” As he gazed at the fort in relief, Key pulled a letter from his pocket, and began to write.
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